The squeak of the shoes, the unmistakeble blue of the floor, ahhh, basketball season, nothing like it. I forget just how much I miss it until it's back.
The squeak of the shoes, the unmistakeble blue of the floor, ahhh, basketball season, nothing like it. I forget just how much I miss it until it's back.
Tonight, since the game wasn't on basic cable, I went to our local chicken wing joint to see the boys in action for the first time this season.
I enjoyed wings and a couple of beers while also being treated to some beautiful Duke basketball action and repeatedly checking out one of the hostesses. Then, just before the close of the evening, as EarlJam is my witness, I strode directly up to said hostess, commenced conversation, and then obtained her telephone number. I've never done that before in my life, so I figured I'd share it in this semi-anonymous format while basking in my newfound chutzpah/awesomeness.
Fios...he rides on the beams of light.
I'm not gonna grab up the phone tomorrow, but I'm not gonna wait forever, either. So I guess that means I'll call her Wednesday.
So, EarlJam, did you get any girls' numbers tonight?
Not that I wouldn't mind a good woman though tonight. Got a glass of wine in hand; a crackling fire in the fireplace, some Sinatra in the CD player, and some tater tots in the oven.
God. I love tater tots.
Anyway, yes, I could go for some in-house slow dancing, guitar playing and tater tot eating.
-EarlTot
Update: My living room is on fire.
Hold please.
-EJ