Weekend Update.
I have an almost-written-in-stone rule about not writing about my life here. However, the last 72 hours have been so incredibly odd that I a recap seems in order. Basically, a friend's birthday celebration ended up lasting 3 days. I feel like I've been to Vegas or something. A bit of advice: if you think your weekends aren't long enough, that's because you're not partying hard enough.
Friday night's fun activity was Mucca Pazza. Or at least it was Mucca Pazza after 2 hours of absurdly awful opening acts. And good lord, were they awful. I have seen the world's worst go-go dancer. She came out at the beginning of the first absurdly awful opening act and flailed about like a pudgy, pretentious, crippled armadillo. Either that or a panda on PCP. It was just sick. Later she came out again, apparently undaunted by her earlier attempt at grace. The second time she brought one of those "Arabian Nights" chiffon scarves that was supposed to be elegant or sexy, but the audience just ended up wishing it was 5 times bigger. And made of burlap. And fashioned into a sack so we could toss her into the lake for the good of Humanity.
The second opener was everything wrong with rock music. Everything. Except the washboard.
Mucca Pazza made it all worthwhile. See this band. Awesome. Sweaty. I waltzed with a half naked, sweaty hot girl in a cheerleader outfit. Totally. Rockin'.
In the cab on the way home, a discussion was struck up in the cab as to how many and which of the band we would marry and/or have a million babies with. I love beer. One of the ladies (who shall remain anonymous) mentioned how much she liked one of the drummers. It's sometimes hard to understand her taste in men (not that she doesn't like attractive men, it's merely the pattern that is difficult to discern. For that purpose, I have posted below the mathematical formula that can determine if she will like a given man.
Since said friend does read this journal, I think it's only fair to point out that I did attempt to develop a version of this formula to be used on myself to determine my likelihood of digging a particular woman. However, I think it needs work. When I solved the equation, this is what I got:
Friday night's fun activity was Mucca Pazza. Or at least it was Mucca Pazza after 2 hours of absurdly awful opening acts. And good lord, were they awful. I have seen the world's worst go-go dancer. She came out at the beginning of the first absurdly awful opening act and flailed about like a pudgy, pretentious, crippled armadillo. Either that or a panda on PCP. It was just sick. Later she came out again, apparently undaunted by her earlier attempt at grace. The second time she brought one of those "Arabian Nights" chiffon scarves that was supposed to be elegant or sexy, but the audience just ended up wishing it was 5 times bigger. And made of burlap. And fashioned into a sack so we could toss her into the lake for the good of Humanity.
The second opener was everything wrong with rock music. Everything. Except the washboard.
Mucca Pazza made it all worthwhile. See this band. Awesome. Sweaty. I waltzed with a half naked, sweaty hot girl in a cheerleader outfit. Totally. Rockin'.
In the cab on the way home, a discussion was struck up in the cab as to how many and which of the band we would marry and/or have a million babies with. I love beer. One of the ladies (who shall remain anonymous) mentioned how much she liked one of the drummers. It's sometimes hard to understand her taste in men (not that she doesn't like attractive men, it's merely the pattern that is difficult to discern. For that purpose, I have posted below the mathematical formula that can determine if she will like a given man.
Since said friend does read this journal, I think it's only fair to point out that I did attempt to develop a version of this formula to be used on myself to determine my likelihood of digging a particular woman. However, I think it needs work. When I solved the equation, this is what I got: