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Last night I wanted to do something with my Halloween. I'd made up my face like a kitty-cat and it looked really cute, so I was determined to get out there and show it off.

Talked to Briana, who threw out one suggestion, "Wanna go clubbing?"

The way she met my eyes in challenge, I think it was more of a dare than a suggestion. But I took her up on it, since it was sorta what I had in mind.

We were dressed to kill, and out we went. Of course, I'm horrible with SA locations, and Bri is President of the Getting Lost Club. (I'm Treasurer of the Staying Lost Club.)

The first club kinda stunk... we played pool, listened to a decent band, waited for the Hittings-On that never came because too many sparkly-winged angels were wearing strategically placed band-aids and they showed up our fully-clothed loveliness.

The second was more packed, which was fun for dancing, but since Briana can't dance (something to do with the flexable ankles she doesn't have on her prosthetics) I felt really mean dancing without her (especially since a nice Mr. Zorro wasn't too interested in me). Plus the people there were smoking everything but their shoes, and that combined with the fog machines created a thick miasma that might as well have lined my vocal cords with carpet during the All-Saints-Day Mass today.

Briana was bitchy today, for lack of sleep, and I, sharing in the sleep-deprivation, wasn't in the mood to put up with it (it's dangerous when that happens). So we had a brief altercation... not a big problem.

But I'm re-considering the belated-birthday outing this weekend, since Bri never seemed all that enthusiastic about it and I'm not exactly rarin' to spend tons of money on her right now.

Happy Halloween.

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