"It's like reading her diary... but with stories about me!" -Thumper
Dear Diary,
It’s been a loooong week and a half. Weddings, going out, working, not working out, and Canadian Thanksgivings have taken their toll on me. I am ready for a giant nap. And a shower. But mostly just a nap.
Last weekend was a little crazy. We went out on Friday (like you didn’t know that was coming), and had an after party at the 404. It was a big night. We made a lot of friends and a couple of enemies. Brosa’s ex came out and decided he would hit on her friends just to be an ass. What an amateur. Funnily enough, we all cited girl-code as we dismissed his advances (we found out that we had all actually proclaimed, "Girl-code dude," the next day when we were discussing his douchebaggery and our responses). He was left perplexed and asked for this girl-code manual that details appropriate and inappropriate courting rituals. I think we did a little damage to his ego, especially when I overheard Brosa telling him that it wasn’t because he was ugly that we weren’t interested, but because he had a lousy hat.
I’ve been trying my hand at the Stanky Legg a lot lately. In fact, I think I may have thrown my hip out that night. Now, every time I try to get down, my hip locks up and I look like a weird robot. It’s interesting really… When I’m sober, I am fully aware that I am a terrible dancer. I know this for a fact. I am awful. However, give me a couple of drinks and it’s, “HOLY CRAP! I’M THE GREATEST DANCER IN THE WOOOOOORLD!!!” I start stanky legging and busting out the Ricky Bobby… Dad says dancing always got me in trouble. Now, it's actually injured me.
But like I said, we went to the 404 after downtown. A lot of good stuff happened there. I made eggs. It turns out, they were expired from March, but that’s ok. Only a couple of people ate them, and I think they may have gotten sick. I didn’t eat the eggs… that’s a gross drunk food. Not Crazy Jenn got into an argument with her ex-boyfriend, Brosa grabbed a cab and a pizza and booked it, and Thumper couldn’t sleep because the couple on the couch were… erm… gross.
Nonetheless, on very little sleep we woke up the next morning and made the four-hour drive to my hometown for a wedding. Thumper and Brosa were my dates. I probably have not made this very clear in any of my other postings, but Brosa always takes her time. It’s mostly because she always has to take a shower, but we are always waiting on her. Thus, we got on the road TWO hours later than scheduled, and it was raining. This did not faze me. In fact, these conditions promote my favorite driving techniques: reckless and with severe time constraints. It’s the only way I drive, really.
We had a lot of fun on the way to the wedding, and bonded over some racist gummy bears and memories of the previous night. We ambushed a gas station and brought our luggage in so we could change for the wedding (we didn’t have time to drive to the house and get ready). We barely made it in time.
The wedding was beautiful and a lot of fun. Staci (the bride) wore her cowboy boots with her gown, and put together an amazing reception in a renovated barn. There were a lot of country touches. We had barbeque and a keg, for starters. When we floated the keg, Staci sent the groomsmen on a beer and whisky run. They returned with enough beer to fuel the night.
Then, the DJ played my favorite song. Nothing could have kept me from the dance floor. I heard Miley on the speakers and went to town. It was me, a bunch of little girls, and my can of beer. I’m sure my mother would have been proud.
I went to take a short potty break when the song ended, and looked out the back door. I saw what I can only expect to see at a country wedding: Tailgaters. Yes, you read that correctly. Tailgaters at a wedding. I asked Staci if she was aware of this, and she was. It was a proper tailgate at that: lawn chairs, pickups, coolers, and barbeque. Well done, tailgaters. Well done.
I came back to the reception and saw the wedding party on the dance floor with their 40s. Classic move.
By the end of the night, I had reconciled with an old friend of mine (the one who broke girl-code but refuses to acknowledge that I’m angry with her). She asked if I was dating anyone, and I cattily replied, “No, you took the last one.” She responded, “OH GOOD! I’ve got the perfect guy for you then!” *Sigh* She then proceeded to suck me into her friendship web, and I suppose we’ve now reconciled our differences. We began reminiscing on some of Staci’s wilder days, which prompted Staci to yell at us when she overheard some of the stories we were telling Brosa and Thumper (“NOT on my wedding day guys!!”).
We were done by midnight and headed out. We were supposed to stay at my house but my brother decided to get the Swine Flu, and that put a damper on those plans. Luckily, an old friend came through and asked his mother if I could stay with her. Her house is legendary. Good ole Wanda. We used to always go to Wanda’s in high school. Her son even referred to his house as Wanda’s. There was always a party at Wanda’s. So, when word got out that we were staying at Wanda’s, I started receiving a lot of nostalgic texts and facebook messages. In fact, us staying at Wanda’s was the talk of the wedding, and everyone wanted to come stay the night there for old time’s sake.
So, Diary, I guess you can tell I’ve had a pretty eventful week and need a nap. I have a lot more to say about this past weekend, but I’m really tired, and my bed is looking very appealing. I will write to you soon!
