Tag Archives: Twitter

10 things you should know about Reginald VelJohnson

1. Per the below photo taken from his twitter, I don’t think he enjoys wearing pants.  See: pants in the background on the ottoman with the belt still in tact.

We can also conclude #2 from this photo, in that he enjoys wearing snuggies while not wearing pants.  That royal blue fleece material you see in the background is particular of said snuggies.

Number 3 comes to us from Reg Vel’s bedroom.

 Reg Vel told us on twitter that his bedspread caught on fire because he had his laptop on top of a lighter.  So, either A: Reginald VelJohnson likes to enjoy a smokey smoke after sexytime with Mrs. Reg Vel… or B: he was getting high and looking at this picture of Lil Wayne with the Bieb’s hair that “tickles” him.

4. Reg Vel’s twitter puns are getting better by the day:

seriously tho, I can’t wait to eat this sushi #shrimplythebest #calimarimoon #crabtownraces #koimeariver #likeasturgeoun #embarrassingmyself

If Osama bin Laden was a Japanese food, he’d be Osama bin Ramen

5. Rev Vel attends the BET awards every year.  I know what you’re thinking.  He claims it just smells like weed and hairspray though.

6. Rev Vel truly enjoys thinking outside of the box.  He did so with the hit movie “Mean Girls” where he claims if you watch it backward it’s just about a girl that becomes so unpopular she moves to Africa.

7. In his old age Reg Vel thinks that Tim Tebow’s name is actually JIM Tebow. Lolz.

8. Jaleel White (Steve Urkle) and Reg Vel still keep in touch.  Sometimes The Reg tweets to Jaleel White, but JW seems to be on some other shit.  You’re better off Reg.

9. Some Reg Vel fan sites claim that donuts got their holes because every time a donut is made Reg Vel shoots the hole through the middle.  They also claim that The Reg doesn’t walk, he rides Chuck Norris piggy back regulating Chuck’s direction and pace with Urkle’s suspenders. Bad. Ass.

10. In 2010 Reg Vel made a movie called Sex Tax.  You be the judge.

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Where are they now?

I was sitting in my bed this evening debating shaving my legs when I thought about the very first time I shaved my legs, other than with shaving cream and a blade-less razor.   When I was in 5th grade I had my mother convinced that I was going to be JTT’s (Jonathan Taylor Thomas) new girlfriend, she let me shave my legs for him. If my daughter was going to marry a celebrity I’d let her be a prostitute too.

After all, he was coming to the local mall to sign autographs and meet the fans and I was convinced I was going to be Mrs. JTT at the ripe old age of 11, one look at me and he’d be down on one knee what with my large and in charge glasses, crooked teeth, I only washed my hair once a week so I wore it in a slicked back pony tail, baggy clothes how could he not? If it weren’t for my huge knockers at age 10 people would’ve thought I was a boy, what wasn’t to love? JTT loves huge knockers.  This got me thinking, none of my old crushes are still in the spotlight and I wonder if I could have a decent chance with any of them now.  My knockers are still huge.  So I decided to research a little to figure out where are they now?!

JTT – Jonathan Taylor Thomas – In his prime during home improvement

JTT – Now

He guest stars on CW programs, smokes marlboro reds, is rumored to be dead and/or attends Columbia University.   I think I would have a decent shot if he didn’t look like my cousin and smoke that diesel, at least get the menthol for the ladies.  RIP JTT.

Moving on…Then….

Nicole Eggert and David Charvet – Baywatch

From 2nd to about 7th grade I had a weird obsession with Baywatch.  When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up it was always a lifeguard.  I constantly was looking for red bathing suits to buy in the store and I even found a buoy like the ones they carried around.  I had a poster of David Charvet with no shirt on while leaning up against a brick wall staring out into space hanging up on my wall as well as an autographed poster of Pamela Anderson in her Baywatch swimsuit.  I think I quit liking Baywatch and decided it was time to get a life when my mom walked in on me making out with my David Charvet poster.  I always liked Nicole Eggert though, she was David Charvet’s girlfriend on the show and they were the epitome of a couple to me.  Where are they now?

