I'm sorry. Work's just been a nuisance but not the sort of nuisance that makes for good reading. ("Head up, check in hand", some anonymous man said once) My social life's just one big leadup to next Saturday's 26th b-day bash. Sure, I'm going to one of the best steak places in town, and the hottest club after that, but that's not for another week and a half. And I've foolishly applied my "no gifts the month before Christmas" mentality to this, meaning I have no wacky club stories or title defenses.
Maybe if I was still with the psycho killer qu'est-ce que c'est that would be a diversion before the jumpoff on the 5th but as it stands it's just a big fat expanse of time before I wild out with only minor speedbumps on a straight road.
Oh, I'm looking into renting a place in Pacific Beach for a week in the summer with Aaron so we can both drop out for a week and become beach bums. I'll probably be in for 3Gs but it'd be worth it. Especially if I can ever find a British midget who'll holler at bitches for us. Either way, just to confirm:
a) I am not dead.
2) The birthday party story, what parts I'll remember, ought to be epic.
Ambient music: Garbage - Only Happy When It Rains
1/27/05
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3 comments:
You BETTER apologize, asshole. Some of us have to live vicariously through you and we can't do that when you stay home.
I mean, the NERVE. I'm telling you.
("Head up, check in hand", some anonymous man said once)That's me, minister of anonymousness. :D
The birthday bash will be another Van Wilder-esque pile of awesomeness to make up for the tediousness of life.
I think amidst the steak and glory i may just play Washington Post Reporter for the night if you so wish. We'll be there for steak and while we won't be dancing, I'm considering whether we might not want to follow to the club just for the experience Of BR on the Dance Floor.
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