Don’t send out the search party. (unless it’s a hot guy with abs and a full head of hair) for I have returned. I got back from the family cruise and stayed at my mom’s house all of 2 days before I was jet setting again. Most likely I’m not going to seriously start looking for a job until I have spent all my money and sink low enough to rob my little sisters piggy bank. I kid, I kid. I would never do that and shatter her lifetime dreams of purchasing her first American Girl doll with her very own money. Somehow at the ripe old age of 6 she has managed to save $76. My mom asked her where she got it all because to her knowledge she only had $20 left over from her birthday money. Ella (that’s my sister) told her that a while ago I gave her a smiley face piggy bank filled with money. Bomb.
Anyway, my old college friend/sorority sister/partner in crime BabyVic and I concocted a master plan that I should make a trip to her city of residence (let’s hear it for Chi-townnnnnnn) and look for jobs. All previous knowledge I have of Chicago is that it is expensive, there’s no parking, and boasts the best pizza I have ever tasted (Lou Malnati’s for anyone who wants to give it a whirl.) But I thought what the hell, I have a little bit of money and no responsibilities lets take another week long vacation to Chicago to “job hunt.” Mom’s bought the story so off I went. I completely realize that I am 25 and should stop acting like I’m 21 and some free spirit. It’ll happen, eventually. Really, BabyVic and I just sat on the deck of her high rise apartment building overlooking the lake and drank the week away. I did a good deed and applied for 2 jobs – but I’m not expecting to hear anything. The highlight of the week was when we went to a bar downtown called theory and ran into a few people we knew from college, who were with a few other people they knew from college. We all got to introducing ourselves and what not and I was aimlessly rambling at this guy, we’ll call him BRO until later in the story. So Bro and I are throwing back shooters, laughing, having a gay old time. He asked for my number so I say give me yours and I’ll call you. I ask for his last name and he tells me my name is BRO MCHOTTERSON. What. At this point my brain fills with stories I had heard from HOTTIE MCHOTTERSON about him and his brother BRO who lives in Chicago and all the fun stuff they would do. Well, I asked and it was true. Some how in the lucks of all lucks I met HOTTIE’s brother and managed to ho-bag my way into him asking for my number. Just for safe measure I asked if his brother was HOTTIE MCHOTTERSON who attends Shit University and he said yes, so I said I couldn’t talk to him anymore. Then, he put it all together. Ooooohhhh…. you’re THAT Gizzy. That Gizzy, that girl. Same thing. We laughed it off and I’m pretty sure the drunker I got the more I told BRO about how much I still like HOTTIE and I’m also pretty sure he was texting HOTTIE the whole time. I can’t win with this guy, even when I’m in a different state any chance I have with him walks up slaps me in the face and then takes a giant shit right on top of me. I’m getting pretty tired of this mockery.
I just can’t even talk about HOTTIE anymore. Even being friends with him is up there on the list of things that will never happen right along with the resurrection of my blackberry.
Back to part 2 of what I actually meant to be rambling about instead of my life’s mishaps. Some highlights of the trip that aren’t necessarily stories:
*I walked through a bar on the boat one night, looked on the dance floor, and saw Cousin Dumber on the dance floor in his boxer-briefs wearing a ladies bra and lipstick doing a backflip. Now, I don’t know what was going on and I don’t think I want to.
*We decided to take Cousin D to senor frogs. She was 18 (the legal drinking age in the Bahamas. WOOHOO!) and had just graduated high school, thinking back to when I graduated high school Lucky and I were having run in’s with the cops and almost getting arrested because of drinking so I’m sure it wasn’t her first taste of alcohol. Me, Cousin D, Uncle L, Cousin Dumb, Cousin Dumb’s wife, and Cousin Dumber all went to the frog where we each got a yard. That’s 3 feet of margarita goodness. She finished her yard in about 5 minutes so when Uncle L (the chaperone, because 3 25 year olds and a 28 year old aren’t good enough) wasn’t looking I got her another yard. Then we did the conga line and took 5 more tequila shots, then got on stage and danced the macarena and got another yard. From what my pictures tell me she passed out in the elevator, crawled up the stairs, passed out on the stairs, and ended the night with her mom holding her hair back. I like it.
*Everyone has a few drinks one night we layed out on top deck to watch the meteor shower and then decided to go to the 24 hour pizza station. We’re all sitting there when Aunt T finally says, “OK! I can’t stand this anymore. Does anyone else smell the pot?” Of course, we all feel awkward because Cousin Dumber who is also 25 has spent most of his 20’s in jail because of the pot. She takes another bite of her pizza and busts out laughing, “IT’S THE PIZZA IT’S THE PIZZA! WE’RE ALL EATING POT PIZZA!” My family is a bunch of crackheads, the pot jokes went on for a good 20 minutes, Aunt V was laughing so hard she was crying while Aunt P and Cousin Dumb rolled individual oregano joints in napkins and lit them up. I really wonder how we didn’t get kicked off.
All in all it was a decent trip, I had fun until we got back. Everyone got through the customs line and we were heading to get our luggage when 2 officers approached me.
Officer: Buy some BAAAGS while you were away?
Me: BAHAHA Yeah, a few.
Officer: Are you aware that those are copy written and I could confiscate the bags, take you to jail, and you would have a record?
Me: Take the bags?????
Officer (looks at my mom and aunts): Did anyone else buy any BAAAAAGS?
Everyone shook their head no. Bitches.
Officer: Ma’am I’m going to need you to come with me. And bring your BAAAAGS.
They tossed me in a room with no windows JUST LIKE you see in the movies, like I was a criminal.
Officer: These BAAAAGS are counterfeited.
Me: I’m aware of that.
Officer: How much do you think these run in the stores?
Me: Like $1,000
Officer: And you paid?
Me: Have you ever been to New York? They sell these on canal street you know, it’s not just in the Bahamas.
Officer: Who do you know on canal street? Ya smugglin’ some bags for your homies to sell back in NYC? (Mind you, I’m not ghetto in the least, I’m 5’5, 120 pounds with long brown hair, I wear dresses and high heels so this guy can spare me with his homie garb and take it back to Jamaica mon, and get me a goddamned Cuban cigar while you’re there. I couldn’t buy one in the Bahamas because THOSE are illegal. Bastard.)
Me: Uhhhh. I bought 2?
Officer: Give me your passport and write down your last 5 addresses.
Officer: I’m going to need to investigate this further, you can go to jail and have a record for fraud, you bag smuggler.
Me: I’m not smuggling any bags, just take them. I just graduated college. I have no money to buy the real thing.
Officer: I’m going to need you to take off your shirt. (Totes kidding)
He let me leave after that. There was a little more irrelevant conversation that went on about my family’s teeth and my last STD screening but I’m still not sure if I am wanted by the government for bag smuggling or what the deal is. He said he would contact me with any further questions so I gave him my cell number and forgot to mention that my cell had gotten eaten by a barracuda. So if I go missing please come look for me in the Bahamian prison because I will surely be expedited and given only my Louis duffel to survive.