Friday night was pretty perfect: out with Zep for one drink and good conversation at Fado's, then Duets . If you haven't heard much about it, the writers chose karaoke as the vehicle to move the story along, and about every 20 minutes or so I would just look over at her and silently squeal "karaoke!!!" Damn, I'm a junkie for the spotlight.
When Mo and I first became friends we discovered that we each had harbored dreams of stardom, and we both had that day when the realization, Wait a minute - I might not be famous after all, hit. We both even had stage names picked out. Mine? Josie Hall. Doesn't that just sound like a country singer? I can see it in lights - Tonight at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo - Josie Hall. I digress...
And then Saturday hit. Oh, football Saturday. Mo and I started drinking at 10 a.m. We downed 2 bloody marys within minutes of walking into the Club. (And Club, if you're listening? I know okra and green beans are too much to ask, but at least get some celery, okay? I know bloody marys aren't your thing, you're pretty much a beer kind of gig, but a lime? On my bloody mary? Gross.)
It was a sparkling, shiny day. Perfect weather, good hair, great friends. The best day ever, really. Since OSU was playing my alma mater I ran into a ton of people I just wasn't expecting. But the best, oh, the best one was Kip.
Let me tell you about the Kipster. The Kiporama. We were 19, he told me I was the coolest girl ever, asked me to be his girlfriend, and I bought it. What can I say? He was cute. We went out a few times, he asked me to one of his date parties. I was thrilled. Night before, his house had what's called a grab-a-date. The gimmick behind them is that the guys get short notice and they have to literally, grab a date. Kip was great. Totally sweet, introducing me to everyone. All in all, I thought I had this guy in the bag. He loves me. Oh no, no, no.
Cut to Saturday night. He's pretty much ignoring the hell out of me, to the point where his friend Ben even apologizes for him. Ben and and his date, also my friend, Alisa get in a fight. She storms over to where Kip and I are standing. . .
Alisa: I'm leaving.
pan to Hannah as she glances at Kip, thinking he'll say 'Hey, I'll drive you home' and since Alisa and I live in the same dorm, he'll just stay there. Perfect, the naive Hannah thinks.
Kip: Um, yeah. Why don't you go with her.
The asshole then leaves, essentially leaving me to take the bus home. In February. In Ohio. Without a coat.
Back to Saturday: Mo and I are walking back to the Club from the game (where we stayed for a whole quarter and a half) and who do we see in the street? Oh yes, Kiparoonie. He gives me a big hug and I just say, 'Hey Mo - this is the guy who made me take the Metro home from a date party.' His friends lose it they start laughing so hard. He gives me the whole, I was young, I was an idiot jive and I just make him buy me a beer. Then I leave him and go back to my much cuter, much nicer guy friends. Ah, it was a beautiful thing.
I just had a great time meeting new people, cheering for my boys, drinking out of naked cans, eating gyros and laughing, laughing, laughing.
But ever since, oh about 9 p.m. on Saturday, I've been aching. My back hurts (probably my kidneys shutting down in protest), I'm still dehydrated, and I keep wondering if I did anything that's going to haunt me. (Like the cheer I made up, for example. "That's all right, that's okay, we make more money anyway" or its partner "That's all right, that's okay, we're hotter anyway." Oh, and when I started cheering, "Brrr, it's cold in there, there must be some 'Skins up in this atmosphere.")
And then on Sunday I learned what's it like to run out of gas. Here's a tip: have a guy with you. Practically effort free!
What was your weekend like? Write me and
let me know. Maybe I won't feel like such a lushy lusherton. . .
