Girl's Night = Trouble

When the words "girl's night out" is ever brought up in conversation, do it. It always ends up being t-r-o-u-b-l-e. For whatever reason, when girls go out in larger groups (4 or more), they become extremely obnoxious and VERY brazen. It's no-holds-bars and to be honest, those are ALWAYS the greatest times. And when it's girl's night, all women regress back to age 16 - and it shows.

One of those nights occurred on Friday night. It had been a long week for me and the girls and we were ready to let loose. And, we did.... a lot. Because we ALWAYS hang out at "the square" - a local area of Venice where everyone knows your name, we decided to change it up a bit and head down to Santa Monica to see what those men were all about. See, Santa Monica men are different than Venice men. Santa Monica men are, for the most part, foreign and employed. This is versus Venice men, who, are good ole' American boys who, well, don't really care much for the long-term career track.

We started at my place for some nice wine and conversation. That quickly turned into shots and more shots. Oops. Here is the "before" picture.

Now, being responsible adults, we called cabs and were whisked away 10 blocks to "Main Street". We hit two Irish pubs and threw lots of ice at strange British men (who we insisted were Irish) and scared away quite a few other men. At this point, I'm pretty sure that we were at about a 6 on the drunk n' rowdy scale. I even whipped out my best banana clip impression for the camera when I should have just been taking a nice picture with my girls. But, after wine and beer and all that good stuff, it doesn't quite happen like that. You remember banana clips.....the picture of me illustrating those bad boys should bring a tear of remembrance to your eye.

So after screaming, yelling, ice throwing and a little innocent flirting, we couldn't help ourselves and we ended up on "the square". As me, Norm, Cliff, Frazier, Sam and Woody cruised into the bar we were met by loads of our friends. At this point, the out-of-control factor gets bumped up to about a 9. Shots were flying. We were laughing and I'm pretty sure the bartender wanted to kill us. Thank god we know him, because when you know someone, "kill you" = "finds you funny". Or so we tell ourselves.

Now, when it's girl's night out, you can't just go home when the bars close. No way. You go to one of your houses and continue the party. (That ALWAYS seems like a great idea until the next morning.) So, off we skipped hand-in-hand to Ca's house, where K cooked up a plethora of grilled cheese while I decided to go to sleep in her bed. While I slept, they participated in some creative endeavors - such as phallic drawing on our guy friend's arm, and shaving one armpit of our same guy friend (but leaving the other one hairy as all hell). He is a glutton for punishment and girls on girl's night pray on that like flies on shit.

When I woke up, about 3 hours later, with my eyes stuck together and mascara down by my waist, I was refreshed and ready for a new day - in my bed. And that's exactly what I did. It was only then that I learned to thank my lucky stars that my friends didn't try any creative endeavors on me. I would NOT have been happy if I woke up with "BALLS" written on my forehead or something.

I'll tell you, though. Girl's night is by FAR the best therapy out there. So, because of that, we have decided to elongate girl's night out and take it on the road - to Vegas. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the girl's of the Westside are taking over Vegas in less then two weeks. Hold onto your hats, my friends, that's going to be one to remember.