Tag Archives: steaks

Gizzy the backup plan

Happy November 3rd everyone! What happened on November 3rd in history? Nothing.  Oh wait, The Wizard of Oz was first televised.  Wahoo!!

Anyway, Monday night Anthony invited me to come to the big city to be his date to the Big City Butts basketball game, to sit in his company box, with him and all his bosses and prospective engineering clients blah blah boring.  I jumped at the opportunity because #1 free booze #2 free food #3 free basketball.

Really though, this is what’s super lame.  Anthony always asks me to be his “backup.”  I have been invited to his company Christmas party the last 3 years in a row as a “backup.” Like, this is how it goes, “Hey Gizzy, do you have any plans on December 24th for the rest of your life? Would you mind being my “backup” date to my company Christmas party every single year in case [insert whore of the moment] can’t come?” Of course the last 3 years I said yes, even though Anthony lives 4 hours away.  And I still have yet to go to the company Christmas party.  I told him this summer not to even bother asking me to be the backup this year because I’m not into it.  I’m finding my own company Christmas party to go to.  But now that I have mingled with the best of Big City’s green engineer’s I might consider being his backup plan again.

Last year I asked Anth why I’m the backup, because lets face the facts, I am a wayyyy better time than any girl he is going to ask to go, which conveniently the past 3 Christmas parties has been this girl we went to college with named Jenn.  JENN! What a boring name.  Boring name, for a boring girl.  He agreed that I’m the best time ever but put it ever so gently, “Jenn is going to put out, you won’t. Gotta get my bang in.”  Touche my friend, touche.

So anyway, lately Anth has been dating this girl Smashley, he asked Smashley to go to the game first and she backed out the night before.  Who does he call? The back up plan.  This guy!  Of course I was doing nothing so I agreed to drive up and go with him, basically the most exciting thing I’ve done in the past 3 months.

When Anthony and I were chit chatting about how much fun we were going to have the morning of the game he laid down a few ground rules for me:

1. No taking shots

2. Always use utensils (So unnecessary, I’m a drunk, not a barbarian. Although, this picture of me in college throwing a chair down the hallway at Anthony’s frat house does raise a good point:


3. Wear something “showy”

4. Don’t start trouble for “that blog”

5. Don’t embarrass him

He makes it sound like I am 2 years old and running wild, coloring on the walls, and whipping my little wiener out to pee in people’s glasses.  I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but I take pride in my professionalism.  If I had to say something about my level of professionalism it would be that I am too professional.  I mean I know I talk big talk and drink big drinks but lets be serious here, I’m not going to eff up his job.  And it hurts my feelings that so few of my friends take me seriously.  I am a real person!

We arrive at the game, I’ve got on my “showy” professional dress with a martini in one hand and my quellazaire in the other laughing like this every time someone makes a sophisticated joke, “BRU-HA HA HA HA!” and petting my mink shoulder fur. Shortly before the game started I ventured out to get little souvenir for myself since it was my first Big City Butts game. In honor of Lucky, and her fallen ones, I come back with two foam fingers.  One for me and one for Anth.  And Anth was not too happy about this.

Apparently, when you’re in a club box with people in suits, drinking Crown Royal XR, and talking about “the market,” it’s not cool to be waving a foam finger in the air, or actually watching the game.

So needless to say Anthony shunned my foam finger and made me hide them in the corner before anyone saw.  I really wish I would’ve seen this coming so I could have taken a picture of his expression when I walked through the door with a foam finger on each hand raising the roof.

Other then that the game was a good time, the Big City Butts won, a hundred and something to ninety something I think.  All I know is that when we walked in I got handed a little coupon book and within the coupon book was a coupon, if the Butts score over 100 points I get a free big mac.  I totes made Anth stop and get me my big mac on the way home since all they had to eat in the club box was pulled pork, steak, and fancy food that does not make a sporting event a sporting event.  At one point I told him I was going to get a hot dog and he practically groveled at my feet asking me not to.  I also threw cheese cubes at opposing team fans off the balcony, I mean it was not a big deal.  Nobody saw, since I was out on the balcony alone watching the game while Anthony was inside discussing how to make toilets green.

Also, let me say that the other women in this box were like ew vom.   I’m talking they had on Jackie O suits and kept talking about their limos, butlers, and how their kids were in preparatory schools in Connecticut, and how they would JUST DIE if they were poor and had to go to public school.

After the game I told Anth about these convos I heard going on and he bounced back telling me that one of their kids won some kind of national nobel peace prize for spelling or some shit.  I automatically asked if the kid was adopted and asian because white kids aren’t that smart.  Who knew!

I spent most of yesterday rolling around on Anth’s couch watching Maury while he went to work and did damage control.  I’m thinking I was probably compared to Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. They definitely think he hired me.

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Captain Single!

HO-LA! First and foremost can we have a moment of silence for Lucky’s lappy.  R.I.P. lappy.  Secondly, I would like to apologize for my leave of absence, I’ve been doing research for the blog.  Research of the male anatomy.  Badabing!

