Tag Archives: city life

Anth’s breakup story

Something is seriously wrong with me.  It’s 1:15 in the morning and I can’t sleep, yet come tomorrow morning I’m going to feel like the biggest narco monster ever when I can’t get up for the life of me.  I looked this up, it’s a legitimate sleeping disorder…it’s called DSPS (delayed sleep phase syndrome) and effects 3 out of 2000 and is called an invisible disability.  How does it make you guys feel to be reading the blog of a disabled person? It doesn’t make me feel good to be disabled, but I’m not going to take drugs to fix it just because wikipedia tells me my circadian cycle is off.  My cycles are fine, ok wikipedia! 

So last night one of THE FUNNIEST THINGS EVER happened.  The past few weeks/last month Anth has kind of been dating this girl (they’ve hung out like 3 times), we’ll call her Schmanna, and this past weekend he decided to take her to his co-workers wedding.  They stayed at her friend’s apartment near the reception hall, he told me he was pretty sure that he fell asleep on top of the girl mid-hookup because she kept saying – “You don’t REALLY think we’re going to hookup in my friend’s guest room do you?” Apparently this killed his hard on and I guess that just instantly means sleep? 

He told me she was kind of weird and way into him and he didn’t know about all that.  He also told me that they hadn’t done it yet, “Because her mom told her she needs to make guys wait.” To which I said, “How old is this girl?” he said 27 or 28 and I said, “Uhh yeah, she sounds weird.”  And he got all defensive asking how her age made her weird.  I said, “Umm because any 27 or 28 year old girl isn’t going to tell the guy she likes they can’t sleep together because her mommy told her not to.  She’s going to say they can’t sleep together because she wants to get to know him better/wants him to repsect her/doesn’t want him to use her for sex aka hump and dump, she’s not going to say because my mom said so.” Anth retorted that “It wasn’t like her mom told him not to sleep with him specifically right off the bat, just guys in general and who did I learn not to be a whore from?  My mom.”   Which is totally not the case, and I don’t think it is for most women.  You learn not to be a whore by watching other girls be whores and get treated like shit, not because your mom sits you down at 16 and says, “Make guys wait. Don’t be a whore.”  He’s so stupid.  And I said, “Yes, it is weird that she would tell YOU that, but if you like her enough to defend her against ME then maybe you should fucking date her.  ASS.”  I immediately changed the subject to how excited I was for the 90 minute Teen Mom, I knew I was right and didn’t want to listen to him defend some girl who can’t make judgement calls for herself at 27.   

He was telling me the next night that he just didn’t really like her because he should just be more into it than he is.  Which is convienently what he says about every single girl he dates.  Personally, I think it’s because he is still stuck on his ex that dumped him like 4 years ago, because he still talks about her on the reg but does not talk TO her and claims he sees her all over the city.   But I just nod and agree and say, “You’ll find the right one someday!”

Anyway, when I got home from work yesterday Anth started telling me about how Schmanna told him to let her know if he needed some company to watch Jersey Shore (clearly he has not told this girl that Jerzday is a weekly holiday in our household and that all the roomies would be in attendance).  So he replied lying to her, telling her that he was going to DVR it because he was working and in the zone.  Then, she asked if he wanted to do something this weekend, we’ve got a stage 5 clinger on our hands! I mean this was like the 10th time Anth had denied the girl a hang out just this week. 

He told her he was booked up for the weekend, which was another lie, and she replied asking him if she did something to piss him off.  He wanted to just ignore her until she got the hint that he didn’t like her, but against his better judgement he took my advice when I screamed at him, “NO! FOR WOMAN KIND YOU NEED TO TELL THIS GIRL YOU WANT TO JUST BE FRIENDS!!!! You’ve been on 3 dates and it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”  He told me that he didn’t know about that because it would be really mean since he had just taken her to that wedding.   He thought telling her that he wanted to just be friends because he didn’t like her would be like saying, “Hey thanks for coming but I had a horrible time and you suck.”  To which I replied, “You know, soemtimes that happens but at least then she knows she needs to work on some things.  Like spreading her legs.”

So he replied telling her that no she didn’t do anything to piss him off, but he thought they should just be friends.   She called him, he ignored it, she sent a text asking if he could talk for 2 minutes, he said yeah he’d call her back later but he was working.  And she was all desperate saying, please don’t leave me hanging here I thought everything was great, you didn’t even give me a fair chance, we were always drunk you don’t even really know me, lets do something this weekend and you’ll see… blah blah blah.

Hearing this pretty much nausiated me, because why do girls try to fucking bargain with guys and sell themselves when the guy doesn’t want them?  I am guilty of it too, I’ve defintiely done it before with long term boyfriends, never a guy I only hung out with 3 times… but that’s past Gizzy.  NEW Gizzy wouldn’t respond and wouldn’t need to hear a reason why.

So eventually he called her back, I was downstairs getting my tacos ready for Jersey Shore, and Anth bolts down the stairs saying, “MAN! I wish you could’ve heard that convo, that shit was BRUTAL, she just kept saying that same thing over and over and I had to have a 30 minute long breakup talk with a girl I hung out with 3 times.”

I snort and say, “WHAT A CRAZY!!! Time for some Jersey Shore!!!” Then he looks at his phone and sees that she’s still on the line.

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To Gizzy’s house: part IV.

Ah, when we awoke the next morning it was the glorious 4th of July. AMERICA! ‘MERICA! As we proudly proclaimed all day long.

But my mood quickly changed from happy and celebratory to confused, and, well…more confused.

After we passed out the night before, Clay had sent me a text around 3 am wanting to know what I was doing. Since I was sleeping, I didn’t respond. Then at 9 am, he sent me a good morning text.

While I was reading the “good morning” text and sifting through some others, he sent me ANOTHER text saying this:

“U don’t have to ignore me you know. Asshole. Thats hypocritical of me sorry I was a dick but ur gender has yet to prove other than a vagina ur existence is not necessary. OK that was mean I’m sorry u r extremely attractive and I really have not stopped thinking about u can we try this again”

If you’re wondering, yes, that was all crammed into one text message and yet another example of Clay having a legit conversation by himself. Nothing like calling me an asshole and a member of a worthless gender and then wanting to meet up.  Picture me, cackling through this all. 

I replied back with a solid “well, good morning.” We had a weird conversation about how I wasn’t ignoring him per se I was just wary of getting involved with him because he had a girlfriend. To which he said…


Okay, douche, I don’t check Facebook every fucking day to see if you and your woman are together or not. Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck.

