Three
Pain hit me this morning like a brick would my head (I'm assuming and being hella melodramatic).......that alarm clock is relentless. Last night at work, I thought that I was either:
A. going to shoot Bill the Manager in the eyes OR
B. going to shoot myself in the eyes
It was the "big" Fat Tuesday parade which, luckily, started off at the Tap Room (home of Schlafly Beer!!!) so all the creeps were out. And I'm not one to judge - okay, I totally am - but I am so anti-Mardi Gras activities that it's almost mean. I just don't get it. The idea of drinking is great and the idea of dog parades is neat too, but I just can't. It ends up being a big Hoosier Amateur Night Festival and well, none of that adds up to anything but me getting gang-banged and murdered at 9th and Russell. That's not an option. So, after my horrible night at work ("ma'am? where's the bathroom?" "fuck YOU! stop calling me 'ma'am' and read the gaddampt sign!!!") I treated myself to a drink down at my favorite and most reliable bar. Turns out, some craptastic band was playing and the boys I made follow me down there had to pay the $8 cover that I stealthily avoided (ME: Do you want me to pay for real? HER: No), we barely had a spot to own and that's always bad for me because I'm the girl who likes to let all that alcohol just sit in and settle so when I finally stand up to pee or go and dry hump some poor sap, I'm to the floor. And then, I guess my bestest fake pretend boyfriend, was being all protective of me and way more protective than usual (fun fact! he totally cleared the back steps to my building with his friend because my landlord is a bastard and they don't do the back. "I'm sorry Jennifer, we just don't DO the back." they don't own the back of the building???? I digress) because it is Black History Month after all, so I should always win for these 29 days. HAPPY LEAP YEAR!!!! Anyhooter, my bestest fake pretend boyfriend asked me to take his bestest friend over to some girl with pigtails (PIGTAILS!) sitting up high on some thing so he could, i don't know, talk to a girl because apparently this bestest friend never leaves the house and needs to at least feel the "excitement" that is talking to a stranger. And I'm not typing this with any traces of anger or negativity, I'm being fucking literal. Okay. So I somehow talk him into going over to this girl and I walk faster (he's drunk, I'm on beer #1) so I can slide up to her and go, "Hi. I'm about to introduce you to my friend's friend and you need to be nice because he never does shit like this and he's not a dick and it's not creepy so please please please don't be a dick." It all worked out and then it was over and he got nervous and wanted to go home so we went back to "Our Spot" where some douches had taken up residence and that's when I got nervous. My boy was all talking trash about how it was MY seat and it's Black History Month and whoa, it was weird. He ended up moving, another one of his friends took The Seat I Could Give Two Shits About and then my boy bought us all a round of tequila shots. Let's get one thing clear: I will drink all the jagermeister in the land, but I do not really "drink" tequila any longer. Tequila drinks me. So, I hold onto the little glass and wonder how it happened, doesn't he know that I'm not supposed to drink this shit, let alone on a school night? But down it went. And here I sit on Buttermilk Hill, who could blame me, cry my fill..........seriously. That is the beginning of a song from Concert Choir in high school. The hell? So I'm not making sense. Look. There's only two of you that I can think of who read this and you know damn well that I rarely make sense, especially in the form of words that come out of my fingers to the keyboard and magically appear on the screen. How DID we get here?
So there's that. My hair's dirty, I'm not feeling so hungover any longer although I'm hella tired, I've been mostly wasting the day away doing really stupid things that I shouldn't get paid for and I should smoke. At least I made it to work on time - take THAT boy, take THAT! and I managed to take a shower AND I prepared my lunch which was purely delightful.
FUCK! the reflex is on. pause for lusting about john taylor............
I love this web station. I really do. I also love the taste of a pretzel rod. It makes me feel like I'm snacking on a salt stick (oh! Seabiscuit!) and well, that's the motherfucking JAM!
FUN (to me) FACTS!:
1. my nails are so chippy (oh hi chippy!) and weird, i need to fix them for my night of steamy passion with luda
2. so far this month, i've sent out 653 work-related emails
3. i totally lost on my bid for the pink, short sleeved izod shirt on eBay
4. i'm hopefully going to triumph on the other izod, slightly more orangina in color, but still with the pink and the short sleeves that i've got a bid on
5. sometimes it's hard to think all academia all the time
6. i don't have a BA in anything, well, maybe in making people feel guilty
7. my dick is so oozing with pre-come because i don't have to show my face at the tap room until next tuesday
8. i should really go ahead and install pagemaker 7.0 on my computer since i'm not doing anything but this, typing because i like to type, not because i have anything to ever say
Snap into a Slim Jim!
