The just for Jen Thursday throw out
**Because some of you crazy fools believe in me. None so much as my Pirate Bitches. Namely Jen** My phone beeps in my purse, so I dig fruitlessly through the huge tote. Jen was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, and it isn’t like her to be late. The waiter finally shows with my whiskey. I order a second and hand him enough money for both with a nice tip before he turns away. The morning has been a whirlwind. Between the molding of my intimates, and the mad dash to get to the Rio for early registration, my head was starting to throb and my stomach was protesting its lack of food. I was happy when Jen suggested showers and naps before we met up for drinks. The illusive little device finally shows up in a spot that I already looked twice and I cuss at it for being a pain. As I suspected, the texts are from Jen explaining she had a “thing” and had to head back to LA. Luckily she paid out my hotel suite along with the contents of the mini bar and my dinner tonig...