Anyway, the dude was drunk, so Gizzy and I check Facebook to see what exactly happened. And this is the slew of Facebook statuses we see:

Ok I refuse to be with a whore, I am single, so ladies lets have fun.  I have only 3 weeks left lets do the damn thing and stop thinking about tomorrow.

I hate my life, and the stupid bitch that told me I was everything to her, that’s bullshit, where is she tonight? Not with me.  I hope your aborted children provide you with a supportive landing in hell.

Happy 4th LOL

Clay is going to establish alcoholism today being as my first beer was pounded at 8:39 you’re welcome now who will join me in celebrating our country’s birthday?

If whites only come out at night why do I drink during the day?

If whores only come out at night why do I drink during the day?

  • Comment: Jackie – are you drunk?
  • Comment: Clay – if you’re wondering if I’m drinking, yes, and if I’m drunk, yes, but if you say it like that it sounds uneducated.  All I’m doing is flushing my kidneys and destroying my liver if I could put this shit in an IV I would, because it would save me the time of putting my beer to my mouth and allow me to come up with awesome status updates even faster.
  • Comment: Jackie – I would’ve asked how you’ve been but it’s pretty clear.
  • Comment: Clay – it’s clear that your gender has castrated me for the last time, and I am no longer obligated to believe you thundercunts are nice people.  So why would I? Assholes finish first right? Fuck the world, I’m about to kick it down the escalator.

Whores are like fireworks, you only shoot them at night and yet at first they look innocent but after a few shots they explode on you causing pain if not careful.

  • Comment: Clay – happy 4th retards
  • Comment: friend – you’re on a roll today
  • Comment: Clay – give me some butter
  • Comment: Barb – clay be good
  • Comment: Clay- if by good you mean break the female gender down by targeting her weakest attribute and convincing her to sleep with me because she is emotionally unstable then yes I will be good and good at it.  Sorry miss lady you are excluded from this list because you have always been awesome to me and to everyone else love you so much.

 I was once told to be good or good at it.  Happy 4th retards.

When I asked Clay what happened with his ex to make him so upset he said, “She’s a cock juggling thundercunt.” Another AWESOME line that worked itself into our vocabulary the rest of the day.

Fair enough.

To celebrate such a glorious holiday, Gizzy and I put on our swimsuits and headed out looking for beer and anything festive. ‘MERICA! Well, we didn’t find anything festive, but we got the beer and some ice and packed them both into what Gizzy thought was a cooler, when it was really a large thermal container made for a damn crock pot.  Don’t knock it till you try it, that shit worked!

Whatever. We head to the beach and get in line for some junk food. After we scarf that down, we find a nice spot in the sand near plenty of hotties playing beach volleyball.  Hotties/douchers that I already knew from college.

We had already packed some vodka, so Gizzy got us some mixers and we had our way with them. And this is when I start trying to figure out just how many different places I can piss in public (twice in the water, once in the sand, and a few times in actual public view). “Public view” means hanging her ass off a dock to pee, and hanging it off of some steps/seats.  Someone had to know what was going on since I was doubled over laughing and every time she got up there were wet spots that magically appeared on the cement.  I’m not innocent though, the day of the block party we traveled through a maze so that I could take a pee in a parking garage, where our car was not parked.

When I was finished with my vodka, I started drinking the beer like it was my job. Didn’t want to have any leftovers! When the beer was gone, we made the weird decision to walk to where the fireworks were…which was a bit of a hike. I would venture to say at least 1.5-2 miles.  It took us a good hour and a half to get there, longer than it normally would have because we had to simultaneously stop to pee/take shots.  We completely got ready in a public bathroom and then start ripping shots straight from a bottle of vodka.  In public.  Infront of cops, and children.

We see the fireworks and keep walking to try and snag some dinner. However, there was a fuckload of people. Like literally people were shoving us trying to not let us in because they were all coming out. And then we ran into a saucy hostess who told us the restaurant closed at 10 pm and I accused her of calling us retards.  My absolute favorite convo of the weekend:

Us: Table for 2

Hostess:  Um we’re pretty full, we’re not seating anyone but you can stand here and wait, I’m not sure if we’re letting people in, we might stay open later.

Lucky: So ARE you staying open later?

Hostess: We’re not seating anyone right now

Lucky: Yeah, I heard you, we’re not retards

Hostess: I didn’t say you were

Lucky: Uh! Yeah, ya did!

Bitch.  So we head to a nice little italian place, and order our food and some vino.

Once we do sit down, we have some depressing conversation about missing people, (and I loudly shit talked the aliens next to us for staring at our drunk asses)  and we manage to catch a cab ride back home. However, the cab ride was nice and bumpy, and me being quite wasted, I knew I needed to barf. But it wasn’t anything emergency-related…I figured I had plenty of time. However, when I hand the cabbie my credit card, he says he has to turn the car off completely and restart everything.  Honest to god, it took half an hour.

I told him I needed to step outside and puke. And I did. On a tree. While people and dogs watched me.

But I felt worlds better.

Then Gizzy and I ran inside and busted into Anth’s room, only to find him sexting while in his bed. Typical.  Lucky asks if he’s naked and runs over and rips off the blankets.  I immediately scream, “DID YOU SEE HIS WEINER!?” she says no and we run squeeling out of his room.  He sent me a text the following morning thanking us for the wake up call and thanking himself that he wasn’t actually naked under his covers.  I told him that leaving the door unlocked is like inviting us into his room so idk what he expected.

The next morning was my last in town, and given all the airport drama the first go ’round, I wasn’t looking forward to heading back. However, Gizzy and I hit a few hot spots I had been wanting to see, we had a few beers and more junk food and we were on our way. We even ate lunch at our favorite place—Taco Bell. Holla!

Overall, an AWESOME visit!

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Paging Dr. Love, not Gene Simmons

As you all know my love life has been pretty meh the past few months.  I got my hopes up with Little Married Mikey and since then there have really been no prospects on the forefront of dating.  You might recall that last week when I had my lunch with Corned Beef I mentioned that she took me to the young hot doctor hot spot.  I didn’t elaborate on this at the time because it took me a few days to figure out what I was going to do with this new wonderful insight.  Well this weekend I saw the light.

