Beware giving a PJ Red Bull

A little over a week ago, several friends enticed me to meet them at a bar.  I popped in for the evening, thinking a night out with them would be fun and I could use a little dancing. For those new to me, I LOVE to DANCE.

Before I even arrived, I received a text from my girls: Cherry or Grape

New tip about PJ, my friends, given the choice here I will always choose Cherry. Yum!

Once I arrived, they had a Cherry Bomb waiting for me.  And by the way, I had never had Red Bull, ever before. That Cherry Bomb (half a can of Red Bull and a shot of cherry flavored vodka dropped in -> chug) was the first of quite a few for the evening.

What followed was chatter, laughter, more Cherry Bombs, random shenanigans in which I brushed aside the eager tadpoles sniffing around our group and in depth discussion surrounding our assets.

One of the key conclusions made by my very dear friends was that I do not have much in the back end. -_-;

This is truth, I will confess. The PJ has an Asian rear and 25 years of ballet taught me to tuck what little I've got under. Now as was discussed in Candi n Kelly's recent In Heat w Paul Italia and Pete Michael Stellato show – some guys are looking for big, round, generous booty. Nope, I think I'm disqualified.

What I lack in the rear, I make up for up front, though. Oi. Oh yes, and the Red Bull…

The next morning, they all slept in and nursed upset stomachs and aching heads. I popped up, hit MMA training and even took an extra hour of Combat Submission Wrestling. Then I somehow survived an insane work week with the day job and wrapped up this past weekend with those same girls watching our Brazilian Jiu Jitsu instr. Prof Wilson Reis fight in the Bellator, then the UFC fights.

Suddenly, I was standing in my hallway on Sunday afternoon and felt like I got hit by a bus. The Red Bull, after an entire week, it finally wore off.

Damn.

Happy Monday, people. It'll be a while before I let anyone convince me to drink any more Red Bull.