Tag Archives: anthony

(Platonic) Date Night

As of 11:24 pm on December 20th Neal Bledsoe has not accepted my facebook friend request.

SEE! Awaiting friend confirmation. I’m kind of getting pissed off.  But anyway…

A texting conversation between Lucky and I yesterday afternoon that sums this post up in a nutshell:

Lucky: How the eff did you get fecal matter in your eye?

Me: God, I hope that saying isn’t true.  But I have no idea.  I did some sketchy things this weekend so I guess that’s what I get.

So, the million dollar question is how did I get pink eye? Thanks to Knocked Up we all know that you get pink eye from someone farting on your pillow.  Which absolutely could have happened this weekend.  Here’s the part in the movie when the camera zooms in on my glazed puffy eye and rewinds through the entire weekend and starts to play when I am getting out of my car at Anthony’s apartment in the big city Thursday night.

(Side Note: How I Met Your Mother is my new favorite show, LOVE IT! It’s on right now.  I am happy.)

I had my 3rd and final interview at XX University Friday afternoon.  Fingers crossed everybody, I may have gotten a job on my own!  So I did all that crap and Anthony and I decided to have a platonic date night, cause we’re just bff’s ya’ll.  We went to a nice steak dinner, drank 6 bottles of wine, gave a homeless guy $50/Anth’s gym membership card after having an entire conversation with him making him swear that he would take the $50 to a strip club and make it rain, made questionably positioned snow angels on Anth’s rooftop deck, threw snowballs at people off the rooftop deck, threw beer bottles off the rooftop deck, had a weird dance party, and awkwardly passed out on the floor: me in the kitchen doorway and Anth under the coffee table.  That’s exactly how I remember Friday night, too.  For it was a celebracion for my maybe new job. :/

Around 8 am Saturday morning we woke up (because when you pass out like a drunken fool at 11pm it’s easy to wake up early), looked for some apartments online, and actually found one.  I called the guy up and we had a nice little chitty chat about his condo for rent.  The pictures were nice, like real nice, and the rent was cheap, like real cheap (not really, but about as cheap as you can get in the city without having bars on your windows and trannys in your hallway.) Because he only needs someone to sublease it for 8 months while he is in India on business.  HOKAY mon, I’m your girl! But, as always, there was a catch.  I had to interview with the association board and the association board is a bunch of old corporate lawyers and snobby housewives.  The owner liked my style and gave me a few hints, “Tell them you love to work and that you just got married, they love newlyweds.”  UHM.  Both untrue.  But lucky for me I had a hungover Anth in tow to be my faux hubby.

Like any other Gizzy-Anth outting we had to drink before we went to the interview that evening.  Like all day.  The plan was to go have a few bloody mary’s to get rid of our hangovers/get our levels right so we could chat it up about our new marriage and make it believable.  Which turned into a whole day of fun.  On our way to the interview we came up with the brilliant plan to really play the part and stopped for this little gem:

Apparently drunk+association board interview=engagement ring.  Ok, not really… it was $4.88 at Forever 21 but it tricked the board and my mom.  I thought we really impressed everyone when we entered the building with our arms linked singing, “Hi Ho Hi Ho off to work we go ba dum dum dum dum dum dum hi ho hi ho hi hoooooooo!!!!” And we even did a little musical stance at the end of the song like we were on Broadway, which was really me standing arms in the air with the gayest smile ever plastered on my face and Anth trying his damnedest to get traction on the marble floor, because alas we were doing all of this in the snow.  I am completely serious.  It’s a shame Anth and I are sexually repulsed by each other, we make a great team and would be pretty much the coolest couple ever, but the thought of having sex with him makes me want to strap down my boobs and sew up my vagina.

I was pretty shocked at the questions the association board asked, I guess when it comes to people’s lively hood nothing is off limits.  They asked us about children, pets, drug use, our careers, education, alcohol use, the stability of our relationship and the relationships with our family, hospital visits, and jail visits among other things.  We were drunk so of course we answered the questions like jack-tards and told them he likes to beat me but only when he’s high on crack, then I curtseyed when we left and literally dove into the  backseat of a cab and yelled, “Onward march!” Ok yeah, I’m a little embarrassed now.  But, they totally loved us.

Or at least I thought they loved us and knew we were joking until I got this Christmas treat in my inbox this afternoon:


I received this from the association board this afternoon.  Sorry, good luck on the rest of your search.



Dear Mr. T,

We the board acknowledge your efforts to lease your apartment for the duration of your extended stay overseas.  However, we ask that you take careful consideration of the candidates you select to bring to the board as possible tenants, and how they will interact with the lifestyle and temperaments of the building’s current tenants.

Your most recent candidate selection of Mr. A and Ms. G has alerted our attention that you may not be taking the tenant selection process as seriously as once promised.

