(Random, meaningless post I am posting because I feel like blogging.)
First, go to the new and seriously fab Vodka Lounge on Sheffield and have a couple appletinis; then flirt with a tall brown-haired guy who keeps reminding you how much he likes "Cuuuuurrvy women." Pretend that it doesn't bother you that your friend is tempted to show her clit ring to the guy who sent both of you the double entendre drink Happy Ending.
Drink merrily. For hours.
Stumble out the Vodka Lounge and attempt to hail a cab, but realize your attention is needed back inside, where you will enlist several tipsy chicks and dudes to find your tragically expensive $400 handbag. Handbag will turn up in the ladies' bathroom without even a stick of gum missing. Grab your friend, who is hammered to the point that she challenges you to "take a piss in the men's urinal" standing up. Ignore her challenge. And you don't really care to smoke a joint with some "friends" she has made.
Go back outside and try not to have your face meet the pavement because you're completely feeling those appletinis. Once again attempt to hail a cab. A nice gentleman standing outside looks at you with your lipstick smeared and eyeliner no longer lining your eyes, drunkenly flailing your arms at cars. He offers you his cell phone to call a cab; you accept and pretend the cute bedazzled pink cell phone you have tucked in your purse is just your imagination. Because you're not that dumb, right? Flirting ensues until his wife joins him. Flirting abruptly halts.
You finally make it home. The first place you make it is to the bathroom to chuck, and then to the kitchen to wolf down some left-over Thai, giving yourself something to work with for the inevitable morning upchuck and regret.
Wake up the next day and swear you will never drink appletinis again, go out with Diana, or eat Thai food afterward. Take severely hungover call from Diana and proceed to tell her that, yes, she did act lady-like the night before. And that the whole clit ring thing was just a vestige of the Happy Ending talking.
First, go to the new and seriously fab Vodka Lounge on Sheffield and have a couple appletinis; then flirt with a tall brown-haired guy who keeps reminding you how much he likes "Cuuuuurrvy women." Pretend that it doesn't bother you that your friend is tempted to show her clit ring to the guy who sent both of you the double entendre drink Happy Ending.
Drink merrily. For hours.
Stumble out the Vodka Lounge and attempt to hail a cab, but realize your attention is needed back inside, where you will enlist several tipsy chicks and dudes to find your tragically expensive $400 handbag. Handbag will turn up in the ladies' bathroom without even a stick of gum missing. Grab your friend, who is hammered to the point that she challenges you to "take a piss in the men's urinal" standing up. Ignore her challenge. And you don't really care to smoke a joint with some "friends" she has made.
Go back outside and try not to have your face meet the pavement because you're completely feeling those appletinis. Once again attempt to hail a cab. A nice gentleman standing outside looks at you with your lipstick smeared and eyeliner no longer lining your eyes, drunkenly flailing your arms at cars. He offers you his cell phone to call a cab; you accept and pretend the cute bedazzled pink cell phone you have tucked in your purse is just your imagination. Because you're not that dumb, right? Flirting ensues until his wife joins him. Flirting abruptly halts.
You finally make it home. The first place you make it is to the bathroom to chuck, and then to the kitchen to wolf down some left-over Thai, giving yourself something to work with for the inevitable morning upchuck and regret.
Wake up the next day and swear you will never drink appletinis again, go out with Diana, or eat Thai food afterward. Take severely hungover call from Diana and proceed to tell her that, yes, she did act lady-like the night before. And that the whole clit ring thing was just a vestige of the Happy Ending talking.