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� The Fuck? �
4:00 a.m., 2003-08-03
So, last week, someone advised me in my guestbook that I ought to write more entries when I�m drunk. In an effort to comply, I got so totally fucking wasted tonight that I don�t even know which end of the keyboard is up. I�m assuming it�s this side with all the keys on it. Okay, but seriously? I�m fucked up right about now. I had kind of a rough day, which I�ll get to (eventually), and I thought to myself, Self, I thought (in italics), You deserve a drink! So I opened the night with a shot of tequila, from the coolest bartender in the city, second only to this other bartender who was even cooler. Lemme tell you about him before I pass out! He was cool, and modified our martinis, which were quite plain and unimaginative, and he was all, �I�ll upgrade those for free, on account of I�m going on vacation in an hour, and don�t give a hot fuck.� So, you go, Bartender Guy! Keep the faith, or whatever! Anyway, today I made ten chairs. Don�t you think I�m kidding about that, either. Chairs! Ten! Count them! Well, okay, don�t count them, because that�s boring, and it�s not like they�re anywhere near you anyway, so for all I know, you could be counting an abstract concept of assemblable chairs, rather than the actual chairs that I put together myself with my own two hands, and that wouldn�t really serve either of our purposes. Just try to trust me when I say that Sophie was all, �Hey! Help me put these chairs together!� And then she started on one, and when I started on another, she immediately abandoned that one, announcing that she was �no good at chairs� and left to do other things, whilst I assembled nine and a half of them my own damn self. But I�m not bitter or anything, that stupid whore. What I am is incredibly drunk. Tonight was all about martinis and beer, and even a shot of tequila! We won�t even mention the martini! Oh, except for how I already did. Drat! Anyway, today was also about flirting. As C and I came to realize, that kind of makes me a great, big, home-wrecking whore. See, Cute Receptionist kinda sorta asked me out. Except I don�t know if it was really a date, rather than a, �Hey�you�re bored and I�m bored and we�re both free for lunch, so let�s go grab a bite to eat!� Because he asked me in a kind of date-y way (not entirely like the example I quoted previously), and then brought up the subject of dating, in reference to whatever douche-bag he�s seeing now, during our lunch, like what is that? Is he trying to be all, �I don�t care what that actor thinks, since I�m on the payroll!�or is he trying to be all, �Fuck you, and get off my back! I swear you�re not going to be leading any parades or anything! Like, if you get tired of the Salisbury steak, you�d better get damn good ready to!� In any case, besides putting together ten stupid chairs that don�t love me, we also put together some occasional tables. I know I should be all drunk, like, �Hey! Why not me!?� But I�m not cute like that little girl, and I won�t keep making that noise till you either cave or commit Hara Kiri. Dude. I just fell asleep and then woke up and read those last two paragraphs, and I seriously don�t know what the fuck I was writing. �Salisbury steak�? What �little girl�? �Payroll�? I�m so fucking confused right now. Sweet Saint Francis, I�m drunk. �Damn good ready to� what? Shit, you guys. I�m going to fucking bed. Love and stuff, talk to you later. * * *Addendum: Okay, so it's the harsh light of (sober) day, and this entry makes even less sense in retrospect, if that's even possible. I am publishing this supplement to last night's drunken ramblings to include all the stuff I kind of forgot to mention. Like, for example, the fact that I freaking touched Michael Rosenbaum (TV's Lex Luthor), May Day rode a great, big mechanical bull (quite well, in fact, even if her name isn't Susan), and all of this to celebrate her brand new job (which I kinda mentioned the other day, I think, but it bears repeating). So it was quite the thrilling evening, all things considered. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a noise to stop making until you either cave or commit Hara Kiri. Someone Got Here By Searching For: Carmen rasmusen can�t fight the moonlight [She can�t. She also eats babies.] And: fear my genius I�m Watching: Sheep jump over the fence! One, two, three four�.zzzzzz. Anything Else Special Going On? Tonight, I drank at the Standard. Apparently, their standards aren�t quite as high as the prices of their drinks, if they let my drunk ass in. Perhaps they could just shoot me up with horse tranquilizers next time? Same effect, after all.
� 2005 by Dr. No, all rights reserved; you break it, you buy it.
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