I have been to the honky tonk and made it out alive. But I'm cool like that.

I think I should be gone more often....so much good resulted form this trip!

I met a man I like to call the Ink-inator 2000. I say this because he had good manners, survived my interrogation without sweating, and was covered in tattoos. He was nice (a bland compliment, to be sure, but its the best I have for the amount of time I was around him and it's still a good compliment). He had various metal thingies coming out of his face and showed me a picture of his wee-wee piercings (no comment). He expressed his long term goals (a sure sign he's not a complete loser).
But let's get back to his name: the Ink-inator 2000. He is so dubbed because he is a cyborg. There is a switch in his head that turns on at the mention of the word "tattoo." His face lights up and his hands join the conversation. It's an interesting contrast. He is so passionate about his art that any other time spent NOT talking about it or doing it or showing it seems like his brain is like a computer on hibernate or his mind is at rest. This is neither good nor bad...just an observation. (although, one might say it is a good thing he has such passion)

I also bought chocolate. The goooooood chocolate. It won't last long, but it was worth it. Just stepping into the Godiva store is like smelling a waft of heaven. HEAVEN, I tell you! I think the cost is completely justified. C'mon, white chocolate strawberry truffles! Helloooo!?

I didn't make it to a certain Pilates class or some other thing that had something to do with Yoga. After seeing my sister stretch out her body while standing on one leg (and do it well), I decided it was probably a good thing I missed it. Let's face it. I have the grace of a blind, drunken botfly. I couldn't do what she did without hurting someone...most likely myself. We're talking stitches here. (I'm not kidding. I have this talent for getting deep flesh wounds in odd situations.)

A certain bitch who attends a certain Pilates class walked around all day in the green pants I loved but couldn't fit into. The bitch. But said bitch let me kick ass at Rummy so I can't stay mad.

I returned home with my banshee monkeys to find my home in complete disarray. I don't know what happened here, but it's safe to assume that it wasn't pretty. Great. Wonderful. Yee. Haw.

Nothing says "I missed you" like a twenty-minute boobie suckle, though. More importantly, nothing says "I'm sorry I'm a slob" like a long lingering tongue bath. He either missed me something fierce or was worried about the thoughtful way I was studying the steak knives earlier that evening. Either way, it was good nookie. It was the kind of nookie that makes me want to nominate him for an award or something. That's some serious tongue stamina!

I think I should be gone more often.