Tag Archives: strippers

The trifecta of advice columns.

Gizzy & I sure hope you bitches are enjoying this week of fun and celebration on your end, because G & I are just using this as an excuse to get sloppity drunk everyday (don’t ask about the other 51 weeks of the year). But in all seriousness, we’ve been hustling and bustling more than the contestants on Project Runway to bring you something we’ve all been hinting about—the Lucky & Gizzy advice column!

But since this week, and this blog, is about making everything bigger, and better, things are about to get HUGE (in a totally awesome, sexy way). Not only will Gizzy & I be offering our sound advice to our dear readers, but so will our favorite white guy: ShyGuy!

We figured our ladies out there, and the guys too, could use perspectives from both ends of the stick (I’ll take ShyGuy’s end, please and thanks).

So here’s the dealio:

First, we need you all to WRITE us! Send us your questions, problems, your biggest life decisions to cocktailsattiffanys@gmail.com

We will read the question, post it on our lovely blog, and solve the world’s problems using the brains of our TRIAD advice writers (ahem, Gizzy, ShyGuy, and yours truly) and of course, add in a dash of funny. Cause that’s how we do.

We want to make it perfectly clear (clear as glass, like LC says) that the questions are completely anonymous. If you don’t give yourself a pen name, we will assign you one and change all the names in the question, just to be sure we’re all protected. K? Protected like the condom protects your eggs from the big bad spermies!

Par Example:

Dear Gizzy, ShyGuy, and Lucky,

Hola! Love you, love your blog, love you more. I keep having these dreams where I speak to previous boyfriends. The conversations are ridiculous and, from what I can remember, pretty meaningless. Often, the conversations end in fights. I never talk to my exes, so I don’t know why they’d be coming up in my dreams in the first place. What do you think they mean, and what can I do to stop the dreams?


Boyfriend Dream Catcher

P.S. I have anal leakage what do I do!!?



First, thanks gf love you more! Second, this problem is easily fixable by an online dream interpreter dictionary.  Since those are basically a bunch of bologna, here’s what I think: you miss your ex and want to talk to him.  Simple as that girlfran’.  The next question is should you talk to your ex? My question for you is why did you break up, if you dumped him sure go ahead and talk to him he’s probably sulking at home with a 6 pack, your glamour shots, and a box of tissues anyway.  But, if he dumped you, you need to go to Mexico.  Like right now.  So that if you call him you get an outrageous phone bill and feel the burn for that stupid decision later so that it never happens again.  Don’t be an idiot!

As for the anal leakage, if you’d like a home solution might I suggest you get some thread and a needle?



We’re totally aware  that maybe everyone doesn’t have problems they want solved by a couple of drunk lunatics and their all that and a bag of chips guy friend, but if you don’t send us your problems we will start writing our own problems and posting them as the problems of others and I really don’t think anyone wants to see us try and give ourselves advice.  That would cause things to end with a bottle of alcohol and a sad movie.  It probably would end that way no matter what, but it will be less sad if we’re solving your problems, hmmkay?!

It is also at this time that I would luuurrveee to give a shout out to the one and only, our dear friend, and loyal hit getter, Megan Fox.  Only a few days after we started the blog I sat at home one evening striving to get Megan Fox’s Eyebrows and decided to blog about my struggles with the eyebrow pencils from Walgreens. Had we known that nearly 100 posts later the eyebrows post will still be the most popular post we have, we probably would and should create a “Make Me Look Like…[Insert Celebrity Name Here]” segment where we try and make ourselves look as much like a specific celebrity via spray paint, makeup, and minor plastic surgery, because Megan single handedly got us half of our hits.

I guess if we’re giving Megan a shout out we also need to say thanks to those people out there who search penises every day, because they visit us a lot too.  I’m sure they’re pretty upset when they scroll through the posts and see that the only penises we’re blogging about are macaweenies.  Sorry guys or girls, whoever you are.

I feel that it is my duty to share this with the world:

I honestly laughed really hard at this, I hope that doesn’t make me gross, but it probably makes me inappropriate.  I also just send out a mass text to a bunch of people asking them to please not text me because I’m going to watch Raising Hope and would greatly appreciate that it not be interrupted, some of those were guys who have yet to ask me on dates, but I got a lot of responses basically saying you got it asshole.  It saddens me that a fat guy lip syncing to I Kissed a Girl and some white trash peeps raising a baby make my day.  It is what it is. So peace out homies.

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All my niggaz wit ‘Kelsey Grammer.’

Well, hello there! This week, Gizzy & I are dedicated to the royal celebration that is, our 100th post {which happens Friday, after we figured out that Gizzy has a math-skill-level of her sister Ella and Ella’s bubby, Justin Bieber}. Like our balloons? TODAY IS 96!!!! This week, Gizzy & I are joining forces, in order to bring you some hearty laughs, and prep you for Friday’s festivities—when we reveal our poll winner. During our week-long celebration, we are unrolling some NEW things at the empire, which we are so excited about! And throughout this post, I (Gizzy) will drink beer and tequila steadily to see how drunk I get.  Because it’s Sunday Funday!

