I DON'T KNOW YOU BUT I WANT YOU ALL THE MORE FOR THAT

Amy has had like fifteen different going away parties since last Friday. I've attended all of them. Tonight we went to some bourgie ass French restaurant in Cow Hollow, a neighborhood that makes me gag.

But the food was good. And so was the champagne. And so was the walk to the next place which was so non-harassed and non-police-y, plus well lit and quiet feeling. I love at least, about Cow Hollow, that the worst trouble you'll get into is meeting some drunk fratboys you can get away from quickly by waving and throwing a bone in another direction.

I bought a grape Swisher and surprised myself rolling a blunt while we walked to the shitty snobby bar from the shitty snobby restaurant. Took me like 3 blocks but when it was done. Deluxe. It was tasty and just what I needed in my system to deal with the next venue. Even the tiniest girl in our little crew hit it, we got hella lit and then kept drinking.

But here's what I hate. When some dude randomly comes up to me or buys me a drink and my girlfriends say stuff about how I must just give off a vibe, or make comments implying that it only happens because I'm boy crazy.

Maybe I'm just wearing hella cute outfits? Or maybe I just have a nice smile? Or wow. Maybe I'm just more polite about shit like that than they are?

But no. Some girlfriends never will admit to that.

I had an adorable friend once who I used to go out with, and we'd go to dive bars and play pool. And there was always some crazy professional drunk guy at the bar screaming compliments at everyone, and I'd always just say "thank you" and maybe bust out a little curtsy if I was feeling sassy. But my girl would always roll her eyes like as if she didn't need his compliment, or something. Like kind words weren't worth anything to her.

I'd shake my head later when she'd talk about how boys never paid her any attention. I'd wonder how she didn't see the whole world falling at her feet, and how saying thank you made it so much easier to do, you know?

Different strokes, different folks.

I met some dude from Boston tonight whose accent was so thick I thought he was from Russia. He was wearing fresh white Nike Cortez, and that alone made me kinda giggle at meeting him. He bought me a drink from across the room and I downed it, took his number and then walked back to my ride smoking the last of my little Swisher.

I love also about Cow Hollow how you can walk right by cops with a blunt in your mouth and they just sort of wink at you and look for the real riff raff.

Which incidentally, showed up moments later on motorcycles and got my phone number.

But that's a whole other story.

Tired rabbit! No more parties til next month!

Ha.

xoxoxo. gnight.