We uphold the highest standards of elegance and class here at A Lot of Nuns House and prefer to have tenants who can not only respect the association board and our policies, but also the other building tenants, their privacy, and right to a peaceful place to live.  Because of these reasons and after careful evaluation, the board has elected to deny tenancy to Mr. A and Ms. G, as we feel they would be better suited elsewhere.

We wish you the best of luck in your selection process and look forward to meeting with future tenant candidates that you wish to proceed with for further evaluation.


A Lot of Nuns House Association Board


Hrmmph…Sorry for partying.

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Gizzy the backup plan

Happy November 3rd everyone! What happened on November 3rd in history? Nothing.  Oh wait, The Wizard of Oz was first televised.  Wahoo!!

Anyway, Monday night Anthony invited me to come to the big city to be his date to the Big City Butts basketball game, to sit in his company box, with him and all his bosses and prospective engineering clients blah blah boring.  I jumped at the opportunity because #1 free booze #2 free food #3 free basketball.

Really though, this is what’s super lame.  Anthony always asks me to be his “backup.”  I have been invited to his company Christmas party the last 3 years in a row as a “backup.” Like, this is how it goes, “Hey Gizzy, do you have any plans on December 24th for the rest of your life? Would you mind being my “backup” date to my company Christmas party every single year in case [insert whore of the moment] can’t come?” Of course the last 3 years I said yes, even though Anthony lives 4 hours away.  And I still have yet to go to the company Christmas party.  I told him this summer not to even bother asking me to be the backup this year because I’m not into it.  I’m finding my own company Christmas party to go to.  But now that I have mingled with the best of Big City’s green engineer’s I might consider being his backup plan again.

Last year I asked Anth why I’m the backup, because lets face the facts, I am a wayyyy better time than any girl he is going to ask to go, which conveniently the past 3 Christmas parties has been this girl we went to college with named Jenn.  JENN! What a boring name.  Boring name, for a boring girl.  He agreed that I’m the best time ever but put it ever so gently, “Jenn is going to put out, you won’t. Gotta get my bang in.”  Touche my friend, touche.

So anyway, lately Anth has been dating this girl Smashley, he asked Smashley to go to the game first and she backed out the night before.  Who does he call? The back up plan.  This guy!  Of course I was doing nothing so I agreed to drive up and go with him, basically the most exciting thing I’ve done in the past 3 months.

When Anthony and I were chit chatting about how much fun we were going to have the morning of the game he laid down a few ground rules for me:

1. No taking shots

2. Always use utensils (So unnecessary, I’m a drunk, not a barbarian. Although, this picture of me in college throwing a chair down the hallway at Anthony’s frat house does raise a good point:


3. Wear something “showy”

4. Don’t start trouble for “that blog”

5. Don’t embarrass him

He makes it sound like I am 2 years old and running wild, coloring on the walls, and whipping my little wiener out to pee in people’s glasses.  I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but I take pride in my professionalism.  If I had to say something about my level of professionalism it would be that I am too professional.  I mean I know I talk big talk and drink big drinks but lets be serious here, I’m not going to eff up his job.  And it hurts my feelings that so few of my friends take me seriously.  I am a real person!

We arrive at the game, I’ve got on my “showy” professional dress with a martini in one hand and my quellazaire in the other laughing like this every time someone makes a sophisticated joke, “BRU-HA HA HA HA!” and petting my mink shoulder fur. Shortly before the game started I ventured out to get little souvenir for myself since it was my first Big City Butts game. In honor of Lucky, and her fallen ones, I come back with two foam fingers.  One for me and one for Anth.  And Anth was not too happy about this.

Apparently, when you’re in a club box with people in suits, drinking Crown Royal XR, and talking about “the market,” it’s not cool to be waving a foam finger in the air, or actually watching the game.

So needless to say Anthony shunned my foam finger and made me hide them in the corner before anyone saw.  I really wish I would’ve seen this coming so I could have taken a picture of his expression when I walked through the door with a foam finger on each hand raising the roof.

Other then that the game was a good time, the Big City Butts won, a hundred and something to ninety something I think.  All I know is that when we walked in I got handed a little coupon book and within the coupon book was a coupon, if the Butts score over 100 points I get a free big mac.  I totes made Anth stop and get me my big mac on the way home since all they had to eat in the club box was pulled pork, steak, and fancy food that does not make a sporting event a sporting event.  At one point I told him I was going to get a hot dog and he practically groveled at my feet asking me not to.  I also threw cheese cubes at opposing team fans off the balcony, I mean it was not a big deal.  Nobody saw, since I was out on the balcony alone watching the game while Anthony was inside discussing how to make toilets green.