I have this brilliant new plan to marry a doctor, and I’m dragging Lucky along with me.  We all know that Lucky is unsure what her situation with her job will be in the coming months so I have practically given her the rights to my first born if she will move to my city so we can frolick arm and arm in the city streets together.

 While I was eating with Corned Beef I noticed several doctors under the age of 30 and I would be lying if I said a few of them didn’t notice me as well.  After all, my place of work isn’t necessarily known for employing attractive people as much as it is smart people, so it is rare to see someone who is even semi-attractive let alone physically fit, not that I am either of these but you know when there’s not much to choose from the ugly duckling starts to look a lot less ugly.  So I decided that I’m going to make the most of this hot doctor lunch spot and find me a doctor husband.  That’s right.  And I’m going to find Lucky one while I’m at it.  

Throughout the next few weeks I plan to go to the lunch spot at various times throughout the day to determine when the pickins are best.  Once I determine that time I will make that my new lunch hour.  I’ll sit at the same table at the same time every day.  Hopefully I will see the same hot doctors and hopefully they will see me too.  It’s inevitable that one day one of us will strike up a conversation and we’ll fall in love over a chicken salad sandwich and iced tea.  And the rest will be history, I can hear the wedding march already.  Lucky told me that Patti Stangler encourages this type of behavior so it must work.  

Lucky will get drug into this brilliant plan when Doctor Love and I get to know each other a little better and I feel comfortable enough to host a find-Lucky-a-hot doctor-too-party with 25 of Doctor Love’s most eligible bachelor doctor friends for her to choose from.  See: This is NOT a set up as much as it is like the bachelor.  There will be half hearts for Lucky to give out at the end of the dinner and if they get a half heart they get a 1 on 1 date and so on, then Lucky will find the hot doctor whose half heart matches her half heart and they will fall in love.  Then we can both marry hot doctors and be housewives and go shopping downtown all day and hire nanny’s to watch the brats.  We’ll walk down the street petting our furs while smoking out of quellazaires and litter just because we can.  And it will be awesome. 

I even ran this whole plan past my mom this past weekend.  Like, “Who’s ready to be the doctors mother in law!!?? YOU ARE!!!” Before I could even finish my new daily lunch schedule she blurted out, “You HAVE to go at the same time everyday!!! This will work!!!” As every father dreams of their son being a scientist, astronaut, or doctor; every mother dreams of her daughter marrying a scientist, astronaut, or doctor.  Why mother, it would be my pleasure to make your dreams come true.  I feel this is an opportunity to really make my family proud.  And by god, you just watch, I’m gonna do it!!!  And so is Lucky!!!!

Day 1 begins Monday.  I will report my findings WITH photo back up.  And thanks to the book Lucky sent me last week (that was also on her Chic Lit list) Straight Up And Dirty, I now know that I need to date at least 3 doctors at once so that I know if I really do like any of them and I’m not just settling for what is there.  

I think my 3 new doctor boyfriends are going to be quite impressed when they hear about my upcoming 17K bike ride.  It’s hard to hold down a job, be a gold digger, and ride a bike all at the same time. I’m exhausted already.  I’ve also started looking up soul food recipes.  Just a few – 1 for some good salisbury steak with taters, a few pies… JUST enough to make them think I am good wife material then once the ring is on my finger it’s back to tv dinners and chinese take out.

Really though… SWF seeks MD.

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Aunt Cray Cray and the language of love

Did all you baby momma’s have a good Mother’s Day? My mom did, we bought her a new digital camera and god damnit she better love it! She does.  

Anyway, I’m just going to jump right into this because I can’t contain the crazy in my head any longer.  We got together with the fam yesterday for Mother’s Day.  I know every family has that 1 crazy aunt or uncle that’s a little wacky, but my aunt takes the cake.  She’s been married and divorced twice and just broke up with her boyfriend of a year.  I can’t even tell you how we got on the topic of love and relationships but all fucking hell broke loose when we did.  

She talked about her failed marriages, her failed relationships, how she doesn’t know why men and women would ever be paired together because we’re so different.  Regardless of the fact that she’s about to turn 50, probably going through menopause, AND a mid-life crisis and the fact that she is single, she was dead serious about this shit. 

As if the rambling wasn’t enough, she got out her purse and started showing us religious relationship books that men at church had given her.  She went on about how it was so inappropriate that they gave her these books because she thinks they were hitting on her, but she read the books anyway and they had some solid advice, in her opinion. Book #1:

The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts

She explained that the 5 love languages is finding out what 5 things your partner needs to fill up their “love tank” and how to make each other feel loved.  Because friends, if you’re love tank is full, you are a happy camper.  She went on to tell us in order the 5 things she needs to fill up her love tank: 

#1 Touch (which she described as “making love” and “foreplay” and “lying around naked and feeling each other” ok Aunt Cray Cray, you liked to get boned… we get it.)

#2 Quality time (I would say this goes along with the boning, no humping and dumping allowed)

#3 Service (also boning related?)

#4 Gifts

#5 Affirmations

Then she proceeded to tell us about how she had analyzed her failed relationships and what she thought their 5 love languages were and how she wasn’t fulfilling them, but she’s going to overflow her new boyfriend’s love tank with what he needs.  Mind you, this was all over a Mother’s Day brunch and none of the rest of us could get a word in edge wise, I just continued to eat to subside how uncomfortable I felt.

She had a short question and answer period at the end of reading us this book and since I’m the only fucking single one other than Aunt Cray Cray the spotlight was on me. She asked if I was to the point in my life where I’m beginning to analyze my failed relationships.  “Um yeah Aunt Cray Cray, I’ve been doing that since I was 18” now why is it that you think you do that? “Um because I’m awesome.” nom nom nom nom.  She went on to say that she’s going to get me a copy of the book because I need to find out what will fill up my love tank before I can ever be in another relationship again or I’m going to be a miserable unhappy cat lady for the rest of my life.  Aunt Cray Cray, I’ll tell you what will fill up my love tank: Finding a nice guy who won’t cheat on me.  Boom! Love tank full.

She didn’t go in as deep with the other 2 books that she pulled out and honestly I can’t even remember the names of them because I was too busy picking my confidence out of the dumpster to pay attention to her rants any longer, but they were equally ridiculous.  

I’m pretty much used to getting the short end of the stick when it comes to my family, I’m the most successful so I get the most shit.  I’ve pretty much boiled it down to everyone needs to make me feel like shit about being single because that’s all they can make me feel bad about in order to make themselves feel better, and I’m fine with it because I know I’ve got my education even if I am single the rest of my god forsaken life.  AND YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME, SO HAH!

