My best girl.
A coke run.
Pampering. (In the form of getting my toes done. Hot pink. Chevron. It happened.)
...and more dishing and gossip than I care to share with all of you. That's what she's for, thankyouverymuch.
Let's just say, this has now become a monthly tradition.
And I'm not even sorry.
See, the thing about a solid GNO (Girl's Night Out, for those of you not fluent in such language) is that you're probably gonna make sure your hair is done. You'll probably put on lipstick. You're gonna get dolled up because let's be real, we get more dressed up for our girlfriends than we do for our men. It's just the way we roll. BUT, the real secret sauce to a GNO is when you know that yes, you rocked that outfit, but your best girl would have loved you the same had you been in yogs (Yoga pants. Study the language, please. I don't have time for this kind of training...), a top knot and nursing a mean breakout.
Because those are the kind of best friends you need. They're the ones that count.
The only problem? We forgot to take a picture. I apologize for this, as it will not happen again. GNO 2.0 will be a story of pictures, my friends. So to pacify, here we are. Circa 2004.
And for the record I just looked down to see a spider on my arm. I screamed several expletives and stood atop a chair for several minutes. My husband is currently on the hunt for it knowing I wont sleep until it's been killed so that it can't reproduce and lay nasty egg babies all over my house causing me to move out and have recurring nightmares with subsequent therapy. So, that being said, I guess we need men too.
We're getting a bug bomb. Tomorrow. He tried to hide but his day of reckoning is upon him. I don't play.