Also, let me say that the other women in this box were like ew vom.   I’m talking they had on Jackie O suits and kept talking about their limos, butlers, and how their kids were in preparatory schools in Connecticut, and how they would JUST DIE if they were poor and had to go to public school.

After the game I told Anth about these convos I heard going on and he bounced back telling me that one of their kids won some kind of national nobel peace prize for spelling or some shit.  I automatically asked if the kid was adopted and asian because white kids aren’t that smart.  Who knew!

I spent most of yesterday rolling around on Anth’s couch watching Maury while he went to work and did damage control.  I’m thinking I was probably compared to Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. They definitely think he hired me.

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Fine. Shawn Marion, as you wish.

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.

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Just a late night quickie!

Ok, I totally am not trying to take away from Lucky’s 90’s songs post (which is FAB-U-LOUS by the way) so I am going to keep this quick.  It will just take me a second to snort all of the water out of my nose, I thought the water smelled funny so I cupped my hand under the faucet until it filled up and stuck it up to my nose and sniffed.  I’m a dumb. dumb.

But before I share the video that Anthony showed me of a midget teenage boy lip syncing Katy Perry’s new song Teenage Dream I need everyone to do me a favor.  Remember when I got fired from Whorgan Manly? Well I have applied applied and applied to jobs and another financial institution we’ll call them Gargles Swab decided they would like a shot at Whorgan Manly’s sloppy seconds so I have an interview tomorrow, if you could just CLICK HERE and pick a few questions and answer them for me.  I would do it myself but I’m too lazy and I drink too much and can’t remember any instances when I have faced a challenge at work.  Typically because drinking is my answer to any challenge.  Anyway, it would be much appreciated… kthanks!

Now, your reward, watch it all because about 3 minutes in you’ll get a really special treat…

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Meet Anthony, my whore of a guy friend.

Anthony is my best guy friend, we met in college and have seen each other through the best and worst of times.  I already know what you’re thinking, why don’t you date him? No.  Not going to happen, let me tell you why.

I know entirely too many gritty details about his sexual escapades and drunken nights and he mine, if we got married and had to get a divorce we would have to kill each other before we could take the information we have shared to the court system.  Anthony would be a catch for any other girl though, he is a successful engineer, cute, well mannered, family-oriented italian.  All of my friends swoon over him, even after he had to get plastic surgery on his face because I locked him out of my apartment.

Ok story on that, Anthony came to visit me, he went out to the bars with some douchers who did not include me.  Made it a point to say, “Don’t lock me out.”  Someone did, probably me.  I didn’t hear him knocking or calling and the next thing I know I’m texting him in the a.m. and he is telling me he’s going to the hospital because he got into a bit of a scuffle.  Then the next series of texts is that they’re going to do some labs and what not, so I hopped in my car.  Get to the hospital and not only is Anthony in the hospital, he is in the intensive care unit.  Yes, I am aware I’m a flaming piece of shit.  After chatting/flirting with the doctors they had determined Anthony had gotten hit by a car.  He couldn’t remember anything because he was so shit faced but the whole right side of his body was beat up.  That’s right, homeboy doesn’t remember getting hit by the car. Welcome to my circle of friends. He had to have surgery to repair his kidney and had to have plastic surgery to repair a bone in his face.  Basically I sold my soul to the devil after this and told Anthony if he ever needed anything, I mean anything he could always count on the Gizenator. It was technically my fault and all since he was staying at my place, therefore I am responsible for his well being. Bj? Ok be there in 10.  Someone to do your laundry? How about I take it to the dry cleaners?  You need a ride home from a bar? I’m there.  He’s never asked me to do anything sexual but pretty much everything else he has taken me up on, what a gentleman. The only good thing about this is that this wasn’t my first time meeting Anthony’s parents so they were a little more forgiving than if I had just been some rando girl he met at a bar. I had already won them over at Anthony’s family graduation dinner when I told Anth’s mom I amored her outfit. That’s love in Italian. Not really, but she liked my effort.

Anyway,  I’m introducing you to my bff with a penis because we had what might be the greatest conversation ever today about his recent trip to Vegas for our friend Rory’s bachelor party and I needed to share, ASAP.  So here it is. Information I already know going into this conversation: Anthony and bachelor party crew spent over 10 grand at The Bank (the nightclub inside the Bellagio hotel) and that he had gotten a strippers number at some point in the trip.

A: Got a new bb after Vegas….

G: AHAHA did you lose your old one in a stripper’s vagina?

A: No, I don’t know what I was thinking.  I guess the girl wasn’t AS filthy as the rest.

G: Well, still.  She’s a stripper.

A: She lovvvvveed me.

G: I mean, it’s a stripper in Vegas.  They love everyone.

A: Even after I got everyone kicked out.

