Buenos Tardes Amigo
Not just a clever title for this post but also the title of the Ween song I'm listening to at this moment - funny tune with an out-of-place synth meg riff in the middle. Choice cut.
So, I kinda sorta didn't make it home this weekend which not only means I'm a complete whore, but also that I was going to have a bitch of a commute Monday morning. Ugh. The upside to that is morning talk radio. I used to absolutely love driving to work in California because of the amazing morning programs... out here, not so great. In fact, this morning, I had to shut it off. ManCow was on an extraordinarily lame rant this morning and my usual entertainment chose the topic, "103.5 reasons to not get married." Yeah, like I need that. Let's face it, I have a pretty sour attitude towards marriage (not to mention mortgages, kids, dirty white people, and of course, pleated pants) and needn't listen to Midwestern losers call in to bitch about petty things that ended their loveless marriage/relationship. The final straw being, "I divorced my ex-wife because she didn't want to have sex with me three times a day anymore." The CD that was on cue was Ben Folds appropriately titled album, "Saving Silverman" and in this case, I was Silverman being saved from these lame-ass douchebags.
So the weekend... Friday night, some damn birthday party at the bar. I didn't know who it was for, but the drinks were free and a work friend's boyfriend picked up our dinner tab, so no complaints... except for the dumb waitress who screwed up my Guiness order. Seriously, we're in CHICAGO, how can you not know what a Black Velvet is? I'm pretty sure I met her boyfriend at the Twins game the next night, too... yeah buddy, heckle the Twins' outfielder when we're down six runs in eighth - good one, asshole, I'm sure you're really sticking it to him. Awesome. After a less than stellar showing, I hardly felt like hitting up the bars in my Twins tee, so we played cards and drank ourselves stupid and my buddy's place and I'm pretty sure I won an Estonian midget in the final hand, but I can't be sure. He could quite possibly be in the folds of my fat and will undoubtedly surface when the crumbs run out... which, is not anytime soon. All in all - good weekend. Oh yeah, bonus track - from the "it's a small world" department, I ran into an aquaintence from my hometown near the concession stand (shocking, the fat chick by the concession stand, right). It was nice to see him, a familiar face, that is.
Well, I am going to sleep off this high... weed, Crown-7, and chicken fingers; what a fucking great night.
So, I kinda sorta didn't make it home this weekend which not only means I'm a complete whore, but also that I was going to have a bitch of a commute Monday morning. Ugh. The upside to that is morning talk radio. I used to absolutely love driving to work in California because of the amazing morning programs... out here, not so great. In fact, this morning, I had to shut it off. ManCow was on an extraordinarily lame rant this morning and my usual entertainment chose the topic, "103.5 reasons to not get married." Yeah, like I need that. Let's face it, I have a pretty sour attitude towards marriage (not to mention mortgages, kids, dirty white people, and of course, pleated pants) and needn't listen to Midwestern losers call in to bitch about petty things that ended their loveless marriage/relationship. The final straw being, "I divorced my ex-wife because she didn't want to have sex with me three times a day anymore." The CD that was on cue was Ben Folds appropriately titled album, "Saving Silverman" and in this case, I was Silverman being saved from these lame-ass douchebags.
So the weekend... Friday night, some damn birthday party at the bar. I didn't know who it was for, but the drinks were free and a work friend's boyfriend picked up our dinner tab, so no complaints... except for the dumb waitress who screwed up my Guiness order. Seriously, we're in CHICAGO, how can you not know what a Black Velvet is? I'm pretty sure I met her boyfriend at the Twins game the next night, too... yeah buddy, heckle the Twins' outfielder when we're down six runs in eighth - good one, asshole, I'm sure you're really sticking it to him. Awesome. After a less than stellar showing, I hardly felt like hitting up the bars in my Twins tee, so we played cards and drank ourselves stupid and my buddy's place and I'm pretty sure I won an Estonian midget in the final hand, but I can't be sure. He could quite possibly be in the folds of my fat and will undoubtedly surface when the crumbs run out... which, is not anytime soon. All in all - good weekend. Oh yeah, bonus track - from the "it's a small world" department, I ran into an aquaintence from my hometown near the concession stand (shocking, the fat chick by the concession stand, right). It was nice to see him, a familiar face, that is.
Well, I am going to sleep off this high... weed, Crown-7, and chicken fingers; what a fucking great night.
posted by Nicole @ 11:43 PM
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