D.E.S.P.E.R.A.T.E.

Up here in the frigid tundra we call Min-knee-soooo-da vitamin D has been on back order. Oh, yah, hey, we've really missed havin' the sunshine for the last 4 months. So if we look at little desperate at 56 degrees Fahrenheit-we are. We, I mean my hubby, gets reacquainted with the grill. Yup, we break out the lawn chairs. We tuck em back in the garage, safe from the wind and right, smack dab, in the center of the sun's rays. We bust out frozen can cool-ies from the freezer and dip into the icy cold brew-ha-ha supply. Just add neighbors and voila-instant par-tay. Now those knuckleheads who are out and about sporting shorts? Now, those are some seriously hearty souls (and slightly nucking futs, if ya know what I mean).

Nothin' good happens after midnight?!?

Woweee! Nothing like living the high life, acting like you're still 21! Maybe it's cause Turbo and I were room-mates when we were 21-ish. That was back when Turbs drank nothing but, "The champagne of beers," or, "baseball beer as he called it." He probably had to consume a few beers to deal with livin' in a house full of girls. He claims we all once sat around and watched him scrub and scour the pizza-greased oven. Hmmmm, I plead the 5th. Well, anywho no Miller High Life this weekend, but plenty of Premiums, way too many Glueks, a couple of Honey Weiss' and a Blue Moon or two and we were well on the way. On the way to where is the question? We started out the evening acting our respective ages as we conversed about weather (ha), literature (ya right), the current economic state (bor-ing!) and boogers. Not just boogers, but boogers being flung and caught and well, you had to be there. But here's the thing, it was my first real opportunity to hang out with the gal that stole Turb's heart. Gotta watch out for an old friend, ya know? But here's the truth. Dustene is the coolest gal ever, I just love her. I even had to razz Turbo a little about how he fooled such a keeper to put up with him and his hot-dog-roaster/bun-toaster. But, alas he did and the four of us took Jackson by the balls (baseballs if you will). First stop Pillars, a fine establishment where I took the liberty of drawing something inappropriate and phallic on the dry erase board. Serves em right for leaving the markers out in plain site. Real mature, I know, but not illegal. Then straight to the LOD Baby or the Legion of Doom aka the American Legion (thanks Vets). To my surprise they were giving out, "souvenir," Budwieser/Twins glasses so Dustene and I each happily tucked one in our handbags. Um, totally mature and slightly illegal. So if you frequent J-town you know last call is always at Bucksnorts since they serve until 2. Whoever said nothing good happens after midnight clearly never stayed out until 2! We met this handsome devil, I sat in the best seat in the house and we snuck home with yet another Budweiser, "souvenir," beer bucket. I'm lucky I'm not in jail. 2pm, my judgement is clearly impaired and I have a feeling my bar-mates were in the same boat. But, who can call it quits without a round or two of night caps beers paired with a dominating round of Catch Phrase (and 2 bags of Doritos). Thankfully we had the where-with-all to call a semi-sober driver to take our stinky butts home (thank you my dear sweet Brotha Nooncy). This is what time it was when we got in the car to go home. 4am people. Four A-M is what time I drifted off (passed out) in bed. Hmmm, grow up? Nah.

Dance Party 34b cup and friends...

Remember when we used to pull on our size 4 Express "black pants," tuck our feet into uncomfortable shoes and freeze b/c we left our jackets in the car while we ran I.D. in hand to the club entrance?!? Gosh, we WERE all that and a can-a-beans fur sure! Those were the days of pressing the 34b cups up against the bar in attempt to get the bartenders attention (dah-it didn't work). I know you recall the nights of purchasing round after round of at-the-time-expensive cocktails and waking the next morning feeling like someone kicked your arse, stole all your money and pooped in your mouth (yes, some of this still happens). These were the nights of wearing matching bra and undies AND pre-parties AND after-parties. Then at some point you get old... Everyone you hang with procreates and the party moves from sticky dance floors to sunken living rooms. Instead of starting at 9 we meet at 5. Instead of bartenders we self retrieve beers from the garage fridge. AND instead of matching undergarments I make sure I don't have any holes in my wool socks. BUT, my friends, we haven't completely lost it yet. The consumption still happens and then we do this... (sorry it so dark-we keep it that way so you can't see the forming crows feet) Can't wait to see you tomorrow (without the beer goggles on).