One for the Record Books

You know your blood alcohol content was likely near the .20% range when you wake to a ball of chewed bubble gum firmly planted on your nightstand. Gum you apparently put there at some point during the hours of 2:30 am (give or take a few) and 10:34 am. Because upon the realization you'd a.) gone to bed with a wad of gum in your mouth b.) slept a few hours and been fortunate enough not to choke to death on the wad of gum in your mouth, you'd decided the five feet from your bed to the nearest trash can was an impossible feat.

Saturday was T.'s birthday so we went to dinner and did some shopping. Afterwards we got ready at her place and watched Steve-O get his butt cheeks pierced together on Jackass. Some people decided they were too cool to hang out with us, but it turned out for the better since we had way more fun than we ever imagined. Per C-Sharp's suggestion, we decided to check out a new bar downtown. It didn't look a whole lot different than the old bar it replaced with the addition of some booths and a better dance floor, but it was a different crowd that seemed to attract more people in our age group (25-30).

We arrived way-too-sober, but fret not for there were drinks to be had (8 or 9 of 'em + 3 shots), dancing to be done, lack of skill aside, and boys vying for our attention. It seems the black guys have been into me lately for one approached me as we were standing near the bar. As I stood there, arms crossed, he approached from behind which is never a good thing as I learned from The Game. It caught me off-guard and made me ill-at-ease. He introduced himself, but that was it. There's nothing I detest more than awkward silence. I was too sober to carry on a conversation with him at that point, and he really just failed with his introduction. I'm sure he thought I was a total bitch but I couldn't come up with anything to say to him so he just walked off.

Fast forward to drink 6. T. and I were rather amused by the males on the dance floor. One guy insisted on raising his hands high above his head as if he were taking part in one of those energized sermons where you sing and clap and praise the Lord. Or whatever it is they do. Then there was Scary Scarf Boy who wooed women with his scarf. His red and orange silk scarf possessed the power to seduce women. He managed to invade a group of four girls and danced provactively with one who happened to either be a stripper or knew Carmen Electra's striptease video by heart.

Not quite drunk enough to dance yet, we stood beside the dance floor as innocent bystanders, mocking all the dudes making fools of themselves. All in good fun. And then the second guy to hit on me came up and asked why we weren't dancing -- the standard pick-up line of all-time. Guys should really be more creative in this regard. He was attractive and sort of charming and he was actually older than me (doesn't happen often these days). I talked to him quite a bit but he was really too good-looking for me. I know that may sound crazy, but I prefer to be the more attractive one when it comes to dating. And I instantly don't trust good-looking men, particularly the ones who know they're good-looking. I also felt bad that his friend spent some talking to T. and as we headed to the bar for our next drink, she revealed the guy had bad breath. Gross dude, get a mint. Or take a step back.

The night really didn't get started until we took our first shot and decided to occupy two seats directly beside the dance floor, slowly inching our way towards it. This is the point in the night when we met Wheelchair Guy. He and his buddies had been out on the dance floor all night so it wasn't much of a surprise when he walked up to us and said, "Hey, why aren't you girls dancing?" Again, where's the originality? "Oh, we're waiting for a good song," the standard BS response. "You look like two girls in wheelchairs sitting there," he said. Then, in unison, he motioned with both his arms as if he were spinning the wheels of a wheelchair which became this hilarious dance move for the remainder of the evening. Not only did it get us to get up and dance, but he'd managed to provide an opening for himself. Not that either of us were interested in him in that way, but if that had been the case, he'd successfully opened the lines of communication. Ever since I read The Game, I've found this sort of thing fascinating: they way men pick up women and the interaction between males and females. It also turned out that Wheelchair Guy had a possessive girlfriend at home that called every fifteen minutes to check in on him which was rather comical. We had a good time dancing with Wheelchair Guy and his buddies. That is, until we realized we needed an umbrella to deflect Wheelchair Guy's saliva as he spoke.

After about drink 7 and shot #2, things get a bit fuzzy. I know another guy tried to say hi to me on the dance floor but I just laughed it off and wondered if I happened to look extremely hot i.e., easy or if the guy-to-girl ratio just tipped the scales in my favor. We wound up talking to another group of guys but by that point, I can only imagine what I must've sounded like, slurred speech and all. Drunkity, drunk, drunk. Toward the end, T. was so wasted that she decided it was time for her to go home -- right then and there. I offered to go with her but she pretty much bolted for the door. That's usually my move. I get too drunk, vacate the premises and put myself to bed. So I stayed and hung out with Jason and our new friends and it was somehow decided they would give me a ride home. No clue if I asked or they offered, but I'm willing to bet it wasn't my idea. Fortunately Jason didn't try to invite himself up or anything (not that I would've let him), for he had to give his two friends a ride home. Or maybe that was just his excuse, for I have a feeling I was "that girl." You know, the really hammered one they felt obliged to take care of, but couldn't wait to get rid of. After I got out of the car, they probably reiterated to one another how I was indeed "that girl."

