Sometimes I'm at a loss for words. Like today for example. For my faithful few, however, I will do my best.
I went out with Skinny Athletic Girl and the Blondes Saturday night. I had a blast! Heard a great band, played Darts, I totally suck at Darts, btw, and drank Michelob Ultra. I'm not a big beer fan but this wasn't too bad. Plus it's supposedly a low carb, lower calorie beer. So, what the hell, right?
I had a decent hair night and the make-up looked great. I was pretty happy with the outfit, a nice purple top with jeans and cute shoes. Jewelry was rockin as always. Overall, I walked out of my diggs with a pretty healthy chunk of postive energy.
I'm mostly on time when I arrive and SAG's house. More positive energy. She opens the door and Damn. She's 5'11" and is all legs. The fitted dress she wore barely came below her "bum". I couldn't fault her for it because she looked H-O-T. I'd like to look that H-O-T one day! If I had a body like hers, I would totally dress like that just to pick soymilk up from the grocery. I would.
To make matters worse, she's gotten the P90X thing and is talking about her workouts and how sore she is. Of course, I'm thinking I should be sore from working out, not her. She says she's finally getting definition in her calves to which I reply "Finally?". I couldn't help it.
I found out what the P90X thing is...it's a 90-day regiment of complete muscle confusion. It's supposed to really smack your body out of and into shape. I know a Bride who's currently on the program. She's always on Facebook about it. It's tiresome really. The status updates, not the plan. Well, maybe the plan, too, but I wouldn't know. I don't use it.
The Blondes arrived and thank GAWD they are not wearing skimpy dresses. The Blondes could totally wear little skimpy dresses, I assure you. Oh--I call them The Blondes because I'm not blonde and they are...I can't reveal much more than that to protect my secret Fat Girl identity. Anyway, The Blondes are wearing jeans and tops, all looking much more fetching in their clothes than I am. But, I do have a great hair accessory. Kudos for me.
We're out for the evening having a grand old time. We all love the band. Great band! Wish I could share the name, but alas, I've got my secret identity to think about. Close to closing time, we head up to After-Hours bar. This place seems like a good idea at the time everybody's saying "Yeah, let's go!" but they're not. They're really not.
Every drunk girl and boy out on a Saturday night happen to be at After-Hours bar. We're all packed in like Sardines. It's horrible. Really. I'm separated from my posse by a sea of entering and exiting drunkards. I'm being felt up by some dude sitting by a chick too drunk to notice. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?
Continuing with the story...I finally make it across the great divide and perch at the bar feeling a little safer. You can smoke in this club so both service and an ashtray are immediately available. It doesn't get much better than that. We're all pretty content, SAG and The Blondes have latched on to two guys. These are former "friends" of SAG. Conversation is flowing. Then, the boys have a few friends join them. This is the moment I stop enjoying myself.
All the sudden these three asses wedge themselves between me and The Blondes and I get completely shut out. Don't misunderstand me. I really don't care about the attention or lack thereof, I care about the complete lack of acknowledgement that I was even part of this group. Why don't these boys do the decent thing and pretend to include me in the convo? Well, I did the only thing a respectable girl could do in my position. I lit another cigarette and let it billow in their faces. I was going to accidentally burn them, but I didn't get the opportunity. My girls saved me. These skinny girls walked away from their fanclub and pulled me with them. Now that's cool.
It may seem like I don't like SAG and The Blondes, but that isn't true. They're my peeps. I heart them! Besides, even if I were on the same level of H-O-T-ness as they are, which I am already in my own way, there'd still be something to bitch about. We're girls. It's what we do.