Julie's Journal

Last night was fun as hell!

Michael, Fancy (AKA Steve) and I cashed our paychecks at The Palms then went to play the MegaBucks machine. They both lost their $21.00 and I doubled mine, so off to Happy Hour at the Outback we went.

First off, we walked in and the bartender saw us and immediately sent out one of the bus boys to buy Redbull, as they were out and he knew that is what we drank.

We proceeding to be happy, after all it was happy hour, and we drank ourselves into a stupor.

Our friendly bartender told us repeatedly to stop saying the word “bitches” so loudly. At one point he crawled up on the bar and I spanked his ass. Yes, we were out of control.

Some crazy woman, with really cute hair, brought her White Russian back to the bar complaining it was too strong. Fancy almost jumped over the bar to retrieve the drink before the bartender dumped it out.

This very old man with no teeth kept touching me. I wish I had a dollar for everytime he did, as our bar tab would have been covered.

Some guy came and asked us for a cigarette. Then came back to show us he was really giving it to his girlfriend as if we gave two shits about him, his giant girlfriend, or the cigarette.

We argued about the size of Lola’s (Fancy’s wife) cup size. I still don’t believe him, he’s a liar. She is a boy. He found her at the eating disorder clinic. “No baby baby baby, don’t believe them. You look great!”

Fancy wanted me to go to Reno for the night to teach my kids they could live without me. “Give them 50 bucks and leave for the week. They will survive,” he said. Michael said, “Yes they have chicken patties!” Fancy said, “Take the patties.”

We decided that Fancy looked better now that he didn’t paint his fingernails black and wear eyeliner.

Some tourettes ridden freak girl walked up to the bar to order a drink, then blurted out to me, “Why are you frowning?” I was speechless.

I talked to Skrinkle on the phone. She is such a cool bitch.

We then headed home, as our friendly bartender decided to cut us all off. Our damn cell phone is a piece of shit and doesn’t ring. It goes straight to voicemail, capturing classic voicemails such as this one from Fancy.

I hear the words Tupac and some na na na na na unidentified song. Other than that, it’s all drunken babble.

Yes we had a blast!