*blue balls not included.
While it’s no surprise I’m getting older (shocking, right?), I’m not getting any better with the handling of my alcohol. In fact, it’s getting worse. I have two-day hangovers and I spend the entire day after a night of drinking praying to porcelain Gods and Target bags. Even worse than that, I made a POINT to drink water in between drinks and to NOT have as many cocktails as I normally can hammer out. Thee liquor does not cure my ails, but creates new ones.
Leap Night sounded like a good excuse to leave my Cabin Fever behind Friday night, but with rain, sleet, sleeze and snow, we decided to keep the party indoors. Anyways, my Bumble Bee Tour Buddy and I went to Velvet Tango Room and proceeded to have one of the best times out in Cleveland that I can recall in a long time. The drinks were to perfection –first the Bourbon Daisy, then I fell in love with the Highball (thanks Paulius!) — and had the most awesome of conversations with fellow patrons B and Lawnmower Man, aka Dr. Goodtimes.
Feeling the ADD kicking in, we headed to Bier Market — where your typical asshat tried to set his beer in my hair, no seriously WTF? My friend just swung around and finger-wagged with a "Seriously?" THEN two fabulous Cleveland bloggers came over and introduced themselves. I gushed, they gushed — the Cleveland Blogger community is better than the cool table in the lunch room! Then I took some pizza from this guy sitting at the bar (thankfully not the olive pizza… OLIVE PIZZA? Blech). And Vanessa, the ultimate-est of bartenders hung out with her hotness for a minute. This was a perfect balance for a Friday.
Until we got to Touch Supper Club. Eh, I was looking to get a little dance on, but the place was dead. Deader than dead, with horrible, horrible people dead. We sat in the back for a minute and swallowed a drink, stared at the new mural above the bar, then proceeded to chat up some guy at the bar who was looking for a serious relationship. After delving into more of "the-girl-of-his-dreams" descriptors, we realized he was just looking for a piece-of-(big)-ass white chick that wanted to do crazy, kinky shit to him… and take care of his five kids. Ew.
On second thought, maybe that’s what made me sick.
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
