Currently Chasing: the good men

*This post was going to be about a woman who owns 500 pairs of panties and wears about five pairs a day. Sleeping panties, morning panties, after shower panties, work panties, lounge panties...and so on. But that pailed in comparison to this new phenom!

Ok, so the first time I heard about this I thought it was a fluke. Indeed there might be one guy out there who is a total and complete absolute freakazoid with a crazy obsession, but surely there isn’t a large quantity of them mingling with modern society and decent humans. Or is there?

A few years ago a friend of mine told me she was on a singles dating site. She said that she had been in communication with a very handsome man who had written to her and taken an interest because she was in the military.

His exact words were, “I like a woman who can take control.”

Now, I’m the first to admit that just being a woman in the military doesn’t automatically guarantee that you can take control of anything. In fact, some people are in the military simply because they can’t take control and they need someone else to dictate their entire days schedule to them minute by minute, which other people (also in said military) are happy to do.

But I assume there are those girls who join the military, hard core and ready…TO TAKE CONTROL. And he was hoping she was one of them.

She chatted with him back and forth for a few days and slowly he let her in on his intentions.

“I want you to treat me badly,” he said. “I want you to make me clean your house while you go on a date with someone else.”

This was a far cry from simply being a woman in control.  She wanted to end the conversation right there…but how can you?

“So you are just going to clean my house while I’m out with someone else?” she asked.

“Yep, he said. Like a good boy. And while you are out with another man I want you to have sex with him. And I want you to let him come inside of you.”

“Why?” she asked. (not that she was planning on doing this…or not for his benefit at least…but she had to ask…I mean, didn’t she?)

“Because if I mess up on the house work I want you to force me to (go downtown!)”

*He used different words…but I can’t even bring myself to say them without throwing up a bit in my mouth.*

It was about that time that she stopped responding to any and all email. As you do.

And that was the last I had heard about this type of freak. Until now!

Another friend of mine contacts me recently with the following email:

“I am on a dating website and this guy winks at me and I think he is cute so I shoot him an email and he responds back that he didn’t mean to wink at me because he is looking for a woman who wants a submissive man. So I need to know more, so I ask him if he means submissive as in dominatrix/submissive and he says no – just a woman to take charge. (do you see a pattern here?) So I said, well I can take charge. He said good because my woman would be my world. Whatever she wants would be her desire.  So a few more emails pass back and forth and then he tells me that he would clean for you too. (oh holy shit, here we go. Crazytown.) I would do the dishes, clean your toilets…whatever. So I said, ok cool. (I have to admit I would have said ok cool too. Does he cook? I mean, there are worse things than a guy who likes to cook and clean and wants to make you his world. Like the guy who wants to eat another man’s come out of your Vag…but that is another story. Or no, wait, that is actually this story. Whatever…onward!) So he asked me what I would do if he missed a spot while he was cleaning. Like would I punish him? So I laughed inside but had to know more so I said – well maybe. And he said that was making him hard and excited – so then he asked…what if I had a hard on while cleaning your toilets…and I said, no problem. (Who cares right? I mean, you can have the craziest situation in the world going on in your shorts…as long as you remember to scrub under the rim you are alright with me.) So then he asked what I would do if he came on the floor while he was cleaning, and I told him that I would make him clean it up. Then it just got weirder from there (um, seriously I can’t even imagine) and I had to stop talking to him. Like he wanted to clean in his undies, he wanted to call me ma’am. He wanted to be my property and if my friends were around he wanted me to let him know his place…so put him down in front of my friends. (Oh my god! I do this sometimes…but I usually don’t have permission and I’m definitely not encouraged to do it!)

Her only response to all of this … “dude.”

My sentiments exactly.  I mean, what else can you say? The guy sounds completely awesome right? This is almost as bad as the guy who used to do his 'O' business on my friends chest and then lick it off. Where have all the dudes who don't want to eat seaman good men gone?

 

Currently Chasing: A DATE WITH DANE COOK

Recently all kinds of regular people (as regular as Marines can be) are inviting stars out to the Marine Corps Ball. And at first I thought, man this is cool…and then I thought, geez this is fucking getting lame. And then I thought, I need to fucking get on board with this and finally get that date with Dane Cook.

So with the help of my friends I’m launching a full out campaign. We won’t fund raise or anything like that, and there will be no assembly, no meetings, no fucking conference calls…just tons and tons of spam to your facebook and the begs and pleads of me and my friends to Dane.

