The weekend slipped silently by and now I am back at work again. I hate that feeling. You know the one, like when you feel like you never even had a weekend at all? Yeah. I got it. I want a do-over.
I spent most of it in bed trying to fight the urge to sprinkle pain killers in my rum and coke or on my (heavenly, most delicious, beautiful) veggie sandwich. But…I hardly remember Friday evening at all. I know that I was cranky and tired and achy, so I am sure I was a riot to be around. Saturday, though, I boycotted the pills and spent the evening celebrating an old friend’s birthday at L and K’s. Of course, in order to enjoy or celebrate anything at that point, there had to be booze. Luckily, back in the day, L and I were the bar wenches of our social circle, so sooner than I could even sit down, I found myself behind the bar, making shooters, while the birthday boy explained to JGJ why he has always been scared of me. (I love that, by the way. Cause I am a damn ninja, that’s why.)
The birthday boy was passed-out, face down on the couch by 10:30, with a trash can strategically placed next to his head. This, my friends, is what happens when everyone at a party gets to make you their own special birthday cocktail. Shocktail, rather.
It was a fun night though. L, as always, spent a lot of time telling JGJ and the others who haven’t been around a whole lot, her slightly skewed versions of memories that we share and then politely asked me to be a part of her “boob collage”. Yes. A boob collage. And no, I did not participate. I have varying opinions on this.
1. I have a great rack. It’s been scientifically proven. So, why wouldn’t I show it off? (This is the one compliment that I will take and actually believe.)
2. BUT, I don’t really know where this “boob collage” is going to be displayed. And I don’t really know how I feel about walking into someone’s living room and seeing the girls just sitting there, staring at me. That’s not so cool.
3. But it isn’t like I haven’t had a picture of my boobs taken before and there was a lot of alcohol involved. Granted…it was in New Orleans several years ago and was taken by a guy I never saw again who had earlier showed me and Tory his penis after we explained that we were “The Penis Patrol”. So…from where I stand, it never actually happened. (A big “SHUT UP” goes out to anyone who accompanied me on this trip. And you know who you are.)
4. BUT, that was in New Orleans. You are SUPPOSED to flash in New Orleans. Duh. And as long as I didn’t end up on some video with Snoop, I am cool.
Anyway, I am totally not letting her take a picture of my boobs. You would think, for a chick with boobs the size of L’s, you would never need to see anyone else’s ever again! Damn. Those bitches are bigger than my HEAD. But…there is a lot about L that I don’t understand.
Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Portions for Foxes" - Rilo Kiley