Tag Archives: cooking

Gizzy’s Diary – Entry 1

Dear Diary,

This week has been mediocre, as is my life.  I accepted the role of ‘guinea pig’ for my team’s Halloween costume at work.  Meaning, I got to bring all the supplies home, make the costume, and then had to instruct everyone at work on how to make it.  They called me Miss Gizzy, and it felt good.  However, applying 2 layers of paper mache to a beach ball did not feel good.   In fact, it made me feel really fucking gross because the “paste” is made out of flour and water and when I went outside to walk the dog, my neighbor asked if I was aware that I had biscuit in my hair. I wanted to ask if he was aware that he should shut the fuck up, but be proud, Diary, I did not.

Last weekend I went to visit Gigi.  We threw ourselves a “I’m not getting married” Bachelorette party, which was fun because we got free drinks and negative attention, but ended in Gigi getting flowers from a guy that hit on me. I won’t even elaborate because I’m still pissed at that flower stealing whore face.

Earlier this week I threw 2 tantrums in public. Both over spaghetti squash, or rather the lack there of. I mean, I don’t live on fucking Antarctica. Can I not expect my local grocer to carry a common food item such as that? According to Walmart Manager Billy, I cannot.

Thanks for listening, Diary.


Your BFF, Gizzy<3

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Protected: Don’t rain on my {holiday} parade.

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Eggs over easy.

Last week, I was curious if you all thought this guy I met at lunch was into me in a business-like way, or in a like-like way.

And you know, I supposed it doesn’t really matter, because either way, I’d just deal with it as it came, but let’s face facts—there’s not really anything else exciting happening in my life right now, so why not just analyze stuff?

So, to backtrack, I met this guy on Wednesday, and he said he was writing a book and wanted my opinion on it. Fair enough.

Around Friday, he sends me a text and asks if I’ll be around this weekend so he could give me the first chapter to read.

Now, I gave him my email address, so I was curious as to why he wanted to meet in person for the hand-off, but whatever. I told him I would be around.

So he decided on a place to meet…for breakfast and to exchange the chapter.

I was sort of dreading it. Even though I wasn’t sure if this was a date thing or a business meeting, it was still something that I had to get out of bed and brush my teeth for. Sigh.

So I walk to the breakfast joint Sunday morning, don’t see him, so I get in line and order some eggs and coffee. By the time I’m gathering up my silverware, he’s walking in the door. He helps me to a table and gets in line for a quiche.

And so, we talk about the book. It is a book he’s been writing for the last year, while his mother was dying of two illnesses.

As he’s talking, I’m slathering a butter croissant with berry jam.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone put jelly on a croissant,” he said. “That’s pretty awesome.”

“Well, the croissant is great alone, but I love jelly.”

He agrees. And we continue talking.

He then tells me about his job as a full-time photographer, and how he fits writing in on the side. Then he asks me about my job, writing, where I’m from, etc.

When we finish eating, he asks if I want to go for a walk. So, we do. Just a few blocks, talking about traveling and businesses we’re jealous we didn’t start.

It was nice. And he’s pretty hot.

So we get back to our original starting point, he says thanks for editing the book, and gives me a hug, and we split.

About an hour later, I get this text:

“Lovely meeting you Lucky. It’s great you’re doing what you want regardless of what others think. It’s sort of a motto of mine as well. Let’s grab a drink when I get a chance to be back in tow in a few weeks. Hope you enjoy my book. :)”

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WWPSD – What would Patti Stanger Do?

Lately I’ve been thinking WWPSD like A LOT.  I know I know, she’s not married so what does she know about relationships? Mostly I’ve been thinking about why she would tell me I am still single.   Because lets be honest… I’m semi-successful, not retarded, not completely hideous, and not that big of a bitch so the reasons must be hidden within.

I think Patti would tell me that I need to move out of the frat house, get highlights, and face my fears and have sex with a black guy.  And then wa-lah! Mr. Perfect would appear at my front door down on one knee with a dozen long stemmed roses and a gift certificate for lypo (a girl can dream arrite!)

