project runintoyourcar

friday night the lindsay had a show at the new summit. i'm personally not too excited about the place. i liked it better when it was a gay bar. complete with sassy boys in tight white t-shirts, karaoke and drag queens. i believe i let the band know about this sentiment over a nice tall glass of vodka, standing in the front with jess.
my night previous to the stiff drink? not so nice.
J-hole and myself had resolved to be nicer to one another and reminded ourselves by writing a notes on our palms. his? "more sensitive" mine? "less sensitive" a gentle reminder to not give up on our relationship after 4 or 5 cocktails.
not so much success.
we left tom's house before the show. i insisted on driving because j-hole was already in good form.
and i did it, i backed into a psedofamous person's car.
you know the girl from proj run? the one everyone was rooting for? that one.
j-hole was not so happy about his.
he called me names and i went up to the house.
lucky for me, neither proj run or her pb&j lookin' boyfriend seemed remotely sober.
i told her what happened and gave her my information.
she basically said nothing. she said "you have pretty read hair"
and "is it fucked?" i told her it was a minor dent in the quarter panel. she seemed unconcerned.
the house looked like a traditional cutesie clintonville home. inside? it looked like a crazy 80's bachelor coke house with black leather couches, zebra rugs, and a porcelain cheetah holding up a glass coffee table.
she hasn't called me yet. i guess i can thank bravo for paying her enough to not bother me. halleluiah.
got pissed at jimmy. had him drop me off at kate's house. then after stewing for ten minutes. i literally ran to summit. it was pouring and i had no car. i figured, why walk it? so i showed up sweaty, grumpy and rained on. it makes you drink faster.
with the exception of talking to jess, it was a bust. fuck that place.
everything is back to normal with me and jimbo, as usual. weekdays we are the cleavers. weekends we are bobby and whitney. we'll find a balance.
he really is the light of my life. the problem, as he and i outlined last night in the newly decorated guest room is that he can be a real prick and i can be a real pussy.

and here i thought whenever tom bent over, he was punching stuff into his trusty Texas Instruments calculator.