Too Much Sexyback

Geezus. Horrible, horrible, flashback.

It’s happening again. See! Notice!

I’m at the final stages of Bust it Hardcore During the Last Week (aka busting my ass at work so I can go on holidays without freaking out). Things haven’t been overly pleasant thanks to the new booking system we got a few months ago. If I’m not mistaken, I would have sworn that the Upper Hand mentioned that this new system would make things easier. Well, Upper Hand Sir, IT HASN’T. Not for me, anyway. I still have plenty more to do, at work, but I’m definitely making progress.

Aside from work, my friends and I have been getting together quite a bit lately because a friend of ours is moving away to Kelowna, BC, for school. Why. Why are these people leeeeaaaving?! My God, soon I’ll have to pack my bags and move just to keep up with the trend.

So last weekend (Friday and Saturday) was another Drunk Fest, and this coming Saturday will be too. It truly is amazing how I can manage to still pull off the Drink My Face Off and Stumble into Bed at 3:30 a.m.

Saturday the 19th, was when I really fell through the cracks. My friend (Cammi, the friend that will be leaving Calgary for beautiful Kelowna) and I went to a bar downtown where we were joined by her older and younger brother, my sister and three other friends. I’d like to point out that anytime we are out with Cammi’s brothers, there will be plenty of free drinks and shots. Plenty. The bar we went to was not that great. In fact, we hated it. But we stayed and tried to make the best of it. The music, however, was great, except for the fact that the DJ played a selection of songs over and over again.

Totally off topic, but I figured I should write this down so that in years from now I can read it and either a) kick my own ass or b) ask myself, “What the hell were you thinking?”

The reason we stayed at the crappy bar was because Cammi’s cousin, a nurse at the Children’s Hospital, was attending a Doctor/Nurse/Thingy at the bar. My friend Cammi invited me along and, well, I went because, HELLO! DOCTORS!

I did come close to being picked up by one doctor until I quickly turned him down. The reason: He kept trying to be “funny” or “cute” or some bullshit like that and kept calling me a name that isn’t my name. In fact, I loathe the name. Nah, it wasn’t Miss Bitch or anything like that, but it was Angelina – the name I hate second to Angela. That’s right folks. The gig is up. Where the fuck did AJ come from any way? Seriously. I picked AJ because I was afraid that an ex-boyfriend would find me or my current at the time. I think over time I’ve stopped caring; as long as no family or relatives find me, I’m okay.

Just for the record, I have never in my life gone by the name AJ. My cousin, when he was younger went by AJ; those were his initials. Interestingly enough, those are my initials too. I feel like Darkwing Duck, about to come out of disguise.

ANGELICA, for the love of God, IT’S ANGELICA. Not Angelina, not Angela. I hate when people think that Angie (what I really go by in my mysterious real life) is short for Angelina or Angela. Gag.

Doctor: *busting out all the flirtatious moves* So, what’s your name?
AJ: Angie. *busting out flirtatious smile*
Doctor: Oh, Angelina!
AJ: Uh, no. Angelica.
Doctor: Angelina! *wink*
AJ: An.gel.i.ca. *scowl*
Doctor: Nooo, I think it’s Angelina! *nudge*
AJ: Ugh. Moron. *walks away*

And so ends the pointless, off-topic, story.

By 3:00 a.m., and after hearing the DJ play Justin Timberlake’s Sexyback four times, the bar patrons were finally getting kicked out. Cammi left with her brothers, while I went with my sister and three others. I don’t remember a whole lot by this point, but after waking up at 4:30 p.m. the next day, and seeing these items around my place, maybe I can make some sense of what happened after we left the bar.

Well, at least I know I ate some form of food after getting home.

What.the.fuck.

After I spoke with my sister on the phone, she informed me that I had taken this sign off some billboard-type thing. In my drunken rampage, I managed to reach up and swipe the sign as the three other people with us followed in my steps (One of these people being a sixth grade teacher. That’s right, folks, this gentleman we were with was a sixth grade teacher that swiped a smaller sign.).

I seriously hope that one day when I have children, they never find out these wild stories about their mom. Maybe when they’re about to celebrate their 30th birthday I will let them in on a few adventures I’ve had.

When my friend Cammi called me later on Sunday to see how I was doing, she was quick to point out that I didn’t sound too good.

Cammi: Hey Ang, how’s it going?
Me: Uuuugggghhhh. Deaaath.
Cammi: Uh, you don’t sound so good.
Me: Thanks.
Cammi: Yeah, I’m not feeling so good either.
Me: Good to know that I’m not suffering alone.
Cammi: You know what it was, right?
Me: What?
Cammi: It was too much Sexyback.

And too much Sexyback it was.