I woke up this morning gasping for breath and ready to fight. I looked around my room and my six pillows had been strewn everywhere. Three on the floor, one at the foot of the bed, one in the crack between the bed and the wall, and the one that I usually sleep with under my head sitting shoved away from my head, but at eye level.
I thought for a second, had I been dreaming? A scary man with a beard came to my thoughts first. And drugs. And Spanish. A clear sign that you've been watching way too much CSI:Miami and Law and Order:CI is when you're actually dreaming that you've been used as a drug mule, along with hundreds of other Latin American women, for a big shot drug lord...
Then I thought, huh, maybe my dream was some sort of sign? Do I know any bearded men? My yoga teacher! Did I have a test in 15 minutes I didn't know about? I checked the syllabus, no I didn't. Not only that, but yoga was great today. We talked about nasal lavages...
In my Religion and the Law Class, I got perhaps the best assignment ever. For my introductory law class, I made a good decision in this one. Usually when I fight with people, it's pulling on emotional heart strings, really unfair and stupid. When I have an argument in this class, it's with logic. I know, not my strong point. My dad called me his "little sea lawyer" as a child, that should be replaced with "my little first amendment lawyer".
Erin and I are getting together tomorrow to go thrift store shopping for sweet leotards and tutus for the Shuck's ice skating party. Frank made the massive mistake of telling me his birthday, which I remembered, and then remembered would be within days of the party. We are going to give him a cake. Chances that he will be very uncomfortable? High. We're also making ourselves some sweet shirts for the Oyster Roast. It's going to be epic.
I think I'm going to get some taco bell.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping.
We're trying out new things. No 15 minute lines in O'Malleys, no 20 minute waits for one drink at AC's, absolutely no Silver Dollar. Last night's new thing we tried out was Blind Tiger. Having a reputation for not accommodating under-agers, we haven't been. But we're trying new things. So let's call Black Cab, let's take a little ride down to Broad St., and let's enjoy our Saturday night. (The rallying cry of a group of 20-somethings looking for a good drink isn't that inspiring seeing it written out...)
So we head in and, of course, La gets hassled about her id. No big deal, though, because we're going to enjoy our new thing. And we do.
Bar tender at Blind Tiger (Not the one wearing the Terps shirt, but yeah to him! Sorry, Heels.) totally stole my sister's best idea ever. I think I was in the 8th or 9th grade when it happened. A phone call and a genius plan.
"I'm going to make W.W.M.P.G.D? shirts and wear them around."
"What?"
"What would Mark Paul Gosselaar do?"
I know, it's the best idea ever. And I told Caroline that. And I'll tell her again. But there's no need. She knows.
So we go up to the bar and the bartender has a shirt with a picture of the Zack Attack and it says "W.W.Z.M.D?" Wait. What?! Probably, some time long ago, this bartender made out with my sister. Being drunk, she got loose lips that sunk her ship and told him all about her genius idea. And he stole it. But his plethora of "Saved By The Bell" trivia knowledge was impressive. La just suggested we come up with an insanely trivial little tidbit of SBTB fandom and ask him next time we go. Like, "What was Mr. Belding's sister-in-law's dog's name?" Let me find the answer and then I'll tell you...
Anyway. We got free drinks! Some girls don't appreciate free drinks. La and I do. Partly because we usually act too goofy for people to want to buy us drinks and partly because we're both broke as a joke. It's not even like we needed free drinks, though, because they were having a special, Newcastle for $2.50. WHO DOES THAT? This is why Blind Tiger is my favorite new bar.
On a separate note, in an attempt to save a shred of dignity and pride, I'm trying not to drunk text people who don't appreciate being drunk texted. To many people, this would be easy. To me, it is not. I have a problem. It's called not having a shred of dignity or pride. No, really. It's just that I'm insane.
So, last night I diverted my attention to people who I thought would appreciate my drunk texts. Namely, my dad. Now before I go too far down this road, I should note that I was not at any point last night fall-down, black-out, mumble-bumble drunk. I was actually a normal, healthy amount intoxicated. The kind of drunk that makes you more likely to talk to a stranger, you know. I should also note that while it was 1:45 when I texted my father, he lives in Washington where the time was 10:45. I'm sure he was awake and watching the SciFi network, so I do not feel bad.
Now just what prompts somebody to send their father a text at 1:45 in the morning? Doug. Our old neighbor in Annapolis. There was somebody in the bar that looked just like him. Not having one of those faces that everybody else has, I thought this was notable. So I texted my dad.
