Like, didn’t you die or something?


Sometimes I hate bars.  Sometimes I love them.  Last night was kind of half-n-half, mostly awkward.  I mean, I had fun, when do I not when I’ve had too much liquor and am dancing like only a lanky white girl can dance?  Hoo-rah.  But sometimes, in the small little county I live in, you run into people you haven’t seen in a while.  It went like this:

Enter Scene

Me: (drunk) Holy shit… that’s… what’s his name? HEY YOU!
Him: OH MY GOD SARAH!  How are you?
Me:  I’m doing good!  Didn’t you die or something?  OH wait… you went to JAIL!
Him: Prison.  Yes.  5 Years.
Me:  Well we all saw that coming.
Him:  Yeah I know, I’m getting straight now.
Me:  Yeahhh, why are you hugging me for so long?
Him:  I never stopped thinking of you.
Me:  I’m sure.  Where’s my drink?  Why are you looking at me?
Him: You’re still beautiful.
Me:  I smell like whiskey and look like road kill.  Thanks though.

Yeah.  I felt a bit awkward.  It was good to see him, but why do these things always happen when I can barely say my own last name?  I mean come on!  One more drink and someone would’ve had to convince me I wasn’t a turtle and pull me out from under a pool table.  The conversation went on for a while, found out another old friend of mine is addicted to heroin now… pretty bad.  Everyone else is dead or in jail.  Humph. Oh well.  I guess it feels good to not be a drug addicted felon.  :)


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