I am a snorter.

It has become a bit of a joke, actually. Friends of ours count how many times I snort-laugh in a given evening. Generally, the tipsier I get, the more I snort, though that isn’t always the case. In fact, you can easily gauge my enjoyment of a situation by how many times I snort while laughing. It’s my body’s evil trick, giving my true feelings away.

My snortiness used to be a major source of embarrassment. Even now, I find myself holding my hand up to my nose, as if my palm is going to block out some of the swine-esque noises emitting from it. For the most part, though, I have come to grips with my snort. It’s simply a funny little quirk of mine.

Last night, I snorted… a lot.

I went out for a girl’s night with a fun group of ladies. I admit, I was an eeensy bit nervous at first. I’m still getting to know them, and they’re a little bit older than I am, have super smart medical, chemistry, or law backgrounds, are much more worldly, far more physically fit, and dang pretty, to boot.

Color me intimidated.

I like to sit back and gauge a situation before I start chiming in. When the conversation went to stripper jokes, drunken parties, and swearing… I knew I would fit in well.

Thankfully, that was within the first 10 minutes of the evening.

At one point, we got on the topic of blogging. Hollie, our chauffeur driver bitch designated driver, is anti-blog, anti-Facebook… basically anti-everything I’m addicted to. It’s fine. I won’t hold it against her.

How. Ev. Er.

I will hold this against her:

While talking about this blog stuff, I pulled out my business card and slid it across the table. “Here. This is a blog you should check out,” I said, in my best sly salesman-y voice (at least I think it was, I was already under the influence of a delicious limoncello). She oogled it. She awww-d it.

Then, she tore it into several pieces.

Well, fine then. I was just using you for your designated driving abilities, anyway. I have 520 other Facebook fans who like my blog and would love to have my business card. I don’t need you!

Meanie.

*Sniffle*

(You know you’re addicted to blogging when you ask for the physical proof of your ego being torn to shreds so you can take a picture of it.)

In the end, a fantastic night. There were plenty of age jokes… our “old” friend getting the brunt of the elderly jokes, me getting the baby jokes. Didn’t help that I had a pacifier in my purse, I guess. (It’s not mine, I swear! Okay, maybe I just use it at bedtime.)

Can’t wait to do it again. Next time, I’m plastering my blog window decal on Hollie’s car window. Let’s see you tear that to shreds, biotch! (I really do have one… and it looks cool, damnit!)