A Long, Boring-ish Post* About How I'm Lil Miss Social Now



My roomie and I have been spending loads of time together lately because her relationship woes turned into a full-out relationship loss. Boys are very good at making girls very sad. She needs to get out of the house and since we both need to make more friends in this town, we've been trying to get out more. The low-down on our activities recently:

- Lots of movie watching!

- Headed down to the local indie-film theater to see Closer. Seeing as the movie was all about cheating, lying, deception, and lots of hurt and anger, we both left the theater thoroughly depressed and melancholy. As a friend of mine commented after she saw the movie:
"Well, that certainly reaffirmed my faith in relationships." < / s a r c a s m >
The good bit is that I've discovered Damien Rice (he has 2 sites for some reason, here and here) and his song The Blower's Daughter. Ladies and gentlemen, Damien Rice officially rocks (in a folky kind of way).

- Headed to the theater again after a few days to see Finding Neverland. A lot more lighthearted than our last choice, Finding Neverland was all about imagination and the fantastical things we think up. It was inspirational, filled with a wonderful strangeness and loads of cute British child actors. It comes highly recommended by moi.

- Next on our To See List: The Phantom of the Opera.

- Desperate to get her dance on, she wanted to go out somewhere, anywhere, please for the love of goodness let me dance! So we went to Philthy McNasty's, a place whose name makes me shiver because it sounds like you can contract a disease just by standing inside. Upstairs is a restuarant that boasts great fries (or something like that) and advertises Tuesday nights as Kids Eat Free! Night. This seems strange to me (who would take their kids to eat at a place called Philthy McNasty's??) because just one flight of stairs down it is packed with scantily clad university girls and more boys wearing pinstripe shirts than you can shake a stick at all grinding on the meat market they call a dance floor. We ignored the girls who were drunk enough to make out and the creepy guys who watched them and had a blast, until a beer bottle got smashed in the air somehow and suddenly there was alcohol and shattered glass all over my arm and tangled in my hair. We came home that night after waiting for a cab for half an hour in the cold feeling like old ladies. My feet are killing me! What did I do to my hips? My back hurts! Well, maybe you should wear more sensible shoes!

- Next, a night at the guys' house, a game of Hungry, Hungry Hippos and the Atlanta Falcons vs. the St. Louis Rams. I didn't, still don't and don't if I ever will "get" football. And Hungry, Hungry Hippos wasn't as fun as I remember it. Off to the bar, and after hours of good conversation, warm pita triangles and spinach dip, it was back to the dance floor. I was irked by the coat check that managed to "run out of room" and how bottles, straws and limes managed to find their way onto the dance floor with the intention of getting under my shoes, making me slip and look like an idiot. Then the roomie felt sick and alcohol gave her the urge to spit everywhere. I learned how to make a bunny with my gloves, came home and tried to scoop Jello with my left hand at 2am.

*I tried to make it interesting, but it's Sunday afternoon and I really don't feel like it. I swear, when I started, I didn't know it would turn out this badly. Forgiveness, please.

4:59 pm