When I first started college my 90 year old great grandmother asked if I was done being Lucifer’s whore.  I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about so I was all, “Granny, what in the eff are you talking about you crazy old bat?” Then she attempted to “shake the devil out of me” because I “was for sure going to hell for going to college away from my family, the lord, and what I knew.” Alright, whatevs, pass the peas.  So as you can see, being an unhappy old hag is nothing compared to being a whore to the devil himself.

It’s no surprise to any of you that Lucky and I are depressed that we are practically the only single women left in our circles of friends.  Having my family call me out on being single with really no shot at ever finding love because I don’t know what I want didn’t so much upset me as it made me want to take action.  So when my non-crazy aunt started talking about how they are going to do this 17 mile bike ride through the city streets 2 states away on memorial day weekend I jumped the gun and said, “I WANT TO GO!”  Do I know how to ride a bike? Yes. Do I own a bike? No.  Do I have any business riding 17 miles on a bike in 2 weeks when I get winded walking up a flight of stairs? Fuck no.  

So now I’m stuck with this dilemma.  I wrote her a check to sign me up for the bike marathon, if that’s what you want to call it, because my short idiotic thoughts were that I need to get some hobbies and do things away from the bottle in order to meet the kind of guys I consider husband worthy.  Which isn’t a bad thought, but I don’t think going into cardiac arrest and being unconscious in the middle of the street 2 states away is really going to find me that dream man I’m looking for either.  

Really my only option is to buy one of these bike buggys and beg someone to pull me along so I can get my $35 worth and my free t-shirt.

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I heard Johnny was looking up Sally’s skirt by the monkey bars

Did everyone have a Hoppy Easter?  Mwhaha, I had to.  I went home to visit my family for the weekend, it was exciting as usual.  As soon as I walked in the door my mom started in with the latest Chunky Salsa stories.

Apparently Chunky Salsa has had her eye’s set on a new pair of flip flops and by God she was going to do everything in her power to get them, including steal them.  I did noticed at Ella’s birthday party a few weeks ago Chunky Salsa was wearing a pair of Ella’s flops, I just figured she didn’t bring any pool friendly shoes so it was NBD.  But my mom tells me after that day Chunky Salsa asked Ella to bring a pair of flops for her to wear while they were at school, so Ella did.  Then Chunky Salsa came over and they asked my mom if Chunky Salsa could have the flip flops, my mom said no and they carried on.  When Chunky Salsa’s parents pulled up she ran out the door, grabbed something out of the bushes, and went on her way.  When my mom asked Ella what Chunky grabbed out of the bushes Ella told her about how Chunky had this idea to hide the flip flops in the bush so she could have them even after Ella told her our mom said no.  I told you, Debil!!

THEN, this past Saturday afternoon Ella and I are getting ready to go to our aunt’s house and Chunky calls and asks Ella if she can come over.  Ella tells her we’re getting ready to leave and Chunky says, “But my dad is taking my brother to the doctor and I’m going to be at home alone.” So Ella says she’ll call our mom, of course mom says no, Chunky calls back and Ella tells her no, then Chunky says they are taking her brother to the hospital and she’ll be left at home alone for 2 days.  I looked at Ella and said, “She’s a liar, get off the phone.” Ella being the smart little 7 year old she is fights back and calls Chunky out asking why she lied and that she thinks Chunky just doesn’t want to go to the doctor with her family and that lying is bad and she has to go. 

I’m sorry but I am tired of this fat little fuck corrupting my little sister, it’s only a matter of time before Chunky Salsa convinces her that it’s cool to lie, cheat, and steal and they’ll be in kindercare juvie. I’m going to tell her not to expect me to come bail her and her trash ass friend out of kiddie juvie because it’s not going to happen, you want to hang with people like that you can suffer the consequences.

I did tell Ella that maybe she should consider inviting some of her other friends over to play instead of Chunky Salsa and she agreed and then proceeded to tell me she broke up with her long term boyfriend Chaz.  When I say long term I’m talking the whole school year, that’s like 10 years in the first grade world.  So we have the following Q&A sesh:

Me: Why did you break up with Chaz?

E: Because I didn’t like him anymore.  Now my boyfriend is Jeffrey.

Me: How did you break up with him?

E: I just walked up to him at recess and said I’m breaking up with you.

Me: Was he sad?

E: No, he just ran away.

Me: Who is nicer Chaz or Jeffrey?

E: Probably Chaz, Jeffrey doesn’t bring me flowers like Chaz did.

Me: You should probably get back together with Chaz.

E: But I don’t like him.

Me: Sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want to.  Does Jeffrey say mean things to you?

E: No, he just doesn’t bring me presents.

Me: Do your friends like Chaz or Jeffrey better?

E: All of the girls love Chaz.

Me: So why don’t you like Chaz?

E: Because Jeffrey has cooler clothes.

Me: What makes his clothes cooler than Chaz’s?

E: Well, like Jeffrey likes pink and rainbows and Chaz likes blue and sports.

Me: You should get back together with Chaz.

E: Do you have a boyfriend again?

Me: No

E: Are you going to get one?

Me: Maybe in a few years.

E: Are you going to have babies?

Me: Maybe in a few years.

E: You know you don’t have to be married to have babies.  You could buy one or have one without being married.

Me: Trust me, I’m getting closer to that every day.

I won’t lie, my conversations with my 7 year old sister are better then conversations I have with 99% of adults.  That remaining 1% is Lucky.

Family gatherings always lay on the pressure to get married and start a family.  I see my mom looking at all her brothers and sisters with their grandkids and just looking at me in disappointment.  I mean all I can really say is, “Sorry mom, I went to college instead of getting knocked up at 18.”   Everyone is always asking if I’m seeing someone and asking about the millions of guys I’m seeing in the big city.  I can’t break the news that millions = 0 so I just pull the classic Sex and the City line, “I’m dating, but no one special.”  

Shot please!

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Not about Britney, bitch.

Whew! Gang, I’m going to admit it, we’ve had some tough subjects on the blog lately—tampons, gynos, breakups, married men, and Justin Bieber. So Gizzy & I thought we’d actually do our job and give you some comic relief. Which is why we called upon one of our favorite bloggers, Kevin.

I love Kevin, because he loves vodka, female rappers, and baking. He also has the same name as my favorite movie character, Kevin McCallister.

