Cupcake and Clydesdales
Budweiser period, kittens.In writing the rundown of my weekend with Bradshaw, I decided that I am boring. I am at peace with that.
Friday was for enormous burritos and
The Office at home. Hawk, my quasi-fiancée, joined us, though he left when I mentioned that Project was planning to join us. In hindsight, I wish Hawk had stayed. Perhaps I should explain my engagement: About a year ago, Hawk learned that I bake. More specifically, he learned that one of my specialties are chocolate Guinness cupcakes with Bailey's cream cheese frosting. He proposed, and we decided that if we're both still single in five years (four, now) we'd get hitched. It's all very '90s sitcom and I like it.
Saturday morning, I dragged Bradshaw with me to a shop with cake decorating supplies. Rather, she drove me to the decorating shop and didn't complain while I looked at everything. Cookie cutters, fondant tools, sanding sugar, luster dust - and that was just the start. Be ready for sugar cookie Christmas lights and gingerbread snowflakes!
Part of what I bought. Look at those cookie cutters!We headed to the Central West End for cupcakes at The Cupcakery, so my lunch was a yellow cupcake with chocolate buttercream frosting. Worth it.
And that evening? We watched more episodes of
The Office. More specifically, we finished watching all of seasons two and three. I've decided that I want to be the Pam to someone's Jim. Not in a romantic sense though; I want to work with someone who's that much fun and amuses me that consistently.
Sunday morning was bagels, Starbucks, and the tour of the Budweiser brewery. The information about the brewing process? Honestly, nothing special. Beer is beer, even when you're picky like me. The history of the company and the brewery, however, was interesting. How they managed to survive Prohibition, the school that operated on brewery property, the inclusion of
Grimm's Fairy Tale characters in their marketing and architecture - all very cool.
The end of my sampleYou might think that the best part of a brewery tour is the samples at the end. Yes, those are good, but the best part of a Budweiser brewery tour is the animals. Clydesdale horses and dalmatians, kittens! And these animals live better than people I know; their stable is air conditioned and has stained glass windows. If I am reincarnated as an animal, I choose to be a cat in my mom's house or a Budweiser Clydesdale.
Blurry, I know, but do you see the window? Lucky horse. He's probably been on TV.I'm going to say that the weekend ended there, because the nine-hour debacle that was getting home is kind of a drag.
Yes, I took the photos. That's why they are mediocre at best.Labels: alcohol, Bradshaw, updates
Things I Learned
There are times when traditional worries have to be thrown out the window. Money, propriety, your own personal comfort; things like these become moot when someone is really counting on you.
Friday night, I spent an hour standing outside talking to Gallagher because she needed it.
Saturday night, I spent two hours cleaning my living room just so that Bradshaw would have a safe place to be when she got here. That's right, Bradshaw made an appearance in College Town. As much as the entire thing was for her, there's no way that she can recognize what she did for my spirit as well. I love that girl. She has been there for me and done so much for me that nothing I could ever give her - time, money, objects - could ever begin to scratch the surface of what I owe. She is amazing.
Tonight, I did something that took me out of my own comfort zone and was socially inappropriate. When Gallagher was hurting, I made a point of contacting the person who could help her, the person that she really wanted to be there, even as I tried to fill in. I contacted him, I guilt-tripped him, and I threw any chance he and I have of being comfortable acquaintances out the window. I did this because it was what she needed, and having been in the place that she's in now, I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if I hadn't made every effort to make this day better for her. It worked, and I don't feel even a little bit bad about it.
For the first time in a long time, I truly feel good about myself as a person. It feels good to be able to say that, and despite the fact that I have an apologetic and explanatory phone call to make tomorrow, I don't regret it even a little bit.
