I think my last post reached an all time comment high for me. Thanks again to everyone for the warm welcome back.
Ok. Let’s get to it. Tis’ the weekend of drunken debauchery.
Friday night, I met up with Marci, Law-Rah, Ninja and Eternal Freshman to help the celebration of one Diet Coke of Evil’s birthday. We had a conversation about the old hair bands, a topic near and dear to my heart. It seems like yesterday that I wavered on who was hotter – Axl Rose or Sebastian Bach. Heh. The days of either of those men making my heart go pitter patter are very much over. Time has not been kind to either. I would have been better served to invest in a crush on Tommy Lee or Nikki Sixx. Damn those boys certainly held up well. Apparently snorting coke and fucking porn stars really worked out well for them.
Anyway, one of DCOE’s friends was a fine specimen who Eternal Freshman and I were eyeing from across the bar. We exchanged some verbal notes on him, but while we were speculating on his age, I saw something that ruined it completely. He high fived a girl. Um. Again. He HIGH FIVED a girl. Who does that? Ninja and I put our asses in a cab and went home (each to our own home, you dirty minded people…no more hooking up with bloggers for Velvet, remember,) but Eternal Freshman continued onward for dancing with the gang. Sadly, I got a text from her as I was walking the doggies. It said, “You were right. No on high-five. I’m on my way home.” Phew. Glad to see that some of my basic red flags are still trustworthy.
Saturday night I met up with one KassyK, Virgle Kent and Thicky for some drinking and some dancing. Fine, make that a lot of drinking and a lot of dancing. Apparently, I, who barely drinks and lately barely eats, was able to drink a Bombay Tonic, 3 Redheaded Slut shots, half a Long Island, a lemon drop shot, some other shot ordered by VK’s friend D, wash it down with two beers and only realize how drunk I was as I hit the pavement outside and shoved a piece of pizza in my trap. Good thing for me I was drunk because Adam’s Morgan at 3 a.m. is a place I rarely see, and hope I don’t see again soon.
Parts of the night will forever live in obscurity as each of us together cannot seem to reconstruct the evening, beginning to end. I remember Thicky’s arrival. I remember VK dancing with some bridesmaid. The reason I know she was a bridesmaid is because she was wearing a wifebeater that said, “BRIDESMAID.” Heh. And a polka dot bra with the bra straps down at her elbows. (VK, that was easy, she was like half undressed already!) Anyway, I wandered off, found an incredibly hot man, swapped spit and returned with a hickey on my neck. Nice. Don’t get any ideas, I’m still not in the mood to be involved with anyone.
Sunday I parked my ass on the roof and got enough sun and skin cancer for all of us. You don’t have to thank me, someone had to do it. Around 6, the Queen of Quantity and I went to Cafe St. Ex, Local 16 and Chi Cha Lounge. We chatted with some locals. (Locals as in, “We live on U Street” not “We live in Stafford County.”) I finally hit the wall and went home to crash relatively early. I must have been tired because apparently EVERYONE decided to call or text in the middle of the night and I heard exactly none of their calls.
Monday, snooooooooooore. Is this weekend update over yet? Monday the Queen of Quantity (Lord woman, you need a shorter name) and I went to a
frat party pool party in Arlington. Actually, it was the usual scene: Girls all bitchy, guys are nice. Hmm. Whatevs. I just wanted to get some sun and tear into the fab watermelon we brought, but none of that happened. Apparently in Arlington, they put swimming pools between two buildings that are 6 stories, so the buildings block the sun for the most part. You get sun in the pool area for what? 3 hours? I wonder what Einstein architect designed that shit. This is why I lay out on my roof where the sun shines all day and I can take my top off.
My plan for Monday was to go to Rolling Thunder. Here’s my thought. I’ve tried to date these metrosexuals in D.C. and it just doesn’t work for me. I had better luck with the beefy Harley riders. I’m thinking that’s the way to go. And what better than Rolling Thunder? It’s like thousands of potential boyfriends all in one place! But sigh, it just didn’t happen for me this year. Maybe next year I’ll go.
Also at some point during the weekend, my brother called me from our parents house and said he walked into the computer room and saw my blog up on my dad’s computer screen. Um….I’ve been through so much in the last month that all I can do is laugh my ass off at this piece of information. I really don’t have anything to hide. I only hide things to prevent the lectures.
So, Mom and Dad. (Or Gloom and Doom…the alter ego’s.) I’m not going to tell you not to read, and I’m not going to block your IP address because I only do that to assholes with mental problems but, you can’t lecture me. Okay? And occasionally, you two do and say shit that is damn fine material for me. So you’ll have to deal with reading it, Velvetized, here on the blog. You will have to remember that I don’t always make the best decisions and I know this. Yes, I do drink. No I won’t go to church to try to meet a “nice Greek boy” because I don’t think they exist and I’m Agnostic anyway. Yes I lay out in the sun. No I don’t want skin cancer but it doesn’t stop me. Yes I date boys. Yes, things happen with these boys you won’t want to know about. And yes, I’m sometimes a complete asshole to these boys, but only when they deserve it. I’ll try to remember to warn you when anything I’m about to write is going to move from PG-13 to rated R. And for everyone else? I’ll try to keep that R Rating. I know you love it.