But in the meantime, let’s cover the bidness. Meaning, the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I hope you’ve all been watching, if not, you’ve got some homework to do (She’s talking about me, I don’t get Bravo. Lame ass dish network, you hear that dish geeks!? Give it to me for free basts!) . This train wreck of a show is simply amazing. I’ve said it, and I’ll say it again, THIS is what every season of Real Housewives should’ve been. I mean money coming out da anus (as Puffy and Ma$e said, $$) and botox out the ears. I was hooked at the premiere episode. But, while a lot of things about the show made me chuckle, this is perhaps what perplexed me the most:

Meet Camille Grammer, Kelsey Grammer’s wife—soon to be ex-wife. She isn’t so shocking, but there is a part in the episode where she describes herself as “the powerhouse behind Kelsey Grammer.” See it here.

Ohhh really? Let’s just see about that. Gizzy, join me on a trip down memory lane. A street named Kelsey Grammer’s career highlights.

Kelsey Grammer was born February 21, 1955 (DAAAMN Kels! You old!) in the Virgin Islands. Holla.

He is most recognized for his role as Dr. Frasier Crane on Frasier, which lasted like…me & Gizzy’s entire life.

And yeah, he was on Broadway and did some voice work like in The Simpsons and Toy Story 2…but, let’s get down to the nitty gritty.

Grammer has had three wives—maybe THAT’s the part Camille is referring to? Anyway, in 1995 he was sued by his ex-girlfriend for defamation in his autobiography—SAY WHAT?!  No seriously, here is the cover of his book:

Hells yeah. So Fresh.  So Fly.

But wait, in 1998, Grammer filed a lawsuit against IEG claiming they had stolen a sex tape from his home. IEG then sued Grammer, saying they didn’t have any tape. All the best celebrities have sex tapes and sue people because of it. Just saying.  He had to keep up with the times right KimmyK and Paris? Kelsey knows what’s up. In an interview with Maxim Magazine, Grammer said this:

“Whether or not you’re a celebrity—even if you’re just an old slob with a video camera—you don’t realize you shouldn’t do it. So you throw the tape in the back of a dark closet until your old girlfriend remembers it’s there because you’re famous now and she’s not. But if you’re not prepared to do the time, don’t do the crime.”

Really, Kelsey? Really? I think we should all take away a valuable lesson from this: “If you’re not prepared to do the time, don’t do the crime,” will be my new catch-phrase. K? Spread it like wildfire and herpes. Kelso wins again. BAM. THE LAW.

In all honesty, I AM ready to do the time. I mean, what am I really doing with my life, anyway? And if I go to jail, I could totally spend my days reading and learning how to say the alphabet backward. No bills, and I eat for free? I mean, I’ve always strived to live like a queen! I actually thought about this the other day when I was driving and saw the guys in their orange vests picking up garbage along the highway.  First I got sad because I saw an old man and it reminded me of my dad/grandpa but then I thought he is probably a child molester and that passed.  Then I was thinking about, what if I went to jail.  I could hang, I love not showering and lying in bed all day, jail is pretty much my dream world.

Now, if that wasn’t enough to surprise you about one Mr. Kelsey Grammer, check THIS out—he started drinking at age 9. NINE. What the eff? What grade are you even in when you’re nine? Third grade? So while America’s youth is slurping down CapriSuns, Kelsey Grammer was ripping shots from his Batman Thermos, and then going out to recess to have a big fat cigar. My hero. The end.

In 1988 he was put in the slammer for drunk driving AND cocaine possession! Two years later, he was arrested again for more cocaine! Then, he violated his probation, because he was on cocaine. Who knew Kelsey Grammer was a total druggie? I did, that’s why I like him, he meets the same low standards that all my ex boyfriends forced me to set for any man entering into my life whether it be romantic or a father figure role model such as Kelsey. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll = a winner in my book. Apparently, he flipped his Viper while driving drunk and checked himself into the Betty Ford Center, where he bunked with LiLo and snorted cocaine from her belly button.

Tsk. Tsk.

To be honest, when I think of Kelsey Grammer, I think of Frasier, which makes me think of this:

Today, Kelsey has his own website where he offers fans a chance to chat with him live.  Which we are unofficially in charge of plugging every single day.  WWW.KELSEYLIVE.COM -Read it like it’s naked, neon, and flashing.

He was also on 30 Rock last week which I did not watch because Tracy Morgan pisses me off beyond belief.  The man is not funny, I’m sorry he tries too hard and his ghetto gold hurts my eyes and I think Kelsey can do better. Next.

More recently Kelsey twatted/tweeted (? I don’t know @#&^#&^) to us telling us that he won’t be returning to Los Angeles for the next year because he’ll be performing on Broadway, which I still haven’t figured out what show he’s doing because he won’t tell us.  Probably because he knows that Lucky and I will for reals buy all the tickets opening night so it’s like the performance was made for us.  We. Are. So. Creepy.  But we’re trying to tell you how much we love Kelsey Grammer.