We are trying to play on his love for his country and for the military. I myself, having just returned from Afghanistan, would love for him to support his country with a small act of kindness. TAKE ME TO THE KHAKI BALL DANE.

It’s simple really. I’ll buy his ticket because that’s how I roll. And I don’t want him expecting anything from me … so better not to ‘owe’ him. Although in all seriousness, I’d owe him big time if he showed up to this event with me. September 23^rd Dane. Mark your calendar.

Truth is I’ve seen him live nine times. NINE! I’ve come to visit him NINE times, the least he could do is show up for me once! I was a fan before he had a six pack and I’ve taught more “Dane Cook Comedy Lessons” than I’ve taught actual journalism lessons. My students can attest to this. They would count the times and ways I would bring up Dane Cook in a day. It was always in the double digits. My nickname was Mrs. Cook on my toilet bowl T-shirt, and I watched all of his movies, THE DAY THEY CAME OUT IN THEATERS. I didn’t wait to rent that shit. I don’t think I would have been able to wait. It was like Christmas the day before a comedy album, a movie or a comedy show featuring Dane was coming. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on tickets and have driven to Boston from Maryland and then back in one day just to say I was there for the HBO filming. It was a big day for Dane and thus a big day for me.

I bought every album and listened to it until I memorized it. And then I would make others listen and I would finish every line of every joke and they would hate me but fuck them, because I was a super fan and I loved Dane. Love Dane. Love.

This is my plea Dane. Go with me to the Khaki Ball. It would mean the world to me. Just say two simple words….

I do. Er, I mean, I’ll go!

A night rich in military tradition with a bunch of salty old chiefs and me! I can assure you, it doesn’t get better! (Well, it probably does get better. Especially in your world. And the only way it could get better for me, is if you’re there.)

Currently Chasing: Visine

So I went to the Eye Gazing Party, an event where you essentially speed date, but instead of talking and getting to know each other verbally, you just look into each other's eyes for an extended period of time.

Now, some of you right off the bat were quick to judge. You said it was creepy. You said you'd die laughing. You said no one can do that and keep a straight face.

Boy were you wrong. Some of those dudes made it their job to stare. I mean really stare. And I can tell you how hard it is to stare at someone who looks just like this:

It's hard. Especially when he keeps turning his head and trying to do sign language with his out-of-control eye brows.

Every now and then they had to remind people that there was no touching allowed. If you are an "Arrested Development" fan then just imagine the jail scenes where they yell "No Touching!" Yeah, it was something like that. Although why was that even almost happening. I mean, would you want to reach out and grab this:

Not unless you want an STD on your finger.

For the most part though, it was a good time. Very interesting. 40 men and 40 women lined up and faced each other. Every other person was seated. They did this so that people weren't temped to glance over at someone else while they were supposed to be eye balling the person directly in front of them. Men kept complaining that the lights on the walls were keeping them from really being able look into the eyes of the women. Literally they were verbally telling the girls, "It's no use. I can't see your eyes." They were really taking this seriously. I guess I was too. At one point, even though you are supposed to stay totally silent, I heard a guy whisper to the man getting ready to sit across me "Watch out dude, she means business." 

I guess I did. Although most of the time I was having internal conversation:

"My feet hurt. I'm going to lean on one foot and let the other one rest, then lean on the other foot while the other one rests."

"My drink is empty."

"My straw just fell on the ground....can I pick it up without breaking the stare?"

"My fucking feet hurt."

"This guy is an axe murderer. I can totally see him in an episode of law and order."

"I want to check my phone. Would that be rude to just glance down at my phone while this dude is staring at me."

"Lazy eye."

"I'm going to cut my feet off and walk on my ankles."

Some people were easier to stare at and I had very little head conversation during those times. It was just pleasant. I mean, imagine staring at this:

Not hard to do.

Overall it wasn't an unpleasant experience. However, it's not something I'd do again. My friend did not make a love connection, but we did get our photo snapped about a dozen times by a random eye gazer who happened to bring his professional camera and SB 900 flash to the event.

That particular guy was already a bit off. Raving to island beats in between stare sessions.
Add a camera to his already crazy stare and needlesstosay, I'm sure my friend and I are on the internet photoshopped into his online family albums.

