Thursday, July 07, 2005

Stuff and Things

1) A late night at Goodnight's...I mean, why not? There were 20 people there who were READY for some comedy, as evidenced by their crossed arms, tapping feet, and stern/disapproving expressions. I had a pretty good set, meaning I actually got some audible sounds from the crowd. I did some new stuff, some which will return this weekend, others which will be saved until, uh, I post it here for the desperate cyber-approval I long for.

I was introduced by the emcee as "The Queen of Charlie Goodnight's". I hope that means I'm some sort of figurehead that can't be voted out of office, will eventually be featured on currency, and whose rein only ends upon my eventual martyrdom. Either that or the guy was just being a smartass.

2) There was no YMCA this morning, because I have a hard enough time staying awake at work on 8 hours of sleep, let alone on half that. I set my alarm for 6:30 but made it for P.M. because I am awesome. I woke up with a start at 7:15 to the sound of a bird flying into the window, God's little alarm clock. I would've hit snooze, but thought that nine minutes later, an opossum would come screeching through the plate glass. It's nice that the Almighty has time to rouse me with what I regard as symbolic: "Get up or you too will be unconscious in the hydrangeas".

3) My love affair with hip-hop continues today. I love rap songs because they never let you forget who's on the mic. You could listen to a rock station for 20 minutes before the DJ tells you the artist of a song; with rappers, they continuously shout out their names, their record companies, the names of who they're "beefing" with (oh yeah, I've got mad street cred), their accountant, their jeweler (Jacob, natch), mention various diamond-studded acoutrements they are currently wearing (Jesus piece, natch), a list of cars and parcels of land that they have purchased before and after sleeping with your girlfriend, and drop a chronology of rappers who may have been killed during the recording of that song...all under 4 minutes.

4) Finally, hats off to the Wendy's Classic Triple Cheeseburger. I pride myself on having the stomach of a bulimic, without all that enamel-eroding vomiting. Last night, my stomach was digesting itself on the drive home and I saw that seductress, Wendy, calling to me at Exit 270. "Eat great, even late!" she purred. I pride myself on never being a quitter when it comes to defending my status as a member of the Clean Plate Club, going so far as to even eat multiple servings of Tater-Tot Casserole if necessary. I met my match, my Apollo Creed, my Gargamel, my Zuul, on I-40 last night. I couldn't finish that burger and I saw my embarrassment reflected in its metallic wrapper as I tossed it in the trashcan. Before the lid snapped closed, I thought I heard the voice of a pigtailed young girl say, "I own you, Bitch. "

1 comment:

An A-List Celebrity said...

There is no excuse for consuming more than one helping of tater tot casserole.