Yum, Cocktails
Last night I drank too much.
"How long do you think it's been since you had that much to drink?" Dan asked at 1:30 a.m., upon returning home from work and finding me asleep, half sitting up, in bed.
"Was I asleep?" I asked. "I wasn't drunk."
"You were so drunk," he said.
It's true. I was drunk.
Elly and Phyllis and Karen and I went to the fashion thingie in the early evening. It was a little bizarre and people were so not as cute or well dressed as they should've been. I kept on thinking about how at least in Little House on the Prairie days people couldn't go too off track with their fashions because they all had to buy the same g-damn calico at the general store. They weren't given the option of tickling their fashion funnybones by mixing styles from Wal-Mart, Forever 21, and Macy's. And it's not like it's even impossible to work a cute outfit from such sources. It's just that most people cannot. They end up looking too young for their age (slutty MILF types abounded, and were definitely more slutty than sexy) or too old for their age, or showing too much wishful thinking cleavage.
I also decided, while on my 3rd glass of chardonney, looking desperately for my "friends," who had somehow disappeared, that little girls should no longer be told that they are beautiful, that every little spit gob that falls out of their mouths is precious, and that they will be famous. If people shut the hell up about how great their fucking kids were, we'd have less of this: 9 year old girls wearing all pink outfits (pink sequined rubber flip-flops, pink sequined tie-dyed peasant skirt, terrible pink sequined head band, terrible terrible pink sequined tank top that reads "Move Over Cinderella").
MOVE OVER CINDERELLA?
I'm sure she's only looking for the post-fairy godmother position, not the pre, which involved putting up with bitchy stepsisters and scrubbing floors. I might've snarled at this little princess.
I finally found my friends congregated by the coatcheck. They called me over and said, "Hey, what do you know?"
"I know this much," I replied. "We aren't nearly as ugly as half of these motherfuckers in here."
"How much have you been drinking?" Elly asked, looking horrified.
We took an elevator down, but not before I managed to almost squish a tiny man carrying a gigantic camera when I weaved against the wall (I did not see him there!). On the way down in the cramped, full elevator Elly asked me if I thought her finger was infected. "If it is, you've got to cut that shit open and squeeze the poison out," I advised. Elly raised her eyebrows at me and some old ill-dressed people stared. "Squeeze the poison out," I continued. "Bleed it until it bleeds clean."
Walking along the Embarcadero, we saw a man wearing the most terrible pair of bleached jeans--they were only bleached on the pockets and on this wide stretch of fabric on his inner legs--and began laughing hysterically. Hoo ha, funny! I'm not the only one who's tipsy!
At the Slanted Door we got more cocktails (delicious) and appetizers (delicious) and told really embarrassing stories (well, Elly did) about men with tiny penises, and then I slurred my words somewhat and convinced everyone to take a bus to the Rickshaw, where we had another drink (free).
After I got home I realized that I couldn't walk straight. Funny times!I called my friend Byrce in Mpls who always calls me when he's drunk and leaves yodeling messages on my voicemail and I left a drunk message on his.
At 3:30 a.m. I woke up severely dehydrated even though I'd drank a Nalgene of H20 before retiring and drank another Nalgene full of H20 and took some ibuprofen and it was all good this morning. Allll good.
A rottweiller has seemingly moved in next door and it's a motherfucking barker. G-damn it.
"How long do you think it's been since you had that much to drink?" Dan asked at 1:30 a.m., upon returning home from work and finding me asleep, half sitting up, in bed.
"Was I asleep?" I asked. "I wasn't drunk."
"You were so drunk," he said.
It's true. I was drunk.
Elly and Phyllis and Karen and I went to the fashion thingie in the early evening. It was a little bizarre and people were so not as cute or well dressed as they should've been. I kept on thinking about how at least in Little House on the Prairie days people couldn't go too off track with their fashions because they all had to buy the same g-damn calico at the general store. They weren't given the option of tickling their fashion funnybones by mixing styles from Wal-Mart, Forever 21, and Macy's. And it's not like it's even impossible to work a cute outfit from such sources. It's just that most people cannot. They end up looking too young for their age (slutty MILF types abounded, and were definitely more slutty than sexy) or too old for their age, or showing too much wishful thinking cleavage.
I also decided, while on my 3rd glass of chardonney, looking desperately for my "friends," who had somehow disappeared, that little girls should no longer be told that they are beautiful, that every little spit gob that falls out of their mouths is precious, and that they will be famous. If people shut the hell up about how great their fucking kids were, we'd have less of this: 9 year old girls wearing all pink outfits (pink sequined rubber flip-flops, pink sequined tie-dyed peasant skirt, terrible pink sequined head band, terrible terrible pink sequined tank top that reads "Move Over Cinderella").
MOVE OVER CINDERELLA?
I'm sure she's only looking for the post-fairy godmother position, not the pre, which involved putting up with bitchy stepsisters and scrubbing floors. I might've snarled at this little princess.
I finally found my friends congregated by the coatcheck. They called me over and said, "Hey, what do you know?"
"I know this much," I replied. "We aren't nearly as ugly as half of these motherfuckers in here."
"How much have you been drinking?" Elly asked, looking horrified.
We took an elevator down, but not before I managed to almost squish a tiny man carrying a gigantic camera when I weaved against the wall (I did not see him there!). On the way down in the cramped, full elevator Elly asked me if I thought her finger was infected. "If it is, you've got to cut that shit open and squeeze the poison out," I advised. Elly raised her eyebrows at me and some old ill-dressed people stared. "Squeeze the poison out," I continued. "Bleed it until it bleeds clean."
Walking along the Embarcadero, we saw a man wearing the most terrible pair of bleached jeans--they were only bleached on the pockets and on this wide stretch of fabric on his inner legs--and began laughing hysterically. Hoo ha, funny! I'm not the only one who's tipsy!
At the Slanted Door we got more cocktails (delicious) and appetizers (delicious) and told really embarrassing stories (well, Elly did) about men with tiny penises, and then I slurred my words somewhat and convinced everyone to take a bus to the Rickshaw, where we had another drink (free).
After I got home I realized that I couldn't walk straight. Funny times!I called my friend Byrce in Mpls who always calls me when he's drunk and leaves yodeling messages on my voicemail and I left a drunk message on his.
At 3:30 a.m. I woke up severely dehydrated even though I'd drank a Nalgene of H20 before retiring and drank another Nalgene full of H20 and took some ibuprofen and it was all good this morning. Allll good.
A rottweiller has seemingly moved in next door and it's a motherfucking barker. G-damn it.