The weekend is coming to an end as I am weakened. Not weakened. Just worn out.
Friday I worked at the Sunroom after a few months' absence. I tested my ability to converse in nonsense speak with one of the only people it makes sense to. Mixed results. I did make 42 much-needed dollars.
I was going to go to see califone and smog at the Catacombs after work. However, when i got there, Califone was halfway done. This was according to several sweaty, red-faced people who said they couldn't see a thing. They were taller than me. I decided to keep my $10.
Instead, I decided on a whim to go to David's radio show. He let me play Bombs Over Baghdad. Waiting in the wings was Exotic George, Madison's Premier Male Exotic Dancer, as he was the guest on the sex talk show that follows David's. After about an hour at Four Star with two of my roommates and our most-frequent, non-ladyfriend houseguest, we listened to the show. Oh Exotic George, you made me smile with your slickness that borders greasy.
Saturday, I went to Whole Foods and Borders. At Borders I bought Dear Mr. President by Gabe Hudson, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and the newest issue of Punk Planet (p.s. to stephanie, there is a huge article about suicidegirls.com and other "punk" porn sites that you should show Laura or something.)
I went home and
And today, well, I just watched Top Gun. Jake got mad at me for dissing it. I think Highway to the Danger Zone and Take My Breath Away were looped too many times in a row to keep my sanity.
Then, of course, I went to work with the people who lost their sanity years ago. Don't get me wrong--I love the residents of the group home.
Anyway, I'm rambling and rattling off far too much to be interesting. What can I say? I'm weakened.