Currently Chasing: Big black Jack

Over the years I’ve gotten a lot of autographs. I used to carry around a little autograph book. Inside I had Alan Thick’s signature, Billy Huffy from Fame, Greg from the Brady Bunch, a couple other random models and wannabees, and the coveted Knight Rider’s KIT Car tire print. But today I got an autograph that I’ll never forget, from a guy I’m sure I’ve seen, but could only recognize in a line-up of cock.

When this guy sends pictures of his dick. He means to.

He is related to a current student of mine. It’s his brother; Porn Star, Jack Napier. If you haven’t heard of him, then Google him. He has won consecutive awards for Best Interracial Series with his hit, “It’s Big. It’s Black. It’s Jack.”

He also did some of his best work in “Black Bottom Girls,” “Jack on Blondes” and “There’s Something About Jack.”

I somehow still doubted the validity of this guy, but he’s got his own page on IMDb. The dude is legit. And according to one website, he has the biggest dick in Porn. I didn’t actually get to meet him, or his cock, which I’m disappointed about, because who doesn’t want to walk around saying, “I met the biggest dick in porn!”

However, when I returned from lunch there was a gift for me. No, it wasn’t a dick in a box. But it was a picture. Of Jack Napier. With clothes on. Shame. However, it was signed.

It is now, and will remain the best autograph I’ve ever gotten. The biggest dick in porn wrote what follows:

“To the best lover I’ve ever known. Jenna’s got nothing on you!” Jack.

And there you go. From one pro to another.

Currently Chasing: Linda Chavez

Who is Linda Chavez? Wouldn’t you like to know? Chances are if you’ve heard of her, you’re in some deep shit. She is a social media butterfly. She spends a lot of time on her computer. She is a master at pulling information from people. She is also a fictional character made up by my friend J, and used to bust cheating lovers.

I thought I was good at coming up with master plans to get my guys to confess their lies. But Linda Chavez is just as good…maybe better.

J came up with this idea after she had an inkling that her man was cheating. He had deployed to Iraq and they were in constant contact. He was always complaining about how sad and lonely he was, so she set up this incredible date pending his return. But a funny thing happened when he did return. He all of a sudden DIDN’T return her calls. In fact, what J did get was an ear full from some broad asking why J was calling HER man.

When J finally got a hold of this douche bag she confronted him. He told her it was some chick named Sapphire and that she was … crazy. Only, he hadn’t even seen crazy yet.

J went into full on detective mode. She knew this chick was in the military and that her first name was sapphire. She started typing random things into Google. Somehow she found what she thought was this woman’s ex husband. So she developed an email account under the name Linda Chavez and she went to work.

She emailed the ex husband claiming to be a close friend. A few days later Sapphire sent her an email asking who she was and why she was trying to reach her. ‘Linda’ right away gave her the business.

“What’s going on with you and my boyfriend,” Linda wrote.

“Your boyfriend!?” Sapphire shot back. We’ve been together for a year!

Turns out they were dating each other during his deployment and even had plans to get married. Lucky girl right?

“I don’t believe you,” Linda wrote.

“Here’s a picture of us together. Do you believe me now? Besides, maybe I don’t believe you! Send me a picture,” Sapphire insisted.

So Linda sent her a picture of said dudes COCK. Yep. Sapphire had definitely seen that cock before. In fact, she had the same photo. And both girls finally believed they were getting played.

So when Sapphire confronted her man with this Linda Chavez character, he was completely honest when he said he didn’t know her, which only made him look like more of a douche.

“She sent me a fucking photo of your cock asshole!”

“I swear I don’t know how she got that. I don’t even know a Linda fucking Chavez,” he pleaded.
And for once, he wasn’t lying. But by then, it didn’t matter.

“It’s over,” Sapphire screamed.

After the breakup he rushed home to J. She was happy to have her man back, although I use the term man loosely.

Later, the same guy decides to get a MySpace account. J sees that he has one, but he continues to deny that it exists. She also sees that some random girl keeps posting to it about how much fun she had with him. So Linda Chavez jumps back into action.

Linda opens up a MySpace account and contacts this girl.

“How do you know my boyfriend?”

“What…you’re boyfriend? Oh no, he told me he was single. I’m a dumb bitch…bla, bla, bla.”

This idiot even tells “Linda” that they had sex and he came all over her back. I’m still waiting for the ‘why was that necessary’ fairy to jump out of the closet and beat this chick to death with a dick.