Road Maps

Last Saturday I went out for a friend's birthday. Out of eight women, the birthday girl and I were the only single ones. Four were married, two will be married this summer, and of the six, two have babies. More of my friends are married than single these days, but I've never felt so outnumbered. It was quite the reality check.

I never had a date in high school, but at least I wasn't alone. Countless conversations took place between my friend and I about how it didn't matter that we never had boyfriends in high school because we'd go to college where there would be a plethora of smart, eligible men. The latter was true. College was foolproof. Or so I thought. Besides, the dating gods owed me for being forced to sit at home on prom night. But then I never even dated anyone from my college (when I was in school, that is).

I've never understood those women that declare a "cut-off age" for marriage. If I'm not married by the time I'm 26, I'll throw myself off a bridge. That's a hell of a lot of pressure to put upon oneself. Though I never had a timetable, I always kind of figured I'd be married by the time I was 30, but I've come to realize the odds are no longer in my favor. I'd have to date my future husband for at least one year, if not more, and then we'd need a year to plan the wedding. So I basically have 10 months max to meet the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.

This is not the end of the world here people. If I'm still single at 30 and by society's standards, that makes me a crazy old cat lady destined to die alone, so be it. I don't need marriage to define me as a person. If it happens, it happens. It won't do any good to force it or have unrealistic expectations.

I finally got around to seeing Juno last weekend. This quote sticks out in my mind, when Juno says to her father: "I need to know that it's possible that two people can stay happy together forever."

Double Birthdays

Ugh, I haven't worked out for a week and a half. I feel disgusting. I got off track last week with Thanksgiving and then I got sick so I haven't been to the gym in what feels like forever. Tonight my parents are taking me to dinner for my birthday so today is out of the question and unless I get up early tomorrow (not likely), there won't be time since we're going to C-Sharp's cabin. I am going to work out extra hard next week! The one positive aspect of being sick is that I've had a pathetic excuse for an appetite. I doubt it's been enough to shed pounds though.

Since there are no new episodes of The Office, I went to TheGuy's house last night and after 9 months of hanging out, we did what people typically do on a first date -- dinner, a movie and drinks. Dinner was Old Chicago, the movie was No Country for Old Men and drinks were at Champps for my friend Rock Star's birthday (and mine, sort of). It was my first time getting out of the house in a week and thus my first birthday drink -- a raspberry kamikaze shot.

Since seating was limited at Champps due to the non-televised Cowboy/Packers game, we were invited to sit with a single old man. He bought a round of drinks for the table and told us he was alone because his wife struggled with cancer for five years before losing the battle. He had no one else. It was pretty sad.

I know it's not a lot to ask, but I hesitated when it came time to invite TheGuy to go out for a drink with some friends he'd never met. Introducing him to friends seems like a slippery slope when you haven't even bothered to define your relationship. Then those people are left wondering, who was that guy WTP brought to Rock Star's 27th birthday? He did go and I think it went okay. He asked a lot of questions about my friends, before and after, which I didn't anticipate so I think that's good. He recognized one of my friends from the gym she works at so now they can say "hi" to one another in passing.

I still don't know where things are headed, but in the meantime, we seem to have bounced back from the whole birthday fiasco.

Presents

My birthday gerbera daisies from GC...



Another friend gave me an iTunes gift card I can't wait to redeem.

We received our Christmas bonus today at work so that was a nice surprise as well.

Sorry, this is all I have for a post today.

Happy Birthday Friends!

Hope you enjoy your day!!

Round Two

Late Saturday afternoon I went to a friend's place and we drove down to Birthday Girl's house, birthday numero dose of the weekend. Birthday Girl is the mother of the most beautiful boy, baby Logan. Plans are currently in the works for him to become sponsored by a baby model agency! After playtime with Logan and delicious Cook's champagne, the three of us went to dinner at Major's while Logan enjoyed quality time with his dad.

It was a nice evening so we ate on the patio. Both friends ordered the Cajun chicken fettuccine. Birthday Girl asked the server if it was spicy, to which he replied, "No, the only spice is on the chicken. Do you want plain chicken?" Agreeing to sans seasoning, my other friend ordered her Cajun fettuccine as-is, not wanting to seem demanding because she'd complained about her nasty soda, at which point we were informed was "knock-off" Dr. Pepper. Huh? At a restaurant? Gross.

