Emergency Happy Hours are a common occurrence with the Barista and yours truly. They happen without warning and are fierce and intense-Kinda like publically making out at a bar with a complete stranger, but I digress. Any number of events could trigger an Emergency Happy Hour: bad day at work, PMS, divorces getting finalized, Jessica Simpson getting dumped, a day that ends in “y”, etc.
At said happy hour grandiose ideas and theories* are developed. Theories such as:
Deciding that we are, in fact, Nihilists. God is dead y’all! Proof: Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag.
Why dating men over 30 should be avoided at all costs-future post on this to come.
Proper invitation etiquette. Registry information on any invitation is unacceptable. If you’re getting married I think I can figure out that you’re registered at Macy’s. Having a baby? I can deduce that you’re more than likely registered at Baby’s-R-Us. Just sayin!
As the evening plays out one us will get surly and disagreeable with fellow bar patrons. I.e. if there was one more popped collar in this place it would be a Hollister ad, I can’t believe you are wearing a denim fedora, please take my picture by that girl with the boots with the fur, what have you.
Occasionally one or both of us become so intoxicated that the other can’t drive and a cab is hailed. Personally this is my most favorite part of the evening because I heart chatting it up with cab drivers. I ask them their sign, if they’re married (happily) and how do they like driving drunk people around? Three out of four cab rides result in either marriage proposal or an invite to Golden Corral at the very least. Note: the next marriage proposal I receive from any cab driver in the RVA will immediately be accepted. I’m tired of working and am ready to become a Lady Who Lunches. I’ll keep you all updated on my pending nuptials.
*The Barista remembers little to none of this discussion. I do recall trying to stop TLW from asking a group of guys in matching outfits if they all got on Facebook to plan what they were wearing. I was not successful. I also tried to get her to stop asking a bunch of ladies why they were all in flowy dresses, until I realized TLW was sincerely complimenting their fashion and girl-powerness. TLW – I would apologize for shoving you out of our taxi and thus interrupting your affair with the cabbie, but the meter was still running. Perhaps you had not noticed the cabbie was high? He drove us home at 12 mph.