Eventually J does the right thing and breaks up with this guy. She was young and dumb, but had finally had enough. She begins dating another man. She hears through the grape vine that he may not be all he’s cracked up to be. Back on Google she goes. And out comes Linda Chavez.

The moral of this story is simple. Stop sending out random photos of your cock to be used as evidence against you.

Atlantic City Baby

(Original Post: June 20, 2005 - Monday)

So this weekend me and my good friend went to AC. The hotel was only 75 bucks a night courtesy of an old, (real old) friend. We got there on Friday night, partied till about 3, and then got some sleep. First let me say, men in NJ are shorter than most men in the United States. We stand about 5'7 and we towered them. Next let me let people know, walking up to two girls and saying, "hello ladies, you two look like Jersey girls"...is not a compliment unless you ARE actually FROM jersey. We sang karaoke but it cost 2 bucks a song. Drinks were around 10 bucks a piece, and there were cover charges. Every girl in NJ must buy stock in sequins....they were everywhere all over everything. Saturday was amazing. We got up, sat on the beach, walked the boardwalk, relaxed all day. The only annoying part was the people sitting next to us with a bag of chips. Birds were circling the area for hours trying to get these chips, and they were steady crunching them up and making a day of it. At one point they covered the youngest member of their group with chip crumbs and let the birds circle him for a few minutes. They were laughing the whole time, and between that and the sound the birds were making, I thought for sure we were on that MTV show where they pay people who have patience. Only we never got paid. And we weren't on TV. We finally went back to the hotel room around 5, got ready for dinner, came back downstairs to meet (the old friend) and let him buy us dinner. Then off to the casino....spent a little, won a little, checked out some more clubs, Ran into a group of men pissing on a wall, and decided to tag along on the end of their bachelor party for a second, met back up with the old friend and watched him win money. And you know he slipped us a couple chips. He gave us around 150 bucks that night...It pays to smile I guess. Damn, I've been smiling for free all this time. . . Sunday we got breakfast, went to the boardwalk for massages, (no happy endings...) got a few gifts for those in life we care most about, then of course put a few more nickels in the slot machines....lost. Then back home. I left with 200 bucks. The entire weekend, including gas, hotel, gambling, food, gifts, massage, (when you include my winnings on the slot machines, and the fifty bucks pop slipped me) only cost me 140 bucks. Not too shabby. I would have spent that on something a lot less memorable for sure. Weekend = Successful

Happy Birthday Jeezus

Last night was the work Christmas party.
Or as not to offend anyone, the holiday party. Upon arrival I had a drink. And another. There is one thing about alcohol that I love. It makes my jokes super funny.
And the cool thing is, everyone can hear every single joke I make because for some reason I seem to talk super loud. My friend Mike looked Amazing. I said, damn Mike, you look good. He said, it's thanks to his wife. So I said, wow, these "wives" as people call them, seem to be pretty damn cool. Where can I get myself one of those. He said Columbia.
My other friend Mike was there with his girlfriend. Although everyone thinks she is his wife. Not because he has ever said he is married, and not because either one of them wear a ring (because they don't) but just because this day in age everyone is trying to get away from everyone else, so the idea of two people living together just because they want to, even though they have a choice not to, just doesn't make any sense. So all night people kept introducing them as Mike and his wife. So finally, I point out the fact that they are not married.
I tell them about a guy friend of mine who always wore a wedding ring so everyone would assume he was married. Even though he wasn't. He would even refer to his girlfriend as his wife. He was the first man I had ever met who pretended he WAS married. Most of the time when you are out with a couple, (and especially if the woman is wearing a diamond or any type of fancy ring on her finger) you assume they are married. So when someone asks, oh, you are married? Mr. Boyfriend is sure to jump in with, "um, nope, she bought that ring herself. She wears it on that finger to make me crazy. She's a cockblocker. I was going to break up with her tonight actually. Are you free? Seriously, I'm basically super single." (The cool part is, his girlfriend with the ring is usually like a hundred weeks pregnant. So she feels super hero stupid.)
But nope, usually no one is breaking down doors to announce they are married, specially when they're not.I told Mike he may as well just marry his girl. I said, "don't break up. Don't fucking do it. there's nothing else out there. No greener grass. Seriously, I’m currently just looking for someone who doesn't molest kids. It's gotten that bad." Mike assured me he does not molest kids. Hence, he'd make an awesome husband.
It was at that point that my friends suggested I stop speaking to people. I came out of the bathroom and saw a couple drinks at the bar. I said, mmm, those look tasty, what's in that? The deputy commandant said, "Pepsi." I said, oh! I guess I'll take a Pepsi ... Plus! He asked me if I had one of the pocket breathalyzer tests they were handing out at the party. (Where were my friends for that exchange?)I went back inside and it was time to eat. When I got to the line there were so many plates. They were stacked to the Heavens. I said to the guy next to me. Look at all the plates. There is one for everyone. Again ... can I get some friends? I got salad and accidentally allowed it to touch the guy in front of me. He had a nice dip of ceaser dressing on his sleeve. I tried to wipe it off without him noticing. He noticed. I guess I was trying to wipe if off with another part of his jacket.
I got some stuffing, although I had to cut it with a knife. Don't even ask, 'cause I can't answer. It was good though. I stuck the table decorations in my hair at the exact moment the Commandant came up to introduce me to his wife. (What friends?)I did the chicken noodle soup dance. With a soda on the side. I threw up in my mouth. I had to eat a piece of cake to get rid of the taste. I washed the cake down with Madori. I took out my pocket breathalyzer. If it turns blue, it means you are over the legal limit.At some point we all played musical chairs. It's fun. You send up a rep from your table. They announce an item each rep needs to get and the rep runs out to get it. One chair is taken away while they're gone. The point is to get back to a chair. Our rep made it into the top 3. They announced to the reps they needed to find something blue. I threw my breathalizer.It was as Blue as could be.

