  What is so significant about the number 887 ? It's the amount of debt dollars I will be adding to my credit card balance because Stanley the Stanza has decided to stop radiating, alternating, and engine mounting. Boo hiss. Nothing like setting back my paying off of debt schedule by oh say...6 months. It's also great to know that I'm spending about the same price on the car as its lower end of the urlLink kelly blue book worth. I'm not a happy camper to say the least.
This weekend was chalk full of events. First of all, I decided to meet up with a girlfriend of one of Derek's friends that is with him in Afghanistan for a girl's night out on Saturday. I had a great time. I have only talked to her (Amanda) a few times and hung out with her one time before at my apartment, but we decided to do Ft. Walton big drunk style on Saturday and I like the girl. Why don't I tell you a story to explain the events of the evening. Once upon a time there were 2 lonely twenty-somethings who were overworked and missing their soldier men half way across the globe.
They decided to have a relaxing girl's night out of Mexican food and head sized margaritas followed by wine, cigarettes, and TV at one of the girl's boyfriend's condo. While the night started out with lots of laid back "damn this is some bomb ass queso" and sad "I miss my boyfriend" random girly chit chat, it could not have prepared the girls for how the night would unfold. Said twenty-somethings stopped at the local Food World following copious amounts of cheesy fried beans, tortillas, and meat intake to pick out a nice 86 gallon bottle of Merlot. They finished that. They smoked Marlboro and Camel lights, they talked more about boyfriends, they got drunk. They got locked out of the condo.
Huh? Yes, they were locked between the sliding glass door of the condo leading to the porch and a locked iron gate. Picture an averaged sized jail cell then cut it in half -- that was the extent of the space. Did they have keys? No. Cell phones?
No. Cigarettes and Booze? Hell yes and thank the Lord. Otherwise some serious freaking out would have resulted rather than the trying to calm oneself so as to not make the other person see the true internal hysterics doing the jig. How were these two drunken broads saved? By the friendly car full of pothead bros, of course.
As it turns out, one of the girls left the front door of the house unlocked, so the girls figured if they could wave someone outside down and have them come in the condo and unlock the sliding glass door from the inside, all would be well. And it was, my friend, it was. The doobie brothers came to the girl's rescue, didn't display any scary or intimidating behavior, and quickly jaunted off to their next destination: bowl. To sum up the rest because that was basically the part worth writing about, the girl's get carried away by the adrenaline of the situation, take a few chocolate cake shots, and head out for a late night of clubbing. Copious amounts of shots, mixed drinks, and beer follow. Sunday morning consisted of a hangover headache as big as the margarita's consumed the night before and Taco Bell urlLink Cheesy Gordita Crunch consumption while watching The Olsen twin's E!
True Hollywood Story(minus the hangover headache, all in this sentence is highly recommended, highly ). Then my car fucks up on the way home. And I have to ride 45 minutes with the tow truck driver that reeks of onion b.o. $887.00 later, I realize that one exciting freak out per weekend just isn't enough. There are rules, apparently. THE END. 
