Posted by: kristabella | May 7, 2007

My Shoes Cost More Than They Make In A Month

So Wednesday night after the booze cruise, I went with Shelly to meet a friend of her’s who was out celebrating his 30th birthday. And it was, um, interesting, to say the least.

First off, I feel a little bad for this dude. He was celebrating his 30th with 3 other people. That’s it. I’m hoping he had a huge party planned last weekend or the weekend after since most people don’t want to celebrate on a Wednesday night. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t.

So Shelly has been friends with him since they were freshmen at DePaul. And this dude has a huge case of Shelly-itis. And I don’t think there’s a cure. At least in his case.

We meet them around 9:30 that night at a nice restaurant in the Gold Coast. (Also referred to as The Viagra Triangle. Because well, do I really need to explain it? It’s where all the dirty, old, rich men hang out.) The four-some is finished with dinner and Shelly and I are meeting them for ONE drink and some carrot cake. (Dude, this isn’t even the weirdest part.)

We join them at their table, where there is only one dude from the party sitting. We’ll call him Sven. Because I don’t remember his name. Sven’s girlfriend is in the bathroom, apparently sick. And with Sven’s girl is birthday boy’s girl. Who? Is married with kids at home. We’ll call her Hester. Because I think that’s the character’s name in The Scarlet Letter. (From what I remember from the movie with John Heard.)

(To which I naturally ask Birthday Boy, “is she like in the process of getting a divorce or something?” And he says “no.” So it’s just good old honest to goodness adultery.) (And did I mention they work together? And what did she tell her husband? So. Many. Questions.)

So we’re just sitting there, enjoying our one drink. Birthday Boy is all kinds of flirting with Shelly. Which she diffuses pretty well. It’s an awkward situation to say the least. That is until the other ladies come back from the bathroom.

I spot them immediately, because anyone in the restaurant could tell that this one woman was NOT pleased there were two hot blondes occupying their table. (Me and Shelly. Geesh.)

When they come to the table, we learn that Bitchy McDrunkerson is the fiancee of the other dude at the table, Sven. She’s the one that is “sick.” You know, from all the al-key-hall. And she? Is NOT pleased we are sitting there. (To which I think “why is she the one that’s mad? She’s not even the one ‘dating’ Birthday Boy?”)

More weirdness ensues when Shelly says we should sing “Happy Birthday” to Birthday Boy. (Harmless, I assume.) Bitchy McSlurerson goes ape shit! She’s telling us that he doesn’t want to be sung to. And he doesn’t want carrot cake! (Fine! More for us, skank!) And Bitchy is ready to throw down with Shelly. (At which point, I lean over to Shelly and say “I’ll beat this bitch’s ass down, if you’d like.”) It wasn’t necessary. Because Bitchy’s fiancee finally escorts her from the building. Whew! Close one.

We leave to go to another bar. Because we were only having ONE drink, but no more than five. We go to the swanky bar in The Peninsula Hotel. It was nice. And definitely not a place to wear flip-flops to. I totally classed up the joint. And not just with my flip-flops.

So we sit there, drink some more. (My teeth must be a loverly shade of “grape” at this point.) Next to us are some nice Asian tourists. I say that because I can’t remember if they were from Japan or China. It was one of those. They told us. But I? Was past remembering anything besides wanting to beat Bitchy’s ass.

These tourists are getting harrassed a little by some pompous ass. (No, it wasn’t Tom Brokaw. But he did use to live in Seattle. HA!) I don’t know what this fucktard is going on and on about, but you can tell the tourists just want to sit, enjoy their drinks and have a nice evening. And this guy isn’t letting them.

Something happens. I don’t know what. (Again, loads and loads of Cabernet.) But somehow we’re sitting there and this guy talks about how he lives in Scottsdale. (I think we were all talking to him at one point. Are a friendly bunch, remember.) And (I’m drunk, remember) I am all “GO DEVILS!” and flashing the pitchfork. Repeatedly. Which causes Douchebag McGee to yell out “my son went to ASU and became an alcoholic!”


My response? “Um, maybe that had more to do with you than ASU. I went there. Graduated in 4 years. And am NOT an alcoholic!” (HA!)

So we yell back and forth. Because you. Do. Not. Disrespect. My. Alma. Mater. EVER!

(And I’m not a belligerent drunk. I’m happy! And huggy! And kissy!)

Finally, I get my senses about me. And realize this is stupid. And so is the drunk jackass with the alcoholic son. So I ignore him. (Which, yes, I know, I should have done from the beginning!)

To which he whispers yells to his weird-looking buddy “My shoes cost more than they make in a month!”

Durr. I’m unemployed! And wearing Target flip-flops! Geesh.

So I don’t think I should go back there. Because of that. And because Shelly and I took pictures in the bathroom. Camera + alcohol is never good.


And then I came home and took about 30 photos of my non-boating outfit. And my new hair do. At 1:30 AM. And most of them ended up like this:




Seriously, woman. Get your ass to the gym and get rid of the arm flab! And hide the camera when you’ve been drinking!



  1. I like the picture of the clock on the wall.

  2. too funny…

  3. Haha, pics when drunk are The Best.

  4. You should have shoved your Target flip-flop up his ass. LOVE the pictures! ha ha ha.

  5. hey, did you know that the crappy asu pitchfork looks like the “shocker?” and don’t pretend you don’t know what the shocker is.

  6. You know you’ve commented on here the exact same thing before?

    And it’s still disgusting.

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