So, Sarin and I came up with the BRILLIANT idea of driving to Seattle, spending the night, going out, seeing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and coming home for Franz Ferdinand.
We are the fucking coolest chicks alive.
Saturday, we drove to Seattle - which is, in our minds, bizarro Vancouver. We did a bit of shopping, went to the Experience Music Project and went out.
This was our night out:
Walk outside to smoke. A boy talks to us and asks us where we're going. He tells us of a different place, we go, and continue to get ridiculously intoxicated.
Sarin was a pimp and totally got us drinks all night. It was pretty sweet, I'm not going to lie.
As the bar is closing, some hot dude starts chatting with us, and from there on, the details are fuzzy.
What we know:
We got home ok.
So, really, all the fuzzy doesn't matter. We didn't lose each other. Yes, some questionable life choices were made, but in the end, all is well.
Sunday morning, however, was ridiculously painful.