I hate Sundays. I just really, really do. Sunday is the day of the week when I receive the highest number of threats and insults. These come from the general direction of my mother. She hates me on Sundays even more than usual. I'm sorry, but I just don't think at 24 years old I should be considered a bad human being because I don't want to go to Starbuxxx and get coffee with my entire family on the Lord's day. First of all, I don't drink coffee. Yes, Chrissy and I occasionally enjoy going to The Bux and sitting outside for odd lengths of time talking to random strangers with adorable dogs, but that is a horse of a different color. It's mostly to keep ourselves from going to a bar to drink our faces off in the middle of a random Tuesday (and because for some strange reason, Chrissy likes to force me to leave the house. I know, she's weird.)
Irregardless (yes, I know that's not a real word, but I prefer the extra syllable. It just feels right. God, stop misunderestimating/refudiating me, dammit), this entire weekend was a bust. Friday night I went to Rock 'N Bowl to pay $10 to see a band I don't like, which was actually pretty fun but lasted about 90 minutes before people were like eh, I'm going home. Highlights of the night included running into a few folks I hadn't seen in eons and acting like a neurotic mess, watching an extremely effeminate manboy hoola hoop/dance/carry a legit purse, and laughing hysterically at incredibly inane and juvenile things, such as Deano repeatedly pointing at something on my shirt and flicking me in the face when I looked down EVERY SINGLE TIME. And Deano constantly touching my face inappropriately. And Deano continually violating accepted personal space etiquette. Oh how I enjoy Drunk Deano...(There! NOW will you read my blog?! That's what I thought. You're welcome. And stop making fun of my bangs.)
Last night I was supposed to go out for a friend's birthday, which I spent an annoying amount of time getting ready for. Alas, it was not to be. This is mostly due to me not having a car and the fact that apparently the economy must not be such a problem for the taxi drivers of New Orleans because they were too busy to pick up the phone when I called repeatedly. Thanks, guys. If I now have a couple less friends to my name, I blame United Cab. Yea, United. You and me? We're over. Suffer.
All in all, this weekend has just made me want to spend all of Sunday acting like Ron Burgundy after he got fired from the Channel 4 Evening News. Did I mention that I also described my current lifestyle as "very Big Lebowski-esque" to one unfortunate friend this weekend? Eff my truly embarassing life. If you need me, I'll be reading the want ads in my bathrobe. It's made of terry cloth and broken dreams.
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