In which there’s food and drink.

My girl Raybo texted me last night and asked me what I was doing. I texted back that I was doing nothing. (Which wasn’t exactly true. I was sitting on my bedroom floor in my pajamas, winding a ball of sock yarn.) She replied that she’d like to take me out for a drink. I replied that she should come pick my ass up and got dressed.

We went to the Dead Cock and did shots with the bartender and complained that there was no eye candy and talked about sex in great detail. (In our defense, it was the wrestling on TV that started the whole sex conversation. I mean, just tell me that watching two smooth, buff men spending minute-long intervals in the Missionary position puts only me in mind of, I don’t know, sex maybe? Pshaw! It’s the gayest shit ever! Well, except for the part where they’re punching each other in the fucking head. The guy on the bottom even hooks his ankles together around the waist of the guy who is, well, topping him. Anyway. So I pointed the TV out to Ray and said, “Look, it’s hot boy sex,” and she immediately started doing MST3k voiceovers. It was hysterical: “Oh come on baby, you know you want it. Relax and stop punching daddy in the head. Cause if you don’t it’s just gonna make him KNOCK. YOU. OUT.”)

At one thirty in the morning, we went next door to the pizza joint, and we two inhaled an entire medium cheese pizza in about ninety-eight seconds. It was so delicious I count it among my most profound spiritual experiences ever. OMFG.

Then I came home and AmmZon’s dad was bleeding all over the kitchen because he’d fallen on the ice and cracked his head open. He refused stitches. When the bleeding was staunched, I ordered him to lie down on the couch and sleep, because otherwise he was just going to keep walking around talking about how falling made him feel like an idiot. Truck bandaged his head up. Then everyone else went to sleep, and I answered email until 3 in the morning.