That’s the kind of girl I am.
What kind of girl am I?
I am the kind of girl who spends all day yesterday totally stoked about seeing Ryan Adams, leaves work early, drives downtown, pays to park her car in the garage, and then walks by the marquee of the State Theater only to read “RYAN ADAMS. THURSDAY. 8:00″ What?! I called my roommate, who I was meeting, and left a message asking her to look at tickets.
Yeah, you read that right. Yesterday, Wednesday, I went to see the Thursday Ryan Adams show. I am retarded. That’s the kind of girl I am.
What kind of girl am I?
I am the kind of girl who, in realizing that the concert I so want to see is still a day away and I have already paid for parking downtown, decides with my roommate to stay and hit happy hours. Have I mentioned how much I love my roommate Krista, because I do. She is one of my favorites. So we stayed. We were both starving anyways. Surely someplace had to have a happy hour deal on appetizers. Sadly we missed all happy hours… well almost all of them
What kind of girl am I?
I am the kind of girl who then convinces her roommate to go to Hooters for buy 1 get 1 and half price appetizers. We had deep fried pickles and drinks. And we were the only girls who were fully clothed in the whole joint. And actually for the record, there are lots of friendly men at Hooters who seem to appreciate a well dressed woman. Or maybe they thought we were lesbians and they appreciate lesbians. Either way, men at Hooters= friendly men. Also on a side note… why in the world would you ever want to waitress at Hooters. I am the least feminist girl I know, and even I think it is kind of wrong wrong wrong.
What kind of girl am I?
I am the kind of girl who maybe got a little tispy at Hooters (I hadnt drank in a while.. .I am lightweight) and decided to wait for Shout Piano Bar to open because they had even better drink specials. And Wednesday is 80’s night. And I am the kind of girl who is always down for a little Guns and Roses and Billy Joel and Soft Cell.
What kind of girl am I?
Apparently I am the kind of girl the waitress at Shout hated. HATED. And maybe it was because we already went to the bar and got a beer before she got to our table, but we were not her favorite. She totally ignored us and didnt even get us a menu. When we asked for a menu she walked by and threw one down on the table and left without asking us if we needed anything. Later, we had to flag her down because I spilled some of my drink, and she said we were being messy and then threw down a stack of 100 napkins, took our menu, and walked away again without asking if we needed anything. She was so rude that I actually thought it was funny but Krista was getting feisty. Tipsy and feisty Krista is a sight to behold. In order to make peace, I went to the bar to get more drinks and order Chips and Salsa. Even the girls at the table next to us thought our waitress hated us.
What kind of girl am I?
The kind of a girl who loves her roommate Krista, had a great time with her and even got digits after a night of singing along at Shout. Oh yeah I got digits. Ironically, not from a man. And surprisingly not in a lesbian on an airplane kind of way (although I am the kind of girl who accidentally makes dates with women on airplanes). One of the girls who had been sitting next to us all night and commented on our waitress hating us came over and sat in the chair next to me. She leaned over and whispered that she and her friend were not trying to pick us up, they were married and engaged, but they thought Krista and I seemed super fun and amazing and wanted to know if we ever wanted to have a girls night out. Then she gave me her card. HA! take that mean waitress, I am the kind of girl men at gas stations want to date and women want to be BFF with. Justification!
So… the night didnt go the way I thought it would. There was no Ryan Adams concert (although there will be in seven hours. YAY! ) but I am the kind of girl who rolls with punches, and had an amazing night anyways.
That’s the kind of girl I am.
(But I am still retarded. Seriously. How can I have the day wrong)
