After a long night of drinking apple martinis, tequila sunrises, and starbursts, I really had to take a tinkle. I fought my way through the crowd, slapping hands away from my chest and bottom. I saw it, off in the distance, that beautiful beacon of plumbing. I climbed over and around all the glamorous people in that trendy bar, struggling to flex my loins in an effort to control my bladder. Just when I felt the pressure was building to an explosive force, I could hear the flushing and smell the soaps. I was close! The crowd parted and I could see the door. That beautiful door. Shit! It's the women's room.
I slowly retreated from the puddle beneath me, horrified by what had just become of my credibility. Somewhere, off in the distance, taps could be heard. My social life just died, and was buried. Not under the American flag, but under the badge of a dirty bar-towel. I would never be seen in public again, except on the corner, looking for handouts and smoking butts of cast away cigarettes.
Today, July 19th, 2007, I will be making an appearance and EMRB. Hopefully this will be my first step to redemption. Please be gentle.
5 comments:
Wow. That warrants applause. Nay, that warrants a standing "oh-oh-oh-vation"
As for lunch, at the risking of rocking a deuce -- i mean, the boat -- how do y'all feel about the Melrose Dining Room today? I've got a hankering for some pasta bar action.
I could be interested in the Melrose dining room. I might need some directions, however. I almost asked for a description of this pasta bar action, but I just remembered the addtion to No Complaints. I'll check it out.
Let's meet at Ye Olde main entrance java house at ~12:00, and then we can head over en masse. Power in numbers!
Power to the people, Homey!
Sounds kick butt dudes, I shall be in attendance.
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