Can I assume that you participated in some festivities in honor of the biggest event of the year this past weekend? You know what I'm talking about: the five-year anniversary of Queen of Hot, astronaut Lisa Nowak's cross-country drive in a diaper to confront her lover's side piece.
(If you assumed I was talking about the Super Bowl, you can punish yourself by not changing your diaper all day.)
To celebrate Queen Lisa's cross-country drive, I took myself out to dinner at a fancy place with real silverware and no drive-thru. I stepped up to the hostess table and announced my arrival: "Nowak, party of one."
"Lisa?" the hostess replied. "Uhhhh...hang on just a second..."
She turned and started chatting furiously with the other hostesses. Bored and impatient, I went and hung out with a bunch of other loners at the bar.
Finally, the hostesses came over and said, "Lisa Nowak?"
"Yes," replied EIGHT VOICES in unison, mine being one of them.
Turns out, all these other hot pieces were there to honor Queen Lisa, too. (God, I love it when I meet fellow crazies by the good fortune of the universe--I am so OVER using Craigslist Random Hook-Ups.)
Anyway, here is our little group of Nowakkies:
a starter of my-side-piece-is-absolutely-worth-my-career
a locally grown salad of he'll-totally-take-me-back-when-he-sees-I'm-willing-to-wear-a-diaper-for-him
a heaping plate of bitch-better-watch-her-back
a chocolate-covered I-hope-this-isn't-on-the-news
all washed down with a nice vintage blend of sarcasm and regret
(In all seriousness, our reservation really was under Lisa Nowak, and not a single host/hostess or waiter/waitress ever batted an eye. Pfft. Heathens.)
Time to start planning next year's hootenanny, kids!
AND. To all the football fans in my neck of the woods: Get over the Super Bowl. There was no way the Redskins, Ravens, or Steelers could've won anyway, so who gives an eff. You want a winning team? Sign Lisa Nowak as your offensive coordinator, dicks.
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