24-Apr-2006

Where to begin?  This weekend was a virtual clusterfuck of retardation, coupled with some vodka tonics and a good dose of sushi.  It all started Saturday, when the Other Me came over for Dawson's.  I read her the logline of the episode, which was something like, "Upon learning of her acceptance to Harvard, Andie goes a little far with her celebration at a local rave."  I immediately designed a game entitled, "Which one of the Dawson's Creek squares is going to do X?"  Clearly, Andie.  But what about Dawson?  Would his anger at Joey and Pacey or his need to impress Gretchen cause him to cave?  And what about Joey?  She had just gotten back from the "Go" rave when this episode was filmed - shouldn't she know the ropes by now?  Well, folks, I'm not gonna tell you who did what and who couldn't accept consequences for their actions.  You'll have to watch the episode for yourselves.  But damn, it was a good game.

Saturday night found the Designated Driver, the Hottie, and I at Crazy Fish.  I was sulking, as usual, because one of the Faux Agents (he's a real agent - he's just not my agent... yet) was having a party at which I had to make an appearance.  I hate parties more than Stalin hated intellectuals.  But of course the Hottie was fluttering on about doing each other's hair and makeup, and I was stabbing my Kinta roll with a splintery chopstick, and we left the place with the agreement that no party was to be attended, we were all too tired.  We would go back and watch Requiem for a Dream, or some other rom-com (hahahaha).  Fast forward ten minutes, as the Designated Driver puts in some 'N Sync, and damnit if halfway through the second verse of "Bye, Bye, Bye" I didn't call up the Hottie and tell her to bring her party clothes over, we were going out! 

So we did.  It's funny, when you go to a party in this town, you run into everyone you know.  I, for example, ran into Date Boy, who seemed pleased to see me, although I left without saying goodbye to him, which I didn't specifically mean to do, but alas, I don't want him figuring me out too quickly, now, do I? 

10 AM the next morning I get a call from him, saying he's sorry he didn't come back last night when he said he was just going to get a beer.  He got caught in a conversation, and he felt really bad... now that's what I like to hear.  Guys feeling bad about themselves.  And telling me about it.  So he asked me over to watch The Sopranos.  Having no other plans for the evening, I accepted. 

In the meantime, however, there was the matter of Ballsy Gal's barbecue.  I had promised to make artichoke dip, but it was 2:30, and I'd had no coffee, no B6 - in short, I should have been headed to a halfway house.  Instead, the Designated Driver and I headed to Ralph's, not getting out the door for the actual barbecue until 4:30.  Which was a problem, since she had to be at work at 5:30.  Luckily, I had time to exchange double cheek kisses with Ballsy Gal and chug a Bud Light.  By the time I'd dropped the Designated Driver off, it was time to head over to Date Boy's. 

We sat through Big Love, then two episodes of Entourage, and THEN, right before The Sopranos, he decided to make his move.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed making out with him, but he had all that time... Then I remembered something.  Date Boy works at HBO!  So we missed the beginning, but he apologized as I was leaving.  The conversation went something like this:

DB:  You hate me for choosing right then to make my move, don't you?

Me:  Only a little.

DB:  Don't worry.  I'll get you the DVD of that episode.  

Me:  Damn straight you will.

And that, my friends, was a lovely way to start a week.