"Doug's twin is in the bar!"
His response:
"You should go talk to him, it might be him."
Thanks, Dad! This pretty much makes my life. I wasn't expecting any kind of response because my father is intelligent and knows that at 1:45 am when I'm at a bar I'm not sending him a 100% sober text message. But I got one. Not only did I get one, but I got one telling me to go talk to some random strange man in the bar! I love my dad, he's my hero.
La and I are opening a bar. It's going to be called Dragon Tails.
The end.
So we head in and, of course, La gets hassled about her id. No big deal, though, because we're going to enjoy our new thing. And we do.
Bar tender at Blind Tiger (Not the one wearing the Terps shirt, but yeah to him! Sorry, Heels.) totally stole my sister's best idea ever. I think I was in the 8th or 9th grade when it happened. A phone call and a genius plan.
"I'm going to make W.W.M.P.G.D? shirts and wear them around."
"What?"
"What would Mark Paul Gosselaar do?"
I know, it's the best idea ever. And I told Caroline that. And I'll tell her again. But there's no need. She knows.
So we go up to the bar and the bartender has a shirt with a picture of the Zack Attack and it says "W.W.Z.M.D?" Wait. What?! Probably, some time long ago, this bartender made out with my sister. Being drunk, she got loose lips that sunk her ship and told him all about her genius idea. And he stole it. But his plethora of "Saved By The Bell" trivia knowledge was impressive. La just suggested we come up with an insanely trivial little tidbit of SBTB fandom and ask him next time we go. Like, "What was Mr. Belding's sister-in-law's dog's name?" Let me find the answer and then I'll tell you...
Anyway. We got free drinks! Some girls don't appreciate free drinks. La and I do. Partly because we usually act too goofy for people to want to buy us drinks and partly because we're both broke as a joke. It's not even like we needed free drinks, though, because they were having a special, Newcastle for $2.50. WHO DOES THAT? This is why Blind Tiger is my favorite new bar.
On a separate note, in an attempt to save a shred of dignity and pride, I'm trying not to drunk text people who don't appreciate being drunk texted. To many people, this would be easy. To me, it is not. I have a problem. It's called not having a shred of dignity or pride. No, really. It's just that I'm insane.
So, last night I diverted my attention to people who I thought would appreciate my drunk texts. Namely, my dad. Now before I go too far down this road, I should note that I was not at any point last night fall-down, black-out, mumble-bumble drunk. I was actually a normal, healthy amount intoxicated. The kind of drunk that makes you more likely to talk to a stranger, you know. I should also note that while it was 1:45 when I texted my father, he lives in Washington where the time was 10:45. I'm sure he was awake and watching the SciFi network, so I do not feel bad.
Now just what prompts somebody to send their father a text at 1:45 in the morning? Doug. Our old neighbor in Annapolis. There was somebody in the bar that looked just like him. Not having one of those faces that everybody else has, I thought this was notable. So I texted my dad.
"Doug's twin is in the bar!"
His response:
"You should go talk to him, it might be him."
Thanks, Dad! This pretty much makes my life. I wasn't expecting any kind of response because my father is intelligent and knows that at 1:45 am when I'm at a bar I'm not sending him a 100% sober text message. But I got one. Not only did I get one, but I got one telling me to go talk to some random strange man in the bar! I love my dad, he's my hero.
La and I are opening a bar. It's going to be called Dragon Tails.
The end.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup.
It's been a while since I've blogged about life. Blogging is something that over the past year or two I've come to regard as self-serving, delusional, and aside from those things, dorky. But I'm giving it a shot again. Shot of Love with Moira Madeira (the only alcohol I could think of was Madeira wine, sorry).
Anyway, most of my friends aren't physically close to me these days. So I might as well get everything out here and let people see what's up. Or not. It's their choice. That's probably the most beautiful part of the equation, people can not click the link, not see what I'm talking about, and not be subjected to forced listening to my whining, prating, whatever over the phone or IM.
Whatever, though. I don't need to explain myself. I do what I want!
So, then, what's new?
I don't really have much going on at the moment except for the ridiculous need to do some laundry yet the loathing fear I harbor for College Laundromat. I think the name is misleading. I've gone there twice in my 2+ years at CofC. And do you know how many college students I see when I go in there? 1 or 2. Do my friends go there? No. Do scary people go there? Yes. Yes, they do.