Vacation?

(Original Post: September 3, 2006 - Sunday)

So what is the word meaning, a period of time devoted to the consumption of Alcohol and the making of bad decisions? I need a vacation after my vacation.
Here are the highlights:
In a van. 1 driver, 1 tour guide, four beautiful ladies in their late twenties, early thirties (us!), four totally old geezers, and four teen-to-20s people. The tour guide is telling a story about the creation of the world. We were made of clay, but water swept us away, we were made of wood, but we were burned, and then finally we were made of cornmeal or something and we lived forever. The oldies in the front are all ears. I'm telling Dane Cook jokes in the middle, and the youngies are like "dude this is lame, oh God, those people are old, awe, someone kill me."
One of the guys was telling a story about how he tried to buy pot and there was a guy holding a gun and he was like, all I got is 40 bucks, don't shoot. And then the girl was like, Dude we are all little pieces of corn bread! They should be adding me onto their MySpace as I type this! lol.
It was Candi, Kelly, Rebecca and I. Candi has been friends with Kelly and Rebecca for as long as she can remember. We go to Senior Frogs, because apparently that is where the Gringos are! Which is all Rebecca wanted to know. We are in Mexico, at a Mexican eatery and Rebecca is like, "Senior, Where oh where are the Gringos!?" So he sends us to Senior Frogs. And trust me, the more you drink, the more you are convinced your kiss will turn those frogs to princes. Anyway, as promised, plenty of American men. The host was a black guy who kept wanting us to get up on stage. Rebecca is by far the craziest girl on the planet, so she was always up there and down for whatever. So every five minutes you hear over the club speaker, "Where is Rebecca? Come on crazy girl, get up here." Needless to say, we were not shy of attention. And as titled, all frogs!
We would not pay to go into a place unless they allowed one of us to do a 'walk through.' Rebecca would usually go, but I had to pee at one point, so they sent me so I could use the head. When I got in there all I saw were female mud wrestlers in the middle of the stage. I was like, no way. We are not going in here. By the time I got out, Rebecca had been in to do a walk through as well, and she was like, hell yes, this is the place. The ring eventually transformed into a dance floor and man-made rain was poured on the dance floor. Wet bodies were everywhere. Most were naked. Poor Candi wasn't even moving, bodies were just tossing her into the air. It was classic and it was all captured on film.

Top 10 best things about Mexico!

