Spandex is a beautiful thing. There are few things in this world as comforting as a pair of stretch pants to help kick off Sunday Funday. They’re perfect medium between full on pajama bottoms and real people clothes. They also don’t press too hard against a belly full of digesting 12-hour-old street meat and half a bottle of Crown like a normal waistband would…or so I hear.
Stretch pants are also the mark of a weekend well-spent. This weekend was spent with my girlyfriends who came to visit me at my new digs (does moving in in May still constitute my apartment as new?) The moral of this estogen-laden weekend? GOD I MISS MY GIRLFRIENDS. That, and your 20′s are a severely hungover god damn good time.
Most fabulous take- aways from this weekend:
- Call ahead, find out if a place has AC on a 100 degree day. Columbus apparently doubled as the portal to Hell this weekend, as it was hot enough to fry an egg on my head, or more appropriately fry an egg in my ass crack sweat. IT. WAS. AWFUL. Add to this offensive heat, the fact that I was miserably, pathetically sick. The type of sick that makes strangers ask you if you’ve sought medical attention for your disgusting hacking and inquire if you’ve ever been immunized against TB. To be honest, I was so lucid from all the Dayquil and Coors Light I didn’t remember who was even playing football..go Bucks!
- Four girls go through enough nail polish in a three day weekend to cover most of North America in a thick, shiny coat of Lincoln Park After Dark. Oh, the polishing. The polishing!
- Lady Gaga’s lyrics make no sense but it really doesn’t matter to 20- something girls. We’re going to memorize every word and belt it out while painting our nails. That bitch is cray cray, but her music is delicious ear sex.
- We will go anywhere with our gays to dance. The gays share all our same interests–Beyonce, dancing, fast beats, sparkles, high kicks, rouge and boys.
