night improv

Tonight: Stillettos…Tomorrow: Fuzzy Slippers

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How does one judge the success of a night out?

Do we judge it based on how one feels the following morning? Do we judge it on how many times we smack ourselves in the forehead after hearing about the stupid things done? Or perhaps we can judge it on the amount of alcohol consumed. The times we laughed and cried, and continued to drink some more. I personally could measure it in how many times I ask for food. Alcohol is a tricky bugger like that. I think I’ve eaten enough to fill the caverns of my stomach before heading out for the night, and two beers later, I’m asking every individual I meet if they have any food hidden in their pockets.

Or I just have too many chronic cases of the munchies. Mmmmm Munchies…

The best/worst snack idea EVER!

Last night was a pretty good night. I’m not going to try to say anything I did was wrong or not worth it. It was a beautiful night to sit out on the porch steps of a friend’s house and simply watch people go about their business while we caught up on each other’s past week of living. Soaking in the summer night air. The only place it may have been better to sit and enjoy a beer would have been on the beach, but at that time of night, who knows how many crazy people were building sand castles of their own.

Only when the sun goes down…

I may have been drinking, but I’m not an idiot. Crazy people are attracted to the beach at night.

I could continue at this point to talk about how my night went. In a nutshell, my friends and I went to late-night improv. I laughed my ass off because this troupe of people are really funny, especially when I sneezed super loudly while sitting in the very front row of the theater, cutting off the player who was about to give a zinger of a one-liner, and he simply pointed at me and the audience applauded me instead. After improv, we started to walking back to where we had started the evening but had to make a bathroom break. Of course, what do women do in the bathroom, but gossip and run into other women that we know. So, I ended up talking to an old coworker for half an hour before being dragged back out on to the street. Then, as we’re walking back to Point A, we see a rapper performing outside a kind-of down and dirty pub (one of our favorite spots, mind you), and we decide to stop and have a drink. At this point, I’m needing my food fix so I was all set to slap some money down for some nachos, but it ended up being stifling inside the place, so I stepped outside to scope out patio tables for our booties to take a seat. As I rounded the corner with one of my friends, I spot the shaved head and punk hair-do of two of my coworkers. Guess where I sat down? More talking and drinks ensued, and it was a very good night overall.

Stop by for a drink, and you never know where the night could take you.

As I laid in bed struggling to swing my legs over the side to bring me to a standing position, I began to think a few things. One very big thought: Is this what my life as become? Drinking and being sick in the morning, and doing it all over again? I know I graduated not that long ago, so the lifestyle is very fresh in my being, but man, I just can’t do it anymore. It may sound lame, but more often than not, I prefer the nights where its me and the guy of the week sitting on his couch, watching a movie considered the “it” movie of the year 3 years ago, and sipping on a beer or two throughout the night.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my movie nights…with popcorn, Slushies, and cuddle puddles.

Is this the sign of getting old? Oh, crap.

“There are two categories of women. Those who are women and those who are men’s wives.”

You tread a fine line here, Charlotte Whitton, a Ottawan politician. I believe a woman can be both herself and a wife to a very good man. The key word missing from my statement is “respect”. There better be respect in that relationship, otherwise, Whitton is right. You become the wife, and not a partner in crime.

Seriously…check out that hat.

As a partner in crime, I know I’m still going to crave these nights outs where I get a little loose with my words and laugh a little too loudly. But I also know I want to come home to someone on those nights and give them something to remember in the morning (other than my moaning in the morning about how icky I feel and how my head won’t stop pounding.) Even on the worst of days, I’d choose being a woman over a man any day. It gives me the extra edge I need when I encounter being treated differently because I wear high heels to work and have two round bumps protruding from my chest. When I’m told I don’t have the physical strength, or I’m passed over because they assume I can’t due to earlier stated high heels, that’s when I get rowdy.

You can’t see them, but Sydney Bristow is definitely holding you at gun point in heels right now.

It’s why I like the guy I’m seeing now. The other day, he suggested we head to a nearby park and go for a hike. I’ve been to this place before, so I knew what I was getting into, but wasn’t aware our plans for the evening would include scaling large rocks and hillsides prior to my arriving at his place. Since it was a ridiculously hot day, I hit up my closest for a skirt and cute shoes with a basic black t-shirt. As he said after I walked in the door, I looked “really summery, and it’s nice.” (Cue small blushing smile here.) So, we’re in the car, we pull up to this park, and he was like, “Oh, yeah. You’re in a skirt. Is that okay?” I jumped out of the car, and was all over this walk. I didn’t care. I’ve done worse things in a dress.

I grew up on a farm, and I’ve had the pleasure of chasing cattle in the middle of a corn  field returning from a wedding reception before. Hiking a short distance in a skirt didn’t bother me one bit.

You think I’m going to let this train get me down? It’s called hike it up, and run!

Needless to say, it was a fabulously good time and I kept up with him no problem. Skirt, cute shoes and all.

Having this sort of attitude is all in thanks to my parents, who celebrated their 38th wedding anniversary yesterday. How amazing is that? 38 years…it’s basically unfathomable in this day and age of 50% divorce rates. My parents are truly a role model to have when it comes to marriage. I love them to death, and couldn’t have asked for a better upbringing. Although, I’m sure my dad would have laughed at my skirt climbing adventures while my mom scolded me on being unladylike.

Whatever. They raised me to be this way 🙂

In the spirit of anniversaries, have you ever wondered about what gifts are deemed traditional for the first 10 years of marriage? I love weddings, so this is as much a treat for me to share as it is for you to find out (in case you didn’t already know.)

1st – Paper

Nothing says I love you like a paper heart. But it should always have glitter.

2nd – Cotton

So cheesy, but my future husband and I will have a set.

3rd – Leather

Nothing is better than a leather-bound notebook for writing on the fly.

4th – Linen/Silk

New bed sheets? Don’t mind if I do!

5th – Wood

Brownie points if its handmade.

6th – Iron

The true way to a woman’s heart…FOOD!

7th – Wool/Copper

Quite the fancy champagne chiller.

8th – Bronze

Not too sure what it is…

9th – Pottery/China

Finally! Everything matches each other! (Nine years later…hahaha!)

10th – Tin/Aluminum

Aluminum doesn’t have to be cheap, you know.

That last one rings weird with me, too. As far as who made these landmark decisions, I’m not so sure, but that wasn’t my decisions to make.

Continue to have a wonderful weekend, and may all your wildest dreams come true (even if they only happen in your dreams…for now!)

Captain America was all the rage in my dreams last night…Oh, Captain indeed!
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