The weekend, it happened. Friday night Jacey and I met some friends to watch the San Luis Christmas parade, and you guys it was so cold. Like, probably at least 40 degrees, but don't worry because we were prepared with hats, scarves, coats, and gloves ... plus fireball apple cider to warm our insides. There were supposed to be 90 "floats" in the parade and I'm pretty sure it would have taken more than three hours to watch all of them so we left 2/3 of the way through and went to "our spot," the bar with DAMMIT TOM! and the rumplemintz, and that's where I met one of the biggest douchtools in the whole wide world.
We were sitting at the bar innocently drinking our wine and talking to our new favorite bartender, Jason, when in walks a man who reminded me of Ronnie from Jersey Shore but without the tan. He was wearing a tight blue t shirt and a Rockstar hat and immediately alarms started going off in my head shoting "Tool alert!! Tool alert! Tool alert!!!" and I knew it was going to be a good night.
His name is Lurry, which I figured out means Larry (because I speak fluent DrunkSlur), and he's 32 and lives at the gym. And did I mention that he's a tool? And he was completely wasted, which just made everything so much better, because he believed every single thing I told him, like that my name is Jessica, I'll be 32 in February, and I own two homes and my own hair salon. I could also be my naturally rude self without feeling bad because let's be real, there's no way Lurry was going to remember our interaction the next day.
Feeling my scarf...
Larry: I like your scarf.
Me: I know. I just got it today. Stop touching it.
Touching my hair...
Larry: Your hair looks really cool.
Me: Yeah, I know. Don't touch it.
Gesturing to his plate of half eaten chicken...
Larry: Do you want some of my chicken?Me: Uh no, you already ate it. That's disgusting.
Anytime he got too close to me...
Me: Stop touching me.
When I went to the bathroom...
Larry: Wow, your friend is really mean.
Jacey: Yeah, I know.
Me: Give me your hat. Now take a picture with me.
And then Jason gave me and Jacey each two free shots of fireball, and I was so warm and fuzzy, and we looked at the clock and it was like 10pm so we called a cab and went home because 10pm is way too late to be out.
Saturday we deep cleaned our apartment (BEING A GROWN UP IS SO SO SO COOL) and that night I went to dinner with a friend and they to a different bar to watch her boyfriend's band play. I wasn't too into the music (I couldn't even tell you what kind of music it was, but they covered a Black Keys song so maybe that tells you something?) but it was fun nevertheless (THAT'S A FUN WORD). Oh and we saw a lady in Victoria's Secret pushing her two clothed Pomeranians around in a stroller. So that was fun.
Then we went back to our spot and Jason was there and it was so fun and he has a beard and rides a motorcycle and I would like a ride but how do I hint at that? Probably not by telling him, "I rode on a motorcycle once and it was THE SCARIEST THING EVER AND I HATED IT." Oops.
Sunday was realaxing and I made a delicious and mostly fat free yogurt Jell-O whipped cream pie (recipe here) and then I tried out our new digital scale and it told me that somehow I gained 10 pounds in 13 hours, which was sufficiently depressing. But then, miracle of miracles, I stepped on it again and I'd only gained 8.7 pounds! And every time I stepped on it I got a different reading. So I'm really looking forward to going to Target and telling the return lady, "Um, excuse me but I'd like to return this scale because it didn't give me the right reading. No, really, it told me I weigh more than I weigh. NO REALLY LADY, I DON'T WEIGH WHAT THE SCALE TOLD ME I WEIGH. STOP LAUGHING AT ME." I'll keep you updated, don't worry.