Patty drove down from Alabama for the weekend. We rocked the casbah at Fellini's... split a white pizza. The girl can eat.
All in all I'm glad I met her. This is how much we enjoyed ourselves:
Oh yeah. I let a waitress cut off all of my hair. It was a horrible mistake. She did a fine job of trimming away about 5 years from my appearance and destroying the source of my space-cowboy-sexiness. I'll just have to adapt and go with a geek-shiek style for a while. I had been feeling down and I've never been good at turning down smiling girls with scissors.... so when she made the request... I dunno, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do at the time. sigh.
So anyway, to wash away my got-no-hair-and-a-kidney-stone-blues, Patty made me cookies and we went to see Burt Reynolds get his scalp blown apart again in Dawn of the Dead.
I'm supposed to go see her in a few weeks and go dancing(?) Ergh... I don't really know what to expect there. I do know that I can't dance. Really. Not at all. This isn't like in the movies where the bashful guy says he can't dance and after a 60 second montage scene he rivals Baryshnikov. This is for real... where I say I can't dance, and you think I'm being modest and get me out there and I start convulsing spastically and you reeeeally wish you hadn't wanted to go dancing with me. I'm not ashamed that I can't dance. I just can't and that's that. Not that this will stop me from going. I mean, I love to get on the floor and make up ridiculous routines and/or make fun of the people that are actually talented.
We spent most of our time wandering around the city aimlessly. We recorded a humourous duet about all the things we had never done. And then we concluded the weekend with a cheesy photoshoot. Here we are pretending like we have known each other for more than 24 hours:
All in all I'm glad I met her. This is how much we enjoyed ourselves:
Oh yeah. I let a waitress cut off all of my hair. It was a horrible mistake. She did a fine job of trimming away about 5 years from my appearance and destroying the source of my space-cowboy-sexiness. I'll just have to adapt and go with a geek-shiek style for a while. I had been feeling down and I've never been good at turning down smiling girls with scissors.... so when she made the request... I dunno, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do at the time. sigh.
So anyway, to wash away my got-no-hair-and-a-kidney-stone-blues, Patty made me cookies and we went to see Burt Reynolds get his scalp blown apart again in Dawn of the Dead.
I'm supposed to go see her in a few weeks and go dancing(?) Ergh... I don't really know what to expect there. I do know that I can't dance. Really. Not at all. This isn't like in the movies where the bashful guy says he can't dance and after a 60 second montage scene he rivals Baryshnikov. This is for real... where I say I can't dance, and you think I'm being modest and get me out there and I start convulsing spastically and you reeeeally wish you hadn't wanted to go dancing with me. I'm not ashamed that I can't dance. I just can't and that's that. Not that this will stop me from going. I mean, I love to get on the floor and make up ridiculous routines and/or make fun of the people that are actually talented.
We spent most of our time wandering around the city aimlessly. We recorded a humourous duet about all the things we had never done. And then we concluded the weekend with a cheesy photoshoot. Here we are pretending like we have known each other for more than 24 hours: