reasons to invite me to your party.

1.  I dress super cool: think zebra tee-shirt and camouflage crocs cool.

2.  I will bring solo cups and convince the party host to come up with a make-shift beirut table.

3.  When someone arrives I will shout out a greeting including both their first & last name, even if they have no idea who I am.

4.  Dance parties are awesome and I will make even the most reluctant party attender attempt the 2-step, maybe even the harlem shake.

5.  I will bring my own koozie and proceed to lose it, prompting a scavenger hunt the next day.

sorry for partying.

Any potential love affair I might have been considering with BCBG is done, caput, over FOREVER.

My sister had a company holiday party on Friday and I was her date (classy, per usual), and well seeing as I don't really have fancy shmancy dresses just laying around I clearly needed to buy one.

I ordered one from BCBG, which generally is a brand I LOVE.

I got the dress on Wednesday afternoon.

It was the most horrible article of clothing I could have selected.

Literally, the material was terrible and the actual form (you know how they like sew hips & shit in) was awful!  Honestly, I never would have even given the dress a second glance in a store.

Never.

Thankfully my Mom is a good sport and didn't mind a late night shopping extravaganza on Thursday night.

And thankfully, White House Black Market is as fucking amazing as it is. 

Even more amazing is the sale rack and the fact that I got a sparkly little black number for $50.

So anyways, onwards to Friday.

I woke up with a terrible cold, the kind that punches you in the face.

So I opted to take a dayquill around, oh I don't know noonish, figuring it would wear off in time for alcohol.

So off I went to the hotel to meet my sister, where we dazzled ourselves up with hairspray and 4 inch heels.

And down to the party.

After 4 hours of standing in 4 inch heels, I quite seriously could no longer walk. 

Well, I suppose the open bar helped the walking situation and I was able to saunter quite appropriately.

We went back up to the hotel room where my sister informed me she had brought me a change of clothes appropriate for going out to the club.

Ohhh, um ok....well I'm kinda like ready for bed, with this cold and all the beers, you know?

SHUT UP, go change, we're going out.

Obvs all the convincing I needed.

I changed, put on some flats, hopped in a cab to a bar, where we got a table and bottle service.

By bottle service, I mean everyone was drinking vodka sodas, puke.

So they kept making me cups, I kept taking a sip, and putting it down some other location in the bar.

I also cleared the dance floor and threw down the most epic dance party of my whole entire life.

Where I also somehow scored some sweet ass old school rayban-esque shades with neon blue sides that say "sorry for partying" on the armband.

After the club scene got old, a cab was taken back to the hotel.

Where I legit wrapped my sweet shades in my clothes in order to prevent any stealing from anyone (who, I don't actually know).

Then we went back downstairs and 5 of us hopped in a limo to go get Chinese food.

Yes, I said limo.

No, I have no idea how much that cost.

The limo also waited while we stuffed our faces with Chinese deliciousness.

We then raced from the restaurant and hopped back in our limo.

Back to the hotel, where I curled up for slumber.

I woke up feeling like my head could possibly split open.

Apparently dayquill that did not leave my system might do that.

Or the beers, I don't know.

But I do know that I couldn't pick my head up off the pillow to put my necklace (which I had taken off the night before) back on, which means that I laid it on the bed until I could pick my head up.

I then proceeded to drive home with my head laid back against the car seat wearing my sweet ass shades.

It then dawned on me that somehow I left the hotel without putting my necklace on.

I cried, on the inside, because I wasn't physically capable of making real tears.

But in all seriousness, should you want to score some shades like the ones I brought home, I give you: sorry for partying.

disaster set-up.

99.9 % of the time I refuse any offers of being "set-up."

It's just not my thing, it's uncomfortable, I end up talking way too fast & too much, and generally being absurdly ridiculous.

However, I have a friend, who happens to be the best friend of an ex-boyfriend, who I was with for nearly 4 years, that wanted to set me up with one of his buddies.

His rationale: he's a really nice guy, rich, and travels all over the world.

After a couple months of brushing it off, I figured why the hell not.

So Friday night we made plans for my friend to pick me up and we would go meet his buddy for dinner & drinks. 

I even had rules: I had to wash my hair, not wear moccasins, and no plaid.  So I fussed myself up, think skinny jeans, knee high boots, hair spray in my Shakira-esque hair, and threw on some extra make-up.

We had some road sodas on the way, which was way necessary to calm my nerves - or rather loosen me up so I was my chatter-bug self, plus some.

We arrived, met, grabbed some seats at the bar, he seemed nice, we chatted, had some drinks, and ordered burgers.

I love that I ordered an enormous cheeseburger, and the boys did too.  No ensaladas here creepers, no sir.