Labels: Bradshaw, everyday musings, girl stuff
Seen and Heard: Gmail Chat
Bradshaw: i had a sex dream about [insert boy here] last night
me: oh man
dude, I'd kill for even a sex DREAM
Bradshaw: oh god would be better
Bradshaw: seriously
it was better than I remembered, and my memory recalls it being really damn good.
me: grumble
when will I learn to just go ahead and be a slut?
Bradshaw: ha
when I learn to accept Christ as my personal savior, cure cancer, and get back together with Jerk Ex-Boyfriend....aka half past impossible
me: I just almost gagged on my coffee
me: leading off with Christ, that's what did it for me
Bradshaw: mission accomplished.
Labels: Bradshaw, eavesdropping, everyday amusements
Wedding Weekend, Part Two
Yesterday you read about the wedding and the reception. After we left the reception, we decided that more drinking was the best way to spend the rest of the night.* Bradshaw and I headed back to her super-cute apartment to make sure that we were appropriate, and after some somewhat unnecessary driving around the city, we ended up at a bar just around the corner from her place. We sat outside because it was actually a gorgeous night,** and chatted till last call. The people we were out with were actually Bradshaw's friend, bits and pieces of her college resident assistant staff, so it was more her night out than mine, but this certainly didn't stop me from enjoying myself.
Blue Moon with orange is very tasty, and this is coming from a girl who doesn't love beer.
I made it back to her apartment with a healthy buzz and half a dozen mosquito bites, one of which is on my back and itches, hurts, and is icky all at once.*** Two taquitos and two scenes of
Boondock Saints later, I was out.
The next morning, we were both exhausted, but I was on a mission: To find my perfect pink
purse. A secondary mission was to track down and purchase
the most incredible wine that my mom loves that is only available in about a dozen stores in the state, most of which are right outside of Big City where Bradshaw lives.**** For this, we drove out to the suburbs. I purchased the wine, then made my way to the mall. Two hours, a strawberry poppyseed salad, and half a dozen stores later, I exited clutching my new precious, a fuscia Franco Sarto leather purse purchased at thirty percent off.
After a quick stop at another location of Giant Bookstore and the purchase of
my new Magnetic Poetry Kit - which I love - I was back on the interstate to College Town. To my shock, when I returned to my apartment, I wasn't snubbed by my kitties; in fact, they wouldn't leave me alone all night and seemed very upset when I left for work the next morning. Wonders will never cease.
*This is when I learned that Bradshaw's friend, L (777 on her blog), loves Duffy as much as I do, which made me super excited. Partially because I was still pretty drunk when we were in the car.
**I'm waiting for summer here in Missouri to become completely unbearable. The amount of rain we've gotten this year is only going to make the humidity worse - which is just freaking perfect.
*** TMI, I know. Sorry, kittens; this is what you get for reading about Nic's life.
****As if anyone reading who doesn't already know won't figure out where the heck we all live. As if I really care at this point.Labels: alcohol, Bradshaw, girl stuff, updates
Wedding Weekend, Part One
Saturday morning I hauled my cookies out of bed at 5:45 - something I haven't done since I was student teaching - and made sure that Puck and Marilyn had enough food to get through the weekend before loading up my car and heading out of College Town.*
Bradshaw was invited to the wedding of my former RA and decided to take me as her date, so I spent the weekend in Big City with her. Her new apartment is a too-adorable studio in a really cute neighborhood in the city, and it meets one of my own personal requirements: Coffee within five minutes. She had been up late doing Relay for Life the night before** and I always stay up late, so we were both running on adrenaline and caffeine.
The wedding, being Catholic, was exceptionally long. I had never been to a Catholic wedding before, but I had been warned about just how long they are. Despite the warnings, I wasn't really prepared. On top of that, The Bride was saving herself for marriage, so every time the priest mentioned "duties of marriage" or "bringing children into their family," I had to bite my tongue to keep from snickering. Yes, I am thirteen inside. Yes, I am aware of my own immaturity.
