Thursday, September 3, 2009

Am I Too Old For This...?

Do you ever wake up after an especially (and unnecessarily) long weekend and think - am I getting too old to be doing stuff like this?

Last weekend, Dev and I started out Friday night going to an 80s cover band concert. Of course we can't just go and enjoy the sweet melodies of her favorite era, oh no. Firstly, we MUST dress up as obnoxious as possible... we don't want anyone looking at us like we're losers. Next step, we meet up at a friend's apt who is pregaming before the party bus arrives (thats right, party bus). Bring on the jungle juice and jello shots! Dancing around a large, moving vehicle while screamsinging and chewing my way through a rainbow assortment of evil (jello shots) got me a wee bit nauseous, so i spent a solid 15 min on the floor of the bathroom texting everyone about how I was "gonna barf FACT". This was not a fact, however, and Dev yanked me up and elbowed our way to the stage Will Ferrell-dart scene-Old School style. The band was surprisingly good (and young!) and we enjoyed them very much. We hit the party bus again to get back to the friend's apt where an afterparty bops on. The neon was blinding and the spandex was rampant. It was glorious. Then the hottest cops you've ever seen broke up the party (and my liver silently rejoiced). Dev decided to steal someone's bed, but not me. No, I am too classy. I decided to sleep in the car... the backseat you ask? Why, that would be too logical! I recline the passenger seat past where it probably was meant to recline, turn on the butt warmer and some music, gnaw on a LUNA bar and pass out face down. (For the record, I was wearing stretchy black pleather pants, a neon yellow shirt, a side ponytail, the sweetest leather fanny pack ever, and orange hightop Converse [I know how badass those shoes are, thank you for saying so.] so I can only imagine how I looked to the neighbors walking their dogs and playing with their children in the morning.)

After she comes and taps on the window at about 9:30 am, we head back down to our apt where I continue to sleep until 12:30 pm. Then, that trick makes me go to her damn football game. After the game we return to our apt and admit to each other the mutual overwhelming urge to rent "Twighlight" and watch it before the sisters McFreaky come down that night. (Side note: we're obsessed. I'm a gay, 13-year-old boy in drag.)

We don't make it to the bar until about 1 am but pound the drinks accordingly. The sisters meet us out to basically walk us home where we stand in my kitchen girl talking and taking shots of tequila (patron, a thank you) until about 5 am. Necessary? Hell no, but it friggin' happened. I digress...

Next morning, these bitches wake my ass up at 10 am so that we can go have brunch with our gays in Weho. (In gay talk "brunch" means "get wasted during the day and watch hot men dance around in their underwear".) We drive up and begin at about noon-ish. Golden Girls is playing in the background, the mimosas keep coming, and the conversation is abundant (just like David's laughter - one of my new faves!) and before we know it we're staging a photo shoot at the bar/restaurant. Sexually harassing our adorable bar tender Ivan is on the itinerary and of course dancing like robots (sexy robots). It's about 3 pm ish... we should really start heading back.... but everyone is going to another bar! I just hate feeling left out...

After the next bar (where lil Momo showed us how to do a sweet floor slide under my legs) Dev and I head back down home. We arrive to our sweet bachelorette pad and decide we're bored. It's only 8 pm! 

We walk to Patrick Malloys and guess what - half off all bombs! A dance party with just the two of us on the floor and three bombs in, we decide maybe we've had enough. We run into her friend and his buddy, I decide I hate his buddy (he was a douche) and bitch the guy out. We come up to our apt, realize I have locked us out, accidentally break our neighbors doorbell and Dev has to break into our window. Good night.

Next morning (Monday), I wake up at like 1 pm and I feel like SHIT. Dev is at work and she must feel 10 times worse I can imagine. I am filled with a sense of embarrassment, nausea and a little bit of dread (it's a small town out here). I can barely speak b/c when I party too hard I lose my voice. Am I getting to old for this? 

After a call from the bank about "fraudulent charges on my card" (which I assume is just all the bars I hit up over the weekend) I have to go in and talk to someone. Naturally, the hottest teller to ever grace Bank of America is the guy I have to deal with. How are we supposed to fall in love and skip on the beach if he sees my account, realizes my spending habits and asks why I am not at work on a Monday? On top of that, I didn't bother to put on make-up, I sound like a 60-year-old smoker and am sweating out the weekend through my pores. He helps me out (turns out there really was fraudulent stuff) but I get the sneaking suspicion he thinks I'm a terrorist or a spy from the way he grills me about old addresses and what I do for a living. I need some green tea...

I go to a coffee shop and need to leave because I start getting that weird mouth watering sensation and I think I'm gonna barf on the weird hippie guy next to me who smells like a pot factory.

I come back into the apt, leaving the front door open to get fresh air circulating inside and go into the bathroom. False alarm. I come out into the hallway and hear a strange noise in the kitchen. What the hell... there's a damn bird in my kitchen trying to escape out the window! I start yelling at it to get out (I heard birds speak German so I know he couldn't understand me) but it refuses. I don't want to deal with this!

The bird gets more and more hysterical, as do I, so I get a broom. I think I saw them do this on an episode of "Whose the Boss?" so I'm sure it will work. After ten minutes of trying to sweep it back into the hallway and screeching everytime it gets near me, I realize I'm going to have to get the kitchen window open. I shoo the bird over to the fridge, unlatch the screen and beat it toward the window. That little fucker hesitates on the window sill, looking out at the freedom it took me 20 min to give the little idiot. Another bop with the broom and it's out. I shut the screen and put the broom down, my arm brushing my chest as I do. What is that...? It's BIRD SHIT! On my FUCKING boob! Which has now been transferred to my bracelets. A bird shit on me in my own house. Is this some bizarre warning from God?

Dev gets home a few hours later and we're talking about our days and upcoming events.
Dev: "By the way, don't forget, we're going to Vegas this weekend!"
I mull this over a moment... can I handle yet another crazy weekend full of assorted animals, colorful drinks, and dance parties?
Me: "Oh, man we're gonna get wasted!"

What the hell, I'm only 24.

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