oh sweet succulent hangover of hangovers. last night i cast aside my usual friday night fare of vanilla sugar cookies and tivo to make the increasingly rare public appearance.
first stop: rt quinlan's to meet up with whiskey marie. i'm still waiting for the day that she comes to town wearing a raisin costume or at least a kitty litter tutu. my quinlan's friends are her high school friends, so we got to talk about duran duran and various makeout spots at the norshore theater. then jcrew teetered in the front door looking like bachelorette no. 3, ready to finally meet the famous blogger.
jcrew's enthusiasm reached mariah carey octaves.
aside: it's very strange to hang out with whiskey marie and not call her whiskey marie. by the time i'd marinated my brain in a certain amount of coors light, i just stuck to calling her "whiskey."
from there we went to the pio, where dozens of my friends had gathered to celebrate our friend blitz.
i believe this is where the wheels came off. when i try to reimagine the night all i get is my own mouth flapping like the valve of a whoopie cushion. there isn't enough space on the internet for my list of inappropriate topics and behavioral choices.
[insert public apology here]
[include thank-you note to blitz for the ride home]
[wonder to self if i waited until i got inside to go to the bathroom, or if i followed the lead of the neighborhood's collegiate element.]
today i wish for a more cave-like living room, with dark velvet drapes. i also wish for one of those tables fancy ladies use for eating breakfast in bed, and i wish it was covered with pizza. i wish that chuck had the ability to go out on friday nights so we could sit here in the dark with our fancy table covered with pizza and watch season 2 of buffy the vampire slayer.
right now i'm settling for a rachel zoe project marathon, as prescribed by dr. kj.
3 comments:
1. Shit! I am jealous.
2. If it makes you feel better, I went to a "Rock of Love/Bus" themed bachelorette party last weekend, skipped most of dinner (cold VIP pizza did not appeal), had a bunch of martinis, and then took a 3 hour nap in the limo.
You know. Just trying to give your embarrassment some perspective.
I am no longer ashamed to admit that I loved the Rachel Zoe project. I was mad the marathon was only 4 episodes.
Even if I was totally confused when it was like 5 PM and I was like "where did my Saturday go?"
It was a big choice for me not to take my camera to the Pio, and then Whiskey Marie recognized me from comments on your blog and then I wished I had my camera. But not enough to run down the street for it. Ah well.
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