Tag Archives: neal bledsoe

The Welcome Back Party

Herrooo old friends!!! I’m going to be totally honest and tell you that I have no good excuse for going AWOL for a hot minute. Lucky and I have been talking for a few months about resurrecting the blog because we’re both kind of in the same place in our lives and we’ve got some things planned in the next few months that will probably be semi-entertaining to read about, so we thought better now than never! I just know I really haven’t been up to much the last couple of years and my life would have been SO boring to read about, unless you’d love to read about me trotting around the country drinking with my friends or recaps of Teen Mom and The Bachelor, in which case – I’m your girl!

After the whole Nutter Butter breakup and my failed attempt at dating a super-hot guy fresh out of college 2 years ago, I decided that I was tired of guys treating me like I was disposable and dating needed to be my last priority, so I stopped dating. It wasn’t long before it became really apparent to me that when you’re in your late 20s and you stop dating, that also means you stop having sex (side note: that doesn’t mean I didn’t TRY to have sex. I did try, with a really hot guy in the Navy that I met while I was out celebrating my 29th birthday. It is surprisingly hard to get a guy to just hook up with you and promise to never call you again.) When I came up with this plan I was about to turn 28 and hadn’t been without a guy since I was 14. I was serial dating all the wrong guys, knowing they were the wrong guys, but continuing to date them because I didn’t know how to be alone. And, what girl in her 20s doesn’t think she can rid a guy of all his bad habits? The stuff that I let those douchers get away with doing to me is so shameful, and I finally realized that if I didn’t take the time I needed to figure out who I was without a boyfriend, I would continue to date these awful guys and would probably end up married to and then divorced from one of them. If this is the part where you expect me to tell you that I finally met Prince Charming (See: Neal Bledsoe), then look away now, because that didn’t happen. I’m still single, but more stable and [I would hope] able to make better decisions. And when I say “better decisions,” I mean in the long run, I’m totally not opposed to bad decisions that are short term/one night stands with hot guys because… 2 years.

Also, this isn’t a post about self-discovery. I mean, come on, look who you’re talking to here: I’m still totally inappropriate and get way too drunk with my friends, albeit a lot less frequently now that we’re maturing. I’m still not really sure what I want to do with my life, but I finally realized that I’m not going to figure it out by dating assholes that cheat on me and have the audacity to manipulate me into thinking I deserved it. LOLZ – the fact that those things ever happened is so stupid, but it makes me pretty happy to know it’s all documented on this blog.

The whole “I’m not dating at all” concept is perplexing to basically everyone I tell. All my friends and family have tried to set me up so many times, like SO many times, these last 2 years and would then get super offended when I turned down the offer because they don’t understand why I would choose to be alone while I’m in my prime baby making years. Uh, maybe because guys are man whores and I don’t feel like being emotionally drained and worrying about STDs all the time? I don’t know! I’ve ruined a few friendships with guy friends who thought this stint of singledom would be the best time to finally ask me out. I know telling someone not to take it personal is almost always bullshit, and it is still total bullshit in my case because of course if the perfect guy came along (See: Neal Bledsoe above) I wouldn’t have turned him down, but I wasn’t about to waste my time or theirs when I already knew I wouldn’t be that into it. I’m pretty sure my family thinks I’m a lesbian (as long as Neal is still out there that’ll never happen) since I’m not married and don’t have a bunch of babies, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re from a small town. My Grandma sat me down for a serious conversation a few months ago about getting artificially inseminated so I could have a family, there’s a cute guy at her church she thinks would do it – and by do it she meant jizz in a cup, not actually fuck me. My guy friends that are married have been pushing me to stay single for as long as possible and live the good life, because once you get married it’s a long road of misery, or at least that’s what they tell me. I overheard my Stepdad telling some other family members that it (my love life) will all be okay because I’ll be able to start catching guys on the next round. What’s the next round? Oh it’s just all the guys that got married and popped out a bunch of babies when they were 22 who are now 30 and getting divorced. Exactly what I want, a divorcee with a bunch of babies. Real talk, it’s kind of fun watching everyone squirm because they can’t figure me out. But, I’m almost ready to start dating again, like seeing one more Nicholas Sparks movie alone and then I’ll date anyone with a pulse almost ready.

P.s. As of today, Neal Bledsoe still has not approved my facebook friend request, but I’m okay with it. A few months ago, after 4 ½ years of persistence, he finally acknowledged my existence on twitter. Small victories.

