I drank four screwdrivers on a mostly empty stomach at a country western bar Saturday night and at one point forced a stranger wearing a cowboy hat onto the dance floor.
Oh, shame, thy name is Erin.
The older I get, the more embarrassing this kind of thing is. The guy probably told his friends, Some mom-looking chick in an argyle sweater made me dance.
Argyle. It's hip enough for the Pioneer Saloon.
I also vaguely recall shouting at my friend's mother: Ju-Day! Ju-Day!! Her name is Judy, and I doubt she understands the completely obscure reference to Ju-Day! Because I didn't even remember it and just called my husband to ask. He says it's from a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode.
Thankfully, Judy is pretty damn cool.
Vodka is bad for brain cells.
So yeah. That was a good time. I woke up at 6 a.m. Sunday with the worst headache ever and had to psyche myself up for half an hour just to stumble to the bathroom for aspirin. Then I stumbled back to bed and laid verrrrrrrry very still. It's very important to lie very still in these instances.
I am so healthy.
Oh, and there was a run to Taco Bravo in there somewhere, too, for Taco Delites, which are basically tacos wrapped in burritos. They aren't as delightful as I remember them being.
Oh, and I am pretty sure I yelled Sookie! about four thousand times. Because there was a guy who looked like Bill from True Blood, and I thought my friend should go flirt with him. She did not agree.
So that was that. B-Real's birthday at the Pioneer Saloon, just him and 50 of his closest friends and a handful of baffled regulars wearing cowboy hats and an aging cover band that successfully damaged our collective hearing.
It's how we roll.