Anyways, my first impression was that he was a bit smug and very army.  By very army, I mean you legit looked at him, and you knew he was in the army.  There was no question about it, ya know?

So then we proceeded to head to the Legion bar for the town.

We began playing some pool, which I'm terrible at, but I'm a pretty enthusiastic player and I enjoy myself, mostly.

There was a rogue girl sitting at one of the pub tables near the pool table, that I began chatting with.  Several minutes into the conversation she started bawling.

By bawling, I mean seriously, crying.  Tears down the face and all.

I began to panic, like what the hell happened here.

She ran outside to smoke a cigarette.

Phew ok.

Anyways, back to pool.  A ways into playing, which I was teamed up with my friend, and we were playing 2 random guys who were already there, the set-up man teamed up with a girl at another table.

No biggie, but it was pretty clear we weren't hitting it off.

So after a while, when it became blatantly obvious that every time we spoke it turned into a discussion of the army, or him becoming very intense, or an argument that I would attempt to diffuse by being silly, I gave up.

I decided damn, that guy at the bar is smokin'.  I'm gonna go chat him up.

Which I did, and he bought me a shot.  And we flirted a bit.

Then on my return to my friend, a girl pulled me aside:

Heyy, um are you from around here?

Not really, like 45 minute away.

Well, I am, and just a heads up, that guy you were chatting up is on trial for manslaughter.

Oh, right, ok thanks.

Sigh, are you serious?

Anyways, so on the night progressed and the arguments continued.

Now I would never bash the army, I wouldn't.  I respect it, I know my life is the way it is because they are present.

But I have zero desire to discuss the army ALL NIGHT LONG.

I also have zero desire to hear how every single country in the world is miserable and terrible and there is nothing positive about it.  And that if I adopt a refugee child, it will murder me in my sleep.  (I'm serious, that's what he said to me).

Because that's just fucked up.

There is something positive in everything, EVERYTHING.

So I high tailed it to the bathroom where on my way a pleasant gentleman told me I resembled Salma Hayek, which nearly made me pee my pants, because my body is like that of a 12 year old pre-adolescent boy....and in no way close to resembling Salma.  But anyways, apparently I resemble a young, Only Fools Rush In, Salma or something, minus the curves.

Anyways, I got back, to find out manslaughter man and his friends were going to fight army man, like 3 versus 1 style.

I flat out told them it was the dumbest thing I ever heard and then went and threw down on the dance floor.

I mean, there were some good tunes happening.

Thankfully, someone threw a white flag and there was no after bar brawl.

Anyways, the night had clearly come to an end.

Clearly.

So me and my friend hit the road and dialed my sister up and put her on speaker phone.

She was obviously drunk as she somehow misconstrued the situation to that of my friend setting me up with a murderer.  Which she was screaming at him on the phone.

It was hilarious, and a great closer to the evening.

Apparently though the set-up man felt bad the next day and thinks he came across like a douch bag (duh).  And was actually interested and wants to talk to me, about things other than the army, to which I said he has to talk about unicorns and moonbeams.

So now the real question is, second chance, or no second chance and how daring do I truly feel?

not alone.

The best part of having an overzealous drinking wine extravaganza?

Having your BFF call you 2 days later after an overzealous beer drinking extravaganza informing you that she peed in her boyfriend's underwear drawer because she "couldn't find" the bathroom.

Peas in a pod?

I think yes.

Lover it.

wine is not water.

Friday night was wino night with the girls at my friend's house. 

Her hubby was out of the state for a teaching conference or something, so we had a group of us, all with a bottle of wine (or 2) in tow.

For some reason - I was ready to drink, drinkk, drank.

After skipping lunch, I had a couple pieces of pizza and a beer.

Then the wine shenanigans began.

I was putting glasses of wine back like no one's business. 

Like I'm actually serious, I was drinking like 2 glasses to everyone's maybe 1.

Along came midnight, and my realization that I better get the fuck OUT.

So without saying a word, I disappeared upstairs to the spare bedroom and promptly passed out with my feet on the floor.

As it goes - 45 minutes later two of my friends realized I had never returned.  So they ran upstairs to retrieve me.

They bounced me around the bed, tossed me around a bit, attempted to stand me up, before I removed my footwear and slipped under the covers after telling them to fuck off.

They returned to the party.

Apparently (I say apparently because I have no fucking idea what actually happened, HELLO BLACK OUT CITY), but apparently I booted in bed.

I awoke, realized what happened and removed myself from the bed.

Rather than head to the bathroom, I headed to her master bedroom.

I must have gotten all a-fluster after booting some more on her floor (which I cleaned in my drunken stupour thank you very much) - because I booted some more but attempted to hide it.

After this all occured, I took my slightly puke covered self and got under the covers in her bed.

