It's Friday. It's 75 degrees and sunny. I can see people laying on the Union lawn from my office window (I'm thankfully spared the view of the Cathedral lawn--that would be pure torture.)
I need to get the hell out of here. I have beer to drink and veggie dogs to grill, cigarettes to smoke and friends to catch up with. I've done no work all day, unless sitting and staring wistfully out the window while listening to The Replacements album "Tim" (such a good warm weather album, seriously) is considered work. (Hint: it isn't.)
Last night's six hour happy hour was a blast, too... even though we're old and happy hour is actually applicable to our days, not just a time when drinks are cheaper. Days like yesterday and today are the days that make me not so unhappy to still be in Pittsburgh. Except that I feel like the entire city is wearing gaucho pants.
I really hate gaucho pants.
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I hate gaucho pants and at least your office has a window. I just sit in mine and dream about the magical world that is outside which consists of unicorns, beer rivers, and no fat girls in gaucho pants and big sunglasses.
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