Confession: I don’t know how to personal blog anymore.
I have thoughts and wonder, “Is this a Facebook Page post, a tweet, or an Instagram Story? Maybe it’s a journal entry because do you need to share your every waking thought?” In the good old days, I’d post pictures of myself on my blog but since #TeacherBae and weirdos using 10-year-old photos of me as their Facebook profile pics, I stopped.
To be honest, this space doesn’t feel very personal anymore. I’ve become jaded and guarded over the last 10 years. Can you blame me? The Internet is batshit crazy these days. Yet, I won’t let go of this medium, because I still like to see my thoughts mirrored back to me on this clean, polished website for which I pay $11.99/month.
Don’t tell me what that is per year. If I knew how much cash I waste not utilizing this space, I might scrap the whole thing.
I won’t do that. I will re-learn how to share here.
In fact, I will re-learn to make this my dominant social medium BECAUSE ALL THAT OTHER SHIT IS FREE AND THIS IS NOT.
With that out of the way…
Last weekend, I behaved like a 25-year old. Meaning I went out and drank heavily three nights in a row and managed to emerge Sunday morning as an attractive human and not a sore, dehydrated, exhausted monster.
It started Thursday night with a Day26 concert. Despite being down a member (Brian didn’t show), they sounded good and remembered every single BOOM-KAT Laurie Ann Gibson taught them. After the show, there was a meet and greet, during which I caught two Day26 members being transfixed by my friend’s ass. Tell me this photo isn’t meme-worthy.
I woke up Friday at 4:00 AM to get to work by 5:30 AM to run a 7:00 AM meeting. My morning was full of “I’m getting too old for this” struggle, but that didn’t stop me from going out Friday night after a 25-minute catnap. I met my friends for happy hour then traipsed over to Progressive Field for a beer and wine festival with co-workers. After which we had more drinks and I got home sometime around 2:00 AM.
I woke up at 6:00 AM Saturday morning in a slight alcohol haze, thinking “Ahhhh. It’s Saturday. I have nothing to do tod–WRONG. YOU’RE GOING TO A WEDDING IN FIVE HOURS.” I hydrated, popped two Excedrin, and sleep-watched Meghan and Harry’s nuptials until I heard a clearly not-British, baritone voice start preaching. I woke all the way up to see the Royal Wedding transform into a Black American church service.
For a woman who hates weddings, I was two-for-two on Saturday because I had a ball at my friend’s wedding. Thankfully, she sat all her rowdy single friends at the same table. We took full advantage of the free mimosas, a bottle of Jack Daniels was smuggled in, and I line danced with a drink in my hand. Not just any line dance, but the J.B. Monorail, which may or may not pre-date the Electric Slide.
Basically, I am the single drunk auntie at the function that I’ve always wanted to be.
Saturday night, wedding guests were invited to an after party for more drinks and to watch the Eastern Conference Finals. To give you a feel for the establishment: there was a bartender with a fruit nickname and a waitress in a bodysuit and booty shorts who took said shorts off at 11:30 and was pants-free for the rest of the night. There was hookah and loud Cardi B rap-alongs and fine ass dudes who had that “I have multiple baby mamas and open cases” look about them. We. Had. A. Blast.
When I woke up Sunday with no hangover, I realized my body adjusted to consecutive days of bad behavior. Not wanting to test my limits any more, I stayed home and spent my day eating vegetables, drinking water, and finally watching West World (which I know is fascinating; I don’t know if it’s good).
So there you have it. A blog post full of personal stories. Complete with photos and video.