He also takes Gizzy, Ella and Bubby on the red carpet! Evidence:

(Gizzy was going through a blonde phase, clearly.)(And a fake boob phase.)(And Bubby (Justin Bieber) was going through a really short phase as was Ella going through a really tall phase.  We’re a family of phases, what can I say?)

So, Kelsey Grammer, we tip our hats to you good sir.  Won’t you be… our neighbor?

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Keepin’ it one-hun-ed.

Hello everyone! Gizzy has been working (the Captain) like crazy and me, well, I’m sick as a dog and so is my laptop. In fact, my laptop hates me so much it decided to jump off my bed Sunday and end its life. However, it was unsuccessful and it’s at the Dr. Apple. Which is going to financially rape me in the ass, so we’re going to start charging you rich mother effers to read our shit, k?

Just kidding. No, but really, Gizzy and I are approaching our 100th blog entry. And since we are complete losers with no lives, we want to do something to celebrate it. But we need your help! I’ve posted a conversation between Gizzy & I to get this party started:

Lucky: lets just figure out what we want for the 100th entry and slap this shit on the blog so we can both go hang ourselves

Gizzy: i know, wanna get drunk tonight? fuck.

Gizzy: sooo what are our options? the 100 phone numbers, the middle school pics…

Lucky: eat 100 godiva chocolates…thats a personal problem

Gizzy: take 100 shots in 100 hours

Lucky: stay up for 100 hours…and then write about how crazy we feel

Gizzy: i think its possible for us to do all of the above and succeed

Lucky: hmm ok….i feel like we need one more social one, since i’m not social

Gizzy: umm… meet 100 guys between now and oct 22?

Lucky: i mean i assume that would go with the numbers

Gizzy: but just introduce yourself to 100 guys…this could also be in naughty chatrooms

Lucky: I really do sort of hate that. but I mean, for the blog

Gizzy: you sort of hate what? socializing? me too

Lucky: hate the idea of having to meet 100 guys. I’m in no mental shape to be doing that

Gizzy: yeah but, at least 1 out of the 100 has to be nice. right?

Lucky: uh

Gizzy: i mean it will be easy for me considering i dress as a hooker and hand out free alcohol on a regular basis

Gizzy: MAYBE we could find out 100 fun facts about guys, not necessarily 100 guys, but just 100 facts about how ever many guys it takes us to get to 100

Lucky: ok, like we could gather them from anyone

Gizzy: yeah

Lucky: like what would be an example of a fact

Gizzy: or we could ask 100 guys the same question and post all the answers, but we’d have to think of a good question

Gizzy: like the captain fun facts, he likes furry hats

Lucky: whats the one quality you want in your dream girl? BOOBS X 100

Gizzy: we’d probably get lady in the streets freak in the sheets a lot

Lucky: is there 100 things we could write, like 100 gizzy and lucky fun facts

Gizzy: ya the fun facts on us would actually be really good

Gizzy: we could do 100 posts on the 100 things we want to do our 100th post on

Lucky: i really did laugh outloud at that and my laugh sounds like a smokers

Alright kiddos, so what do you want from us on our 100th post?! Let us know…and we’ll do it. That’s how much we love you. All 4 of you.

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Giving biffles the sniffles and then some.

I was just about to cozy up in my desk chair with my book when I realized I should be productive and blog a little. Now is a perfect time to fill you in on Matt’s friends that I briefly mentioned last week. And yes, I’m still listening to the 90’s station, just in case you were wondering.

Alright, so I think I told you I met Matt at a wedding at the beginning of the summer. He is in a group of friends, which includes my friend Leslie. Also in that group are two other girls, Berika and Rhianna. They are pretty much joined at the hip, so they call themselves Biffles. Need I say more?

Anyway, I don’t know Biffles too well, mainly just through Leslie. However, I saw Biffles out one night and told them I was interested in Matt. They were super pumped over it and exchanged our numbers, which kicked off this whole romance. Now, of course I am thankful for that, but obviously Matt and I click, and that’s no one’s doing.

After our first date, Rhianna sent me a text asking how it went. I told her the truth—that it went great! And that was it. For our second date, Matt and I were enjoying a few cocktails when he asked me: “So, when was the last time you talked to Rhianna?”

Me: “Umm…I think a week ago? After our first date.”

Matt: “hmm…ok…”

It was silent for a bit, before he went on to explain himself. He said he’s been friends with Biffles for quite some time. He told me I’m allowed to be friends with whoever I please, obviously. But then, he gave me a warning: “In the past, when I’ve started dating a girl, Rhianna feels like she has to be my older sister and step in…and she often tries to get between me and the girl.” He went on to say that wherever things go between him and I, he doesn’t want it to get ruined because of something like that. He said Rhianna will often take things the girl says, and twist them, and same with him. Normally, I might feel like this guy was just trying to cover his shady ass, but because Leslie knows Rhianna, I’ve heard a few things like this before. Let me share.

