At 2:30am this morning I received two texts from one of my friends who was out, "OTP" in Hamilton. "You in town, babe?"
Is he for real?
Come ON, guys. We all know my last foray into the deepest, darkest depths of Hamilton's nightlife was in like, 2004. Since then, I've braved the clubs twice, turning in at about midnight. When you get up at 5:15am to ride bikes, you don't really have the luxury (if you can call it that!) of raging it up in Hamilton's finest, like Bar101 or wherever the kids are hanging out these days. Yuk.
I make no apologies for my lack of socialising. Aren't we kind of old to be seen at haunts most of our crew frequented before we even graduated high school? I'm continually disgusted to see photos of Donny out every weekend at the clubs we used to attend together (back in my tabletop-dancing, getting-kicked-out-of-Coyotes days). Grow up! I'm much happier at 5:30am on my bike than I would be dragging my stilettoed ass home, only to find that I've lost my keys and cellphone. This is something most of the people I know still do every weekend. Gross.
For the record, I'm now a Les Mills fan. Sure, I probably won't be able to afford the astronomical cost of becoming a member and enjoying perks like clean, hair-free drains in the showers, 400,000 classes to choose from each week and good-looking personal trainers, but when I win Lotto this weekend (so, I didn't win Big Wednesday. There's still hope), I'm all over that like white on rice.
I got a bit sad this morning when I checked my iGoogle page to read that Farrah Fawcett passed away yesterday after a three-year struggle with cancer. She was my hair idol (not, as you may have been led to believe, Bob Dylan, who is my hair twin. They're totally different) and one of the most gorgeous sex symbols of the 1970s. Naturally, my best thoughts are with her family and friends at this time.
Peace, love and gorgeous hair. xoxo