Breaking Out...

Where to bloody begin...So, Sunday --the bestie was late, but not for a lame reason. She rescued an abandon puppy on a country road. And I'm not kidding. How f-ing cool can one chick be? Dang. So, after puppy rescue we hit the OC for obligatory friend dinner with some of their other friends. They are all super nice people, but sometimes they are all OCD about their kids or their marriages and that gets old real quick. Afterwards we hit the N-zone, play keno and the drinking begins in earnest. Appetizers, conversation, a keno win here and there. It is like old times, comfy, fun. Metaphorical doors begin opening. The novel is discussed, critique and constructive criticism are internalized and filed for use later. There is dancing and singing in the car on the way to the next place.

Next we head to the Grata, it's Sunday so the place is a ghost town, as we push the doors open and saunter in queens of the castle. More talking, some smoking, shots, top shelf vodka. Things pour smooth, conversation gets honest, real. The laughing is remedy to the open wounds of missing. What closing at eleven? Okay, drinks drunk quickly. Feeling tipsy --feeling good. The bestie's hubs falls asleep in the back of the car --Awesome, we wear a brother out, now we have a ready and willing designated driver. More dancing and singing in car on the way to the next place.

Make it to Jake's. Meet interesting girls in the bathroom, make friends, have a laugh. That girl's name is Andrea. Buy cigars, smoke like we know what we're doing, wine and beer. La Vie Boheme. Wingman attracts short Jewish man who tells us he drives a convertible and invites us to a strip club, knows names of individual working girls. Yeah, right, brave, but makes us laugh. Sample honey whiskeys -Red Stag, Evan Williams honey -both are not as good as the honey bourbon Wild Turkey makes. Burning and sweet like a sticky liquid red hot. More wine. More beer, pepper beer. Smoke big fat cigars like we are the boss. Take silly pictures on the cell phone. Again, shorty tries to convince us he is cool, extols virtues of his backpack. Not impressed. Comrade states I need to be nicer. Confessions of a mean girl drunk. You are my best friend --No, you are my best friend. Last call.

Stumble back to the big shining iron steed to take us home. Wake up sleeping prince with laughing and window pounding. --But, the prince is unwell. Has food poisoning. Things get crisis kind of trippy. But, we all make it back to my house. Greeted by sleepy, wanting to play, pig dog. Play some throw the tennis ball and drink some water. Manage to get up to my tower, strip my clothes off, but cannot find nightgown. Decide it doesn't matter, fall asleep naked and safe in the red room.

It is a good damn thing I only do this about once a year. Woke up feeling like I had slept in a swamp and thoroughly disgusted by the stink of my own body. Finally, feeling righted, at this point, party girl safely locked back up, smiling and sated once more. I would like to thank the whole cast of this adventure --from forgetful bartender to silly bathroom girls --but most of all thank you to the Princess Vegan and Prince Food Poisoning for everything. It was massively awesome.