Tag Archives: justin bieber


Last Friday night (a week ago), Marcy and I were drinking margaritas when she pulled a small package out of her purse and gave it to me. It was a sample bottle of Justin Bieber’s perfume, “Girlfriend,”

“OMG OMG OMG!!!!” I squealed with delight. She had requested it as her free sample when she bought her last Sephora purchase—just for me. So I dabbled a little on right then and there. We all joked that it actually smelled quite delicious.

The next day, we were sitting at a dingy bar when I was reminded about the small bottle in my purse. I dabbled a little on my neck mid-32-ounce beer. A few minutes later, our bar feast arrived: tacos, nachos, wings, and a massive Philly cheese steak.

The guy in the seat next to me looked over and said, “Damn you are really doing it up big, huh?” I didn’t know what he meant… it was our dinner.

“Uh, I guess?” I said. “It’s just food.”

I chowed down and demolished another 32-ouncer, when my bar buddy spoke up yet again. “You’re not afraid of getting fat eating all that?”

“Nope,” I said, wondering where in the fuck this guy learned his pick up lines.

“A minute on the lips is a lifetime on the hips,” he continued. I turned in my chair.

“It’s that Girlfriend perfume,” Marcy said.

“Omg you are right. The men love it!” I said. We paid and hit up the next bar. Right when we got seated, the guy in the bar stool next to me said, “Come here often?”

Heh. Heh.

I chatted with him for a little while, sipped on my French 75 and turned to Marcy.

“How’s that Girlfriend perfume, Chatty Cathy?” she asked.

This really was some powerful shit!

We paid and bounced and I went to the bar at D’s restaurant (where he manages) for a nightcap.

Sitting next to me, D didn’t waste anytime.

“Why aren’t we exclusive?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “Because you haven’t said anything?”

“Okay well, go ahead, ask me to be your boyfriend then,” he said.

“Why do I have to ask!?” I said.

“Oh you don’t want to?” he said.

So I asked him, 7th grade style, if he would be my boyfriend, and he said yes.

When I broke the news to Marcy the next day, she said one thing: “He fell for that Girlfriend!!!”

When I told D about the whole “Girlfriend Perfume” thing, he was like, “Girlfriend perfume? You mean Justin Bieber’s ball sweat?”

Sigh. Men.

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Santa, Bieber.

That’s right, it’s Santa and his reindeer, Justin Bieber.


Har, har, har!

Just wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas, get drunk, eat a ton, and we’ll blog about it soon enough!


Gizzy & Lucky

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U smile, I smile.

Since the weird split-breakup-candy-coated-rejection from JB, I’m not going to lie, I’ve felt a little off. I feel like there I went again, all crazy on some guy I barely knew, and chased him off in some way.

Chances are, it’s him not me (ha!), but I’m insecure about that shit.

Tuesday, I had to go into the magazine office to drop off some materials for our photographer. I was dreading it—it would be the first time I saw JB since that night of the awkward dinner/talk.

As I drove over to the office, I was praying to Jesus he wouldn’t be there…it was lunchtime, I thought, surely he would be out. But of course, I saw his car right when I pulled up. I literally groaned out loud: “daaaaaaamn.”

When I went inside, not only was he there, but I could hear him talking to the sports editor—the guy I had the semi-sexual dream about. AWESOME.

Since he wasn’t expecting me, you could tell he was surprised to see me. I handed him the envelope and was ready to turn and walk out (my hands were shaking and my mouth was going dry). But of course, he started asking me a bunch of questions: what’s in here? What’s it for? What are you doing today? Do you know who I could contact for this story?

I finally just said I needed to get back to my big girl job, turned, and left.

It seems we’ve gotten into a routine of replying each other’s texts a day apart, which is basically pointless. Two nights prior, he had sent me a text about his trip. So Tuesday night, I responded. He didn’t respond until Wednesday night.

In my response, I kept it minimal—one word.

Well, my next assignment is to undergo a kickboxing boot camp and then kick someone’s ass at the end. Who’s ass will I be kicking? Take a guess.

At 12:40 am, JB sends, “When is our kickboxing deathmatch?”

Then another, “I’m a little nervous. I’m pretty out of shape.”

Me, “I need to go to the gym and figure out the boot camp situation.”

JB, “If I feel threatened I’ll totally go berserk on you. My little brother will tell you…”

Me, “I’m going to kick your ass. Don’t worry.”