David Charvet is married to Brooke Burke and they have 18 kids.  You did good David, you did REAL good.

Pretty sure I saw her on an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians, she was considering representing mams Kardashian’s QuickTrim dietary supplement.  It’s cool guys, I’ll email Nicole and let her know that she needs to use the QuickTrim if she wants to represent them – or be my friend.

Zac Hanson – From the greatest band to ever exist… Hanson. Then…

I was obsessed with Hanson for a solid 4 years.  I first started liking them in 6th grade when I was 11.  For the first few years I think I was confused about whether I was in love with Zac Hanson or if I actually wanted to be Zac Hanson.  I’m leaning toward the latter.  I wore my hair straight, started wearing addidas shirts and doc martens, I even took up playing the drums.  Christ almighty.  I met Zac once in Cincinnati, Ohio at a water park.  Actually, he was at the water park after the concert and I was lingering around the parking lot hoping to catch a glimpse of the bus.  BUT, once I saw him I ran over to the fence and he touched my hand.  I basically wanted to kill myself when he didn’t ask me to be his GF but it’s whatevs I guess.


He’s married and has some young ones running around, but that’s just talk to me.

Dear Zac Hanson,

If you are reading this and are interested in mmmboping me please DO NOT HESITATE TO WRITE.  I don’t even care if you know my name, just know my number… and maybe my bra size.  K toots mgoots.  Love you long time, Gizzy

Anywho, they’re still making glorious music.  I haven’t seen them in concert in a few years but I will this year and I’m going to date rape drug him.

Next would be the one and only Andrew Keegan, then…

HAHA… I don’t even remember what he was on.  Full House, Step-By-Step and god knows what else.  This is just embarrassing.  Now…

There are some allegations that he beat up his ex-girlfriend.  He won the trial but I still think I’ll pass.

Josh Hartnett

I found a guy my sophomore year in college that resembled Josh Hartnett.  Basically they were twinsies, of course I found him in a bar and went home with him, no sex though.  6 months later I was in a relationship with his best friend, also known as the one and only douchearoo.

Come on, I’m classy.

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Our favorite married chick takes the cake.

Hello all—it’s Monday, and Gizzy and I have a special treat for you little minions (yeah, I saw Megamind last weekend). One of our favorite bloggers, JustMarriedGirl, wrote us a guest blog! I can’t tell you just how excited I was when my Blackberry ringle-dingled with delight Thursday evening with an e-mail from said blogger, with an attached blog—and a good one at that!

JustMarriedGirl, or Gina, kindly offers her advice to Gizzy and I. And it’s good advice, too. She’s the married girl I want to be (me too, my hero!) Sigh. But anyway, after Gizzy posted her political post on promo girls, this conversation happened:

JustMarriedGirl: I have a blind date story, but maybe it’s too long to type here. I’ll find a way to incorporate it somehow in one of the needless tales of my boring life.

Gizzy: Hahaha I’m so happy you have a scary long memory because now I don’t have to google it, which I was beginning to contemplate. If you want to tell us your blind date story email it to us cocktailsattiffanys@gmail.com and we’ll post it as a guest blog, we’re trying to get out of blogging this week because we don’t think people want to hear us ramble about how fast our fingernails grow so we’re looking for some guest bloggers :)

First of all, thanks Gizzy, for making us look like worthless little shits. But it’s ok, we’re all friends here. Lesson to learn—become friends with Gizzy and she’ll ask you to do her homework for her. (It’s true, but you know what, I spent like 6 hours working on that CAT vs DDM post last week so I’m patting myself on the back since no one else can or will.)

But thank all that is holy, because the post is effing-amazing-beautiful-educational-pretty-awesome! Take it away, G—

When I graduated from college with my undergraduate degree, I moved back home to New Jersey and eventually got a job as a loan coordinator at a commercial mortgage company. It was nowhere near a dream job, but I needed the experience and the steady paycheck, so I decided to suck it up and get to work.

