grease is the word

just as long as the word is not wedding (or so I've been told)...... welll heck it's not my fault - i'm deeply obsessed, at the moment, and can't see much beyond the flowers and dress alterations.

so saturday night my long lost sister and went down to the aero bar on india street - that's the spot that i discovered the joys of sunday night drinking. they were throwing some kind of party for people who use yelp. yelp's nothing in canada (though it should be) but it's huge down here - kind of like myspace but with a function. check it out yourselfs.

i was drunk when i got there - like we'd (and let's not kid it was mostly me) drank two bottles of wine before leaving the house - so when we arrived and they started handing out whiskey shots who'm I to say no? so of course as it is when i get this way, flirty raspberry comes out to play and i'm all huggy and stuff and i'm not sure my friend has ever seen me this way... but whatevs it's all good and then all of a sudden i'm *too* drunk to be there anymore.

so of course we step outside and pay the pizza delivery guy $20 to take us home. why settle for a taxi ride when you can risk life and limb being delivered in 30minutes or less? fucking hell now i know why sometimes when you get your 'za the toppings have all travelled over to one side of the pie. i seriously didn't think i was going to make it home - and really i would have taken death as long as i didn't yak the contents of my belly all over the back of that pizza soiled chariot to hell.