The night started innocently enough with a couple pitchers of sangria, but it ended with Miller Lites, dancing at a very bad bar, and drunk-dialing my latest crush.

Let�s back up a moment and review the day�s earlier activities that led up to me partying like a woman with no where to be on a Friday morning...

First off, this has been a crazy, crazy work week. I�m on four different projects right now and trying to train the new people we acquired on Monday. I�ll make no comment since I never know when I�ll give out this address to a coworker in a drunken stupor, but let�s just say that it�s similar to Squirrel X�s latest task of teaching all five dogs to sit in a row and stay still for thirty seconds. To say that I�m stretched thinly this week is an understatement.

I encountered only one real moment where I could feel an aneurism building in my template when New Girl #2 announced that she called to reserve a desk and went ahead and took my location since it was still open. WHAT?! I told her she could sit her happy ass wherever I�m assigned because I�m not moving my shit. I�m established. This is my spot. My gnome likes it here as much as I do. Not. Moving. Bitch. [sigh]

After cutting out of work a little early, I headed to the Bears Stadium for what was supposed to be a shiny tour of the new facilities. My patience was torn up and spit out with the fucking idiots in my group who could not stop asking the most retarded-ass questions.

For instance, on the topic of dress code for our position, we were told to wear black from the waist down. This was restated, saying that we needed black pants, black socks, and black shoes. It was further reiterated that pants are synonymous with slacks and not jeans, black socks are what everyone should wear when sporting black pants and shoes (for fear of looking like the mid-80s Michael Jackson), and that the black shoes should be comfortable since those in the food industry are left standing for long periods of time.

I kid you not, after this repetition and clarification ad nauseam to the point that I wanted to scream, �Holy mother of fuck, I get it! I�ll wear all black from the waist down, and I�ll not look like a schlep while trying to make mad cash pouring beer for the football-watching folk! Can we move along now????� a woman actually asked if wearing white socks was acceptable because that�s what she already had and that no one would see her socks anyway.

Drop kick. To the face. Stake in the heart. Dust blows away as I do backflips to stage left.

This tour was supposed to be a two-hour deal. When this was stated at the beginning, I did indeed have the thoughts, �How long was Gilligan�s boat tour supposed to be?� and �Who here would I eat if he messed up my coconut radio?� cross my mind.

[On a side note, I got my first paycheck from them. $5.15 an hour -- How cute! I didn�t even know what minimum wage was since the last time I made it was in 1995. It was $4.75 an hour then, if I recall...]

I ended up avoiding Kung Fu-ing anybody, but I was in serious need of some stress relief after dealing the mere dimwits for three hours.

And this is how I ended up with the coworker for Sangrias. A couple pitchers later, I was toasty and decided that dancing sounded like a good idea.

$1.50 beers were purchased. The club was jumpin�-jumpin�, and I cleared the floor to make way for my grooves. I lost my friends momentarily and encountered a guy with a shirt that said �I LIKE GIRLS WIT SHORT DARK HAIR�. I tried to convince him that he should give me the shirt, but my friends found me before I could de-shirt him. I was seriously thisclose to there being a half-naked guy in the club. I would have most definitely added that to my list of ridiculous things to brag out since moving to Chicago. (My most recent involves a makeout session in the photo booth of a VERY bad bar...)

Anyway, I ended up getting home after 2, calling a particular handsome fellow, and leaving what I�m sure was a ridiculous voice message.

Soon afterwards, I was dead to the world, happily sleeping the drunk sleep. Good god was that great sleep. And rather unfortunately, that good thing came to an end way too early. The coworker called at 7:45 to make sure I was up and at �em, and I got to moving about then since I had loads to do and still needed to get to work at a reasonable hour.

Today is the great weekend trip to San Diego to check the place out. I packed in about four and a half minutes, undoubtedly forgetting something very, very important. I�ll remember what this one item is as I traipse through security and get my tweezers confiscated (despite having brought them along on several previous flights...), knowing that I can�t do anything about it.

Rollerblades. Wrist guards. Socks. Bikinis. Shorts. A skirt. Sandals. Toiletries, including sunscreen. A couple shirts. Sunglasses. ID and money.

Anything obviously forgotten?

Underwear?? Ha!

So after getting myself looking presentable and packing my shit up, I made it to downtown (suitcase in tow) easily and a lot earlier than I thought I would. In celebration of being somewhat early, I rewarded myself with some post-boozing nutrition in the form of a non-dairy smoothie with the femme boost.

Femme boost. I wish I was a guy sometimes. I�d totally order the femme boost all of the time.

So now I�m at work. And not working. And wishing I was in San Diego already, eating fabulous vegan foods, and watching the beautiful people. I�ll take pictures and let you know what kind of trouble I get into in that time zone.

I�m certain there will be stories to share... After all, this is me. �