Sunday, February 9

I'm safely back in the land of the drinking, but the landscape is so different. I feel disoriented. And NOT happy. Happy to be home, but home just isn't home without the P.
I'm too sleepy to go on some tirade about all the cool stuff changing into crap, but believe me, I'm thinking it. Loudly. Life will not be the same without the bar that weened me. Sure, we'll still have the best bartender in the world, and that counts for a lot, but man... it's going to be strange. Maybe we can convince W to give the place a bad-guy/Royal Hawaiian/Geosynchronous Products inspired name that will scare off all the college kids. Possibly just "Fuck Off College Kids" would suffice. Maybe for a tag-line. After being in both (ok, all three) bathrooms, I shudder to think what W has up his sleeves for a new decor scheme. Maybe we could volunteer our talents... I've gotten pretty good at painting things Superman blue, and I know someone who does murals... hmm...
I should go try to get some sleep now. Not sharing a room with six other people will probably help. More on Women's Weekend to follow. Now get off my pillow... and I get pinky. Mmm... pinky.


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