(Original Post: September 1, 2006 - Friday)

Hello from Cancun! I'm going to make this quick. When I get back I will tell you all about it. So far this is what I've observed as being the Top 10 reasons to visit!
1. All the employees are legal!
2. During a massage no one tries to talk to you. (Because they don't understand your ass anyway.)
3. You can get jewelry, blankets, sundresses, real-estate and a car rental from any Mexican in the city.
4. Even if you get totally ripped off you are only out about fifty cents.
5. Showing a breast will get you cover charge and open bar at any club on the strip.
6. The city is like one big dollar store.
7. You can take a water slide from the top floor straight to the bar.
8. More people speak English here than in California.
9. Pesos don't look as heartbreaking as American dollars when they are leaving your pocket.
10. You can always find gum.
Top 10 reasons to keep your ass at home:
1. You can haggle for medication. (scary)
2. Everyone on the street wants to sell you drugs.
3. Every bar seems to be hosting a girls gone wild episode.
4. The same drunk Americans hitting on you, that used to hit on you in the states, only now they have easy access to drugs and the illusion that they are more attractive since they are in Mexico.
5. It costs a buck to send a postcard.
6. No matter what deal you got on your jewelry, someone got it cheaper!
7. There are 7 year olds on the stage shaking their ass during the dance off.
8. Hurricanes!
9. You will now pay 50 bucks for a key chain simply because you managed to haggle him down from the original price of 200!
10. No one here knows who Dane Cook is.

In keeping with tradition

(Original Post: June 4, 2006 - Sunday)

We had a party last night. A BBQ. Although I'm not even sure how to work that thing, and we always rope some poor sap into doing it for us. And it's usually whoever arrives first.
We told people to arrive at 5 so of course most showed up at a convenient 8:15. Which was fine. But by that time I had already eaten chicken, stuffing, rice, cereal, ice cream, whipped cream, chips, dip, pizza rolls, chicken on a stick, cake, fruit (cause I'm on a diet), and drinkies which included, but were not limited to, red bull and vodka and madori sours. Oh yeah, I'm going to need some kind of operation.
Needless to say, (and yet I will still verbalize it) My stomach had something growing inside it. All the fruit did was ferment all the other bull shit in my belly. Creating a rotting blob of (and I'll use the technical term here) Fat! I ended up feeling like shit and failing at my job to be the life of the party.
I will say this. There is a good 200 bucks worth of beer and liquor here. We should have a yard sale. I do believe that is the one thing no motorist would be able to pass up. It's exactly what you need on a squelching hot day. And it may possibly prevent some road rage. If someone cuts you off in traffic, just hang your drink out the window and yell, THIS VODKA AND REDBULL JUST SAVED YOUR LIFE ASSHOLE! And then continue to proceed with caution.
As much as people think I drink, and I will remind you that my picture shows me posing with a diet Pepsi, my roommate and I don't really drink that much. All this left over beer would never happen if we were, drinkers. When I go to other parties someone always has to make a 'beer run.'
No one has to do that at our parties. And yet the police still get called because we look like we are having friends, and that is against the law apparently.
On our deck right now we have 2 categories of beer. The fresh stuff that we acquired last night, and the 2 cases of old stuff that we had to take out of the cooler from last year's party to make room for the fresh stuff. So if you don't want this alcohol to die that same death, come here and pick up a six pack. Or simply invite us somewhere and we will bring the hangover.

Designated Driver

(Original Post: December 11, 2005 - Sunday)

