Socializing

I got a bloody nose after a blow to the face this weekend. That's how my weekend began.

 

Friday night there was a going-away party for our friend from college OH and her husband, who are moving to Boston for law school and business school. There was a room rented at Monica's, a Mexican food restaurant in the Deep Ellum area of Dallas, and about 40 or so people there to celebrate and say their farewells.

 

We ended up staying for a while because it started raining like there was no tomorrow outside, and obviously none of us had brought umbrellas. We camped out until the rain subsided; drinking margaritas and Pacifico and taking pictures until people started bleeding. I'm joking, It takes more than a facial injury to keep me down.

 

HA and I got in fights with EM's elbows as she was posing for a picture Friday night; she got a hit to the jaw and I to the right side of my nose. EM's husband is a doctor, currently doing his residency in orthopedic surgery, so she motioned him over saying "I'm so sorry! It's okay- W is a doctor, he'll fix it!"

 

So after tequila consumption in the form of three-dollar margs, everyone decided that it was time to go "out". BF and I hopped in her boyfriend's truck and met up with everyone at a bar in the Uptown area of Dallas. It was ridiculously crammed full of people, but we stayed and the night was basically a game of "what sounds good to drink, BF?" who requested a vodka soda with two lemons and one lime, then a Bloody Mary and wanted neither.

 

The bar in this place was a huge square and so we all basically made a game of trying to find each other the whole night. We would find three people here, but five would be on the complete opposite corner, and by the time you shimmied over to try and meet up, that group had already migrated.

 

At one point BF (now with a Coors Light) and I were trying to locate her boyrfriend and his friends and were halted by some old guys who struck up a conversation. I never know what to think of these people, the vibe they give off is so ambiguous. Are you hitting on me or are you gay? You are in the vicinity of my parents' age, you're wearing a graphic t-shirt and lots of product in your hair, so it's really unclear.

 

Friday night (Saturday morning) ended around the 2 AM mark, eating taquitos in our kitchen and wishing EM a happy 24th birthday. You know you're in a new phase of life when your first overnight guests are a married couple and their dog.  

 

Saturday was largely unproductive- MG and KS made a birthday breakfast for EM and after chatting and eating I was ready for an A.M. nap. I somehow made it to the gym and upon arriving home, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was shocked that I had allowed myself to stir out of doors with such an appearance.

 

I took my sweet time getting ready and met friends at Cuba Libre for mojotos and dinner to celebrate my friend RD's birthday. We spent some quality time arguing which tacos were the best on the menu and when dinner wrapped up, I had planned to go home.

 

Planned, being the key word.

 

I was conned into going out, for the second night in a row, this time to a bar that's more like three bars in one, and boasting a room with its own D.J. lots of antique chairs. BF was riding with me, and while in the valet line she decided she didn't want to wear pants. You heard me- she was wearing a dress in the first place, but had paired it with some slim-fitting jeans underneath to wear to dinner. For the dancing portion of the evening, she decided to ditch the jeans and shimmied them off just as the valet guys were opening our doors, none-the-wiser.

 

It took her boyfriend about an hour to notice... par for the weekend, if you ask me. 

 

Usually when there is anticipation of an event, it ends up less fun that expected, whereas unplanned evenings have more of an opportunity to pleasantly surprise you. You may get hit in the nose every once in a while, but it's nothing tequila can't fix.

Show me a girl with her feet planted firmly on the ground and I'll show you a girl who can't put her pants on.

-Annik Marchand