1:45 PM, Sep 26, 2008 
Kickbull
I got off work at whatever time last night and forgoed(forwent?) riding the bus in favor of haste, which was needed. I got home and burned the kickball CD for which I downloaded songs and pestered people all day. Uncertain of something witty and unprecedented to write on it, I labeled it "BREASTS," and ran out the door.
I sat down at the bar at Bulldog at about 6:23pm or so. The bartender was jawing with some barfly friends at the other end, and despite several definite incidents of eye contact, she just kept on talking and giggling with her friends. It wasn't until I, trying not to look as annoyed as I was, put my hand in the air to wave at her, that she heaved a sigh, cast an apologetic look at her friends, and came over, acting like she'd just noticed me.
While this was going on, a number of strippers were congregating at the opposite end of the bar, filling the air with the scent of the powdered body makeup they smear all over their breasts and cleavage, and reminds me of past nights of which I am not proud. Bulldog is adjacent to Bazooka's, and is owned by the same lively dresser, so it would seem that the headliners like to take a bit of the edge off at Bulldog before punching in next door.
Sarah joined me shortly after all these thoughts circled around my head. We sat up at the bar and remarked together at the apathetic slowness with which the bartender conducted herself. Ah, the things we do for 2-for-1 drinks. I wasn't expecting anyone else to show up, but to my surprise we were suddenly surrounded as Terra, Chris, Kahlen, Liana, Ben, and Holly joined us seemingly all at once. We sat around a high-table and talked about nothing in particular until the appointed time, when we all at once sped over to the field to lose 7-6 at kickball.
It was a very good, very fun game. I think everyone got on base, and the team we played really seemed to enjoy our antics. After the game everyone scattered like roaches when a light is turned on, except Terra, Brad, and me. We went to the Newsroom on Broadway, where our friends Jen and Sarah were tending bar. I ran into Walter there, with whom I hadn't spoken in ages. I discovered that my beloved old divey dirty Newsroom was no longer what it once was, despite the warm reception I got from Jen and Sarah.
I actually felt old when I was telling someone next to me at the bar that I used to pay the same price for a pitcher than I was paying for a single draw. I'm not 22 anymore.
I got into the office hungover and sleepy, and have thus far completed no work whatsoever today.
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