The job was one I loathed. My immediate supervisor was a woman with a passion for wearing short skirts, piling on heavy make-up and getting wasted on her lunch hour. But who am I to judge her life choices? What I really despised was the way she treated me around the office.  She thought I was a life-sized turd with the intelligence of a hairbrush, and she took every opportunity to remind me of my lack of importance in the office. There wasn’t a lot of work for me to do, and I was not given access to the internet or the ability to email anyone outside of the office, so my days were spent staring at the computer screen, counting the minutes until lunch break and then until the end of the work day.

On occasion, my supervisor would call me up to her desk.

“Would you hand this to Fat-Disgusting-Boss-Man?” She’d be pinching a piece of paper between her fingers and holding it away from her body and out towards me in disgust. I wasn’t sure if it was actual scorn in her eyes or if she was just dead on the inside, but her glare always gave me the creeps.

“Sure,” I’d say in my most pleasant voice, and then I’d walk the three feet to Fat-Disgusting-Boss-Man’s desk and lay the paper there before turning back to my supervisor.

“That will be all,” she’d shoo me off to my desk where I’d sit for another hour or two before I was buzzed to photocopy or fax something.

It was miserable.

There were six other employees at the office, most of whom I liked to varying degrees. The other loan coordinator was an older woman who seemed to be an expert in loan coordinating (read: sitting around and doing nothing with authority) and who liked to talk to me in the ladies room while she was on the toilet.  I tried to avoid her as much as possible.

The person I detested as much as if not more than my supervisor was the aforementioned Fat-Disgusting-Boss-Man. He ran our branch, and his slimy personality was matched by his gross physical appearance. It wasn’t just that he was overweight or short or that he looked like a garden gnome, that’s no reason not to like someone.  It was that his lips were always wet and greasy, and he always sounded as though he was choking down his breaths, especially while he shoved bagels down his throat during meetings, as if he couldn’t get food and air in at the same time.  He would rock back and forth in his chair while other people spoke, and when it was his turn to engage the group; he was always self-congratulatory and arrogant. His ideas and his mission were of the utmost importance, and acted as though the rest of us should bow down and thank God every day for being in the presence of such greatness.  Even worse than this, he liked to flirt with my supervisor in the most vomit-producing ways, and she would cackle and tease back, making everyone sick.

So, needless to say, things were rough. And when my college boyfriend of two years broke up with me soon after I got the job, I thought I would just crumble into pieces or just perish right there at my desk from too much sadness.  All I could do all day was think about my broken heart and about how I would probably spend the next fifty years stuck in a crappy job that I hated.

In an attempt to cheer me up, a well-meaning friend decided to set me up with a single friend of hers.  I agreed because I thought that meeting someone might help me forget work and the pain of my break-up. I even went so far as to get a haircut and a new outfit, which worked to my advantage later, but not in the way I imagined.

My friend and her husband were planning to join me and my mystery suitor for a double date, hoping this would ease any awkwardness.  Immediately upon arriving at my friend’s house and meeting my date, let’s call him No Way, I knew I’d made a terrible decision.  I did not find my date physically appealing for several reasons. He was balding on top but kept the remaining hair on the sides and back of his head long and flowy to overcompensate.  He was a bit overweight, and decided to highlight this by wearing an ill-fitting shirt tucked into tight brown jeans. It might sound shallow, but I was only twenty-one years old, and I was hoping for someone young and fun and cute, and No Way was, well, not any of those things.

No Way and I had exchanged exactly zero words during the car ride to the restaurant or over the entire dinner.  While he chatted with my friend’s husband, I suppressed the desire to cry and made small talk with my friend. There is nothing that makes a person feel worse about a break up than being set up with someone awful.  If I could have crawled under the table and disappeared, I would have done just that.

At one point, I excused myself from the table and called one of my close friends, we’ll call her Mary, to tell her about the train wreck that was my night.

“Bail,” she said.


“Yes, bail on that date and come out with me to New York tonight.”

