I actually fell asleep in the shower, at a stoplight, and at my desk all by 9 this morning. After tapping my lightly on the back of the head, the gayboy from across the way introduced me to a beverage in our kitchen called, "coffee." Ever one for the fabulous insights, he also showed me something called "creamer" that I thought may be a come-on, but turns out it simply turns coffee from something along the lines of liquid ass to a smooth non-asslike treat.

I thanked him by shouting, "that�s the bestest shit EVER, thanks GayBoy!"

The sheer amount of homosexual innuendo of that entire interaction wasn�t lost on me, but I am awake now.

---

The QA chick is hanging at my cube explaining to me why none of my shit is going to get on our production servers until early next ice age or I grow breasts (whichever comes first), and GayBoy walks by once, twice, then three times a checkin� her out. "Hmm," I think, "I know his husband works in the corner office, but that didn�t stop him from showing me how �creamer� works this morning. No reason he can�t be checking out QA girl."

Then he stopped and asked her if those were new shoes she had on.

Aha.

---

My semi-conscious state can be directly attributed to a weekend full of hard-drinking and not-hard sleeping.

Friday night, me and The Girl grilled up some steaks and sat on the back patio, drinking, playing with gotard dogs, and bullshitting into the night. It amazes me that for someone I grew up with, we have so many different stories about the same people and/or their siblings. It�s especially fun to re-tell each other the stories about our first "date" and stupid shit her brother and I have done, just to hear the other�s perspective.

We smoked cigarettes and drank Avalanche until we ran out and switched to wine (midnight).

Strange how my belly was firmly against this. Christ, it was even singing me the song:

Belly: Beer before liquor, never sicker... Liquor before beer, never fear... beer...

Me (shouting at my midsection): Dude, don�t be a pussy, we can handle it.

Belly: You give me nothing all day but spicy Thai, steak, and 7 beers, and now you think you can get away with cheapass Chateau Screwtop? Man, you�re so in for it.

Me (still shouting, Girl is beginning to stare): Chill out. It was only 5 bucks, can you argue with that? Besides, it ain�t bad, I mean it shouldn�t upset you too mu...

Belly (interrupting): Beer before liquor... la, la, lalaa...

Me (angry with Belly now): Fuck you, you�ll take it and like it.

Girl: Um, I�m going for more smokes.

Me (to Girl): Yeah, that�s cool. We�re fine here.

Belly: That�s what you think, fucker. Beer before liquor...

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Belly always wins, when will I learn that?

---

I�m leaving Sunday night out because the tiring part of that evening was me staying up to finish a sappy, chick book that left me crying after the very last paragraph. I�d be the biggest pussy I know if I didn�t look so fucking tough in a skirt (see below).

So, Saturday Night.

Let me preface this with the fact that I�ve never met anyone online and then in real life. So, when I shot my mouth off about showing up in my kilt and stripping/singing for ubergrrl�s 30th birthday, she called me on it and invited me and The Girl. I told her I�d be there if I could clear it with The Girl:

Me: We got plans Saturday night?

Girl: Nope.

Me: Want to go to a party?

Girl: Sure, sounds good.

Me: Ummm, it�s up in Longmont.

Girl: Shit, we�ve driven farther than that for a party.

Me: Ummm, it�s a girl I met online.

Girl: As long as it�s not MeFuckYouNasty1411 or some shit.

Me: Nah, nothing like that, it�s ubergrrl.

Girl: Oh, I�ve read some of her diary, sounds cool.

The invite only mentioned wine, so we figured we�d bring beer. Hell, if the invite had said "Barney-soda and kool-aid" or "Hoity Toits and Dom Perignon" we�d have brought beer. We�re classy like that.

Turns out Longmont was farther than we thought, plus we got lost, so only half the beer made the trip. We were definitely in a lets-makeout-in-front-of-a-house-full-of-people-we-don�t-know mood when we got there.

A small pad full of good folks, excellent food, and copious amounts of vodka awaited us. Plus, the uber-cool-girl and her apron-of-nipples. I gotta get me on a� them.

The Utilikilt and my mating-cat-like wailing were both well received.

I got to taste what happens when you let a clever homosexual near the drink mixing station (apparently something he invented called a "Princess" something). He was a really cool guy, but I seriously had to question his motives when he took one alcoholic beverage (Mike�s pink lemonade, I think) and decided to mix it with enough vodka to power a Russian anti-aircraft tank. I�ll let the uber-one elaborate on what it means to drink several gallons of said drink (hint: think nudity and bazooka-barfing).

Ubergrrl, an amazingly talented and successful artist, showed me the huge COCK she painted. She says someday she�ll teach me to paint with something other than my fingers and those canvasses that have the shapes and numbers already on them. Sweet.

I got to show off the whole reason the Girl bought me a Utilikilt. Well, not the WHOLE reason... wink, wink... nudge, nudge.

As I often do, I showed a little leg with the birthday grrl. This was before she found out that I was wearing what I like to refer to as, "blackmail protection" or "boxers." And trust me, she found out (drunken-wandering-fingers-girl is NAUGHTY). It's okay, I can't keep my hands off myself either.

After our li�l angel puk... I mean... RETIRED for the evening, I got to wear the tiara.

I got to meet the chicks that she refers to as the "psychic friends." They�re called that, apparently, because they are all into being psychic. They told me about classes where you go for 4 hours and learn about things like intuition, premonitions, and other "ition" type things. Since it sounded so cool, I figure I can market a psychic clinic for hicks. I�m going to call it, "Shit t�ain�t happen�d yet." It�ll be 4 hours, but we�ll have a 3 and a half hour lunch with a 28-minute "beer break" and the rest will consist of me chewin� tobacky and tellin' 'em, "Lurn ta' trust yer gut. Thanks fer comin�. That�ll be twenny bucks."

I�m going to make millions.

For the limited amount of people left at 1 am, the karaoke machine actually got quite a bit of use. Uber�s friend, Erin, I think, was singing with the only other person in the living room and talking to the other two of us like we were a throng at the fricking Apollo, "thank you all for coming. I�d like to dedicate this next one to the girl in the bathroom driving the porcelain bus. You, in the skirt, get me more wine. Wake me UP before you GO-GO..."

After I got drunk, harassed her friend Jason (in the nipple apron) by repeatedly groping his breasts and said goodbye to the sweet girl by the toilet, dribbling recycled pizza down her chin, we trekked back to Denver.

And a much good time was had by all.

I was fully impressed by my first "internet-friend" and the fact that she didn�t kidnap, drug and dismember me even once.

Me and The Girl are definitely planning on hanging out with the ubergrrl whenever she recovers from her extended-brain-cell-killing session.

Should be about August or so.