I'm trying a new thing this semester called "not hating work." I'm actually really excited to see how it goes for me. I've been trying to figure out what happened last semester to make me really, really dislike work so much. I think it may have been a few things including, but not limited to a-my courseload at school; b-the absence of some of my favorite ex-coworkers; and c-being just plain crazy. Anyway, it's been going pretty well so far. Last night I made a decent amount of money (especially for the winter) and still had time to go meet Moe at Mad River for a few drinks before I needed to call it quits.
As a result of not hating work, I'm actually finding myself liking it again. The other day Mark even went so far as to ask "What the hell do you have to be so damn happy about at ten in the morning?" The answer was, of course, "Nothing." And I didn't. But I was happy anyway. I know, gentle reader, I'm equally as surprised as you are.
Back to Mad River, though. Seriously? People enjoy going there? It's loud and extremely crowded in a non-fun kind of way. Maybe it's better if there's a live band? I'm holding out hope only because I know a lot of people go there and enjoy it. Granted I didn't have a bad time, but that had much to do with the amusement of watching Moe mack. I always thought he was making it up, and it is really captivating to realize that he isn't. He knows a ridiculous amount of people and girls love him, if only for the little orange scarf tied around his neck. (His scarf did not like these girls back, he informed me.) I also got to meet Al, who I've heard much about and was chomping at the bit to get a glimpse of. Dude looks like Morpheus, glasses and all, and had no trouble finding dance partners.
So, then, what today? Well, first of all, I'm not going to see "Atonement" partly because La told me not to and partly because I didn't have an intense urge to see it anyway. Kiera Knightly, thanks for ruining any movie you're in for me by being so annoying and pouty. I think I might actually head to the laundromat, but later. After I fall back asleep for a nice nap.
Hey, have you ever stopped to think about the amount of writing Carrie Bradshaw must've done to tell the stories she told in "Sex and the City?" I'm guessing she really couldn't fit a single episode into one column in the New York Star.
...And so it is.
Anyway, most of my friends aren't physically close to me these days. So I might as well get everything out here and let people see what's up. Or not. It's their choice. That's probably the most beautiful part of the equation, people can not click the link, not see what I'm talking about, and not be subjected to forced listening to my whining, prating, whatever over the phone or IM.
Whatever, though. I don't need to explain myself. I do what I want!
So, then, what's new?
I don't really have much going on at the moment except for the ridiculous need to do some laundry yet the loathing fear I harbor for College Laundromat. I think the name is misleading. I've gone there twice in my 2+ years at CofC. And do you know how many college students I see when I go in there? 1 or 2. Do my friends go there? No. Do scary people go there? Yes. Yes, they do.
I'm trying a new thing this semester called "not hating work." I'm actually really excited to see how it goes for me. I've been trying to figure out what happened last semester to make me really, really dislike work so much. I think it may have been a few things including, but not limited to a-my courseload at school; b-the absence of some of my favorite ex-coworkers; and c-being just plain crazy. Anyway, it's been going pretty well so far. Last night I made a decent amount of money (especially for the winter) and still had time to go meet Moe at Mad River for a few drinks before I needed to call it quits.
As a result of not hating work, I'm actually finding myself liking it again. The other day Mark even went so far as to ask "What the hell do you have to be so damn happy about at ten in the morning?" The answer was, of course, "Nothing." And I didn't. But I was happy anyway. I know, gentle reader, I'm equally as surprised as you are.
Back to Mad River, though. Seriously? People enjoy going there? It's loud and extremely crowded in a non-fun kind of way. Maybe it's better if there's a live band? I'm holding out hope only because I know a lot of people go there and enjoy it. Granted I didn't have a bad time, but that had much to do with the amusement of watching Moe mack. I always thought he was making it up, and it is really captivating to realize that he isn't. He knows a ridiculous amount of people and girls love him, if only for the little orange scarf tied around his neck. (His scarf did not like these girls back, he informed me.) I also got to meet Al, who I've heard much about and was chomping at the bit to get a glimpse of. Dude looks like Morpheus, glasses and all, and had no trouble finding dance partners.
So, then, what today? Well, first of all, I'm not going to see "Atonement" partly because La told me not to and partly because I didn't have an intense urge to see it anyway. Kiera Knightly, thanks for ruining any movie you're in for me by being so annoying and pouty. I think I might actually head to the laundromat, but later. After I fall back asleep for a nice nap.
Hey, have you ever stopped to think about the amount of writing Carrie Bradshaw must've done to tell the stories she told in "Sex and the City?" I'm guessing she really couldn't fit a single episode into one column in the New York Star.
...And so it is.
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