Uhhhh, classy, I know.

Eventually my friend came upstairs - found the puke in the spare room - rounded up all the blankets and sheets and threw them in the wash.

She then returned to her bedroom, aka my new location.

Where is the puke Twiggs?

I didn't fucking puke shut up.

It smells like vomit in here, you puked in the other room, and I need to know where it is.

Shut up, I didn't puke.  I cleaned it up in the bathroom.

You are the only one up here, you did puke, now tell me where it is.

Then she opened her window curtain.

DO YOU SEE THIS?

I drunkenly sit myself up to take a peek.

I didn't do it.

DO YOU SEE THIS?

Ummm, is that puke on the window?

YES, IT IS PUKE.  ARE YOU FUCKING MIA HAMM AIMING FOR THE UPPER 90?!

Yes, friends, not only did I puke at the window - I puked in the upper left hand corner of the window.  I then promptly shut the curtains, hiding the disaster.

I finagled myself out of the bed and proceeded to drunkenly clean the window with toliet paper.

Pretty sure it was unsuccessful.

I then changed out of my attire, threw on some sweet plaid jammies, and walked back down to the still going on party.

I announced that I arose from the dead - threw my hands in the air - and then walked back to bed.

I called my sister and relived the experience with her.

She hysterically laughed.

I did not.  I was mortified.

I then fell asleep with my dog and my friend's dog on the bed.

I woke up, bought everyone brekky (the humiliation I felt and puke still in my hair was free).

I eventually dragged my sorry ass home after repeatedly apologizing to my friend.

Several hours later she sent me a text - I think you need to purchase us some nice candles.

Which I did and dropped them off that day.

Honestly, I have not ever gotten to that point of drunken vomiting.  NEVER.

Apparently I do not know how to gauge my wine tolerance. 

Seriously, please remember that only 2 weekends ago I was ripping shots of vodka, whiskey, having mixed vodka drinks, and beers.

But wine.  Nooooooo.

Perhaps I needed this slap in the face.

With the slap, I officially concluded that I will never again drink wine like water.

In fact, I will likely not drink wine for a very long time.

Barefoot Moscato, you've officially been ruined.

Damn it.

pbr part 5.

I actually didn't know it was possible to fall further in love with the PBR.  But apparently it is possible.

So we arrived on Friday night - checked into our hotel, started downing some skittles vodka, showered up, and changed.

As we waited for our taxi, that took about an hour - we polished off another cup of skittles vodka.

We then proceeded to take the scariest taxi ride of our lives.  Seriously, like I thought we were going to be shot in a dark alley way.

We got to the event - had some beers, watched the conclusion and ran for a bar. 

Took some shots, sent a text to one of the riders, and headed to their hotel bar.

We arrived, took some more shots, ordered some beers, and then stepped to the bathroom.  Upon our return to the bar, we stopped for some conversation outside of the bar with some of the riders.  My sister then headed in to order another round of beers with her main boy rider.

I remained outside.  And then suddenly - my endearing cowboy from pbr part 3 came outside and wrapped me in a bear hug.

A bear hug.  How can you not love that?

Clearly I hung out with his little group all evening.

I even missed the screaming match my sister got into with the world's biggest DB.

Then somehow shots got suggested.

Whiskey shots.

I told my sister she should take one because honestly, you couldn't even taste the whiskey.

It was fucking straight whiskey.

Soon after that shot and after some dancing, mister bear hug asked if I was ready to head up to his room.  

I presumbably determined myself ready.

I put on some of bear hug's clothes to sleep, and then he announced he thought he might puke.

His roommate told me that the last time he thought he was gonna puke - he puked everywhere.

I slept in his roommate's bed, no way was I getting puked on.

We woke up, his roommate snuggled with me, because I guess it seemed appropriate.

Then after I got up to pee, I realized that their third roommate was curled up between the wall and bed, sleeping.

When the hell did he arrive?

They took some pictures, showered up, and then woke him up.

At which point he decided he needed to have his back rubbed - so he hopped into bed next to me and I rubbed his back.

Then he took a bath and was heading downstairs.

I texted my sister and found my way to the room she was in with her boy.

We hung out for a bit, took the elevator down, I ran off to find a bathroom to dry heave for a bit (fuck you whiskey), we said adios to my endearing cowboy who was headed home and happened to be in the lobby, and then sauntered off to our hotel.

We stopped on the way and ate some breakfast.

We got back to our room, my sister decided we must find some ice for our vodka.  We set off on the elevator, we got off and I immediately said I need a bathroom.  There was a gym and a trash can.

I made do with the trash can.  Then I walked around the corner to find my sister outside at the pool, and booted in the trash can out there too.

I've actually thought back all the way through college and I have never once booted the afternoon after drinking.

