Saturday, July 12, 2008

Blah Blah Blog

I had a CRAZY week at work last week, and next week will be even crazier, so I won't be posting quite as much. I'll try to post at night, but chances are I'll be either passed out on the couch or having some alone time with a bottle of Pinot Noir and the new season of Project Runway. When the working day is done, girls just want to get drunk and piss away the tatters of the gray matter they have left. HEY! Jeff finished my sentence while I was downstairs pulling fashion magazines out of our mail box. Sweet, now I don't have to do it myself. Thanks, honey.

What else? I'm pretty boring this week. Jeff is having an affair with one of our pillows. I get up before he does, and as soon as my still-warm body has excised itself from his tangle of limbs, he embraces the pillow and turns his back to me. As soon as I started calling him on it, he started using it to stoke the flames of my jealousy (yes, I get jealous of inanimate objects, what?) "Oh, pillow," he'll whisper, loud enough for me to hear. "You're so ... soft." It kind of sucks, but it's nothing a pair of scissors can't take care of.

On Thursday night I reunited with my old co-workers (the ISHAS) at Old Town bar. We shared approximately eighteen pitchers of beer and Bryan Ambition and I reminisced about the days when we used to take a break from work to sing karaoke. The place would open at 2, and we'd show up at, like, 2:14 (the proprietor must have thought we were basically the saddest people ever. Well, I always assumed that. Bryan has no shame). But even though we were there at a ridiculous time, EVERY time we went, we heard this middle-aged dude singing show tunes by himself in a private booth. In an empty karaoke bar on a Tuesday afternoon. I have wanted to do a post where I go to a karaoke bar alone when I'm feeling sad and blog about how the experience makes me feel (i.e. better? worse?), but I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm not good at solo activities in the eat lunch by yourself, go to a movie by yourself way. Obvi, I am great at solo activities in the watch 12 hours of 'The Hills' in a single Sunday while your husband is working way. Um, what was I saying? That I was boring this week? Yeah.

Last night, Jeff and I went to Syosset for the wedding of his coworker Genio (short for Eugenio, which the DJ pronounced like 'El Nino'). Jeff put cake icing in my wine, I tried to retaliate by dripping my icing on him, the icing fell on the floor, and when I bent over to get it, apparently it looked like I was doing something innapropriate in Jeff's lap. Good times.

Now I am sitting here, writing this, with inexplicable exhaustion. Which may explain why all of this writing (Jeff just looked over and remarked, "Wow, you are pretty prosaic today.") is kind of aimless. Sorry. If you made it this far, I salute you. I should come up with something AWESOME to reward you. Think think think ... got it.

When I was little, my best friends Salvador and I used to play a game called ... wait for it ... "Look in Butt."

(You're welcome.)

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