3rd times the charm.

One of my best friends, Anna, had a birthday recently. But she didn't have just one birthday celebration, she had three. The first of which was the day I returned from NYC last week. I had been so proud of myself for pulling it together on that extra day I stayed in the city, getting a solid nights rest, and being at the top of my game for work the next day. But then a birthday dinner turned into a birthday fire circle (don't ask), which then turned into birthday scorpion bowls in Boston, which then turned into me going to bed at 2am and waking up hungover for work the next day. Sigh. Points for intention?
The second birthday celebration was a bonfire where we drank first Champagne, then Bloody Mary's (who the hell has these at night?), and then some fruit juicy vodka concoction. Despite the random mixing of beverages (when will I learn this is a Bad Decision?) we woke up the next morning ready for round 3.

The Liquor Store.

No, not the kind you walk into with money and walk out of with a brown paper bag of joy. The kind that is actually a club in Boston that they have cleverly named so that every time you tell someone where you are going ("Oh, I'm gong to The Liquor Store tonight. Want to come?") you sound sad, pathetic, and strongly alcoholic. Then there is a 10 minute explanation that this is actually a club/bar and you are not merely going to browse the aisles of booze, drooling, for your evening's activity.
The main pull of Liquor Store is a mechanical bull. They pride themselves on being the only bar in Boston to have one, and I pride myself on being able to beat it on the rare occasion I go there. I have literally had the operator guy throw his hands up and let me just dismount the thing. You ride crazy horses for 16 years, you can stay on a fake bull being moved in circles. It usually takes the operators about 90 seconds to realize that I'm not remotely trying to look sexy, but instead that I have determination in my eyes and a death grip on the rope handle. Then they turn it up.

I was pretty excited for a go at the bull, but sadly didn't get my chance due to the fact that I got bucked off something else earlier in the day and busted my back. No, not a horse...I wiped out on my motorcycle dirt biking through the woods behind the barn. Miraculously I  didn't injury myself on the actual wipe out (OK, so it was more of a slow motion tip over), but instead I hyper extended basically every muscle in my body trying to lift the damn thing back up once it had tipped over.

Bad Decision:  Trying relentlessly to lift your 375lb motorcycle by yourself when you are a 115lb girl.
Better Bad Decision:  Not attempting to tie your nearby horse to the motorcycle to see if he can pull it up plow horse style (because the thought definitely crosses your mind).

So instead I was relegated to the sidelines to observe others getting chucked and embarrassed one after another. You would not believe the number of girls wearing dresses and skirts that rode this thing. Now, if you are going out for the night to a bar that has a mechanical bull and you think, "hmm, maybe I might want to ride that tonight", wouldn't you consider the idea of putting on pants? Apparently not. You could actually see the moment of realization on some of the girls' faces as they mounted the bull and then thought, "wait...I didn't think this through..." Got to appreciate the variety of underwear though.

Due to an abnormal amount of energy, I agreed to follow up the Liquor Store experience with an after party at Anna's friend's house. What I didn't know at first was that these guys lived in Roxbury. I'm sure Roxbury is normally a great place, but there were a few concerns here:
1)  The last time I went to Roxbury I got barricaded in a parking lot by a man with a gun.
2)  I am wearing top siders, blue khaki's, a tucked in shirt, and pearls. (Are there yachts in Roxbury?)
3)  Am I too sober for this?
But it was Anna's birthday (for the 3rd time), and I really can't say no to an after party. My memories of gun man spun in my head as I parked my car and we approached the apartment, but upon entering I was greeted by a wiggling pit bull licking the air excitedly in the hopes a face would come within reach to kiss. I immediately felt comfortable (perhaps not the normal response, but definitely the right one).

If I ever seem concerned, please place an animal within my reach.

I spent the rest of the night petting that dog and observing with amusement as one of the (wasted) guys tried to repeatedly hit on me by saying, "Ashly, Ashly, Ashly," shaking his head and then going, "Hey, hey, what your name?"  His approach may not have been the smoothest ever, but I will give him points for persistence. And points for being so drunk that it was amusing and hysterical instead of irritating. So I sat on the couch with a pit bull in my lap as the guys rapped to a boom box and passed some tiny plant around.

Life Lesson: Something stereotypical will most likely happen every time you go to Roxbury.

I'll go get my grilllll.

-LSLP, Ash.

Not all sterotypes are true.

Hate the deed, not the breed.