Last time in my dream world The Captain was large and in charge with a girlfriend.  Everything is the same.  Except sans girlfriend.  I think. I’ll take a moment for you to do your happy dance.

We had our first date Sunday night and since then we have gotten into approximately 434242340593 arguments.  But they are hot.  We went to a steakhouse, I ordered steak he ordered chicken.  We can all see who wears the pants in this relationship. That’s me, Gizzy the pants wearer.  And we went to see social network followed by a hot make out sesh and some heavy petting.  We went on our 2nd date Monday night for frozen yogurt and another movie.  All is right with the world and now we can get married and have lots of babies with little baby abs right? No.

Yesterday he called me slightly less than a gazillion times because he has a nasty butt dialing habit, so every day I get about 4 voicemails where I can listen to him at the bank, or singing along to Miley in his car, or even him hanging out with a girl. Which is what happened yesterday.  I couldn’t decipher the whole conversation since the message was a little muffled but from what I rounded up it sounded like him and Mystery Woman were having a conversation involving the words, “You need to try harder,” coming from her.  Then I get a text from Captain’s Ex Crystal asking if I can cover her shift on Sunday.  I say sure and ask if The Captain has the materials and she says, let me ask him, and .2 seconds later responds with yep he says he does.   Riddle me this, Mystery Woman + Captain + Convo about something where The Captain needs to “try harder” + Captain’s Crystal getting a response out of The Captain asking if he has my materials BEFORE The Captain responds to my text asking why his butt wants to talk to me so bad = The Captain did not really break up with Captain’s Crystal and they were hanging out.  This is just a hunch.  So I think I have fallen for some trickery.  And I’m ok with it, because you know what I got a steak, a bottle of wine, some custard, and 2 movies out of it.   So all is fair in love and war as long as I’m getting free stuff.

Last night I go to where The Captain and The Captain’s Crystal go to school to see my friend who is in visiting her parents and swing by The Captain’s to get my Captain garb for the weekend.  You all know how this story goes, he looked good, things happened, clothes got ripped, condoms were snapping and babies were made.  That’s how it went in my head.  But what really happened was he got uber pissed off because I told him I couldn’t hang out with him anymore, sober.  Yeah, why I couldn’t just leave it as I can’t hang out with you anymore?  I had to throw in sober. When I’m drunk, of course I’ll come running back for some hot hot lovin’.  So instead of telling me how he really feels he takes it out on the box he’s shoving into my trunk.

About an hour later he calls and I get this voicemail, “Look I’m angry about this because I didn’t just want to have sex with you I wanted to build something with you…” he rambled on and on about how I’m the most awesome person he’s ever met, but you don’t want to hear about that.  The first line is what is pertinent to the rest of the story.   I think this is the first time any guy has ever actually pulled that line on me.  So, he’s 22 (yes, I’m still 25) and he doesn’t just want sex? He must be gay.  It’s all a cover up, this whoooole thing is just so I will go and tell all of our Captain pals about how vagina crazy he is.  Anyway, at the end of the voicemail he yammers on about how he is going to take everything slow because he wants to “get to know me” I think what he really wants is to get to know my boobs.  But, I’ll keep thinking of him as a playa playa and see what else I can conjure up about Mystery Woman and if he really broke up with Captain’s Crystal.  I hope you all know I do this for the blog, and essentially for you.  I don’t love drama so much that I go out looking for it. BAHAHA I almost had myself convinced on that one.  That’s a lie, I love drama.  Bring. It. On.

In other news I got rejected by Gargles Swab.  That means they think I’m a loser in layman’s terms and didn’t give me the job.   I see now why they had to have all that security because I want nothing more than to bust in there right now and demand that they give me $75.  $50 for gas and $25 for emotional suffering.  I think it would hold up in court.  And I bet they would give it to me. Especially when they found me hand cuffed to Josh Duhamel’s desk demanding a good pillaging or money.  I’m not really this big of a whore.  I just like to joke about it.  That’s not true either, I am.  Actually I’m not.  I’m just going to stop.

I missed teen mom last night. So naturally I’m so pissed off today that I want to punch someone’s lights out.  Here’s the thing with having children.  My mom wasn’t a teen mom, she was actually 42 when she had my sister but she did something wrong.  Yesterday my sister pulls me into her room to show me the 5 Justin Bieber posters she hung on her wall

Then my roommate (mom) comes in and tells me that she pretends Justin Bieber is her brother and Selena Gomez is her sister.  I mean, so what the fuck am I? The red headed step child? Guess so! Because then my roommate (mom) tells me that when my sister wakes up in the middle of the night she asks what Justin Bieber is doing and my roommate (mom) says, “Oh he’s in his room playing his guitar.”  And when they went to Khols the other day she was asking if “bubby” could stay in the car.  Personally, I think my mom needs to start checking her backpack for drugs.  Because the kid is on some psychedelics.  And here’s the other thing, if whatever she is on makes her see Justin Bieber, Lucky and I want some.

I’m going to bid you ado with this, my future family portrait.

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