P.p.s. We just got Instagram: Instagram.com/cocktailsattiffanys

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Pass the drugs

 Remember how I mentioned that there was more to the High School Ex-Crush story? After much deliberation and sorting through everything that has happened these last few months (nothing has happened).  I decided to share the latest on that saga. 

Last time I brought up HSC I told you all about how he had this new girlfriend, out of the blue, and had pretty much thrown me to the dogs with no explanation, no warning, and no “hey it’s been fun, but I’m done” type of text.  To say the least, I was confused – for a while.  After more things started to surface about this relationship it became pretty apparent that he hadn’t just met a girl he liked better than me, he had met a girl he liked better than me and ASKED HER TO MOVE IN WITH HIM!  All within about 2 weeks time. 
 
Like one day it was literally HSC telling me about how he had just closed on his condo and how he wanted me to come there to check it out and help him build his Ikea furniture.  The next day all communication stopped and a few weeks later signs via twitter and facebook started to appear that this girl was living with him.  Weird. So weird.  I may never really find out what actually transpired there, but whatever. Fuck him.
 
I think I was upset about it for about a month and then I was over it. Of course now I’m happy things played out the way they did, if it had dragged on a few more months I probably would’ve invited him out when we went to his and NB’s city and ended up going home with him instead of NB. Wow! Whore much? So I can’t really complain.  He can take his gummy girlfriend and like it.
 
On another note, I’m literally the sickest I have ever been and PMSing at the same time.  Watch out world. But because I’m saving up all my paid time off to take a whole week of vacation around Christmas, I’ve been working while sick and PMSing.  Basically, I hate everyone in my office and want to stab every last one of them in the face with pencils.  And the girl that I share an office with? I’m so freaking annoyed with her that I want to take the papers she shuffles around all day and shove them down her damn doubled chinned throat.  Pretty much I’ll be sitting at my desk working and snot will be dripping out of my nose onto the papers. It’s gross and I don’t even care. 
 
At this point, 3 days in, people have figured out to leave me alone before I rip their faces off.  Especially NB, I mentioned ODing on nyquil the other night and he said he didn’t think that was necessary.  Which pretty much started the first fight of our relationship/World War III, because IT ABSOLUTELY IS NECESSARY! GOD! I’m like, “HEY LISTEN HERE BUD! Handfuls of midol with nyquil chasers are the only thing keeping me from going out and punching babies in the face.  Mmkay!?”  Because I’m just… that pissed off that other people exist right now.  I am literally such. a. brat.
Now I’m going to go clean my apartment and snot on some barbies at the slumber party this weekend.  Good-day friends.
P.s. To make matters worse, Neal Bledsoe STILL 2 YEARS LATER has not accepted my friend request. I. AM. DONE.
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Ok Neal, I forgive you!

Monday night Lucky and I were BBMing whilst watching Most Eligible Dallas, a guilty pleasure for us both.  We were freaking out over Courtney and Matt’s so hot hot tub kiss and moments later getting pissed at Courtney ruining it by opening up her big ugly mouth.   Which got us on the topic of hot kisses and hot guys which ultimately lead to us talking about my one true love, Neal Bledsoe, and how my facebook friend request is still pending nearly 1 year (10 months, to the day) later.  

Lucky tried making me feel better by insisting he was in a part of the world where he didn’t have internet access or that he’s been busy working.  But we all know that’ s a lie, his profile picture is different.

Part of my New Year’s resolution is going to be to let the past be the past and not hold grudges, to some extent, Douchearoo and Snoop-Linus?  Grudge.  The girl in my sorority who told on me for having hot Australians back to the sorority house one night, which ultimately got me “sober ride” duty for 3 weekends?  Forgiven.  

So I figured why not try this new and improved Gizzy out with Neal?  It can only help.  So, Neal Bledsoe… I know you google yourself and you will read this, this is Gizzy speaking, I forgive you for not accepting my friend request, even though it’s probably the biggest mistake you’ve ever made… cauuuse I think you’d like my goods.  Just saying.  Your loss, you’ll regret this, but I forgive you.

Don’t worry though, I’m not going to cancel my friend request just in case one day he decides to accept me, and propose to me, and have some sex with me, or eat some chicken, whatever, I’ll be there.

Wow, I sound like a stalker. 

Anyway…

Wouldn’t it be funny if I actually did meet Neal Bledsoe one day and we like, fell in love and I was like omg guess what I used to hate on you so bad on my blog and always talked about how you were such a jerk for not accepting my facebook friend request yet so so hot at the same time?  And he’d be like, YES Gizzy… that is soooo funny, aren’t you glad you were wrong and I’m like the nicest guy ever?  And I’d be like yeah and then we’d make out.

