i forgot to remember that i hate that place. it is "jimmy's" now, but it used to be something else & was more of the same. diner! but sneaky expensive hipster diner, with killing food. killing! fried food that goes beyond friend & into double-friend, then past that. into plaid. those aren't french fries, those are vichy french fries! so let me set this up. play practice! crunch time! i'm one of the worst offenders, & i know it: between the wedding & my game on sunday's, i've been a bastard. i know my lines (mostly) though, so i'm not, you know, the worst. the worst of the worst. anyhow, the vice is squeezing, the heat is on. this tuesday was meant to be an extra long one, & it was a pretty good one (i still need more time with daile, & lauren, & dave; more time with lois & simon won't hurt either!) but we took off for finer climes, lured to the diner to do lines over dinner. not the best move. focus lost. also, fuck that diner, see, we're back to there. the entry into the story. anyhow, i guess i'm just sore because it puts hurt on the old wallet. i don't feel like i got eight dollars ($8) worth of sandwich. & it is impossible to dodge gross artery cloggers. i mean-- you can't do it. you could get a "basket" with catfish (friiiiiiiied) & chips (friiiiiiiiies)? what, a salad (with fried bits, even!) or whatever. & the pitches, which was the bait that we all jumped at? no promised pitcher of rolling rock, none! & the math on the tequila lemonades comes out five bucks ($5) a glass. so i left feeling bilked & gross. so next time, remind me to nix that shit.
on the plus side, jenny looked at me admiringly as i was getting dressed this morning & said i was "pretty."