Thank you Friday, for finally showing your face.
I need a big dose of weekend or I will surely lose it.
And why not? I’ve lost everything else this week anyway, so it’s a trend.
The ID is still MIA.
This morning I asked JW where our passports were, since it looks like that might be my permission-for-margarita identification tonight, and he just looked at me and sighed.
“Well, you had them last.”
It might be Diet Cokes for me tonight.
Unless Fernando’s takes library cards as a form of identification.
But probably not.
Last night, JK, CJ and I decided that post work party, the next logical step was to head out to get a drink.
CJ suggested Pippin’s, a place I thought could potentially be a bit, ahem, on the sketchy side.
Plus I was, of course, worried about getting in without an ID.
As I was opening my mouth to express my sentiments on the establishment, we turned the corner, and noticed a police van and some officers standing in front of the bar.
Time for a change of plans.
We ended up at Streeter’s, an equally weird (underground) bar where I simply ignored the man asking for IDs and headed downstairs.
This worked out just fine, which is something I wish I had known when I was nineteen.
I will pause at this point to mention that CJ and JK were hauling around 12-packs of soda, given to them by our generous hostess.
The other bar patrons seemed to think it was odd to carry in your own carbonated beverages.
I thought it was too, so I couldn’t blame them.
In fact, our waitress finally asked us why we were toting cola in the bar, but I don’t think her explanation made her like us any more.
I’ve participated in far stranger events.
Like watching a drunk couple playing jenga with bricks in the bar.
This kept ending badly, in a cascade of heavy bricks two feet from JK.
This did not stop them from repeat performances.
In any case, it was a good false start to the not-quite-started yet weekend.
And now, chickadees, I’m out to get the last eight hours in my cubicle finished. Have a good one!