And I am dead set on it. Lil brat. I was starting to get the vibe that I’d read our previous conversation (about giving him time) completely wrong. I felt like he meant to say he didn’t want to have anything to do with me, which I think would be completely ridiculous. Believe it or not, I am perfectly capable of getting to know someone without getting naked.

But that is where we stand now.

If I was feeling the least bit down about all that, a little someone with a little something cheered me up yesterday. The Ex completely surprised me at my office, carrying a plastic bag. I was shocked to see him in the first place, but what was in the bag?

None other than Justin Bieber’s “Never Say Never” on DVD!

Uh, HOLLA! It came out a week ago, and I completely wanted to go to Best Buy at midnight and get it, but I was still so sleepy from my late nights with (the other) JB. Heh heh.

I immediately ripped it open and popped it in my computer for a little work watch party by myself.

“I can’t believe I just contributed to this,” the ex said.


Let me tell you, Never Say Never was just as delicious as it was the first two times I saw it. Here’s why:

1. Scooter Braun

I think I’ve mentioned this before, that I think Justin’s manager, Scooter is pretty sexy.

Okay, so he was arrested. Everyone loves a bad boy.

2. The Special Features

There are loads of special features on the DVD such as: a concert dance-off, a performance of “Favorite Girl,” RIP hair flip (a video of The Bieb getting his infamous new haircut), and a video clip of Justin’s team giving away free tickets to The Bieb concerts.

3. U Smile

This song has got to be one of, if not, my favorite JB song—seriously, so sweet. I love seeing the live performance.

4. Usher

Being that Usher is The Bieb’s role model, it’s no shocker that he’s in about half of the movie. And he looks GOOD.

5. One Less Lonely Girl

I don’t particularly love this song, but there is a part in the movie where Justin performs it. During each live performance of this song, a random girl is picked from the audience and gets to go on stage, get serenaded by Justin and gets a huge bouquet of roses. It seriously brings tears to my eyes.


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You’re in love with a stripper. No, seriously.

I’m taking pole dancing classes.

Last night was my second of three classes, which means I’m 2/3 of the way to working dat pole like a true professional bitch. I’ve always wanted to take a pole dancing class, mainly out of curiosity, and  it looks like a fun workout.

Now, I think I’ve made it clear that I don’t work out. At. All. So when I showed up to the first class last week and found out we had to lift 5-pound weights in the warmup, I was already sweating.

Yes, I know, in order to lift myself on the pole, I need to have immense upper body strength, which is something I’ve never had, even when I try. But you know, I really DO want to be able to hold myself up on the pole—it’s a hurdle I never even knew I wanted to leap.

I was nervous for the first class, but the teacher (a 60 year old woman who doesn’t look a DAY over 38) is really cool and my classmates (3 other girls all about my same age and build) are fun, too. We all know it’s an awkward situation—learning to do something that’s always been hidden in the underbelly of society, and we’re doing it in front of each other. So naturally, we just laugh it off and cheer each other on.

In the first class, we learned 5 tricks (out of the 16 total).

1. Approaching the pole. This is no laughing matter. You can’t just sloppily walk up to The Pole. You must approach it with ease and seduction, put your hands on your hips and your eyes on the prize, baby.

2. Walk around The Pole.

3. Dip. This pretty much speaks for itself…now dip! Baby! Dip!

4. Spin. This is one of the hardest ones we’ve learned so far, but probably the most fun. It’s a spin, with The Pole, so it looks like you’re dancing with someone. Weird, yet cool.

5. Slide. It’s the most seductive slide down the pole you’ve ever seen.

Last night we learned another handful of tricks—some on the pole, some on the floor (grrr), but we won’t learn anything major (like suspended in the air, hanging on with only your thighs) unless you make it to the advanced class. In order to get there, you have to master these 16 tricks and prove you can hold yourself on the pole.

I think I can! I think I can!

Anyway, after all that work nonsense on Friday, I just wanted to have a good weekend. However, I knew that was going to be a task because I had a ton of shit to get done before I go away for the weekend with Ralphie, Ben and Nicole. I ran errands nearly all day Saturday (after seeing the Director’s Fan Cut of The Bieb Friday night), and then had to get ready for a Stock the Bar party.


I show up to the party, by myself, with what I thought was an awesome gift: a bucket of mojito mix that you simply add water and rum to, freeze it overnight, and voila! 16 frozen mojitos. I brought the rum, too.

