In which Amy and Kristen exchange IMs altogether too late at night. Explanation of "Ninjas of Love" will be forthcoming once I complete the actual important work I have to do.
Kristen: Dude, you so hate me. Don't try to claim otherwise.
Amy: I do not. I just speak to Yvette very seldomly and love her oodles and miss her.
Kristen: *growls*
Amy: Why do you growl?
Kristen: Because I couldn't think of another appropriate response.
Amy: Perhaps, “Yes, Yvette is lovely?”
Kristen: Don’t you go putting words in my mouth!
Amy: Dance, poppet!
Kristen: I am not your monkey.
Amy: Dance!
Kristen: I might be your gorilla, however as gorillas are not monkeys.
Amy: I have no gorillas. Only murderous gorillas who resent being in cages. And they are in my soul.
Kristen: Shit, that made me laugh so hard I snorted.
Amy: Hee, hee, hee.
Kristen: I'm a fucking catch.
Amy: I am serving my purpose.
Kristen: Careful, I will start blaming you for my dry spell.
Amy: It matters not. This weekend we do a cold-weather version of Thelma and Louise. You can be the one who gets Brad Pitt.
Kristen: Woo hoo! But unless things go horribly wrong, I would prefer not to drive off a cliff.
Amy: Only if the gorillas in my soul get out and take control of the car, dear.
Kristen: “Gorillas in My Soul” is a fucking kick ass band name.
Amy: Soul Gorillas.
Kristen: Awesome. Fucking awesome.
Amy: It's the “Ninjas of Love” solo project.
Kristen: We rock. I heart us. Also, I think I may have another date Thursday.
Amy: Nice! Are the Celtics playing again?
Kristen: Nope. Drinks and dinner. In
Amy: As it should be.
Kristen: Dance, puppet!
Amy: Exactly. I should go to the Beer Works and find my waiter and make him my beer bitch. I started writing fan fic about him to Alicia, but I think it was scaring her.
Kristen: I am going to pretend that he spilled all that beer because he was so overcome by our collective beauty.
Amy: I like that too.
Kristen: Hee. Was there licking of spilled beer involved?
Amy: No. I was dominating him.
Kristen: As one would.
Amy: Giving him orders…hee, hee, hee.
Kristen: “Get me a beer, bitch!”
Amy: “Yes, mistress.”
Kristen: He appeared to be that kind to me. “Bring me blueberries! Feed me beer-soaked blueberries!”
Amy: “I didn't say you could speak, slave!”
Kristen: Dude, the boy has no idea what he missed out on.
Amy: Well, that could be good or bad. He missed out on a budding dominatrix, if he likes that shit.
Kristen: Two, in fact.
Amy: If not, well, fuck him.
Kristen: Except, yeah, fuck him.
Amy: I also had a Whatever dom thing going too…”Get my gorilla, bitch. I WANT MY GORILLA NOW, BOY!”
Kristen: Well, yeah.
Amy: I could have grabbed that waiter by the tie and...ahem. Dragged him across the table and hidden him away behind the beer drums.
Kristen: Mmmm, yes, I believe that's how it went in my head too. Except she was blonde.
Amy: Hee hee hee. He even had a
Kristen: It is on some guys.
Amy: Dude, I am writing fantasies about a waiter, and it's been about three weeks. This is sad.
Kristen: Um, I am engaging and adding to your fantasies. What does that tell you?
Amy: We must go to bed. Immediately.
3 comments:
Being a male who has worked in a bar and if you are serious, rather than picturing this in your head you should stop being a chicken and tell the waiter how you feel about. He actually might go for it. If not you are going to be sitting here writing about him after everytime you go in to The Beer Works. Also I do not know how good blue berries taste if they are soaked in beer no matter where they all end up.
Yeah... hopefully when I become a regular at this place (it appears to be happening, somehow) I will hunt this guy down like a gizelle. Except cooler than that. A nonchalant gizelle. Also, blueberries in beer are fabulous. I makes a little amber-colored lava lamp you can drink. Highly reccomend it.
Agreed. And I did not see your boy tonight. As I would have passed along your phone number. Hopefully, without, as you say, a Shakespearian case of mistaken identity, shenanigans and, somehow, a donkey.
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