Oh Lucky, bless your little heart. And bless all your little heart’s for giving her advice. We renamed Matt, he will now be known as The Has Been Matt McFaggot, just so we’re all on the same page here.
Even though Lucky had a rough day yesterday she was still a trooper and held her wits together enough to put up with me badgering her between our Has Been Matt McFaggot bashing sessions for tips on what I should do since I think I’m starting to look old, and for that she is a saint and I commend her.
Lucky used to get facials at this super fancy spa, so her facialist (Real word? No? I’m keeping it anyway.) would always give her tips. So whenever I come down with hypochondria of the face I always ask Lucky what her fancy spa people would tell her to do. Here are some things she told me prior to today:
-Don’t ever use the same towel on your face twice
-Change your pillow cases every few days
-Don’t eat dairy
-And especially don’t let anyone gizzy on your face
And that’s all I remember. So today when I start sending Lucky pictures of what I looked like 3 years ago and what I look like now and saying, “SEE SEE!!! My eyes look BUGGY!” She told me to get some eye firming cream and one of those gel face masks you put in the refrigerator and shut my mouth, so I did. She also knows that if she told me to go smear poop on my face I would do it willingly. Thank god she doesn’t take advantage of me. That’s a friend.
Well, today was my dads birthday so I come home from celebrating with him all stoked to put my mask on and get my old face back when I look in the refrigerator and it’s gone. I live in a house with 3 other people and a shiesty cat, so I know someone has done something weird. So I go wake my roommate (mom) up and ask her where it is and she says she doesn’t know. So it’s whatevs, I’m way too lazy to spend my whole night looking for it so I head to the kitchen for a snack. Gusher’s box – empty. Fruit roll up box – empty. Barbie fruit snack box – empty. Clearly someone needs to go to the grocery. So I hit up my sisters lunchbox in the refrigerator and low and behold there my face mask is wrapped around her thermos. I ask my mom what the deal is and she says she thought it was an ice pack. Ok fair enough, except that IT HAS EYES!
These are the paroles of my life here people. Lucky has real life problems and I get to play hide and seek with my personal belongings. I promise sometime I’ll get some real problems so that you all can give me life advice and share your stories. But for now, any tips on getting old? Did your face go downhill after 25 too? Any plastic surgeons out there that want to give me a coupon for botox and I will ensure you get my first “real world” paycheck?
On another note, I ate some delicious cake tonight. Chocolate pudding cake. Y-UM! The fact that I am blogging about cake and that I just asked one of my friends on ichat what his favorite cake is and he told me that his dad’s birthday was today too and they had champagne cake with strawberry drizzles and I interrupted by saying, “OMG I LOVE CAKE!” is really starting to frighten me. So I’m going to do it, here is the story of my encounter with Dallas Mavericks NBA player, Shawn Marion.
Oy vey. So I go to the nearby “BIG CITY” to meet up with Anthony and another girlfriend of mine. It’s a seemingly normal Friday night. We go into this club that is a restaurant up top and a super secret VIP club downstairs. Not really, but they make you think it’s VIP because it’s all underground through a windy black hallway then you come to these black curtains with this big security guard and he’s all, “Yo, you on the list? How many?” So we tell him 4 and he’s like alright guys alright just for tonight. But honestly, there’s no cover, no list, they let everyone in. Games, it’s all gamessss!
Anywho, here we are drinking a vodka tonic (6) and taking some shooters (8) when the bartender brings over a couple of Vegas Bomb’s and bellows, “Here ladies Shawn wanted you to have these.” Bomb.com but who the hell is Shawn and why does he want us dead? She points to a tall black guy hiding out in a cubby. So we raise our glasses throw back the shooters and go on our merry way. Shawn doesn’t take his shooter, he sips it, makes a face, and sets it down. Well, now I’m sure we got drugged.
Fast forward to the end of the night, we’re upstairs finishing our umpteenth vodka tonic when a guy in a baseball hat with PUBE HAIR sticking out the sides walks up and starts chatting us up about how Jalen Rose is in town. Well I know who Jalen Rose is goddamnit, and he is famous! Show me the way. While this convo is going on and I am asking PUBE HAIR if Jalen Rose has a limo outside and some Crystal that we can have, “Shawn” comes up the stairs and yells for him. PUBE HAIR comes back and says “Shawn” would like to speak with me. I slur “Well great for Shawn, but I’m not going into a dark foggy room with a STRANGER.” (But yes, I would get into a car with Jalen Rose.) And PUBE HAIR runs off with “Shawn.” I turn around and see that Anthony’s tongue is on the floor. What the hell?! Close your mouth and lets blow this popsicle stand. Anthony tells me how stupid I am and that “Shawn” is in fact Shawn Marion and I am a moron. So it’s whatevs. I twittered him the next day apologizing for being a B and defaming him but I never heard anything back. I do what I can.
Lastly, how would we feel about Golden Girl recap Fridays? Yes? No? Maybe So? I’ll probably do it anyway.