Bradshaw and I were both looking forward to the reception and seeing The Bride dance in her dress - which was beautiful and perfect for her, I might add - since The Bride is the kind of girl who hears music and just can't help herself. Booze made the party even more fun since inhibitions were at an extreme low, and the following scenes were witnessed:
The Bride and the groom dancing together, smiling so hard I thought both of their faces would break.***
Bradshaw, The Bride, and little old me shaking our behinds to Quad City DJ. Oh yeah, we totally did.
The Bride and her bridesmaids doing a choreographed dance for the groom, who they forced to sit in a chair and endure the whole thing. The only part that was missing was the lap dance.
The priest dancing with The Bride in a hilarious and only a teensy bit inappropriate manner.
The groom's cousin - who was maybe eight-years-old - doing some amazing dance moves. As he did so, he was paying very close attention to those reception guests still seated to see how many of us were watching him.
The entire group of reception guests, at different points in time, dancing with The Bride's little brother, who was one of the cutest mimics I've ever seen. The display made me smile.
Stay tuned for the rest of Nic's weekend in the Big City!
*After a quick stop for coffee.
**Read: Didn't go to bed till after 7 am.
***It was so cute I can't even be snarky about it; they look super-happy.Labels: alcohol, boys, Bradshaw, updates
Pause for Reaction
Living three hours away from my best friend, Bradshaw, is not an ideal situation. We’re both busy and coordinating our schedules enough to be able to visit one another is more than a challenge; it’s nearly impossible. Still, once a week or so, we have to engage in a marathon phone call. Tonight’s reminded me of exactly why we’re such good friends.
On discussing nudity and sex: “I’ll never understand those girls who think that guys are ugly naked. Excuse me if I look at a guy and say, ‘I want that. I want that in me.’”
On weddings: “I’ve seen people get married that I know are making the wrong decision, but what do you say? I’ve also seen people who have been together forever and are so happy. Who am I to say that what they’re doing is wrong?”
On drinking less liquor, less often: “I’m going to lose my tolerance if I keep this up! I won’t be able to drink a bottle of wine without being tipsy! I’ll become a cheap drunk and I’ll lose all my street cred!”
We’re going to a wedding together at the end of the month, so it’ll be good to be able to actually hang out together for more than ten minutes for the first time since April.
Labels: Bradshaw
Flashback: Twenty-One Candles
At 8:59 am, March 29th ’07, I finally turned twenty-one.
I was asleep at the time, because I didn’t have class till 12:30 and I don’t like getting up any earlier than I have to. I got up, dressed all cute (denim miniskirt, black fitted t-shirt, and pink flip flops), and made my way to class. After classes, I went to Boys and Girls Club (where I volunteered for a while during my blogging absence). My only real memory was watching the last half of
Happy Feet and then playing Four Square and getting the kids to let me cheat because it was my birthday.
Clearly, that part of my birthday was boring.
I went home, curled my hair, traded the flip flops for black peep-toe heels, and waited for Bradshaw to make her appearance. She had basically orchestrated the plans for my birthday, being the older, wiser drinker that she is. I went along with it, simply because I didn’t want to over plan the evening – every time I try to do that, it ends badly. Stretch had agreed to be our sober driver for the evening because she had a camp or a game or something volleyball-related to do that weekend (it was Thursday night) and couldn’t drink. Also, I refused to have a twenty-first birthday celebration and have my best friend be my sober driver.
Bradshaw and Stretch arrived, and Stretch had something fantastic: birthday cake. She made me a birthday cake! I was very excited, and this action simply reinforced my newfound love for her. We were sitting in my living room, all party-ready and eating cake when my phone rang. Not thinking, I answered without looking at the display – which I never do.
It was K.
This was surprising, because he was basically the last person I expected to hear from on my birthday.* In fact, I nearly choked on my drink of water. He had noticed on facebook (a college stalker’s dream) that it was my birthday, so he thought he would call and say hello. I invited him to come to the bar we were spending the evening at, ended the call, and proceeded to forget about him for the rest of the evening.
