This obviously got me thinking about how important I assume I am in the greater scheme of things - namely that I started lusting after the cheesesticks, I introduced them to Schmeon & now even Shaba has a hankering for the melty-melt goodness of fried cheese. It is I! Colleen! Trendsetter of the Western World! Infiltrator! Pop Culture Maven! Sexpot and Undeniable Forecaster! Omnipotent food-predictor! Everyone wants to be just! like! me!
Last night was a celebration of Crone's birthday - the ol' bugger turned 24. So Shaba and I went down to Burt's to meet up with them, buy him a drink, and basically "not get trashed." (I can always hear myself the next day saying, "We're not going to get trashed, Joe. We'll be fine. You'll be fine for work tomorrow. Fine." And then we guzzle booze & beandip like it's going out of style and we're the only takers.) But! At Burt's, we saw the band Get the Girl, and I'll be damned if they did not rock the proverbial Kasbah. And I must mention the fact that their drummer ruled! Ruled, I say! Unfortunately, when they got off the stage, I realized they were part of the little-people-brigade (those that are shorter than I, Queen of the Desert and All That is Unholy!). But they still kicked out the jams, shook me all night long, and got down tonight (er... last night).
You must be guessing that something stupid happened in a Robbie Williams/Nicole Kidman sort of way - and why yes! You are right! There were these nasty passe truckers there that were whooping and hollering at the smell of femme rockers - slamming shots of Goldschlager (one turned to me at the bar and said, "I could have bought the whole bottle for that much" - and I think I misspelled "Goldschlager" but I'm too lazy to check). They had the long, wispy goatee - the perfect length to wrap around your own nipples or something - with bandanas and gray wifebeaters and cowboy boots. It was a regular hoohaa for these gents - all they were missing was the handlebar moustache and maybe a jug to pound their hairy knuckles on.
Besides the fact that Shaba & I, including Mandy and some other lads, were mercilessly trying to interfere with one's mack on a waitress, I think the night went off without a hitch. I also think I overuse the "-" - you know, the hyphen.
Isss ma mama's birthday dis weekend, y'all! Keep it real!