Love,
Danielle
xoxo
It’s been a loooong week and a half. Weddings, going out, working, not working out, and Canadian Thanksgivings have taken their toll on me. I am ready for a giant nap. And a shower. But mostly just a nap.
Last weekend was a little crazy. We went out on Friday (like you didn’t know that was coming), and had an after party at the 404. It was a big night. We made a lot of friends and a couple of enemies. Brosa’s ex came out and decided he would hit on her friends just to be an ass. What an amateur. Funnily enough, we all cited girl-code as we dismissed his advances (we found out that we had all actually proclaimed, "Girl-code dude," the next day when we were discussing his douchebaggery and our responses). He was left perplexed and asked for this girl-code manual that details appropriate and inappropriate courting rituals. I think we did a little damage to his ego, especially when I overheard Brosa telling him that it wasn’t because he was ugly that we weren’t interested, but because he had a lousy hat.
I’ve been trying my hand at the Stanky Legg a lot lately. In fact, I think I may have thrown my hip out that night. Now, every time I try to get down, my hip locks up and I look like a weird robot. It’s interesting really… When I’m sober, I am fully aware that I am a terrible dancer. I know this for a fact. I am awful. However, give me a couple of drinks and it’s, “HOLY CRAP! I’M THE GREATEST DANCER IN THE WOOOOOORLD!!!” I start stanky legging and busting out the Ricky Bobby… Dad says dancing always got me in trouble. Now, it's actually injured me.
But like I said, we went to the 404 after downtown. A lot of good stuff happened there. I made eggs. It turns out, they were expired from March, but that’s ok. Only a couple of people ate them, and I think they may have gotten sick. I didn’t eat the eggs… that’s a gross drunk food. Not Crazy Jenn got into an argument with her ex-boyfriend, Brosa grabbed a cab and a pizza and booked it, and Thumper couldn’t sleep because the couple on the couch were… erm… gross.
Nonetheless, on very little sleep we woke up the next morning and made the four-hour drive to my hometown for a wedding. Thumper and Brosa were my dates. I probably have not made this very clear in any of my other postings, but Brosa always takes her time. It’s mostly because she always has to take a shower, but we are always waiting on her. Thus, we got on the road TWO hours later than scheduled, and it was raining. This did not faze me. In fact, these conditions promote my favorite driving techniques: reckless and with severe time constraints. It’s the only way I drive, really.
We had a lot of fun on the way to the wedding, and bonded over some racist gummy bears and memories of the previous night. We ambushed a gas station and brought our luggage in so we could change for the wedding (we didn’t have time to drive to the house and get ready). We barely made it in time.
The wedding was beautiful and a lot of fun. Staci (the bride) wore her cowboy boots with her gown, and put together an amazing reception in a renovated barn. There were a lot of country touches. We had barbeque and a keg, for starters. When we floated the keg, Staci sent the groomsmen on a beer and whisky run. They returned with enough beer to fuel the night.
Then, the DJ played my favorite song. Nothing could have kept me from the dance floor. I heard Miley on the speakers and went to town. It was me, a bunch of little girls, and my can of beer. I’m sure my mother would have been proud.
I went to take a short potty break when the song ended, and looked out the back door. I saw what I can only expect to see at a country wedding: Tailgaters. Yes, you read that correctly. Tailgaters at a wedding. I asked Staci if she was aware of this, and she was. It was a proper tailgate at that: lawn chairs, pickups, coolers, and barbeque. Well done, tailgaters. Well done.
I came back to the reception and saw the wedding party on the dance floor with their 40s. Classic move.
By the end of the night, I had reconciled with an old friend of mine (the one who broke girl-code but refuses to acknowledge that I’m angry with her). She asked if I was dating anyone, and I cattily replied, “No, you took the last one.” She responded, “OH GOOD! I’ve got the perfect guy for you then!” *Sigh* She then proceeded to suck me into her friendship web, and I suppose we’ve now reconciled our differences. We began reminiscing on some of Staci’s wilder days, which prompted Staci to yell at us when she overheard some of the stories we were telling Brosa and Thumper (“NOT on my wedding day guys!!”).
We were done by midnight and headed out. We were supposed to stay at my house but my brother decided to get the Swine Flu, and that put a damper on those plans. Luckily, an old friend came through and asked his mother if I could stay with her. Her house is legendary. Good ole Wanda. We used to always go to Wanda’s in high school. Her son even referred to his house as Wanda’s. There was always a party at Wanda’s. So, when word got out that we were staying at Wanda’s, I started receiving a lot of nostalgic texts and facebook messages. In fact, us staying at Wanda’s was the talk of the wedding, and everyone wanted to come stay the night there for old time’s sake.
So, Diary, I guess you can tell I’ve had a pretty eventful week and need a nap. I have a lot more to say about this past weekend, but I’m really tired, and my bed is looking very appealing. I will write to you soon!
Love,
Danielle
xoxo
Drunk or sober, I am the best dancer in the world. If I were to post from the annals of my memoirs, as you do, the tales of reckless abandon and wanton rascality would create an uproar. That is all.
Your pal,
Tex
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