the time i danced with tarzan.

[mom, you should skip this one]

and he was sticky. it might have been from the sun-less tanner he applied shortly before going on 'stage.'

he had long black hair. and only white briefs. and apparently i thought it was a good idea to dance with him. which turned to him dancing on me. with my back against the wall. with a spotlight.

i say apparently because i don't reallyyyyyy recall this.

there is plenty of proof of this happening. but the whole real time part is a little fuzzy.

i planned for a productive weekend. with dinner plans for saturday night. only.

little did i know what the night entailed.

one bottle of wine later. we are off to continue the drinking. another bottle later. we switch to vodka. then to hurricanes [mardi gras party, obvi].

i blame the hurrianes. light rum, dark rum, 151. i mean, COME ON!

this is where the brown out started.

and it continued. i have glimpses of the night. similar to the hangover recaps.

the photos that surfaced the next day pieced the night together. and also humiliated me. it helps to have best friends recap the night for you. regardless if they are slightly exaggerated. or embellished just a little.

it is also helpful to have someone aid you in walking down the slippery stairs. because dangerous when wet is real.

DC, please give me back my innocence.