I'm not so sure it would be a good idea to put Paul on prozac. Christ, think of how many cowboy cocks would have gone un-drawn and un-superglued if it weren't for brilliant minds like Paul's. There really should be more cowboy cock in my life. Wait. What the hell am I saying ...
So last night was very strange. We went for a few drinks at Cleveland's Euclid Tavern (kinda altera/punk dive with really disgusting bathrooms and the mild omnipresent odor of years' worth of cigarettes, booze, urine and puke hanging in the air. don't ask me why I like the place.) When we got there, the place was virtually empty, but it gradually began to fill and we were informed that there was some sort of CWRU fraternity/sorority gathering happening that night. Holly immediately went into the throes of severe apoplexy and informed me, in no uncertain terms, that we would be going somewhere else now, please. In the meanwhile, Jen was flirting with this (my opinion) horrific man named Rob. Rob's stats: Incredibly attractive black man, long dredlocks, firm body, looked like he should appear in one of those nauseating Interview magazine fashion spreads, wearing a leather jacket that said "Player" on the back. *gag* Nevertheless, Jen was somehow captivated by this horrifying member of the male species and wanted to stay at the Euc to continue her persual of said dickhead. Holly, Steve, and I said "fuck dis shit" and proceeded to hoof a couple of blocks to the Barking Spider Tavern, whose musical act of the evening was an middle-aged man who sang folk songs about a man having a ... er ... rather taboo relationship with horse. The man played on. Holly and I spent the performance drinking cheap beer from plastic cups and exchanging looks that clearly said, "Well. It could be worse. At least we're not still at the Euc." In the meantime, Steve (Our newest addition to the Blog. Welcome, Steve!)struck up a conversation with two Ethiopian physics students and vowed to someday take them dancing in the Flats. (Point of Reference for the Australian: During the opening credits of the Drew Carey Show, Drew and his pals are seen dancing on an outdoor deck at night, right as his voice reverberates "Ohio" at the end. That's The Flats.) After the Barking Spider announced last call, our trio returned to the Euc to retrieve Jen, who was standing drunkenly outside the tavern in a heated argument with a black guy wearing a substantial hair babushka/dew-rag thing. Jen's contention was that she wanted to see his hair; the man (who had apparently earlier felt Jen up and stolen her cigarettes) was having none of it. We grabbed Jen and headed for the car.
Arriving home, we treated ourselves to some herbal baking and Holly and I headed for bed. I decided to spend the night in Holly's room because our downstairs heat is on the fritz and my room was fucking freezing. Holly and I went to bed. About 10 minutes later, I decided to get up and use the bathroom. On my way out of her room, I tripped on something and fell face-first into her closet door. Managed to protect face, but hammered my ribs on Holly's dresser. Now I have a five-inch-square bruise on my left ribcage and it hurts like an unholy bitch.
Holly left this morning to visit Sean in New York City. Let's all keep our fingers crossed that she manages to get her long-fingernailed hands on some choice metropolitan booty. We're all pulling for you, babe.
posted by Kate at 3:42 PM link/comments
