Sorry. The coffee pot just beeped again. When am I gonna get used to that jarring beeping noise?
Last night I went to First Friday with The Fireman. Because I'm all about alliteration.
The Fireman laughed. "What's worse, that I told you someone bought me that book, or that you sound actually interested in it?"
See. I would PORE over a book like that. You know I love all that old-picture crap.
In case you were worried sick, First Friday is an event held the first Friday of every month, where the businesses downtown stay open and they have bands on the street and people walk around drunkenly in galleries and so forth. I went to First Friday with Dick Whitman last month, if you'll recall. Because you pay attention to my every move.
I just realized you can see The Fireman's outfit reflected in this picture. I complimented his shirt and he said, "Really? I liked it too but everyone told me to go for my blue polo shirt."
Who felt like the man in this situation? I came home last night and yanked down the first remotely flattering thing that was clean. He consulted his FRIENDS about what to wear. And...success! Because I complimented it. And that is what you want in every situation. My approval. Please consult me daily re your wardrobe. Thank you.
I almost didn't even GET to First Friday to frolic with The Fireman. I had a migraine yesterday because it had been raining on and off, which always does it for me, so I had to take my meds and wait, and I finally was able to get in the car and once I was POINT THREE FIVE MILES from our destination? A TRAIN was STOPPED in my way. A train. Stopped. It was stopped in front of this cool building above, though, and I was able to admire it.
I texted The Fireman. "Turn around, go to this street, turn right," he said. I did. Guess what. TRAIN! It was there too! Trains are big.
"Okay, turn right, go down here," he said. I did. "ROAD CLOSED AHEAD" read a sign. It was at this point I started giggling hysterically. "God does not want us to be at First Friday." I texted him. "Well, I got here. God doesn't want YOU at First Friday," he wrote.
Finally God relented and I got there almost 45 minutes late. I had said I would buy the drinks beause The Fireman had said he would buy dinner, but when I got there he wouldn't hear of it.
I kind of like that in a man, I have to tell you. Hi, Gloria Steinem.
We spent a lot of time watching people and discussing their stories, as we completely invented them, and I took many many pictures of people that I now realize I can't possibly put in this blog. Like the poor guy who The Fireman said did not have a forehead, he had an eighthead. "I'm glad I have hair, still," he said.
Oh! And he told me I could not tell you this part so now I will. We were at an outdoor restaurant but it was so covered in trees that the drizzly rain couldn't really get to us, but I had said, "I apologize in advance for the 'fro you are about to witness."
So awhile later I emerged from the bathroom. Because you know I like to cough everything back up after I eat. "There's a cigarette machine here," I announced. "A real one?" Fireman asked. "Yeah, not like an Art-O-Mat or anything," I said.
Naturally I stampeded to the story of the Art-O-Mats, and how I love them, and how my friend Charlie sells his art in them, and where they can be found in North Carolina, and I finally took a pause when The Fireman said, "Your hair doesn't look bad."
"You said your hair was gonna look bad in the rain but it looks great."
"I was telling you the FASCINATING story of the Art-O-Mat and you were observing my potential HAIR fallout?"
He said that story made him sound like a dick but I don't think it does. Plus he doesn't read my blog so he'll never know I told it. He decided reading my blog might be a bad idea since the last two people I dated read it and we all broke up with each other.
So it was a good evening. This is a two-month-old Boston Terrier who you may be shocked to hear I ran over to and fell in love with. It was dark. This was the best I could do with my stupid iPhone. Dooce I am not.
Comment of the week is going to Just Paula, the artist formerly known as Paula H&B. This is probably the 749th time she has gotten this coveted award but everything that hussy says is hilarious. Even her relatively racist Indian comments. Hi, Faithful Reader Nithya who I think is Indian.
June. Driving readers away with her virulent racism since 2011.