So I turn 25 tomorrow. Not sure how I feel about that. I will have lived a quarter of a century, ten of which has been of 'dating age,' and I have yet to get into a relationship that lasted past 60 consistent days. Jesus. I was told last year that that statistic is now a "red flag." The last thing I need to start raising is red flags, that won't solve shit. I need to waive white flags, flags that make clear that I'm not committed to my make-out-slut ways and am ready to give 2 months a serious go. I've ranted so many times in-person and online to whoever would pay attention that I don't want to taint this blog with that crap.
And the Sonics are moving to OKC, fucking hell. If I were of the praying persuasion, I would pray that Clay Bennett (otherwise known as "rotten son of a bitch")loses his entire wad on this venture. In fact, because I appreciate irony, I hope he loses so much money that the only way to salvage the situation is to sell the team back to Seattle owners just in order to avoid being liable for the entire $70 million settlement. Eff that guy.
My weekend consisted of partying with friends from back home. Drank whisky, argued with people over something to do with Croatia, browned out a little here and there, attended a warehouse party that was being held in a place that is usually in the business of working on cars, watched Germany lose, walked around town, and watched the entire first season of Californication. While the show was compelling, David Duchovney as some sort of mega-magnet for pretty birds is a bit tough to believe. But hey, more power to him. I only sorta made out with someone, grabbed one boob for 3 seconds, and sat around. A lot. Happy birthday.
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