When a dirty martini becomes an invite into the carpool

Days have gone by in a massive whirlwind that almost feels like a tornado swept through, swirled around in my flat(causing unnecessary gnats in my already unruly hair) and brushed out. Only there’s still a few high powered winds that seem to want to stick around.

How often do you find yourself sitting in front of a live show. How often do you know someone who the show is based on. And then the ever elusive, how often do you stay up late on a school night god knowing that IBprofen is going to be your best friend in the morning.

Hang over hot mess.

The show was a major success, several of us headed into the city to watch the live syndication and it couldn’t have been more excited. You almost half expected Bob Barker to pop through the silver velvet drapes and present his overly tanned self to the crowd.

In serious need to celebrate, we headed out to a bar down the street and dominated a corner. And by dominated I mean we dominated their vodka supply.

Extra dirty martinis a go go. It was absolute bliss. With the music blaring, excitement pumping we settled on the one thing that can make you forget you were ever hungry. A dirty martini. But I thought that excessive drinking causes the munchies you ask? Oh no, the olives cure those pesky hunger pangs.

While I was finally getting a chance to talk to some friends I hadn’t talked to all night, I got the firm tap on the shoulder. That tap on the shoulder that when you turn to look and see what is going on, you know you should have just ignored it.

Let’s rewind this just a tad. I had all intentions of driving into the city by myself only because I know how I am with going out and am always there to offer rides but am never the first to leave. Try close to the last or somewhere in the middle. I chat, let loose and have fun.

I rode in with a group. Everyone in the group had to work the next day. Now mind you, there are some times when you go out and think good god when did 9pm feel like 2AM?

And vice versa.

But not this night. I had wanted to celebrate with everyone because we had all been talking about it for weeks on end. Because it was going to be outrageously exciting, because this group is outrageously exciting.

I turned and saw the faces of my group and knew, this girl, pointing in the direction of my own chest would be going home with them.

We left early, I was completely beside myself that they didn’t want to stay and celebrate. We had just gotten everyone together and were already slipping out for the night. Royal bummer. Over the weekend I stopped into my friend’s shop to see how she was and how everything turned out and got the whole rundown.

And a big fat holler that I missed everything.

What was meant to be was meant to be, the ride out was pretty fun. There’s another taping this week and it falls on the wretched day that I’d love to forget and a bunch of us are heading back into the city for it. Because of the day it falls on, I requested a triple dirty martini and a date was in order. I’m getting a handful of dates, we’ll see how strong the drink is then.

I’ve recuperated somewhat from this weekend, the rest is a whole other animal of a post that will take more than a few glasses of wine and antibiotics to pump out...

But until then, if you didn’t already catch my last post about not so shameless plugging. I’m up to schenanigans again. Here’s a glimpse of what I got to see on Thursday for my friend’s taping. Its up on Youtube and streaming live via Facebook at 9am CST this morning while she gives out this week’s assignment/competition.



Happy Tuesday