Friday Night

I was supposed to go out to meet a friend for drinks this evening. And then I came home and decided I would slip into a new comfy pair of yoga pants I bought a few days ago (which I did not actually buy to practice any yoga in but rather to sit on my ass on Sunday afternoons because the pair I used to wear for that weekly activity got eaten. And I think we all know who is responsible for that mishap). After I put the pants on, I thought I should go to 7-Eleven for a pre-drink snack to get the belly lined up with cheap carbs and saturated fats. I met a nice old man in 7-Eleven who asked me if I knew how much a single banana cost these days. We both scoured the bananas for price tags, but couldn't figure it out - so I apologized and began to walk away when he shouted after me, "Hey, lady! You may look decent these days, but I can tell by the shape of your body that you're not getting enough potassium. And you're goin' downhill fast, honey." Soooo....not the nice old man I initially credited him to be. With that, I bagged my Coke and my Healthy Life Rice Cracker Mix (that's right - Healthy Life brand, you withered little bastard) and came back home. Nothing goes better with a snack then some mindless television and wouldn't you know, I found The L Word on my Showtime on Demand. With that, I have canceled my drink plans and can currently be found couch bound, with crumbs all over my lap and four episodes deep into a ten episode season show about cool lesbians living the high life in Los Angeles.

I'm not a lesbian but I like them a lot. Because this show clearly proves that they all have great hair and rad jobs at movie studios and art galleries. Lesbians of the internets, if you're looking for a strange broad with hair that is at the total mercy of the outside dew point (best if we hang on the 65% and below days), won't be able to have sex with you but does have a job that found her at a garden party yesterday with a bunch of 80 year-old women shoving tea sandwiches in her purse when they got distracted by a tulip, and later, in the same day, ran into a lamp post and simultaneously broke her shoe when she was trying to look sexy upon catching the eye of a bike messenger (seriously, fucking grow up, Allie), get in touch! Teach me the ways of your hip lesbian world - or at least how to properly apply the Toni & Guy pomade.

Man, I'm getting old and lame. Tomorrow night I'm hosting a dinner party. Worse, when I invited my guests, I referenced it as such - a dinner party. I mean, damn. I used to invite people over to get fucked up on spiked Orange Crush  and Hot Pockets. And now I actually put stuff in a pot and spring for the boxed wine. I guess it's the same invite in a preppier costume, but I'm not liking the domestic 30-something that I see emerging here. So hurry up, lesbians and bike messenger boys. Come style me right (gals) and whip me into shape (boys) before I turn into my worst nightmare. A normal woman.

Wherever this particular Friday night finds you, I hope it finds you well. Party on, people.