Vegas (cont.)

Now where were we? Ah, yes. Just about to get to the good part. (Oh, that's right, we haven't arrived at the good part yet.)

The record label party was a little long in coming. Which actually provided us with more good times and entertainment. Lisa and I split up and I accompanied The Fashion to a sophisticated little lounge area where I introduced t.b. to Framboise (and scolded him for having never tried it living so close to Belgium). We laughed more, and joked more. Sports Center was playing overhead which lead us to an interesting conversation about sports (American sports are either boring: baseball; or make no sense: football--but you don't use your feet). Of course, being from Europe, he was a huge 'soccer' fan. And when I asked him what his plans were upon returning to Denmark he said he had a court date.

"For what?"

"Punching a cop in the face." (At a football/soccer game)

He told me the story and I laughed like hell. Then I told him my near D.U.I. tale. And we toasted numerous times to various things.

Party time.





Everything you know about record label parties from movies, TV, E! True Hollywood Stories, and celebrity interviews is absolutely true. All of it.




They rented out a club in Mandalay Bay where there were scantly clad cocktail waitresses buzzing about fulfilling your every whim (and glass). Open bar, a burlesque routine, live band, dance floor, drug use...you name a sex, drugs, and rock & roll cliche, it was present and going strong.

We partied hardy throughout the night. I never slept on Friday and made it to the airport successfully with Lisa for our 12pm flight, which was, of course, packed, and we stand-by fliers were stuck until 2 when we made it out to Philly arriving near 10pm East Coast time. We bummed around the airport making desperate attempts to grab some sleep, but even with having slept only 3 hours the past two nights the atmosphere of that place was so terrible that neither of us could get in more than about 30 minutes without one of the 47 florescent lights, the deafening classical music, or CNN's Black in America programming bringing out much deserved rest to a screeching halt. (Phuk Philly)

Our flight departed at 7:30am. I got about 4 hours in before having to get up and get to Dara's Charity Benefit on Mt. Washington. It was a lovely evening, which I was surprisingly not that tired for. Caleb was a minor trouble maker which brought a smile to my face, and I got to see someone I hadn't seen in 5 years who I worked with at Jumonville.

But, really, nothing else can compare to Friday night. I mean, the past couple days I've practically been in withdrawal, just going through the motions because it's probably going to be a while before I can top that trip, specifically that night. So, for now, I'm off to clean up and ready myself for the start of a fall semester.

Here's to living every moment to the absolute fullest, taking risks and chances, never caring what another person thinks, and doing it "my way."

Damn Yankees?

The birfday was hoppin', no lie. Thanks again to the lovely Dara for arranging everything. As usual, no outing in the 'burgh would be complete without the thrill of a celebrity sighting. This time my comrades and I were delighted in the knowledge that several of the New York Yankees were accompanying us at the club.

It was later brought to my attention by Matt--the guy who told us they were the Yankees to begin with--that, although he had gotten the individual correct (Cliff Floyd pictured above), he was in error about the team that they played for. So, no Yankee sighting after all. We had to settle for the Devil Rays. What's weird is that he was kind of a pretentious tool at first when I asked for the picture, but then when I knew his name, he obliged, only after I made some adorable (but unknowingly obscure) reference to the Yankees.

Weird.


I love my life.

Amazing Friends

Birthdays have never been a big deal to me. I enjoy planning and going all out for people who do enjoy such things, but I don't really throw birthday parties for myself. And every birthday seems to turn out just lovely anyways.

Last night's symphony fun was my family's special treat for me. And then I thought, since my birthday happens to fall on a Thursday anyway, might as well just use it as an excuse to go out (what I would usually be doing on a Thursday night anyway. I know, I know. I'm a slut, a club rat, and a lush. Whatev.). Then I get a phone call from the delightful Dara this afternoon informing me that she has the perfect plan for my party and asking permission to take the reigns on this whole thing.

What a gal. And what a lucky gal I am to have a gal like her as my friend. I'm quite stoked, I must say. Our reserved table party will include champagne, chocolate covered strawberries, and $2 martinis till midnight.

What a lucky gal I am. ;)

My Puma socks, because, why not?

Bar 11...

...is the greatest bar on earth. Black lights and sharpie highlighters are good times, as is the mixture of alcohol and toys.

Quote of the night:

"Childhood would have been so much better if alcohol had been involved."

Some other classics:

"Oh, you're from Philly? Remember when the Pens beat you in the semi-finals? Yeah, that was great. Haven't you guys not won a championship since 1983? Yeah, that's cool." =P

"AVAILABLE." (my name tag)

"We're disengaged!" ~the three coolest people ever (of course, myself is included in that)

"He and I have been together fo-, I mean, shit, that came out wrong." ~Erik, on being "roommates" with Matt =D

"I <3>" ~my hand/middle finger

Last night was way too visual to blog about.

No photo. I took one of me, but it apparently got deleted. =(

Breakfast Club Breakfast

I love that my friends have themed parties.

Blast from the Past

The Pens are going to the finals!!!

For this special occasion, I have decided to tell a story from last spring. I do hope that it brings a smile to your face.

Girls' night out. Me, Julie, Dara, Melissa, Sara, Cathleen, and some other lovely young ladies (yes, I suppose I did just refer to myself as lovely) headed out for a night on the town, ending up at Matrix, a 21+ den of dancing, alcohol, and sin that is oh-so addictive to the youthful twenty-somethings.

Sometime in the night, a group of guys "approached" us, if you will. Some of them danced with some of us. They sort of talked and flirted. There were a lot of them, and they moved about the dance floors, never committing to a particular group, but seeming to take interest in ours.

They were strange. It's hard to describe. They were all attractive, relatively well-dressed, and in notably good physical shape. But, they didn't actually approach us individually, they were joking and laughing to each other, and seemed more interested in themselves than in the ladies.

One in particular was an all out mess. Oddly enough, the most physically attractive of the bunch, he ran about grinding on any random girl, yelling things somewhat lacking in cohesion, and pulling his shirt up to reveal a sexy six-pack, which he subsequently rubbed on unsuspecting victims before taking off for another young lady.

I danced with this crazy gent for a while, while my friends looked on and laughed and cheered. He was fun, and funny, and--if he would just tone it down a bit--really quite attractive.

Then things took a turn. Mr. Crazy-abs turned into a flaming asshole as he pulled his torso revealing stunt on a woman then ran over to me to report that he had "Danced with a fat black girl." To this I responded, "You're a douche-bag; get away from me." I returned to my chic posse.

Also, Dara, likely miffed or at least confused by the boys' apparent interest in each other, asked them if they were gay. The response was as puzzling as it was hilarious: "No, we're hockey players."

The girls tossed out various responses, mainly to each other, not the strikingly large men with Eastern-European accents. Oooooo, athletes, yeah, that'll take you somewhere. Go Robert Morris (insinuating that they were players for a not so impressive college team).

The night ended a few hours later without the not so gentle men, rather uneventfully.

Two weeks later my phone rings as I'm walking down Craig. It's Dara.

Hello?
Hey Shannon. Do you remember those guys at Matrix two weeks ago?
Ummm...Sort of, which ones?
The group of 'hockey players' and the one really crazy guy?
Oh, yeah, them. Sure, why?
Did you know they were the Penguins.
--pause--
What?!
Yeah, the Pittsburgh Penguins. That crazy guy, you know, the one you called a douche-bad and told to get away from you, that was Maxime Talbot.
--pause--
You have got to be shitting me.


And so, that's my special little connection to Pittsburgh's very own Stanley Cup hopefuls, the Penguins.

Go Pens!