Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.



So reflecting on this weekend reminded me of the last time G. Monkey, Tiffany, Doc, and I went out and were total asses. G. Monkey's "Bachelorette" party. Really, more of a girl's night out, because G. Monkey didn't want to do the veil/condomshirt/etc. So we surprised her with a trip to bawlmurr, to hit the power plant. (It's an assload of clubs all in one tiny little area, so you can get your drink on without travelling too far.

We? Were sooooo very obnoxious. Exceptionally intoxicated (hooray for cabs!) and I can't remember most of the places we were at, with the exception of two. One was a 70s themed place, and we shook shook shook, shook shook shook our booties. At least one man was there in polyester bell bottoms and was rockin' his very own white-guy-fro. He also had shoes to die for- but that's another story for another day. The other place was a beach themed place. We did a looooot of drinking and dancing there, and it's especially memorable because of the mini Andre Braugher there who thought I was the best thing since Homicide, Life On The Street reruns. And had he not been shorter than me, and wearing a Marlboro backpack (in a club? with a packed-ass dance floor?) and using the world's worst pickup lines, he may have stood a chance, because Andre Braugher? Is hot.

That's also the night I was in the "Creepy Dude Sandwich". The best fun of all came after we were done dancing. G. Monkey is drunk. Beyond drunk. she was druuunnnnnnnnk. When G. Monkey gets drunk, she gets hungry. Really hungry. And she loses all self-censorship. So we went to this diner to get some food. The entire time, G's freakin' out, because she's soooooooooooo hungry, and can't wait for the food to get there. Then she wants to leave immediately as it arrives. So we snag to-go boxes, and while we're waiting for a cab to come, she devours her sandwich. And mine. And both our fries. And Tiffany's fries. Doc didn't get anything to eat, or she'd have lost that too.

The next morning? She doesn't remember doing ANY of this. Hee! We laughed our asses off. Probably you had to be there, but it was good.

On that note, I need to scram. I'm chasing toenails today. Whee!


Blogger parcequilfaut said...

Toenail Wrangler ET, I salute you, for going above and beyond the call of duty in upholding the Alcohol portion of the Laurie Notaro Lifestyle, complete with Fun N'Frolic G. Monkey.

4:24 PM  

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