trinityvixen | Drinking mid-week = not best idea ever

Went to Dallas BBQ last night. It was yet another one of those memorable Dallas BBQ nights, where the topics of conversation scared other patrons and won us funny looks and will, of course, not be spoken of outside of the drunken revelry of Dallas BBQ. Dallas BBQ is like Vegas: what happens there, stays there. You're free to talk about other memorable conversations had there only there.

Of course, post-Dallas BBQ is not the best time to remember you need to go to the drug store for stuff. I trotted off to grab a soda to take my pill (I cannot dry swallow the tiny bastard; it just sticks to my tongue) and some chapstick, dragging

trakkie along with. She couldn't remember what she needed there at first; I suggested deodorant, and lo! That was it! I only said it because I, too, required some (I keep one on my bureau and one for travelling purposes, and I'd run out of the former and was substituting the latter--no more!). I also needed toothpaste, but that's not something I remember until I'm already home, way back uptown. Oh well. Shall have to fetch some later.

If that were the worst of it, I suppose that would be okay. The worst part about shopping while tipsy is that the paltry excuse for impulse control I have? Gone. *SNAP* Vanished. I bought two things of nailpolish--one it looks like I already have, the other I actually like A LOT, so I guess that's okay--and some chapstick (I just bought one the other week! ARGH! WHY CAN'T I EVER HOLD ONTO CHAPSTICK!?) and a nail file (recalling that I couldn't find mine) and about three different kinds of Garnier hair stuffs (when TV is girly, she prefers hair-and-nails girlie stuffs, not makeup). For which my former roommate scolded me--the bottles were green and I appointed her person-in-charge-of-diversifying-my-color-scheme, hence her antipathy towards letting me have anything green. Whatever. Now I have new hairstuffs to play with!

And, the capper of the evening well spent with friends was getting on the subway to go uptown and getting poked by

trakkie. Moment of confusion ensued, in which I was totally sure I was on the wrong train. Turns out she was. It was a nice extra few minutes to girl-chat tipsily before she got off at 34th and I went on my merry way. Did you know that Sandman is a lot less interesting when tipsy? Because I already balk at the all-mighty-before-Neil-Gaiman-there-were-no-comics attitude the collections have, and when you're a little too fuzzy to appreciate the things he and the artists working on it are doing well....ayah.