My friend ended up regretting her decision to go with Cajun-style because our server's description couldn't have been more off-base! Her dish looked like cajun soup!! The alfredo sauce wasn't even white -- it was a peach color. The chili powder was so strong that Birthday Girl and I could smell it and taste it in our throats. The one redeeming factor was you get a free dessert for your birthday. We ordered the chocolate cake and it was HUGE. I couldn't believe the size of the thing so at least my friend was able to fill up on some cake since she couldn't eat her meal.

Then when the server asked my friend if she wanted a box, she thought Birthday Girl's husband may want the leftovers, but by the time we left, she felt so ill from the stench of the fettuccine, she didn't want it in her car so we decided to "forget" and left the box on the table. Correction: it was on a pillar to the side of our table because the aroma became so nauseating. A few feet from the exit door, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Our server to the rescue!! He physically ran after us to deliver the box, savory contents and all. Garbage nowhere in sight, the box was abandoned in the parking lot.

Round two of Birthday Boy's celebration occurred later that evening. My hungry friend and I met up later downtown and did some bar-hopping, eventually winding up back at Harvey's. It was the weekend of birthdays, but 'tis the season of bachelor/bachelorette parties. Birthday Boy was with a bachelor party and another friend of mine was with a bachelorette party -- the two convening at Harvey's.

Not only was I exhausted and got a late start on drinking, but I was constantly reminded of my sober state throughout the night. I would've had to down plenty-o-shots in order to catch up to my friends. I also drove, could've left my car overnight, but I just never fully committed to getting drunk so I only had a few drinks, none of which were anywhere near as strong as the previous night.

Overall, the night was fun, but it would've been better if I hadn't been so tired. And sober. We did meet another bachelor party at Harvey's and there was one really cute guy with an eyebrow ring and tattoos. I can't recall the last time I met a hot guy. Unfortunately, he lives in Cross Lake, up by Brainerd. You gotta watch out for those good-looking types though -- the ones who know they're good-looking. They spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

So the common theme for bachelor parties is to wear white shirts to get girls to write all over them. In his group, all wore white shirts with nicknames printed on the back and his was "Pugs" but he refused to tell me the reason. I have one theory of my own. Anyone else? It's not because he has a Pug, but he does have two dogs -- a Pit Bull and American Stratfordshire Terrier. Anyway, they went to Bootlegger's and we followed for a bit, but I really don't care for that hot, crowded bar so my friend and I left right away.

We closed the night at The Drink where there was a lot of dancing and nasty, sweaty dudes with B.O. One short dude in a green print t-shirt came up behind me and kept trying to dance with me and reaching for my hand, so I kept moving further and further away. You'd think it wouldn't take long to get the hint, but he continued to stand against the railing for the next four-to-five songs staring at me and trying to pull me toward him. Once he gave up and left the dance floor, he and his buddy stood at a table nearby so I kept seeing him out of the corner of my eye. When the bar shut down, we were forced to walk past him and he repeatedly gave me the thumbs-down gesture. WTF? There's another first in my book!

Birthday Weekend

It was the weekend of birthdays -- the celebratory part anyway. Therefore I'll hold off on my birthday wishes until tomorrow, the 11th, when two of my friends share the same birthday.

My girl friend came over Friday evening for a drink and a half of pre-gaming. Then we met up with the birthday boy at Harvey's downtown. I tell ya, you truly get your $3 worth with the drinks there. The Coke in my drink was diluted by the Captain Morgan! It was a rockin' drunk time had by all.

Highlight of the evening was when my girl friend and I were sitting at a table when a guy selling flashing Hawaiian leis approached us, handing over two leis. Confused, I kindly told the guy we weren't interested in buying a lei, but he pointed to a group of guys standing in the corner, saying he bought them for us. I believe the short dude standing in the front was the one responsible. The strange thing about it was he never came over to say hello. The guys were dorky so we never went over to thank them either, but dorkiness aside, it was the first time a random bought me a lei. Was it rude we never spoke to him after that? I'll see if I can upload a pic later so you can see what I mean by "flashing lei."

Know how I know I was drunk? As young starlets learn the hard way, a picture is worth a 1,000 words. Toward the end of the evening, my friend and I were out on the dance floor when apparently, we started hanging out with another group of dorks. It most likely started when we asked them to take a picture of us. Before I knew it, I had 10 pictures of us with randoms on the dance floor -- one a carbon copy of Carrot Top (Birthday Boy coined that). Those dudes would've been a very foggy memory if it weren't for my camera. Oh, and my eyes were shut in most of the pictures! I looked obliterated. Rightfully so.

Birthday Boy had fun. He took many shots including a free one some girl was trying to pawn off on some unfortunate fool -- SoCo Lime. I wanna puke just thinking of that.