Stop talking about Tequila...

A few weekends ago was a weekend for the ages... Boa turned ahemmm (censored by the friend who will kick my ass if I tell police)...and it was a celebration, of sorts. We started out on Friday, o.k, o.k., actually we started on Wednesday, which I hear is the new Friday, so whatever... Lets forget Wednesday for the moment...I'll get back to it...maybe. So Thursday, the very beginning of our rock star weekend, which we really need to have every so often, you know special occasions, everyweekend, whatever. Anyway, Boa, myself and the Count went to see Greengenes at the Ballroom...we are talking total Dewey Beach mode, chain drinking Miller Lites and chain smoking cigarettes and all...even though Greengenes sucks the big one, they really do, there was something about listening to a bad cover version of Beverly Hills that just set the tone for the reminder of the weekend. So that was it, the weekend kick off, complete with the guy wearing the "Spitters are Quitters" t-shirt and me wearing flip flops...ahhh summer is really here. Friday was Boa's special night...a happy hour all her own. We gathered up the kids and went to Poste, where we sipped on pink martinis and bright green margaritas, ate truffle french fries and acted all shi shi...The gang was all there, even Disco showed up for a little birthday cheer...good times I say, good times. Later in the evening we switched over to Miller Lite, you know how it is, there are only so many pink drinks one can have before the bathroom becomes your best friend. I slept on Boa's couch, what else is knew and the next morning woke up starving, after realizing I had not eaten in like 36 hours...I wanted eggs and quick! So off to the Original Pancake House we go...no shower, alcohol seeping out our pores and shaking from the sheer volume of consumption from the night before...but at the OPH, we were NOT freaks...everyone in there was fighting off a really bad hang over. Yum! That omlette and those pancakes, they were like a gourmet meal. Soooooo....what do you want to do now, I coyly asked the birthday girl...Weeeeellllll......go drink of course. (Are we or are we not alcoholics? The jury is still out)...The scene fades to black and when the camera re-focuses your two young princesses are sitting at their favorite local sports bar swigging back the Miller Lites...

Mav: (While taking a shot of SoCo & Lime) I can't drunk to save my life...
Boa: (While taking a Lemondrop Shot) I'm hungry.
Mav: (While taking a Shot of Petrone) I could eat.
Boa: (While taking a Kamikaze shot) Mexican?
Mav: Done.

So off to the local Mexican restaurant we go...after a dozen Miller Lites and 4 shots by my count, still not drunk, or so we think...we belly up to the bar and order two margaritas, or tequila and ice as the restaurant liked to call it...and all of a sudden it hit me. I was drunk. No, I was RETARDED. I couldn't stand, I couldn't talk, I definately couldn't eat, it was pouring rain outside and I had no idea how we were going to get home...But wait, Boa...she will...do nothing to help. She is drunker than me...and feeling sick. We walk home in the freezing cold rain (I was still wearing flip flops, remember the beach mode???) When we get there I sleep on the couch in my clothes (sound familiar?) Boa sleeps on the floor right next to me...(nobody sleeps in the bed)...And, on her birthday, that is NOT 21, Boa throws up, a lot...The next day after anything I would say Boa would reply: "Stop Talking About Tequila." hahaha...Happy Birthday!