My money situation is so tight right now that I really look forward to the weekends, because having 3650 weekend minutes to use on my cell phone is the only thing that actually makes me feel rich.

Want to talk for a thousand minutes? Chump change! Plenty more where that came from!

I'd spend it like currency, I would.

Last night at the IO, I was witness to more kooky comedians. Making appearances lately have been the porn producer stand up, whom I've mentioned before. Last night we had an older-ish woman whose act was all ba-doom-ching! one liners. Her best joke (and see if you can call this one before I get to the ellipsis): "I can have all the men I please...I just don't please very many."

Thank you! I'll be here all week! Try the veal!

I haven't mentioned this comedian before, but she played for the second time last night. She's a dominatrix with stage fright. Apparently, making people your bitch is more comfortable for her on a one on one basis. I'm not going to link her site, but you just might find it if you entered the words 'widow' and 'centauri' into Google.

I don't quite remember, but I think she claimed that her first husband died during lovemaking. I do remember definitively that she said that her parents found out what she does for a living when her dad, unbeknownst to both of them, booked an appointment with her.

Things can be pretty casual around the IO, and after her set, people started asking questions. Some of her stories seemed a little too fantastic to be anything more than jokes. She swore that everything she said was actually true, and when asked if she had really booked an appointment with her father, she said that she had. I asked her what they ended up doing.

"We went out to lunch," she said. "He paid."

Later, the entire episode resulted in a conversation about the similarities that motivate standups and dominatrixes (dominatrixii?), and after about three minutes, the conversation was deemed too pretentious to continue and was terminated.

Saturday night included drunken hijinks with my improv classmates. We've been trying to get together at least once a week now, since we only have about two more months before our training is over. Someone brought a digital camera, and maybe I'll post some pictures if I can get her to email them to me. If you're a big fan of inebriated looking strangers all lined up with their arms around each other's shoulders, it will be quite the treat.

It was a pretty typical night of drinking. Three or four hours and forty or so dollars, gone before I even knew what happened. Promises were made, and if you go by what was coming out of our mouths that night, we're all going to drive to Las Vegas at some point in the future and get a room! Or two interconnected rooms! Yeah! You guys, we have to do this! Seriously! Omigod, I'm gonna cry!

Actual quotes.

Liquored up phone calls were placed. I managed to enrage people in Chicago, for whom it was 3am. I had enough sense to leave New York well enough alone in it's 4am-ness, even though, come to think of it, the person I would have called there had the best chance of being awake, lush as she is.

The night continued, and the more alcohol consumed, the flirtier it all became. My friend Robin's preferred method of flirting with me is randomly sidling up while I can't see her and proceeding to attach the entire length of her figure to me. It is maddening enough to have someone's breasts pressed against you when sober, much less when you're several whiskeys and beers into it. Very inconsiderate. I hated to impolitely complain, but this I didn't need from a girl with a boyfriend. Later, some latent homosexuality fought it's way through our vanishing sobriety, and we all, male and female, pledged to have sex with each other at some point, like a good group of friends.

Vegas, maybe.

To cap off my Saturday night, I managed the seemingly impossible, and threw out my back while I was sleeping. It was a true delayed reaction injury, which I didn't notice til some time yesterday afternoon, when I diagnosed myself with the words "Fucking hell, my back hurts." I seem to retain some mobility, though, so rest assured that my dental duties will continue.

Speaking of going to work, I have to. I'd prefer not, but the people to whom I owe money seem to prefer it when I can give them some. Bastards.