This weekend might have been the most crazy weekend of my life. Ever. Well, except for the week of Fallas, when I was in Valencia. But for real. I don't think I'm ever going to drink again. At least not for a few weeks. Well, at least not excessively for a few weeks.
Saturday night, after the flaming cookbook incident, Anneke and Tasha came over for a few bottles of wine. We dressed to the nines and headed out the door to Plush to meet John, Andrew and Jonah. Since I hadn't gotten home until 4 am the night before, I was thinking maybe I'd go easy on the alcohol and have a quiet night.
Right. I don't know what happened, but moderation was not in the cards for me (um, is it ever?). After a few drinks at Plush, we stumbled over to The Surly Wench where things got really crazy. I ended up with a bumper sticker on my ass, the lead singer's tongue down my throat (twice!) and several sexually explicit drunk dials on my phone. I believe there might have been a lap dance or two, including one given to Tasha by the sweat-drenched band member "dressed" as Jesus (as if Jesus ever wore SAGGY tighty-whiteys. *Shudder*) The band was terrible--quite possibly the WORST I've ever seen. However, the lead singer had very nice chisled cheekbones a la Johnny Depp. I hope he didn't have any communicable diseases.
The night was not a total drunken loss. Andrew and I shared a conversation and some good moments together later that night. I did get to eat some of Anneke's hash browns at Denny's at 3:30.
But I swear, I am going to buckle down this week. Really.