That whiskey shot fucking owned me.

We then proceeded to lie in bed watching a Toddlers and Tiaras marathon while reading damn you auto-correct.

I attempted to eat some pizza after we ran to the mall for some pink tee-shirts, the attempt wasn't all that successful.

We returned to our room, took showers, I took some ibuprofen, ate some pepto, and made myself some skittles vodka.

We made it to the event, rocked it out in the balcony, and then changed out of our pink tee shirts in the bathroom.

We took some shots on the way to the hotel bar, where we met some Europeans who bought us some shots and drinks, and then our cowboys arrived.

We met Flint, sans rodeo entertainer attire, and had some good conversation.

I also made friends with one of the guys who works at the events - who happened to ask where our seats were for the following day.  After I informed him they were in the balcony, he told me to please take his number and text him the next day, and that he would hook us up with some better seats.

I then fell in love with another mister mister who works at the events.  We had some excellent conversation while sitting in the lobby for a few hours listening to the boys play their guitars and sing.

Me and my sister stumbled into a cab at 6AM.

We passed out for 5 hours, packed up our shit, ran for some breakfast, and arrived at the event.

I texted the guy from the night before - and he came out to meet us, tickets in pocket.

I had bullshit kicked up and land on my lap we were so gosh darn close.

TV each ride, yup.

Flint spotted us and gave us a quick I love you sign.

Best seats ever.

Ummmmm....considering we aren't going to Vegas for the finals (imagine my disappointment), can it please be January yet? 

2012 season, here we come.

pbr pbr pbr and plaidurday.

I can't even do a Friday favorites post.

I can't.

I'm so flipping beside myself that it's fucking PBR weekend annnnnd today is Plaidurday!

For this PBR weekend, it's only me and my sister.

I seriously would be terrified if I wasn't so fucking excited.

My sister and I, we kind of need a balance someone with us to mellow our crazy. 

We both are capable of drinking waaay to much, partying waaay to hard, and being able to hang until all hours.

It's almost scary.

But I'm not scared. 

I'm bloody ecstatic.

PBR until Sunday and then I have a memorial golf benefit with a large amount of people on Monday. 

This means I have to be in good enough shape to bamboozle beers on Monday.

It's all about conditioning people, and proper preparation.

Enjoy your weekend!

pbr part 4.

Season opening, PBR style, in NYC.

Now this time around, I was beyond prepared style wise.  My boho-fashionista self was back in action and ready to class it out.

My sister and her friend were unable to leave work early, so that meant we had to wait until the afternoon to head to NYC.

Wait until the afternoon to head to NYC, in January, with a huge snowstorm on the horizon.

We got stuck in a blizzard and lost a windshield wiper.  Meaning we had to get ourselves off the highway, find a store where some nice gentleman would replace said wiper, and we could get back on our merry way.

Needless to say, we didn't get to NYC in time for the event.

Back-up plan: eat some easy-mac, down lots of booze, and head directly to the after party bar.

Clearly we were ready to roll as we showed up at the "after-party" bar. 

But wait....we messed up again?!

Sigh, we hailed a taxi and were taken to the real after party bar.  Except there was an enormous line outside.

One of the cowboys walked by, the one who had lent me his jacket last year in NYC.

Heyyyyyy - remember us?!  Can we hop in with you??

The bouncer nearly stopped us, but as the rider stared at me blankly - he said they're with me.

Booooom - we were in!

Mind you, like a couple hours later - the same rider came up to me as he finally remembered why he knew us.

We danced are bottoms off and somehow remained at the bar until 4AM.

At which point we returned to the hotel - with a rider in tow.

We walked in the doors and seeing the up & down escalator in front of me - I had a brilliant idea.

RAACEE!!

Except I chose to run up the down escalator, racing against a stellar male athlete.

Worst decision ever.  I ended up wiping out at the top, he had to grab me off the escalator, and I collapsed into pain and giggles.

I still have a scar on my right knee where it got tore up.

We all fell asleep, real classy like.

We did some running around NYC the following day and then returned to the hotel to pre-game and primp.

We made it to the event, thank goodness.

We made it to the actual after party bar - where we had some friends meeting up with us.

We proceeded to dance on top of the bar and take a number of shots.

I met some nice cowboy gentleman who was talking me up.  Single, kind, sigh, good looking.

Except as we went outside, one of the riders who I have a serious on-going flirtation with (aka pillow down the middle gentleman)....absconded me into his cab.  Leaving nice gentleman cowboy behind.

One night stand with a married man?  Classy, I know.  You can all punch me in the face later for being that girl.

I roused myself at 7AM and decided I must be close to my actual hotel and that I would walk there.

I was not close.

20 blocks is not close when you are still drunk.

