I have paint on my boob.

Technically, on my shirt, but in the boob area.

Friday night the G-Thang and I went to see my friend's band, Winterville, at The Fez. They were amazing and the opener was good also. Some Canadian singer/songwriter chick;-)

After the band, we went for a couple of drinks with my roommate and two other friends. I yelled "Colleeeeeeeeege" as we walked down a crowded St. Marks Place, mainly because sometimes I feel like being obnoxious. By the way, as you can see, the sobriety is going well. Thanks for asking. Our "one beer" before heading uptown, included the most monstrous shot of Sambuka I have ever survived. It was like a triple Sambuka. I thought I was going to puke, but I didn't.

Gingi went to Crooklyn and the rest of us headed uptown, me with the $10 I had in my pocket which has to last until next Friday. (I like a challenge). Four of us smushed in the back of a taxi and proceed to sing "Cherish" with Madonna at the top our lungs as I recorded the session on a friend's voicemail. Embrace the drunk dial, folks. Incubus came on after that and I had to bitchslap one of the boyz who tried to tell me that Brandon Boyd is HIS BF. AS IF....

I tried to Houdini at the next bar, but was wrestled to the GROUND by one of the boyz who then took my $10 as a DEPOSIT to ensure that I went to the next bar. He's such a bitch. I offended the bouncer while being carded (carded?!?) letting him know this was not my choice of bar.

Walked to the back room of this lounge which looks like something out of "1001 Arabian Nights." There were not scantily clad men waiting to feed me grapes, natch, but there were a whole bunch of drunk people I knew. Someone handed me a glass of Moet, so I took my coat off and made myself comfortable.

I remembered that the last time I had been in that bar, was four years ago with one of the idiots and we went into the single bathroom together...

That was a lifetime ago.

I was home by 1:30PM, $10 intact.

Saturday, I woke up and got a sandwich. At the restuarant, I ran into an old guyfriend who recently got engaged. I haven't call to say congratulations. I'm so rude. I chatted with him for a while as he ate his pizza and fielded the age old question: When are you going to stop? When are people going to stop asking me that question? "When I feel like it. Leave me alone, I'm not there yet." I yelped. He laughed and said "You take as much time as you need. You'll probably be 40, but that's ok." Jerk. Who says I have to stop? Maybe this is who I am?

Then I went down to Christopher Street to help 'Lil Dobe move. Basically, I sat by the truck and smoked cigarettes while three Russians moved her shit. This is my version of moving someone.

Then I walked from her place in the West Village, to her new place on 10th and First. It was an extraordinary day to walk through the Village. Sunny and in the 70's, everyone was OUT. The streets were filled, men cruising the benches of Sheridan Square Park, kids on scooters, dogwalkers everywhere.

I reached her new place just as the truck pulled up. I helped her move in, ie - smoked cigarettes and sat in the back of the truck chatting with her while three Russian men pushed, groaned and grunted. We assembled her bed and I tried to help her unpack, but due the fact that she started puking, I left her to rest.

Moving. It's a lot.

I took a taxi uptown with my last $10 to my friend A.'s to pick up some cash. I walked into her apt., picked up the cash, and then took her laundry out for her.

I walked home from her place, and took a nap.

Saturday night was health night. My roommate and I watched "Legally Blonde." It really is great and I would just like to say, many people don't know the discrimination blondes get. Not even counting the entire genre of jokes, I can tell you that having been every color under the sun, people really underestimate the intelligence of blondes and frankly, sometimes they are downright rude. Not that I would ever allow something so silly bother me. I'm just pointing that out.

Sunday, I cleaned my room and slept. I showered and then headed over to my friend A.'s. We bought her a little Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. It's sweet. While we were walking up the street, A. noticed a $10 bill on the sidewalk. She bent to pick it up as I stood, frozen and horrified, shreiking, "Don't pick it up! It's a trick! I think we're on national television!" A few steps further was more money, one dollar bills blowing on the sidewalk. She tried to push me toward them, but I refused, telling her, "I'm not picking that up!"

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because! We're on Candid Camera!" as I whipped around trying to find the hidden camera and host.

"Pick it up! You have no money."

"No WAY. I'm not going to be some pawn on reality television!" At this point, I am already envisioning college students through the nation mocking my heinous Sunday outfit in their dorm rooms. I want to run from this spot.

My friend sighed and bent down to pick the dollars up herself as I watched, silently cheering her on. As we started walking again, she pushed the money at me and I said, "Well don't make a show of it! I don't want anyone to see *me* take this money."

"Oh, so I should be on camera taking the money?!"

"Yes, that's fine. I was looking horrified next to you."

"I should keep this money. I can't believe I'm giving it to you."

"Oh, just give it here already. Thanks."

By the time we reached Starbucks, I had already spun the story to "That was a *sign* from GOD! He *knew* I needed money and left it there for me! That's so WEIRD!" as my friend looked exasperated and muttered, "YOU didn't touch the money." For the record, I did not buy anything at Starbucks because I do not believe in the McDonaldization of coffee.

We decorated her tree and ate dinner and watched TV.

Then I came home and decided to paint on one of these all-purpose surfaces I bought at an art supply store.. My painting SUCKS. suckssuckssuckssuckssucks. I don't have an easel, so I have to contort into all of these positions to paint. It's such a chafe.

During one of these positions, my boob, covered by my shirt, fell into my painting.

And THAT'S how I got green paint on my boob.

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