Basically what Lucky is trying to say is that if we could choose only 1 drunk, gay, asian, baker to be our bff, it would totally be Kevin. I mean, even the title of his blog gets us excited. Cranberry and vodka, please. Just brilliant!

Yeah, enjoy.

The girls at Cocktails at Tiffany’s requested that I write a guest blog post for their site, which is this site. I could have said no, but I realized that they have more readers than I do. So now that I have volunteered, I’m expecting this post will blow you away and then you will be all like, “This kid is great! I have to read more on what he has to say about complete nonsense going on his life!”

Of course I don’t want (or plan) on full-blown exposure, as I didn’t fare well when people talked about me for a story I submitted on a drunken whim (i.e. 2Birds1Blog via May 2010). Other than looking to amuse – and maybe impress – you in short, I don’t have any other objectives at all. Right now you’re merely a reader of what I’m about to randomly throw at you just to see if you even like me. And it’s cool if you don’t. Think of this as an audition and you’re the judge. You can stop anytime by clicking on the previous icon if you want. I never liked William Faulkner or Sarah Palin’s literary works anyway, and never intend on meeting them (that is, Faulker’s grave and Palin dead or alive).

But maybe you’ll get a better sense of who I am within the next few paragraphs or so. And if you haven’t had enough of me, perhaps I would suggest you to my site by clicking here or grazing your eyeballs to the right to find my blog (too far, now you’re looking at the site’s credits. A little left. Right there! I’m under “Cranberry and vodka, please.” [Actually I’m not much a cranberry and vodka drinker these days as I currently prefer it with just soda and lime when I’m out, but calling my blog “Vodka and soda, please” sounds stupid. Before I go out, I’ll drink a can of Four Loko. Having all that sugar in my body, combined with cranberry juice, spells out hot mess disaster, or H-O-T-M-E-S-S-D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R]). Best believe I’m as uninteresting as you would imagine a pre-gastric bypass Star Jones, Monique, and chubby Oprah fighting over the last drumstick in a bucket of KFC.

Maybe I’m trying too hard to impress you.

Allow me to start over.

Hi, I’m Kevin. I’m assuming most of the readers for this blog are women. I minored in women studies so I understand your oppression better than you. I’m also a gay man, which means I don’t want to get you pregnant, but do want to see you in heels 24/7. This doesn’t mean, however, that I love Glee, flip my hands, and whip my hair back and forth, OR THAT I WANT YOU TO BE MY FAG HAG. Just a bit of notice to anyone looking to hook up their gay friends together: It’s the absolute worst when a straight friend tries to hook me up with their gay friend thinking we will get along mainly on the basis that we’re gay. (My date ended awfully. Click here for the story). I’m merely an average liberal minded, Asian, yoga inducing, baker who religiously listens mostly to folk music and fast bumping hip-hop (which I discovered after organizing my iTunes and realizing that most of my music was thanks to sitting in many coffee shops simultaneously wishing I was apart of Trina’s bad bitches entourage). What I’m getting at is that I’m indifferent about being gay. Sure it has its pros and cons, but it doesn’t define who I am. I have gay friends, but that’s because they’re mostly Asian too. This is the part where I should have taken out that “I’m also a gay man” bit, but too concerned with making a point. And to be honest, I feel that some gay men conform to being “gay: because it’s totally cool to call your other gay friends “girl” and listen to the latest Britney album as if she’s going to tell you the secret to long-term financial success. Do you know how many times I read Facebook statuses of, “Don’t be a drag, be a queen!” when “Born This Way” made its debut? It had to be one of the most annoying things I experienced since I found out egg white and white were the same color; honestly, WTF?!

Damn it, now I sound like a fucking douche.

I haven’t done a very good job impressing you and now I’m coming off like a conceded mother effer like the time I tried convincing someone I bleached my asshole on a regular basis. Now I’m coming up with random anecdotes and you might be thinking, Kill yourself, Kevin. Kill yourself. If not, read on!

Nothing to the gay community. They’ve done a lot and I appreciate the years of societal tolerance past generations had paved for me to enjoy my life. It’s just the stereotypical connotations people, even myself, think of when they imagine gays to be like. (Click here for my view on it). All-in-all I could really say that I’m neither this nor that. I don’t think anyone really wants to be classified when identifying themselves since most of us are in that generation where it’s all about me. Not me-me. I said it earlier before that I can’t handle people knowing a lot about me. Then again it makes me look like a hypocrite having a blog and recording my shameless experiences through a public website for people to read.

This is not how I typically write. Promise. Matter of fact, I’m much less condescending and make more sense. If you think I’m lying, then you my friend have just killed a Pokemon. I write about getting drunk and doing stupid things.

Speaking of making sense, lately I’ve felt like the only time I come up with great new ideas, nuances, and epiphanies are when I’m under the influence. (Maybe you’re expecting me to outline what things I’ve done in the past, but perhaps it’s best to keep those things quiet until you get me really drunk and then I will be DYING to tell you a secret. I told a friend the other day as we were drinking, “Hey John, don’t forget to remind me that when I’m drunk so I can tell you a secret about [redacted].” More times than not I forget what I say.)

Honestly I’m writing this all on a whim. Typically I don’t like to sit down and edit my work and people have told me and I’ve attempted editing a few times, but there’s other things I’d rather do. Like eat frozen chicken tacos. The stuff I’m putting out on the Internet is for people to freely read. Some of the funniest things written on the Internet are free. And maybe I lack the patience for editing, but the quality, I think, is still there nonetheless. I don’t think that anyone posting comments on YouTube gives a fuck about what anyone else thinks about their grammar. Then again, I love reading the comments where users bicker back and forth about grammar problems. I believe that most forms of entertainment should be free; that’s why I go to the bookstore to read a book I don’t want to pay for because isn’t it why they have chairs and tables there? And if you’re still paying for your music, I’m really sorry. I’m known in my different circle of friends to be a cheap person – or “niggardly” which my law professor so likes to use (and she doesn’t think it will make us feel uncomfortable?!) – so I’m totally fine with people reading my work for free. There’s no other exposure better than the Internet.

Damn it again, the topic I wanted to write about in the beginning of writing this was going to be about gay and straight relationships. And all I really did was ramble.

I hope that my objective was at least minimally met to make you laugh or giggle or snicker. Of course if you didn’t like what I had to say, it’s okay, because I already think you’re a tool.


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Oh by the way, I’m married.