I called my friend and left a voicemail (which I listened to the following week, cripes you couldn't understand a word I said).

I called my other friend and thank goodness she picked up and I rambled as I walked.

I walked straight into the turning doors of my hotel and stood there.

Dude, seriously, the turning doors are broken.  They aren't turning.  I'm standing here, stuck.

After several moments of near drunken panic, I realized you needed to push the doors.

I'm sure the front desk personnel loved it.

I eventually got to my hotel room, changed into boxers & a tee, and jumped into bed.

A few hours later we realized we needed to check out in 30 minutes.

We needed to find my sister.

After tracking her down at a different hotel with a rider - and declaring she rush her ass along considering she needed to transfer her belongings into a different suitcase so that after the event we could drop her off at the airport so she could jet set onto a mini vacay. 

I think she arrived back at our hotel with moments to spare before check-out.

We were disaster-face and me and my sister even had matching hickies.

The best part is - is that one of our friends befriended an elderly security man at the bar the night before.  A security man for Madison Square Garden.

We ended up with seats directly behind the chutes.

Our parents spotted us on tv each time a rider went out.

Stellar.  Best seats EVER.

Following the event - we even got pulled down onto the dirt.

And then went behind the scenes - aka we saw all the riders after the event - as they were showering up & changing.

A whole new level of creep.

Then the security man brought us out for food and drinks.

Then we dropped my sister off at the airport - and drove home.

She was headed off to continue to drink her little heart out on a beach.

We were headed back to recovery in the snow.

pbr part 3.

After nearly a year of living the single life and regressing back to the crazy I was in college, I was officially ready for round 3 of the PBR.

My sister and I, and one of her friends arrived at the hotel on Friday evening. 

Considering the event took place at a casino and we booked a room at the casino, we were set and set.  We guzzled down some booze, showered, primped, and prepped and then ran down the casino hallway - stopping for shots on the way of course and hopped into our seats.

I was 100% prepared, and drunk enough to attempt it, to win fan of the night.  Damn it, I was even wearing sequins.

The event started and I kept my ass out of my seat as much as possible.  Every time a song came on - I made eye contact with the rodeo clown, Flint duh, and started busting moves like you've never seen.

Then it was time.  Time for the announcement.

I thought I lost it for goodness sake, he started talking and was no where to be seen.

And then suddenly, out of the staircase arrived Flint:

At which time he said something like:

To all of you fans sitting behind this girl who are beyond irritated she won't sit her butt down, this girl knows how to have a good time! 

I won for being amazingly annoying. 

I will say that for all my wanting to win, once you start talking into the microphone and then you do a slight turn and realize that for fucks sake you are on a huge screen for the whole arena to see, it's mildly embarassing.  Thank goodness I was tipsy.

After the event, I took a picture with my sweet ass buckle and immediately uploaded it to Facebook.  I then left the buckle in the hotel room (I nearly couldn't bear to part with it, but it was necessary) and we set off for the after party bar.

Where we took a couple sets of shots.  Because it seemed necessary.

The cowboys arrived - and because I have zero concern about being overzealous, I dragged my sister and friend directly next to them and we began dancing our asses off.

I believe at one point I was on the dance floor with a cowboy who was wearing a leather jacket with sheepy lining and no shirt underneath.

At some point we went next door to another bar, where the guys realized I was following along like a small child, and thought it would be funny to see if I would follow them into the men's room, which I did. 

Some how all of us girls got separated.  And I was alone with a group of cowboys fleeing the scene.

I had one attached to my arm (that I was trying to extricate) when one of the most endearing cowboys on tour came over.  I pointed at his belt buckle and asked if he would be willing to swap considering I won fan of the night.

He asked to see the buckle.

We set off for my hotel room with me profusely claiming he saved me and that he was awesome.

We arrived at my hotel room, I proudly displayed my belt buckle, we discussed pets, and our lives.

To make a long story short I had the first one night stand of my life.  He left at some point really early in the morning, after getting my number.

I woke up the next morning in a sweet tie-dye shirt with wild animals on the front and a pair of boy shorts.  I was pretty darn sure I might die.

I turned and my sister had somehow arrived in the other bed.  She was in her going out shirt and a pair of undies.

We discussed the possibility of never moving. 

Then we ultimately decided we needed breakfast.  We dressed while laying down and then dragged our sorry asses to restaurant where I quite honestly could not even make eye contact with the waitress.  I had to stare at the table and concentrate on breathing.

Who sauntered by as we sat in this sorry state?  My one night stand cowboy, that's who.  All smiles and waves as I turned up the corners of my mouth in an attempt to smile as I held in the possibility of puke.

After breakfast we laid down and did not a damn thing until our friend arrived from another hotel down the road.  We had nearly forgotten there was 3 of us.

