Why didn't I stay with Alaska? Why??? There was all a man could ask for over there, including baked ziti.
From now on, when I start singing La Marseillaise, please don't let me have any more drinks.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
a pleasant outing
This weekend I attended a very unusual party at an estate roughly one hour from my home with my good friends B and T. There was a band playing on the patio, and the guests stood inside the dry swimming pool while lasers darted over them.
Costumed performers juggled fire around the pool, and a mysterious, scantily clad woman was dancing with a glow-in-the-dark hula hoop. I tried to get onto the roof with the declared intent of removing her brassiere but was thwarted somewhere on the third floor.
T and I were the only ones drunk. We carried our Steel Reserve 40 oz beverages with pride. We danced feverishly to the beat on the moonlit concrete.
I also defeated nearly everybody at table tennis, despite the fact that I have the hand-eye coordination of a sea sponge. Then I ventured over to the billiard room. There I met three young ladies, whom I dubbed Sweater, Girl, and Medallion, listed from shortest to tallest.
Girl decided she had to sow buttons onto my hipster t-shirt. We found neither needle, thread, nor a shred of privacy in the house, nor shelter from the eyes of jealous men.
The police may have shown up at some point, whereupon I went home and ate a whole pound of shrimp.
Costumed performers juggled fire around the pool, and a mysterious, scantily clad woman was dancing with a glow-in-the-dark hula hoop. I tried to get onto the roof with the declared intent of removing her brassiere but was thwarted somewhere on the third floor.
T and I were the only ones drunk. We carried our Steel Reserve 40 oz beverages with pride. We danced feverishly to the beat on the moonlit concrete.
I also defeated nearly everybody at table tennis, despite the fact that I have the hand-eye coordination of a sea sponge. Then I ventured over to the billiard room. There I met three young ladies, whom I dubbed Sweater, Girl, and Medallion, listed from shortest to tallest.
Girl decided she had to sow buttons onto my hipster t-shirt. We found neither needle, thread, nor a shred of privacy in the house, nor shelter from the eyes of jealous men.
The police may have shown up at some point, whereupon I went home and ate a whole pound of shrimp.
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