So on Monday night, my wondertwin Charlotte and I went out to–and I quote–“Fuck shit up!”
And as you can see, we really, really did. I have a camera full of pictures that I only dimly remember taking and a bunch of bruises that I’m not sure how I got. Including an absolute HEARTBREAKER on my right arm, oh mah gah. That’s the problem with me–I’m clumsy with a high pain tolerance, so I’m always bumping into shit and not registering that it’s happened. Then there’s a bruise three days later and I’m all WHAAAAAAT. But lately it’s been worse, possibly because of the addition of vodka.
Ooh, anecdote: On Sunday, I smacked my arm and I thought “Damn, that’s going to be a bruise and I’m going to have no idea where it came from.” I specifically remember thinking that. Do you think I remember what I smacked my arm on, where I was or how I managed it? No. I do not.
Anyway, Charlotte and I went to Flatiron because A) it’s open until 4am, B) Wicker Park is dead on a Monday night, and C) we needed to go to a place where we wouldn’t be mistaken for hookers (happens more than you might expect when you’re 6’3″ in heels and wearing a microscopic skirt). And fuck shit up we did–I stumbled home and vomited neon red for like an hour (I hope that was the cranberry juice, or else I have some internal bleeding issues). Shots of whiskey are ALWAYS a bad idea, kids. You might want to write that down.
But I made some new friends!
This is Katelyn (sorry if I misspelled your name!), Charlotte and yours truly, getting our sexyfaces on. After this picture was taken, I screamed “OH MAH GAH! We’re a blonde, a brunette and a redhead!” We laughed for ten years. Or maybe I just did. It’s hard to judge these things sometimes.
Here is Harrison, Kyle, Charlotte’s arm and some hideous monster making a revolting face and fucking up an otherwise adorable picture. Ugh. Anyway, Harrison and Kyle are also new people that I met–I feel like I’ve met more new people in the last month than I have in years. That’s might actually be true, and it’s probably because I’m not such a hermit anymore.
Oh my god. Mum, if you’re reading this, I promise that I was wearing a skirt. And, um, Charlotte’s mum? She’s not actually passed out on the bar.
On a related topic–because it’s pretty obvious that I’m wearing them–how glad is everyone that American Apparel is making it’s thigh high socks longer??? Finally! Stuff that fits my stupidly long legs! Discussing this, Charlotte said “Yeah, thigh highs and garter belts are so sexy.” I replied “Ohhh, I don’t even need the belt. I gots big legs, those suckers stay up on their own.” “Me too!” she squealed, and then we discussed our legs some more. Sometimes I really like being a girl.
At some point during these proceedings, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in about two years. It was totally stupid; the whiskey shots were catching up with me and I totes didn’t notice that he was sitting next to me at the bar for, I don’t know, TEN FULL MINUTES. Hi, Billy! It was good to see you!
There are seriously a million pictures of Kyle, Charlotte and I on my camera. Most of them look very similar to this; Charlotte and I overemoting and chewing the scenery while Kyle looks suave and vaguely embarrassed. Also, how good is my hair looking? I told Char–who does awesome things with her hair all the time–that mine only has two things it ever wants to do: Cher (straight and swingy) and Bettie page (Really wavy). Char’s gone from dyed black to blonde twice since I’ve known her. Mad respect, yo, because that shit is HARD on your hair.
Charlotte and I have known each other since we were 18 and 19 respectively. In that time, we’ve gone after (or been gone after by) five or six of the same dudes. We are still friends; there’s just too much girl-on-girl violence in the world, you know? Hos before bros, every time.
The rest of the pictures are on Facebook, if you’re interested (and my friend). Because of course, a night out didn’t happen until someone posts the pictures on the internet. Oh well. Clearly I’m part of the problem.