for your entertainment.

wurd.

apparently in the last year the following things have started to epically detoriate:

- my speaking skills

- my typing skills

- my logic skills

- my memory

emphasis on my MEMORY. well and my grammar skills. see following proof in the facebook message i sent a couple of days ago when trying to set up a meeting:

what is the MATTER with me? 

anyways, back to my memory. throughout the last week i have almost forgotten every social plan i've made, thus overlapping several things at once and then desperately trying to fit them all in. last night at 10:30 pm as i was warming up my freezing attic room with my trusty/crappy space heater and getting my pj's on, i finally decide to check my cell that's been in my purse all evening. thus i find the 4 missed calls and 3 voicemails left by some good buddies of mine inquiring where i was. ah yes, steve's birthday that i said i would attend. alrighty then, pj's off, jeans on, space heater off, in the cab i go downtown. 

the one thing i have to say about the cab ride is this conversation:

"so you work in the film industry or something?"

me flustered "what? uh - no - I mean yes - how - do i know you?"

"no no it's just you people are always rushing off to things at night, why you always rushing?"

apparently "us people" in the film industry are a race. so i get to "wings' downtown, a lovely sports bar on granville and davie that us class 107 folk used to hang at back in da film skool dayz. also the place of choice for me and byron to slam 3 rum and cokes each before going to a film premiere at noon. so steve, brian and dave are a couple pitchers and whiskey and sours in cause you know, they've been there since 7 pm, the original plan. after a beer it's time for the birthday boy to see some boobs, where better than the penthouse? it's poon watch time.

the penthouse is a lovely establishment where one can see a variety of strippers. our selection tonight was a girl with no boobs dancing in a snow bunny ensemble, a dead ringer for parker posey with blonde hair and THE.WORST.STRIPPER.EVER.

so parker posey is all sorts of hawt so brian decides this will be the lady to give birthday boy his own private dance. so as steve is taken away, dave brian and i toast to our lap dance succes when the WORST.STRIPPER.EVER takes the stage.

37.beer gut.tan lines.awkward pole dancing.

she looked like donatella:

i shit you not. dave utters "i can't watch this" so we avert our eyes and attempt conversation. steve comes back looking dazed and informs us he got a hand job. alright, this party is over. all in all, i give this random thursday night outing a 7.5/10

in other news:

that's all for now. see you mofos around. we got some ep 3 filming done last weekend, despite our inappropriate drinking that almost completely derailed us from achieving anything. we hope to complete filming this weekend.

ta!

julia gulia