Let's Catch Up, Shall We?

Friday morning, I wrote an entry about my Thanksgiving. Since my Turkey day was not the most memorable, it came across bitter and lame, and I deleted it. Friday night, fortunately, made up for my downer on Thursday with a HS reunion. Keep in mind, this wasn't my reunion, but that of some friends. It was the school I attended from grades 1 - 8 and included many people I grew up with. Unlike my high school reunion, where I discovered the following formula,

double-fisting Long Islands + sassing the barbacks = one-way ticket out of the bar,

I decided to be responsible and keep myself in check. This turned out to be a moot point, b/c I was having too much fun catching up with old friends to worry about drinking to numb myself from the people with whom I actually attended HS.

Survey says: Thumbs Up!
(side note: it made me REALLY sentimental for a large part of the day on Saturday, which was rather uncomfortable given I was also nursing a hang over.)

Saturday night, I caught the train back to DC, to avoid traveling on Sunday and all of its misery. I was planning on a nice quiet night at home, but I was so excited to be back in DC (scary!), that I agreed to meet Dale, Dudley, and Katinka to head over to Remington's to pay Mr. Bartender a visit and try to rendezvous with Sean.

My original plan was to grab a beer, maybe two. Instead, I found myself dominating some wine with Dale as we watched Clueless on the N, which then turned into singing the B-52's thanks to karaoke.

Fast forward to the bar: the night has been documented by Dale, Dudley, Mr. Bartender, Sean and others, so I will keep my comments brief:

Dale failed to mention that upon arrival, we both headed to the bathroom. Inside the bathroom, Dale dropped his phone... in the toilet. He will know be referred to as "someone who poops on his phone," since I have the maturity of a 3rd grader when it comes to poop and toilets.

It's pretty clear when I've had too much to drink, b/c I'll easily approach and hit on someone that I probably wouldn't say a word to when I'm sober. Well, Saturday night was no exception. In what I'm chalking up as "drunken flattery," I may have been a little overzealous.

In addition to meeting Katinka, I also had the pleasure of meeting John who writes (part of) one of my favorite blogs. Finally, I returned home, to the corner of Homo Blvd and Queer Street, watched some late night Fresh Prince and called it a night.

Survey says: Thumbs way up!

Sunday, I caught up with the roomie and watched mucho tele. Unlike other weekends, I eliminated the possibility of being productive very early on in the day, thus simultaneously eliminating any feelings of guilt and paving the way for complete enjoyment of unperturbed lazy behavior.

Today was a rough day at work. My increasingly severe disdain for my job was paralyzing for the better part of the day. As a result, I can barely see my desk (or my floor for that matter), I'm no more caught up than I was before the holiday, and I am already trying to think of effective means to kick my butt into gear and start being the productive drone they're paying me to be.

In lighter news, I recently discovered Logo and was reminded why I hate most gay entertainment: they generally sacrifice the quality of the writing, acting, etc. in favor of incorporating gay characters, actors, storylines... While this works in one movie, which I will always love, the shows I saw on Logo were garbage. I did watch all of "Open Bar," however, and it just struck me as a depiction of how not to run a business. Granted, I missed many episodes, but this guy just seems to be incapable of keeping his sh*t together. If you're opening a bar (first of all, don't name it "i candy"), don't have the furniture delivered on the day of the opening. Is that so hard? Also, leave it to a gay man to cry tears of joy when he passes a health inspection. You're on the sidewalk, not the stage! Then again, I've been known to well up during commercials. I guess I'll have to get off my soap box. For now.