My job is incredible. I love it. But, because of it I rarely make weekend plans. Working in tourism affords the opportunity to attend a lot of festivals; however, it also books a lot of my weekends. So last night, a Friday mind you, when I was sitting on the couch at 5:30 p.m. watching a Real Housewives of Orange County rerun I was exuberant when Courtney asked what type of trouble we were going to find.
This marks my third official visit to the Plaza (I know, a horrible OKC resident). The first for Lacy's birthday at Lyric and the second was to meet a stranger at an unfamiliar bar. Both true accounts from my life.
Did I purchase this T-shirt from the sales rack? Of course. Why would I do that?
These panties are the single reason I'm going to attempt to keep cash on hand. There is no excuse for my lack of forethought. Zero.
Every now and then you need a night where you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.
Last night was good for my soul.
While chasing the most amazing grilled cheese of my life with my beloved Boulevard Wheat, I offered dating advice to the lucky girls at the table. It's hard work keeping a straight face discussing the mating patterns of Peacocks.
It may have been because it was the first time I'd walked through the doors of Saints since I met that certain stranger. Or, it could have been because my advice is so poor it's just funny.
My advice: Listen Court. You're not going to meet a man in the Plaza unless you happen to be in the market for skinny jeans and ironic T-shirts. Tomorrow, you're going to stake out the nearest farm store and hang out in the medicine aisle because men who care for their animals are patient. And, as a card carrying member of the female population, we need all the patience we can get.
I'm so fortunate to have quality friends. They're the Club to my Babysitter.