Yesterday after work, I got together with people from work, 4939292 of whom are named Alex.
We met up at the pretentious bookstore downtown, and eventually there were so many of us that we had to move to the back of the store, and at 7:00 they kicked us out altogether for a book club or something. I.am.sure.
I like the new pretentious bookstore, but it feels like there are too many events there all the time. Wouldn't it be nice if we could just, oh, hang out instead of always having to get ready for a live reading of Gertrude Stein's greatest hits?
A lot of people got alcohol, but Alex #5649484 and I got coffee. I had to go home and do Tracy Chapman. Yes, again. I'm in Fat Club, man. I'm trying to get my money's worth. I also had a delicious smoked gouda and apple sandwich (5 points) for dinner, and in case you were wondering YES I AM STARVING NOW.
Fat Club. Hate.
Here's all of us trying to make Alex #2893 look like a huge drunk. Everyone's a comedian.
Oh, and yes I DO only work with people who are 17 years old. Thanks for noticing. It's a sad day when I'm the old, wizened one. Note I did not say wise, but wizened. But speaking of wisdom, as the evening wore to a close and the only people left were the drunks and me, high on caffeine, we talked about what we aspired to be someday. Truth be told, no one thought to ask me, as I am old and invisible, but I answered in my mind, and told Ned about it later.
I aspire to not have an insane, chattering brain one day. I'd like it to turn the fuck off just PART OF THE DAY, okay?
I'd like to be known for my writing. I don't have to be famous Amos, but, you know, like one of those bands only cool people know about. I could be the hipster's writer.
Okay, that sounds awful. I just mean I'd like to be somewhat known but I don't have to be that chick who wrote the Harry Potter books.
I'd like to live in a big old white house out in the country and have cat (hunh) and one large mellow dog, and some goats because goats are cute and maybe a few pigs because pigs are adorable. I'd like some kind of young muscled farmhand to take care of said pigs and goats.
Perhaps my farmhand could look like Morris Chestnut.
Hey, I can dream.
Okay, so what do you aspire to be?
