I'm so tired, I can barely write today.

Let's backtrack. Last week. Thursday night, out for cocktails with sushibitch and my friend Jen in the East Village. Good time. Was so excited, talking about my bedazzler! Rushed home, around 11 (?), buzzed. The other roommates had also just gotten home. I race upstairs to start bedazzling.

So I have this GREAT idea! I'm going to take my West Point T-Shirt, and diagonally rhinestone "Shoot This." How tuff is that?!? So I turn it inside out and quickly start bedazzling. The next thing I know, the roommates are up the stairs, banging on my door to come in and check it out.

So, I'm like "OK!" Nearly done with the word "shoot," I quickly turn the t-shirt inside out to show them and I realize 1) I bedazzled the back of the t-shirt, 2) I had written "Shot" instead of "Shoot." I'm like "@#$!" and they burst out laughing, I mean laughing to the point where they can't even catch their breathe laughing and I'm like "I don't think this is very funny." And then Deb comes home. She's had a few cocktails too and also finds this funny. "I'm like, everyone out! There will be no more bedazzeling tonight!"

I then have to drunk dial C. and tell him he absolutely cannot have the bedazzler over the weekend as the girls are screaming in the background, "She needs a DO OVER!"

LIFE LESSON: Do not bedazzle after drinking cocktails.

Cut to Friday morning, in bad shape. Needing to take a taxi to work because I just couldn't motivate. I see a taxi coming so I run across the street. I get there and see this 40-something Mike Ditka-looking guy trying to box out my taxi. I say, "Are you going midtown?" He says yes. So I ask, "Do you mind if we share?" He smiles and says, "Either that or we armwrestle." Whatever. It's then that I notice the girl this guy is with, glowering at me from behind him. Whatever. Ridiculous.

So the there of us get in the taxi, and I direct the driver. I sit looking out my window, with girl in the middle, Ditka on the other door.

Girl, looking like every other WASPY blond-blue-eyed trader's assistant in NYC. Boring. Hey! Nice navy blue pants suit - fierce! - way to break out! She can't be a day over 25. With a man old enough to be her father. WICKED Chicago accent. Fawning all over the guy. Legs over his, arm linked through his, feeling his biceps. Cooing, truly, she was cooing, with no shame whatsoever, about how he could beat up so-and-so. "OOOoooooohhhh [breathy chicago accent] - you could show him. Ooooooohhhh, he wouldn't say anything to you. OOOooooooohhh, he's afraid to even look at you! [squeal]" Like the WASP version of Betty Boop.

The blonde squeals. No joke.

Cut to him approaching the topic of how they should get out of the car when they get to work. Interesting. He's whispering this convo. She, Goddess of No Shame, says, [giggle] "Let's just say I ran into you on the corner. I don't care what they think! And why should they think anything else? [giggle, giggle]" Ditka is pushing for separate exits of the taxi.

So at this point, I peak out of the corner of my eye. Ditka, is wearing a ring. Pig. And Miss WASP Mid-West is batting her eyes, like she's caught the catch of the century. It's at this point that I tell the driver he can drop me off two blocks early. I turn to the couple, barely disguising my disgust for the cheat-ah and the homewrecker and tell them it will be easier for them to get where they're going. And she gives me this look, uggghh, this look (that witch!), that says "good, we'll get the time alone we should have had from the get go so I can close this deal." But she speaks and says, "thanks, that would be great!" The cheat-ah, clearly embarrassed, can't even make eye contact. I can't get out that car fast. Literally, I MAY have been Gone in 60 Seconds...

Night in Venice went well. Everyone polluted themselves. I had to cash my check at 2AM. The other badasses reigned it in at 5:30AM. Only one person feel off the dock, and it was intentional. Hooters sponsered a boat and some hammer took off his shirt and jumped in the bay, trying to swim after the boat. Oh, Frank tried to throw my brother into the bay after my brother told him that at Frank's wedding, he's going to oppose the union and stand up and state that "Frank killed Jerry (Garcia)." This is a running joke among the group since Frank gatecrashed one of the Dead's VT shows in '95 and Jerry issued a statement about how displeased he was at those people. So we tell Frank he got Jerry upset and caused his death later that summer. Frank gets REALLY upset about that. His story is that he saved a girl from being trampled. What else can I report? My brother's idiot roommate was trying to get me to take all of my vacation days in September to tour with FurtherFest. Why? Why would I do that. Jerry's dead, kids, let it go. My shoe broke, so my Dad had to go home for me and get me a new pair. Good stuff, that Dad.

Let me tell you. I was hurting on Sunday. Really. The bus ride home kicked my ass.

We all rented Scream 3 last night. Literally, cannot get enough of that Parker Posey. There can be no one funnier.

Today, I can barely keep my eyes open. So tired.....

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