Chrissy came into my room this morning while i was applying CoverGirl eye shadow, that probably dates back to Britney's first hit single, saying she wasn't in the mood for the sports bar thingy she had planned for later tonight.
I don't blame her, as we live in a house that has more appreciation for Degrassi's fake Canadian high schoolers than any sort of real sports team. I told her I was maybe going to Williamsburg to drink $4 Styrofoam margaritas while holding my boyfriends $3 beer while he played Buckhunter but wouldn't mind pregaming for such plans.
Thus starts our first margarita of the Summerish weather 2010.
Whilst spending our workday googling, "Best Cheapest Strongest Pitchers of Margaritas on the Lower East Side of NYC" we somehow found time to reminisce on our Best Cheapest Margarita in Charleston, SC days.
Which made me think of the best story, not even second to the "Kristy kicked through a chain lock in to our Scholes street apt" story, ever. I'm not sure if we have blogged this story yet, although anyone that knows either of us has heard it no less than 5 times from each of us. It goes like this (this story is better if you imagine me telling it to you in a dark closet with a flashlight under my chin):
Paige and I and some friends were having fishbowl margaritas and free chips at La Hacienda (the Best Cheapest Strongest yada yada in Charleston). Paige and I were both girl-crushing on each other pretty hard at that point, smiling and getting tingly when we would accidentally bump hands while going in for the queso at the same time.
Somewhere in there my ex showed up with his new girlfriend that, thinking back on it now, really resembled an adolescent Jamie Jungers (or is Jamie Jungers currently an adolescent?).
Don't text this woman/girl
Emotions started flying with the Jungers girl and the tingly queso hands and Paige and I ended up in the bathroom alone together...and the rest is sort of hazy except we are pretty sure I told Paige I wanted her to be my sister or similar and anyhow we somehow decided we'd find an apartment together in New York City after graduating.
This bathroom confessional was basically forgotten until 2 days later when Paige, Family Size Chex Mix in non-tingly hands, walked into our Religious Studies 101 (we were college seniors) announcing she had found us a glorified one bedroom in Bushwick where we could live with her High School friend that could speak to cats. Of course I accepted.
So we both liked to think that it all started with a margarita. Well, more like 15 margaritas if you count the triple fishbowls and all.
The one on the left with the maroon is where the story took place. Sorry if this picture makes you nauseous
That said, tonight we drink margaritas again, together, amongst friends. The margaritas, the queso, probably some emotional confessions will all be present. The only difference about tonight's marg consumption will be, similar to each cast of The Real World, that we have stopped being polite, and will therefore be elbowing and possibly mouth-snatching eachother's queso, rather than blushing while going in for the same cheese.
Who wouldn't fight for this?
Have a great weekend everyone!
Forever Your Girl,
Holly
Just got back from a trip to Charleston and walked past La Ha and was reminded that back in the day it was the one place I could not use my Hollyn fake id because they all knew Holly too well in there.
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