Sometimes things don't go the way you plan. And when you are, say, ME and work for, oh, I don't know, COCK, things go horribly horribly wrong with alarming frequency.
Why we thought that Friday the Fucking 13th would be an auspicious day to try and get a proposal out the door is unclear. But we tried. And failed miserably.
At 5:15 when we were still very very far from completion, I sort of thought that driving 4 hours up to Vermont was a crazy idea. At 7pm when I finally left work, utterly exhausted and demoralized, my only coherent thought was how quickly I could get a drink into me.
PT and I decided to abandon the Vermont mission for a better time and decided to go out and have a few drinks and RE-PLAN the weekend. I did, however, manage to order a ton of expensive sandwiches for lunch and charge it to Chesterfield 6. (I am still eating them, there were a LOT of sandwiches.)
We ended up meeting up with Samurai Jones and hitting Vincent's for some cocktails and defrazzlement. It was nice, but I couldn't help but think that COCK was slowly taking over my life.
Despite how that sounds, I don't know that it is a good thing at all.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment