Rock n Roll weekend.
I don't dread the working week. In fact I look forward to it. It's my recovery time from my fucking weekends.
Wake up to find a guitar pick stuck to my boob under the bra. How did that get there? Symbols of a mighty good time. Bruises in the strangest places. Skulked around house until I decided I needed to go to the a used cd store. Friends offered to let me go through their cds and pick out music to share so I could save a few dollas. Awesome. Still need the new Brides of Destruction album and Snoop's Doggystyle, which is NEVER available used. Never ever ever ever ever ever. Suck.
Made $50 babysitting. Answered the Booty Call. Got fucked up beyond fucked-upedness on rum and Goldschlager.
Hangover Supernova this morning, but I think I had a good time before I started puking. Somehow I managed to be the least sick one in the house. Since Friday I have eaten a Philly Cheesesteak, a fruit salad and a cheeseburger. I feel damn awful. And now to the best of my knowledge I'll be stuck in my room for like the next three hours because my people are doing their weekly Sunday night dinner party and my tummy is still twisted and my head is pounding and I want nothing to do with food or the swarm of children that are about to descend upon this place. So I hope I don't need to pee for a while. I just need to pretend I'm not here.
Haha, sweet irony. When I went to the show on Friday, I felt all hot, black and red make-up, boned black corset and jeans and a military jacket. But when I got there I found a lot of something I had forgot even existed: hot chicks. I don't mean REAL hot chicks, like the lovely SGs, although there were a handful. No, I mean the typical SoCal, bottle blonde, spray tanned, khol-eyed, collagen-lipped "hot chick." Then I felt all fat and creepy. So I turned to my guy friend and inquired whether or not guys can tell the difference between these creatures, because to me, they all look the same. Now take 10 typical "hot dudes", and I can tell the difference, but can guys? Are we not wired to notice subtle differences in standard beauty when it comes to looking at members of our own sex or am I just weird? Then we started scoping all the girls and rating them using the typical mysoginist 1-10 rating scale. Being that 10 is utterly perfect, we came to the conclusion that a 10 is really nonexistent.
After the show, he pointed out this very obviously drunken hot girl on the corner. She had a itty bitty skirt showing gorgeous, long silky gazelle-gams, a pert little chest, elfin face and salon hair. He told me he was watching her during the show, thinking about the rating and how she was verrrrrrrrry close to a 10, when all of a sudden she stopped grinding and yakked all over the floor!!! Hahaha! No such thing as perfect, guys, remember that. The best part was as he told me this I was watching her on the corner and she grabbed this guy and started sucking face...ahahahhahahaha ewwwwww, pukey kisses!!!
I don't dread the working week. In fact I look forward to it. It's my recovery time from my fucking weekends.
Wake up to find a guitar pick stuck to my boob under the bra. How did that get there? Symbols of a mighty good time. Bruises in the strangest places. Skulked around house until I decided I needed to go to the a used cd store. Friends offered to let me go through their cds and pick out music to share so I could save a few dollas. Awesome. Still need the new Brides of Destruction album and Snoop's Doggystyle, which is NEVER available used. Never ever ever ever ever ever. Suck.
Made $50 babysitting. Answered the Booty Call. Got fucked up beyond fucked-upedness on rum and Goldschlager.
Hangover Supernova this morning, but I think I had a good time before I started puking. Somehow I managed to be the least sick one in the house. Since Friday I have eaten a Philly Cheesesteak, a fruit salad and a cheeseburger. I feel damn awful. And now to the best of my knowledge I'll be stuck in my room for like the next three hours because my people are doing their weekly Sunday night dinner party and my tummy is still twisted and my head is pounding and I want nothing to do with food or the swarm of children that are about to descend upon this place. So I hope I don't need to pee for a while. I just need to pretend I'm not here.
Haha, sweet irony. When I went to the show on Friday, I felt all hot, black and red make-up, boned black corset and jeans and a military jacket. But when I got there I found a lot of something I had forgot even existed: hot chicks. I don't mean REAL hot chicks, like the lovely SGs, although there were a handful. No, I mean the typical SoCal, bottle blonde, spray tanned, khol-eyed, collagen-lipped "hot chick." Then I felt all fat and creepy. So I turned to my guy friend and inquired whether or not guys can tell the difference between these creatures, because to me, they all look the same. Now take 10 typical "hot dudes", and I can tell the difference, but can guys? Are we not wired to notice subtle differences in standard beauty when it comes to looking at members of our own sex or am I just weird? Then we started scoping all the girls and rating them using the typical mysoginist 1-10 rating scale. Being that 10 is utterly perfect, we came to the conclusion that a 10 is really nonexistent.
After the show, he pointed out this very obviously drunken hot girl on the corner. She had a itty bitty skirt showing gorgeous, long silky gazelle-gams, a pert little chest, elfin face and salon hair. He told me he was watching her during the show, thinking about the rating and how she was verrrrrrrrry close to a 10, when all of a sudden she stopped grinding and yakked all over the floor!!! Hahaha! No such thing as perfect, guys, remember that. The best part was as he told me this I was watching her on the corner and she grabbed this guy and started sucking face...ahahahhahahaha ewwwwww, pukey kisses!!!
FYI, they are currently a documentary called This Band Could Be Your Wife, so WHOA!
Pleased to meet you.