2.0

While usually reserved for ice cream, Saturday was relatively vanilla. Sleeves’ son was still in town and we all did a pretty good job impersonating functional members of society. C didn’t yell at anyone, Sleeves cleaned the bathroom, so I didn’t yell at anyone, and PG doesn’t know how. With the exception of lube on the dinner table, Norman Rockwell would have been proud. 

E is a Barber from one of those throwback barbershops. I love the concept AND they serve beer. I’ve been begging him to straight razor my vagina for a week or so and after wearing him down all night, I think he’s close. Seriously, imagine a Brazilian with none of the horribleness, a warm towel, and the very real possibility of a well placed thumb. And beer? Sign me the fuck up. 

C and PG spent most of the evening taking selfies and playing Pokémon. Fucking idiots. I don’t get it. I don’t want to get it. I just want it to stop. It’s fucking embarrassing. They’re grown-ups for shit’s sake. You don’t see me walking around Target with a ball gag. Keep that shit to yourselves. 

While yelling a those two is one of my favorite pastimes, the highlight of the evening came after everyone else had stumbled home. Sleeves convinced his son to play for us and it was everything. Droid is one million percent cooler than his Dad. Sleeves calls it social anxiety, I say spirit animal. He sees the value in shutting the fuck up. The world needs more of him and less 😎. Plus, he can play the guitar like a motherfucking riot. 

I have zero hand eye coordination and I fall down a lot. To say I’m clumsy would be to say Bill Cosby is just flirty. I’m a train wreck. I’m still amazed every time I’m able to keep a decent rhythm during reverse cowgirl. I’ve broken the same toe four times so when I see two hands doing two different things, I kind of lose my shit. Not only can he play, but he can sing and what he chose to sing was second only to Sleeves’ underpants song.

Steel Panther. 

Community Property.

The fucking irony. 

After cementing his place as the superior musician and making the case for 80’s butt rock parody bands, it was time to call it an evening.

Saturday did not suck. 

Awkward- 4/10

Hangover- 6/10

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