Last night, I was bound and determined to find a local bar near where I work. Or more precisely, between the area that myself and Anna work in and the area that Paul, Fletcher, and Kat work in. My thought was a central meeting place with cheap beers would be the kind of Friday night activity we could all get into. Well, best laid plans and all that.

Paul insisted that we start the night at Mars 2112. And before I get into all the reasons that ended up being a very odd thing, let me point out that if you've clicked on that link, you've already realized two things. The first is that this is some kind of novelty restaurant near times square that is designed for tourists with kids. The second realization which should have come rushing in on the heels of the first, is that the website is unbelievably bad. I mean it's not just the worst elements of web design condensed into liquid form. It's the worst elements of web design from 1994 condensed into some kind of powerful state of matter that's only safe to handle in one of those boxes that have the gloves built in. It's truly astonishing. Part of me wants to save it as an example for later generations to see how close the internet came to driving mankind insane, but I'm afraid the presence of those files on my hard drive would subtly infect all my other files turning everything sour like year old milk. Okay, on to the evening.

I got to this stupid place before Paul and Fletcher, mostly due to the fact that it's right near the old Siberia which was a place I loved to death, so I knew the fastest way to get there without thinking about it. I'm sitting there outside, where they have a big fake spacecraft and some fakey enya-meets-a-really-shitty-dj 'space' music. I'm looking inside and there's a big line of little kids screaming with joy at the people dressed in Styrofoam and lycra, which is a real turn on when all you want is a quiet corner to get ripped in, let me tell you. So I keep leaving increasingly panicked messages on Paul and Fletchers phones that go a little like "Jesus Christ there are kids and more kids and I'm scared and I'm alone and I feel like a child predator sitting here waiting for you and can't we go somewhere else please."

Finally, the two of them got there, and Paul with his usual charming mix of optimism/bullheadedness was all "We are drinking here Morgan. We are." So okay, but I'm saying that I really don't want to wait in line with screaming kids and have to explain to their parents that we just want to get drunk and laugh at the, well not you, but all the other tourists. Paul charges right up to this poor bastard who's wearing this double-breasted silver glitter fantasy getup that looks like a drag queen threw up on it. Paul says "If we just want to go to the bar, what do we do?" And this guy, showing no sign of recognizing how ridiculous this whole thing is, points at a door and says "You can just take the Warp Corridor."

After I finished punching myself in the nuts to keep from laughing in this sad fucker's face, we entered the "Warp Corridor" like we were space vip's and used warp technology to get drinks all the time. The bar was made up like it was in a cavern on Mars, so it looked like a cross between Red Faction and the Flintstones. But here's where it gets really weird. Not only did they have Murphy's on draft, which is pretty hard to find, they had it for 2 dollars a pint! So needless to say, we piled those in like there was no tomorrow. I mean, what I'm trying to say here, is that we had a really good time in one of the shittiest places in New York. I'm serious. I'm kind of freaking out about it, but this might be our new after work bar.

Does this mean I'm a theme bar asshole? Do I have to make any lifestyle changes? Are there new clothes I have to buy? Help me out here.....  ¶ 11:11 AM 5 comments

  I can't even begin to tell you how depressed I am today. I think I need prozac. So rather than think about the 800 pound gorilla of despair, I offer you this conversation between Paul and myself from today, when we should have been working but were chatting on im like 5 year old girls:

Session Start (AIM - OmniMorgan:pmillerlg): Wed Nov 03 15:37:46 2004
pmillerlg: i don't know if i told you this yesterday, but when you rearrange the letters in Morgan Lavigne you get "ravaging lemon" and when you rearrange the letters in Paul Miller you get "plural lime"
OmniMorgan: uh, how much spare time have you had lately?
pmillerlg: waayyy tooooo much
OmniMorgan: hm, well the only thing i can come up with for jeremy is 'teen oranj myst'
pmillerlg: ha ha ha
pmillerlg: that's brilliant. i was trying to come up with some orange-based jeremy name all day yesterday.
OmniMorgan: now we can be fruitpile
pmillerlg: all i got was jeremy stanton = jeremy not ants
pmillerlg: fruitpile!!!
OmniMorgan: with our hit single 'All I Eat is Candy (gimme your candy)'
pmillerlg: lol
pmillerlg: or "Make Me a Fruit Pie Baby (extra meringue mix)"
OmniMorgan: hahah  ¶ 4:26 PM 3 comments

  Good Morning.

This is my last post before civil war completely destroys the polite fiction known as the united states the election. I sure hope we don't get fucked up the ass with a leafblower for another four years my guy wins! I hope you're all getting out to the polls because otherwise I will personally hunt you down and force feed you your own intestines you won't have a feeling of civic participation.

See you in Hell Happy Election Day!  ¶ 7:33 AM 0 comments

  Well, what a weekend. Sheri already hit the highpoints, so I'm not going to belabor them. Suffice to say that having breasts last night was a really interesting experience. I got felt up by a pirate. How many of you can say that, huh?

Of course, it left me feeling hollow inside. Pictures to follow.
  ¶ 4:41 PM 0 comments