Friday, February 25, 2005
This weekend should be great. I have been personally invited by a performer to attend a nightclub event. Don't give me that look, I remember what I said. Nightclubs are fire code capacity hazards teeming with sweaty dancing yoohoos and vacant eyed lemmings. I stand by that. Tonight I will make an exception and brave the hordes of fire breathing lizards and screeching banshees in the name of friendship.
I've known this guy for a long time and he took personal offense to my previous comments. Or so I heard through the grapevine. He has been gracious enough to seek me out and gently coax me back out into the raucous, poorly lit, barely breathable world of nightclubbing. I expect to flee shortly after 2 am, trembling, gasping, and clutching my windpipe. My only goal is to hear the entirety of his emceeing. They say he talks very fast.
Aside from that I've made no plans for the remainder on the weekend. I intend to luxuriate in bed, where I will eat cheese and watch movies about baseball. Despite my financial turbulence and my resultant inability to purchase Cubs tickets, I look forward to baseball season with throbbing urgency. Hmm, bad choice of phrase. What I meant to convey is that baseball is my religion. The stadium is my church. Beer and peanuts are my sacrament. Flatulence is an expression of piety. Just over a month to go until "Easter." 10:40 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
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