|When did bowling shoes get so dapper?|
We played at a bowling alley right off of Michigan avenue. It was a little different than Kings Lanes in Norfolk. I didn't see one single pregnant teenager smoking cigarettes in the bathroom or trying to break into the condom machine, so it just didn't have that real authentic bowling alley feel to me. But I managed to have fun anyway.
Immediately following our bowling fun we headed over to a great little bar on State street called Rossi's. I can't help but think this is where I might have gotten into a little bit of trouble. Rossi's is a real hole-in-the-wall, so naturally I fell in love with it the minute we walked inside and were hit with a shit storm of stale cigarette smoke and glares from the regs. I don't know what it is about shitbars that make me feel so
at home drunk.
Well one thing leads to another and next thing I know I've lost my purse and have insulted an entire table of investment bankers. Good old Tiffers apparently told the gentlemen that I was a blogger and when they asked what I blog about I responded with "douche bags like you." That was so rude of me. I don't know why I feel the need to be so sassy sometimes. But in all reality they were pretty douchey.
Somewhere in between Rossi's, getting told to go home by HR, and calling my mom in a very drunken ramble from a taxi, I cracked my tooth. I woke up this morning with a shark tooth so sharp I nearly pierced my tongue. And then I remembered I'm out of dental insurance money thanks to my little wisdom teeth extraction. Shit just got real.