Day 142

In The Neon Glow


Jethro Tull Bungle in the Jungle

The only thing that could have made this night better would be if Ally was here. Or if I had thought to bring a jacket tonight, I guess that would have helped a bunch too. Well, in my own defense, I DID think to bring a jacket, but I decided not to because I was really warm when thinking about it. I can't foresee my future feelings very well. Whenever Ally and I go to fancy events or weddings or catered parties (eg Polo On The Lawn) and we have to decided on our meal months in advance, I always think about what I'm hungry for at that moment, or if I'm not that hungry, it's impossible for me to choose. "I'm not hungry, so what would I want to order a meal for, Ally?"

Okay, and recentralize after that digression...

I worked pretty hard tonight. There was a late dinner rush (mostly due to the STS9 show at the Boulder Theater...the fucking hippies/wookies/general dirties were coming out of the woodwork for that shit. More dread locks in one bar area than I've ever seen in my life.), but that means more $$$ for me. It was enough to pay Mark back for the NIN tickets, and to buy myself and Sarah (see inset picture) some bomb-ass Pizza Calore.

SIDE NOTE: I just learned that it's hard to pet two dogs and type at the same time. I therefore just took a 5 minute break to observe that phenomenon.

Sarah and I hung out briefly in the lightly sprinkling chilly Boulder night under the dark looming Courthouse, eating our Calore and watching a guy dance his little heart out through the window of The B. Side Cafe while his friend swung a crutch through the air (cripples dancing is not a laughing matter. I counted at least nine Public Health & Safety violations going on with that crutch alone.). She then was kind enough to drive my improperly-attired-for-the-weather self a few blocks up to Eric's place for Tom's going away party. To London he goes, I do say.

A few friendly beers later, and after having been acquainted with Bull, the Northern Chicagoan White Sox fan self-proclaimed hobo looking for some fucking 3.2 beer (you can't buy alcohol at a store in Boulder after midnight, but Bull apparently didn't know that. He had just hopped off the train earlier in the week, so how much can we really blame him for not knowing every nuance to our silly laws?), and I was off.

Again, being the cold pussy I was, I had Annabelle drive me down to my car. Scott (who told me to blog about him. I'll do you one better, Scott. I'll link to your shit ten times in random places along this post. Ha!), Randy, and Gordon were also bumming rides from her since they all live near one another. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I see Gordon hunkering under his hoodie through the rain, apparently running towards Calore. Once you get the itch for some really good pizza, there's only one way to cure it. Well, it turns out Annabelle ditched him completely and left him to fend for himself in the unpredictable weather of Late Night Boulder, so I pulled around by the restaurant and drove him home myself.

That was nice. All of it. It was all nice.