From today forward Tuesdays are going to be known as Shit on Gizzy Day.  Does everyone remember Little Mikey (name courtesy of Bridget over at Girls With Prius Envy, thanks Bridget!) the guy I met at the copy machine at work? Things have slowly progressed, I would venture to call us friends with a mild flirtation at this point.  We talk almost daily and make eyes at each other when I walk past his office.  At least that’s what I thought was going on.  Normally I am not one to mix up signals, but like with many other things my ripe old age of 26 is wearing on me.

The signal mixing happened yesterday afternoon after my boss’s boss emailed everyone in our department (Little Mikey is in another department so he didn’t get the email) saying that the company had purchased club seats to several of our local baseball team’s games this week if anyone was interested.  I emailed back that I wanted 2 and was given tickets for the Saturday game.  Jaaaaackkkpoooot.  When I asked for the tickets it was mainly because I knew I’d never have the opportunity to sit in club seats again, and then I remembered Little Mikey is a huge fan of the team, and this was my in.

I scoured my desk for something I needed Little Mikey’s assistance on and ran into his office.  We had our work chat and then I told him about the tickets, he was immediately green with envy and I thought, “This is it! He’s going to say he wants to come and I can invite him and we’ll fall in love!” Well Little Mikey never asked to come so I just strutted away thinking I’d come back later and give it a second shot.

Not 30 seconds after I had been back at my desk Little Mikey walked up and started the conversation back up.  We talked for a few minutes about how awesome it was that I got these tickets because he’s been with the company 2 years and hasn’t ever gotten tickets like this.  Then he dropped the bomb up that when he first started with the company he had a broken arm and everyone joked that his wife beat him.  Hold the bus.

YOUR WIFE???????!!!!!!!!!!!

Ummmmm, yeah.  Little Mikey is married.  I’m sure he must’ve seen the disappointment in my face because the conversation stopped right there when I flipped my chair around and went right back to work.  I mean, how do I come back from that? Oh! You have a wife? Great! Let’s do dinner and I’ll bring my child molester roommate as my date.

*Story intermission*

I don’t think I’ve told everyone about how Anth is dating a 20 year old.  I mean a 6 year difference is NBD later in life.  But she can’t legally drink alcohol and they have already had a pregnancy scare.  We don’t refer to her by her name, only as the 20 year old.   That’s really all you need to know, but more to come on this at a later date…

*End intermission*

The tragedy of hearing Little Mikey is married pretty much ruined my whole day.  Honest to god he is the only decent looking man I’ve seen in the past 3 months between the hours of 9am and 5pm and I don’t know what I’m going to do now.  For the sake of my sanity lets do a little analysis and see if my desperation got the best of me or if Little Mikey really was sending out signals that he is single and ready to mingle:

#1 Offering to help me find an apt 2 seconds after meeting me.

#2 The flirting/making eyes.  Ie: making fun of my lunchbox because it’s pink and has a giant owl on it that says, “Whooo recycles? I do!”

#3 He doesn’t wear a wedding ring.

#4 He has never mentioned a woman and/or family or that he communicates with women outside of work.  I was starting to think he’s gay.

#5 He doesn’t have pictures of him and his wife in his office.

#6 His wife’s relationship status on facebook is “No longer listed as married.” Yeah, I’m creepy, I looked but I can’t see his.

#7 His wife never comes to visit/go out to lunch with him.

Clues I should’ve picked up on indicating he’s married:

#1 He’s always gone by dinner time.

#2 He drives a large “family oriented” SUV.

#3 His shirts and pants are always neatly pressed.

#4 He smells nice.

#5 He tells stories about his “buddies” and then later in the story reveals that said buddies are actually 70 year old men.

I guess from here on out I should assume that every man I meet is either married or taken, life just can’t be simple enough to cut me a break and place a hot successful single man right in my lap now can it?

There are certain clues pointing to the fact that Little Mikey could be divorced but come on, that’s just plain unattractive.  He’s only 32.  No offense to anyone who has been divorced – but I’m not into baggage.

So that’s that and I’m back to square 1 and work just got boring again.  I was totally looking forward to things progressing over the years and getting involved in some hot make out seshes in the storage closet and all that sexual tension in meetings.  Ahhh… a girl can dream I guess.

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Chunky Salsa is the DEBIL!

Well, my tampon story didn’t go over so great, so I guess I’ll keep my blogs to men, work, and tiny mexican growths on my back.  I know people have said it before, but why in heaven almighty is there not parenting laws and guidelines that are MANDATORY in order to be a parent/own a child?

Saturday I gained a greater appreciation and a lot more respect for my little sister.  It was her 7th birthday and like any onlyish child she is spoiled.  She has everything a 7 year old could ever want, and gets anything and everything she sets her eyes on.  She’s a good kid though, she obeys, does well in school, and is generally respectful to minorities and elders.

In the spirit of rotten onlyish children and 7th birthday’s my mom threw my sister not 1 but 2 birthday parties.  She let her have her first boy/girl friend party at Chuck-E Cheese on Friday night, and Saturday was the family party where I got to invite my friends that have kids.  When practically everyone in the family broke the news to my mom that they had other plans they let my sister invite one of her friends along to the party, we’ll call her Chunky Salsa.

Chunky Salsa came over to our house about 2:30 when the party didn’t start until 4.  I thought it was going to be ok, they’d keep each other entertained and I could do my thing, nbd.  As soon as Chunky Salsa walked in the door Ella said to her, “Hey wanna see my sister?” As if she had been talking about this alleged “sister” at school for 2 years and all of her friends called her out on her imaginary sister bluff.  Chunky Salsa stomped in and asked if I’m Ella’s real sister?  When I told her yes she took it upon herself to plop down next to me and grill me about my effing life story.  6 years old, and asking questions like, “How much money do you make?”,”Why aren’t you married?”and “Why don’t you have any babies?” OK! I get it I’m a loser! Now, shut your pie hole you little chimichanga.

I retreated upstairs to my “room” which since I moved out has become a toy/play room and Chunky Salsa followed me with her spotlight and list of questions.  I politely told her to get the fuck out so I could put my swimsuit on for the party and she questioned it.  It was at that point when I realized what I was dealing with here.  A stage 5 clinger.  Until we left for the party all I heard was, “Ella where’s your sister?”, “Can I sit by your sister in the car?” Blah blah blah blah blahhhhhh!

