Tag Archives: cake

To Gizzy’s house: part II.

After we ripped the shots with the 20-somethings, we played a nice round of beer pong with them.  I don’t even remember who won, TMA.  Too much alcohol.

And we’d had enough, so we went back to the roof to continue our personal drinking antics.

At some point or other, we decided it was time to go inside and start getting ready for the night (birthday dinner at a sushi joint!) while watching a little Teen Mom, of course.

This is when we decided to put the wine glasses to the test (Gizzy got one for herself). And yes, we’ve got pics to prove it (coming soon, Thoughtsappear!). So we got all fresh and clean and into some slutastic dresses and headed out.  I mean, not to brag, but we looked good.

Once we were seated, Gizzy was completely disturbed and overtaken by a couple across the room. They were acting as though they were on a first date, but in fact, they were married.  They also looked Amish.  I may have also made the comment, “I didn’t know Amish people ate sushi.”  They were just about as awkward as you could imagine, no conversation, no footsie, not even any eye contact.  I wanted to order a round of shots for them laced with viagra.  At the end of the dinner they got up from the table and held hands as they walked away, really?! I’m sure they went home and got it on all over their beige furniture and against their white walls after like the best date EVER. Christ.

Anyway, we ordered a bottle of sake, some edamame, and several sushi rolls that were absolutely heaven. The waiter even brought us a delish dessert with a birthday candle in it! Happy Birfday Lucky!

We left, and hopped into a cab to get to this bar the guys swore was always a good time. Well…the atmosphere was pretty cool, but it was really cliquey, and we were looking for single, hot guys. so we ventured to the bathroom and as soon as we came out, this guy is all, “HEY HAVE YOU MET MY FRIEND?” So we go and chat it up with his friend, who insists we go get ourselves a drink and meet him later.  One of them wasn’t bad looking, but they also informed us they had been drinking all day, we took that as though they weren’t looking for some friendly conversation and peaced out.  I would’ve been really into it about 4 drinks later.

He doesn’t offer to buy us the drink. So we took a shot and left.

Our next stop was actually full of hotties, along with some lady who had her tits painted in red, white, and blue. So we had a drink there, I tried to dance with some sistas, but it didn’t work out. Upon our arrival, we got free passes to this supposed dance club upstairs, so we decided to check it out…only to see that it was basically loser central with a blowup doll on stage.  And a retard, I love me some retards, but not on the dance floor.  And especially not when a stripper pole is in the hizzy.


We went across the street and THAT’S where the party was. They had awesome music, the place was packed, and the DJ kept being like, “IT’S LUCKY’S BIIIIRTHDAY!” And she gave out free shots of something…it was good.

So G and I were talking, dancing, or something when this guy comes up to Gizzy all dressed in a white button down with a skinny black tie, and tells her he’s a billionare…He said his name was Danny, and he didn’t want to tell me his last name because I would only use him for his money (versus… his penis? IDK) and I simply said, “Unless it’s Bonaduce, I don’t care.”  Still, he was cute enough and I was drunk enough that I was contemplating throwing him a make out.

And, just when you think he’s sort of cocky, yet sort of cute, he completely falls over backward, pulling a bistro table down with him.

Seriously! Funniest part of the night!

I was certain he was going to get kicked out, but he popped right up like it never happened. And kept dancing. Regardless, Gizzy and I turned our backs to him. Just then, this smokin’ hot guy comes up to Gizzy, introduces himself and they are chatting it up while I’m probably stumbling around alone.

The hot guy leaves for a brief second, comes back, and is all, “Hey guys! Meet my friend Danny”—the billionaire. Hot guy was laughing, knowing full well this Danny guy was hammered and that we had just been talking to him and shunned him. Danny is all dancing like Lady Gags, doing some robot shit, and his friends are off in the distance laughing hysterically, while Danny sloshes drink all over my party dress.

All the while, I’m talking to hottie, who’s name is Mat (yes another one, but spelled different.) He had big muscles that Lucky kept feeling and was tall, and hot, and even asked for my number.  He has texted me quite a bit since that weekend, and I”ve been somewhat responsive.  I start out strong and then get too drunk and forget to write him back. Also take note that I don’t question why I’m single anymore.  I just know why now.

Around 1:30, we bolted. I had a good buzz and didn’t want to over do it and end up with my head in the toilet.

So we head back to the house, in an interesting cab, who told us everything we needed to know about driving one.  They have to lease the cabs for $300-450 A WEEK! I might now be interested in starting a cab business.

Once we get back to the house, half of the bachelor party is missing.  Gizzy surprises me with a huge German chocolate cake (my favorite) that’s basically in a safe. My new friends sang me happy birthday and we chow down.

Then, we venture back to Gizzy’s room for a game of Mouse Trap. At this point, we are sipping on the remaining wine in our glasses that have already collected dust—and no, we don’t seem to care.

One of the guys from the party joins us, and begins to tell us rousing information that he’s learned as a med student. During this conversation we learned a lot about how we can contract STD’s and not even see the symptoms basically until we die. Med student then discussed giving us each a pap-smear in my bathroom to check for unsuspected STDS we may have contracted in our days sleeping with dirty gentlemen suitor whores and we all got up from our chairs…


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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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