All right, back on track. Monday morning, chugging a liter sized Diet Pepsi and digesting a PowerBar. Give me a moment, dorks, just trying to remember what I did this weekend.
Oh yes ... Friday R. Girl and I had a very romantic dinner at the International House of Pancakes. You see, I feel it's important to treat the girl you care about with a fancy dinner at a foreign restaurant, preferably at one boasting the all encompasing "international" label. I didn't know they had never-ending pancakes there and now I have a new mission in life. The man near us ate 6 pancakes and his son was in such awe. Being the ass dork I am I quickly boasted I could eat 8 pancakes.
"You can eat EIGHT pancakes?!?!" said an astonished R. Girl.
"Dad, that man can eat more pancakes than you. I feel robbed of my innocence and my one true hero. Goodbye, father, I care not for your hypocrisy of breakfast baked goods nay no longer," said the man's ex-son.
But, I went with the patty melt instead. Mainly because our waiter told us that someone ate 46 pancakes once and my hoped died and so did the boy.
Saturday me and the R. went to check out a "Mega snowboad and ski super sale blowout" that boasted of sales that would make GAP girls cream. Suck my dick if they were lying. They were, so blowjobs around. Oh well, I am excited about taking up snowboarding and the chance of messing up my evermore fucked up knees ...
Speaking of which ... that is another thing that is new in my life. Bad knees. They fucking feel like someone poured sand in them sometimes. I've actually thought to myself "Wait a minute, I need to rest my knees before I go any further". Shut the fuck up, body. I finally listen to your hacks and hangovers and make amends to change and this is your fucking thanks? Bad knees? Whatever, I'm back off the wagon again, ass.
And back to the reality of non-interpersonal body arguments.
"Shut up,leg"
"Bite me, molars"
Train of thought slipping ... was talking about something ... maybe it was ...
Oh yeah, Saturday. So, we skipped snow shopping and checked out some new sights (for me anyways) in Seattle. We watched kids play in a fountain and I ate too much popcorn and got a stomach ache. I won R. Girl a stuffed dinosaur playing skeeball and she won me an army man with the game where you put the quarters in and then more quarters fall but it was tokens not quarters.
Sunday was lazy day.
Talk about ....
Emotions. Maybe, sure. There was some tension between R. Girl and me of late. We talked last night and got to the root of the problem and dealt with it. I definitely feel better about the whole situation (which I'm not revealing what it is because it is embarassing), but not about the fact that there was something between us. We still haven't had an argument or really been mad at each other and I like that lots. Oh well, it's growth and growth is good and speaking of growth ...
Remember, the girls in the middle are always the first to fall off.
Shins segue right there, hipper dorks ...
Oh yeah, e-mails I've received today. Three great ones.
Eva finally wrote back. Yippee.
Someone at the "big paper" (as my dad would call it) has written back to me about working as a sports stringer. Must write back and follow possibility further. Monster like write, write good sports stringer. Sonics win game, make monster happy, freethrows many, rebounds help.
And I got one from a guy who runs an adult-industry "the onion"-based website where I could make a fatty G a month to write parody like articles about porn. I feel weird about this, and don't see how I can really write too much parody about porn.
"In a stunning development today, people got naked and had orgasms on each other."
I'd feel like I was selling out my forward thinking sexual hipness for the mass puritan culture. But then again, a G a month to write funny porn is good. 10 200-word articles a week though? Man, I don't know. Maybe.
Oh, and K-Dogg the Killa called me on Friday. My old high school and sometimes college drinking buddy might be moving out here in August. Oh joy abounds and hearts leap like leopards, glory days of debauchary in Seattle!
Later, dork princesses. I might or might not be wearing women's underwear on a dare from R. Girl.
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