I KNOW.  It’s Thursday.  Get off my back.  I’ve been sick and work’s been crazy. 

This weekend was another jam-packed, holiday-freak-out bonanza.  Either I’m much more popular than I was last year, or I’m just a frigging old lady, but it seems like I’m on a neverending drunk-hungover-drinking-drunk cycle that is tearing my body apart.

On that note, Friday started with a more formal company holiday party.  Because I wanted something new to wear, I bought these snakey necklaces from Club Monaco and wore them as a bracelet.  I love them. 

Then I drank a whole bunch of white wine.  Then I drank this stuff called “glug”, which is like, brandy and wine and port and cloves and syrup and stuff, and it’s all warmed up so that you get drunk faster…

…and when I moved on over to the Parkdale Festivus later that night, it was apparent how effective the glug can be…

  

Friday ended somehow in some way… I don’t recall.

Saturday I had to get my shit together and get ready for an all-day, all-night bachelorette party.  This is what I wore:

The theme was “cougars”, which was actually horrifying, because I’m literally feeling like a cougar lately.  AND the bar we went to had nubile, slutty 19-year-olds at it (more on that later).  I contributed to the theme by wearing a silk snakeskin button-up.  And showed virtually no skin.  Which made me feel less cougaresque.  And glasses.  Even less cougaresque.

We went to the spa, where I was so hungover that I wanted to projectile vomit everywhere.  But my bachelorette friends were insightful enough to realize that my cure lay in a huge glass of champagne, which I chugged like the classy cougar I am.

Here I am at dinner with some other girls, already drunk and watching videos of Max Steel on my phone.

I was also wearing a bandage skirt, which is like wearing a really really really tight tensor bandage around your lower half.  So say, if you were to eat a plate of ribs and a double baked potato…

And like, hypothetically, if you were to drink 3 “Texas Sized” Ceasars along with said dinner…

…then, hypothetically, with all that tensor-bandage tension, you would feel so horrendous that you would want to projectile vomit everywhere. 

But of course, I was a trooper, and I pulled my shit together and we made it to the next stop, which was a karaoke bar.  For those of you who have been unlucky fortunate enough to watch/hear me at karaoke, you will appreciate the magic that ensued for the lucky bachelorette.

Apparently, I am the WORST at picking karaoke songs.  Here I am singing “Signs” by the Five Man Electrical Band, which no one else appreciated as much as I did.  As you can see.  I mean, SIGNS?  The song selection book was the size of a medieval bible.  There were THOUSANDS of songs that I could have selected.  And I chose the song “Signs”. 

The evening soon turned into an “ALL WEEZER ALL THE TIME” karaoke festival, which suited me just fine.

Then, I decided to bust out my dance moves in my socks.

Let’s take a closer look at this gem, shall we?

I believe this move is called “reverse-alligator-chomp-hands-slash-robot-bow-slash-ashamed-face”

Anyhoo, we continued to drink at the kareoke bar, where drinks were extremely reasonably priced.  That meant that at the last stop, I was feeling like I was going to projectile vomit…

But I held my shit together and we got to El Convento Rico, which is a drag-bar/Jersey-Shore-skank-bar/desperate-old-men-looking-for-pussy bar.

Remember my outfit?  Scroll up if you do not.  I did not fit in with the rest of the girls at this bar:

In case you need a legend:

Yeah.

That being said, the drag queen show was totally fun:

  

 

Here I am taking a picture of myself next to a ballon:

Here I am taking a picture of myself next to a ballon with someone trying to pick my nose off-camera:

Anyways.  I had a great time, bras, panties, and fishnets aside.  But the night didn’t end there.  Last stop was Lakeview at 3:00 am to get two Easy Risers (that’s Kingston-speak for breakfast sandwiches):

I was overcome with silliness due to my fatigue/drunken stupor, and I became obsessed with the hilarious observation that they looked like boobs.

Ah yes.  Adulthood.