lacking a creative title Saturday, October 13, 2007Ok, so this post was supposed to go live last night- I still don't understand why it wasn't published. But luckily it gives me a chance to talk about the parade that is taking place outside my apartment door (this is so not an exaggeration). It's the homecoming parade for the university and holy shit, have you ever been woken up by a marching band practicing next to your bedroom window? It is all levels of un-awesomeness. Even if it is the famous Marching 110, whom I normally adore but come on 8:30am? I don't love you so much right now.
Onto the embarrassing stuff (sorry to disappoint there is nothing involving drug fueled orgies).
Over the course of last weekend I refered to Kenny Lofton as Ken Griffy Jr.
Repeatedly. In both print and verbal conversations.
I know the damn difference but for some reason Ken Griffey Jr. became crossed with Kenny Lofton and I didn't snap out of it until Sunday night. Which on the whole isn't earth shatteringly embarassing but they clearly are two different people who play for two different teams, and it is something that still completely embarasses me.
Last weekend a friend and I were making jokes about Catholic school girls and The Thornbirds and somehow it got out of hand. Before I could stop it I was about 40 shades of red and I couldn't even tell you what was said because I've blocked it from memory. Lets put it this way, my priests were never as smoldering as Richard Chamberlin (we won't touch on the freakiness of the fact that he practically raised Meggie and then sexed her up.)
In a coversation with my trainer, in response to the question: So what kind of music do you listen to?
I responded with: "I'll listen to anything. I'm a musical slut."
I also snored several times during my massage last week, loudly. I never snore, I'm definitely more of talk-in-my-sleep sort of girl.
And this one is slightly embarrassing, in reality I think it is going to be awesome. I'm going to the Ohio Smoked Meats Festival. What could be better? The dorky part is I marked it on my calender so I wouldn't forget to get my fill of smoked meats.
And lastly, while eating dinner last night I managed to fling a piece of hot sauce covered baked potato into my right eye. OW! That burned like a motherfucker and I ended up hopping around my apartment like a crazy woman trying to get my contact out of my burning eye. Ok, so this one is also not embarassing but more of a general prat fall.