Please spare me the child pity party and don’t go all, but you’re a role model she looks up to you, because that is a pile of horseshit. I’m a role model to my sister who knows me. Not to Chunky Salsa who met me 5 seconds ago, who is clearly a follower, and would snort a big pile of crack off the back of a toilet if I told her to right now.  mmmNO.

Finally the party was underway, Betty showed up with her 3 year old little girl and we got in the pool.  Immediately Chunky Salsa was up my ass hanging off me like a damn monkey.  I kept trying to bribe her with false promises that we could hang out later if she’d just go play with the other kids while I caught up with Betty and gawked at the hot lifeguards, no go for big C.S.

I’m sure everyone is feeling sorry for Chunky Salsa right now because she’s a little girl and why don’t I have a heart for this poor little girl who clearly needs attention.  Umm because she fondled my boobs, that’s why.  Between climbing up my back like a fucking monkey and interrupting mine and Betty’s convo to tell me she “forgot what she was going to say” she felt me up and I am NOT ok with that.  So I went into ditch Chunky Salsa mode.

Eventually I conned her into acting like an adult and going down the slide non-stop like the rest of the kids and she left me alone for the last 30 minutes of the party.  Then came dinner.  I rode with my grandmother to the restaurant to escape Chunky Salsa for 5 minutes and she threw a fit because she wasn’t allowed to ride in my grandma’s car.

Then, when we got to the restaurant she had to sit next to me, which is whatever… I mean my sister does that, but it’s my sister and it doesn’t bug me when she does it because I’m not a stranger like I am to this little girl.  Like hello little girl, come get in my white astro van and eat some of this candy.  No.

While we’re on the topic of street smarts the little girl has absolutely no manners.   I’d like to think when I was 6 about to turn 7 I knew better then to take a handful of cake and shove it into my mouth before dinner was served, and most importantly before we sang Happy Birthday, or even decided it was time for cake.  But not Chunky Salsa,  as soon as we sat down at the table I had enough, she looked at me and said, “I’m hungry.”  Ok you little fat fuck what the fuck do you want me to do about it? Whip out my teet and give you some lunch? No.  Eat your fucking napkin, I don’t care.  So I ignored her and she started repeating it non-stop until I looked over and screamed, “OK! Well you’re just going to have to wait!!! We just sat down!”  And that’s when she got up and helped herself to a heaping handful of cake.  Then proceeded to eat like 8 pieces of pizza and 3 more pieces of cake, I’m not one to judge but no fucking wonder the child is fat – I can’t even eat that much.

The party was dwindling down and after I finally pulled my mom to the side and told her if Chunky Salsa said one more word to me I was going to punch her in the face and not go to jail for it things slightly improved.  Until I picked up my purse to go to the bathroom and Chunky Salsa’s Gizzy’s on the move radar went off and she ran over and was all, “Where you going?” When I said to the bathroom she was all oh I’m coming with you and I was like, um nevermind I’m waiting.  Like really? I can’t even go to the bathroom alone? She would’ve wanted to come in the stall with me and that’s just weird, I already had to explain periods to her when she went through my purse without asking and found a tampon, like the question and answer portion of this day is over.  I am done.

Honestly, this just scared me out of having kids, like ever.  If my kids ever grew up to be like Chunky Salsa I would sell them and buy myself a new 2 seater.  NoThankYou.

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All time low.

I feel like my posts have been weak lately.  I don’t know if I’m getting lazier because I’m not sitting at home thinking up funny junk to say all day, if it’s the lack of internet, the fact that I’m not slangin’ booze for a living anymore, or the lack of interesting in my life.  None the less, I’m going to try and step it up.  After all, St. Patty’s Day weekend is coming up so if all else fails something good is bound to happen out of an entire day of drinking.   Plus I ordered one of these shirts in green to wear because I thought it would be a good conversation starter with the fellas:

They’re going to be all, what’s with the ISH? And I’m going to be like, eh you know.  Then they’ll want me and I’ll have dates lined up every day next week.  And boom! That’s how it’s done betches.

Unfortunately last weekend wasn’t as great as it was originally planned out to be.  I was supposed to travel the great distance to go to Mardi Gras with the roomies which I ended up boycotting for 2 reasons, #1 Anth didn’t fix the internet in time #2 March Madness.

Allow me to elaborate.  A few days before the weekend was set to take place I gave Anth an ultimatum it was: Either fix the internet so I can do my GD taxes or I’m not going to Mardi Gras and you will have 2/9th’s less fun because of it.  Well he didn’t fix the GD internet so I said eff it, I’m not going.  Plus, March Madness is coming up and I will honest to god poke my eyeballs out with a metal pole if I have to watch 4 straight days of basketball for however many weekends that shit lasts.  So I moseyed home Friday night to get my tv, and play sims where no one could judge me.

Wigga please:

Here you’ll see my family having a birthday party and the blasted birthday cake caught on fire.  Clearly everyone is more pissed off about the crying baby then the fire so what do ya do? Throw the baby in the fire.  Problem solved.  Unfortunately the baby lived and everyone told my family they would never hang with them again because their party sucked ass, so my family got all sad cause like they lost all their friends and shit (Because who wants to be friends with people who catch a birthday cake on fire and then throw their kid in the blaze? Not me.  I’m ashamed that they’re my sims.) and they skipped work for like 4 days because they were so sad and just sat around watching tv and baking cookies.  I was like yo guys, let’s get the show on the road – this kid wants a swing set and by god he got set on fire and lived through it so we’re going to get him a flippin’ swing set, now put the cookie down and go hunt some fucking ghosts!!!!  It gets pretty intense.

Anyway, back to the weekend…my sister had some friends over, cause she’s cool and I’m not, and she has a boyfriend and I don’t (literally the exact words she “sang” to me this weekend) and they were playing dress up and shit and wanted me to do their makeup so I made them look like clowns and then I was cool again.  But then, then I spotted it.  A teeny tiny ballerina outfit hanging in my sisters closet, a size 1.  I must’ve been high on cheap makeup fumes because I took it to my mom and asked her to save it for my daughter then rubbed my stomach like only a pregnant lady would do.  Then my mom thought I was pregnant and I was all like yeah I don’t know why I did that, it was kind of weird huh.   Sometimes if I have a big food baby I have to rub it and always wonder if people think I’m like 4 months pregnant, I just didn’t think my mom would be one of them.