When I arrived at this house, it was freshly built, and amazingly American. The host couple was young and pregnant. As time passed, more came in twos. And they were pregnant. So there I was, the only single one there, and happily NOT preggers. I played drinking games by myself.

Then, it was time to open the gifts.

As we sat down, I noticed most everyone bought the bride and groom to be, some type of reserve something or other, except me. Oh well. But then, one of the husbands behind me says, “Who brought the rum.” He said “rum” as if it was bottled horse shit.

“I brought it,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

“Who brings rum?”

“I did, so fuck you,” I said.

Everyone heard me. Luckily, everyone stood up for me and the douche apologized. What killed me was his wife was sitting right there and didn’t even say anything. Why would you talk shit about someone’s gift when obviously that person is somewhere in the room?

Anyway, I continued eating and drinking…and before I knew it, I was caught in the pregnant corner with nothing to say. When I ran out of wine, I moseyed into the kitchen for a refill and one of the boyfriends said, “hey! You’re the one taking pole dancing!”


“I saw on your Facebook that you were taking pole dancing and I asked Molly (his gf) about it,” he said.

The girls gathered around me, asking me questions about the class, while their boyfriends nodded in glee—so happy they didn’t have to be the ones to convince their women to do something naughty. Here ye! Here ye! Gather ’round to hear the town slut!


One of these days I’ll find my very own man to be proud of my graceful, yet sexy, moves in the boudoir. But for now, I’ll just have to show off to my ladies in the pole dancing class. After all, for the last class, we get to invite all of our girlfriends to watch our routines.


“Saw so many pretty faces before I saw you, you. Now all I see is you, I’m coming for you. Don’t need these other pretty faces like I need you, and when you’re mine in the world, There’s gonna be one less lonely girl.”

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Ok, you deserve an Edible Arrangement.

I spent half of my day Wednesday in the dentist’s chair for my final leg of work.

Having already had X-rays, a cleaning, and a temporary crown put in on previous visits, I was ready to knock the remaining work (along with the bill) out of the way. I took the entire day off work, knowing I would need a little R&R after a few hours in the dentist’s chair.

So I arrived at the dentist ready to roll around 8:30 that morning. I had scheduled a followup cleaning, and all five fillings (I know that sounds like I have rotten teeth, but I swear they were tiny—in between my teeth, a punishment for never flossing), along with the “delivery” of my permanent crown. Yikes!

I go in, sit down in the dreaded chair, and wait for what seemed like 20 minutes before a hygienist came in and started unwrapping the tools for my cleaning.

Then, some guy in scrubs walks in, not my dentist.

“Hey Lucky, I want you to meet Dr. Joe.”

Joe: Hey there! I’m going to talk to you a little bit about why you think you need braces!

I figure this fat ass must be joking, because I’ve never been told I need braces, never even discussed it with my dentist.

Lucky: eh, hehe, ok…

Joe: So! Why do you think you need braces?!

Ok time the fuck out! This cat is serious! Did they switch my file?

Lucky: Uh heh heh…I DON’T need braces!

Joe: ha ha you don’t think you need braces. Well, we will see about that. Open wide…

He pokes around the chompers for a bit, has me bite and informs me that my teeth are straight. Well, duh. However, I could still “benefit” from braces. As I’m sure everyone could.

He leaves the room and I’m left there with the hygienist—it took every muscle in my body to refrain from saying, “um what in the fucking fuck was that horse shit?”

Eventually, MY hygienist came in and took over, did the cleaning and told me my mouthwash was staining my teeth. But of course it is!

The dental assistant came in and said she was going to fit my permanent crown. Now’s a good time to tell you, my temp crown has been a bit painful. I think the bite was too high or something, so I was avoiding chewing on one side of my mouth for a solid three weeks.

So, when the assistant just grabbed a pair of pliers and ripped out the temp, you can imagine my surprise. I love it how doctors call pain “pressure.” Just say it, “you’re about to hurt like fuckin’ hell.” Because that’s what it felt like.

Under the temp crown, there was basically half a tooth and my nerves. So, she doused a gauzey thingie in disinfectant and jammed it in there. FUCK FUCK FUCK! Could I get a shot up in this club? Damn son.

After she cemented the permanent crown, it felt a little better, but things were sore and sensitive. Then came the shots—one in each side of my mouth. The first 4 cavities were done in 10 minutes. Before the 5th one, my dentist said he would “give my mouth a rest” (heh heh) so there I sat, with my mouth full of gauze while he looked at my x-rays.

