Friday night…
After a long week, research, motions, court, and a tyrant for a boss, dinner with friends, even if they weren’t mine, was welcomed. I arrived first, glass of red, conversation with the waiter; slowly my sweetie, his home girl, and her home girls arrived. Trying to make a good impression (it’s always good for your sweetie’s home girls to like you), I tried to be as sweet as possible, more than usual, it definitely takes an effort.
After small talk, exchange of inquiries, chats about careers, I erroneously thought that these stylistically challenged, greasy wrap wearing, brace face having misfits liked me but turns out they drank haterade with their dinner my sweetie paid for. Questions about whether we were boyfriend/girlfriend surfaced first. Then a phone call relaying their meaningless concerns about my sweetie’s choice of companion followed. Perturbed, a little; concerned, not in the slightest. My dog has more style than these two, and I don’t even own a dog, lmao. My sweetie wants to spit on them, but of course being the lady that I am I would never allow that. That saliva is better used down my throat ;).
I added to our THINGS TO DO LIST, a letter to the mayor of Detroit and/or Flint, Michigan proposing a statewide cease and desist to wearing a wrap after it has obviously ran its course.
Saturday night…
As movie dates rise to the level of couture rather than thrifty, box office blunders become more of a reason for argument over dinner than for whisperings of sweet nothings. Over the weekend, my significant other and I opted for a night at the movies. We both had different agendas. He wanted to see Ghostrider, namely because of Eva Mendes. I wanted to see Reno 911: Miami cause I was in the mood for a good laugh. Wild Hogs and The Number 23 were somewhere in the middle. The Number 23 started first and the decision was made.
Thirty eight dollars and twenty-five cent later, snuggled up on a crude imitation of what the movie theatre deemed comfortable seating, the lights were off and the curtains were up! A slow start prompted a couple of gazes into each others eyes, rubs up my leg, and kisses on the cheek. Not that I mind that at all but 40 minutes into the film and we still had no idea what was going on.
Casting Jim Carrey, albeit one of my favorite comedic actors was a grave misappropriation of resources. The movie was slow, uneventful, the art direction mediocre, the acting sub-par, the writing AWFUL, and it didn’t even warrant toughing it out and staying until the end to see if it could possibly get better. We gladly walked out shaking our heads in complete and utter disgust.
My sweetie added to our THINGS TO DO LIST, a letter to the director/producer relaying our concerns and requesting an immediate return of our money.
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1 comment:
Your dog huh? I was really sitting there wondering too, like daaang she ain't tell me she had a dog!? lol! Haterade with their dinner, you're sick. lmao! Get used to it though, most of these broads drink haterade like it's water, it gives them life. ;)
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