Hitting the bar … then the sack

0

Well folks, I’m officially pathetic. On what was supposed to be an entertaining getaway with my husband to celebrate my little sister’s 30th, I confirmed what I’d already suspected: I hate crowded bars, loud music and late nights. In other words, I’m old.

We’d been anticipating this trip to Chicago for a while. Everyone was planning to meet up early at my sister’s favorite Michigan State-designated pub, and then hit various other drinking holes as the night progressed. Since I try not to imbibe past the dinner hour, I was delighted. I could do this!

The odds of me keeping pace with the youngins were seriously against me, though, as I slept like poo the night before. Thank God for Doo. He force-fed me coffee, aspirin and a steak sandwich, and reminded me I birthed four babies. So I headed to the first bar hopped on caffeine and maternal self-confidence. Go elderly!

But by 4 p.m., only one hour into the festivities, I was already fed up with the high-decibel tunage and masses of yuppies crowding my space. I really just wanted to wrap up in my Snuggie and judge people in “Hoarding: Buried Alive.” Doo, on the other hand, was in his element, yucking it up with everyone he met and reliving his preparent glory days.

But I had come for my sister and was not going to disappoint. So when my AARP-member mom asked if I wanted to leave and have an early dinner at the stodgy Ralph Lauren Grill, I politely lied through my teeth and proclaimed my strong desire to keep the evening rolling. I was having fun, damn it! And sure enough, the next thing I knew, I’d been illegally sardined into a taxi with Doo and five blonde sorority chicks on my way to God knows where. Yay!

Between 7 and 8 p.m., I faked a happy face and pretended like this was the most awesome night of my life, while I watched Doo and everyone else slowly but surely descend into blissful, Red-Bull-and-vodka oblivion. When a 2-foot-long grilled cheese behemoth sent Doo into fits of hysterical laughter, however, I cried, “Uncle!” I hailed a cab, made fast friends with my Pakistani driver and then collapsed into bed alone at 8:30 p.m. In my defense, it was 9:30 p.m. Eastern. Peace out.

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Hitting the bar … then the sack

0

Well folks, I’m officially pathetic. On what was supposed to be an entertaining getaway with my husband to celebrate my little sister’s 30th, I confirmed what I’d already suspected: I hate crowded bars, loud music and late nights. In other words, I’m old.

We’d been anticipating this trip to Chicago for a while. Everyone was planning to meet up early at my sister’s favorite Michigan State-designated pub, and then hit various other drinking holes as the night progressed. Since I try not to imbibe past the dinner hour, I was delighted. I could do this!

The odds of me keeping pace with the youngins were seriously against me, though, as I slept like poo the night before. Thank God for Doo. He force-fed me coffee, aspirin and a steak sandwich, and reminded me I birthed four babies. So I headed to the first bar hopped on caffeine and maternal self-confidence. Go elderly!

But by 4 p.m., only one hour into the festivities, I was already fed up with the high-decibel tunage and masses of yuppies crowding my space. I really just wanted to wrap up in my Snuggie and judge people in “Hoarding: Buried Alive.” Doo, on the other hand, was in his element, yucking it up with everyone he met and reliving his preparent glory days.

But I had come for my sister and was not going to disappoint. So when my AARP-member mom asked if I wanted to leave and have an early dinner at the stodgy Ralph Lauren Grill, I politely lied through my teeth and proclaimed my strong desire to keep the evening rolling. I was having fun, damn it! And sure enough, the next thing I knew, I’d been illegally sardined into a taxi with Doo and five blonde sorority chicks on my way to God knows where. Yay!

Between 7 and 8 p.m., I faked a happy face and pretended like this was the most awesome night of my life, while I watched Doo and everyone else slowly but surely descend into blissful, Red-Bull-and-vodka oblivion. When a 2-foot-long grilled cheese behemoth sent Doo into fits of hysterical laughter, however, I cried, “Uncle!” I hailed a cab, made fast friends with my Pakistani driver and then collapsed into bed alone at 8:30 p.m. In my defense, it was 9:30 p.m. Eastern. Peace out.

Share.

Comments are closed.

