What I should have said, I say what I should have said to The Roommate on Saturday night was "let's be huge losers tonight and stay home, watch Big Brother 4 and do laundry."

Instead what I said was "let's go have a couple cocktails." That folks is when the Hindenburg launched for it's impending disasterous voyage. Riding the buzz of the two cocktails we only intended to have, we were soon ordering another, and another, and another, and...well, you get the point.

The following is a list of events that may or may not have happened. The details are a bit fuzzy and I am relying on intel from cell phone call recipients. (Cell phones and grande margaritas are a dangerous combo.)

Apparently, after a full on drunken stupor has begun, I tip very generously for mere, tepid tap water, much more so than the many drinks ordered before hand and we were tipping pretty well for them.

In the ladies room, a young miss leaves the stall as I am splashing cold water on my face. She asks if she is in the wrong restroom. I say, "No, I am."

NOTE: I think all gay bars should have a pamphlet they give to women on their first visit detailing restroom guidelines. It could say something like "Girrrl, this establishment has two restrooms. One is Men's and the other is Unisex. So, don't be surprised who you see in there. O-kay?"

While waiting for a friend to pick us up (because we were in no shape to walk or even think about walking, let alone drive), I called another friend to detail not only the number of times I threw up but also the locations. Then, evidently I said, "I have to go so I can throw up again, but I wanted to say I loooooovveee you...I love you even more than Cheetos and I reaaaallllllly like Cheetos."

In the backseat of my friend's car, The Roommate and I serenaded her with a medley of Missy Elliott's "Get Ur Freak On", various Prince songs and possibly an ABBA tune.

Pieces are still being put together, however I think it is safe to say we will be watching CBS next weekend.