I couldn't because I had to take care of the kids (dammit!) because my sis had to go to the hospital (dammit).
But, I've been thinking about napping all afternoon.
Those damn little rugrats. Why didn't you just chain 'em to something heavy and just go get your nap in? That's what I would have done.
What should have happened is that my dad and bro should have taken full responsibilty, but they didn't.
Aaah, the joys of family.
Well, the comedy club was f*cking hilarious. I was actually surprised at how good it was. I was expecting at least one of them to suck, but damn, all the comedians were great. Especially Patrice Williams...if you've ever watched a show called Tough Crowd on Comedy Central, you've probably seen the guy. Damn he was sooooo funny! Total guy humor though. The ladies in the crowd were definitely not as impressed with his woman-destroying humor as I was.
We stopped at this tiny little bar on the way home where a band was playing, and there was this girl there who seemed to be alone. I said I thought she was cute. My buddy's wife then proceeded to hound me to talk to her for the next twenty minutes. This is how it went.
Buddy's wife: Go ask her to dance!
Me: I don't want to dance.
Buddy's wife: Go talk to her! She's all alone!
Me: She's probably with the guitar player.
Buddy's wife: Come on, she's checking you out!
Me: Really? No she isn't...is she?
Buddy's wife: Go talk to her!
Me: No, she's probably with the guitar player.
<twenty minutes later I finally get the balls to go up and ask her to dance. She says yes. We start dancing.>
Me: So are you here with friends?
Her: No, actually, I'm with the guitar player.
Aaargh....
It was l'k.
She's always with the guitar player.
Kicky, that happened to me once too. I started talking to this girl who was sitting by herself near the stage, she was pretty hot. It was innocent, I wasn't hitting on her but having a good time. Her boyfriend the whole time kept staring over, and she wasn't paying any attention to him. The second the show was over he jumped off and grabbed her. And I was ready to ask her for her email or phone number, I had a pen handy. Just to see if I could do it.
Grrrrr......................
I don't think I should start bitching in detail.... I need a diversion.
Wow, I just realized that I haven't eaten anything but a couple of pieces of provolone cheese since 3:00 today.
yikes! Go eat something, or just drink a beer.
I just read this email, very very funny. I needed it, thanks, quinn1!
When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years", "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full.
When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price
sale on Nelly's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't -so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck (mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"
Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and
sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late.
Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China.
At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper
you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets
with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still
waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! Where was it when you NEEDED it?? You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door
HA! Ain't that the truth! Amen!
yes. the weekend MUSt have been crappy. you resorted to an emoticon!
i have wasted the weekend in its entirety. trying to find out good blogging sites, setting up a blogsite, learning the tricks... i didn't go to the cape and to two parties because i had to 'work'....didn't work a single minute and am fuming mad at myself!
aaaaawwww, but I bet your house is spotless, Dag!
NO!!!! it's not! i spent the whole weekend online. ALL of it!
Hey, Dag, I'm thinking about going up to NH to check out the maple run - you want to go? It'll be good this weekend or next. It's a semi-full day trip. And we'll see nice landscapes and countryside. I'll take to you tapped trees with buckets hanging along their trunks and to a sugar shack where we can buy syrup. I'll even try to find the best little dinner this side of the mason dixon line.......
hmmm, sounds good. i wish you had a bicycle, we could bike around too. how is that for a motivation to get one?