A. going to shoot Bill the Manager in the eyes OR
B. going to shoot myself in the eyes
It was the "big" Fat Tuesday parade which, luckily, started off at the Tap Room (home of Schlafly Beer!!!) so all the creeps were out. And I'm not one to judge - okay, I totally am - but I am so anti-Mardi Gras activities that it's almost mean. I just don't get it. The idea of drinking is great and the idea of dog parades is neat too, but I just can't. It ends up being a big Hoosier Amateur Night Festival and well, none of that adds up to anything but me getting gang-banged and murdered at 9th and Russell. That's not an option. So, after my horrible night at work ("ma'am? where's the bathroom?" "fuck YOU! stop calling me 'ma'am' and read the gaddampt sign!!!") I treated myself to a drink down at my favorite and most reliable bar. Turns out, some craptastic band was playing and the boys I made follow me down there had to pay the $8 cover that I stealthily avoided (ME: Do you want me to pay for real? HER: No), we barely had a spot to own and that's always bad for me because I'm the girl who likes to let all that alcohol just sit in and settle so when I finally stand up to pee or go and dry hump some poor sap, I'm to the floor. And then, I guess my bestest fake pretend boyfriend, was being all protective of me and way more protective than usual (fun fact! he totally cleared the back steps to my building with his friend because my landlord is a bastard and they don't do the back. "I'm sorry Jennifer, we just don't DO the back." they don't own the back of the building???? I digress) because it is Black History Month after all, so I should always win for these 29 days. HAPPY LEAP YEAR!!!! Anyhooter, my bestest fake pretend boyfriend asked me to take his bestest friend over to some girl with pigtails (PIGTAILS!) sitting up high on some thing so he could, i don't know, talk to a girl because apparently this bestest friend never leaves the house and needs to at least feel the "excitement" that is talking to a stranger. And I'm not typing this with any traces of anger or negativity, I'm being fucking literal. Okay. So I somehow talk him into going over to this girl and I walk faster (he's drunk, I'm on beer #1) so I can slide up to her and go, "Hi. I'm about to introduce you to my friend's friend and you need to be nice because he never does shit like this and he's not a dick and it's not creepy so please please please don't be a dick." It all worked out and then it was over and he got nervous and wanted to go home so we went back to "Our Spot" where some douches had taken up residence and that's when I got nervous. My boy was all talking trash about how it was MY seat and it's Black History Month and whoa, it was weird. He ended up moving, another one of his friends took The Seat I Could Give Two Shits About and then my boy bought us all a round of tequila shots. Let's get one thing clear: I will drink all the jagermeister in the land, but I do not really "drink" tequila any longer. Tequila drinks me. So, I hold onto the little glass and wonder how it happened, doesn't he know that I'm not supposed to drink this shit, let alone on a school night? But down it went. And here I sit on Buttermilk Hill, who could blame me, cry my fill..........seriously. That is the beginning of a song from Concert Choir in high school. The hell? So I'm not making sense. Look. There's only two of you that I can think of who read this and you know damn well that I rarely make sense, especially in the form of words that come out of my fingers to the keyboard and magically appear on the screen. How DID we get here?
So there's that. My hair's dirty, I'm not feeling so hungover any longer although I'm hella tired, I've been mostly wasting the day away doing really stupid things that I shouldn't get paid for and I should smoke. At least I made it to work on time - take THAT boy, take THAT! and I managed to take a shower AND I prepared my lunch which was purely delightful.
FUCK! the reflex is on. pause for lusting about john taylor............
I love this web station. I really do. I also love the taste of a pretzel rod. It makes me feel like I'm snacking on a salt stick (oh! Seabiscuit!) and well, that's the motherfucking JAM!
FUN (to me) FACTS!:
1. my nails are so chippy (oh hi chippy!) and weird, i need to fix them for my night of steamy passion with luda
2. so far this month, i've sent out 653 work-related emails
3. i totally lost on my bid for the pink, short sleeved izod shirt on eBay
4. i'm hopefully going to triumph on the other izod, slightly more orangina in color, but still with the pink and the short sleeves that i've got a bid on
5. sometimes it's hard to think all academia all the time
6. i don't have a BA in anything, well, maybe in making people feel guilty
7. my dick is so oozing with pre-come because i don't have to show my face at the tap room until next tuesday
8. i should really go ahead and install pagemaker 7.0 on my computer since i'm not doing anything but this, typing because i like to type, not because i have anything to ever say
Snap into a Slim Jim!
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