Fade to black…

The bartender smiles as we walk in and asks us: “Are you girls here for breakfast?”

Both of us giggle and say… “Nope… Beer.”

Which is a pretty surefire sign that we had way too much fun last night.

Drinking on an empty stomach with a dented ego is perhaps not the best idea I’ve ever had. Doing it in heels and a little black dress…. was fabulously fun.

We joked about it before we left.

J- I’m gonna get black out drunk tonight- don’t let me ride the bull in my dress.

K- Well wear panties anyway just in case I can’t stop you.

J- You’re funny.

To my horror, I realized when I woke up at 6:30 this morning…. that I’d succeeded. I haven’t the foggiest idea about the end of the night. None. Once those little pink and blue shots started showing up… it gets fuzzy… or… black. 🙂

I grabbed my phone… and OH FUCK, please no… Yep. Plain as day- there was his number in my dialed calls…. 2:32 AM… Great. I prayed I didn’t leave a message- and put my phone away…

So as we’re sitting at Connie’s- I confess my gigantic absence of judgment in drunk dialing him.

J- Worst case scenario- I left a message- right?

K- Did you check the length of the call?

J- No.

K- Yeah it’ll tell you how long the call lasted.

J- Fuck.

K- What?

J- 4 Minutes and 40 seconds.

K- Oh no…You talked to him. You did not leave a 5 minute voice mail.

Fabulous. Nothing like making a drunken late night declaration.



I think to myself, beer only from now on- no more drinks named after candy.

Neither of us even remember who took these pictures- and I lost an earring. I have my drunk face on… oh my.

My sister looked at me and said:

K- Listen. We went out- got shitfaced- left on our feet, in our shoes, in a cab home together, alone! We had a great time- and anybody who thinks anything of any of it can go to hell.

J- You have peanut shells in your shoes.

K- Beer only from now on.

No hangover… but I’d rather have one right now than not remember- and hey- my makeup is still great- we may go in later…

in jeans….

and flats.

for beer.


Bad choice of words & pervert of the day- Bonus Points!

If it wasn’t already a fabulous & sun-shiny day?

I have a contender for the worst email EVER in my internet dating adventure.

Go ahead and laugh a little- it’s so bad it’s good.

Can you keep up with me?

Hey hot farm girl, WOW! I’m into health myself. What are you growing to feed me? I’m a bit further than 50 miles but sometimes you just gotta get out of your own solar system to find your steller fire! Are we having fun yet! Let me know what I have to do to fit into your orbit.


I’m actually not kidding. No exaggeration- his name is Lunar.

My ex chose to change his name from Brett- to Solar.

The night I met Flintstone at the 219’er my ex came walking in (welcome to MY life). Flintstone laughed and introduced himself as “Lunar”after my sister told him my ex’s name was Solar.

If only this email were a joke from Flintstone… but no… the guys name really is Lunar.

He’s also 47 years old, Hairy Italian  and 6’7”  …um…that’s like dating an NBA player, without the hot black part.


He lives in Montana which, again, is never going to happen purely because they have even more snow than we do. Ugh- I hate the cold. I hate the snow. I want sun- sand- and a reason to be in bikini shape year round. I want gardenias in my flower garden. A pomegranate tree… a giant Meyer Lemon. Desperately- some day.

He’s 47, never been married and doesn’t have kids. See the flashing red lights? Bad, bad news. Any man that makes it as a single man that far in life is either non-committal or your garden-variety nightmare. Ick. Give me a crazy ex-wife any day- nothing is crazier than a guy over 40 who hasn’t been married. No kids? No thanks. Which is completely unfair because my kids loved the guy I dated who didn’t have kids- but then there are exceptions to every rule.

The kiss of death? (as if there needs to be one at this point)

This is what it says on his profile:  I read a lot of metaphysical/spiritual stuff along christian biblical lines

Another scary weird overly-confident old man stepping up to the plate.


Somehow 40 sounds a lot less exciting after you’ve seen 20…