to me (obviously), parallel parking has become nothing less of a miracle. pure magic, if you will. it's little more than geometry paired with a blessing from the parking gods, but nothing beats a perfect parallel parking job.
except for 3 oreos and a big glass of milk. the next time i say something that involves the terms "belly" and "fat," would someone please remind me to cancel my membership at pure fitness and open one at olympic, where they have a pool? and to have a salad for chrissakes? ruffage!
i called suzzi the other night to ask her why she likes me, and she, per her inebriated tendencies, mumbled and slurred her way through, "because you're the cutest thing ever!" that was good enough for me.
i've lost more than a few brain cells along the road, but i was smart enough to avoid this question whilst conversing with my number one ex-roommate bitch. we did manage to discuss why we're so philosophically bitchy with each other during our phone conversations. my excuse was that i can get out all my thinkythinky aggression without her taking it personally, in addition to the fact that i was raised to be a devil's advocate and, when that's not appropriate, to make someone believe that there is a right and a wrong in every situation (again, raised in a family of attorneys). she, of course, had no excuse. haha, no, that just sounds good. actually, what was your excuse? the pursuit of knowledge and perspective? in any event, we agreed to disagree and she left me to 'the restaurant,' which i will be faithfully watching throughout the season, and i left her to her oreos.
the beatniks had their drugs. we have our oreos.
well, we have drugs too.
that will be all.