Marc
Staying In. Going out. I'm waiting for the sweatpants that I sleep in to dry right now. It's almost 3:15 in the morning, and I apparently spilled something all over them last night before I went to sleep. I woke up without them on. That I know for sure. Beyond that I'm still trying to piece together the events of last night. Knowing people that work behind the bar will creep up on you like that sometimes. Double shots. Single shots. Whatev.
Missing pieces of my night include (but were not necessarily limited to): a burrito, a trip to the ATM, a full jug of Kool-Aid (which I made last night but didn't drink for some reason), some random phone calls, a soaked pair of sweatpants, and Bruce Springsteen's DVD of his video anthology playing on my computer monitor ridiculously loud at nine this morning on a repeat of the first few bars of "Born in the USA". And, of course, this was all followed by the requisite hangover.
I've only had one beer tonight.
Just figured I'd check in to say hello. My eyes are like slits. They want to close so badly, but I cannot go to sleep without my shorts and sweatpants. Impossible.
Remind me, someday I'd like to talk about that freakish Michael Jackson interview on ABC the other night and how ridiculously accusatory it seemed the reporter was acting. And I'd also like to talk about why getting stuff done in my apartment seems so difficult lately. But that'll all have to wait. I'm too tired now. Time for hot/sweatpants. Hot-pants, if you will. Straight out of the dryer.
G'night.
Staying In. Going out. I'm waiting for the sweatpants that I sleep in to dry right now. It's almost 3:15 in the morning, and I apparently spilled something all over them last night before I went to sleep. I woke up without them on. That I know for sure. Beyond that I'm still trying to piece together the events of last night. Knowing people that work behind the bar will creep up on you like that sometimes. Double shots. Single shots. Whatev.
Missing pieces of my night include (but were not necessarily limited to): a burrito, a trip to the ATM, a full jug of Kool-Aid (which I made last night but didn't drink for some reason), some random phone calls, a soaked pair of sweatpants, and Bruce Springsteen's DVD of his video anthology playing on my computer monitor ridiculously loud at nine this morning on a repeat of the first few bars of "Born in the USA". And, of course, this was all followed by the requisite hangover.
I've only had one beer tonight.
Just figured I'd check in to say hello. My eyes are like slits. They want to close so badly, but I cannot go to sleep without my shorts and sweatpants. Impossible.
Remind me, someday I'd like to talk about that freakish Michael Jackson interview on ABC the other night and how ridiculously accusatory it seemed the reporter was acting. And I'd also like to talk about why getting stuff done in my apartment seems so difficult lately. But that'll all have to wait. I'm too tired now. Time for hot/sweatpants. Hot-pants, if you will. Straight out of the dryer.
G'night.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home