Fritterless

If any of you were wondering what I was doing at approximately 11:30PM tonight, let me answer that burning question with pride.

Was I ending world hunger? Building shelter for the homeless? Making peace in the mid East?

No. I was on my knees in a karaoke bar, belting out my most heartfelt version of "Sweet Child Of Mine." I was also chugging beer during the musical interludes, nearly swallowing the lime in my Corona.

I was told that it was extremely rock and roll, and I choose to believe it.

When I karaoke at the magical and wondrous Sardos (voted most happening bar in Burbank, if you must know), I always like to imagine how amazing the night would be if I could end it with an apple fritter from the donut shop next door. Singing is not quite enough for me, you see, it's the fried dough that really clinches it.

Fritters are like fucking for some people. Their night is not complete without someone to go home with.

You can always see when they're about to end their nights. Their eyes begin darting around the room, searching for the signal that their night will end successfully. Anything. A smile, a nod, a wink. Any small signal could mean that the universe says it's time for the magic to happen.

Conversely, sometimes it ain't gonna work out. Some sad nights you don't achieve your objective and you must slink home, defeated. It doesn't matter whether it's yummy glazed foodstuffs or hittin' it. The sickness is the same. You've had it on your mind the whole night, and in an instant, you know whether or not you will be satiated.

Tonight, I had my split second of insight. The clarity came, and it became painfully clear that the wondrous, magnificent event would not be happening. It was during a terrible version of "Karma Police" that sent me scurrying for the exits. I was on the phone in my car, squinting at the pastry place. Instantaneously, I was positive that this night would end with me writing a blog about the horizontal mambo and fatty foods that would compare the two and allow them to be interchangeable within the entry.

That is not exactly the night I had planned out.

Now, don't get me wrong, my darlings. I have the AC at high, a cool water in my hand, and some comfy underpants on. It was a great night. We had some laughs. The Freeze dragged me on the dance floor and made me her bitch, and JenBear wowed me once again with her knowledge of the Oingo Boingo catalogue. But please note that it is 1:14 AM and I am busy...typing.

Nights won't always be like this. That's the beauty of it...sometimes you get that warm, delicious taste in your mouth while you moan in ecstasy, and other times you get to curl up in your comfy bed and fall asleep while passing gas without worrying about someone else hearing and judging you. Was that an overshare? You know you do it, too.

poot. g