Hitting the bar … then the sack

0

Well folks, I’m officially pathetic. On what was supposed to be an entertaining getaway with my husband to celebrate my little sister’s 30th, I confirmed what I’d already suspected: I hate crowded bars, loud music and late nights. In other words, I’m old.

We’d been anticipating this trip to Chicago for a while. Everyone was planning to meet up early at my sister’s favorite Michigan State-designated pub, and then hit various other drinking holes as the night progressed. Since I try not to imbibe past the dinner hour, I was delighted. I could do this!

The odds of me keeping pace with the youngins were seriously against me, though, as I slept like poo the night before. Thank God for Doo. He force-fed me coffee, aspirin and a steak sandwich, and reminded me I birthed four babies. So I headed to the first bar hopped on caffeine and maternal self-confidence. Go elderly!

But by 4 p.m., only one hour into the festivities, I was already fed up with the high-decibel tunage and masses of yuppies crowding my space. I really just wanted to wrap up in my Snuggie and judge people in “Hoarding: Buried Alive.” Doo, on the other hand, was in his element, yucking it up with everyone he met and reliving his preparent glory days.

But I had come for my sister and was not going to disappoint. So when my AARP-member mom asked if I wanted to leave and have an early dinner at the stodgy Ralph Lauren Grill, I politely lied through my teeth and proclaimed my strong desire to keep the evening rolling. I was having fun, damn it! And sure enough, the next thing I knew, I’d been illegally sardined into a taxi with Doo and five blonde sorority chicks on my way to God knows where. Yay!

Between 7 and 8 p.m., I faked a happy face and pretended like this was the most awesome night of my life, while I watched Doo and everyone else slowly but surely descend into blissful, Red-Bull-and-vodka oblivion. When a 2-foot-long grilled cheese behemoth sent Doo into fits of hysterical laughter, however, I cried, “Uncle!” I hailed a cab, made fast friends with my Pakistani driver and then collapsed into bed alone at 8:30 p.m. In my defense, it was 9:30 p.m. Eastern. Peace out.

Share.

Comments are closed.

Hitting the bar … then the sack

0

Well folks, I’m officially pathetic. On what was supposed to be an entertaining getaway with my husband to celebrate my little sister’s 30th, I confirmed what I’d already suspected: I hate crowded bars, loud music and late nights. In other words, I’m old.

We’d been anticipating this trip to Chicago for a while. Everyone was planning to meet up early at my sister’s favorite Michigan State-designated pub, and then hit various other drinking holes as the night progressed. Since I try not to imbibe past the dinner hour, I was delighted. I could do this!

The odds of me keeping pace with the youngins were seriously against me, though, as I slept like poo the night before. Thank God for Doo. He force-fed me coffee, aspirin and a steak sandwich, and reminded me I birthed four babies. So I headed to the first bar hopped on caffeine and maternal self-confidence. Go elderly!

But by 4 p.m., only one hour into the festivities, I was already fed up with the high-decibel tunage and masses of yuppies crowding my space. I really just wanted to wrap up in my Snuggie and judge people in “Hoarding: Buried Alive.” Doo, on the other hand, was in his element, yucking it up with everyone he met and reliving his preparent glory days.

But I had come for my sister and was not going to disappoint. So when my AARP-member mom asked if I wanted to leave and have an early dinner at the stodgy Ralph Lauren Grill, I politely lied through my teeth and proclaimed my strong desire to keep the evening rolling. I was having fun, damn it! And sure enough, the next thing I knew, I’d been illegally sardined into a taxi with Doo and five blonde sorority chicks on my way to God knows where. Yay!

Between 7 and 8 p.m., I faked a happy face and pretended like this was the most awesome night of my life, while I watched Doo and everyone else slowly but surely descend into blissful, Red-Bull-and-vodka oblivion. When a 2-foot-long grilled cheese behemoth sent Doo into fits of hysterical laughter, however, I cried, “Uncle!” I hailed a cab, made fast friends with my Pakistani driver and then collapsed into bed alone at 8:30 p.m. In my defense, it was 9:30 p.m. Eastern. Peace out.

Share.

Comments are closed.