Though my workout this morning was coupled with a horrid headache from all the vodka I drank last night, I got through it. And I’m glad I did because now I feel great. You’d think I’d be old enough to know not to have that last drink, but what can I say. Anything worth doing is worth doing right.
I should have eaten before going out last night, but I ran out of time. Which meant that when I was watching the play about breast cancer and it was all serious and the woman was dying and wouldn’t eat a little White Castle burger being offered to her, and I muttered, “throw that bitch up here – I’ll eat it,” which made me and Alicia laugh, which was probably not appropriate for the circumstances. Not that I am ever really appropriate for the circumstances.
Ran into some old friends last night. One of those friends decided that since he hadn’t talked to me in some time, he needed to get the lowdown on the plan for the rest of my life right when I walked in the door. Was I going to get married? Why not? What about kids? How’s work? What’s the new play about? Parenthood? But you’re not a parent…how can you write about that?
The only thing more irritating than being grilled about really personal stuff is the fact that I’m sure he won’t even remember the conversation because he was lit. I should have made some shit up.
Yes, I’m going to get married, but not until after I’ve finished clown school. Of course, clown school has to wait until after the sex change, which actually won’t take as long as you’d think because I’ve decided to keep my breasts.
[that last part reminds me of the time my parents took us to see Santa in Bellaire in the late 70s or early 80s – they had this drive up deal (the ultimate in convenience) in front of the old trolley stop on Bellaire Boulevard – Santa would come up to the car and the kids would blurt out all the crap they wanted and then get a candy cane – one year, Santa had a pair of tits because he was a she (just like Lola) (I mean, just the opposite) – anyway I’m all about affirmative action, but Santa should have two jingle balls, not two tits]