So if you ever come here and one day Cocktails At Tiffany’s is just gone out of thin air, it’s because I met Neal Bledsoe and he CAN NEVER KNOW ABOUT THIS.  And you and I, we can’t be blog friends anymore.

So my boss is on vacation for the next week and I am soOoOoOoOoO excited!  I was telling Lucky that I feel like a teenager whose parents finally decided it was ok to leave me at home alone for the weekend.  Like I was acting like a child.  I ate so much candy that I gave myself a stomach ache, talked to my friends all day, and googled things I shouldn’t have been while at work, I even left early yesterday and gave the office a big su-fi as I walked on the elevator.  I mean my boss like NEVER takes vacation and it’s the most annoying thing ever.  Like I always feel like when she is there I have to be working hard in case she walks around the corner, I don’t want her seeing me on facebook, playing games, or looking up flights to go visit Lucky.  Not only is she giving herself a vacation for the next week, she’s giving me a vacation too! WAHOO!!!!

Back track!  I just spent more time then I care to admit googling Neal Bledsoe to find out if he is single and if I should seriously be on the prowl, and he’s not.  He has a girlfriend… for like years.  And she’s like 9 feet tall, blonde, and gorgeous.  CHRIST! Just when you think things are starting to turn around.   I’m done.  I’m just done.  I’m going to stop wasting my time on all these hot men and just start reading the encyclopedia.   Reading the encyclopedia = FAIL.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

DAMNIT NEAL, ACCEPT MY FRIEND REQUEST! ACCEPT IT!!!!!!

Neal Bledsoe hates my guts.  He won’t accept my friend request.  We have been in a pending friendship status for 4 months now, what is the flipping deal! You’re not that famous.  With that being said, I’m still a loser, and he knows it.

So I’m back for good (hopefully.) I know I’ve made these false promises before, but it looks like the internet is going to stick this time, just like an unwanted pregnancy.

For my transition back to the blog world, I’m going to do it sloowww and steady because typing up 1000 words about my weekend of sitting on the couch crying to Dear John and eating Chinese food could really turn some people away.  But for now, a post from a few weeks ago that continues to show my loserdom slash new found fascination for baby Jesus…

Here I am cleaning up my frat house and I find this shoved behind the tv:


Come to find out it’s stolen and now no one knows what to do with it because you can’t throw baby Jesus in the garbage.  What nerve.  They will steal baby Jesus, but won’t throw baby Jesus away.  I suggested taking baby Jesus to a hospital or fire station and leaving him because they are “safe places” but that was a no go because there are surveillance cameras on every street corner.  For the hookers. I don’t know what they expect.  Baby Jesus can’t get any love.

Anyway, on to the big St. Patty’s day extravaganza, Gizzy terms: loser-aganza.  I went ca-ca-clubbing Friday night with Chuck and was too ashamed to show my face in the daylight on Saturday.  1 day of drinking is all the embarrassment my almost 26 year old ego can handle.

She took us to some schnazzy apartment downtown where there was some hot husband who would probably cheat with their sexretary’s but it wouldn’t matter all that much because you’d have lots of money in da bank material.   They took us to some upscale club, got us vip, and bottle service, you know really pulled out all the stops because big city girls don’t put out for nothin’.

I caught the eye of the tall funny goon of the group, he lingered for a while and we chatted it up, things were going pretty well and I actually thought I was starting to kind of like him right before I blew it.   There was a little flirtation going on and we kept making eye contact yada yada yada, so I waved him over to come sit next to me on the couch.

Instead of grabbing his head and proceeding to suck face, like I think he was expecting me to do, I pet a section of the couch between us and told him to feel it.  It wasn’t a sexy come getcha some pet where I was like licking my lips and had do me eyes, it was super nerdy slash you’d of thought I owned a furniture store.   I don’t know, I thought we were to that point where I realized he was the tall lanky goon and he realized I was the socially awkward girl who likes to pet couches and we were going to fall in love and live on the island of misfits and have a heard of outcast children.  But it didn’t happen that way, instead he took 10 giant steps backward and screamed, “Did you really call me over here to have me feel the couch!?”  Yeah, is that weird? I wanted his opinion on what kind of animal he thought it was made out of and I thought we were friends and he wasn’t going to think I was a couch loving freak.  But I digress.  Freak.