Bradshaw is very familiar with the bar that we went to, an establishment that serves an assortment of mixed frozen things along with beer and a huge list of mixed shots. The bartender on duty that night was one of her friends, Tim.** After hearing that it was my birthday and checking my ID (carefully, since I look far younger than I am), he told me that there were two rules: one, I could not throw up in his bar, and two, I should get all of my drinks from him and he would take care of me.
I agreed quite happily to his rules, got a mixed drink to carry around,*** sat at a table with Stretch and Bradshaw, and began perusing the shot list. Friends began arriving shortly: Racer Boy; a guy I met a year ago at a frat party, Frat Boy; a guy Bradshaw went to high school with, Smiles; and Nametag. Within the first hour at the bar, I had taken five shots.
One fun highlight: Shortly after taking my third shot,
Steve Miller Band’s “The Joker” began playing. My mom
loves Steve Miller Band, so I felt compelled to call her and tell her that they were playing it at the bar. I managed to talk to both of my parents, told them that I was happily tipsy, and that I would, of course, be careful for the rest of the night.
I love that I tipsy-dialed my parents.
My timeline becomes very fuzzy around this point, so I remember only highlights. One of my dorm suitemates from my freshman year arrived. Some unfortunate things happened about a year prior to my birthday, and we hadn’t really spoken to one another since. That afternoon I had decided that it was stupid, especially since this particular suitemate was very fun to party with. When she arrived at the bar, I was more than a little bit excited. The Slutty One (who is no longer slutty since meeting her boyfriend) bought me a shot and we took pictures together.
Bradshaw found me standing on the outdoor patio, drunk-dialing all of my online friends, calling on, “that girl in Arizona,” telling another happy birthday, and leaving another a voicemail without knowing that she was in bad medical condition. When I found out later, I felt like a jerk.
At one point, Tim had several of us sit at the bar to play a game, Fuck You, Fuck Me. He handed out slips of paper and told us all to write an ingredient on it. Basically, you can all be very nice and end up taking a shot of something like grenadine, or you can all be bitches and end up taking a shot of something like Everclear. Tipsily, I decided to write one of my favorite ingredients on my slip of paper: lime juice. Tim collected all the paper and began reading them aloud. Bradshaw, the wonderful friend that she is, had chosen
151. I do not drink 151. I smiled, waved, and left the bar.
The next day, I found out that Tim had continued with the game, including my slip of paper. The ingredients for the shot were as follows: vodka, rum, 151, Goldschlagger, Bailey’s, tequila, gin, and my lime juice. If you know much about alcohol, you know that lime juice curdles Bailey’s, making the drink chunky and disgusting. Everyone still sitting at the bar took the shot and named it the “Fuck You, Midget,” because I’m short and I put in the ingredient that curdled the shot. I maintain that I was the only nice one for not choosing an alcoholic ingredient and it should have been named, “Fuck You, Person Who Picked Bailey’s.”
My opinion on the matter is inconsequential.
At another point, Bradshaw and Tim coerced me into take the quintessential twenty-first birthday shot at this bar: the
cement mixer. In one shot glass, lime juice and 151. In another, Bailey’s. Shoot the Bailey’s, shoot the other, swish. As we learned from the fun little game, this shot curdles in your mouth before you swallow. Fortunately, I was drunk enough when I took it that I didn’t notice the chunks, but rather the fact that the shot is, indeed, rather tasty.
Later, I took a
Flaming Dr. Pepper shot, and the fact that I didn’t burn my hand off is a miracle, because I did not blow it out before I dropped it.
I was extremely camera happy on my birthday, and the next morning I discovered sixty-plus pictures on my camera. This one is the last, taken on the ride home.
Stretch had left early after securing Bradshaw and me escorts home in Nametag and Racer Boy. By last call, I was extremely drunk. The bar was only a mile and a half or so from my apartment, and rather than waste money on a cab, the four of us decided to walk back. This was before we saw the rickshaw.
