I'm too old to call it a misspent youth anymore
Things I did today that might make someone proud: called a cab from a company whose fleet is nothing but hybrid cars.
Things I did today that would make no one proud: called said environmentally friendly cab because I had spent the entire day...well, drinking. (That's really all I'm prepared to say about my day. Not without someone here to take down the whole story for Penthouse Forum. Still unclear on how this whole set of Sound of Music plates from the Franklin Mint came to be lodged in my ass, but I'm hoping the security camera footage will shed some light on the matter.) Then I met Squirl and Ichabod for dinner and spent two hours stuffing my face with arguably the best Italian food in Grand Rapids; let's face it - I didn't lose any weight today. And I'm not sure I'm sober enough to give a shit.
After I had eaten most of the appetizer, all of my dinner, and a good bit of Squirl's cream of mushroom soup (how do they get all those mushrooms to cream so much?), I wandered outside and figured I'd top off the night by riding my tiny green cab back to the hotel. Alas, they could not send me a ride for at least an hour, so I called another number the hotel had given me. Damn, I sure as hell wasn't expecting the sleek-as-a-motherfucker black Lincoln Town Car that pulled around the corner for me about five minutes later.
The driver of my hybrid cab had been an earnest young man, the kind you'd expect to have an acoustic guitar at the ready whenever injustice needed to be...you know, sung about. With feeling. The driver of the Lincoln was a gorgeous tall man with a West Indies accent and a suit that couldn't have looked any better if Jesus himself had abandoned carpentry for fashion design and given him a personal fitting. When I'd ridden in the hybrid, my thoughts ran along the lines of This is a nice thing this company is doing. As I settled into the obscene comfort of the Lincoln's back seat, anonymous behind rockstar-tinted windows, my thoughts ran along the lines of I could get used to this; wish I had a naked broad and another drink back here.
Oh, there's the I Am Sixteen Going on Seventeen plate peeking out. Please excuse me; I've found this is a messy removal procedure. I just hope I didn't cram the Lonely Goatherd up there, too.
Things I did today that would make no one proud: called said environmentally friendly cab because I had spent the entire day...well, drinking. (That's really all I'm prepared to say about my day. Not without someone here to take down the whole story for Penthouse Forum. Still unclear on how this whole set of Sound of Music plates from the Franklin Mint came to be lodged in my ass, but I'm hoping the security camera footage will shed some light on the matter.) Then I met Squirl and Ichabod for dinner and spent two hours stuffing my face with arguably the best Italian food in Grand Rapids; let's face it - I didn't lose any weight today. And I'm not sure I'm sober enough to give a shit.
After I had eaten most of the appetizer, all of my dinner, and a good bit of Squirl's cream of mushroom soup (how do they get all those mushrooms to cream so much?), I wandered outside and figured I'd top off the night by riding my tiny green cab back to the hotel. Alas, they could not send me a ride for at least an hour, so I called another number the hotel had given me. Damn, I sure as hell wasn't expecting the sleek-as-a-motherfucker black Lincoln Town Car that pulled around the corner for me about five minutes later.
The driver of my hybrid cab had been an earnest young man, the kind you'd expect to have an acoustic guitar at the ready whenever injustice needed to be...you know, sung about. With feeling. The driver of the Lincoln was a gorgeous tall man with a West Indies accent and a suit that couldn't have looked any better if Jesus himself had abandoned carpentry for fashion design and given him a personal fitting. When I'd ridden in the hybrid, my thoughts ran along the lines of This is a nice thing this company is doing. As I settled into the obscene comfort of the Lincoln's back seat, anonymous behind rockstar-tinted windows, my thoughts ran along the lines of I could get used to this; wish I had a naked broad and another drink back here.
Oh, there's the I Am Sixteen Going on Seventeen plate peeking out. Please excuse me; I've found this is a messy removal procedure. I just hope I didn't cram the Lonely Goatherd up there, too.
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 10:26 PM
9 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Yodel-ay-hee-hoo
I would always get in the car with the guy with the West Indian accent. Always.
But your youth ain't over yet, darlin'.
They always get you with the Lincoln town car. Just say no, Bucky!
Susie yodeled! hee hee
You didn't have any plates peaking out of your ass during dinner.
thank god
Yes well, a sleek limousine will be arriving at my house tomorrow morning to take me to O'Hare where I shall be whisked away to Vegas for five days.
When I say "tomorrow morning", I mean at 6:00am which is earlier than even the KIDS get up on a weekend.
I'll be attending a conference. With a coworker. I think I'd rather stay home.
Just think, if you smeared the ol' trusty hand sanitizer on your butt, you could EAT of those plates!
Shit, I mean OFF, of course. Got a little too excited, I reckon.
Hey, there's another tagline for you: "Misspending Middle-Age"
heh heh
(OK, this is not entirely an altruistic contribution. I'm tired of hiding your blog when my kid comes in, or lying to her about what your taglines mean.)
Not the same plates you dined on?
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