ladies night

The girls came bearing dessert and Jose Cuervo.

I made tacos, strawberry margaritas and ice cream sundaes. We played tipsy Scrabble. (Though, I gave up after round 5, when thanks to the Cuervo, all of the letters became as difficult to place as Q.) We watched Law and Order SVU.

And we curled my hair.

It’s the greatest temptation. There’s not a Barbie-ownin’ girlfriend out there who hasn’t, at one point, wanted to make this stick straight mop into a mass of curls. So my girl came armed with a new ceramic curling iron, and an iron will to make me look less Stephen King’s Carrie, and more Carrie Bradshaw, Season II. She was a success. Even Roommate did a double take.

The new “do” debuts Friday night at Soho.

I know, I know. I had you at Cuervo and lost you at curling iron. And I know that Friday night’s hook-up story is much more interesting, but I haven’t quite figured out which gory details to omit, yet. But if you show up on Friday night, the likelihood that I’ll be blitzed enough to tell the whole, uncensored tale, is very high.

As for tonight, I’m staying in, ruminating, chowing on some homemade chicken fried rice, and about to settle into a hot bath. Bills are paid, the Q1-04 budget squared away, and I intend to start of my new year (which incidentally gets underway tomorrow) residue free.

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