On Saturday, I crashed a Bar Mitzvah. Okay, I didn't really crash, but it felt like it. Good food. And the grandmother of the new man had a credit card at the bar, so Woo Hoo to the Mimosa with Peach schnapps and watermelon Martini. Some highlights, without being too disrespectful:
Ross Gellar sat at our table with his frumpy wife, rude daughter, and two adorable sons. The daughter sneezed a big, snotty sneeze right into the bowl of angel hair pasta. Good thing Tina and I got our portions first. Also, Tina may have admitted to being a table dancer, much to the delight of Ross and...
The DJ, who without provocation gave us the finger guns.
He was kind of cute, and flirted with us while Tina abused him with requests for "Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend.." and songs wholly inappropriate for a Bar Mitzvah. He also had no clue we were laughing at him, which made us laugh even more.
On the way home with the top down in Tina's car, I proved that I do not have rhythm. Nope. None whatsoever. Embarrassing. My hair looked like Tina Turner "beyond Thunderdome" when I got home.
Also, there was some kind of gang warfare/ police raid in progress at the end of my street when Tina dropped me off because, you know, I live in the 'wood. (Holly, not Ingle).