Diary of a Fat Man

I've got twelve minutes to kill, so why not use them to write some incredible drivel?

 

I've been sick most of the week with either food poisoning or a virus or somesuch.  Although it was pretty sweet spending my birthday in bed watching TV and catching up with Smodcasts on my new Ipod (yay birthdays!) (again, if you like what I write, this is a podcast you must listen to), I'd have rather been healthy enough to also have spent the day getting fucking smashed on whisky sours and Tom Collins.

 

Last weekend, Laurie threw me a surprise birthday party.  I've known about the party for a few weeks, but played along as if I didn't.  Even if I DIDN'T know, I would have figured it out that day.  Hmmm, Nichole's new boyfriend inviting me to see a movie?  Oh, a half-off margarita machine because Jaime (a friend who is a caterer) had a party fall through?

 

It rocked, however.  I racked up on gift cards (both Best Buy and Barnes & Noble), got the Ipod that Nichole has owed me for building the website that got her a promotion at work.  I got sensationally fucked up.  TGWSNTMAW was coming to the party (damn snoopy wife got her number out of my cell phone), but she got lost on the way to my house.  Probably a good thing too.  I told her that if Laurie ever saw her, I'd never get to hang out with her EVER.  Laurie asked me what she looks like and I was all "Ah, she's all right.", which she said meant that she was hot (um, yep).

 

Anyway, I got interrupted mid post by the security guard bitching about his wife.  You only got half my attention (man, even more like sex).

 

Adios, putas.