Foot Massage?

This weekend I am going to see Coldplay in concert. I fucking hate Coldplay. But you know what? I'm determined to have a good time. I'm even going to resist the temptation of bringing a pillow and blanket to what I foresee as being a snooze-fest.

Why, you may ask, am I going to see Coldplay if I have such a violently negative reaction against them?

Because this weekend, I am playing Vincent Vega.

You know, John Travolta's character in Pul Fiction.

My friend, Chris, is going to be out of town for a month for work and while Chris is gone, it's my job to hang out with his wife. They bought tickets to Coldplay before this employment opportunity arose, and so now Ali-with-an-i has an extra ticket. I'm supposed to make sure she has a good time out that night. Now I know what you're thinking, but all I'm gonna do is, I'm gonna sit across from her, chew my food with my mouth closed, laugh at her fucking jokes, and that's it.

I just hope she doesn't find my heroin, mistake it for cocaine, snort it, and OD on me. Or worse, want to win a dance trophy.