Crazy Horse, Shmazy Horse

How I felt last night... but with a slightly more revealing top... Slightly.


Yup. That's more like it.

Last night I went with a few friends to a local club known as 'Crazy Horse'. Now as much fun as that title sounds, believe-you-me, it's nothing but a badly-dressed redneck hang out. I anticipated this, but was determined to go out into the real world for once.

So I got all dolled up and headed out the door. The friend I was meeting is house-sitting at the moment and so I promised to meet him there, even though I didn't remember the way to the neighborhood at all (Sidenote: My cell phone is currently out of commission, and so I ventured out on this journey with nothing but my own wits to guide me - Never a good thing). Anyway, the jist of this story is that I ended up driving around the long, straight road that is 220 for almost an hour... careening in and out of every street that branched off of it.

An hour of my life and a quarter tank of gas wasted.

Welcome to my life. Pull up a chair; fall asleep.

So I finally, in utter anger, pull over to Wal-Mart to find a phone. Luckily, I had change for once (Can you believe it's $.50 to make a phone call now? God... I remember when it was like $.25 or something. I also just realized that I've become my grandmother: grumpily reminiscing about the good ol' days. "Back when I was your age....")

Back to the story.

So I step into Wal-Mart, dressed for the club*, and ask the old man if there is a customer phone.. He kindly directs me to the pay phone around the corner. So there I went... like one of those dirty guys in wife-beaters that you see at the gas stations, waiting by the pay phone to make drug deals. Yep, that was me last night. Except the conversation included sentences like "A curse be upon that house!" and "Yes - I am a fucking moron." Drug-dealer though I might be.. Entertaining vernacular none-the-less.

The moral of this story is: 1) Always bring a cell phone 2) Always know directions before you leave 3) Never go to Crazy Horse. Ever.

*Dressed for the club: To don the apparel of a common street hooker.