In which I have no plans.

It’s Friday. I would like to do something fun tonight, but I’m piss poor and I suspect I’ll have debilitating Cramps From Hell™ by the time cocktail hour rolls around.

Last night after work I sat in the bar and drank cocktails and read a book until I was almost drunk. Then I got drive-thru and went to see T. & R. in their new house on Madison. The draperies? Wonderfully hideous! Rache plans to rip ’em all right down. She had on rubber gloves and was scrubbing the inside of the kitchen cabinets.

At band practice, we ran covers for 45 minutes and then went upstairs for a band meeting that lasted until 11:30. I sat on the couch between PK and WTC all warm and cuddly — yum. We discussed sales cycles, products, markets, and recording scenarios. Sounds dry, but it was fun. Love my band.

Today I should be cleaning, but I don’t wanna so I’m not gonna. Plus BoSean’s here, so I feel exempt. He brought us burritoes from Los Portales: I LOVE HIM.

In other news, my hair. I quit brushing it, right? I just washed it yesterday morning and walked around in public with crazy rats’-nested hair. When I walked into the bar last night, P. took one look at me and said, “Rough day?” And the band got a kick out of it, too. I’ve been urged never to brush it again.