I Don't Know Why I Wanted A Gong Instead Of A Doorbell.

So I wrote the last post after having been to The Dubliner, The Libertine, and The Blarney Stone. Apparently, I only go to bars with "The" in the name. I remember vaguely having written it, but that gong thing was news to me when I re-read it. I am very proud that I managed to spellcheck. I forget to in text messaging with T9 and then I end up sending people stuff like "I already frank too much to in anywhere."

I saw a new legless homeless guy. I named him Carl. I have no idea what happened to Legless Joe. That makes me sad. Also, Starbucks hates me. I am only worthy to drink their wares, not to stand behind the counter and listen to the 9,482,316th Swarley joke. I told you people I don't interview well. This other advertising agency hates me too. That interview went better than any interview I have had since that time Pat and I talked about shoes for 30 minutes and then she took me to her boss whose first question was "When can you start?" I have no idea what specifically about me they hated. I asked. I got a bureaucratic non-answer. Hmm, what is wrong with me? I feel the need to make a list.

ReadBecca's Faults

Superhumanly messy
Impatient
Moody
Supremely irritable
Interviews poorly
Doesn't iron anything
Procrastinates
Perfectionist
Hasn't had sex in five years

Crap, I have to cut the list short. The Tuesday night coffee house entertainment is setting up and I can't stay here and listen to any singer-songwriter bullshit. I can barely stand the Sirius coffee house channel they play here at WRC (White Rock Coffee. Fuck Starbucks.). There is no need for a mellow acoustic cover of any Van Halen song, especially Jump. The grocery store I used to shop at that closed played The Clash and Oingo Boingo. Minyard's rocked.

Hey, guess what. Tomorrow night Stef's taking me to see The Police. Wooooooooooooooooo!

Remember, kids, don't frank and drive.

I Promised Stef Her Quote Would Be The Headline, But I Already Lost The Paper She Wrote It On.

It was a two-parter. I know the second part was "We're bringing the shit to town." I think the first part rhymed. Anyhow.

Chad the bartender at The Libertine looks as much like Colin Farrell as anybody I've seen in person so I'd totally bang him, but nah, I won't.

We told so many stories tonight, I've lost my voice. Awesome. I had a roast beef sandwich and a debate with Ashley about what a bad idea it is to shack up with someone. She thinks it's a good idea to have a "trial period" and I say that's what fucking dating is for. Unless I got a rock and a date set, I'm not fucking cohabitating. Shut up. I know I'm saying fuck a lot. It's very late and all I have to keep me warm is a Big Gulp.

Woo! Blogging in bed is so much more than I thought it would be. I get to blog braless! Anything I can do braless is at least 20% more fun than stuff that requires foundation garments. I stand by that statement.

I hate Conway Twitty. I thought that should be made clear. I probably should have mentioned it earlier. I know this next bit may cause me to be escorted to the Mason-Dixon line, but I don't like George Jones either. I do, however, enjoy the boys of Oak Ridge, so that might save my ass. To this day, I still can't believe I actually went to A&M. How was I never stoned to death in the village square? It's a friggin' mystery.

Any joke with Christopher Walken as the punch line is 20% funnier than any competing joke. I also stand by that statement.

Note to dude pretending not to be looking at condoms at 7-11: I totally know you're buying condoms. Stop pretending to look at cough drops. You could be actually using said condoms by now.

I have GOT to stop playing Mah Jong online. I am out of control and need an intervention. Someone book Oprah and make plans to ambush me on national television. It's the only way I'll take the situation seriously.

Someday when I'm stable enough to commit to a house, I'm going to have a big brass gong instead of a doorbell. It's going to ROCK.

And...SCENE.