- Several men wearing more hair product than me
- A guy wearing a cut-up Ed Hardy t-shirt with cut-up jeans to match
- A bazillion tattoos
- A gazillion gold chains
- Too many wife beaters to count
The best part about the nite was texting with Mr. X about everything going down around us (he was at a party somewhere else), including the creepy guys lurking around us and the cougars boogeying down to Disco Inferno in the tent. Though, I was disgusted when Mr. X suggested I go up to the lurkers and yank on their chest hair.
(Sorry, guys. Mr. X knows about the blog from mutual friends, and I've not quite figured out how to deal with that little sitch yet. So, until then, no writing about him. Though I suppose I just did, huh? See? Told you I'm still trying to figure it out.)
In the course of the nite, I also received this text from blogmom (while I was still at a party at a friend's house):
R u @ the feast
(Sidenote: I find it absolutely hilarious that blogmom uses shorthand when she texts my sissies and me. Or that she texts at all, for that matter.)
I told her I was still at the party, but would likely head down to the Feast soon. Then I asked her why she wanted to know, figuring it had something to do with a boy. I was right.
Met a man & his girlfriend & he knows [BLOGCOUSIN] & wants u 2 meet his son. Have his info & did NOT give out yours.
Now that's just mean, blogmom. You know I'm on a diet. I can't have any Italian sausage. ;)