In the morning Al told me his plan for the evening was to cuddle up on his sofa in his comforter and watch a DVD.
“That sounds so nice!†I said.
I meant it. How nice on a Friday night to be cuddled up on the sofa watching –whatever. . .
Stuart already told me his plans were to be out with Matt and Boots, so I imagined what I would do if home alone.
1. Catch up on all my Daily Shows. (I have nearly three weeks DVR’ed)
2. Watch the rest of my Truffaut box set
3. Watch bad British reality TV
Toward the end of the day, however the call of the pub hit me. I pitched to Al, “Wanna go to the pub for one?†As it happens, the group of two became three. Then four. Then finally Nine. The just one beer turned into five.
Was a lot of fun, but we are all an assy, rude, grumpy group.
Main topic of conversation? Slagging off other people who weren’t there to defend themselves because we are all evil twats.
2nd topic- which is entirely my fault. . . what is the worst thing you have done to someone. (I said lover, but it turned into a general free for all)
E won I think. (The job I’m up for, E is also interviewing and I am thinking that I may drop out and just give it to him because I am very, very afraid.) This is a man who while a lovely, intelligent, clever, sweet cuddle bear, has in his life. . .
To a landlord:
a. Pulled an oven away from the wall.
b. Lifted up the floor boards.
c. Stuck a frozen chicken into the hole and replaced the board.
d. Replaced the oven
e. Let nature happen after he has moved out.
He detailed another disturbing story, but at this hour of the evening I managed to block it. Note to self. Don’t fuck with E. He did say that his behaviour was of a younger, angrier E with more hair.
3rd topic. Sex. I’ve mentioned before that this is the crossroad to which we all return. I have to say. . . I like being a girl that can hang with the guys. It’s always been that way. I love the fact I can hang out with the boys and they will mention certain things that they would perhaps avoid in front of other females. . . like who in the office they wanna shag. Too many women are just out for A number 1 and don’t know how to be cool boy, real cool and hang.
I do wonder sometimes that there is something wrong with me that most of my close friendships are with men, then I remember the XXs I have on my speed dial, and I get over it.
Anyhoo.
I learned a new phrase tonight. ‘Snapping The Banjo’. I had no clue what this meant. . .Given that 98% of the penises I have seen have been circumcised, I suppose I can be forgiven.
Snapping the banjo is when, err. . . during (what I assume to be rather vigorous lovemaking) umm. . . the thin bit of connective tissue on the foreskin at the >cough< head is —ah-hem. . . Broken.
Terribly unpleasant I imagine. All the boys had heard of this and had a mate that had experienced it. Apparently there is a lot of blood.
(A bit of TMI. . . but I have to say. . . I’d rather deal with an uncircumcised penis. Certain things are just. . . easier. I might elucidate, but my mother reads this.)