She would also probably tell me that I should stop bringing a bowl of cereal to work for lunch because no guy is going to think slurping milk and coco crispies is attractive. (Or will they?! He..he.)  But that’s beside the point.

Last night I envisioned myself on Millionaire Matchmaker and thought what am I looking for in a guy/relationship….

#1: Sense of humor – nobody wants someone with a stick up their ass, no matter how hot they are.  Example: Neal Bledsoe… He used to be my dream man, but then he rejected my friend request on facebook.  Like you are not that famous Neal.  Get the stick out of your ass!

#2: I have to think they’re attractive. 

#3: They have to be able to engage my mom, stepdad, and sister in a conversation.  So far I’ve only brought home 2 guys that my mom and stepdad swooned over.  1 of them wasn’t even a boyfriend and they willingly took me to visit him at college like 5 states away because they missed him so much, and the other was a guy I dated casually in high school.  Him and his soccer buddies would drop by my house, not to hang out with me, but to hang out with my mom… I’d come home from Lucky’s house or from work and my semi-boyfriend would be there with the soccer team munching on freshed baked cookies.  So in Patti words: a family man.

#4 Religion is not a deal breaker.  However, a family history of male pattern baldness is.

Then, Patti would ask me who my celebrity crush is and I would get all hot and bothered talking about Alexander Skarsgard:

And she’d make fun of me being like.. “Oh come on.. guys in the real world aren’t that perfect.”  And I’d be all “Ok, well set me up with him then because we are soulmates.  Kthanks! “(I am getting hot and bothered looking at the picture.  Seriously, I’m sweating. It’s gross.)

I don’t know if I can go on with this.  Now I’ve got Alexander Skarsgard on the brain and I kind of just want to go home and lay in my bed.  I’ll try…

So I don’t know, maybe Patti would do some exercises with me to get me to small talk with people.  Maybe I’d have to ride an elevator for an hour and find out a fun fact about every person that got on the elevator, because that would make me personable and warm… which I’m not? Maybe she would make me do stand up to face my fears of public embarassment?  I think I might cry. This is turning into a therapy session.

Anyway, my thoughts are how can I make myself approachable to be asked on dates? I’m not looking for a relationship, but I wouldn’t mind getting to know some people before I move out of this god forsaken city I also wouldn’t mind some sex, but… lets try for a dinner first.  Do I need to wear a sign or a button that says, “Ask ME out!” Is there an international color for single that I should be wearing?  Should I just shut my mouth and become a lesbian?  I don’t know this is stressing me out.

I also feel like I need to comment on the egg donor thing Lucky mentioned yesterday.  Yes, it WAS my idea to be an egg donor to earn fast cash and if Lucky wants to do it by god I’ll be there to hold her hand because she is more selfless than I am.  I was all, “Yeah I just don’t know if I could be walking around all day knowing I had a kid out there somewhere.” And she was all, “Well I’d be thinking of it like, these people can’t have kids.” Which is a valid point, but I think I’m still too selfish. I’d get in there and see them take my egg out and be like, um that’s my egg bitch give it back!

Clearly I’ve got some things to work on during this long weekend.  Happy holidays everyone.

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Douche Day Returns

Happy Jerseday Everyone!!   Let’s start off this fist pumping with a DOUCHE DAY story!

A few weeks ago my friend Dina came up to visit, I haven’t seen her in a year so a reunion was so very necessary.  She came to my apartment one night; we started off with cocktails at my apartment and stories of how we hate men.  We ended the night at an afterhour’s club with my old sorority friend Vickie and that’s all I remember.

I woke up the next morning to Anth pounding on my bedroom door saying Dina was texting him because she needed to get her stuff.  It was literally one of those out of body experiences where I was like, “Really? What happened last night? Am I alive right now?”  I was still in my clothes from the night before, my tv was blaring, the lights were all on, there were ralphing remnants crusted to my face, oh and I was still super wasted. 