So yada yada… more sims, more tv, more laying in bed eating cookies, and rolling around like the biggest sloth on the planet.    Sims, tv, cookies, bed, rolling, sims, tv, cookies, bed, cookies, sims, tv…. you get the picture.

Eventually I did make it back to the big city to find that I had worked up quite an appetite on my drive back from not laying, siming, and tving all day so I made the comment to Anth that Doogie probably ate all of my snacks this weekend while he was at the apt alone.  Annnd he did.  He replaced it all and the only reason I’m even mentioning this is because I am utterly amazed at the amount of food 1 guy ate in a 48 hour span.  And we list…

2 whole bags of doritos

3 bags of cheddar cheese popcorn

3 2 liters of soda

1 package of EL fudges (I estimate a 50 count)

8 fruit snack packages

6 granola bars

and a pound of hamburger in a pear treeeeeeee.

It’s really amazing that he didn’t blow up/get type 2 diabetes from all that junk.  Granted I eat a lot of shit but it would’ve taken me a few weeks to go through all of that.

Look, my rockstar sim just proposed to a groupie so her child wouldn’t be a bastard:

You don’t have to put your heads down.  I’m embarrassed enough for myself.

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Pish posh

It’s Monday at 11:30pm and I just invented beer bongs for Barbie’s, then bonged a beer out of it myself.

Has anyone been keeping up on that MTV show, I Used to be Fat? No? Well, I have! And it’s amazing.  I don’t have anything against fat people, I’ll probably be one someday.  But the people on it make me want to punch them sometimes.  I’m not going to go all, ohhh what the fuck do they expect when they sit around eating cheeseburgers and tootsie rolls all day? Because I sit around and eat cheeseburgers and tootsie rolls all day.  They piss me off because when they sign up for the show they know some ex-army lieutenant is going to be training them and he is going to kick their ass and when he does they whine about it.

This past week Marci used to be fat.  In the beginning we hear Marci’s sob story about how she gets made fun of and can’t shop at regular stores because she’s fat.  Then we meet her trainer Justin, an ex-military hoorah guy.

Day 1 Justin makes Marci want to kill herself.  She threatens to puke on the treadmill if he doesn’t give her a break, so he does and she goes and lies down on the nasty gym bathroom floor.  Justin goes all daddy on her and says, “Don’t make me tell you to get up off of that floor again.  If I have to, I’m leaving and you can stay FAT!” Way to put it plain and simple J-Bone.  Knock her self esteem down 1 last time before she shreds all those pounds.

The next day Justin set up a boot camp outside for Marci, and for about 5 seconds, she sounded like my 6 year old sister, “I don’t want to be outside! I promise if we go inside I won’t complain.  Wahhhhh!!” And Justin had to go into daddy mode on her again, “Well sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to in life.” So Marci whined a while longer but made it through day 2 of boot camp.

Marci had 89 days to lose 90 pounds and she did it, so great for her.  She got some dresses, one that was pretty skank-a-lish and almost showed her coooookaaa (Jersey Shore term for you.) After her final weigh in, Justin tells her how proud he is and how he never thought she could do it because the first day he walked in and she was “sitting in her bed with food all around her looking fat and disgusting.”  This guy really knows how to sugar coat it.  And all is right with the world because Marci is skinny and Justin got a 3 month long power trip.

Anyway, it’s 2 days until the big move and I’m no closer to having a home and no closer to being packed.  At all.  Does anyone want to come be my roommate? I’ve tried convincing Lucky but I don’t think she is taking me seriously.   I’m starting to get a little more nervous about it all.  Pretty much none of my friends are that excited that I’m moving to the city.  They’re all, “Ohh yeah lets get some dinner and drinks next week.”  So chances are I’m going to be sitting in my bed alone every weekend (just like I do now) writing blogs about guys I wish I was getting (Neal Bledsoe.)  WHICH BY THE WAY, I have a way better chance of getting now that I am moving to the city.  Not that he’ll ever be in my city, but it’s a big one and the chances are better.  I’ll have to keep up on my Neal Bledsoe creepy so I know if he’s ever in town.  God, I’m such a stalker.  It would be totally acceptable if he were a real celebrity.  But he’s not, so I fully expect a restraining order.

Anyway, my work friends threw me a going away party on Friday and I nearly cried, no one has ever thrown me a party.  I haven’t had a birthday party since I was 10 years old.  They had a cake, a picture of the cake I was supposed to get with penguins on it but I didn’t get it because the guy that was supposed to pick it up called in sick, a t-shirt, and people I didn’t even think cared about my well being (the salesmen) were coming in from their sales calls early to wish me good luck in the big city and give me their emails so that I could keep in touch.  Here I found all of these people that give a shit about me and now I’m leaving.  I’m pretty sad about it.  I cried, twice.

I was talking to Anth yesterday about who he hangs out with on the weekends because my ideal goal is to move to the city and have a How I Met Your Mother group of friends to hang with.  Anth could be Barney, I could be Lily (because she gets married), and then there’s still 3 openings.  But he told me he hangs out with people we went to college with.  Gross.

That was one of my main reasons for not moving to the city earlier.  It’s like SHIT U all over again.  SHIT U is about 100 miles south of the city so with each graduating class they ship bus loads of them up there.  And the last thing I want to do is relive college.

I liked college, but the few close friends I have in the city hang out with a bunch of douchers.  Douchers=frat boys and sorority whores.  I have nothing against them, but every time I go to visit and have to be in the same room as them I want to kill myself and it is NOT a good time.  They’re just pretty lame.  Doing exactly what you would expect, shooters and picking up anything with a vagina or penis.  It’s really annoying.

At this point in my life I’m really looking for some quality friends.  I need friends who want to eat food before we go out drinking.  Not purge before we go out drinking.  Spanks but no spanks.

Can we start placing bets on how long it will be before I’m back at home hanging out with my sister getting sugar drunk on chocolate milk on the weekends?  I give myself 2 months.


P.S. Black Swan looks scary as eff.

P.P.S.  Did everyone see Ron Ron on the Xenadrine commercial? AHHHHAHAHA AND he’s on the website:

Ron Ron also has his own website, complete with fan club.  Which we are members of.  There’s a section where you can “book” Ron Ron for an event.  I’m half tempted to see how much it is to book him to write a blog for us.  I wonder if they charge extra for making him think.  Hmm…

“My GTL routine just got even better.  XGTL baby – Xenadrine.  Gym.  Tan.  Laundry.” – Ron Ron

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