Last Friday night I felt a lot better than I had all week and as such fully convinced myself that I was on the mend. With that in mind, I decided it would be a great idea to spend the weekend at my sister’s house in the valley where I could laugh and chat with my bro (La Bamba) and sis (Nala) and then hang out with my outrageously adorable nephews Elias and Tobias.
So Saturday morning my mom and I headed out just in time to make it to Elias’ first baseball game of the season (yes in true renaissance form we are a family of academia, art and sport). I am not sure who really won but I guess everyone did since no one was keeping score…sweet GO RANGERS!
Well given that I get extremely cold at any sign of wind and was still on the mend, for the game I decided that it was perfectly okay to be decked out in a beanie, scarf, gloves to complete my usual Olsen Twins look. Hello totally appropriate right? Well this random dude came to talk to La Bamba's mom, whom I was sitting next too, and then he randomly turns to me and says “Hey, you look like that dog.” UM, WTF?!?!
Perhaps I should preface this by saying that my gloves and matching beanie are light and dark green stripes with a matching solid green scarf (cute, right. And I don’t mean that as a question, I mean that as a California statement whereas we end all of our statements with the word right, right) and said dog he was referencing is Blues Clues who I guess wears a light and dark blue stripe scarf and maybe a similar stripped hat hat but I can’t back that up. BUT come the fuck on, who says that to a girl? Esp. one that a) you don’t know and b) is WAYYYY hotter than you. Of course, I then proceed to rag on him for the duration of the scoreless game to which he keeps apologizing and telling me I am totally cute but seriously dude…in no mood for your antics. Whatever.
After the game, and with a slightly less self-absorbed ego, the fam and I head out to a restaurant where you can throw peanuts on the floor. Actually my real purpose for heading out to Trace to begin with (aside from the game) is this place; I have been demanding to go there since I found out that you could do this sort of thing. I am an incredible and rather ridiculous rule follower so the fact that it was in the rules to litter it totally brilliant. Well it totally delivered and even scored extra bonus points for blaring country music (which I rather happen to enjoy but rarely get to listen to because no one else I know likes it) while having their waiters line-dance to popular tunes to entertain the diners…dance monkey dance.
Post lunch, we all headed back to my Nala’s house to hang out and plan our next strategic move of my big night out in the valley. YAY. After some discussing - and some serious reservations from my mom and Xtian about my well being and going out in the cold - La Bamba, Nala and I decide to hit up the new local pub to check out the action for the night. This my friends did not disappoint.
Upon entering, we saddled up to the bar to order pints of Guinness (yes I was drinking beer on antibiotics) and found ourselves seated next to the two biggest cougars with the biggest fake tatas and botox that side of the Altamont. Throughout the night they proceeded to hit on anything and everything that walked (mostly of the younger male variety) whilst ordering a barrage of drinks worthy of a 17-year-old. I am talking about Kamakazi shots, Sex on the Beaches, Midori Sours, Purple Hooters…I mean throw in some Long Island Ice Teas and we are talking about a typical Tuesday night during Gravy Train’s senior year in high school. We, and I am sure the rest of the bar, proceed to gawk, judge and laugh at these ladies throughout the night all the while discussing, at perhaps an inappropriate audible level, the pros and cons of being a cougar. Good times.
After a few rounds we call it a night and head back home where I promptly try to crash on the couch but instead con La Bamba and Nala into a late night discussion about God knows what (perhaps of me dying in an earthquake that night) until I doze off at an ungodly hour. It was a great day and a total top night for me and for a lady whom mostly stays in on weekends watching countless hours of bad tv it was about time I was out and social.
The next morning I woke up feeling like total crap and of course now continue to be sick for the second week in a row. Brilliant. I am such a partying rockstar n’est pas?
*And by Valley I mean the real valley as in central valley not Silicon Valley which is totally different I think.
So Saturday morning my mom and I headed out just in time to make it to Elias’ first baseball game of the season (yes in true renaissance form we are a family of academia, art and sport). I am not sure who really won but I guess everyone did since no one was keeping score…sweet GO RANGERS!
Well given that I get extremely cold at any sign of wind and was still on the mend, for the game I decided that it was perfectly okay to be decked out in a beanie, scarf, gloves to complete my usual Olsen Twins look. Hello totally appropriate right? Well this random dude came to talk to La Bamba's mom, whom I was sitting next too, and then he randomly turns to me and says “Hey, you look like that dog.” UM, WTF?!?!
Perhaps I should preface this by saying that my gloves and matching beanie are light and dark green stripes with a matching solid green scarf (cute, right. And I don’t mean that as a question, I mean that as a California statement whereas we end all of our statements with the word right, right) and said dog he was referencing is Blues Clues who I guess wears a light and dark blue stripe scarf and maybe a similar stripped hat hat but I can’t back that up. BUT come the fuck on, who says that to a girl? Esp. one that a) you don’t know and b) is WAYYYY hotter than you. Of course, I then proceed to rag on him for the duration of the scoreless game to which he keeps apologizing and telling me I am totally cute but seriously dude…in no mood for your antics. Whatever.
After the game, and with a slightly less self-absorbed ego, the fam and I head out to a restaurant where you can throw peanuts on the floor. Actually my real purpose for heading out to Trace to begin with (aside from the game) is this place; I have been demanding to go there since I found out that you could do this sort of thing. I am an incredible and rather ridiculous rule follower so the fact that it was in the rules to litter it totally brilliant. Well it totally delivered and even scored extra bonus points for blaring country music (which I rather happen to enjoy but rarely get to listen to because no one else I know likes it) while having their waiters line-dance to popular tunes to entertain the diners…dance monkey dance.
Post lunch, we all headed back to my Nala’s house to hang out and plan our next strategic move of my big night out in the valley. YAY. After some discussing - and some serious reservations from my mom and Xtian about my well being and going out in the cold - La Bamba, Nala and I decide to hit up the new local pub to check out the action for the night. This my friends did not disappoint.
Upon entering, we saddled up to the bar to order pints of Guinness (yes I was drinking beer on antibiotics) and found ourselves seated next to the two biggest cougars with the biggest fake tatas and botox that side of the Altamont. Throughout the night they proceeded to hit on anything and everything that walked (mostly of the younger male variety) whilst ordering a barrage of drinks worthy of a 17-year-old. I am talking about Kamakazi shots, Sex on the Beaches, Midori Sours, Purple Hooters…I mean throw in some Long Island Ice Teas and we are talking about a typical Tuesday night during Gravy Train’s senior year in high school. We, and I am sure the rest of the bar, proceed to gawk, judge and laugh at these ladies throughout the night all the while discussing, at perhaps an inappropriate audible level, the pros and cons of being a cougar. Good times.
After a few rounds we call it a night and head back home where I promptly try to crash on the couch but instead con La Bamba and Nala into a late night discussion about God knows what (perhaps of me dying in an earthquake that night) until I doze off at an ungodly hour. It was a great day and a total top night for me and for a lady whom mostly stays in on weekends watching countless hours of bad tv it was about time I was out and social.
The next morning I woke up feeling like total crap and of course now continue to be sick for the second week in a row. Brilliant. I am such a partying rockstar n’est pas?
*And by Valley I mean the real valley as in central valley not Silicon Valley which is totally different I think.
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