Weekend wrap up: Non Sports Edition

You have a plan which includes meeting the girls for lunch on Friday. You figure an hour of jabber, an hour to eat and you're back home checking email, finishing the bills or reading a novel for your pre-kid free time... but, since there was beer and wine and half a salad, followed by more wine and shoe shopping, the time thing kind of slipped away.
And that's fine because now you're primed for a night of Bunko with more fun ladies. So, you run home, do the family thing, set everyone up for the night and think long and hard about making it a short one. You skip dinner yourself, because heck yeah you'll eat at the bunko game. But you drink instead, maybe have a handful of this or that and then you remember you got up at 4AM and it's 11PM and you are tired. So tired you actually yawn without covering your mouth.
But then you remember this:

so you go with a carload of girls to a place that serves it- in tall glasses- all night long.

You drink and dance and meet lovely new girls- one who can sing like a real pro and just found out she's pregnant. You must drink to her success. You almost forget you are wearing a shirt that announces you love your husband- with his name. You talk to nice people wearing Ed Hardy shirts. You love Ed Hardy, too. But not their butthead friend whose excuse for his behavior is that- "Hey, I'm from NY. leave me alone." Of course, being from NY yourself you understand why he's such an asshole. and when the girl he's fighting with tells you, it's not that he doesn't like himself, or Georgia, it's that he doesn't like you. You laugh in her overly made up face and ask her where she got the spandex pants and plastic shoes. Then, even though the music is great and the people at your table are fine conversationalists evn great with percussion instruments:
there is somebody who thinks this is the best bike in the world which leads him to somehow believe he can come over to your table, take out a chair and join you. That's right. Can you say, "Uh-uh?"
You order nacho and more cocktails.
After convincing the nice guitar playing Polish dude to sing an abbreviated version of the twenty minute long Bye Bye Miss American Pie, Mr. Motorcycle hat has become enough of a problem that you have to have a husband come down and make his presence known. Which of course leads to a "letstakeitoutside" moment, which brings the cops. Glory be. You have done it again.
You being the plural you of course. Because in a few hours when you wake up little old you will be holding your head wishing you had remembered to drink water, wishing you had remembered to take your milk thistle and primrose and alpha lipoic acid or at least had eaten something all day long. You figure by noon you''ll stop sweating vodka and then can take your daughter to the mall where you and another hungover parent can commiserate as the kids try on outfit after outfit after outfit, because your remedy is starting to work and you can smell Chick Fil-A in the air.