Dina showed up an hour later, not pissed off that I had obviously left her at the club to fend for her own.  Apparently we were with a guy she had been dating so she stayed at his house.  Shew!  And I was dancing with his ugly sidekick.  Yuck.  We tried to recrap the rest of the night but failed and failed again.

After a while of diligently searching I found my phone and started to look through the texts and calls to see if I could figure out what had happened.  That’s when I saw it.  A text from: DOUCHEAROO.

The Time:  3:49AM

The Message From DOUCHEAROO:  Was I ever mean to you when we dated?  As in really mean like made you feel awful about yourself?

The Time:  4:02AM

My Reply:  REALLY?!!

—14 hours lapsed time of me coming out of my drunken stupor, being hungover, and wanting to die—

9:59 PM – DOUCHEAROO:  Yes, really.

Me:  You told me I was crazy, a bitch, and dumb while you saved messages from your ex telling you that “you’re wonderful”  and you acted like I was disposable, so yeah I’d say I felt prettttty bad about myself when I dated you.

DOUCHEAROO:  I’m sorry about that.

Me: Uh, thanks.

DOUCHEAROO:  I guess I have been through some shit lately.  So I just wanted to know.  Made me appreciate your level of sanity.

Me: Oh yeah, dealing with some crazy?

DOUCHEAROO:  You have no idea.  (Editor’s note:  HAHA, he deserves it.  Dick.)

Me:  Good luck with that.

DOUCHEAROO:  Noted.  Can I tell you one thing?

Me: What?

DOUCHEAROO:  I’m sorry I took you for granted.  I was stupid and didn’t care.  Just know that any guy is lucky to have you.  Anyone who disagrees is a moron.

Me: Um, thanks?

DOUCHEAROO: Welcome, we did have some good times I thought.

Me: Sure.

DOUCHEAROO: I guess my point is that I’m sorry when I hurt you.  You deserved better.

Me: Yep, 4 years too late with that apology.

DOUCHEAROO:  Just wanted you to know.  Your name is still Gizzysaurus in my phone by the way.

Me: Cool.

DOUCHEAROO:  I miss you.  That’s all I will say.

Annnnnd that’s where I quit replying.  Like you have got to be freaking kidding me!! 

Next message—-

TO: Snoop Linus

From: Gizzy

I HAAAAAATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU.

Right, a little immature and unnecessary but I don’t regret it and I was out of my element so whatever.

Reply from Snoop-Linus 5 days later:  I fucked everything up, all of it.  I just need you back in my life, the past year hasn’t been the same without you.  I love you Gizzy.

Really?  I say I hate you after not speaking to the kid for months I send I hate you and get an I love you I need you back in my life? 

So the lessoned to be learned here is that even at 26 years old I still cannot be trusted with my own cell phone while intoxicated.   

I think getting that “I hate you” out of my system will end the whole Snoop-Linus debacle and I don’t think DOUCHEAROO will be texting me for sometime after getting shot down…. Again.   DENIED!

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Today, it happens.


Yep. Tonight is the season premiere of Jersey Shore a la Italy. Of course, those of you tuning into Shark Week wouldn’t understand something as exciting as this, but those of us who have embraced the guido culture understand how important this is.

Now, I have to say that I loved season one of Jersey Shore. Seasons two and three…subpar.

However, I spent my entire weekend watching all three seasons on repeat thanks to MTV, so now I am fist pumped for this season to get underway.

I’m convinced this season in Italy is going to make up for the last two rather boring ones. It is my philosophy that Jersey Shore is a hit because of its novelty—we don’t see that shit everyday. But after season one, it wasn’t new anymore, thus making it less funny. However, now that the gang is being thrown into a brand new situation, the novelty just might come back.

And come on, have you seen the preview where Ronnie knocks The Sitch out and he ends up on a stretcher? Shit!

Just in case you need to get hyped…

One word: Crocadilly.

