2005-06-24
I hate Fridays...
Ooooooh, me tummy hurts. I am drinking a Coca-Cola. Not a Diet Coke, either... nosireebob. The full-up high-octane version. This is a testament to the state of my stomach. Not pretty.
I hate Fridays.
Yes. You heard me right. Why do you hate Fridays, Chika? Because Thursday night is golf night. Because the stupid course where our golf league is this year doesn't have a beer wench running around selling beer. Because God forbid we golf without adult beverages, so we must bring our own. Because bringing beer is too much of a committment -- cooler, ice, cheetos, beer bong, grill, euchre deck, Tiara, blah.
Vodka, it turns out, is much more portable. And it doesn't scream "Accessorize me!" the way beer seems to. Vodka, it turns out, can be consumed "neat". Or with a tiny bit of OJ. Or maybe just some olives. But you see my point -- it's very low maintenance.
And Vodka gets the job done. HOooo boy. Yes it does, yes it does.
My golf skills (and I use this term very loosely here) deteriorate by about the 7th hole and my 3rd Vodka-with-a-little-OJ.
Me: Midge, which stick do I use? The "S" stick because I suck? or the "P" stick because I'm pathetic.
Midge: ....tell me you didn't just ask me which "stick" to use....
Me: Maybe I should use my Short Fatty stick. Yeah. That one.
Midge: *sigh*
[Edited: Oh, this just in. From The Midge herself: "Just for the record, I shot a 46, not 47." Smell ME!. Also, Midge was partaking in the Vodka with me, and has been known to want to show body parts to strange men herself, but just not last night.]
Now, back to our program.
Midge did very well in spite of having to talk me out of taking a pee right on the fairway of the 4th hole, flashing every testosterone-infused golf cart we passed, and mooning the course ranger. (Secretly she loves to babysit me when I'm hammered.)
She got a 47! Woot!
I got a 147! Wootever!
After golf, we stopped by a local watering hole to watch the Pistons get their asses handed to them on a slab not complete one goddamn pass make a valient effort to beat the Spurs (I still loves me some Pistons anyway). We hung out with two brothers, both of whom wanted to take Midge to the prom. So to speak. No wing man needed for me -- I'm married! Phew! Because otherwise they wouldn't have bought Midge all those Chardonnays! Phew!
There were no seats at the bar, and of course, because it is 2005 and we are all equal (thank you, Gloria), no one offered their seats to us. But what's this? I see that the cute blonde low-rise-jeans ass-hanging-out girl next to us did, in fact, acquire a bar stool from some dude who looked like Corky. And her Cameron Spooky Eyes Diasz lookalike friend got one from Corky's friend, Lennie.
I hate you, beautiful people. No, seriously. I do.
Okay, because I am lazy and not funny in my own right, I bring you finslippy, who is worth a peek. Several peeks, in fact.
No, no, don't go NOW. I'm not done yet. And you'll never come back.
Because I have to bring you this, first. I know, I know -- it's been floating around the internet and I am shamelessly reproducing it here. I said I was lazy.
Okay, the legend is that this is a real picture on ebay. The item being sold is the dining room table. A man took this picture, and there are clues which give this away. Look for the clues, and then scroll down.
Did you figure it out? Oh come on. It's easy. Look again. I'll wait right here.
[dum DA dum dum dum DA dummmmmm....dum DA dum dum DUM! da da da da da dummmm]
No? Okay... one more time. Look HARDER. God. Do I have to do everything around here?
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*Okay. Give up? Scroll back up and look in the mirror....
What an asshole.
[Ed. note: at the time of this posting, there was nothing on Snopes about the validity of this claim. If you find one, feel free to Snopes me. I deserve it.]
xquzme at sometime today