We began drinking, showering, and prepping for the night ahead.

Ran down the hallway for the event, stopping to grab shots of course, and hopped into our seats.

We immediately got Flint's attention and then immersed ourselves into the riding.

After the event we ran to the after party bar.  Which ended up not being the after party bar.  At which point we ran to the bar from the night before, found an enormous line, and snagged a cowboy's attention - and he had the bouncer let us in.

We drank and danced our asses off once more.

Somehow after discussion with some of the boys - we were informed there was an after the after party at another hotel.

Well of course we went.

Except somehow I ended up in conversation with someone else, ended up missing the ride with the cowboy who invited us, and me and my sister took a taxi ourselves.

We arrived to find NO ONE in the lobby.

We decided to saunter around the hotel, where I was whisper shouting the cowboys names down the hallway (classy, I know), until a door finally opened.

We were in.

We proceeded to drink whiskey and sing songs with the cowboys until 5AM when we stumbled into one of the rooms and collapsed on a bed.  Me on one bed her on another.

She threatened the cowboy that she was in bed with that if he laid a hand on her she would sock him one.

The cowboy I was sharing a bed with, was married.  So I suggested pillows down the middle, because for some reason I thought that was a hilarious saying.

Pillows down middle didn't work out since we didn't have enough, but we both passed out and it was entirely innocent anyways.  Phew.

We skipped the event on Sunday since my sister needed to leave early to be at a wedding, and then drove our sorry asses back home.

It was time for some major alcohol detox and recovery.

But damn was it fucking worth it.

liquor me crazy.

Saturday night mayhem is all.

I skipped dinner, I should probs know better by now.

Guzzled down 5 beers at my friends house and then headed to the local bar with her, her BF from Florida, and his friend.  The plan was to meet our friends there.

Sometimes I get loopy crazy when I drink.  Like dance around, be excessively loud, and attract all sorts of attention crazy. 

First re-cap of the night: lime green glow in the dark nail polish, for the win.  Which I obvs made sure to stick my fingernails up into the ceiling light, shout to someone let's go light up a corner at which point I would dart off at top speed to show off my glowing nails in a darkened part of the bar. 

Secondly, I brought my dog to the bar.  I had him with me because I was at my friend's house beforehand and then well, it was late and I didn't want to call around finding him a place to stay while I went and got boozed up.  So, he came to the bars.

After the first bar dizzy-ness, we set off for the next locale.

We all walked in and who was there?  Well, my pretend liquor store boyfriend but of course.

Pretty sure I attempted to tone down my on-speed behavior and have a normal conversation with him - not sure how successful that was.

Anyways, my friends and I then hung out for a bit downstairs having a beer, and being mellow.

Then they decided to head upstairs to the actual bar sitch.

They all headed up leaving me as the last one.

I turned, took a step, my toe caught - and fucking all mighty I took a fucking spill across the concrete floor in front of everyone, liquor store boyfriend included.  My beer rolled away and spilled everywhere as I laid there on the cold, hard floor in front of a crowd, attempting to determine if I in fact broke my hip or knee.

I didn't. 

My friends however, didn't even see this take place unfortunately.  It would have made the embarassing aspect a bit better if I had them to laugh about it with.

Anyways, I kept drinking along, dancing, watching PBR, and generally being silly.

Then we set off for home.

We stopped to drop my friend off and I ran inside real quick to grab a contact container and she pointed out her new pellet stove.  To which I declared, damn that's a sexy stove!  Because that makes sense.

My friend took my keys and I crashed at her house. 

After making out with her BF's friend from Florida.  Because it seemed normal.

I then drove home at 4AM after he woke me back up in an attempt to hook up.

I think it's fucking code that when someone passes out - you leave them passed out.  You do NOT wake them up, and while they are all sorts of in a drunkenly wake-up stupour, attempt to hook up.

Code mother fucking violation.

So I grabbed my keys and drove home.  Leaving my wallet and my dog's collar behind.

3 hours of left alone sleep in my bed sounded delicious.

elevator issues.

Friday night was wine night with two of my friends. 

By wine night I mean I drank an entire bottle of wine, a couple bottles of beer, and with their encouragement proceeded to facebook wall post an absurd amount of things and text like 15 people all at the same time. 

Solid choices.

I went to bed at 2AM and woke up at 6:30AM, laid around feeling like death, and then eventually forced myself to move and made it to my soccer team's team breakfast a half hour late.  At which all the girl's ragged on me (seeing as they are in high school, I'm pretty sure they know I'm a mess).  It was awesome.

I then skipped out of coaching the game (I co-coach you see, so I can do things like that, phew).