Rhianna is in her near mid-thirties (nothing wrong with that) and she just got married a year ago to her 27-year-old hubby, Scotty. Rhianna and Scotty had been dating 7 years before they got married, so it was no shocker there. Rhianna is a pretty big gal, and her hubby is just as large (trust me, that’s something you’ll need to remember). Scotty has always had dreams of being a basketball coach for a college team, and he is…only it’s at a very tiny school, he makes $10,000/year, and lives 4 hours away from Rhianna.

That’s right, they are married and don’t live together. They see each other probably once a month, when Rhianna drives up to visit him. Since he makes only 10-Gs a year, Rhianna pays for him to have his own apartment four hours away. She also pays his bar tabs, etc. Because of that, she can’t afford to live in a place of her own here, so she lives with Scotty’s parents. Yep. I’ve heard Scotty regularly cheats on Rhianna and such, but it seems like a typical case of low self-esteem on both ends—they both know they couldn’t get much better. It’s sad, I know.

Anyway, because Rhianna is married but she never sees her hubby, it’s almost as if she treats Berika as a husband figure. I don’t mean they have lezzie sex or anything, I just think that’s a big reason why they hang out all the time. When the two of them are apart, they are fairly pleasant people. But when they are Biffles, to all beware. All THAT, my friends, is what I had to experience at the Labor Day party last weekend.

It was a classic case of Misery Loving Company. From the second we got in the car, Biffles was ragging on Matt, making fun of him for everything under the sun. But instead of it coming across as funny, like I’m sure they wanted it to, it clearly came across as jealousy. It’s been a long time since Matt has brought a girl around his friends, and obviously some of them took the opportunity to take jabs. As an only child, I felt his pain. At this point, I think Matt is a genuine guy, so I tried my best to push the comments out of my mind.

After the party, Matt called Rhianna and told her to lay off—he told her that him and I deserved more respect than that and what happens between us, stays between us. I appreciated that. I think Matt is realizing these girls he thought were his friends, don’t have his best interest at heart. He later told me he didn’t care if he ever saw Berika again, as she was on her game when it came to insulting him. It was rough.

This weekend, Matt was out of town for the football game, but some of his friends I met invited me to watch the game with them. I took the offer, even though I knew Rhianna would be there. Fortunately, Berika was out of town, and we had a chance to discuss a few things. She apologized about her actions at the party, and said Berika mentioned, “she was tiired of being the only one who doesn’t have anyone.”

Really? I’m like, the LAST person to share that excuse with—I feel like I’ve gone my whole life without “someone.” Sure, I’ve had boyfriends, and none of them have ever included me in anything significant. Besides, if she really does feel that way, it’s probably because she has an incredibly unattractive attitude. As difficult as it is, she should try and be happy for her friend Matt who also hasn’t had someone around for two whole years.

Just own up to your mistakes. Biffles, you acted like an asshole. If my relationship with Matt continues, which I think it will, then yes, I will have more run-ins with Biffles. However, Gizzy & I decided my best bet is to be cordial, keep things casual, and be intimidating enough for them to keep their distance.

I swear to God, bitches and blunts!

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Drumroll please! badadadadadaddadaaaaaaaa… herrrreeees Jooooohnny!!!

I don’t know what in the Lindsay Lohan is wrong with me, I can’t sleep and stay up until 5 am every night! Sleeeep all dayyyy driinkkk all night…I’m in Miami, TRICK! My new thing is going to be to use disgruntled celebrity names instead of actual cuss words, I recently learned that cussing is unattractive. Gasp!

Kids, today I am going to introduce you to what might be the greatest character we have yet to meet here at Cocktails at Tiffany’s, my stepdad.   Now before I start ripping into him let me say that I like my stepdad; he’s a nice guy, supports his family and me, yada yada yada…he just gets on my nerves because we are total opposites.  And I think I get on his too.  And by total opposites I mean I think fashion and drinking are the bees knees and he thinks ripping the insides out of a deer and mounting it’s antlers on the garage wall to display to all his hick friends and then eating the meat is all there is to live for.

The other day Lucky and I had an ichat conversation that concluded with us deciding I should introduce the redneck himself because the stuff he nags me about is hilarious and completely irrelevant/he is the only person in the entire world that would get their panties in a twist over this stuff.

When I was in high school I never would have called my house “the hang out” even though I desperately wanted it to be.  At most I probably only ever had 3 friends over at the same time.  Usually it was just Lucky though.  When my friends started driving stepdad decides to enforce some new “house rules.”  Most parents say, “Hey you and your friends can sit in your room and do your crack cocaine all you want but no one leaves.  Keys stay in the basket!” My stepdad says,”Hey tell your bratty little friends not to park their bmw’s infront of the garage where the dodge is parked.” I don’t, so he makes this:

A NO PARKING SIGN. Which 7 years after I have graduated high school still remains in effect.  Typically if my friends were over we weren’t going anywhere (with the exception of Lucky and I driving out to the lake to smoke our wood tipped swishers and listen to JTimb’s Cry Me a River whilst stalking the men we loved at their lakefront homes) and the friend would be there to move their own car if he needed to jet out for a big hunting emergency. The parking fiasco still goes on to this day, even if he doesn’t need to go anywhere its still, “OHHHH the suits are coming over with their Book of Mormon to try and convert you? Tell them not to park their bikes in front of the no parking sign hmmkay?”  Lucky can we get a count on how many times we had to move your car in high school? Did we ever do it drunk? Check!

