See Amalah. See Amalah Lose Her Shit.
July 30, 2004
SEE AMALAH UPDATE AFTER A WHOLE DAMN DAY FOR SHE IS LAZY:
Friday. Fri. Day. Bitch. Es.
Too bad I woke up thinking it was Saturday. I’ve actually done that every blessed day this week. I blame D.C. Restaurant Week, which has required me to get dressed up every night and go out for dinner at swanky places and totally gives every night a Friday night vibe.
(Restaurant Week is well, a week where, well, restaurants lower their prices and let the poor white trash in for a three-course meal for $30 a person. Which should mean you get a meal that would usually cost over $100 for about $60, except that every place we’ve gone we’ve still ended up paying over $100 because we’re snooty people who demand lots of wine pairings and cocktails and sparkling water blessed by little French nuns or whatever.)
Last night we ate at some Nuevo Latin Cuisine Culinary Trend du Jour place that was awesome. Quite very much awesome. Quite very much mojitos. Hemingway Mojitos, actually, which are still just booze with sugar and mint but are literary, and therefore sophisticated.
We drank these literary cocktails and actually were more sophisticated than 90% of the jackasses at the bar, for they were Bad, Sloppy, Embarrassing Drunks.
Recipe For Hilarious Floor Show Cocktail:
First, you will need:
2 somewhat attractive yet nearing middle-aged women
5 totally unattractive middle-aged men on a business trip
5 tacky patterned golf shirts.
3 bald heads
7 wedding bands
6 constantly ringing cell phones.
8 glasses of house merlot
Desperation (to taste)
Remove inhibitions with melon baler. Apply alcohol liberally and season with a heavy sense of desperation. Set alpha-male aside to marinate in beer.
Women should now be screeching at an increased volume and finding everything hysterical. Make sure to douse their Talbot’s biz casual wear with an extra helping of wine. Give men napkins to help clean them up in a completely gratuitous manner. Add one to alpha-male bowl for some booty shaking and grinding on a bar stool.
Shoot bartender look like, “Oh my god are you seeing this too?”
Swap females so slightly younger one can make out with the bald and fat alpha-male until she falls off the bar stool. Combine older female and random other male with a turquoise golf shirt. Shake. Watch the horror.
Spill beer on someone’s laptop. Stir with inappropriate threats of spanking. Bring out photos of kids. Add French-kissing and remove any remaining Shame that may be floating around.
Continue mixing all ingredients around until the bartender flags them, gives them a bill so long it takes four receipts, and kicks their sorry asses out.
SEE AMALAH STILL COP OUT ON REALLY WRITING ANYTHING:
Amalah: give me something funny to write about today so my readers don't all abadon me
Amalah: abandon, even
Amalah: also buy me a dictionary
Chris: I can do that
Chris: nothing good from dinner last night?
Amalah: a couple funny/sad things from the bar scene, but not enough for a whole entry
Chris: I was going to say...that sounded like some decent material...but whatever would have made it funnier? make up!
Amalah: lie? on a BLOG? are you MAD?
Amalah: the blog police would get me!
Chris: I know! I'm just that frickin radical
Chris: oh yes, the blogtroopers
SEE AMALAH MAKE POLITE CONVERSATION WITH HERSELF:
Amalah: You are very sad. You didn’t update yesterday and yet you still have nothing to write about.
Amalah: Shut up.
Amalah: You also wussed out on the Haiku Smackdown, to the disappointment of dozens.
Amalah: Fuck you, bitch.
Amalah: Also, why don’t you go eat a sandwich or something? Jesus.
Amalah: Why don’t I just punch you in the face?
SEE AMALAH BORE YOU WITH WORK TALK:
So remember those 11 reports I need to write and get to print by next Tuesday? Here’s how that’s going:
Number of reports that are DONE, as in DONE: Two
Number of reports that are DONE, as in I DON’T CARE ANYMORE: Two
Number of reports that are NOT DONE, but GETTING THERE: Five
Number of reports that are NOT DONE, and NOT EVEN CLOSE, OH MY GOD: Two
Number of extra small printing tasks that I did not include in the 11, but is also DONE and therefore has been added to the task list for the sole purpose of crossing it out as DONE in bright red ink: One
SEE AMALAH DECLARE AN END TO ALL THE MADNESS:
I’ve given myself a deadline. Thursday, August 5th. That seems like a nice date.
Either I write an entry on a single topic, start to finish, without all the lists and lame IM conversations, and actually say something remotely intelligent, and quit with the run-on sentences, by August 5th, or else…
Well. Either I do all that by my deadline or else I miss my deadline. And that would be bad and stressful for me.