DC is awesome…if you attend an all-you-can-drink event.

06Aug07

Ahh, Saturday. Not only is it my favorite day of the week, but it’s also a prime day for drinking, because you get to sleep in that day in order to be well rested for the events to come. When I got back from the gym on Saturday, feeling uber fit, I got a message from my homie….

“Hey, there’s an all-you-can-drink for $20 tonight at McFadden’s, so we’re going to go to that then come back and go to Cornerstone. Sounds like a fun plan.”

Errr…? ALL you can drink? All I can drink (wipe me down)?! Until what? Until I die….or hurl? Either way, this sounds like an event that cannot be missed, so I jump in the shower and make my way over to her residence to get ready….and preparty. Seriously, who does that?! When I get there, we need to be heading out the door, so I quickly chug a beer and a rum and diet pepsi. Yes….already on the way.

Fast forward…by the time we get to the bar, I’ve decided that the 4-inch spiked heels I’m wearing probably weren’t the best idea since we had to walk a little ways to the bar from the metro. Clearly, I must start drinking immediately. I started with a rum and diet (just to keep things constant). In the beginning, we’re going through the pleasantries of meeting friends of a friend, i.e. nice to meet you, this bar is fun, oh you speak spanish? How nice. Snore. I need more drinks….

Three drinks later, I’m feeling the urge to cut a little rug. Lo and behold, “Beat It” comes on! Yeeees. I proceed to do the Michael Jackson dance, feeling like a champ. And…oh my, F1’s boob pops out! Ahhh! “I saw your areola!” Actually, I didn’t see it, which is cool because I’m not really in the market for that, right?

Fast forward…I feel like a dancing queen. I need a song that portrays how fabulous I am. I request “Show Stoppin‘” by Danity Kane. However, the DJ is not sure what CD this is on, and will not play “California Love” because he will not play west coast rap. I sense some hating, but try to make friends with him anyway. He kisses my hand. (

By this time, I notice that there are a plethora of men at the bar with buzz cuts…military party perhaps? I sashay over and inquire. He says, “We’re state troopers…”

I reply, “So you’re the one that gave me that ticket? Thanks.” I talk to him for a couple of minutes before I get bored, then excuse myself for more drankin‘. I’ve decided to switch to beer since the liquor was clearly going to my head. However, dancing with a full beer is pretty difficult and both my beer and friend’s beer end up mostly on my shirt. I look like I am vacationing in Cancun for a hot body wet t-shirt contest. I am a goddess.

Apparently (this is where it gets a little blurry), I become a fat kid in a candy shop when I see a pole. This doesn’t surprise me, as I usually prefer dancing with poles to dancing with men. I was told I stepped on some guy’s foot while dancing, and he said, “Whoa there, watch out.” Which then results in me telling him he needs a new shirt before he says anything to me and blah blah blah. Wow, I’m such a little pitbull. And I thought I was being nice that night too. Oh well.

All-you-can-drink is now over…so we’re ready to bounce and do it up in CP. I see my girl talking to some pale man in a black button down bowling shirt (LAME), so we proceed to cockblock like no one has cockblocked before. As she’s talking to this dude, I repeatedly run up to her, booty dance on her for a minute, then run away. Her man looks confused. Finally, we depart…I’m surprised we didn’t hear whistles and claps behind us.

My feet hurt. Our other partner in crime, being the gentleman he is, offers me his flip flops and walks barefoot in downtown DC. My hero…we get to the metro station and have to switch in order to get on (“Son, you need to be wearing shoes to get on the metro”). [Insert events here]

Fast forward…we are at the metro platform. Friend #1 is staring at the escalator wall while we wait like 10 minutes for the next metro. I feel a little queasy and express the idea of hurling. Friend #2 says, “Here, just make yourself throw up in this traffic cone, I’ll block you.” Umm…okay, sounds like a grand idea. I stick my finger down my throat and feel much much better. The traffic cone, however, doesn’t look so good. Ew. I also I think I got some on F2, but you can’t really be mad if you suggest someone should throw up in a traffic cone. [Insert events here]

We are at Ratsies, eating pizza and french fries. This is awesome. The searing hot cheese burns my fingers, but I don’t care. I’m hungry. We laugh and rehash what we remember. F1 is very very adamant about continuing on to Cornerstone, but even in my retarded state I know that this is NOT a good idea. Giggles continue until we make it back and go to sleep. Ah…alcohol is grand.

The next morning, I wake up and my miniskirt is ripped in many places! Why? Allegedly, since it’s so short we all had to keep pulling it down and it got a bit distressed in the process. Oh well, it’s an infamous stripper skirt now.

xoxo

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