R.I.P. Katrina

Let's talk weekend, shall we?

My mini cities vacation with Christina, which has been eagerly anticipated for well over a month, has come and gone. I'm happy to report that a) it lived up to every last one of my expectations, right down to the pounding headache on the drive home today, and b) nobody I know ended up in jail and/or the emergency room.

I picked Christina up early on Friday and spent the day exposing her to those things that one can find in the cities, but not Duluth, though we should petition to change that. We had lunch at Don Pablos and it was pure cheesy Mexican delight. Don't even get me started on the fact that their new, "improved" (they obviously use that term loosely) menu doesn't include the jalapeno mashed potatoes I think about when I masturbate though. NOT HAPPY.

After watching her fall head-first into love with Don Pablos, I proceeded to introduce Christina to the joys of Bed Bath & Beyond, Famous Footwear, Steve & Barry's, and more. I also took her on a short tour of Angie's two-year attempt at life in the cities, complete with slow passes by my former homes and places of employment. Nobody's life is complete until they've experienced this. Contact me for reservations.

On Friday evening, we picked up my sister who looked like this:
I spent the rest of Friday squealing like a ten-year old girl at a New Kids on the Block concert (wait, I have to finish tight-rolling my jeans) and exclaiming, "your hair is so cute!" Because, let's be honest, it was.

Armed with alcoholic beverages, we checked into our home away from home and got right to business. Can you think of anything better to do after a couple of beers (or, in Christina's case, some Malibu and margaritas which, coincidentally, she left behind as a tip for the housekeeping staff) than have a photo shoot? A wave of sexy unexpectedly swept over us and before we even knew what was happening, we were Mary Katherine Gallagher and her special ed friend, Helen. The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur of hair, flashes, and cleavage. It looked a little something like this:

Oh, and this:
With a little of this thrown in for good measure:

And, we're spent.

I'm finding it difficult to retrieve anything concrete about the rest of that night from the ol' memory bank. There may have been cute boys, some hella good out-of-state drunk dialing, a piggy back ride, and Tequila Bobby. Oh, and Red got tackled on the way home from the bar, resulting in the loss of her new phone, Katrina. I don't remember it happening, but we spent most of Saturday kicking leaves around on the side of Normandale Blvd, so I assume it did.

In the true spirit of the Morley Sisters' Hotel Tour, we spent most of the next day holed up in our room with the "privacy, please!" sign keeping the sexy room cleaning bitches at bay. Eventually, we made it to Ikea and MOA, but we weren't really feeling shopping. We felt some ice cream and a new purse for Red, but it wasn't long before we were heading back to our hotel to begin: Drunk, The Sequel.

Blogging is exhausting work. Obviously you're all dying to hear how absolutely fantastic our Saturday night was, but it looks like you'll have to be patient because I'd rather plant my fat ass on the couch to eat Swedish Fish and watch old episodes of The Flavor of Love. You understand, right? Soon there will be a round two...and it will be good.