If I had a tumour, I'd name it Marla
Sorry that I haven't posted in a while (I'll pretend that me not posting was earth-shatteringly important to all of you out there, your little eyes glued to your friends page waiting for me grace you with my glorious cadence and sly wit). Either I've been reading Thoreau, Emerson, Poe, or one of those other Transcendental fuckers, or I've been drunk or recovering from a state of being drunk.
Phil came in this weekend. I have to say, the outcome of this weekend is almost better than the outcome of last weekend, and I didn't think two weekends in a row could be put up in the Pantheon of great weekends past and great weekends present, if you hear what I'm saying.
Friday, just hung around the house and got drunk with Phil and dialed a bunch of people asking them if their refrigerators were running or if they had Prince Albert in a can (not really, but would have been fun). Woke up Saturday with a terrible hangover, went to Chinese lunch after we woke up, spent the next three hours wanting to die, went and picked up Phil and drove to Lexington.
The Lexington outing was fun, as I unexpectedly got to see Evan, Danielle, and the Duke, Alan Boucher. I had a good time but I got the striking impression that the same could not be said for Phil as my girls-not-being-present-doesn't-bother-me mentality didn't translate so well to him. Anyways, didn't drink that much on Saturday (a six pack of budweiser, but none of the hard stuff) and fell asleep on Marc's couch.
Woke up Sunday, sat around with the guys for a little while (the guys being Marc, Robbie, and Rapper) before the UK game came on. I then proceeded to watch us get ass raped on a no-call that should have put Patrick Sparks in a position to put us ahead by three at the end of regulation but instead resulted in Roberson sinking two to win the game for Florida. Fuckin gators. Jeb Bush should put them in the electric chair.
Went back to Brian's, got Phil, drove home. Wasn't home for an hour when I hear Lindsey Wise walk in my door unexpectedly and subject herself to the entertaining pleasure of my old man. I immediately rescued her. Later that night, Phil, Lisa and Jen Jeffries showed up and drank and hung out. I was nervous because my dad was in bed and I didn't want to disturb him. There were no altercations though, and macking on Jen harder than I've ever macked on any girl was pretty fun. I don't know what came over me. It was like I could do no wrong. A complete and total success of flirtation matched only by the complete and total lack of a result. Oh well. I give myself brownie points for trying.
Phil left at three today. The weekend of his return after his twenty first birthday has culminated, and the week ahead leaves me in the same state I was in last Thursday. Petty problems. Petty worries. Petty inhibitions. Oh fuck it. Weekends are cool.
Words from a much wiser man than moi:
"Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating,
Funeral marches to the grave."
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Phil came in this weekend. I have to say, the outcome of this weekend is almost better than the outcome of last weekend, and I didn't think two weekends in a row could be put up in the Pantheon of great weekends past and great weekends present, if you hear what I'm saying.
Friday, just hung around the house and got drunk with Phil and dialed a bunch of people asking them if their refrigerators were running or if they had Prince Albert in a can (not really, but would have been fun). Woke up Saturday with a terrible hangover, went to Chinese lunch after we woke up, spent the next three hours wanting to die, went and picked up Phil and drove to Lexington.
The Lexington outing was fun, as I unexpectedly got to see Evan, Danielle, and the Duke, Alan Boucher. I had a good time but I got the striking impression that the same could not be said for Phil as my girls-not-being-present-doesn't-bother-me mentality didn't translate so well to him. Anyways, didn't drink that much on Saturday (a six pack of budweiser, but none of the hard stuff) and fell asleep on Marc's couch.
Woke up Sunday, sat around with the guys for a little while (the guys being Marc, Robbie, and Rapper) before the UK game came on. I then proceeded to watch us get ass raped on a no-call that should have put Patrick Sparks in a position to put us ahead by three at the end of regulation but instead resulted in Roberson sinking two to win the game for Florida. Fuckin gators. Jeb Bush should put them in the electric chair.
Went back to Brian's, got Phil, drove home. Wasn't home for an hour when I hear Lindsey Wise walk in my door unexpectedly and subject herself to the entertaining pleasure of my old man. I immediately rescued her. Later that night, Phil, Lisa and Jen Jeffries showed up and drank and hung out. I was nervous because my dad was in bed and I didn't want to disturb him. There were no altercations though, and macking on Jen harder than I've ever macked on any girl was pretty fun. I don't know what came over me. It was like I could do no wrong. A complete and total success of flirtation matched only by the complete and total lack of a result. Oh well. I give myself brownie points for trying.
Phil left at three today. The weekend of his return after his twenty first birthday has culminated, and the week ahead leaves me in the same state I was in last Thursday. Petty problems. Petty worries. Petty inhibitions. Oh fuck it. Weekends are cool.
Words from a much wiser man than moi:
"Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating,
Funeral marches to the grave."
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow