I made a couple of funnies tonight at my critique group, amusing even me (ok, it's ridiculously easy to do, just ask my kids. I cry when I laugh and everything--often disastrous effects on the eyeliner). One thing I said was about how I'd be sarcastic and evil, except I was with people I don't know well enough. They all laughed, but I wansn't being funny. You have to know how people will accept things you say. For instance, I could say that Greg went to Mexico and didn't have a FABULOUS time, just a fun time, and I could say something to the tune of "I'm just the littlest bit glad about that. I don't like it about myself, but there it is." And I've no idea how you'll react.
I know how Greg will react, of course, which is, "Fuck you, Sex. You're just jealous I'm tanner than you in April."
To which I'll reply, "Yeah. I am."
And then he'll go, "Aww, you're tan... in a whitey-whitey-white Anglo sort of way."
And I'll go "Am I all washed out? Do I have wrinkles? Is my ass too big?"
And he'll say, "You're not fat. You're not old. Your ass is fine. Quit being such a fucking girl about it."
Sigh. He's a nice boy.
But PHF made the funniest comment lately, which was about the dried-up chocolate fondue now being called "Fun-Done."
Ok, come on. You're giggling. You're maybe even peeing yourself just a little bit. That's a damn funny line. A quip even. Fondue-->Fun done. Heh.
Our Electric Spec production meeting is next Friday Night. I have... er, prolly not kosher to say, but let's say A LOT of stories to read and rank. This meeting apparently went swimmingly last time, but since I'm new to the process I'm worried about throwing a wrench or... a margarita, or something. We have to cull to a third of the stories. For you math whizzes out there that's like I got three beers and I have to give you two. TWO. That sucks. Times ten cuz the stories are all so damn good.
I should probably be worried about drinking too much, but I have to drive so that should help that. Driving drunk sucks, people. Total buzz kill.
But before that, Thursday, in fact, is ::::Girls Night Out::::: Everyone suddenly plans on getting all wild and crazy, and it's gonna be on Thursday. All I got to say is if I end up drinking Cosmos with cheap vodka or slamming Kamis and singing Werewolves in London in front of those goddamn piano bar people one more time I'm going to scream. Howl. Whatever.
But I'm pretty sure my friends know my feelings about the piano bar. I like places with smokin' guys, and lemme tell you, the only smokin' guys in a piano bar are the piano players and the bartenders when they're outside on break.