I did catch him petting the couch later and commenting on how soft it was and me being all, see I told you so, now go tell everyone I’m cool and not a couch hugger.  Just when things were looking up, I fell and slid across the floor only to be hoisted up by security and thrown into a cab – alone.

Hello, hot mess and end of my drinking career as we know it.

WWBD?

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Some people really are destined to be…alone.

One night, (I believe it was super bowl Sunday) Lucky and I had a long talk about how we are awkward and a-social, and how we genuinely feel there’s no one out there waiting for us.  This conversation was prompted by #1 my drugs and #2 the fact that it was Snoop-Linus’ birthday, I sent him a Happy Birthday text, and heard nothing back for almost 24 hours.  I was starting to get the feeling that I should just suck up all of Snoop-Linus’ bad habits and cheating ways and be with him, I texted Lucky for a reality check, but when it comes to the two of us we can quickly bring the other one down too, as I did with Lucky that very night.

Anyway, the point of this story is that I don’t know how to talk to people, and I’m afraid it has me doomed to be a lonely old maid or to be with what I know, someone who treats me like shit. I won’t lie, Snoop-Linus finally texted back, we got into an argument, I said some things he said some things, it was ok for a few days, and now it’s back to awful.  If I can’t even get my cheating ex-boyfriend to give me any attention, how in the EFF am I supposed to get it from a nice guy?

It’s not just men that I feel like I can’t communicate with, it’s women too.  Like I can’t even make conversation good enough/act interested enough in peoples lame stories slash lives to get a decent group of girlfriends.  It all just seems so exhausting, and that is pretty much the same way I feel about dating.  Hearing the backstory of every ex-boyfriend/girlfriend and lame friend they’ve had that got them where they are today wears me out.  I mean that’s a lot of talking, and frankly if someone wants to put it all out there I’ll put my face into a pitcher of beer and listen.  But, they better not expect me to reciprocate the stories, because if that’s the case we’re going to need something a lot stronger than beer.  And by that I mean tranquilizers and a therapist.

Of course, I have my current friends who I will listen to/whine to about my problems all day long, but that’s because I already know their stories, I know the people in the stories, and I feel comfortable giving/asking for advice.  But when you meet someone new and they are telling you all of these stories where they’re all, “Oh and THEN John drug me behind his car and left me in a dumpster for dead.” And when I say, “Oh thank god you got rid of him!” And in walks said John with their 3 kids and malshi-poo, I’m the asshole.  So unacceptable.

So here I am, 1 month in to what was supposed to be the greatest decision/fresh start of my life and I’m pretty miserable. Not because I live in the laundry room of a frat house and have curtains for walls, but because I’m too lazy to make friends or find any kind of romantic life for myself.   Even Anth doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore because I’m gross and lately have been coughing things up.  I can’t help it, I’m sick.  So now I don’t know what to do.  For the time being I’m blaming it on the -10 degree weather and the fact that I’m still “adjusting.”  But I can only use these excuses for so long until I have to suck it up and face reality: that I’m probably doomed to be alone forever.  And just in the knick of time for Valentines Day (black holiday, as you will hear it commonly referred to by Lucky and myself.)

Speaking of Valentines day, I realized yesterday that I’m in the same, slightly modified, boat that I was last year.  Last year at Valentines Day I was figuring things out with Snoop-Linus after he had cheated on me a few weeks earlier, and when it came to V-Day weekend he ignored me because I asked him to come home with me to see one of my best friends who was in from out of town.  He said no because that would cut down on drinking time with his friends.  I went alone and stayed at home for the weekend and asked my 6 year old sister to be my Valentine.  She was the best Valentine I could’ve ever asked for, I bought her a Bratz doll and she got me candy and we watched movies all day.  Of course, as soon as I woke up on actual V-day last year (which was a Sunday if you all recall) when the drinking had commenced Snoop-Linus was asking me to dinner for that night because, “There’s no one he’d rather spend Valentines day with,” I don’t think I ever got an apology for being treated like shit and ignored all weekend; I just got a dinner, that I should’ve rejected.

So, in the memory of traditions I’m asking my little sister to be my Valentine again this year.  I’m going to drive my happy ass home tonight after work to play barbies and watch cartoons all weekend, and I couldn’t be happier about that decision.  If I ever find a guy who is OK with watching Disney movies and drinking chocolate milk with my sister and I on said black holiday, he might be in the running as a decent boyfriend.  This is all Neal Bledsoe’s fault.  We could be together right now.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,