While looking at them, he saw an additional “shadow” (read: cavity). He made this huge deal about how he was going to go ahead and fill it for me since I was already numb, but he wasn’t going to charge me.

OH THANKS! Like you’re doing me some huge fucking favor…he’s the one that didn’t see this extra shadow the first time around, not me. It’s the same x-rays he took a month ago when he told me about the original slew of cavities, so it’s not like the lil shadow just cropped up.

Lots of pain and two shots later, I got to leave that damn place. When I went to check out (and pay my $1,100) the receptionist reminded me that my dentist did the “extra work” at no cost.


Like crap, I had three grand worth of work done and you give me a free filling—bfd! Do you want my house and car? So, I did the only thing I could think necessary. I sent the office an Edible Arrangement (one without chocolate).

Thanks for the free filling, have a flower-shaped melon ball, on me!

When all the numbness wore off, I felt like I’d been punched in the face, complete with a busted lip. Don’t know how that one happened.

Oh well, there’s only one thing that can cheer me up: The Director’s Fan Cut of Justin Bieber’s Never Say Never.

No seriously, that’s where I’ll be tonight.

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Shake me ’till you wake me from this bad dream.

Last Wednesday, I was at work like a good little worker bee. I got back to my desk after sitting in a meeting and saw I had some e-mails to tend to.

Mostly, the usual, but one from “Trey.” Huh?


I met you the other night at the couples’ event. I know I was supposed to remember your number and I did, but I forgot the area code. I really would like to see you again. Whenever you get this e-mail write me back.


Fat & Disgusting

Umm…what the fuckity fuck fuck? You’ll recall, F&D stalked my whole life on the boardwalk last weekend, got my number, called me twice in 15 minutes, found me on Facebook (none of which I responded to) and then somehow found my personal gmail account that I only use for freelance work.

I was scared and pissed. So I wrote him back.


You didn’t forget my number. In fact, you called me twice to which you’ll notice I didn’t respond. You also found it necessary to find me on Facebook, which I’ve ignored. And I don’t know how the fuck you got my e-mail, but it’s pretty creepy.

Any chance you had is gone.


And he responded:


Ok, well since that’s the case. It was really nice meeting you and I wish you all the best…


Spare me, you fucking stalker. The next day, the serial killer sent me an e-mail AND called me, so I was just about to jump off the next bridge, when I was grocery shopping and my RA approached me and insisted on giving me his card.

Yeah, I know I’m complaining about guys who want to see me. But I’m getting really sick of it. It makes me want to go get fat and obtain acne problems so I can be alone for awhile.

Last night, Gizzy pointed out that a majority of our posts lately have just been us bitching about being single. True. However, that’s a big reason why we started this blog, so we are simply following the business plan.

But anyway, Saturday night I was feeling pretty low about it all. I had spent my day in front of the television watching season 4 of Dexter and a few episodes of Sex & The City, when I started up a texting war with Gizzy.

The subject? Becoming a lesbian.

In reality, we were both mad at each other for letting guys walk all over us and then letting crazy take over and expect guys to change. It’s such a wicked cycle that we can’t seem to stop.

The saddest part about it, is neither of us have ever been treated right, or in any type of normal/healthy relationship that we often can’t see the red flags leading us into that dark alley.

Once Gizzy sufficiently got me down, in the dark, laying in the fetal position, I just had to ask myself the all important question:

What Would Bieber Do? Or, WWBD?

Obviously, if I was dating The Bieb, he wouldn’t do things to make me cry, cheat on me, or make me question any corner of our relationship. In fact, I’m convinced he would write and sing songs for me, bring me flowers, take me roller skating, and maybe kiss me a few times.

In a nutshell, he would make me one less lonely girl.

Onto the real news of the day—tonight’s episode of The Bachelor. Who’s excited? Last week’s show was the FIRST one worth watching this entire season, and tonight are the hometown dates, so you know that shit is gonna be good. At this point, I’m getting a little nervous over it, because there’s no one left I really like. I liked Chantal O., but after her little photo shoot and the ugly-girl-crying incident I think I’ve had about enough.

I dunno. I guess tonight will tell, make sure to join me on Twitter @cocktailsattiff for all the juicy whore bashing during the show.

Oh, and Happy President’s Day. I’ve heard it’s good luck to eat cherries today so go ‘head and get you some—you know I need all the luck I can get so I’m about to dive head first into a cherry pie.

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