All my party people--stand up!

And so the great saga continues. This past weekend I was inundated with copious awesome activities that made the time fly by and kept the routine weekend paranoia and depression at bay, for the most part. I won’t bore you with the awesome details but I had to take lots of long L rides across and out of the city at various points and was wearing a sports jacket on two separate occasions. Though known for my swank attire, this weekend really hit home how great a sport jackets really is. For one thing you can fill it up with all your crap, leaving your pants free of crap. You can also take it off and put it back on at your leisure and thus double your wardrobe. This latter skill is also known to drive the ladies crazy especially if you assume different personalities whilst and whilst not wearing the jacket.

Working Boy Jacketed: I invest!
The Ladies: You’re stable and fashionable.
Working Boy Jacketed: Next week I will call you about starting a classy twice month rendevous at a downtown hotel bar. Don’t try to resist I have a small date book and I’ve already penciled you in, in pen.
The Ladies: A downtown hotel bar? Oh baby.

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Working Boy Unbinded: Screw investing!
The Ladies: You don’t care about anything do you? You hate the world and no one could ever change you, huh? Oh take me Working Boy Unbinded, take me!
Working Boy Unbinded: I prefer drinking! Where’s my phone I have to call an old friend (not An Doof Ass--obviously--who cares what you say to that satchmo?) and leave a mean message that I will feel bad about on Sunday!

And so forth...

Saturday was a bit classier and without the 3am trip to a 800K condo that kind of sucked a lot and wasn’t worth it at all. Also, a bummer was the discovery that the Trebol does actually close and that closing time is 2 am. And if you get there at 2:45 in desperate need of fags and white label you will not succeed in making the rest of the 2 hours of the evening worth anything.

On Sunday I awoke early after watching Project Runway well into the rise of the sunshine. I spent the day trying to make up for watching 4 hours of reality fashion tv by doing laundry and cleaning the bathroom. After that I walked around the apartment with a lighter seeing what things looked like on fire. Grey bike pants? Mostly just smokey, flame goes out very quickly. Banana peel? Doesn’t burn. A plate of staples? Gets hot but don’t melt together into a glowing ball of molten copper which one could then fuse into a doubloon.

It wasn’t that classy.