cleveland isn't so bad, lad

i don't know, i went there once w/ex bf, maybe twice, i went there with workies to do the christmas party, but this time i went for a work picinic which i held halfheartedly anyway, knew i wouldn't make it all the way through in the back of my mind. jakies and i left maybe an hour late because we're sleepyheads, dropped margot off at daddy's, fought over the ipod and pee breaks, but eventually we got to urban outfitters and after spending $400, we were sleepy again. back to le hilton, lovely suburbs, everything is close, and everyone is nicer. midwest courtesy, i guess. so fall asleep at hilty, fall asleep through our rock and roll hall of fame plans, fall asleep through our botanical gardens, art museum, everything plans. wake up at 9pm, off to get some dinner, sat outside beside cleveland yuppies who conversed about plastic surgery and real breasts, mercedes vs. lexus, various other interesting things. asked the server for an "espresso drink" which i meant "latte" by, and which i got "martini" for. slightly after i was riled up, melanie comes to hilty and of course it starts raining :/ look over flickr photos, talk shit, talk alot of shit, felt tummies, and went to the warehouse district to really soon after decide it totally sucks and left. counted cowboy hats, saw a real life man with knife, and stepped in puddles with my new overpriced shoesies from uo. so mapquest on my phone later, we head to a bar called "duck island" which is smack dab in the middle of where the fuck are we land, but when we stand outside we hear black sabbath and the bartender is outside and tells jake and i about how she had a near death experience with a man who just didn't understand the "no drinks outside" rule. inside and we sit on nice couchies near a cigarette machine, we talk about stuff and babies and cities and melanie has a stalker and i was jealous. last call happened 10 or 11 times, each time we schmoozed with the staff who we loved and who loved us, we decided we'd all get married and have babies. four or five drinks later, we are now plastered and calling melanie's stalker out on his theories which are rooted in absolutely nothing. well we yelled a bunch and smoked a lot of cigarettes, outside on the patio and the boy with the vest says melanie looks like a call girl, and that he knows he's in buffalo with his eyes closed because of the smell. we excuse ourselves back into the bar, back where melanie is still engulfed in conversation with stalker man, who now exposes that "that isn't what your myspace page says" and we all roll our eyes and groan and try and leave nicely.