I need to comment on how long I’ve been waiting to share this post, what was holding up production was the picture of the no parking sign.  Every time I trotted outside with my little white macbook to take the picture someone was out there, its like they know. The whole family just left while I was ichatting with Lucky so when I told her of course instantly she says, “THE PICTURE THE PICTURE TAKE THE PICTURE!” I had to go through a lot of strenuous work for this bidness too.  The garage door was up so I had to pull it down, position the computer, and raise the door back up all while my snooty neighbors watched.  I’m sure they think I’m a freak but they better watch their ‘tudes or they’ll be next! I’m excited to hear about what rumors start flying around about me, probably that I’m a drug dealer. I wish.

But back to crazy, more recently one summer that I was home from college and didn’t have to work while stepdad was slacking off and didn’t go to work (which he often plays hooky and I haven’t quite figured it out yet – Lucky says he’s on the Gizzy plan since he’s always home the same days as me) when I decide to make myself some lunch.  We’ll say it was probably a frozen pizza but I can’t be exactly sure, judging from my love handles that’s what it was.  I do want any normal red-blooded American who wants to eat a frozen pizza does, I preheat the oven at 450 degrees and put my pizza on a pizza pan and wait.  Stepdad runs into the kitchen hands flying in the air, gasping for breath, having a meltdown about me making this frozen pizza.  I’m all like, “What the french toast man it’s a pizza, I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge and go buy a new one.” He can barely get out the words telling me to shut the oven off.  I flip it off thinking there is a gas leak and I’m about to blow us all to smithereens over a digiorno when he tells me that no that there is not in fact a gas leak or anything wrong with the stove he just doesn’t want me to turn the oven on because it’s summer.  Yes, because it’s summer.  “Oooookkkk,” I said, “Why does it matter if it’s summer?” “Just try not to use the stove in the summer ok, it makes the house hot and then I have to turn the a/c down to get the house cool.” So you’re telling me that for 4 months out of every year we can’t cook in the oven? Well what in the flipper is the point of having one?! Jesus H. And now, now not only are you telling me I can’t use the stove for 4 months out of the year, now you’re making me waste a $6 frozen pizza, which is probably more than what it would have cost for you to turn the air down 5 degrees for the 20 minutes that it cooked. This is just ludicrous.  I just moved back home right, rule still stands.  My mom bought my favorite food, TGI Friday’s mozzarella cheese sticks, at the grocery yesterday and I had to be like, “Why in the hell did you buy those, I can’t use the goddamned oven to make them, they’re just gonna go bad for Christ’s sake!!!”

The blame off all things crazy is starting to get put more on my little sister than me these days, but she’s got in under control.  For a 6 year old she can handle her shit. She calls crazy out.  Apparently stepdad barks about the tv getting left on while she uses the restroom or goes into the kitchen to fix herself some cheetos.  I would imagine that powering the tv off and powering it back up every time you went to take a pee is using more tv life and energy then just leaving it on.  But what do I know? I’m not crazy.  One day I’m out putting duct tape on the hoopty so I can drive in some peace and quiet when I see my sister come outside raising cane about stepdad’s tv in his den getting left on.  I bust out into a cackle/semi-snort and get put right back into place by stepdad because my car is leaking oil onto his freshly painted blacktop.  The oil is black, the blacktop is black…. so buy me a new car..?

Obviously that wouldn’t fly on Mr. cheapskate, I have had to buy all my own cars and sell my plasma to buy beer while my sister could pay her way through college in barbies.   That’s not the point though.  Yesterday my mom brought home left over pizza from a party they had in her office.  Mom eats pizza for dinner, sister eats pizza for dinner, I come down snorting and shoving my way through condiments in the fridge, “FI FIE FO FUM, WHERE DAT PIZZA!?” As I’m heating some up for myself (IN THE MICROWAVE) stepdad walks in and says, “Oh well had I known that pizza was going to be so popular I would’ve had some.” Really?! Take the goddamned pizza. Just take it, and eat it all up.  Not to mention there was still another whole entire pizza in the refrigerator but something has to be said about me not exactly being anorexic while I live at home, I think he half expects me to eat slop out of a trough in the backyard.

Tell me, how would you feel if you had this coming at you with flailing arms near the open flame of the oven:

Ah, a denim jumpsuit.  Typically we’re dealing with ankle socks with mandals and a sleeveless shirt but we’ve got to class it up when we go out to eat for mothers day/  Well I’ve gotta go put in my final requests for what I want my room to look like in hell.

P.S. Coming soon is The People of Cocktails At Tiffany’s page, so we can all keep our shit straight.

