Good morning, dear readers. It's 2:42 am. I got home about a half an hour ago from what could be a contender in the top 10 most wasted nights out in my life. But I'd really rather not get into that.
OK, I'll get into it. First of all men-wise, the club we were at was a true creep-fest. The only high point of the boy situation was a spotty-faced 22-year-old that guessed I was 26. When I said, wrong, 35, he seemed genuinely surprised. Now it could be he realized I was much older and he wanted some Mrs. Robinson loving, but I choose to believe I look young.
Second, I paid $6.50 for watered down vanilla vodka and Diet Cokes. Puh-lease! I am the world's cheapest drunk and I felt nothing. Usually I am quite fuzzy by drink number three.
Lastly, I am sore as hell. The face may look 26, but the body feels every bit of it's 35 years today. I did hours and hours of yard work at my mom's so I was already sore. And to top it off I wore super high heels. I am literally limping.
So now I am at home. I ate two English muffins and a cherry popsicle, am wearing knickers and a t-shirt and feel somewhat happier with life. My tootsies still hurt though.
I think I'm past clubbing. I've been clubbing since I was 18 and I think it's time to retire. I just don't find it fun anymore. I'd rather go to a bar and talk. Ultimately, I'd like to sit in my knickers and eat cherry popsicles.
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