This Is Not An Objective Correlative, No Matter How You React
If you’re like me on this sunny Friday afternoon, you have the attention span of a meth-addled gnat, and you can’t keep a coherent train of thought on the tracks. Also, if you’re like me, you’re debating whether you can pull off getting a margarita or 3 for lunch, but that’s a different story. What I am trying to say is, here’s a bunch of random thoughts, observations, scruples, grunts and groans to get the weekend going:
***Quizzo went very well the other night. I wanted our team name to be “Michael Jackson and caviar both come on little white crackers.” For some reason, it was boycotted. We won rather convincingly despite the final round’s category being the 1993 Phillies. (which by they way, I knew who all the all-stars were that year: Mulholland, Dykstra, Kruk and Daulton). We learned that Lake St. Claire is a heart shaped lake, nestled between Lake Huron and Lake Erie, Anwar Sadat was the first Arab leader to visit Israel, Napoleon proclaimed himself Emperor of France in 1804, Wolfgang Petersen directed Troy and Guatemala and Belize are the two Central American countries that border Mexico.
***That girl from Alabama who went missing in Aruba went by the nickname Blowfish. [Insert oral sex joke here.]
***I think I would make a great grammar cop, not to mention the sexiest one on record.
***You know how when you stretch your hands up in the air and you feel like you can’t reach anymore, you always surprise yourself by stretching just a little bit farther? That’s how I liken my love for Sandy. It grows deeper and more intense, just when I think it reaches its apex. Why? Sandy told our summer intern yesterday that she is so quick that she moves like “the sound of light.” And, thus, I should really get around to reconciling that my love has boundless parameters.
***I was in an elevator today with a real-life albino! That’s all. Move along.
***This weekend, I am traveling northward where the deer outnumber the people for a good old Fathers’ Day hoe-down. My step-mother has made reservations at a nice restaurant for the fruit of my father’s loins to sit nicely, look pretty, keep their opinions to themselves and smile to show off how daddy’s sadistic investment in his children’s orthodontic persecution is still paying off after all these years. Subjects not to be broached per the pre-dinner memo: the virtuous Bush administration, anything remotely construed as gayish (i.e. the total annihilation of everything that is good and holy) and the Tom Cruise/ Katie Holmes faux-engagement. For some reason that one is really getting to my dad.
***Because of a combination of poor timing of Fathers’ Day, my stepmother’s impromptu demands of a Stepford dinner, my guilty conscience (which may just be a hangover) and my inability to plan my life effectively, I will be missing the Bloc Party concert on Saturday. The good news is that I was invited to the Modest Mouse concert on Sunday. So, I won’t be concert less this weekend.
***Would you rather be cute, sexy or hot? I say sexy.
***I sat on a stoop last night and drank beers outside with KD. There is a redonkulously endless supply of freaks that walked past his house, and they only got freakier as I drank more. I felt something sitting there with him that I haven’t felt in a long, long time…cold. It was nice to have to put a loaner sweatshirt on.
***What kind of person would be stupid enough to try and rob building full of sassy African-American hairdressers? This one, of course. When you do something so brazen and thoughtless, you can expect copious, flailing curling irons, blood, and urine.
Alright, that’s all for now. My blood sugar is low, and methinks it's time for a nappy under my desk.
And for the person (see post below) who left a comment saying that he or she fell and dislocated his or her finger: I am sorry, I hope that it wasn’t my fault and most of all I hope that it doesn’t take away from your ability to pleasure yourself.
***Quizzo went very well the other night. I wanted our team name to be “Michael Jackson and caviar both come on little white crackers.” For some reason, it was boycotted. We won rather convincingly despite the final round’s category being the 1993 Phillies. (which by they way, I knew who all the all-stars were that year: Mulholland, Dykstra, Kruk and Daulton). We learned that Lake St. Claire is a heart shaped lake, nestled between Lake Huron and Lake Erie, Anwar Sadat was the first Arab leader to visit Israel, Napoleon proclaimed himself Emperor of France in 1804, Wolfgang Petersen directed Troy and Guatemala and Belize are the two Central American countries that border Mexico.
***That girl from Alabama who went missing in Aruba went by the nickname Blowfish. [Insert oral sex joke here.]
***I think I would make a great grammar cop, not to mention the sexiest one on record.
***You know how when you stretch your hands up in the air and you feel like you can’t reach anymore, you always surprise yourself by stretching just a little bit farther? That’s how I liken my love for Sandy. It grows deeper and more intense, just when I think it reaches its apex. Why? Sandy told our summer intern yesterday that she is so quick that she moves like “the sound of light.” And, thus, I should really get around to reconciling that my love has boundless parameters.
***I was in an elevator today with a real-life albino! That’s all. Move along.
***This weekend, I am traveling northward where the deer outnumber the people for a good old Fathers’ Day hoe-down. My step-mother has made reservations at a nice restaurant for the fruit of my father’s loins to sit nicely, look pretty, keep their opinions to themselves and smile to show off how daddy’s sadistic investment in his children’s orthodontic persecution is still paying off after all these years. Subjects not to be broached per the pre-dinner memo: the virtuous Bush administration, anything remotely construed as gayish (i.e. the total annihilation of everything that is good and holy) and the Tom Cruise/ Katie Holmes faux-engagement. For some reason that one is really getting to my dad.
***Because of a combination of poor timing of Fathers’ Day, my stepmother’s impromptu demands of a Stepford dinner, my guilty conscience (which may just be a hangover) and my inability to plan my life effectively, I will be missing the Bloc Party concert on Saturday. The good news is that I was invited to the Modest Mouse concert on Sunday. So, I won’t be concert less this weekend.
***Would you rather be cute, sexy or hot? I say sexy.
***I sat on a stoop last night and drank beers outside with KD. There is a redonkulously endless supply of freaks that walked past his house, and they only got freakier as I drank more. I felt something sitting there with him that I haven’t felt in a long, long time…cold. It was nice to have to put a loaner sweatshirt on.
***What kind of person would be stupid enough to try and rob building full of sassy African-American hairdressers? This one, of course. When you do something so brazen and thoughtless, you can expect copious, flailing curling irons, blood, and urine.
Alright, that’s all for now. My blood sugar is low, and methinks it's time for a nappy under my desk.
And for the person (see post below) who left a comment saying that he or she fell and dislocated his or her finger: I am sorry, I hope that it wasn’t my fault and most of all I hope that it doesn’t take away from your ability to pleasure yourself.
posted by ZRW @ 12:32 PM
1 Comments:
At 9:58 AM,
Anonymous said…
Nope, I can still pleasure myself. Although, I do have to paint on orgasm these days. Yep, it's only me. Faithfully reading your entries...day after day.
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