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?

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.

achievable goals.

New rule: no blogging when hungover.

I re-read yesterday's post, and I apologize.  That story is actually a much funnier story, and I can be a lot more candid than that.  I blame my hangover.

The fact that I was even hungover is foolish anyways.  I had made the executive decision that I would allow my body to detox this weekend.  In other words, NO ALCOHOL. 

See for the last few weeks I've taken to drinking and partying like a rock-star (vacation to Florida, BF's bachlorette party, etc, etc.).  I'm not sure who I really think I am with this behavior, but trust me when I say I have the ability to party like a rock star.  So I decided on Thursday that I was going to take this weekend off. 

At least I was successful for Friday night.

On saturday I had to go to the bridal store with my friend to learn how to "bustle" her dress (ridiculous MOH duties).  The store was an hour away, and she made her apointment for 12PM.  In my head I think ok cool, we'll do the bustling scenario, do some dress shopping for her rehearsal dinner, and get some lunch.  Not such a bad day.

To start off, nearly the entire drive there, her and her Mother bickered.  We arrive at the store and I get ready to learn about my bustling duties.  Instead, I stood there as they stuck pins in her and decided how they were going to SEW the bustle.  She said woops, guess you didn't need to be here for this one, you'll have to come to the next one.  Oh, okay, sure.  I mean I'm sure I have NOTHING else to do.

As we leave, I'm hoping the day isn't a complete wash.  But alas, I should have never gotten my hopes up.  Her and her fiance wanted to go away for the weekend, so after the pinning and staring at my friend in her dress, she wanted to head straight home.  In other words, no shopping, no lunch, no nothing.  As we began driving I started to get motion sick out of starvation.  I convinced them that a DD stop would be necessary, and I grabbed some munchkins to get by.

As you can imagine, I wasn't pumped about this entire state of affairs.  But whatever, I'm pretty good at just going with it.  So I got home, changed into some grubby clothes, hung out outside for a bit with my dog, and then got ready to run some errands (aka drop off farm fresh eggs at my cousins, pick up my a/c at my parents house, yada yada).  As I was heading out, with my dog in the back seat, I got a text from my sister....heyy meet up with us (she was with my cousin) so we can make plans for the night.  I figure alright, I'll meet them, make some plans, then head home and get ready.

I should have just realized that nothing is that simple.  We met up, which turned into like a complete family affair, multiple cousins stopped by, my whole family, the dogs, and all.

No one wanted to go out, so we opted for a grill out at my cousins house.  My sister decided I could drive her to the store for groceries.  Which I did.

We got to my cousins' house, and she had bought a Sam Adams sampler pack for us, so I mean of course I had to have a drink.  For some reason, I started slamming them back (remember no lunch, I clearly make good choices).  We grilled out, had some delicious burgers and hot dogs, and I fed my dog like half of my dinner so he wasn't hungry.

Then we made a campfire.  Which my cousins' husband was pouring gasoline on, and the flame went flying up into the bottle, which he had to throw, and like an 8 foot fire broke out on their lawn.  He yelled for us to back up because it might blow and then ran for the hose.

He dragged the hose back and nothing came out.  GET THE KINKS!  My sister and my cousin went running to un-do all the kinks.  I stood there with my dog (I mean I couldn't let him get close), eating a brownie, drinking a beer, and watching the shenanigans.  They got the fire out, successfully made the bonfire, and we all chilled for a bit with some drinks.

Then my sister asks me to go to the bar with her in a couple towns over.  Umm, well I have my dog, I haven't showered, I'm wearing grubby jeans that haven't been washed in several wears, a sports bra (as if I don't have a chest that looks enough like a school aged boys'), a ratty old tee, I haven't washed or brushed my hair, and I don't really want to drive there at midnight.  I actually think I said no a couple times.

Clearly my "no" is not very effective.  I drove us to the bar, had some of their own brewed beer, and hung out with her and some of her friends, until the bar closed. 

Then I drove her home, drove me and my dog home (take note I was not drunk driving, I refuse to that, I was still clearheaded enough to drive), fed him a very late night/early morning dinner,  made up my love-seat bed (I'll explain later), and put my grubby self under the covers at approximately 2:45AM. 

I woke up at 7AM feeling like hell.  I made some coffee, ate a bagel, and proceeded to lay on the floor with my dog.  As I lay there thinking (rule #2: no thinking when hungover, it just leads to depressing & miserable thoughts), I decided well maybe I should post on my blog.  So I dragged myself to my old school computer, found that the internet connetion was working, and got to work.  I thought I was somewhat successful, but I re-read it this morning, and like I said: I apologize. 

Obviously no drinking for an entire weekend was a silly goal, that was, in fact un-achievable.  So my new goal is to not post when hung-over.  Or I'll lose any fan base with my bland and boring posts.

Don't lose faith friends, I think I can be successful with this goal.