a little really out of my element Saturday night. If you don’t know that I like holey jeans, beer in cans, and not washing my hair by now, you’re brain dead. So getting all gussied up and going to “clubs” had me feeling kina weird.
But, get a couple drinks in me (who am I kidding, there wasn’t a point that weekend that I DIDN’T have a drink in me) and I’ll do pretty much anything. Yeah, I’ll whine about it and you might not want to be my friend while we’re there, but I’ll go.
- And yes, ok, MAYBE I’ll be convinced the the bottle service mixers are roofied and refuse to drink anything while we’re there.
- And ok I MAY eagle-hawk stare at the men the whole time to see if any of them are drinking it, too.
- But because I won’t want them to catch on that I’ve caught on to their plan, I MIGHT tip my glass up to a tightly closed-lipped mouth and pretend I’m drinking (and dump some in the plants when nobody’s looking.)
At least L was on the same page. Us small town, old hags really need to get out more and learn how to loosen up.
And stop watching crime shows. (And the Hangover).