This is kind of random, but I meant to post it Tuesday. I’d been noticing that I had reached what they call a “plateau” when it comes to my boxing workouts. When I started boxing, I noticed a difference in my physique in just three weeks. Buuuut my skinny jeans still don’t look good. So I asked my trainer what the deal was. He said my body had probably gotten used to the workouts and my diet and that I should shake it up some.

So I did. And I am. RIPPED.

That’s right, today is day 5 of my new diet (a menu I found on Yahoo)…and ok, I’ve worked out everyday, too. just in case you want to encorporate the diet, here it is (you’ll notice there’s very little carbs, which is why it’s the “flat tummy diet):

Breakfast: 1 tb natural peanut butter on whole wheat toast, 1 cup fresh berries

Lunch: 2 cups spinach, topped with tofu or lean meat (I use turkey), 1/2 avocado, and 1 cup of cherry tomatoes with a simple dressing of olive oil and fresh squeezed lemon.

Snack: 1 cup non-fat yogurt and 2 tb raw sunflower seeds.

Dinner: 1 serving of grilled salmon (or tilapia) with asparagus (sauteed in olive oil and fresh garlic) and 1 cup roasted sweet potato.

Seriously, I’ve noticed a huge difference! Let me know if anyone decides to try it!

In other, more serious news, I am moving.

But not far.

Yes, I really wanted to move to Gizzy’s city, or some other cool place, where my life would be better. But when it comes down to it, I just couldn’t justify quitting my job (yes, even though I hate it), and having to work retail or waitress while I look for something else in a brand new city. Like I said, I pretty much hate my job and most everyone I work with, but I get by with a lot of crap, and I get paid for it.

So, I took a long, hard look at the things I don’t like about my life:

1. job.

2. city.

3. apartment.

Which one can I change? #3.

So, when my lease renewal form came ’round, I ran to the leasing office with my two middle fingers up in the air and told them to suck it.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been on a mission to find a place that I’ll be happy in. I understand a new apartment isn’t going to change my life, but it will give me a change of scenery…and hey, I can redecorate!

My first choice of apartments is in a multi-use community, meaning…shops, stores, a movie theatre, wine bars, restaurants, bookstores, and grocery shops are all at the street level, while the apartments/lofts, are stacked on top.

I went to check it out, and pretty much fell in love. It’s complete hotel living, you park in an assigned spot in the garage, and take an elevator up to your apartment. Nothing is outdoors. And the windows and balconies? They overlook the park or the shops. Totally my scene.

So, I asked the lady what I needed to do to get one. She said simply fill out the application and put money down.

Done and done.

So I go back to my office, and am looking through the requirements…good credit (check), solid payment history (check), no jail time (check)…but then…I see it says the tenant must make a gross income of at least 4 times the monthly rent. Ehhh, HUH?

That would mean I would need to bring in $4,000 each month. Even though it’s before taxes, lets be honest, I don’t make it. I was stunned…the rent was cheaper than my current rent…and I was going to be denied.

I called my leasing agent in a complete tizzy. She then assured me I should still apply; which makes me think they use that rule to weed out the losers.

Well, I found out yesterday, that I was approved! Now, all I have to do is wait and see what apartments they have open—keep your fingers crossed!

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Enough is enough

I finally did it.  At approximately 1:45am on Saturday night I blocked Snoop-Linus from facebook.  I know, I know… it’s facebook who gives a fuck, right?  Well this is big and it’s also the only thing that will get through to him that he needs to just leave me alone forever.  What finally pushed me to do the unthinkable?  We’ll have to step back a few months to fully grasp the situation.

All summer I have been getting random phone calls and texts from Snoop-Linus, most of them say he misses me and he loves me yada yada, there’s been a few curve balls in there where he fights with himself over the voicemail and a few I haven’t been able to understand.  98% of the calls are when he’s drunk, half of the texts are from the following days apologizing for the calls, some of the other texts are him asking for his 2 t-shirts that I still have of his back.  Some of them are him asking how I’m doing and all that jazz.

