Ice ice baby.

Last night I once again had a night out with my ladies. As Jake is in Chicago, I needed to have some of my own fun. While at a bar, there was a gentleman sitting at the bar by himself (I use the word gentleman VERY loosely). As my dear friend Mary Magdalene waltzed up to the bar this character pulled a fast one on her. She was iced.

For those of you who don’t know what being “iced” is I will tell you (this is primarily for my mother and her comrades). On a perfectly lovely evening you may be imbibing with your friends. Then, suddenly, before you know what has hit you there it is: Smirnoff Ice. Gag. Once you have been presented with this jewel you must get on one knee and chug it. Oftentimes, this leads to gagging or vomiting.

So there she was, a simple former-president-of-a-sorority girl just trying to get a $1.50 Coors Light. It was too much for her. She calmly walked away. Then we scolded her. “You can never turn down an ice!” we said. If only we knew what was to come…

As I think I am Daddy Warbucks, I decided to get my ladies some shots. They weren’t feeling the bar scene and I needed to, in the words of Lil Wayne, get their swag on full attack. As I walked up to the bar (thinking I looked really cute because a boy was staring at me) I was iced. I squealed. I jumped. I ran. “NOOO!!” I said. Then, I hid.

I broke my own rule. What was I to do? I couldn’t handle it. In all actuality, I did this man a favor. I would have vomited all over his face and he may have been slightly perturbed. He should have thanked me.

I saw the kindle owner last night. He strutted in the bar like a prize-winning horse. To make things worse, whenever he reads aloud in class, he reads with a semi-British accent. Can I just tell you how annoying that is? NEWSFLASH: You are not actually Gloucester and this is not an actual production of "King Lear." Move on.

June said that I explained the spotting of this character as if he were a drug addict. “He’s the guy,” I said, “the one… with the Kindle.” All of my lady friends admitted that he did look like a doucher. I win.

As I am not out trolling for man meat when out, I find myself people watching the folks in the bar. This is a commonly used phrase and one that I use often. However, after I spent quite some time people watching I thought about perhaps giving it a different name: creeping. Isn’t that what we’re really doing? Reading the mouths of others as they have conversations with their exes? That’s what I’m doing. Admit it, it’s fun.

I am a creeper by nature and I use facebook to my full advantage to indulge in this dreadful habit. However, by the minute it seems as if people are deleting their facebooks. This puts quite a damper on my fun. Jake deleted his some time ago, which really annoys me. He thinks he’s too cool for school. What am I going to do when facebook phases out?! How will I indulge? I feel like an alcoholic with a dwindling supply of vodka.

Last night I saw a girl from my past. She is a raging ginger in every sense of the word. She hates me because I am dating Jake. This has never made sense to me. Why hate the girl that is dating your ex-lover rather than the dude himself? This is a moral question far beyond my means of comprehension. This is a true-life story of our encounter many moons ago:

It was the first formal event Jake and I went to together. We were pregaming at one of his friend’s houses. This random girl shows up and offers to give us a ride to the bar. Fine by me. Then I realize that they used to be involved. I was feeling a buzz and loving life when all six of us got in her tiny car. I had to sit on Jake’s lap because there wasn’t enough room. Since I am so tall I had to bend my neck to fit comfortably, I decided it would be a “good” idea to roll down the window and stick my head out, for the sake of comfort. Ginger says, “I don’t think so,” and literally rolls up the window on my head. Being the deft lady that I am, I nearly made it out with both of my ears. I did, however, lose a few strands of my golden locks.

On that note, adieu.