Weekend Highlights

Belle: I think I'm only going to count sex from now on if it's really, really good. And, by that standard, I'm practically a virgin.
The Misogynist: (nearly choking on his Tom Collins and falling off his barstool) You have to put that in your blog.

Highlights from the weekend:
* Watching the Caps beat the shit out of Toronto.
* Watching one of the players pummel another's head into the ice repeatedly. (I looked for a video on YouTube, but I couldn't find one.)
* Getting educated about donkey punches. (Only verbally, kiddies. Seriously.)
* Yummy Caribbean fare.
* Chatting with the Ann Coulter look-alike at the table next to us.
* Getting called both a Nazi and a Republican by a random dude who wouldn't leave our table.
* Telling said random dude to hit the road.
* Managing to avoid all the March Madness.
* The exchange below:

Guy from Band Trying to Get Belle's Monies*: Help me out! I have nine kids at home!
Belle: You have nine kids?
Guy: Yeah. Nine kids!
Belle: Well that's just completely irresponsible. Ever heard of condoms? I mean, the world is overpopulated as it is. Do you realize you've robbed me of the chance to have even one child with a clear social conscience?
Guy: (Speechless, still holding hat out for monies)
Belle: Nine kids. That's just ridiculous. Seriously. Buy some condoms with the money in that hat. And use them!
Guy: (Moves away)


In other news, I woke up Sunday and checked my cell. Seeing no missed calls or messages, I told my friend I thought NRA might actually be ready to leave me alone. I knew St. Pat's was one of his big excuses to get drunk, so I thought the king of the drunk dial would definitely hit me up. Since he didn't, I figured he'd moved on.

I was proven wrong when I got home later to find a missed instant message from him during prime drunk-dial hours. I suppose it makes sense; he said he'd deleted all my contact info. He was probably fortunate enough not to memorize my number like I did his. I hate that I did. I'll be walking down the street, and his number will just pop into my head. First the area code, and then I realize what's happening and try to stop it. And fail. And the whole thing runs through my mind, reinforcing the memory of the number itself, and just generally fucking with my head.

Anyway, even with that, it was a pretty excellent weekend.

* I didn't give him money, and I didn't feel bad about not giving him money. I paid a freakin' cover at the door, and part of that money goes to the band. They weren't even that good, anyway.