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.

invisibility.

Before us small town girls headed off to the big bad city....I got a text talking about wearing some flannel plaid to put our small town roots on display.

Immediately I knew I must take it a step further.

So alas, I threw on my black skinnies, knee high gray suede boots, a lovely cream tunic, and are you ready....a camouflage sweatshirt as my final layer, for the win.

So my 2 friends picked me up and were completely astonished with my last minute decision....which I will say, fucking rocked.

Off we went, me chattering a mile a minute in the back seat to which prompted the ever normal statement: if I didn't know you I would totally think you were on drugs.

I wish I received like a dollar everytime someone said that....seriously it would pay for a flight to Florida to visit my BFF.

Anyways, we had some road sodas en route, got lost in the ghetto - seriously was way scary -and got safely to our friend's condo.

We had some beverages and then headed to a restaurant where I made myself laugh several times with statements to the waiter along the lines of this:

Don't joke with me sir, if I throw on this here layer, you won't even see me....I'm serious.

Is that a branch - ohhh, nope just my arm.

Anyways, so we had some drankks and dinner - where I charmingly waved to an entire table full of gentlemen.

It's weird going out with a group of girls and having everyone at the table either be engaged or married, except for your single self, but I classed it up, no worries.

After dinner - and some "birthday" shots....thanks girls, we headed off to a bar.

Where eye contact was made with a mister mister across the room, who began a dance off as he made his way our direction....he stopped upon arrival and immediately asked if my camo was the result of a dare.

No, no dare....I had to one-up my friend here in the flannel plaid.  I figured camouflage was the only appropriate solution.

He immediately started laughing and said he was impressed.

That's right, I said impressed.

At that point - I removed said camo layer, immediately becoming visible once more, and a dance off ensued.

It was awesome, except the music was fucking terrible dance off music - think accoustic guitar, classic rock-esque, etc.

We made it work.

He then got my number....and soon after friended me on facebook.

I even heard from him already this week, and to be honest, he's fucking hilarious....and even proposed us getting together at some point in the future.

Sooooo....I'm gonna come right out and say it: clearly the way to pick up a man is to rock some camouflage.

Get on it ladies.

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?

driving genius.

Remember that time I drove around for a couple days thinking my steering was messed up and in all actuality I had a flat tire?

I do.

I even remember attempting to put air in said tire and being incapable and having a worker come out, move my car to the garage, so that an elderly man could properly fill it up.

Then I got to work and as I headed down the stairs to the other building to pick up mail I sang to my coworker:

Here's the mail
it never fails
makes me want to wag my tail
when it comes I want to wail
MAAAIIILLL

The best part was as I opened the door with the final note of the Blue's Clues song, an administrator stood there with a huge smirk on his face.

Sigh, I'm so fucking amazing sometimes it's almost scary.

normalcy is over-rated.

I used to attempt to zip my lips when company came over and behave as "normally" as possible.

As I've become comfortable with being the whack-a-doo I am, I no longer sit in silence.

I chat and blabber on....and generally make myself laugh.

By generally, I mean ALL THE TIME.

But I've come to realize that with my endless chatter, I make outsiders more comfortable.

For example my sister brought a boy to the house for the first time I can recall.  Mind you it was for an errand, but regardless, he still was the one who drove her there, 2 hours out of his way.

Anyways, it was not a request, but rather a demand that I be at the house when they arrived.

And I'm quite certain it was because I can sit there, tell ridiculous stories, get chit-chatter going, and make it more comfortable for everyone else present because they can band together and laugh about my absurdities.

I'm cool with that.

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.

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!

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.