Better Late Than Never!

So, first off let me just say that I did write a story for January 8th. I wrote it on my bus ride home scribbling away while feeling immensely paranoid that the person sitting next to me is trying to read what I am writing over my shoulder.

I just didn't get the story typed out because I was biz-eh.

Busy with what you might ask? Well, after many, many credible sources (yes Doug, sad to say that you are a credible source) informed me that I HAD to go see Avatar in the theater in 3D I decided that they were probably right (I mean, everyone told us that we should go see the new Star Trek movie in the theater, and we didn't, and actually we still haven't seen it and I'm sure I will regret that because I just saw the preview for it a couple weeks ago....I know, I know....and it looks awesome) and made plans with my sister and J to go see it.

But we didn't just make any plans, we made plans to go see it at Cinetopia in the Living Room theater. Fatty leather seats. A plush foot rest. Stadium seating set up so that you can even see the row below you. At all.

Being wicked smart and all I had purchased our tickets the night before which was good because the movie ended up being sold out. We got in line, got our glasses, and managed to find four seats together. So we sit down and the waitress comes by.

Oh yeah? Did I forget to mention that the theater was 21+ (no punk-ass kid texting in THIS movie!) and has a menu you can order from before the movie? So Ken and I ended up tucking in to a glass of port and a chocolate lava cake as the movie started. Ok, so the chocolate lava cake was totally gone by the time the movie started, but the glass of port was pretty damn tasty.

So, we are all chatting and eating and this guy pops up in this balcony thingy off to one side of the theater and starts talking on a microphone.

"Did you guys know that Cinetopia has live music on Friday and Saturday nights?" he asked.

No. No we did not.

So, we got a live classical guitar serenade before the show as well.

It was awesome.

And the movie hadn't even STARTED yet. I actually had no idea what the movie was about, but I enjoyed the hell out of it (yes, Doug, Eric you were totally right....and thanks for the suggestion). I wouldn't have gone to see this movie without the recommendation, but that would have sucked. It is a pretty good story, the 3D is pretty amazing, and there is nothing I like better than to see a military dumbass become an environmentalist. So James Cameron, you are an arrogant fuck, but you make good movies....I'll give him that.

So, THAT is why I didn't get my story typed up. But I did the work and it still counts because you all are basically guests in my life around here (mawh-ha-hahahahahah) so deal. I'll post another one tonight for sure-sies.


Word of the Day Friday, January 8, 2010

gesticulate \juh-STIK-yuh-layt), intransitive verb:

1. To make gestures or motions, especially while speaking or instead of speaking.

I leaned up against the bar, squeezed between the mash of people in the club, and tried to catch the bartender's eye. She nodded at me, "What's it going to be?" she yelled leaning towards me.

"A Dirty Girl Scout!" I shouted back over the din of the crowd and the blaring music throbbing from the dance floor.

I had been hoping for a smirk with my drink choice, and was grudgingly mollified with a slight eye-brow loft. "What is in that" she asked.

"That's what she said," I quipped laughing at my own joke until I saw the corners of her mouth tighten, "Ah, um, vodka, Crème de menthe, Baily's and Kaluha," I added quickly. She brought my drink back in short order in a very wide martini glass, "You didn't spit in this, did you?" I joked as she handed the drink over to me. "That'll be nine bucks," she responded dryly. I clumsily tried to juggle my dangerously top heavy drink, cocktail napkin and ten dollar bill under her un-waivering stare, "Thanks!" I said finally getting the money to her.

Quickly I took a sip off the top of my drink hoping to make it easier to carry without spilling and started to make my way over towards my sister and her crowd of friends. Cushioning my drink I slipped my way through the crowd. A little spin move here, another sip of the cocktail there, I'm a full on drink suspension machine baby! Followed by, fatal arm jostle.

"Fuck!" I shouted, now wearing half of my Dirty Girl Scout. I pounded the remaining bit of my drink, haphazardly placed the glass on the nearest flat surface, and proceeded to dab at my shirt with my itty-bitty cocktail napkin. "Fuck!" I shouted again suddenly aware of the fact that I had just sopped up a good two dollars worth of vodka into the napkin. I pulled my shirt up to my mouth to suck whatever leftover vodka I could find out of my shirt.

"Want some help with that?" a male voice sneered at me.

"No thanks. I'm married. To a man." I replied pulling the shirt out of my mouth.

"What are you doing at a lesbian club then?" he asked sourly.

"I'm with my sister. What are YOU doing at a lesbian club?" I asked back pointedly.

He shrugged and walked off, probably in hopes of finding another girl sucking on her shirt. Unincumbered I plowed my way through the crowd over to my sister.

"Hey, I thought ou were getting a drink? Why do you smell all minty?" my sister asked when I finally joined up with them. I looked over at Bethany, two years younger than me and with every feminine gene I didn't get. Her swishy flower printed skirt and matching dainty pink shoes in stark contrast to my black, and minty smelling, tank-top.

"What is wrong with these cocktail glasses?!?" I exclaimed gesticulating wildly, "It is like they are made to ensure you will dump out half your drink," and at that moment, in slow motion, I watched as my hand, the one pointing emphatically at the wide mojito-filled martini glass Bethany was holding, smacked into the edge of her glass, sloshing its contents across the swishy flower printed skirt.

"Oooooh," her crowd of friends gasped, collectively taking a step away from me while unconsciously tucking their drink glasses away.

Bethany looked up at me, her face contorted with fury.

"Look at what you did! Look at what you did to me! I was cute before you came over here!"

"That's what she sa....Um, there is a guy over there that willing to suck on your shirt for you," I suggested unhelpfully.

"Just go buy me another drink," she said not handing me any cash, "The one you are wearing smells good. And try not to spill this one."

***Author's Note***
Sadly this is based on a true story. All witty banter and shirt sucking is complete fantasy, but I the entire drink spilling scene is completely true. And my sister did accuse me of making her less cute. Which I will sadly have to live with for the rest of my life.