Sherbert wasn't a Herbert!
Why thank you for the birthday love, shucks.
We didn't go drinking, because I am old and miserable and wanted to go to the cinema instead. Baaah. We saw Munich, which was excellent, or maybe it just seemed excellent compared to the shit that is Brokeback Mountain that we saw the week before, because, OH MY GOD, so poor and basic and slow, so very sloooow *yawn*. This is the second year in a row that it has been proven to me that movie awards and nominations mean Jack Shit.
Sooo, yesterday, Sherbert and I finally met up. I went through the whole, what if we don't hit it off? What if the conversation is strained? What if she is really a 60 year old bald perv? routine as one tends to do, but thank god, Sherbert wasn't a Herbert and guess what people, we talked for 4 hours! Non stop. No breathing inbetween. Pants nearly pee'd from zealous laughter and quite honestly, could still be there now liking the sounds of our own voices, it would be completely possible, except we might have turned blue from the non breathing.
It was fucking marvellous, I don't think we could have got on better if we tried and I might just love her intelligent, funny, sweet little self a little bit. Next time we are doing lunch, when I will refrain from consuming 4 super large soya latte's that will probably make my intestines angry. Doh.
I am not getting dressed today. I am hurting pretty bad, which may possibly be due to sitting in Starbucks twice as long as I can normally handle. But dammit, *puts hand over heart* sometimes the good far outways the bad and you just have to take the repercussions, I am worth it, it was worth it, she is worth it! Hurrrah! Hurrah they roared!
I will continue popping the pills, lying in bed listening to the cowbells, watching those funny people in goggles on slidy planks of wood and will more than likely dose off whilst dreaming of the halfpipe.
Mobile in the hospital waiting room.