I ran home, walked the dog, took a shower, packed up all my bags filled with a ridiculous amount of clothes and shoes, and drove to a photo shoot.

A photo shoot that was set to begin at 1PM.  Seeing as the make-up artist set this up and the photographer was cutting me like a $600 break, I decided to be early (weird).

I arrived at 10 of 1.  I called my sister.

She was due to arrive at 1:30PM (really?!).

I called the make-up artist, no answer.  I tried 3 more times.  Still no answer.

I didn't want to be rude to the photographer so I decided that since I was nearing the point of pants peeing I should head inside this old warehouse, find a bathroom and his studio.

I went in and hopped in the elevator seeing as I knew his studio was on the 4th floor.

Up the elevator went and upon reaching the 4th floor it stopped.  I waited for the doors to open.

Only they didn't open, they just made a noise like they were opening and then closing.

Hm, well ok.  Let's try this again.

So I hit the door open button once more.

Same thing, just noises....no door movement.

I start to mildly panic.

Seriously I'm in an old warehouse turned studio situation and I'm stuck in the elevator.  WTF.

After several minutes of what the hell am I going to do.

I tried the open door button one more time.

This time I realized the doors were opening behind me. 

Like you walk in the elevator, it goes up, and you get out on the other side.

Honestly, I'm like a mother fucking brainiac.

I found the bathroom after wandering around the building and then I found the studio, which was empty.

No photographer, no make-up artist, no sister.

I went and sat in my car and waited.

Eventually everyone arrived and the shoot started at around 2:30PM.

It was a good thing I busted my ass to get there on time.

whirl-wind.

Ups & downs, galore.

Let's begin with last week.

I went on an interview with my dog for volunteering on a children's unit.

Following the interview, me and my sister went out and got sandwiches for dinner, ice cream for dessert, and took a stroll on the beach.

Which was the best stroll ever, considering it was my dog's first time on the beach.  HILARIOUS. 

He had a flippin' ball.  Running in fear from the waves and attempting sprinting while sinking in the sand.  The two of us almost peed our pants laughing.

The next morning he woke up, and couldn't eat, drink, or open his mouth.

That afternoon we had an emergency vet visit.

Which led to the scheduling of emergency mouth surgery the following morning.

He had an infected abscess in the back left side of his mouth.  He was a sorry case, let me tell you.

And then yes, 8 pills a day for a dog that just had mouth surgery.  Now that effing makes a girl's life simple.

He got to the point of refusing to take anything I offered.  In fact he wouldn't even come near my hands.

He went a few days refusing food entirely, so then we re-supplied on pain meds, and we are slowly making a come-back.

On-to Saturday night.

My sister was going to be attending a photo-shoot and asked if I wanted to come along and hang out.

Mmm, ok.  Sure

So we went to this artist's studio, who was fucking amazing, honestly it was stop you in your tracks paintings.

We hung out with a few other girls, had some wine, and then the conversation suddenly turned to including me in the photos.  Pray-tell what?  Mind you I strolled in in jeans, moccasins, and a simple tee.  These girls were in their heels and dresses.  Fantastic, I fit right in, obv.

So I drank some more wine and said, sure I'd give it a go.  So I put on an extra black dress my sister had packed, another girl's heels, and had my make-up done up.

Then I was pulled in front of the camera for a shot with the artist who asked me to look up at him, and then kissed me.

KISSED ME I TELL YOU.  AND HELD IT FOR PHOTOS.

FUCK, what did I get myself into.

Mind you the artist was in his mid-late 50s, if not 60s.

The night was a whirl-wind of adventure.  My sister and I had a bunch of shots taken together, which was fun. 

Over-all it was a really cool experience.  I can't wait to see the photos.

Let me add in here, that the artist told me I was the answer to all his dreams.  Yes, me.

He now wants to wine-me and dine-me.  In fact he asked how I would deal with his world-wide fame.  Considering he's doing a painting right now for Lionel Ritchie which could ultimately result in me meeting my fashion idol, Nicole....I would deal just fine thank you.

However, he has like 40 years on me.

Could I possibly be that much of a gold digger?

He's invited me out on a date already, I put it off.  So opinions on this would be greatly accepted.  What would you do?! 

Then Monday morning arrived, and with it, a job offer in Yellowstone National Park in MT.

Fucking AMAZEBALLS.

Only the answer to all my dreams, duh.

Small town at the entrance of the national park, cowboys, horses, and wide open spaces = my heart.

They offered slightly more than I'm making now (which with what I make now, I fall deeper and deeper into debt).

They found me an apartment that I could rent on a month-to-month basis, 1 mile from the office, and they even said I could bring my dog to work.

Honestly, hello dream world.

After a week of torment over this decision and ultimate how could I not take this opportunity clarity, I sat down with my Dad to put together a spreadsheet of expenses, etc. to see how it could work.