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Mercedes the gold digger

I need  a for realz rant.  I’ve mentioned my friend Mercedes before but never elaborated on the colossal bitch that she is.   Why am I friends with her if she is the worst you ask?  Because she comes stocked with fruit roll ups, that’s why.  Whether it be at a bar, in a bathroom or at a funeral Mercedes is sure to have a purse full of gummy treats.  I’m beginning to think a lifetime supply of fruit roll ups may not be worth the headache anymore, especially since they don’t even have the fun shapes cut into them anymore.

It all started when I met Mercedes about 3 years ago.  I needed somewhere to live and her and her roommate needed a 3rd roommate to complete their lease.  I was dating douchearoo at the time and he was living with her boyfriend at the time, douchearoo told me not to live with her because she was a huge spoiled bitch.  Of course, I didn’t listen.

The first year I lived with her I came to the conclusion that she must be dyslexic and somehow thought that Gizzy read as Merry Maid.  Also that she is a huge whore, she had sex with at least 10 different guys per semester (sorry if 20 guys in a 9 month period is not a lot to some people, it is to me though considering my total number is about ohh 5.  I know I’m a prude. WAMP WAMP.  But I also don’t have STDs.) She had sex with one guy with 9 toes on top of our kitchen counter, how do I know? Oh because I pulled her thong out of the garbage disposal, that’s how.  Basically she is a lazy piece o shit but somehow it comes back to her and if there is an open container it will get spilled on her, within the last month I’ve witnessed 40 half eaten chicken wings, a gallon of lemonade, and a fifth of blueberry vodka dumped on her.  It felt good I must admit.  She also got this horny boy Pomeranian dog, Alfie, within the first 4 months that we lived together who single handedly pissed on every piece of fabric in our 2 apartments.   Fuck I hate that little bastard.  I once heard her on the phone with her mom crying saying I was trying to poison her dog with bad turkey because my drunk friend Kirk threw a package of meat out of my window and it landed on our balcony.  I mean is me or should she not be letting her dog on the balcony to do it’s business. (lazy example #2, get where I’m going?) I make sure my business goes in the toilet and not all over her floor so I expect the same courtesy from her guests.

Jumping to present day, I got Mercedes a job with the Captain Mo Ho company.  She got hired, blah blah blah.  Moved to San Fran to live with her boyfriend, and moved back within the first 3 months because she found out he has no money.

Well I get an email a few months ago about how she has enrolled herself in some Captain Mo calender competition and fucking made it to the final 32.  Now, I’m all about my friends getting opportunities and being successful but, the last thing Mercedes needs to inflate her ego is to be in some calender.  She enrolls herself in all of these modeling agencies and has her dad pay for her to get bad headshots done.  She recently filmed an HH Greg commercial and was in a commercial for Oprah.  And she’s not modest about it at all… I mean I feel like I wouldn’t be texting everyone I know and posting it all over facebook if it were me, but she does it for the attention so a whore will be a whore.

She had recently been telling me about her latest hookup/boy J3 (I gave him this name because his name is Justin, she’s on match.com and he was the 3rd Justin she had been out within that 2 week period) and how he asked her if she would be Ok dating someone who couldn’t support the lifestyle she lives.  A little background on Justin, he is a cute, self sufficient, 25 year old, biomedical engineer and what he wanted with someone who failed out of college, relies on daddy’s money, doesn’t have a job other than promoting alcohol (not that I can talk but at least I am actively looking), and whose brain capacity overloads after a long day at the mall is beyond me.  It has always baffled mine and Lucky’s minds how we are both self-sufficient, educated, pretty, smart girls but can’t find guys who are worth 2 shits but girls like Mercedes who don’t appreciate them can.  I guess he did figure out that her brain rattles when she shakes her head because he did dump her after a month saying, “If we were stuck in a room with nothing but each other I don’t know what we would talk about.”  Of course she was so upset asking if she was boring, I’m nice and refrained from saying you’re not boring you’re just stupid and thought it would be better to just let her think she was boring.  Anyway, obviously Mercedes told him yes she would still be with someone who couldn’t support her lifestyle but of course she told me that she lied to him and she wouldn’t be, because she doesn’t want to work, ever.

Even though I know that the reason why Mercedes doesn’t want to work is because she is a lazy piece of shit I decided to further investigate just to share with you all so we had this conversation:

G: How do you expect to not work and maintain the lifestyle that you live?  (Which is driving around her daddy’s benz, living in a million dollar mansion, having her parents support her every move at 25, shop on her parents credit card, not pay a single bill, and have her dad sue or pay off anyone she does wrong.)

M: Well, these guys need to bring something to the table.  When my dad dies we are going to get like $5 million, my mom will get half of that and me and my brother will split the other half so I’ll have like a million to maintain my lifestyle.

G:  #1 your dad is in his early 50’s and not ill soooooo why are you acting like he is about to die? #2 most people retire when they are 67 with about $2 million to last them about 20 years with decreasing expenses (here you go people, this is what I went to college for.  I know retirement. BOOM.) how do you expect $1 million to last you the rest of your life?

M: Well that’s what my husband will be there for, that $1 million is just a supplement to help out.

G: You could take that $1 million and buy you and your husband a nice house and then not work because you could live off of his income.

