my girl wants to party all the time

Last night I headed to Playhouse on the Square for The Memphis Flyer's Best of Memphis party -- an opportunity to put on a sassy dress and some heels, drink free booze and attempt flirtation with something testosterone laced.

Only y'all, it was so hot up in that mother that no amount of free booze or barbeque could keep me from sweating and repeatedly cursing my decision to wear tights -- a decision I made because I felt like my dress was a little too short, which in hindsight is HYSTERICAL since the dozen or so women wrapped in just enough lycra to cover the respective cracks of their respective asses made me look like I was on my way to church services -- because it doesn't matter that it's fall. We're in Memphis and Memphis thinks fall is DUMB. After spending some time on the roof to hear a band, I excused myself to the ladies room, where I spent the next 15 minutes or so chilling on the toilet, listening to people's conversations, texting, fanning myself and sipping from my ice cold can of Miller Lite. Should've spent part of that time taking those stupid tights off, but alas. Hindsight.

After the party I went to a friend's house, where I discovered that said free Miller Lite, when combined with a certain level of comfort with my surroundings -- a level that might be achieved at, say, a friend's house -- really puts a wrench in my general efforts to carefully time the release of my Crazy into the world. Let's just say there was a little butter roll (we've been over my penchant for describing men as savory pastry items, right?), and my Crazy was itching to introduce itself.

Usually I like to stagger these things. Send out the Crazy in small increments. Like little vaccines. First you get a few doses of slightly deadened run-of-the-mill-crazy so that your immune system is strong enough to resist the next batch, a deadly strain of ABSOLUTELY BATSHIT CRAZY.

After last night, I'm gonna need to rework my vaccination schedule, because Ozzy Osborne and I were co-conductors of the Crazy Train. And he once bit the head off a bat.

I KNOW.

It should be noted that while clearly I tend to be quite hyperbolic about my Crazy, I do think that every single one of us IS crazy, in all manner of ways. Ultimately we just have to locate those people whose Crazy we can put up with. I think the fact that I recognize and embrace my Crazy totally gives me at least half of an extra point in the Generally Sane category. Right?

Tonight I'm heading back out on the town for more shenanigans, this time with some of the Vagina Monologues girls to Mollie Fontaine's for cocktails. Monday night we had our first production meeting for the 2011 season (WHEE!), which was a real meeting for about 45 minutes before it became a "meeting," devolving into a wine-fueled gossiping and shit-talking extravaganza. Immediately after which I tried to make about 75 awful decisions, and was blocked (saved?) by the universe at every pass. Praise Allah.

Apparently, though, I never learn my lesson -- I'm ready to put on my high heels and craft a few new tales for Questionable Decision Story Time.


cheers,
elizabeth