No Punchbacks

So I’d mentally planned out a whole post about going for drinks with a really good looking filmmaker. (I mean, yeah, I was listening to him too, but I’m pretty much always thinking about blog posts on some level.) I was going to tell you about the bajillion microbrews available, and all the shining polished wood in the bar. I would have segued smoothly in acquiring my taste for beer in Yantai, where yantai pijiu was literally cheaper than water. Dave, Zorro and I would order pitchers of watery beer and plates of noodles, and sit at plastic streetside tables every summer night. And I’d tie it back to the palms trees and neon of Los Angeles. I’m a fantastic blogger in my head.

But instead, I’m fixated on the part where the hot guy was driving me home, and I somehow forget that I wasn’t hanging out with Scep, so I leaned over, smacked him and shouted “PUNCH BUGGY YELLOW! NO PUNCH BACKS!”

I’m a catch, all right.