I sat on a dog.
Wednesday night I was taken to an event at a recording studio that had an open bar. Really, people who know me should know better than to park my ass in front of an open bar.
The party was mind-numbingly, soul suckingly, fingernails-pulled-out-with-pliers-y boring. The bartender ran out of wine glasses and served my cabernet in a 16oz plastic beer cup. He FILLED the 16oz. plastic beer cup. Repeatedly.
Suddenly this was the best party ever.
The short version…
*Didn’t go home with anyone, though I probably tried.
*I don’t remember getting into the cab, but do remember getting into a screaming match with the cab driver (I’ve been doing that lately when I’m drunk)
*Was informed the next day that I sat on the host’s dog.
I’m still unsure about that last one. I think I need clarification on what I was doing. Did I accidentally sit on the dog and then jump right up? Or was I deliberately hunting this dog down, pouncing on her with every intention of making myself right at home on these poor people’s dog.
I do know two things though. One, I can never go back to that recording studio. And two, my friends really shouldn’t be taking me to open bars.
Have to admit though, it was a pretty cushy looking dog.
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