M: NO.  The $1 million is for me to spend.

G: What would you do all day while your husband busts his ass to support your extravagant lifestyle?

M: I don’t know volunteer or something.

G: Why wouldn’t you just work then? It’s the same as volunteering, only you would get paid.

M: Because I don’t want to work. Mayyybe I would get a part-time job at the mall or something.

G: I’m going to be honest with you, the jobs that guys our age and even 5 years older than us are getting these days will never make enough to support the way you live.

M: That’s why I’m going to find a surgeon or a guy who has family money.

G: And how do you expect to do that? On match.com?

M: I’ll meet one eventually.

G: So you’ll marry a guy if he has tons of money even if you don’t love him?

M: I’d rather marry for love than money.  But I need the money.  But like I said, I am going to go back to Shit University so that I have the degree in Psychology because I can bring that to the table, at least I’ll have a degree.

G: Buuuut, you’re not bringing shit to the table by having a degree if you’re not doing anything with it.  A guy is going to see right through your act if you’re 35 living at home with a degree, no job, and having daddy pay for everything when you are perfectly capable of being self sufficient.

Then she gave me a blank stare and some golfers walked up where she flirted her way into a $5 tip to which she let the middle aged man stuff in her cleavage.  He asked if he could do the same to me and I told him to take his $5 and shove it up his ass.

That’s the other thing, during this golf outing I poured the drinks, was courteous and nice.  But is that what middle aged men want? No.  They want some 25 year old slut who is going to throw herself at them to make a buck.  Now, we get paid $25 an hour and are supposed to decline tips, I decline, Mercedes the gold digger does not.  Another fun fact about Mercedes, she has fake hair, fake eyebrows, fake eye color, and fake eye lashes so hearing these men tell her how beautiful she is while she throws herself at them gives me a cackle because I think about what she would look like without all her fake shit.  I won’t lie, she is a very pretty girl but without all that hoopla she wouldn’t be and still doesn’t show a shred of modesty, me on the other hand.  I have an au natural D cup but you don’t see me dancing around in a string bikini for dollars.  Oh did I mention she used to do amateur night at a strip club for extra money to spend on clothes and her old best friend is a stripper who has had 5 abortions? Right.  I forgot.  That’s because it’s trashy as fuck.  FIN!  Gizzy out.

p.s. Is it illegal for me to have Bieber fever?!!!!

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Meet Anthony, my whore of a guy friend.

Anthony is my best guy friend, we met in college and have seen each other through the best and worst of times.  I already know what you’re thinking, why don’t you date him? No.  Not going to happen, let me tell you why.

I know entirely too many gritty details about his sexual escapades and drunken nights and he mine, if we got married and had to get a divorce we would have to kill each other before we could take the information we have shared to the court system.  Anthony would be a catch for any other girl though, he is a successful engineer, cute, well mannered, family-oriented italian.  All of my friends swoon over him, even after he had to get plastic surgery on his face because I locked him out of my apartment.

Ok story on that, Anthony came to visit me, he went out to the bars with some douchers who did not include me.  Made it a point to say, “Don’t lock me out.”  Someone did, probably me.  I didn’t hear him knocking or calling and the next thing I know I’m texting him in the a.m. and he is telling me he’s going to the hospital because he got into a bit of a scuffle.  Then the next series of texts is that they’re going to do some labs and what not, so I hopped in my car.  Get to the hospital and not only is Anthony in the hospital, he is in the intensive care unit.  Yes, I am aware I’m a flaming piece of shit.  After chatting/flirting with the doctors they had determined Anthony had gotten hit by a car.  He couldn’t remember anything because he was so shit faced but the whole right side of his body was beat up.  That’s right, homeboy doesn’t remember getting hit by the car. Welcome to my circle of friends. He had to have surgery to repair his kidney and had to have plastic surgery to repair a bone in his face.  Basically I sold my soul to the devil after this and told Anthony if he ever needed anything, I mean anything he could always count on the Gizenator. It was technically my fault and all since he was staying at my place, therefore I am responsible for his well being. Bj? Ok be there in 10.  Someone to do your laundry? How about I take it to the dry cleaners?  You need a ride home from a bar? I’m there.  He’s never asked me to do anything sexual but pretty much everything else he has taken me up on, what a gentleman. The only good thing about this is that this wasn’t my first time meeting Anthony’s parents so they were a little more forgiving than if I had just been some rando girl he met at a bar. I had already won them over at Anthony’s family graduation dinner when I told Anth’s mom I amored her outfit. That’s love in Italian. Not really, but she liked my effort.

Anyway,  I’m introducing you to my bff with a penis because we had what might be the greatest conversation ever today about his recent trip to Vegas for our friend Rory’s bachelor party and I needed to share, ASAP.  So here it is. Information I already know going into this conversation: Anthony and bachelor party crew spent over 10 grand at The Bank (the nightclub inside the Bellagio hotel) and that he had gotten a strippers number at some point in the trip.

A: Got a new bb after Vegas….

G: AHAHA did you lose your old one in a stripper’s vagina?

