What, did you go to a special bitch academy or something?

My roommate does not understand why I had a mild freakout (the good kind) in Target on Friday when I saw that Center Stage was on sale for $5.50. Oh, but she will, don't you worry. She has not yet experienced the power of THE DANCE but I'm sure once she does she will wonder how she had been living such an empty, Center Stage-less life.

We were in Target because neither of us had yet settled on a Halloween costume. And a Target, a Halloween Express, a Walmart, another Target, and a Meijer later? We had settled on costumes, oh yes, but she ended up wearing a costume one of her coworkers gave her, and I ended up borrowing her devil costume. Original, I know, but kids? This is why we don't procrastinate, ok? And if I have to make that mistake over and over again just so you no longer procrastinate, then that is something I'm prepared to do. I was not A devil, though. I was THE devil. Satan . . . herself. Satanita? Lucifran? No? OK, good talk.

I don't know if I ever said WHY I needed a costume. I mean, it's not like I was going to dress up and then sit at home with Phoebe watching scary moves, because we only do that on special occasions. A friend of my roommate had rented a party bus that takes you to a bunch of different bars. The party bus was an old school bus and all of the seats had been placed along the sides like a limo. CLASSY. It was fun, though, but it's hard to drink on a school bus without spilling it all over yourself. Also, I bent my pitchfork somehow. I'm a little upset.

So, I just got back from Kroger, where I spent about an hour mindlessly walking the aisles (like a ZOMBIE), looking for ingredients to make the tortilla soup from Max & Erma's. Have you ever had that soup? That soup is what heaven must taste like. Seriously, if you've never had it I feel sorry for you. Go have it right now. I'll wait.

Anyway, when I got home and looked in the mirror, I could not believe I went out in public looking the way I did. You know, windswept (not in a good way) hair, sweatpants, and no makeup other than some smeary eyeliner from the night before. HOT. Oh, and there was also the open-mouth-vacant-Zombie look on my face, too. Because of the sleepy, you see, because of last night. Things escalated quickly. I blame the costume. And the tequila.