I made an impulsive decision last night around 10 PM. I decided to put on my dancing shoes and head downtown for the unofficial-official sorority reunion. You’ll never meet a bigger Anti-Sorority-Sorority-Girl than me. I’m not even sure what that means, but whatever. I’ve always been somewhat of a walking contradiction.
I only went because three of my favorite sisters were there egging me to come out and play. I would have felt a lot better if Lucky 10-Key was there to go as moral support, but alas, she couldn’t make the trip. We did miss you so!
- Black tops are the new black pants.
- People don’t change, but maybe our perceptions of them do.
- It pays to be polite, charming, and detail oriented. I remembered lots of little things about everyone, and was sure to find out the latest regarding their families, significant others, jobs, and hobbies. It makes for good conversation and even better stories.
- The bar that used to smell like a toilet now looks like it’s trying really hard to be a New York City club like Home or Bed. I have news for the club owner: NYC clubs don’t have cheap videos of girls swimming in your backyard pool and fake iPod commercials projected on the walls.
- I’m no spring chick(en). We stayed until closing, but I didn’t go to sleep until almost 4 AM. Why? I smelled like a club kid, and I’m so…not. So I had to shower. Needless to say, waking up at 9:30 was hard. The day was only bearable because I had a double vanilla latte, a cup of regular Kona coffee, a blended white mocha, and a Diet Coke. The hang over really didn’t start to kick in until the afternoon, if that makes any sense. I haven’t drank that much since The Pink Fairy came to visit in March!
- Being Girl Friday isn’t so bad. Actually, it’s not bad at all. A few of my fellow writing sisters admitted that they have let their dreams lag. Mine is still in full force. One said that at the end of the day the last thing she wants to do is write. At the end of my day, the only thing I want to do is write.
- I know who I am. I like who I am. I don’t need to start a starvation diet. I don’t need a (faux?) 2-carat diamond ring to know I’m loved. I don’t need to be anyone but me. (I still took two shots of vodka, just in case.)