After a gallon of Ketel One pumping through my veins, I'm usually limited to the following four options;
A. cry
B. eat
C. make-out
D. blackout.
This may sound like the makeup of someone with bipolar disorder, but I call it my late twenties. I'm hoping to grow out of it or get medicated. In any case, I always prefer an option C/D combo, because these A/B Saturday nights are getting me fat and nowhere fast. There's nothing sexy to be said about eating Tostito Pizza Rolls with a snotty nose. As of tomorrow, I'm taking on the Kate Moss diet - cocaine and champagne.
Thursday night kicked off a solid weekend of bad dates. Thursday was with the most boring and serious man on the planet. After 20 minutes, I stopped paying attention to his bland chatter and focused on seeing how long I could stare at him without blinking. I hope I freaked him out. Friday was with an old dating fling who has matured into a real a**hole who sells men's suits. I wrapped up Saturday by meeting out a guy I had met through a mutual friend. As a funeral director and the world's sloppiest kisser, I hope my next meeting with him involves me in the coffin heading off for my final dirt nap.
As Sunday is coming to a close I need to reacquaint myself with the drug dealers of my college years. If I'm going to make this Kate Moss diet a reality, I need to get names, numbers and a bottle of Korbel Brut.
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