sangria [ March 30, 2003, 10:56 a.m. ]

Yesterday my amazing cuticles went to the Van Gogh exhibit at the museum with R., G., and D. It was packed. (Toledo might not have much, but we do have what is considered to be one of the finest art museums in the country.)

The people that wear the headphones for the guided tour should be shot. They stop right in front of you and stand for 5 minutes listening, oblivious that they have just blocked your view. They talk to each other unaware they are screaming. Then there were several groups of children that Iím sure were horribly bored. Then the idiots, the ones that have to be reminded that touching the artwork is forbidden. And I saw a guy using the wall as a hard surface to take notes. (Once at the Art Institute of Chicago I saw a man using a sculpture as a clipboard. And he got belligerent with the guard who asked him to stop.) Then while looking at jewelry, a heard a woman correct her companion, telling her it was ďfreedomĒ jewelry and not French.

Wankers.

Later D. made her famous sangria and we drank copious amounts of alcohol. I crawled to bed before midnight and was up at 7 as usual. I donít feel so good. Ah yes.. ..hello Mr. Hangover..I havenít seen you in a while.

Mmmm.. ..coffee.

Now we have to get ready to go to my parents house for dinner. D. is coming with us..this should be interesting.



Now Playing: "That Old Black Magic" Frank Sinatra

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