Saturday, August 27, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
I always wanted to be the girl that had a full sleeve of tattoos, wore 50's dresses with my 50's pin-up bettie page haircut, drove an old car with suicide doors, dated a greaser...but instead I'm the girl that wears a collection of furry or tweed hats, jeans and high heels, has long curly style lacking hair, never had a peircing or tattoo, drives a year old car. But I did manage to date a greaser...
Monday, August 22, 2005
I like walking around downtown at rush hour, with all the people spilling out of their offices, rushing off to the metro or their parked car 4 blocks away, I like to see the look of relief on their faces with the day finally over, anticipating an evening. I wonder what places they'll spread out to, who, if anyone, will greet them when they get there, whether dinner will be waiting, or whether they'll pick something up on their way home. I wonder if they have hobbies or aspirations, a date or six-pack and some internet porn, yelling kids or a nagging mom. Everyone smiling, if briefly, to be able to be back on their own time.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
couldn't figure where to go for dinner, too hungry, tried Palermo's, but the wait was long and the food looked mediocre, so we walked down to Figaro's, which is french for really fucking expensive, but we like good food and an even better ambience, so we had a 17 dollar seafood stuffed artichoke, then a shared a 32 rib-eye with "frittes" which is just french fancy for fries. Accompanying dinner was 38 dollars worth of 3 martini's, so needless to say, we ended up charging it. But he did say I looked pretty in the candle light...then off to 4100 where our drunk friends were causing a ridiculous ruccous, so we drank on stacey's old bosses tab, and the bartender asked me if I needed to catch up, which I did, but I was planning on avoiding it..so stacey gets cut off, then disappears to puke, and i want to go, so then she tells me bob is coming, but i don't feel like hanging out with him, so mark, who is pretty drunk himself, agrees to go home, so we drove and they played the Killers and I sang "i'm so much older than I can take," then they played Mudhoney, and now he is trying to paint on some cardboard with the paint we were suppose to use for the house, and I am annoyed because he's already spilt paint on many other occasions on our floors and others, " you don't trust me?" he says. "no." i say, " would you?" and he puts his head down, but continues to mix the paint, red with off-white, turned with our wooden kitchen spoon.