Went to BJ's to bury the hatchet with a stripper. She said she wasn't as pissed off as I thought she was. I wanted to get in, get the lapdance I owed her, then leave in time to watch Gran Torino at 9:10. But not only was her stage set from 8:45 to 9, she was tied up with some guy up until her show. (Busy lady, but you should look at her -- she's fuckin' hot, y'all.) I tell her my plight.
"Why don't you just watch it another day?" she advises. Not a bad idea ... I can stay after her set and get a dance from her, thus burying said hatchet ... although I had a coupon to see the movie, I should still save my money, especially after getting that fucking parking ticket on Monday and getting an LD tonight ... and Duke-North Carolina was on and I can go somewhere else and watch it while eating or drinking something. Yes, Clint can wait!
So I get my LD, feel like I've earned her love, and I can drive up to this Italian place close to my house I go to all the time that has this TV. No one eats there on a weeknight, so I can have the game all to myself, right? Right?! Well, of course fucking not. There's a couple there, watching CSI: NY (and the seriously fading career of Julia Ormond) intently. Maybe they're just about done? No; I see them getting their pizza. And they're eating very, very slowly.
By the time they're done and the guy gives me the remote (I shouldn't slam these guys; they were there first, and he was nice enough to give me the remote), it's a quarter after 10, 2:15 after the game began. Good thing the Tar Heels won going away; if I missed a classic, I would've been pissed about making the wrong choice.
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