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:
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. :)