September 11

G Soul:

So, at about 10:00 last night, Rob calls. We had all tentatively planned to go to Toad's place to hear G Soul play. We weren't expecting the call quite so late, (I know,10 isn't late unless you're gigantically wimpy, like us) and I wasnt expecting Rob to be drunk off his ass when he called. Anyway, we gathered ourselves together, went and got Rob, who was in fact drunker than he sounded on the phone. This is pretty much the conversation that took place in the car:

Rob: uhh...it smells like baby powder in here!

Nick: it could be me. I just put deodorant on.

Rob: (thinking) you know...it really smells like baby powder in here!! one of you two smells like baby powder.

Dana: Maybe it was the baby I just ate?

Rob: Oh, man...baby EARS are great. Mmmmm....you can eat like 10 of em. But 12, that's too many. Then you're full. But they're so soft and smell all like baby powder...

Nick: Babies ARE pretty good to eat. They make good soup, too.

Rob: one of you two smells like BABY POWDER!!

Dana: Maybe it's YOU who smells like baby powder.

Rob: Naaaaahhhhh, man. i smell like skin. My skin smells just like what skin is supposed to smell like.

Dana: And what's that?

Rob: My skin!!!!!!

Dana: Oh.

Rob: I smell BABY POWDER.

That went on for some time, so at various time points in the evening, I would say to Rob "do you smell baby powder?" and he'd get all weirded out and talk about how his skin smelled nice. *THEN*, I came across a man who looked like Fabio with an eyebrow piercing, I leaned into Rob and said "Look! It's FABIO!!" Rob whirls around to look at him, looks back at me and says "Huh. That's nothing. I'm ROBIO". I about wet myself laughing (because by this time I'd chugged two cider jacks, partially prompted by the fact that we ran into Nick's high school PROM DATE there. Connecticut is definitely inbred, no doubt about that, and I am an idiot, no doubt about THAT.) Nick and his prom date were talking away, Robio leans into me and says, sotto voce, "you know...you kind of look like eachother!!", meaning me and the prom date. That is THE wrong thing to say to a woman. I wont even go into the reasons that's the wrong thing to say, the reasons being be THAT obvious. Coupling with the fact that Robio had earlier told me that I was "gross", I was none too pleased with him, but since he was drunk it was cool, no biggie. After that little interaction, I needed another drink, immediately, which I ordered after waiting for a few, making idle chit chat with the guy who was waiting next to me. I ordered Robio a beer (because I am a kind, idiotic person) and myself another jack, moving down the bar towards the bartender. When he handed me the drinks, I tried to pay him, but it turned out that the guy I'd been chatting with covered my round. Cool. Robio was all: "Oh...my GOD, chicks RULE!! YOU *RULE*....you are the....CHICKALATOR!!" Allright!! Im the chickalator. That makes me happy. (Didn't make up for the fact that he'd called me GROSS not an hour before, but oh, well) The show itself was pretty poor. I'd never seen the band before (they're a New Haven band and are wildly popular here) and was pretty unimpressed with the lead singer, who was painted orange with this stupid little patch of hair left unshaved on his head. What WAS impressive, however, was the gigantic tent the guy was pitching for a good 45 minutes of the show. I noticed it because he was wearing boxer shorts, shredded in Incredible Hulk style, with speedos or something underneath, and the shreds were sticking up in front a little more than they should have been. Not that I was staring at his crotch or anything, no sir.

On the way home, Robio was babbling incoherently about stuff that even I, slightly tipsy, couldn't follow. Then, he said a few things I had to write down, so totally boggled I was:

1.) "I hope you fucked his ear". 2.) "Then, I hit him on the head with a piece of salami".

When we pulled up to his driveway and he realized I was writing down (in a somewhat illegible scrawl) what he was saying he started ADDING to his original (apropos to god knows what) train of thought, and this is what I wound up with:

"No, no....say this, say this: You gotta fuck him in the ear THEN beat him in the head with salami. Bitches. They need it bad!"

If Nick could have kicked him out onto his lawn while the car was still moving, he would have. And I realized: Mean drunk people are only amusing to be around if I'm drunk too. If I'm not drunk, they're just mean. And it's especially bad karma to be mean to the CHICKALATOR. By the time we got home, it was 2:30. And remember, we're old and feeble and fragile and unaccustomed to not being happily in sleepy land by 11:30, the latest. At 2:30, things begin to get a little bleary, especially when you have to set the alarm to be awake at 6:15 the following morning to go to:

The Wedding...

I took the story down. All you need to know is that it was beautiful.

In Closing:

Drinking to the point of only tipsy is a totally new experience for me. Going to shows & not winding up hammered and sick. Drinking every single night, as I used to, going to work hung over every day is a far cry from me getting giggly after a bunch of ciders at a club. I'll go into this in more detail at a future time, if I remember.

this entry is lame. take me home.

yesterday was better. I was working with all of my functions intact.

take the poll, i dare you.

tomorrow, there's not much to say