soapboxdiner

My Birfday

Tonight the Good Neighbor and I went out to the bar down the street to celebrate my birfday. As neither of us get out more that a couple o' times a year, it was mucho fun.

I met and danced all night with Greg, who kindly enough got the DJ to play a little old skool by way of Warren G's Regulate, as well as some New Skool with Justin Tumerlake's Cry Me a River.

Shut Up! It is too a good song.

Of course, Kelly, who is the dad of a 10 year old and whose wife just died nine months ago of colon cancer at 35 did not care for me dancing with Greg at all. Because, you see, I am a nice girl and he wanted to take me and Steven fishing tomorrow.

Fishing. Tomorrow. Because I'm a nice girl, right?

Now I ask you, do I look, particularly, Like a good girl?

That's all I'm saying.

Never mind his octopus arms grabbing my boobies on the dance floor. No. He was all about the respect, was Kelly, the nine month gone widower.

Anyways, the Good Neighbor also had a lovely gentleman approach her. They exchanged numbers and he settled a debate the Good Neighbor and I have been disputing. See, she has recently ended relationships with a stalker, a convicted druggy, and a pedophile (that one was not of her choosing, though). I, on the other hand, say I have one up on her because not only have I dated and been dumped and/or been the dumpee of a stalker, a druggy and a pedophile, but I also have the unobtainable foreign guy under my belt; so. I still think I win.

Greg was sure fun, though, peoples. Even if he was only interested in my moves.

Anyways. Happy birthday to me. I had a blast, and I won at darts. And really, that there is the important thing.

1:08 am - 04.18.04
previous | next

Home | Archives | Profile | Notes | DiaryLand | Random Entry