It was finally my turn. Designated Driver. DD. Driver Designated to remain soberer than everyone else. Which isn't hard considering my friends. No biggie. $2 drinks. So get drunk within an hour and spend the rest of the night getting soberer. No problem.
Well, one problem. I'm mean when I'm sober. I'm rational. I'm strict. I'm punctual. And when I've been drunk and sober in the same night, I'm lame. I go through the whole drunk/not drunk thing in one night. This sucks because then I realize (right away) all the stupid things I've already done. And I didn't even have a night to enjoy it. The number I've already drunk dialed. The text message I keep resending because I don't think it's sending. The freak out if I don't get a response in five seconds or less. The "Are you ignoring me" message I send right away. The "Fine, fuck you!" feeling I feel immediately following that message. Geezuz. Then I'm sober, and thinking, damn it. I'm a big steaming pile of bullcrazy.
But once I'm sober, it's MDDNDAD. Mommy Dearest Designated Not Drunk Anymore Driver. I'm all about, Lisa are you listening, do you understand that we need to get the Coat Check ticket to Diane? Hello?
I'm all about, Hello Diane, did you forget we were standing outside with Ice Boogers waiting for our coats, while you are in here forgetting how to leave?
I'm all about, Lisa, please don't sing "Like a Prayer" really loudly in my face, cause I'm sober, and I don't like it. How about, you sing over there, and I sing over here? Lisa, please stop. Are you listening?
I'm all about, No Diane, I do not want another shot. I'm the MDDNDAD, did you forget? I don't want a fucking shot. Shove that shot in your ass. No, I'm not mad. Get me a water quick, I'm in hell.
I'm all about, yes girls I'm going to eat all my fries. Yes Lisa, this is the best burger in the Whole Wide World (aka WWW.) Yes, they sell a thousand best burgers in the WWW every second.
I'm all about, my name is Terri. Oh you are a cop. Where is your wife? yeah, that's what they all say. Oh you think I'm pretty? Well no shit. Oh you broke up with your girlfriend of six years, five months ago because she didn't want to have children and you are a family man? How sweet is that. Oh you want me to walk you to the bus stop? I don't think so. My friends are worried. I should get back. Oh you want to give me your number. Um, alright. Frank you say your name is? Ok, got it. Bye. (And then 10 minutes later ...) There is good ol' boy Frank making out with some chick outside the bar. He must have been serious about making that family.
And then there's, Yes girls, I see the 50-year-old couple on the dance floor. Yes, I see them. Don't point, I see them. Don't go over there to show me. I SEE THEM!
Yes Diane, I'm ready to leave. Where is Lisa? Hey Lisa, we are leaving. Why are you dancing? "I just want to dance." Damn it, Diane has the coats. "I just want to dance." We are leaving. "This is a great song." We are walking. "I'm dancing." Dance and walk drunk bitch, Dance and walk ... and don't sing in my face. "I"m dancing with this guy." Lisa, he is with the girl on the stage. "No, we are dancing." You are dancing with his back then, cause he's watching that girl on the stage. "I'm drunk and having a great time woooo." Fuck, shoot me in my face.
Every five minutes I hear them say, "Is T mad?" No Sweeties. T isn't mad. It's just that strange place you reside between not drunk and not sober, and you know you cannot drink anymore, so you are heading toward totally sober, and that place sucks when you are in a bar and everyone else is residing in that place called, I don't know my name.
Home at last. Two snack roles, an oatmeal cookie, two peppermint patties and sleep. That's how we do's it.

You know it's that time

(Original Post: December 3, 2005 - Saturday)

So last night was the Holiday Party. Here is the thing. We come to these events to spend more time with the people we work with. However, no one even recognizes anyone. Everyone is boobs and ass. It's like we've all been in these uniform shells and we cannot wait to say, "Hey look at me, I'm a girl, you can tell because I'm spilling out of my dress. Yes, please take random pictures of me throughout the night so I can be a total disgrace to my service later."
Drinks were $4. Doubles were $4. Triples were $4. A straight glass of tequila on the rocks was ... $4. And it was about $4, $4, $4, floor for me.
I remember trying to look really sexy doing some dance move. At some point the drink I had on the table turned into a lever, and during this graceful dance move I pulled the lever. My first thought ... play it off, no one saw, I'm safe, just wipe it under the table ... no biggie. But all of a sudden 800 people were there offering me a napkin. Damn it people, nothing happened. The floor was already sticky. IT'S NO BIG DEAL. I didn't just try to drop it like it's hot and spill a drink all over myself. I don't know who told you that, but it's not true!
I smelled like Madori for the rest of the night. I was worried about slipping on the liquid, but no chance, as soon as that shit dried I was glued to the floor.
My friend went up to request a song. Do Something by Britney Spears. Another Nazi DJ. "I don't have Britney Spears." Of course using a tone that would suggest that she was crazy for asking. And then he played 'The Percolator.' Can I just ask what the fuck?
After the party, it was off to a bar. Good idea? Notice the question mark. Drinkies, dancies, passies outies. Let me count down for you the colors of Christmas that were in full effect last night:
1. Red lipstick, and lots of it. 2. Green complexions after several shots. 3. Red noses as a result of alcohol abuse. 4. Green envy.
I'm full of the fucking spirit.