Occasionally when I’m in a deep enough sleep and I don’t look at who is calling I answer the 4am drunk dials.   Which happened when Lucky got stuck in Texas for her flight.  I heard the phone ringing, thought it was her, so I picked up.  Little did I know it was Snoop-Linus calling to tell me he loves me or something.

Anyway, to catch everyone up to speed, last week I finally asked him to stop contacting me.  And gave the whole, “You cheated on me, this will NEVER happen, we will NEVER be together again, because of YOU.  I said I would mail you your shirts, there is nothing else that needs to be said. The end.”

After I sent that text I surprisingly didn’t get a response, and haven’t heard from him since.  Problem solved right? I still haven’t mailed his shirts, and now he’s never getting them back.  They are my payoff for ending it over a year ago and still have to deal with him doing everything he can to get a reaction out of me.

So Saturday rolls around, I had plans to meet up with my friend Jess and go to the beach (stories to come Wednesday) we’re on our way there when she’s telling me that she texted Snoop-Linus because he had told her that him and her ex-boyfriend were going to the beach that day as well.  So she texted him to find out where they would be so we were sure not to be there.  He said he hadn’t talked to her ex since Thursday but said he was still going to the beach.  She asked who with and he replied with some shady answer that didn’t really answer the question and she didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

We never saw him, so…good.  Saturday night approaches and Jess says we should go to her friends apartment party.  So we do.  Everyone there was young, extremely drunk, and lame.  Maybe I was the lame one, but I wasn’t drunk, so whatever.  More stories on that Wednesday too, but just know, I was sober and annoyed.  So we go out to the bars.

When we get to the bar I order water because I’m so fucking annoyed/pissed that I’m out with these night ruiners (or so I think).  So I’m sitting there, slurping down my water, looking on facebook when I see it.  A picture of Snoop-Linus and whore #2 posted less than an hour earlier, standing in front of the baseball stadium with the caption, “Happy Birthday!!!”  I was sitting in the bar across the street from the baseball stadium when I saw this picture.  Like literally, looked up from where I was sitting and saw the exact background of the picture that was just taken moments earlier.

I had to sit there and think for a while.  I knew this was coming eventually, I called it.  I told everyone this would happen, not with some girl, but with THIS girl.  Because he’s too big of an asshole and too bad of a person to not hurt me as much as he can.  He has to feel like he’s won.  He has to know he beat me down as much as any one person can beat another person down emotionally.  He has to feel like he’s ruined love for me forever.  And he has to know he made me cry again after I told him I would never cry over him again, so he posted the picture.  Since the invention of facebook and “mobile uploads” Snoop-Linus has uploaded 10 pictures.  1 of them is of his old dog, and 9 of them are from sporting events or skylines.  Not one of them is of a person or people, not once throughout the course of our 2 year relationship did he take a picture of us, let alone take a picture of us and upload it to facebook that very minute.  He knows that this girl is the one person I hate on Earth more than him, he knows that if he puts a picture on facebook of them I’ll see it and I’ll know he brought her to the city, MY CITY, where I live, NOT him, NOT her, ME, for her birthday and that they’re exclusive enough that he took her out to do something special for her birthday.  Not only did he bring her to the city in which I live and work, he brought her to my neighborhood.  The neighborhood that I live in, and the neighborhood and bars that he knows I go out to.  He did this to get to me.

I was pretty overwhelmed with emotions at first.   I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, scream, drink, throw my phone through the window, hook up with the  first guy I saw, do nothing, or go hunt him down and saw off his penis with a butter knife.

I decided all of the above weren’t good options, except the last one, but lets be real.  I asked Jess to come to the bathroom with me, told her what I saw and said I didn’t feel like staying out and I was going home.  #1 Because I did need to cry, and now that I’m on the down slope to 30 I can’t be seen crying in a bar #2 I didn’t want to see them out, chances are if I would’ve stayed out, I would have.  

