Saturday, May 12

What the *@&#???

It all started with Tequila. That should tell you something right there, shouldn't it?
When I went home for the Birthday Smackdown Mama G took me to Raval, a great bar in Chucktown, SC that serves infused tequila margaritas. Que? Well, it's tequila with vanilla beans, pineapple and cinnamon sticks that you keep for a few days and then mix with a lime juice (or limeade--depending on your girlishness). It was 'Nectar of the Gods good', as Mama G says.
So, I tried a recreation for V's Cinco De Mayo party which went over rather well. I then had to open my big mouth about my libational expertise (did I just coin a new phrase or shoot the English language in the foot? I can never tell.) and ended up in Ghent last night delivering some El Matador to a party.
Why would a guy I never actually dated be telling his parents about me? Don't know. Why would this guy invite my Friend to his party? Don't know. Why would I get stuck in a conversation with said Friend, guy and guy's mother? Because obviously the universe is pissed at me about something.
If this all sounds confusing to you believe me it was worse in person. I had already tried to leave three times, I was late for skeeball and that is something I take VERY seriously. I finally get out the door and am driving through the tunnel (actually stopped in the crap traffic right before the tunnel) when I reach in my bag to call V and tell her that I'm (finally) on my way and, of course, my cell phone is not in the bag. Not in the car. I have left my cell phone in hell.
Hell, at this point being a party with a guy I've slept with, one who wants to sleep with me, and wanter's mother. Ok there were others there as well, but I paid them no attention. I had to drive through the tunnel and then all the way back down to hell to get the phone. Of course both guys took this as a sign that I secretly wanted them and getting out of there was more fraught than the first three time I had attempted it. But I was determined. No one was going to stand between me and my night of skeeball.
Back in the car I check my messages and there is one from V. Now she hadn't been drinking (she was at Chuck E Cheese with our boss' kids) and I wasn't really that late, but the message she left called me a liar and a terrible person. Seriously.
Instead of driving to C.E.C. and bitch slapping her (first instinct) I turned off my phone, went home and had my own party with El Matador and BladeRunner (the director's cut without the voice-over. Very cool.)
Maybe I should have stayed at the party and confronted my penis demons, or maybe I should have gone and had it out with V. I'm sure either of those would have been more appropriate in a clearing-the-universe-of-my-weirdness kind of way but really, who wouldn't rather have a night with tequila and a young Harrison Ford?

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