Oh yes, a rickshaw. The rickshaw driver was my new best friend, and I gave him all the money in my pocket, $25, for driving the four of us less than a mile. I was either the most amusing part of his evening or the most annoying. I prefer the latter.
After vacating the rickshaw to walk the last few blocks to my apartment, I decided that my heels were unnecessary. I took them off and handed them to Bradshaw. She handed them to Racer Boy who put them in his pocket. This is further proof of how intoxicated I was: I have tender feet. I would never walk on the sidewalk barefoot in the middle of a city if I was sober.
I have never been drunk enough to lose parts of my evening, but this night I was. We had to cross a major street to get to my apartment: I do not remember this. I wanted to kick Dread’s window when we went by his apartment:**** I do not remember this. I unlocked my door: I do not remember this. I do remember taking out my earrings and dropping them on the floor, then going to the bathroom to rid my stomach of much of the alcohol I had ingested.
The next morning, I had my first real hangover ever. I only had one class, but I skipped it in favor of choking down Burger King and drinking glass after glass of water.
It was a fantastic birthday.
*This isn’t true. Project is the last person I expected to hear from on my birthday. I was correct.
**Yes, this is his real name. I’d wager there are hundreds of bartenders named Tim in the country, and at least a dozen in Missouri. If you haven’t already figured out where I am, this isn’t a helpful clue.
***All I remember about this is that it had gin in it and was blue. It colored my tongue. I took a picture of my own tongue because I wanted to see it. I was very drunk.
****I always want to kick Dread’s window when I walk by his apartment, drunk or sober, so this isn’t as funny as it sounds.Labels: alcohol, Bradshaw, my insanity
Musings of the Crazies*
Earlier this evening, Bradshaw and I were watching Bravo's newest clone reality show,
Top Design, discussing the almost painful level of gay we were seeing from the men on the show. I was suddenly struck by a thought. "You know," I said, "I bet if we were lesbians, we could date for at least a year or two without killing each other."
She looked at me thoughtfully. "Yeah, but I bet we would fight a lot."
"But they'd be hot sexy fights," I countered. "And then there would be the makeup sex!"
"Hooray!" She paused and made a sad face. "Wait, no penis."
"We're lesbians in this fantasy!" I reminded her.
She laughed, then looked at me again. "Did we really just have a lesbian fantasy together?"
"I think we did."
"You know your friendship has reached a new level when you're having lesbian fantasies together," she said wryly.
"Indeed."
*I have dubbed the pair of us "the Crazies."Labels: Bradshaw
One Down, Three to Go
I think today was a good way to start the week. I got to sleep in a bit, which is always good and earns the alarm clock fewer “fuck you” thoughts than usual. I had an interesting call from Bradshaw, made an appointment for a check-up, and drank two cups of coffee. I had my mythology final this morning, but I wasn’t worried about it—I like mythology and it isn’t a difficult subject. I took the final in thirty minutes, got back my
etiology (which she loved), and left campus.
I went to the shoe store to buy my dad’s fancy socks, then Bradshaw called again. “What are you doing?”
“Buying socks for my dad.”
“You really are a loser.”
This is why I love her.
We went to sell books back, which was both amazing and extremely disappointing. My YA lit professor, who I hate, has dropped half of her books, making about $100 in young adult novels completely worthless to me. On the plus side, I got $70 from other texts. We took our textbook money and got lunch at Jimmy John’s, where we ogled Hot Delivery Boy and picked the excess sprouts from our sandwiches.
After lunch, I went to finish my Christmas shopping. I had to find something for my Secret Santa for work back home, a woman my mom’s age who loves Elvis. I went to one of the stores that carries nothing but tacky decorating stuff and found a tin lunch pail with the King himself all over it. I went to Wicks ‘n’ Sticks to get a couple of candles to put inside (
Yankee Candle’s Christmas Cookie), and I might have snagged one for myself (
Jack Frost, my new favorite candle scent).