Jess said she would come back with me so we hailed a cab and the whole time she’s sitting there asking if I know that I’m better than him? Of course I know I’m better than him.  I’m not a cheater, liar, and I don’t use drugs.  I’d say I’m worlds better, but the fact of the matter is… he posted the picture to hurt me.  And it did.  So I blocked his lying, cheating, scumbag ass and didn’t say a fucking word. Post another picture, asshole.  I won’t see it.

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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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To Gizzy’s house: part III.

When we woke up the next morning (4th of July Eve), we were nice and hungover.

But that didn’t stop us from our original plans—hitting up the beach. so we put on our swimsuits and headed that way. Parking seemed to be an issue, so we ended up on the other side of the beach, but we found a little restaurant, and as long as they have Bloodys, it’s all good.  They even had little palm trees and Jamaican aluminum bongo music.  I felt like I was in the tropics.  Ahhh vacation.

Well they didn’t have bloodys. Or any alcohol. Why? Because the bartender was late to work. And HE is the only one who can make a drink, pour it, whatever.  I asked about our server pouring us a draft beer.  I know he can do it, because to bring us that beer he has to have a liquor license… that means he can effing pour it too.   He said no he couldn’t, because they’re on the beach there’s weird laws.  Lies.


Thank the high heavens he showed up to work shortly, because I was cranky.  When Lucky got her bloody she was able to precisely pin point the kind of Bloody mix they were using, it was not her fave.

As we waited, I was watching this lady across the restaurant who was eating an egg white omelet with fruit with a fork and knife. It was really pissing me off.  Only after it took her 35 minutes to take the first bite.

Anyway, after lunch, we wanted to catch a baseball game. So we got ready, and start trying to get a cab. Which doesn’t work until after we’d walked a good 15 blocks.

Once we get to the game, we find that it’s sold out and it’s already the 4th inning, so there are no scalpers.

Effin sweet! It seemed like nothing was going our way that day. Now that I look back, I should have insisted that we have a drink in one of the bars around the sadium, during the game the bars are almost just as fun as actually being there. But we were pissed.  I had heard about a block party going on, so we got back in the cab and headed that way. I prayed this would work out and at least we’d get a few beers.

And it was a success—the place was packed, but there was tons of food, beer, music, and free prizes—including Disney temporary tats that were freakin’ cool.  Not to mention we made a few friends and got a free cheese burger – which was… DA BOMB.  Hello 2002.

So we stay at this place until 6 or so, and we head toward the train station to catch a ride back. However, we find a cool little bar near the station and decide to continue our beer buzz with a round of brews and shots. I would say everyone has probably been to or seen the bar we stopped at.  Does The Tilted Kilt ring a bell to anyone?  Sometimes you can get lucky and you won’t have to look at a bunch of flubby nasty girls.  I mean neither Lucky or myself are into girls but if they’re going to be prancing around in their bra and underwear they can at least not make us want to hurl.  Anyway, this place had nasty fat tatted up girls.  Ugh.  So when we’re downtown near the financial district you can imagine that most of the guys aren’t looking for fat hedge hogs so idk what the deal was.

After that, we manage to get our drunk selves a seat on the train.

We get home, the guys are there, making all kinds of food on the grill, (supposively Anth made us hot dogs and we ate them??) but we then decide it’s absolutely necessary to put on the Disney tats, tramp-stamp style. So I put Gizzy’s on for her (all of the main Disney characters, holding hands) and she put mine on (pirates!).

Here’s mine: Best tat EVER!

We then joined the guys on the roof for some drinking games, a roast to the bachelor, and some AMAZING fireworks from a random person in the alley!

The fireworks were complete with floating lanterns JUST LIKE in Tangled.  I think I kept saying that every time they let another one go.  I don’t know how I have friends over the age of 6, I don’t know.

