Crawling out of the pub and onto the wagon.

Last night was the annual freaky friends pub crawl. It's a costumed crawl with a heavy emphasis on Santa Claus, Clowns, Animal prints, and the occasional monster or bunny. There was a giant, shiny, silver, fish-mobile hauling many of the designated drinkers. My ride was a mini van with a good sound system driven by a lovely friend for whom I scored free diet cokes all night. Yes, that was me who opted not to bust out the Santa gear and instead couldn''t decide between pink and white tiger and ultimately chose both. Initially, I came out insisting that I would only go to the first one or two bars; I didn't want to sacrifice all of Sunday to a hangover. But I couldn't get a drink at the first bar, so that bar didn't count. The second bar is arguably one of my very favorite bars in the whole wide world. How can you not love a bar with tiki torches rain or shine on the outdoor patio, tiki memorabilia on the walls, pool tables, plenty of room, bars upstairs and down, and as of last night Cute Bartenders! The next bar was a short stumble away, but was too small to accomodate us, so we didn't stay long. Very few crawlers got drinks at that bar, but the best part of the crawl is the fun we have with the regulars. What would YOU do if 30 Santas and other assorted strangely dress people stormed your bar? We left when the police came. The next bar was one I had only been to once before when I met up with some friends after a concert. That time there was an extremely unfortunate musician onstage. Last night, however, there was a fabulous jazz quartet. They seemed to be happy to see us. They ripped out some absolutely excellent dance music and there was a thick crowd of gyrating bodies. I found myself dirty dancing simultaneously with a Klown Kop, a woman with multiple animal prints, and another acquaintance who is getting his life together after hitting rock bottom (whose name rhymes with haul, not pin). Humpita humpita. Last night was all about the "ass grab" and my paws were everywhere. Long live the double handed, double assed grab. Our last stop was the grassy area in front of city hall. We played dodgeball, we played industrial music, loudly, we set off a large bottle rocket. We skedaddled.

So what is the wagon, you may ask... clearly, I have not quit drinking. It's the study wagon. I've done Monday's Crim law, and Wednesday's Contracts reading. Next up reducing outlines to flash cards.