Much Too Old to Rock'n'Roll

Joel and I had quite the eventful weekend.

Friday night, we were invited to dinner with our very good friends from Lexington, Carrie and Byron, and Carrie's parents. It started out innocent enough. Dinner, a few drinks, and an invitation to visit with other friends at Gambrinuuuuuuuuuus (okay, this is a very upscale bar in Owensboro, which is actually called Gambrinus (gam-BREE-naus), but I once knew someone who pronounced it gam-bree-NEEEEWWWWWWZZZZZ. Most people who've lived in Lexington call it gam-bree-nOOOs. It is, however, Gambrinus). Joel and I decided to go to G's and have ONE drink.

Us with Carrie and Byron at Christmas

Let me rewind. Joel and I agreed to have dinner with our friends, and he arrived home about ten minutes before I did. I walk in. Shopping bags in hand. Admit I have a problem. He picks out his favorite items that I've purchased him (a pair of dressy jeans and a white Paper, Denim, and Cloth shirt). I change into my brand new NY&Co black cigarette pants and black and camel sheer striped top.  Before we walk out the door, Joel jokingly puts a pair of flip flops onto his stocking feet. I laugh. We leave. In the car, I realize it wasn't a joke. He has worn his flip flops and socks to Nikos, a nice restaurant, with our friends. Awesome. I love him, and I accept him for who he is, so I giggle and go on. (Spoiler alert: he wears them for the REST OF THE NIGHT.)

Mismatched, dirty socks, no less

So, back to the subject at hand. A mere 20 minutes into dinner, Joel is pointing out his dinner preference on my menu and spills his (very dark) beer all down his brand new white t-shirt. Good thing it was only $7. We proceed to have dinner, and at one point, giggle over the japanese look Joel is rocking. (To make certain that Joel is not the only silly one in our household, I get all the way to dinner and realize I have left the tags on my new pants and, once in the bathroom, realize everyone in the restaurant is getting the privilege to see not only what size I wear, but also that I paid a mere $12 for the $50 pants. I consider it showing off my bargaining skills.)

So, after dinner, we agree to go to G's and have A drink with our friends Jason, Megan, and a new friend, Matt. One drink turns into two turns into "we should go to the Yellow Rose."

Leaving with a newfound energy, I run into a preg friend of mine and sexually assault her preg belly. (Won't be able to look her in the eye for a while.) Then we head on to Hick Heaven. Now, let me explain the Yellow Rose. This is a bar in Owensboro that is the exact opposite of the very upscale, beautifully decorated, very classy Gambrinus. This bar is downright country. Dark, smokey, serving nothing but hard liquor and cheap beer, this bar is very "friends in low places" style.

When we get there, we discover a sa-weet moped outside and proceed to take turns taking pictures on it. The owner (a tubby fellow in wire-rim glasses, a tie, Duckheads, and a few two many PBRs) comes out to protect his prized possession and instantly falls in love with me. He pays no mind to the fact that I am clearly spoken for. (At one point, Joel and I went to our respective restrooms. I came out before Joel. Mr. Moto spots me, makes a B-line toward me, gets thisclose to me, sees Joel, turns and runs.) (To be fair, despite the Mr. Miyagi look, Joel got hit on WAY more than I did.) We proceeded to line dance, drink a few too many beers, and breathe more smoke than a 15 year old Joe Camel. At one point, I had to ask a man in a cowboy hat to buy a beer for my SO because the sweet little bartenders would not serve anyone with breasts.

Slow dancing at the Yella Rose

Joel tried to stand up on the moped. I screamed.

Maybe I need one just like it. Blue duct tape and all.

After the YR, we went to the farm to show our friends around. While Megan and I had some catch-up time (I worked at KWC with Meg and LOVE her), the boys began to play guitar and sing. I took that as my cue to sing with them and quickly joined. At 1:34am, Joel and I got dropped off at our house, discussed how we can't remember the last time we were up that late, and passed out fell into a deep slumber.

ONLY TO WAKE UP AT 5AM THE NEXT DAY. Feeling ruff. I drove to McDonald's to get us a hangover cure--two Egg McMuffin Meals with Diet Coke, and we go back to sleep. For almost the rest of the day. Saturday night, we had a wedding to go to, so we literally laid in bed trying to feel normal again all day.

Trying to look super fun en route to the wedding

Saturday night, we attended my friends', Reed and Lindsey's, beautiful wedding and attempted to have some fun at their reception through our yawns and inability to drink alcohol without gagging.

Today, I laid in bed willing myself to get up and complete any of my responsibilities. Finally, we got up and cleaned and made some veggie juice to perk ourselves back up. We went to the farm at one point to take a brisk walk but almost died of heat exhaustion. So we came home, and I continued to clean and get ready for a busy week of work. At one point, I looked at Joel and said, "remember when we didn't need two whole days to recover from one night of fun???"

And this was the funniest thing that happened today

And I got hit in the face with dog toenail. I was clipping CD's nails when one hit me in the eye so hard I thought maybe it had blinded me. I'm, however, not writing this blog with one eye so I guess I'm okay, but in my mind, I have a huge swollen black eye. Joel swears he can see nothing wrong with it. We watched Phonebooth, and my blood pressure skyrocketed. Joel made an amazing egg scramble for breakfast, burritos for lunch, and then helped me make fried chickpeas for dinner. Now he's watching a special on Black Sabbath, and I'm entertaining myself with The Farting Preacher and work (yes, that's entertaining). This is the life we were meant to live. Not one that includes mopeds, too many drinks, or bar-hopping. All-in-all, the lesson learned this weekend is that we are MUCH too old to rock'n'roll.