That didn't happen.
"$1 tacos?", the IM read. Hungry and dreading cooking, Mikey's last minute offer to go out for happy hour at Kuchina was enough for me to brave the Arctic freeze outside. After insisting that I must come back right after eating to get some of my Chrismukah shopping done, I met Theron and him in weho.
I've not had the pleasure of seeing Pauly drunk yet. It was far too cute for words (he should come to these more often!) At the party, I had a great time chatting and catching up, but I missed chatting with a few people, I think mostly due to Chris and my unwillingness to leave the shelter of indoors and brave the rain, and fake snow. And I'll admit it: the indoor bar line being shorter didn't hurt my reasoning either (not to mention my irrational fear of falling into a swimming pool at a crowded party).
Then there was the rump shaker. I'm not sure how to explain this. His pants should neither have been that tight nor that shade of blue, and his ass shouldn't have been that shape. It wasn't natural. But there it was, rhythmically gyrating and undulating to the beat of the music, threatening to knock us over into either the turntables or through the sliding glass door (or to turn us to stone). Fortunately, we were able to break free of its gravitational force.
I'd write more, but I don't think it would be very interesting, and I'm far too tired.
Holiday shopping tomorrow?