Welcome to Crazy Town

(Original Post: October 22, 2005 - Saturday)
Fucking crazy town. Our Neighbors think we are out of our minds. Every time I get out of my car, clothes and trash fall out. Most of the time I don't notice. I find it on my neighbor’s porch the next day. Like a reminder that I'm a mess. We have a half a million newspapers randomly scattered around our house. No time to read...or even pick them up I guess. We came home the other day in Huge night shirts and high heels. They stare. I'm sure they wonder how the hell we raise children. They've called the cops on us, and go out of their way to ignore us most days. I'm telling you this story so whenever I mention crazy town, you will understand what I'm referring to. Now you are in the know.We went out last night. YES. I was DD, so that meant drunk early on and a few hours to sober up. Drinks were a quarter. I mean what? You cannot beat that. My new favorite song is the hump song by Black Eyed Peas. My goodness, it's in my head. They played it twice. And then they played faith by George Michael. Who the fuck pays the DJ? We hit McDonalds on our way out. The girls were making me laugh so hard that I inhaled a nugget into my nose. Seriously. They kept telling me to blow it out. I was like, "Fuck Blowing it out. I'm going to try and suck it back down. I will throw up if I see part of a nugget come out my nose." It's gone now, so somehow, it made its way to my stomach. So we're good. I saw a good friend of mine and was able to do some MAJOR catching up. Always nice.On the way into the house last night my friend slipped and fell flat on her back into the grass.
Welcome to Crazy Town.

Same Clothes

(Original Post: September 3, 2005 - Saturday)

I went out last night. I should post some pics. Pictures and email will be the death of us all one day.I'm still in the same clothes I went out in. Jewelry and all. Some guy bought most of our drinks and got us into the clubs cover free. The taxi driver only charged us twenty bucks up to Canton and twenty bucks back...thanks Antonio...whoever you are. He told us he used to date Tony Braxton's sister. Does she even have a sister? By the end of the night we were all passed out on the corner waiting for the taxi to arrive. A couple people came over to tell us it wasn't safe to sit on the corner. What a sad world we live in these days.


And for the record...people are rude. People are fucking insane and rude. This goes out to the woman in the TGIF parking lot who got attitude with me yesterday. You are not a nice person! A big fucking super finger to you. If I was mean I would call you a twat. But I hate that word, cunt.For the rest of you, a bit of advice: When getting into a taxi make sure you don't fall on your ass and twist your ankle. It doesn't feel good the next day, and your pride is hurt all the way up to the time when you pass out on your friends lap and proceed to drool all the way home.

Atlantic City Baby!

(Original Post: June 20, 2005 - Monday)
So this weekend me and my good friend went to AC. The hotel was only 75 bucks a night courtesy of an old, (real old) friend. We got there on Friday night, partied till about 3, and then got some sleep.
First let me say, men in NJ are shorter than most men in the United States. We stand about 5'7 and we towered them.
Next let me let people know, walking up to two girls and saying, "hello ladies, you two look like Jersey girls"...is not a compliment unless you ARE actually FROM jersey.
We sang karaoke but it cost 2 bucks a song. Drinks were around 10 bucks a piece, and there were cover charges. Every girl in NJ must buy stock in sequins....they were everywhere all over everything.
Saturday was amazing. We got up, sat on the beach, walked the boardwalk, relaxed all day. The only annoying part was the people sitting next to us with a bag of chips. Birds were circling the area for hours trying to get these chips, and they were steady crunching them up and making a day of it. At one point they covered the youngest member of their group with chip crumbs and let the birds circle him for a few minutes. They were laughing the whole time, and between that and the sound the birds were making, I thought for sure we were on that MTV show where they pay people who have patience. Only we never got paid. And we weren't on TV.
We finally went back to the hotel room around 5, got ready for dinner, came back downstairs to meet (the old friend) and let him buy us dinner.
Then off to the casino....spent a little, won a little, checked out some more clubs, Ran into a group of men pissing on a wall, and decided to tag along on the end of their bachelor party for a second, met back up with the old friend and watched him win money. And you know he slipped us a couple chips. He gave us around 150 bucks that night...It pays to smile I guess. Damn, I've been smiling for free all this time. . .
Sunday we got breakfast, went to the boardwalk for massages, (no happy endings...) got a few gifts for those in life we care most about, then of course put a few more nickels in the slot machines....lost.
Then back home. I left with 200 bucks. The entire weekend, including gas, hotel, gambling, food, gifts, massage, (when you include my winnings on the slot machines, and the fifty bucks pop slipped me) only cost me 140 bucks. Not too shabby. I would have spent that on something a lot less memorable for sure.
Weekend = Successful