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To Gizzy’s house: part II.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT!

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

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

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

Seriously! Funniest part of the night!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…TO BE CONTINUED…

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To Gizzy’s house: part I.

Alright, so after my lone night of love in Texas, I caught my plane to Gizzy’s house and arrived looking cuter than I should have.  This is true, I showed up in my jammies and the first thing I asked Lucky was if she had showered at Airport Matt’s- you wouldn’t have guessed she had spent the past 24 hours drinking in an airport and sleeping at a stranger’s apartment with nothing but the clothes on her back by the way she looked. 

I found Gizzy in the baggage claims/complaint line because my original flight was United/Continental, and I flew in on American. So I knew my bag wouldn’t be there, but I also knew it was in the airport, just not at the current terminal.  This is what we call teamwork.  We saved ourselves a good 3o minutes by me getting in the line as soon as I got there.  Although, I had planned on preparing a giant “Lucky, Welcome To My City!” poster to hold up at security when she got off the plane had we not had to deal with the giant cunt American Airlines.

Well, the lady at American Airlines didn’t understand that. So she filed a claim to find my luggage. It was completely unnecessary, but I’d been awake since 4:30 and just wanted to get out of there.  She also didn’t understand that tan=beige while Lucky described her bag.

So, we finally get to Gizzy’s, I meet the roomies, and we see the bachelor party was in full-swing. Holla! It was 10am and approximately 15 guys were standing in my kitchen ripping shots.  Sometimes I do enjoy living with boys, this was one of those times, they immediately offered us a beer and a shot.  I even saw a few guys I had never met that I’d be interested in having a random make out with.

Gizzy and I talked some, and she had birthday presents waiting, which I happily ripped into—ahem, one of the gifts was a wine glass that holds an entire bottle of wine. And yes, we put this to the test later that night.  We are…awesome.

While we wait on my luggage, we decided to go to brunch. At that point, I wasn’t too worried about my luggage, I just wanted to make sure I would have it that night so I would have all the proper supplies for a shower and a nice night out for the birthday.

So we go to this bar, where there was absolutely no one, but we order some awesome bloody marys (garnished with sausage) and eggs.

During our lunch discussion, we talked shop—guys, parents, and then…my luggage. I called the number the lady at American gave me and come to find that they “haven’t found” my luggage. It had been 3 hours. Come. On. So, we decide to go home, call Continental/United and see if they know where my bag is.

The guy is all, “oh yeah it’s at the airport at the Continental terminal.” Surprisingly the most helpful person she spoke with to this day.

Sweet. So we hop in the car and head back to the airport. We get to the Continental/United terminal and walk up to a big desk that says UNITED on it. The lady takes her sweet ass time addressing our presence and finally askshow she can help us.

I tell her I’m looking for my bag and hand her my baggage claim ticket.

“Oh, well this was a UNITED flight so you need to go to the United desk.”

“Ummm it says United right behind you.”

“Yeah but it says Continental right HERE,” she says, pointing to a small, paper sign from a printer.  Think Vanna White pointing, she had definitely rehearsed that shit at home.

“Ok sweet, where is the United desk?”

“Since it’s a United flight I can’t help you.”

“Yeah, I heard you. Where’s the United desk?” (This just makes me laugh, and also reminds me of a story that’s yet to come when Lucky tells a hostess at a restaurant “I heard you, I’m not retarded.”  BAHH! Good times, good times.)

She points to a small desk about 20 steps away. So we go there. And once again, the lady treats me like I have half a brain.

“How can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for my bag.”

“A claim?”

“Umm I don’t know, just looking for my bag.”

“Okay, that’s called a CL-AIM. What city you coming from?”

“Houston.”

“All Houston bags are at terminal 7.”

“Even if it came last night?”

“Look in the cage.”

Thanks for the tremendous help. I could see my bag from the desk, so we walked over and waited for her to unlock the cage.

As we walked to Gizzy’s car with our prize, I realized the lady didn’t scan my bag or check it in. Making it still technically a lost bag—American Airlines would never know. And I didn’t tell them. So yeah, I’ve still been getting messages on my phone saying they’ve been unable to locate my luggage.  As have I, it took over a week for a real person to call.

Anyway, we get back to the hizzy, I change my clothes and we decide to go up on the roof for a round of drinking games—the party really needed to get started. We weren’t up there for more than 20 minutes, when we heard guys coming in the house 4 stories down.

Naturally, we race down into the kitchen to find 4 random dudes from the bachelor party, ready to light shit up.  I introduce myself to them as “Hi I’m Gizzy, I live here, who are you?” We find out that it’s the groom’s little brother – which is what I had suspected.  Him and his friends are all 20.  SA-WEET!  They were at the apartment drinking to kill time while they waited on one of the guy’s girlfriend to show up and while the rest of the bachelor party was at a baseball game.  Ahh 20 year olds, so much to learn about life.  I’d hate to be the d-bag that invited a girl to a bachelor party.  Having Lucky and I there was bad enough, but they couldn’t do anything about that.

