So, I said I’d give you some pictures of the whole Rubik’s Cube costume thing. Woo!
That’s me, working industriously on the cube.
Sam’s totally going to kill me for posting this picture of her ass in saggy jeans.
The Finished Product
Woo, there we are!
For some reason I felt the need to act like I’m covering up something here.
Somehow my head and neck magically contorted into something horrifying for this picture, but I had to include it because it shows the dimensions of our cubes very well.
There were about five of us in box costumes and I think we should have all gotten prizes for the sheer ballsiness/stupidity involved in wearing boxes to a crowded bar.
As Alberto predicted, my sister got gang-solved by a bunch of guys while I was being ignored at the bar. Strangely, I was hit on more times wearing a stupid box than I ever have been in a bar. “I’d like to jumble you up.” Yeah.
It was mass chaos, there were some really good costumes there, and we didn’t win anything. So we ditched the boxes at the car and went to Cornerstone, which was pretty slow when we walked in and wall-to-wall when we walked out. Actually, I limped out.
If I have your phone number then you undoubtedly already know what happened, as I drunk-dialed several people and left messages about it. But if you don’t –
I was not too drunk when it happened – I was making my way through the crowd with a beer in my hand when this big dude with a giant Afro wig and a vest of some sort dancing slammed into me from behind and I went flying forward. The bottom stair was right there and I fell, grabbing someone’s arm on my way down.
It’s a testament to my relative sobriety at the time that I didn’t spill a drop of my full beer when this happened, but it irritated me (and still does) that all these people thought I was Drunk-Falling-Down-Girl, which I have had problems with before at this very same bar, but last night I was bumped. Hard. And I fell.
And then I got up and went upstairs and complained about it some and sat on the couch with Ginny and drank that last beer and then we left. We stopped and got hot dogs, which ROCKED, and then we went home.
It was fun. But we didn’t win anything, so I am now officially free to boycott all radio-sponsored events.
OH, by the way – the guy that we adorned with a tinfoil dick was there last night, dressed as a “chick magnet.” Wearing regular clothes, and a cardboard magnet with Peeps glued to it. He’s the one who told me I had nice breasts last weekend. A real winner.
More pictures later this weekend from my traumatic childhood. Woo!