(no subject)
It is slightly frustrating to me that fresh ground coffee beans smell much better than brewed brewed coffee actually tastes. I love coffee, but I love that smell from the grinder about ten times more.
Wednesday night the Comet replaced karaoke night with quiz night. Granted quiz will never be as good as karaoke, but it's pretty damn close. Our team placed second overall - we could have been first had we known that Cheryl Ladd was a Charlie's Angel or anything about James Bond, because there was a stupid James Bond question every round. I proved my usefulness by knowing who is referenced in the rhyme "They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere." Furthermore, second place isn't so bad because we won twenty five dollars cash, which went far enough to cover our entrance fee and, well, some of our beer cost. Rob's friend Liz put the terrible idea in my head of bringing my typewriter to the Comet to be assholes and type out all our answers onto the sheet. Sorry, everyone, I totally am that kind of asshole and I love my Galaxy typewriter.
Other than that, I feel almost a million miles away from everyone and everything I care about right now. My ratio of complicated relationships to not is kind of troubling. Or maybe the complicated ones matter more, which is the disheartening part.
Onward towards the weekend!
Wednesday night the Comet replaced karaoke night with quiz night. Granted quiz will never be as good as karaoke, but it's pretty damn close. Our team placed second overall - we could have been first had we known that Cheryl Ladd was a Charlie's Angel or anything about James Bond, because there was a stupid James Bond question every round. I proved my usefulness by knowing who is referenced in the rhyme "They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere." Furthermore, second place isn't so bad because we won twenty five dollars cash, which went far enough to cover our entrance fee and, well, some of our beer cost. Rob's friend Liz put the terrible idea in my head of bringing my typewriter to the Comet to be assholes and type out all our answers onto the sheet. Sorry, everyone, I totally am that kind of asshole and I love my Galaxy typewriter.
Other than that, I feel almost a million miles away from everyone and everything I care about right now. My ratio of complicated relationships to not is kind of troubling. Or maybe the complicated ones matter more, which is the disheartening part.
Onward towards the weekend!