apocalypsos | Hey, guess what I did last night?

I went to a porn store!

So, yeah. Last night Jess and I and a bunch of people from work were supposed to go bowling, except they didn't show. The only one who did was a girl we used to work with, and since none of us felt like bowling we decided to drive a cheaper bar Jess's dad hangs out in all the time and that we go to a lot. On the way there we passed one of the two porn shops that were on the way (both are the same store, really, they moved from one building to another and then I guess they just started using both buildings or something) and Jess said, "Hey, let's go to the porn shop!" So we did.

I've never been in one before, which seems weird to me at least because God knows it's not like my friends and family don't gleefully skip inside one given the chance. Every once in a while I'll drive past and think, "I should go in there one of these days," and then ... nothin'.

So I went, and there were many dildos larger than either one of my arms, and far too much discussion of who we should buy a blow-up doll for, and now I've got that off my list of things I've never done. (I believe I said last night, "Well, so far in 2008, I've started knitting and gone to a porn shop. Now all I had to do is get laid and sell a book and there'll be nothing left for me to do in life.")

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Also, a guy at a bar offered to buy me a drink.

This is not unusual. I get hit on a lot, surprisingly enough. The reason I'm still a virgin, however, is because there are far too many instances in which, like last night, I am hit on by a guy who bears a striking resemblance to Kevin Federline in looks, demeanor, wardrobe, and facial expression. (Although I think Federline would at least have the balls to walk up to me and ask himself rather than send his squirrelly heavily-tattooed buddy in the trucker cap to do it for him, which is just sad.) I don't know why I appeal to a guy like that, especially considering they usually do it after I've pumped all of my dollar bills into the jukebox at whatever dark, smoky sports bar we've just gone to and proceeded to fill it with every Queen, Scissor Sisters, and Mika song I can find on there.

Is it the sexy nerd thing? Because I wasn't even wearing my glasses last night and practically rolled right out of bed and into my car last night.

I'd kill for just one of them to be cute, funny, able to speak in coherent sentences, and not so intimidated by all five-feet-two-inches of me to offer to buy me a drink themselves. (Possibility of me finding a guy like that in the Scranton-Wilkes-Barre metropolitan area? Slim to none. Okay, mostly none. JIM HALPERT IS A FUCKING MYTH, Y'ALL. *cries*)

So, in summation -- Internal Asshat Magnet? Still in working order. \o/

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Did anybody notice the same thing I did? That the commercial for the SAG Awards, which used to quote the announcer onscreen when he talked about Hollywood "holding it's breath," has finally been edited to remove the damn apostrophe?

See, kids, this is what happens when writers strike. *snickers*