Mutton Dressed As Lamb, Part 2. - I Am Too Old For This Shit

Post sock-rocket-guy, totally shook, we enter Dirty and go to the bar.

Need a calming cocktail, stat.

Watching one dude bust a sock full of rocks against some guy’s side and then get beat down makes one thirsty…but not THIRSTY, you know what I mean?

Ahem.

Like I said - $10 for well liquor.

Gross.

I was a bartender/cocktail mattress for about 11 years collectively, so I am not a cheap drinker but, I MEAN!

$10 for well, I had best be getting some entertainment.

Sadly, no.

In fact, the three of us practically-senior-citizens were getting more than our fair share of attention from the little wigger contingent in the club.

A sea of well-dressed, uncoordinated children, woodenly lurching around to Drake and Migos.

We settled for a table by the dance floor so we could watch the truly awful bump-and-grind from the cracker 22-year olds on the dance floor, while we turnt it up tableside.

Sorely tempted to dance, just because dancing is life, I hesitated, sipping my drink and checking on my kid through the medium of Messenger.

C and T did the same.

You can find me in the club, mommin up while drinkin bub...

Wait, WHAT?

The club filled fairly quickly, and then our tableside dancing became a point of contention to some people that did not appreciate old white ladies with their tatas half-exposed, shakin it like salt-shakers.

Since the DJ was unable to produce some Nicki or Sicko Mode for us, we left.  We Ubered (is that an adjective now??) the three blocks back to the car, since none of us had dressed for 30 degree weather with -2000 wind-chill.

We drove back to Vantucky and stopped by Brickhouse to pick up the most HILARIOUS boys ever.

Did you know it was possible to have no game on Bumble?

If you call a lady...well, a lady..you have NO GAME!

Also, you get in trouble for drifting in a neighborhood with an HOA.

Things old ladies don't know...

We ended up at Cascade Tavern, eating grease, playing pool, and commiserating with people around the fire pit about the inequities of Portland's nightclubs.

Note - apparently, if you wear a reindeer onesie to go bar hopping, you are a VIP.

Also, when squeezing through a crowd, if you accidentally brush up against a breasticle.... prepare to get knocked the fuck out.

Good to know...

I was ready to go home, but apparently everyone else needed to go do karaoke until the cows came home.

Being a cow myself, and quite ready to go home – I bounced.

Deuces, toddlers!!

I collected my child from the sitter, drank a bottle of sparkling Dasani (lime, as if you care), put on some fluffy PJs, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

10 years ago, I would have been drinking, karaoking, and …well….un entertaining until dawn.

When dawn hit on Sunday, I had a pour-over Verona with cream and cinnamon in one hand, and a book in the other.

#Winning