Just Your Typical Friday Night (Alternate Title: Why Sweater Sets Don't Belong in Bars that Stamp Your Hand Upon Entry)
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Just this past Friday evening, my best friends and I made plans to meet up for dinner. We figured that Kate, whose wedding is at the end of the summer, might need a distraction - you see, her fiancee Dave's bachelor party/weekend drinking marathon/guys trip to Wisconsin was just beginning across town at Morton's. And really, what is more distracting than dinner with your loud, opinionated, overserved girlfriends? NOTHING, THAT'S WHAT.
So we met innocently enough at Las Pinatas for some dinner and margaritas. I could write an entire thesis paper on why rocks margaritas will eventually be the death of me, but I'll save that for some other time. (I think I'm better off with frozen 'ritas - I drink them slower, thereby staving off death by intoxication. Whoopsie - there's my thesis statement right there! I'd better get back to graduate school, obviously, to study body chemistry and physiology as determined by Jose Cuervo. I owe it to my liver.)
Here we see Kate (the impending bride, on the right) and Jen, the responsible, stylish, married one (on the left).
ANYWAY...at some point in the evening, we thought perhaps Kate should have a mini-bachelorette evening of her very own. Which is interesting, and potentially awkward, considering Curly Kate's boyfriend M was there, along with a coworker of his, K. It was the first time we'd met K, and she is hilarious and funloving and all of those things, but can she handle a night of us, drunk on tequila?
At that point, the only sane thing left to do was the most insane thing we could think of - head to the local biker bar. The trashiest place imaginable, short of the suburbs. I speak, of course, of the one...the only...Hogs and Honeys. Well, there was one other trashy option, but I didn't think I could get into Coyote Ugly wearing a brown cardigan from Anne Taylor Loft. I HAVE TO DO LAUNDRY, OKAY? IT WAS ALL I HAD CLEAN.
So we wrapped/gulped up the last of our dinner, and headed out to meet our fates. Turns out, our fates involved stealing the bride-to-be's drivers license and signing her up for a ride on the mechanical bull. My personal fate involved the bull as well, along with a verbal disagreement with the bull operator about getting my license back, and whether or not my hair color is real. Just a note for all you bull neophytes out there - DO NOT, under any circumstances, disagree with the bull operator. My inner thighs are STILL regretting that fight, DAYS LATER. Just take my word on this one.
Curly Kate is next to me, and you'll see that I am not the only Mr. Rogers in the group. Also, can I please get an ABP out on my upper lip? Where the hell did it go?
Kate the Bride was remarkably calm about the whole thing, which is fortunate considering we thought she might just throw a massive hissy. She's a cool cucumber, that one. Curly Kate was in charge of photography, and Jen was in charge of the "I Was Only Going to Stop By for One Drink" department. We had M man our handbags (so manly of him to comply), and promptly embarassed ourselves by falling off the bull in quick succession, and downing one too many cheap beers.
There will be no photos of aforementioned mechanical bull riding, as both of the only useable shots were marred by heinous facial expressions and questionable television programming playing in the background. After all, my mother does occasionally read this blog. Also, I'd would prefer NOT to be disowned by my closest friends.
Instead I'll give you a brief synopsis of what Jen's husband (who was, lucky for him, home sick) thought of our evening-
And in the great tradition of getting older and becoming increasingly pathetic in social scenarios, we left around midnight - blitzed and very, very tired. There you have it - just a typical Friday night in my life.
So we met innocently enough at Las Pinatas for some dinner and margaritas. I could write an entire thesis paper on why rocks margaritas will eventually be the death of me, but I'll save that for some other time. (I think I'm better off with frozen 'ritas - I drink them slower, thereby staving off death by intoxication. Whoopsie - there's my thesis statement right there! I'd better get back to graduate school, obviously, to study body chemistry and physiology as determined by Jose Cuervo. I owe it to my liver.)
Here we see Kate (the impending bride, on the right) and Jen, the responsible, stylish, married one (on the left).
ANYWAY...at some point in the evening, we thought perhaps Kate should have a mini-bachelorette evening of her very own. Which is interesting, and potentially awkward, considering Curly Kate's boyfriend M was there, along with a coworker of his, K. It was the first time we'd met K, and she is hilarious and funloving and all of those things, but can she handle a night of us, drunk on tequila?
At that point, the only sane thing left to do was the most insane thing we could think of - head to the local biker bar. The trashiest place imaginable, short of the suburbs. I speak, of course, of the one...the only...Hogs and Honeys. Well, there was one other trashy option, but I didn't think I could get into Coyote Ugly wearing a brown cardigan from Anne Taylor Loft. I HAVE TO DO LAUNDRY, OKAY? IT WAS ALL I HAD CLEAN.
So we wrapped/gulped up the last of our dinner, and headed out to meet our fates. Turns out, our fates involved stealing the bride-to-be's drivers license and signing her up for a ride on the mechanical bull. My personal fate involved the bull as well, along with a verbal disagreement with the bull operator about getting my license back, and whether or not my hair color is real. Just a note for all you bull neophytes out there - DO NOT, under any circumstances, disagree with the bull operator. My inner thighs are STILL regretting that fight, DAYS LATER. Just take my word on this one.
Curly Kate is next to me, and you'll see that I am not the only Mr. Rogers in the group. Also, can I please get an ABP out on my upper lip? Where the hell did it go?
Kate the Bride was remarkably calm about the whole thing, which is fortunate considering we thought she might just throw a massive hissy. She's a cool cucumber, that one. Curly Kate was in charge of photography, and Jen was in charge of the "I Was Only Going to Stop By for One Drink" department. We had M man our handbags (so manly of him to comply), and promptly embarassed ourselves by falling off the bull in quick succession, and downing one too many cheap beers.
There will be no photos of aforementioned mechanical bull riding, as both of the only useable shots were marred by heinous facial expressions and questionable television programming playing in the background. After all, my mother does occasionally read this blog. Also, I'd would prefer NOT to be disowned by my closest friends.
Instead I'll give you a brief synopsis of what Jen's husband (who was, lucky for him, home sick) thought of our evening-
And in the great tradition of getting older and becoming increasingly pathetic in social scenarios, we left around midnight - blitzed and very, very tired. There you have it - just a typical Friday night in my life.
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