A final stop at the candy store to get a bag of banana Runts for Mickey’s three-year-old and I was off. I’ve spent the rest of my afternoon procrastinating instead of writing my 6-8 page critical essay.
So one final down, one paper to write, one presentation, and three tests to go. Let’s fast-forward through Tuesday and Wednesday. Any takers?
Labels: Bradshaw, holidays
Saturday Night*
Someone needs to smack me the next time I
call my life boring. Inevitably, this leads to excitement and drama. On the plus side, none of the drama of the last two days has been mine.
Like I said in
yesterday’s post, I basically spent the day watching movies, and around four I finally got tired enough to go to bed. Thirty minutes later, I was scared out of sleep by the ringing of my phone next to my head. Somehow I registered that it was Bradshaw and I answered.
“What?”
“Are you awake?” she asked.
“Now I am.”
“I need to talk to you. Can I come over?”
I was still so confused. “Why?”
“Because I just had sex with [engaged boy].”
What the fuck? “Yeah, come on over.”
I climbed out of the warm, comfy bed and immediately began shivering. I dressed and went to sit on my couch, wrapped in a quilt, to wait.
She stumbled in, clearly intoxicated, sat on the couch, and put her head in her hands wordlessly.
I watched her for a moment. “Spill.”
Bradshaw and Engaged Boy have known each other since their freshman year. They're both biology majors, so they’ve had at least one lab together every semester, and she’s always had a thing for him. And, apparently, he has too. Here’s the short version of last night’s events: EB called Bradshaw and tells her to come to the bar he was at. She did, and he proceeded to buy her multiple drinks and get her drunk. The bar closed, so they went back to someone’s house to continue the evening. One of EB’s friends pushed the pair of them into an empty room and...there you have it. It wasn’t until after the fact that his engagement popped back into her head, at which point she looked at him and said, “You are getting married in MAY!”
We discussed the nuances of the situation and whether or not she should feel bad.
Finally, she looked at me and ask if she could crash on my couch. I said of course and then went back to my comfy, comfy bed, considering the drama that always happens when boys and alcohol are mixed.
I just hope that next weekend is less eventful.
*Technically this should be called Sunday Morning, but it’s not morning until I’ve slept all night, at least as far as I’m concerned.Labels: Bradshaw
The Tree is Called McTwinkle
I’ve been obsessed with the idea of decorating my apartment for Christmas since Halloween. This is the first time I’ve ever lived in a space that lends itself to serious decorating—and it’s all at my own discretion. I’ve been living on my own for two years, but living in a dorm is hardly conducive to the kind of decorating that I’m interested in doing. While I was at home for Thanksgiving, I asked my mom for some of her old Christmas decorations that she doesn’t use anymore for various reasons, and I ended up with a box of lights, garlands, and ornaments, but no tree. That made me a woman on a mission.
At my mother’s suggestion, Bradshaw and I went decoration shopping at
Hobby Lobby. I was doubtful, thinking that the crafty store was just pieces of bigger things that equally crafty people make. I don’t fall in that category, so I expected to wander around for a bit and leave empty-handed.
I was so wrong.
Hobby Lobby might be my new favorite store. I chose a 4’5” (almost as tall as me) tree fairly quickly, knowing that I didn’t want a seven foot monster in my little apartment. Bradshaw and I quickly moved on to ornaments. Aisles and aisles of 50% off. Heaven. I was in Christmas Heaven.
We picked a huge box of glass balls in bright pink, green, and blue. She pointed out a smaller box of balls*: Bright pink and shiny, with glittery pink polka dots.
“This is you in Christmas ornament form, I swear,” Bradshaw told me.
“So you’re saying that, as an ornament, I would be a fat, sparkly, pink ball?”
“Yes.”
Well, okay then.
