dive bars gone bad

Remember when I was a blogger? Yea, me too.

I've been having way to much fun to find time to blog. Between Christmas shopping and busy weekends ahead, I might as well start planning my posts as I go. At least I know I will be posting.

This past weekend, my friends and I celebrated a big birthday- the big 3-0 for our friend Brad. His great girlfriend threw a kick-ass surprise party for all his friends and family.

He was completely surprised.

Smile - you will be on the blog. Boys deep in thought.

Later that night, the boys forced us to go to a lame bar. And by lame, I mean, it smells like urine and hasn't been cleaned since 1989. We never want to go to this bar with them. I pretty much always opt out.

ALWAYS.

The girls sit together at a table. We make small talk and check our phones to see if it's time to leave yet. The boys are in a different area talking and drinking with themselves, acknowledging the fact that we are giving them evil eyes. Then, we try to devise a plan to leave a car for one of them to drive, but quickly realize they have drank too much to safely drive home. So we go back to the drawing board, play the jukebox and I, of course, whip out my phone and tape the late night rapping to Notorious BIG.

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