Sunday, September 21, 2008

And Your Baby's Dancin', Too

Returning from a evening of many smiles and much laughter, I am a bit exhausted and ever-so-slightly hung over...

First of all, I do recommend that if you ever need to hang out in a large crowd of people, bring Barb.  She always finds the fun people.  Last night, it was the Bare Naked Ladies guy.  No, it wasn't the actual Bare Naked Ladies guy, but a guy that Barb thought looked like one of the guys from Bare Naked Ladies.  I didn't see it, but, its not like I've actually taken a good look at any of them lately, so, what the hell do I know?

BNL Guy was hanging out with some dude we'll"Todd". 

That might be his actual name.

I've seen him around before, and I must say, he's always seemed more like a "Craig" to me.

Barb played the hook-up in her usual way--gave BNL Guy relentless shit about something, thereby introducing herself, and they were buddies for the rest of the night.  As it happens, BNL Guy and Todd were in a singing mood, and Barb marveled when, as the BoDeans took the stage, not only did BNL Guy and Todd know most of the words, they also split into harmony parts while singing them.  The show had great energy, lots of smiles, and everybody seemed to be in a dancing mood.  Very Cool.

It was one of those Face Hurts From Smiling nights--you can barely go anywhere with Barb without having that problem.

When Boogie Wonderland played Baby Got Back, and a large contingency of well-heeled women started pointing their butts at anyone who would look, her classic observation was, "I feel bad...its like the rich people never get out of the house."  For the record?  I understand why Boogie Wonderland would do that song, but I could probably survive into antiquity without ever hearing it again, and be perfect content.  I'm just sayin'.  Stupid, stupid effing song...

Besides Todd and the BNL Guy, we also had a lot of fun with the porta-potty stop watch game, in which, while standing in the loooooooong bathroom line, Barb informed those in front of us that she would be timing them, prompting discussions of how many of us grew up in a house full of men (four brothers, thank you) and therefore knew how to pee really fast.  Soon, those exiting porta-potties were met with cheers based on their time.  Imagine, if you will, women emerging from porta-potties with arms raised in triumph.  That's just a typical night out with my best friend.

We were plenty exhausted when it was all through.

I dropped Barb off with a promise to talk tomorrow, drove home to scrounge through pill bottles in search of essential relief (Is it fair that doing anything fun causes head and spinal pain?  I'm so tired of it...), washed it down with a beer and sat in silence on the patio, waiting for the Vicodin to undo all the damage I did to myself in standing, dancing, and general jumping around. 

It sucks to have the body of a 157 year old.  And, not just the pain issues, you know how much moisturizer it takes just to stay looking 40?

Sarah drunk-dialed at around 1:30, apparently to get my expert opinion on the subject of eye-f*cking--that's a subject for a different post--and after a brief how-the-hell-are-ya, she noticed she was really shit-faced and should probably go to bed.  I said, yeah, that the pill was hitting me, and I should go, too.  It was sweet that this little girl (age 24), who had been drinking since 9AM, woke up at that point, enough to lecture me about pills and booze.

"Go to sleep, Sarah..."

"You be safe, OK?"

"I'm home.  I'm safe.  I've had a whole three beers since 6 o'clock.  One pill.  Go to sleep..."


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