Frank had been harrassing me to hang out, so I drove to Anacrime and met him at the bar below his condo. Pretty good setup, if you ask me. We talked about friends from the places we've worked in common (ACCIM & VPI), and I watched him get progressively more drunk on Patron shots and fluffy mixed drinks. I, by some miracle, managed the willpower to stay almost sober.
Once Frank's slurring reached the unintelligible point, I said my good-byes and drove to Long Beach for some (My)Sam and Heather time. Why is he (My) Sam? It's a long story. But he's my Sam.
We didn't do much ... just had some warm leftover keg beer, caught up, told stories. Stories like the one bout the time I was trying to balance a shot glass full of vodka on my stomach (no, I have no idea why) and he made me laugh - I ended up covered in cheap vodka. I miss (My)Sam, and we decided that we need to hang out more often.
Some time sobering up on Heather's couch that smells like baby, and I made my way to my mom's.
Worked last night. Low morale, crabby pregnant receptionist, and we're all regretting the commitments we've made. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I've sent out feelers. A co-worker confessed that she did once, in high school, draw her eyebrows on with a Sharpie. They're now tattooed on. I'm not sure which is worse.
Michael is here. Upstairs, even. So why am I still down here playing on the computer?
Like so many other things, I just don't know.