I am rather hungover and so will share the events leading to this miserable condition. My girls were taking me out for my birthday. The plan was to rent a hotel room, get drunk, and go shake our asses at the club. Something happened where the hotel room fell through. No matter, I just want to have fun. My friend picks me up and takes me to Fascinations to pick out my present. A two story sex store is a fabulous start. Yes, a paddle that leaves an "OUCH" print on ones ass. Everyone should have at least two. (I have lots of pics but a friend who is prolific in them doesn't wish for ya'll to see her.) We then descend upon a bar for pre-gaming. Fuck, L--- and I had already killed a pint of Crown Royal on the way downtown. I suppose we were just killing time until the club scene picked up. We meet up with several girlfriends for dinner. Only two decide to proceed with debauchery. We get to the bar around 10pm and it is noticeably empty. The bartender assures us that it will pick up at 11. We opt to stay, largely because a group of guys start buying us shots unsolicited. I am too polite to turn down free Crown. Crown and I go way back and have gotten along rather famously when I do indulge. I’ve been treating it like a booty call lately though. It never occurred to me that my new friend Xanax may not care for Crown’s company. I know, colossally stupid. I didn’t take any yesterday, knowing I was to be drinking, yet didn’t consider the fact that there most certainly was plenty in my system. The last thing I can remember is taking a shot of whiskey and laughing at the guy who bought it for me. Something about his awe at my drinking straight whiskey, unadulterated by soda, water or chaser. (clearly fuzzy. That is N---, my hot Peruvian. Single.) I am told that I was well behaved the rest of the time at the bar, no one was aware of my blacking out. Until we tried to leave, that is. Four inch heels, a flight of stairs and my deteriorating condition prompted my drunk friends to help me out. They decided that I must really need to puke. I was fed a burrito from a street vendor. I hear it wasn’t attractive as I kept passing out on the steps while inhaling it. This is the source of the mystery substance on my shirt. They kept trying to get me to stick my finger down my throat. I was strongly opposed to this plan. They begin to wonder if I was roofied as I haven’t exactly announced I am medicating my anxiety. They take me to a diner for some reason and attempt to force me to eat AGAIN. I pass out on Lori and drool on her sleeve. I am all class. This morning, at 5:47, I awaken slowly. I am sitting on my couch, wearing a bright blue sweatshirt, purse in my lap, still fully dressed. Totally confused, I might add. I don’t remember anything about last night. Somewhere along the way I LOST my new toy and gained a blue Ecko hoodie. I am discovering a myriad of developing bruises all over me. I landed on my ass pretty hard at some point, I can hardly sit. My vicious hangover began around 10am. I googled how to induce vomitus today. It was effective.
I used to have one that left "SLUT". Yes folks, I'm classy like that. It accompanied me to a swingers party a couple years ago and never made it back into my goody bag (very sad!).
Sure, I'd be angry. My vag, however, wouldn't have a clue that anything was wrong. Who are we kidding, though. No one's gonna compete with PIMPTRESS's post.
Woohoo fuckers. I hit the jackpot tonight. A free tshirt AND a deck of cards from Old Chicago. All because the waitress felt bad for bringing me a pint of NewCastle when I ordered a 25oz.
I'm still fighting the 80's flashbacks from that picture of her friend with the neon earrings. Jesus, those things could catch a bass in a total fucking eclipse if you put them on a line and dropped them in the water.
You owe me a new laptop. I just spit water all over my fucking laptop. Seriously, she is a trip. She swings her head around so much with those lures I think I'm having a flashback.
If y'all believe in anything, take a moment to believe that I'll shoot at least one duck tomorrow. This shit is embarrassing.
I still want to take her fishing.Would she put up a huge fight if I shoved her head under water? That there is some marryin' material.
I'm guessing that Peruvian women are like many/most Central and South American women. One minute they're smoking hot, the next minute they're short, fat, and have mustaches. How does that work? To counter my rope-a-dope blanket statement, a small percentage of those women remain stunning through their entire lives. Who decides this?
I know! In her defense, I think she'll always stay groomed. Her fondness of shiny, reflective surfaces should keep alarming growth to a minimum.
... herro! numba wan smirey time brue dog hele! no me gusta! buttfucko de la fucking hoya! i dont give a damn if yov are a mexican aviatoro! huh? yov heard me! vaginas with teeth remind me of
I have no idea what's going on in this thread.. can't concentrate on reading, only typing. Going to take my kids (2 and 2 months) to see Santa tomorrow. I HATE the holidays and I think i'm more excited than they are. Wonder if my 2 year old is going to totally freak when the time comes to sit on Sana's lap. We've been practicing what to say.. but every time something different comes out. From "WANT SOUP!" (why? i don't know. He's fucking WEIRD) to "want cars and Lightning McQueen!" I never know what's going to come out of his mouth.
My friends and I had our own Christmas dinner tonight. Even made a turkey. Best damned turkey I have ever had. But don't let my dad know, because his feelings might be hurt / he will never admit that any other food could ever be as good as what he makes. I have also decided that Blanche de Chambly is inferior as witbiers go to the mill street variety. I also made superior jello shots to someone else who brought jello shots. Cheah. Also; I bought a bottle of Roederer Premier Brut champagne the other day. 60 bucks, 91 points and top 100 wines of the year by Robert Parker. Same family that makes Cristal. Do I pop it on New Year's or save it for the end of May exams? Or buy another one and do both? Decisions, decisions. On the topic of being excited for the holidays; it's been many years since I was ever excited for Christmas. But, the other day, I got a pair of nice suede Roots slippers for me and my girlfriend. She's quite pleased with them. It got me thinking: if I had just wrapped them up and waited for another week, wouldn't that have restored some of my excitement with the holidays? In retrospect, maybe. But in the meantime, I have awesome fuzzy slippers and didn't have to sit around and wait a week for them. Ten years ago, I would have spent several sleepless nights over possibilities like this. Ah, childhood.