We mosied back down to the kitchen because I was craving some Cherry Garcia.  At this moment the bachelor and an old flame of mine who was in attendance, who is ALSO engaged wander into the room.  Some how it gets brought up that I didn’t get invited to either of their weddings, Lucky makes them feel like shit about it and tells them their wives must be insecure and they say because it’s because I’m attractive and it would make the bride feel bad or some bullshit.  I don’t know, it’s whatever.  That’s an argument/story for another day.

When this convo begins to fizzle another one of the guys from the party joins us.  A guy who Lucky and I had already written off because he was a big douche.  His name was Bill, he was the quarterback at our college, and he didn’t shower or change his clothes all weekend and Lucky and I told him he smelled.  He rebuttled by asking us to come out with them to which one of us made a snide remark saying we wouldn’t be caught dead near him and he basically called us ugly fat whores by saying, “Anyone who knows me would know as soon as they saw you two that you guys are NOT my type.”  Oh really? Well thin, cute, and funny must not be your type then, ass.

Later, more of the guys said they wanted to go out and we should join them. After a few minutes of persuasion, we bolt to Gizzy’s room, change clothes, and what? The guys are gone.

Lucky, remember when I called Anth and he didn’t answer?  He later told me that he was still at the apartment in his room changing.  Apparently he was left too and never went out.  I think it’s a good thing we didn’t go out with the 4 guys that actually went out.  Yikes.

Oh well, we walk down the street to a bar. There were all of five people inside, but the second we sit down, this chick comes up and introduces herself—meet Miranda. She has a boyfriend, but also a single guy in tow…yeah, he was kind of a loser.  I got her number, we were supposed to be friends because I have none and she was going to introduce me to all her single male friends, still hasn’t happened.  I don’t even think I could recognize her the beer goggles were so thick.

Anyway, she used her boyfriend’s credit card to buy us a round of shots, and Gizzy and I damn near slept on the bar. It was then we realized we’d been walking around (and drinking) since we woke up that morning. Miranda definitely thought we were lame, especially when we turned down her offer to late night when the bartender called last call.  I was tempted, because I think they said something about playing board games.  And I love board games, but in the adult world board games probably means snort crack so it’s probably good we didn’t go.

So, we walk back to Gizzy’s…


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This moment will be gone.

Perhaps you’re all wondering how my weekend in Houston went with my airport love, Matt?

Well, I made it there late Friday night—of course, it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t get stuck with a few travel delays, right? But Matt happily greeted me at his apartment with a “YOU’RE BACK!!” And promptly fixed me a Grey Goose and soda, with a fresh squeeze of lime.

I was nervous, but more so, very hungry.

He wasn’t sure what good place would be serving food at 10 p.m., but we hopped in his Jeep and headed to look. We stopped at the first place we saw—a trendy sushi spot. He knew I love sushi from the stories I told him about my trip to Gizzy’s house.

He, however, had never tried sushi, but said he was ready and willing. So, we went in, got a table and drinks (we drink the same thing…sigh).

He told me he would eat whatever rolls I picked out, so I picked several different ones and that was that. I showed him how to hold the chopsticks and we were ready to roll (hehe).

When the rolls came, we attacked, and I was so impressed with how he ate (and enjoyed) the raw stuff with the sticks, like a champ. From there, we went to a little mexican bar, but it was hosting a private party, so we were onto the next.

We each had a beer, but he wanted to go somewhere where there were more people. So we went to old faithful—the bar we went to last time. There, we had plenty of drinks and talked until the bar kicked us out. We talked about work some, talked about our families, and talked about how we met, once again.

We headed back to his apartment, where we made more drinks and sat on his couch watching the latest on Casey Anthony (Case Anth, as Matt likes to call her). And then, he turned my head and we kissed.

Ok, and then we made out.

I’m not sure how long we were there, but eventually he asked me if I was ready to go to bed. Since it was 3 am, I’d been up since 6:30, and had gone to bed the night before at 3:30 (had to see the midnight premiere of Harry Potter!), yes, I was ready to go to bed. But, of course I didn’t know if he meant “go to bed” as in, have sex.

