stretching it to 16 minutes...

My friend Devarshi was kind enough to direct me here, to relive my sputtering-beached-whale-about-to-die routine again, and my mom sent this link, which I must admit, was a nice salve for that wound inflicted by the Whoregonian yesterday. (Look at the seventh paragraph down or so.) Lastly, my hero Mike sent me this page, certain that a phone call from Barack Obama would soon be forthcoming.

Knowing that people saw merit in the question really helps console me when I can't shake the image of me up there, sinking like the Titanic (only bigger).

no laughing matter

I can't sleep, and it's going to cost you. B and I dined with the fabulous Ms. (K) tonight, and followed it up with late coffees with our bitches. By bitches, I mean, the absolute creme de la creme of friends, whose company we relish, yet seldom get to enjoy.

After our initial plan sputtered and flopped around like a popped tire, we nestled in happily at Starbucks, approximately 85 miles away from where we had intended to meet. No matter, we made ourselves right at home doing what we do best, which, in my case, means scraping the very bottom of the etiquette bucket in order to procure as much laughter as possible. Tonight, I kicked the freaking bucket right out the door. I was so loud I was told my voice could be heard in the restrooms, and I spoke in the most unfiltered, deviant manner imaginable. All night long. It's worth mentioning that the Lancaster Starbucks doubles as a Bible study paradise. It's often hard to find a table because so many of these nice kids are there, praising The Lord and whatnot. But even their presence didn't deter my wickedness tonight. Even as I felt these tender young vessels recoiling, I squawked my obscenities, and cackled at my own depravity.

In fairness, one can hardly distinguish this night from any other, based upon my description. What makes tonight different is that I am having an acute case of morning-afters, the likes of which I've never known. As we were leaving, I asked the staff if we had been offensive, and two of them uttered an irrepressible "yes." My mind is replaying this on continuous loop. Normally I adhere to our covenant, "the joke is sacred," and shake off the scorn, or perceived scorn, of those nearby. I must tell you that it is never my intention to pollute my social environment, nor to make anyone ill-at-ease. On the contrary, my chief objective at all times is to make people laugh, and I will seemingly go to any lengths to secure a favorable reaction. But inflicting misery upon our staff and fellow diners is not my only regret tonight. I came home and read all my friends' blogs, and was swift to realize that I scarcely allow these glorious women to shine when we're together, because I'm always so busy trying to out-blaspheme myself, or reenact someone falling down the stairs, in hopes that they will perhaps, pee themselves, just a little. Karen never gets to talk about her herb expertise, because I will cut her off to honk like a goose, and Sam's voice is an endangered species because I'm too busy exaggerating the shit out of everything to let her speak. B can hold her own, so I have no regrets there, but poor Megan isn't apt to interrupt my rendition of a one-man-band, or whatever else I'm doing. So basically, I'm a solar eclipse, and I owe my friends an apology. Because they are sublime, they will never admit that I am a shameless glory hog, but we all know it's true.

Here is where I ought to vow to be more conscientious of my friends, and of innocent passers-by, but I think we all know what my vows are worth. I'd horrify those baristas again in a heartbeat if I thought one of you would shoot coffee out of your nose.

Some friend I am...

eating crow never tasted so good...

Suffice it to say, my grand departure didn't stick. Instead I just hurt people's feelings and made a jerk of myself. Around here we call that "the usual."

But on a brighter note, I was welcomed back (or, in some cases forced back at knife point) into open, loving arms, and I think that's worthy of a celebration. Of sorts.

I have discovered the most decadent treat on earth, and I'm indulging today in honor of A) my return to the grind, and B) the fact that I am 30 years old and can eat whatever I want. Officially I gave up sugar to support B, but she gave me her full blessing on this one.

Introducing the vanilla cupcake from Starbucks. Words can't describe it, other than to say, the frosting is as tall as the cake! I recommend this above all other desserts.

On second thought, they tend to be pretty scarce, so would you mind ordering the coffee cake instead? Thanks.