The Plan Keeps Coming Up Again...
My friend and I seem to be in two different camps at the moment. Camp 1: Successful young professionals with few dating prospects. Camp 2: Those stuck in the same dead end job they had during college, but with great relationships. Camp 1 is jealous of Camp 2. Camp 2 is jealous of Camp 1.
We had met up for beer and tato-skins last night at *insert local nondescript sportsbar here* and somehow got into deeper topics than is normally allowed by local nondescript sportsbar ettiquette. Luckily the table behind me was too busy razzing their friend with drunken outbursts of "HEY WAITRESS... WILL YOU BRING ME A PITCHER OF WATER SO I CAN WASH THE SAND OUT OF MY FRIEND'S VAAAAGIIINNNA. THAAAAT'S RIGHT BILL, YOU'VE GOT A SAAAANDY VAGINA. JUST LET IT GO... LET IT GO..." to notice this. The unspoken social norms of the American sportsbar clearly state that you don't talk about:
A) relationships
B) the future
C) feelings
D) rainbows
..and I managed to violate the top three, and probably the fourth if I hadn't killed the topic of Lavar Burton immediately. I'd like to think that I came away from our long and deep discussion with a better understanding of the points we've reached in our separate lives and how we both hope to leave camp 1 &2 for the promise of a bigger and better camp 3. Unfortunately, when I woke up this morning all I could really recall was Bill's sandy vagina. Maybe next time I'll go to a hipster bar or coffee shop next time where people named Bill don't get berrated publically for sandy vaginas. Maybe I'll have something more relevant to post as well.
Awesome factoids of the day:
I got some fresh new kicks
My post title comes from a Built to Spill song I was listening to when I wrote this
I may be technically retarded
We had met up for beer and tato-skins last night at *insert local nondescript sportsbar here* and somehow got into deeper topics than is normally allowed by local nondescript sportsbar ettiquette. Luckily the table behind me was too busy razzing their friend with drunken outbursts of "HEY WAITRESS... WILL YOU BRING ME A PITCHER OF WATER SO I CAN WASH THE SAND OUT OF MY FRIEND'S VAAAAGIIINNNA. THAAAAT'S RIGHT BILL, YOU'VE GOT A SAAAANDY VAGINA. JUST LET IT GO... LET IT GO..." to notice this. The unspoken social norms of the American sportsbar clearly state that you don't talk about:
A) relationships
B) the future
C) feelings
D) rainbows
..and I managed to violate the top three, and probably the fourth if I hadn't killed the topic of Lavar Burton immediately. I'd like to think that I came away from our long and deep discussion with a better understanding of the points we've reached in our separate lives and how we both hope to leave camp 1 &2 for the promise of a bigger and better camp 3. Unfortunately, when I woke up this morning all I could really recall was Bill's sandy vagina. Maybe next time I'll go to a hipster bar or coffee shop next time where people named Bill don't get berrated publically for sandy vaginas. Maybe I'll have something more relevant to post as well.
Awesome factoids of the day:
I got some fresh new kicks
My post title comes from a Built to Spill song I was listening to when I wrote this
I may be technically retarded
posted by Brent at 12:37 PM
6 Comments:
There's no "may be"...you ARE technically retarded
Oh, you made me laugh. Thank you.
no...
just retarded...period.
sandy vagina, sandy vagina, sandy vagina.
(thought I'd make it worse for you)
How you went down that conversation path and avoided talking about rainbows is a minor miracle.
The kicks are admittedly fresh--wtg. Well, a reading rainbow's kinda different from regular rainbows, right? So it's OK?
I have a soft spot for roos.
Also, I saw this and immediately thought of you. Is that wrong?
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