Group shot. Vanna Whites. A bad camera angle that turned out funny. All the boys love me.

I figure if I�m okay wearing the shiny suit in the middle of downtown rush-hour, I�m okay with my friends, family, and some nice Internet strangers seeing the pictures. Oogle my boobulars if you must. I know I would. [grin]

So... You�re looking for a recap of my wild and crazy adventures since Friday night, heh? I�m offering an apology in advance for any disappointment that may occur.

After a fun evening of beer and the mechanical bull followed up by more beer and dancing at the Hangge Uppe, I drunk dialed a friend and talked until the sun came up.

I love drunk dialing my friends. Many interesting voicemail messages have been left, making my employed friends jealous of my going out on weeknights with my student friends.

Eat your heart out. I get to stay up late, rollerblade in the middle of the day, and I still make monthly contributions to my 401k and IRA. Yeah baby!

I slept until 1:30 on Saturday and spent the day being useless. The weather was nothing short of craptacular: I woke up to cold and windy, which changed to warm and breezy, which changed to cold and rainy, which ended up warm and humid by time it was go-out time.

I met Brian, Lorinda, and Lorinda�s sister who was visiting from NYC for some birthday fun at this club up north. And because of the odd weather changes, the club had yet to switch from the heater that was needed at 10:30 to the a/c that was needed at 11:30. We danced for a short while, sweating like pigs in a whorehouse.

[Okay, so the analogy doesn�t quite make sense. I was just trying to sound as offensive as possible. Remember, I�m trying to be like Uncle Bob... A sweet girl like me doesn�t talk this way unless she�s riding the Green Line el.]

In the middle of the packed dance floor I started to get really hot. And I�m not talking hot like a Britney video -- I�m talking sweat pouring off my head, my hair getting wet, and my clothes starting to stick to me.

Besides having to wear underwear, there�s really only one thing I *really* dislike when I�m that kind of hot: People touching me. In the crowd, it was impossible to not have a drunk stumble into me while he�s busting a move, a bachelorette�s bridal headpiece�s tulle sticking to my bare shoulder as she walks past me, or a cocktail waitress brushing past me on her way to customers happily drinking.

It�s like that moment right before a panic attack where all of the noise is suddenly acutely external, you have cave vision, and the only voice heard is in your own head screaming for you to get out, get away, and get moving N-O-W!

Since the other three with me were just as hot and bothered in the not-so-fun way, we scrapped the $5 each cover we had just paid and headed to the 99% humidity outside. No biggie, as it was at least 1% less humid than inside the club.

We tried a sports bar where Lorinda�s sister asked, �Is this where frat boys go to die?�

We tried another bar that looked like it would normally be fun were we not suddenly so damn tired. We scrapped all plans and went to our respective homes.

I was heckled at the el stop by a man wanting me to sit a little more provocatively. I helped some Spanish-speaking people figure out how to get where they needed to go. I was hooted at by some guys on my el car. I saw a man pee while on the train. And a couple tried to pick me up for a threesome.

No real stories there. [smirk]