Change of plans, pleather, and crossing one off the list

Last night was originally going to be a low-key movie night with a couple of my guy friends. We quickly changed direction, however, in search of the new. And we found it, or at least I did.

We started out in my old stomping grounds for sustenance to keep our strength up (I do eat sometimes, about once a day is good). Then we hit the road for the South End -- that mysterious land of strip malls and strippers. What I was after was some fighting -- to watch, not to participate in. But alas, we found only bad karaoke (I mean BAD), bad dancing and bad teeth. And mullets, which always brighten my day. For some reason, the South Enders were peaceful last night. Trying to be good for Santa?

Earlier in the night, I had been talking about my girlfriends and I making a collective list of experiences we wanted to have before we die. They ran the gamut from scuba diving to going to a show at The Palace to braless weekends to driving a racecar to threeways and on and on. We'd all done some of them, none of us had done all of them. The list has been sitting on my counter ever since. When I mentioned that going to a strip club was one of the items that I couldn't say I'd done, it started a long conversation. I guess that's how, after so many drinkies, we ended up in the front row. What happened there has to stay between me and the guys (yes, I make the rules), but I can now cross that off my list. I had a blast all night. Woot!

After closing the place down and staying out all night, I am about dead as a doornail.

Oh yeah -- somewhere along the line I told the story of when I went out with my husband years ago to a concert, and when we met up with the couple joining us, my girlfriend was wearing the same pants I was.

Black pleather pants. Yes, shiny, fake leather, tight black -- pleather pants. No, I do not know what I was thinking. Or, I guess I was thinking that they were hot, which they were, but more in a sweaty, sticky, suffering kind of way than an alluring way, probably. Today, I went looking for them. Couldn't remember whether I had pitched them (and half hoped that I had), but damn if I didn't find them. And the mofos fit. I've been laughing so hard, remembering myself dancing around in these things, wanting to just rip them off, they were so damned hot. Dare me to wear them on my next South End outing? I think I must.