Next, we went to the individual ornaments. A ball covered in fuscia and gold beads. A ball covered in silver glitter with a glittery blue abstract design.
“Attention shoppers, Hobby Lobby will be closing in five minutes. Please make your final selections and bring then to the front of the store.”
Seriously? It was only eight! Ornament selection pace increased dramatically. Funny blue shape with weird white designs. Shiny, dangly, green mirror-like things. A phallic, multi-colored, mirrored thing that Bradshaw decided she was in love with.**
“Attention shoppers, Hobby Lobby is now closed. Please make your final selections and bring then to the front of the store.”
This time, we followed the directions of the disembodied, amplified voice and toddled to the checkout with our shiny, sparkly treasures. The girl scanned everything, reminded me that the ornaments were 50% off and the tree was 40% off.
Again, seriously? 40% off? I did a little happy dance.
Final total: $38.73. Considering the original price on one of the boxes of ornaments was $20 and I got a tree, I’m extremely pleased with my purchases.
Bradshaw and I returned to the apartment and had dinner. We were joined by Dread (whose chemistry homework prompted me to declare
"The Gutter" a science-free zone). I considered asking them to stay and help decorate, but then I remembered that I’m a control freak. I waited until they left and decorated it myself.
I think I’m in love.
*Every time I type that, I giggle a little in my head. This is because, deep down inside, I am a 13-year-old.
**I told her that, barring some unforeseen future hatred of her, this ornament will be hung on my tree every year with a giggle (because it really is phallic) and fond memories. I meant it.
Labels: Bradshaw, holidays
Gang Bangers and Country Sangers
I know it’s a little late, but I promised to give an update on Bradshaw’s themed birthday party, so here goes.
I missed Grey's Anatomy so that
Bradshaw could dress me as a gangbanger. Considering that I’m a tiny girl from a small town in Missouri, my knowledge of “gangbanger-wear” is limited, but it was decreed by the birthday girl that I couldn’t attend the bash dressed as a “country sanger.” I ended up in white track pants that were three sizes too big over Carolina blue boxers, and a three or four sizes too-big UNC sweatshirt with a Carolina blue bandana covering my left eye and the top of my uber-straight hair. Let me tell you, I was an impressive thug.*
Once we arrived at the party, I was ridiculously amused by Dread**, another St. Louis brat, dressed in Wranglers and a plaid shirt. Oh, the teasing he will endure.
It quickly became clear by the number of people in attendance that my tequila would be safe only if it was in my sight all evening, so Jose was my party date. The Cuervo was not being mixed either. Straight sips directly from the not-cold bottle. De-licious, let me tell you.
There were people at this party who knew none of the residents of the apartment, nor did they know the birthday girl. How they knew to dress up has yet to be determined. There were loud drinking games, intense beer pong tournaments, and dancing on tables.
Quote of the night, a comment from Racer Boy to Dread. Dread was complaining about the tightness of his not-so-tight Wranglers. “They aren’t tight until you can distinguish the outline of each individual testicle.” A true statement. I know, I am from the country.
My night didn’t get any crazier than teasing Dread and very mild flirting with Racer Boy before I went home early. I had to be up at six the next morning to drive quite some distance, so I hugged Bradshaw, praying that she wouldn’t spill her Crown and Coke down my back, then walked he two blocks home in the brisk November air. I ate some Easy Mac (don’t judge, I’m a college student), downed a glass of water, washed my face, and collapsed into my bed.
*As impressive as a 4’10” thug with perfectly manicured fingernails and full makeup could ever be.
**So named because he used to have dreadlocks. And because he’s huge and a defensive lineman for a fairly large university. And he looks scary. However, there are photos of his Wrangler-covered ass that he will forever be teased for.Labels: alcohol, Bradshaw, updates
Budweiser period, kittens.
Part of what I bought. Look at those cookie cutters!
The end of my sample
Blurry, I know, but do you see the window? Lucky horse. He's probably been on TV.