Either way, we went to the bed, and continued making out. Naturally, clothes came off, and I was mentally prepped to just go for it…until…(as Trey says on Sex and the City) the sails died.

Umm…it was awkward. I rolled over and was ready to pass out, but Matt refused.

“No, no…this is not happening,” he said, getting up and putting his clothes back on. “Let’s go have another drink.”

I didn’t know what was going on, but I followed him back into the living room as he made another cocktail. I grabbed a beer and we sat on the couch. At his request, we played a game of 20 questions.

The questions were random, about jobs, family, first sexual encounter, dream city to live in, favorite foods, favorite brands, opinions on marriage…etc. We shared some pretty intimate things—I told him I was insecure about my family and I was scared I would never get married or have children. He told me he had just gone through a breakup “literally” just before he met me.

Red flag. And I was even more nervous.

But at 6:30 am, we decided to give up and actually go to sleep. In the morning, er, afternoon, we headed out to a pretty cool bar for brunch and bloody marys. He said he had a pretty bad headache, but I was feeling pretty good.

Although, since we had talked so much the night before, I wondered if we would have much to talk about that day, or for the rest of the weekend. After our delish meal, we headed back to his apartment, with plans to hang out at the pool.

However, once we got there his headache was still bothering him. He said he just wanted to lay down for a bit, so I kicked my shoes off and joined him in bed for a little nap. And another failed attempt at sex, of course. He blamed it on nerves, and I was nervous too, but I didn’t know if that was it or not.

So we went to sleep for a few hours—much needed nap. Luckily, when we woke up, the sun was still up and we went down to the pool with a cooler full of brewskies. There, we had a good time rehashing the evening, and people-watching…and talking about reality TV. All while slamming some beer. It was a good time.

We were trying to figure out what to do that night, as it was nearly 8 pm already. He was hungry, but didn’t want to drive since we’d already drank so much. I told him I would be happy with pizza or anything easy.

So we went inside and he said he was going to jump in the shower. I was digging through my purse when I heard him turn the water on, then he opened the door and asked me if I wanted to join him.

Sure! So I did—and it was a pretty hot shower (figuratively and literally) but, um, still no sex. Yeah, I was feeling pretty unattractive at this point.

After the shower, he asked if I was cool with a frozen pizza. Absolutely! So he made the pizza while I got myself looking halfway decent. The pizza was ready, and we found a movie on TV to rent, so he asked if I was cool with just hanging out.

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“You sure?” he said. “I hate that I don’t have more cool things planned for us.”

“No, seriously, I’m perfectly happy on the couch.” And I meant that. I’m not someone who has to go out every night to have fun. Besides, I was there to visit him.

Naturally, we both dozed off on the couch, but I eventually woke up and asked him if he was ready for bed. He said yes and we got into bed. But, as I dozed off, he got up. I heard him go into the bathroom and then into the living room and turn the TV back on.

I was a little worried, so I got up to see what was going on. When I opened the bedroom door, he was on the couch, wearing his glasses (looking sexy) and typing on his laptop.

“Whatcha doing?” I asked.

“Working…I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing why you left me alone…”


I turned and went back to bed, leaving the door open. I laid there, wondering if he really couldn’t sleep or if he was upset with me, or if he was not having a good time, or if he was frustrated at the failed sex…

He eventually came to bed, but didn’t touch me. In the morning, he moved closer, but it just didn’t feel the same.

When we got up, he offered to make me breakfast and I happily accepted—two fried eggs and raisin toast! So yummy, and sweet.

Before long, I packed up my things and left. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. And I didn’t even know if I was welcome anymore. Our goodbye was as casual as our hello—a hug and a simple kiss on the cheek.

When I got home Sunday night, he sent me a text to make sure I made it.

And I haven’t heard from him since.

(“To Gizzy’s house” will continue tomorrow…)

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