G: Those the professionals, I don’t know what you were expecting.  How did you get everyone kicked out?

A: I had been telling all these chicks no all night.  #1 because I was paying for Rory #2 because 1 is enough.  And then one bitch comes by, spicy latina, and she’s doing her thang and I told her no at least 6 times, I was not paying for a dance.  Pretty clear.  She gave me all her sales pitches, just really pulling out all the stops. Must not have been a lucrative night for her.

G: Did she offer you an outside of the pants bj?

A: No she just went for it eventually.

G: This is gross.

A: I’m kidding.  Not really, but she finally gave up and was like well how about a preview dance and maybe one of your friends will see.

G: So let me get this right, you liked what you saw so instead of paying the stripper money you got her number so you could get it for free???!!!!

A: No, I got the number of a different stripper, but yeah you are getting the point.  I didn’t pay when she was done so she went and got all her fellas and they kept telling me to pay for an hour and were pushing me toward some room and I was like honestly man I’d rather just leave these girls are garb.

G: Did this all happen before or after you spent 10K at the Bellagio?

A: Oh this was the night before.  At like 5pm.

G: Jesus. Christ.

A: She didn’t j me off by the way.

G: Um, yeah.  It sounds like she did.

A: Ok, maybe with her leg.  But that was it.

G: Even better.  So how did you get the other stripper’s number?

A: She just gave it to me.  Probably trying to get some money.

G: I thought you asked for it?

A: I saw her and her “partner” walking by and I was doing my drunk stare down.

G: So she was a lesbian?!

A: And my girl looked at me and stopped her friend and came over.  So we’re like talking for half an hour.  And then she danced for me and then gave me her number.  I forget what our connection was but she lovvvveed me.

G: I can’t believe you talked to a stripper for 30 min, what a waste of time.

A: What do you think we do at strip clubs? I’ve seen T and P before, I need to get my entertainment some other way.  (Anthony has trouble using sexually explicit terms and abbreviates them with first letter only because he has a great fear that since his company pays for his cell phone they are secretly reading his text messages but won’t realize that T and P stand for titties and pussy.  I tell him every day that he is the only moron working there and they’ve already figured him out.)

G: Well isn’t the whole point of going to a strip club to stare at naked women? Not finding out that she wants to go to nursing school and better her life.

A: Well, I mean we were holding hands.

G: Whaaaaaaaaatttttttttttttttt????????!

A: I’m in a meeting and I’m trying to hold it together, I’ve gotta go.


*2 hours later*

A: Giz, I’d really love to stay and talk about strippers some more but I have some work to do.

G: You’re the one that keeps telling me you have to go work and then keep coming back to talk more about strippers.  Stop blaming it on the unemployed friend!

G: Sooooooooo….. did you call the stripper?

A: I texted her the next night.

G: Can you forward me the convo?

A: I just asked if she was working she said something conniving alluding to the fact that she was and I don’t think we talked again after that.

G: Can we three way prank call her?

A: Gizzy, I don’t have the number anymore. I have to go.  It’s date night.

G: You’re a faggot.

*25 Seconds Later*

G: Maybe you could look at your cell bill to get the number?

A: I wouldn’t be able to tell which number it was, I was texting a few different girls that night.

G: Whoa whoa whoaaaaa, who else?

A: You see what I did there?

G: So clever. Whooooo?

A: Some bachelorette chick and some over 40 lady.

G: You are disgusting.

A: They were like 38 actually

G: Did you make out with one?

A: No I didn’t make out that trip. The stripper kissed me and tried to slip me the tongue. But you know, I’m not

G: Do you realize where that mouth has been?

A: Strippers are people too you know

G: Not in Vegas they aren’t.

A: She kissed me what could I do?

G: Slap her. That’s rude!! Which stripper was it? The one that loved you or the spicy latina?

A: The one that was sexting me.

G: Do you think it would be possible to tell me all of the facts at the beginning of our conversation? Gizzy Things I did in Vegas with Strippers: Got their number, kissed one, held hands, SEXTED WITH A STRIPPER IN VEGAS, got an outside the pants bj…. anything else?

A: I went in the back with the spicy latina.

G: I need to go, this is too much. Enjoy date night you stripper fiending whore.

Another reason why I can never date him, right thurr. But, I am pissed now, #1 what is a bff with a penis good for if I can’t three way call his mistakes and make fun of them? And #2 wtf, date night? He doesn’t even have a girlfriend.  That is a crock of SHIT.  I’m pulling it, I am pulling the best friend card and putting it out on the table.  If he doesn’t give me that stripper’s number we are no longer best friends. End. Of. Story.  You hear that Anth?! THIS IS IT!!!!!! I’M DONE!!!

Also, I hate it when people say awwhh or aweee… it’s aww. EFF!

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