“LADIES YOU HAVE TO TAKE SHOTS WITH US!!!” They said.

I mean these guys were in college, but shit, they were all over the place. It took them at least an hour to get my name right, like I know it’s a weird name but it’s not difficult once you hear it – it’s not JIZZY, like you jizzed your pants or Gisele like the model, it’s Gizzy as in Gizzy get your roll on.  I still don’t know that they ever learned Lucky’s name – she was “Birthday Girl” for the better part of the day.  After telling us we needed to take shots a babillion times, it still took them forever to get organized enough to pour 6 shots. And boy, were they so excited to get to drink warm Smirnoff…

TO BE CONTINUED…

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All time low.

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

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

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

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

Wigga please:

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

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

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

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

2 whole bags of doritos

3 bags of cheddar cheese popcorn

3 2 liters of soda

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

8 fruit snack packages

6 granola bars

and a pound of hamburger in a pear treeeeeeee.

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

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

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


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I’ll kill it. I will.

I don’t know where to start.   There’s 4 things on today’s agenda:

1. I got in trouble at work

2. I got in a fight with Anth

3. I dumped HOTTIE and shoved a fork in his eye.

4. I live with a snake.

But not in that order.  Although that order would make more sense then the order in which it all actually went down.

It all started a few weeks ago before I got the plague and was deemed terminally ill.  I was going home for the weekend for some good old TLC when I decided to stop and have dinner with HOTTIE on my way through.  All was good in the hood until a text popped up on his iphone.  (Iphones.  Blast!) It read:

Text Message WHORE #2

I know that since you’re all up to speed on your outdated Cocktails At Tiffany’s characters you’re sitting there thinking, “Wait a tick, WHORE #2 is a whore of Snoop-Linus.” And with those thoughts you would be correct.  Which is why I was instantly infuriated.  Not only was HOTTIE FULLY aware of my man hating trust issues, he also knew every last detail of what went down with Snoop and all of the whores, #2 included.  So imagine my surprise when I see her name pop up on his phone.  No, I didn’t grab the phone and speed off to the bathroom to analyze every text and then smash it like I wanted to.  I simply said:

“What the fuck is this shit?” (Now mind you, I normally don’t cuss when I am fighting with someone face to face because I think it’s tacky/trashy and we know I’m all about the CLASS.  So I was pretty much as pissed as a Gizzy can get.)

To which he said, “Oh what, WHORE #2? She’s cool, she’s my friend.  She probably wants to party tonight or something.”

Which left me with one choice.  To stand up and stab him in the face with a fork.   Kidding kidding.  Even though I totes wanted to.  But I did make a scene by standing up and throwing my napkin on the table and screaming, “FUCK THIS AND FUCK YOU!” And then I stormed out of the restaurant and realized my car was parked like 2 miles away.  I walked, because I’ll be damned if I was going back in there to look weak and say, “Umm hey, can you take me to my car?” Which is what he totally expected because it took him 2 weeks to call me and apologize.  But he did call.  Sunday – just in time for Valentines Day.

The conversation went down pretty much how you would expect.  He apologized for being the biggest douche on the face of the Earth and I told him an apology didn’t mean jack shit 2 weeks later and he could go live it up on drug island with WHORE #2.  He claimed she’s just a friend, I claimed she’s just a whore. He asked to see me again, I asked where he got the ring so that I could kindly return it, and he hung up on me.  HE hung up on ME.  Yeah wtf, that’s some BULL-shit!

So here I am back to square 1.  Anth feeling ever so sorry for me because I picked another winner and had a crying fit Monday morning when I realized one of our roommates has a boa constrictor living in his room,  (Which I am totes NOT ok with.  Anth claims he told me, which he absolutely did not.  It’s cool though, if I ever see the thing I’m going to kill it, which is what I told him. Don’t go all PETA on me, because I don’t care.  If it ever gets out of it’s cage, it’s dead.  End of story, there is no purpose for a snake in the city and I’m not going to get choked out in the middle of the night and served for dinner because this guy needs to feel like a “man” and own a snake.  No!) offered to take me out for Valentines Day on Monday so I got all ready, I even curled my hair and put on perfume, and then he stood me up.  Some words were exchanged, I went out to dinner with an ex out of spite (like Anth cares), went to work yesterday with what might be the biggest hangover of my adult career and got in trouble.

Here’s the thing, when I was hired and numerous times after that, my boss explained that we have “flex time.”  So we are allowed to come in anywhere between 7:30 and 10 and have to stay 7.5 hours then we can go home.  Last time I checked 9:30 was within those hours but yesterday I got in trouble for being late.  My boss said, “Next time call and let me know.”  I said OK, but lady – after what time do you consider me late? Because I’m pretty sure I was on time.  IDK.  I can’t take these old people.  They’re all senile.

So in case you were wondering Anth came home from work tonight and we played Jeopardy like it ain’t no thang.  However, I did find a pair of my shoes in the oven – so I’m not really sure what happened on Valentines Day while I was gone.

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