The past weekend began with my attendence of a wedding reception where my boyfriend was the best man. This meant that I sat with his family while he sat at the head table with the bride and groom and this meant I had to try really hard to drink slowly and responsibly.
Here’s why: Alcohol + Music = Me demonstrating the running man to Ice Ice Baby
Three drinks is usually the tipping point.
Three-Drink Me loves to dance and not only does Three-Drink Me love to dance, Three-Drink Me thinks she’s an AMAZING dancer (and singer for that matter), so Three-Drink Me feels the need to mock other dancers for their apparant lack of skill.
three vodka tonics later I attempted some sort of line dance, a mocking dry hump, one slow dance, a Mulgrew’s foot-long chili dog, and a shot of something blue. My body still hates me for the chili dog.
However, I have to give a special shout-out to the DJ who played terrible, terrible music to the break of 10:00 pm. Thanks, Buddy, I owe you one.