 |
2001-06-23 :: 1:11 p.m.
I tried, I swear. i went for five minutes before realizing that handling food in my weakened condition might not be a good idea. I believe I was still drunk from all the fucking margaritas Ruby and I had last night. Speaking of fucking margaritas we had last night, who was that annoying guy who kept talking to us? And did we actually scream along to Le Tigre on the jukebox? I think that's a yes. Can I ever go back to Max Fish again? Time will tell. So, I mustered the strength to get myself home and into My Boy's bed and passed out into such blackness and oblivion, I had this dream where I was asked to Mop-n-Glo the linoleum floors in the offices of Hell. Which would have been fine, you know, if that's my job and all, but the floors stretched to over 5,000 miles, around the whole entire freaking Earth, and I just remember staring at this lonely bucket in front of a 5,000 mile stretch of turquoise linoleum and thinking, "I am so going to miss Survivor tonight." Barbecue tonight. I'm not fazed. My Boy's band rocked last night, even though it wasn't as full as it could have been. And I think my 'Nuns had a good time. There's something about My Boy and a guitar. Turns these knees to jelly. Jelly, I say! Shower time. I need me one of those waterproof cd players. |