Today is the very, very last day of my NaBloPoMo dry run.  Thank you, dear readers, for your (silent) support.  I am so happy.  I have felt like a slave to this laptop, to Wordpress, to my four readers (still love ya!), but I did it.  I can’t believe I did it, but the evidence speaks for itself.  I feel like I’ve really accomplished something here, you know?  Blogging every day!  Speaking to the people every day!

But… can I keep it real?  Don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from my ass again until Christmas.

Holla!

I’m watching the A-List Awards on Bravo.  Why?  Why, why, why?  I just… get caught up in these things.  However, Nick Verreos designed one of the dresses and I want to watch just to see what it looks like.

I adore him.

Last night, I went to a club with one of my friends.  Neither of us has ever been out on the town here, so we figured we’d give it a try.  Well, we get to the club, and it has about 4 bars and 3 floors.  We mosey around a bit, get some frozen daquiris and find a spot to chill at.  We end up on the second level at the railing that overlooks the dance floor.  And I see a guy come in in a wheelchair.  I thought it was a little odd, because, clearly, he wouldn’t be able to dance.  I figured maybe he just liked the atmosphere and the music.  Whatever.  We go about our business dancing to the music and talking with some girl that was at the club by herself (insanity, I would never).  Then the girl looks on the dance floor and points out the guy in the wheelchair.

Except he’s no longer in the wheelchair.  The wheelchair has been folded and put in the corner.  The man who had been in it was up and dancing.  Dancing.  Dancing, folks.  He was dancing with some girl.  I have no idea what happened there.  None.  I wanted someone to say something.  Perhaps, “Excuse me sir, what the hell is going on here?!”  I mean, did I fall down the damn rabbithole or something?  And on top of that, they played some dumb song called “Dat Baby Don’t Look Like Me.”

I die.