A: No, I don’t know what I was thinking.  I guess the girl wasn’t AS filthy as the rest.

G: Well, still.  She’s a stripper.

A: She lovvvvveed me.

G: I mean, it’s a stripper in Vegas.  They love everyone.

A: Even after I got everyone kicked out.

G: Those the professionals, I don’t know what you were expecting.  How did you get everyone kicked out?

A: I had been telling all these chicks no all night.  #1 because I was paying for Rory #2 because 1 is enough.  And then one bitch comes by, spicy latina, and she’s doing her thang and I told her no at least 6 times, I was not paying for a dance.  Pretty clear.  She gave me all her sales pitches, just really pulling out all the stops. Must not have been a lucrative night for her.

G: Did she offer you an outside of the pants bj?

A: No she just went for it eventually.

G: This is gross.

A: I’m kidding.  Not really, but she finally gave up and was like well how about a preview dance and maybe one of your friends will see.

G: So let me get this right, you liked what you saw so instead of paying the stripper money you got her number so you could get it for free???!!!!

A: No, I got the number of a different stripper, but yeah you are getting the point.  I didn’t pay when she was done so she went and got all her fellas and they kept telling me to pay for an hour and were pushing me toward some room and I was like honestly man I’d rather just leave these girls are garb.

G: Did this all happen before or after you spent 10K at the Bellagio?

A: Oh this was the night before.  At like 5pm.

G: Jesus. Christ.

A: She didn’t j me off by the way.

G: Um, yeah.  It sounds like she did.

A: Ok, maybe with her leg.  But that was it.

G: Even better.  So how did you get the other stripper’s number?

A: She just gave it to me.  Probably trying to get some money.

G: I thought you asked for it?

A: I saw her and her “partner” walking by and I was doing my drunk stare down.

G: So she was a lesbian?!

A: And my girl looked at me and stopped her friend and came over.  So we’re like talking for half an hour.  And then she danced for me and then gave me her number.  I forget what our connection was but she lovvvveed me.

G: I can’t believe you talked to a stripper for 30 min, what a waste of time.

A: What do you think we do at strip clubs? I’ve seen T and P before, I need to get my entertainment some other way.  (Anthony has trouble using sexually explicit terms and abbreviates them with first letter only because he has a great fear that since his company pays for his cell phone they are secretly reading his text messages but won’t realize that T and P stand for titties and pussy.  I tell him every day that he is the only moron working there and they’ve already figured him out.)

G: Well isn’t the whole point of going to a strip club to stare at naked women? Not finding out that she wants to go to nursing school and better her life.

A: Well, I mean we were holding hands.

G: Whaaaaaaaaatttttttttttttttt????????!

A: I’m in a meeting and I’m trying to hold it together, I’ve gotta go.


*2 hours later*

A: Giz, I’d really love to stay and talk about strippers some more but I have some work to do.

G: You’re the one that keeps telling me you have to go work and then keep coming back to talk more about strippers.  Stop blaming it on the unemployed friend!

G: Sooooooooo….. did you call the stripper?

A: I texted her the next night.

G: Can you forward me the convo?

A: I just asked if she was working she said something conniving alluding to the fact that she was and I don’t think we talked again after that.

G: Can we three way prank call her?

A: Gizzy, I don’t have the number anymore. I have to go.  It’s date night.

G: You’re a faggot.

*25 Seconds Later*

G: Maybe you could look at your cell bill to get the number?

A: I wouldn’t be able to tell which number it was, I was texting a few different girls that night.

G: Whoa whoa whoaaaaa, who else?

A: You see what I did there?

G: So clever. Whooooo?

A: Some bachelorette chick and some over 40 lady.

G: You are disgusting.

A: They were like 38 actually

G: Did you make out with one?

A: No I didn’t make out that trip. The stripper kissed me and tried to slip me the tongue. But you know, I’m not

G: Do you realize where that mouth has been?

A: Strippers are people too you know

G: Not in Vegas they aren’t.

A: She kissed me what could I do?

G: Slap her. That’s rude!! Which stripper was it? The one that loved you or the spicy latina?

A: The one that was sexting me.

G: Do you think it would be possible to tell me all of the facts at the beginning of our conversation? Gizzy Things I did in Vegas with Strippers: Got their number, kissed one, held hands, SEXTED WITH A STRIPPER IN VEGAS, got an outside the pants bj…. anything else?

A: I went in the back with the spicy latina.

G: I need to go, this is too much. Enjoy date night you stripper fiending whore.

Another reason why I can never date him, right thurr. But, I am pissed now, #1 what is a bff with a penis good for if I can’t three way call his mistakes and make fun of them? And #2 wtf, date night? He doesn’t even have a girlfriend.  That is a crock of SHIT.  I’m pulling it, I am pulling the best friend card and putting it out on the table.  If he doesn’t give me that stripper’s number we are no longer best friends. End. Of. Story.  You hear that Anth?! THIS IS IT!!!!!! I’M DONE!!!

Also, I hate it when people say awwhh or aweee… it’s aww. EFF!

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