I have zero savings, a lot of debt & bills, and my parents help me out monthly.

With what this position was offering as a salary, I would be in the exact same financial situation just across the country.

FUCK ME.

I called them today asking for more money.  They can't do it.

I fucking hate being an adult and making "responsible" decisions.

I'm probaly going to be kicking myself in the face for quite a lengthy period of time over this.

Minimally, I need to drink copious amounts of wine.

Immediately.

a punch to the gut.

It's with a real heavy heart and jittery legs that can't stay still, that I'm writing this post.

In 2008 my cousin, who was 22 years old (and stunningly beautiful, authentic, captivating, and on her way to being wildly successful) died in a car crash.  She had had some drinks at the concert and was speeding on her way home with her boyfriend.  She was thrown from her car and found dead in a tree.  She was brought back, and hooked up to all kinds of machines for a few days before the decision was made, due to her being brain dead and having no chance of recovery, to pull the plug.  All our family was there and it was one of the most heart-wrenching experiences I've ever had to endure.

That's what makes this most recent situation even harder to deal with.

On Saturday morning I received a phone call, her younger brother, now 23, was speeding home from the bar with their older brother after several drinks, swerved his truck to avoid an oncoming car and caused a three car accident.  A woman in the first car he hit was killed.

He is a good kid.  He has a conscience, an amazing girlfriend, and a future.  He is one of those people you could call in the middle of night, and he would be there if you needed him.

I want to shake the bejesus out of him.  What in the HELL was he thinking.

He went through this.  He lost his sister.  His family has struggled through the last couple years, especially my aunt.

Another family now is going to be put through this devastation and the two teenage girls are left without their Mother.

The several eyewitnesses who saw him driving, said he was driving out of control.  Great, eyewitnesses....where was the phone call?  A DUI would be a zillion times better to deal with than this. 

I've had ex-bfs get mad at me before for calling on several what I thought were drunk drivers.  I'd rather call and have the situation checked out than losing someone or having someone else lose someone.

Trust me when I say I'm not blaming the eyewitnesses.  I'm not, but I do wish they would have called. 

It's weird to see your cousin on tv in a court house.  It's even worse to read the comments strangers write online to the newspaper articles.

I hate that my cousin made a decision that will affect him for the rest of his life.  I hate it so much for him I can't even stand it.  Like I said, he's a damn good kid who made one of the worst decisions he could have.  Quite honestly, I'm not sure how he's going to deal with this emotionally.  He knows what it feels like to be on the other side.

I hate that my aunt and uncle are having to go through this.

I hate so much that this other family is going to have to needlessly suffer.

I'm hoping like heck there is some other rationale as to the cause of this accident.  I hope this wasn't just a drunk driving accident.  And I realize that the only reason I'm hoping this, is because he is in fact my cousin, and I know him.  If this were a stranger, I'm sure I would feel differently.

I'm hoping like heck this is a crazy nightmare and I will wake up soon.

Cause it sure as hell was like a punch to the gut.

lobster-fest.

Alcohol is clearly the best solution out there.

And I also stuck to my guns and didn't blog all sorts of hung-over.  So what if my hang-over lasted a couple of days and I posted nothing.

Lobster-fest: backyard all you can eat lobster boiling extravaganza with lots of booze, volleyball, people, and beirut.  And exactly what I needed to kick my funk in the face.

I wore my hot pink sayiwon't tee which encouraged lots of shouting in my tipsy stupor and pair of cut offs, which were suprisingly short. 

I drank my face off and played lots of volleyball (my body is still crying in pain, especially my legs which caused me to fall and slide and bump into others).  And then I ate steak, wrapped in bacon.  I don't even like steak.

After approximately 8 hours of shouting, laughing, volleyball, and drinking....me and a few others headed to the bar.  This was after some random dude asked me to marry him, possibly I said yes?  Well, he went to the bar too.

At the bar there was some dancing and a lot of people all in my personal space.  I had to break free, so I kept running to the outside deck to shout about men being hyenas or something equally as illuminating.

Thankfully as I was leaving the bar and several people were shouting "I say you won't run up that hill totally nude" (which when someone suggests you won't, especially when you are wearing a tee-shirt saying I will you have to carefully consider these suggestions) a friend rolled up in her car and told me to jump in the passenger seat.  Best decision I made all night.  No nudity, thank you very much. 

Well....minus popping a squat in the bar parking lot.  That was embarassing as a car pulled up and their high beams caught me full on.

Anyways.... 

 

So as I finally recovered from an epic, booze-filled 12 hours, I made plans to head to the bar tonight.  My brother's girlfriend is turning 21. 

Damn it, bring on the alcohol.