Yet more anticlimax.
I really don't know why I continue to fall for it, but I guess in some ways I always expect the worst when A. is involved. I knew tonight would fall through, even as he was pumping it up on Wednesday, attracting an ever-swelling number of people to watch the members of Boy Bünd finally hit the karaoke circuit.
I was dreaming about Scrabble. A. was insisting that he had come up with the most perfect Scrabble word ever, only it was something incredibly mundane and low-scoring (I think it was "craft" or "crack"). So, we ended up in this argument where I insisted that he was out of his mind, there was no perfect Scrabble word, but if there were it would be "kazoo."
I was summoned from my bed by yet another morning phone call. A. announced that the evening's plans were off because he couldn't find an adequate karaoke joint. It was a lie, of course. After further prompting, it was revealed that he wanted to go to a bar to meet this girl because, in his own words, he is "terribly lonely." I suppose I can understand that (though blowing off about 8 other people is still questionable). I also don't understand why he would invite me to come along.
I suppose I will spend the evening continuing to recoup. My Theraflu plan worked perfectly. I slept the eight hour sleep of the uncongested and woke up feeling 100%. I would have even managed to get into work by 9:30 had A. and I not gabbed on the phone for more than an hour. We are making plans for a Boy Bünd flick, completely insane Dadaist tribute to band flicks like Help, The Ghost Goes Gear, and whatever in the hell that Kiss movie was called. It could be terribly great, as long as we keep V. out of the writing process.
Upon arriving at work, the congestion has begun to return. I may just be allergic to my office... or being employed.
I was dreaming about Scrabble. A. was insisting that he had come up with the most perfect Scrabble word ever, only it was something incredibly mundane and low-scoring (I think it was "craft" or "crack"). So, we ended up in this argument where I insisted that he was out of his mind, there was no perfect Scrabble word, but if there were it would be "kazoo."
I was summoned from my bed by yet another morning phone call. A. announced that the evening's plans were off because he couldn't find an adequate karaoke joint. It was a lie, of course. After further prompting, it was revealed that he wanted to go to a bar to meet this girl because, in his own words, he is "terribly lonely." I suppose I can understand that (though blowing off about 8 other people is still questionable). I also don't understand why he would invite me to come along.
I suppose I will spend the evening continuing to recoup. My Theraflu plan worked perfectly. I slept the eight hour sleep of the uncongested and woke up feeling 100%. I would have even managed to get into work by 9:30 had A. and I not gabbed on the phone for more than an hour. We are making plans for a Boy Bünd flick, completely insane Dadaist tribute to band flicks like Help, The Ghost Goes Gear, and whatever in the hell that Kiss movie was called. It could be terribly great, as long as we keep V. out of the writing process.
Upon arriving at work, the congestion has begun to return. I may just be allergic to my office... or being employed.