Too hot to sleep

The Jule often times asks me what she does with her time. I tell her to blog it down so she will remember and that she should slow down on the coke, as it's really affecting her memory. The weekend was a blur, so I'll try to do my best.

Six Flags was a blast. Going on rides, drinking beer and eating dippin' dots on the company dime, plus it was some quality coworker bonding. Plus I learned a new term from Whit: Wal-Mart feet, that describes the blackened color of one's foot from not wearing shoes.

And what turned out to be a quiet night, turned into one of those nights, as I get a message from Frank saying that he's flying in and I need to pick him up at the airport at 9:30. This was at 6:40 and I was about 2 hours from home. Naturally his plane is delayed and the pickup is closer to 11:30, but it goes without saying that Frank is on the short-list of people I would pick up at the airport.

I've also realized that I've reached another momentous stage in my life, where a friend comes into town and I can take him/her out to dinner and it's not a big deal. Well it's a big deal because I get to do less catching up and more not missing a beat. Of course the standby for such an occasion is C-Town, the only place in town where you can get a decent plate of sweet and sour post midnight. Then back to the apt. where we had some SportsCenter and a bottle of tequila to finish off.

So if I've known you long enough, you've invariably heard my modeling story. If not then that's one crown jewel you have missed out on. Instead you will resign yourself knowing that I helped the Blonde out with a photoshoot Saturday. It's for the album cover of her boy's band. The general theme was a bunch of posh, socialites gathered at some soiree, too concerned with the size of their own surgically enhanced breasts and flourishing mutual funds to notice the dead body floating around in the pool. I believe things went off without a hitch, save the sweltering heat and the fact I was wearing a suit.

I also ran into HotdogGirl and managed to neither alienate her, nor feel like a complete jackass. Bravo.

My new guilty pleasure: the 24-hour car wash. The staple of nights drinking, talking about jobs, women, life, etc. turned, "I knew we should have never gotten that hooker, how the hell are we going to get rid of the evidence" " everywhere. I wish it was closer so I could be drunk while I'm cleaning my car.