nightfreak
Last night at Youpers, Glen said something, and then I said something, and then Glen said something, and then I said, FUCK YOU, GLEN! and Glen said, In your dreams! and then while my poor soupy brain was trying to work up a comeback, Glen said, In your MARRIED dreams! and then Lefty and I were all, hahahahaha! and Glen turned away to pour us more drinks, and the drinks were free, and they’re always free, and Lefty said, God if dude only knew, and I was like, What? and she was like, You and your married dreams–y’know, implying that I’m pervy–so I made the Lady, I’m innocent! face, and then I said, Which tattoo do you think he got first? If I had to warrant a guess I’d say the big ship, and Lefty said, Maybe you should make a documentary about Glen’s tattoos, and I was like, Totes.
Then I got all the bartenders’ emails to invite them to my big-deal milestone birthday party next week (27!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) because I’m inviting all my friends, and bartenders are my best friends. Besides Lefty, of course. Glen said, I’ll give you my email as long as you don’t send me any pictures of cats playing with balls of yarn and cats hanging from tree branches–HANG IN THERE!–and cats playing the guitar, and so on. Lulz.
Then I went home and had a dream that I was giving the best bj of my life–which, folks, is not really saying much–to a hot terrorist. My mom was really afraid of him. Not that she was in the room! That would be gross! This was earlier, when he was painting my hallway. Because he was also a housepainter. (Long story.) I wasn’t scared in the least. The hot terrorist was just a man to me. Who, I just remembered, happened to be spectacularly well-hung. Yeesh!
Do you want to know something weird? When you search for “sexy terrorist” on Google Images, this comes up on the first page:
Which brings it all back around to Glen. Sort of.
P.S. IT’S LEFT HOOK’S BIRTHDAY!
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