In desperation, I agreed and told her I’d call her once the dinner was over.  In normal circumstances, I don’t know that I would have the guts to skip out on a lame blind date, but every moment I spent in the company this guy made me feel worse and worse about myself, and I needed to escape before I suffocated. The friend who set us up and came along for the evening wanted to rent a movie and go back to her house, but I knew that I just couldn’t do it. Why sit through a movie if I knew this date was leading nowhere?

I feigned illness and told the group I was going home; in hindsight, it must have been so obvious that I was making a weak excuse, but at the time, I felt pretty clever. Actually, I didn’t really care. I just needed to feel better about my broken heart and to convince myself that the only available men left in the world weren’t all like No Way.

In those days, we didn’t use cell phones, so I stopped at a gas station to call Mary from a payphone to let her know that I escaped. I met her at her parent’s home, and we drove to New Brunswick to meet up with some other friends from high school. Even though my nemesis, we’ll call her Horrible Human Being, was there, I wasn’t going to let it ruin the night even further.

Two of the guys in our group rented the apartment where we met. They were two grades older than us in high school, and though I knew who they were, I never spent much time with them during my younger years. One of them, we’ll call him Unexpected, was pretty cute, and even though we’d never uttered a word to one another before that night, we seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time chatting.

After a while, we took the PATH to New York with no real plan or destination.  Horrible Human Being wanted to go to some club, but by the time we found the place and got inside, most of us were tired and ready to get back to the apartment where the night was much more mellow and fun.

Horrible wanted to set Unexpected up with someone she worked with at The Gap. So, when Unexpected and I were spending a lot of time together, it really angered Horrible Human Being. To stop what she believed to be an atrocity, she told me that I was way underdressed for a club in NYC.  But I’d just bailed from a lame blind date, so what did she want?  Unexpected was standing next to me when Horrible Human Being spewed her venom, but luckily, he was immune.  I wasn’t sure if it was in my imagination, but I began to realize that I rather liked Unexpected, and I thought maybe he might (might) be interested, too. I never like to let myself think these kind of things, but we did spend the entire night laughing together and ignoring everyone else, so there was that.

By the time I got home, the memories of No Way and the lame blind date were almost completely erased. In fact, I was so infatuated with Unexpected, that I hadn’t even thought of my ex-boyfriend—the source of much of my recent distress—all night. It turns out Unexpected was interested in me, and we ended up dating for several months.  But because I never fully recuperated from College Boyfriend, I ended things with Unexpected even though he did things like: send me flowers, buy tickets to the movies I liked in advance to make sure it wouldn’t get sold out, call me every day, leave me really sweet voice messages at work to make the day a little happier and just generally treat me with respect and kindness.

In case you are wondering, this is not typical for a twenty-something guy, and in case you’re wondering, I realized that I was an idiot for ruining such a relationship after getting back together with College Boyfriend and re-living all the same crap that lead us to break up in the first place.

Luckily, I met Husband Sitting Right Next to Me almost a decade later, and everything worked according to plan. Even better than that, actually.

When people talk about the horrors of blind dates, I totally relate.  They can be self-esteem crushing and horrifying, but they’re not always a bad idea. If I never accepted the lame blind date with No Way, I might not have called Mary in desperation that night, which means I might not have bonded with Unexpected, a really great guy, the anti-No Way if you will.

This experience taught me that I should always accept a date in my single days because (a) hey, free dinner and (b) if the date is bad, I can bail and go on to have a really great adventure, or at least a have a story to tell later.

Now, go out into the world and start accepting those blind dates.  You just never know where they’ll take you.

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CAT vs DDM the unhappy ending

Yesterday Lucky and I got into a heated battle with one of our readers via facebook.  Really, it made quite the entertaining day for the two of us but this guy, who we will call DDM, got his panties all in a bunch over it.  I would just like to add a side note for you readers out there who we love, which is every single one of you except DDM, yes, even you Dennis, we would never do this to any of you; mainly because you aren’t douchebags and you have a sense of humor, and that is why we love you.  HUGS!

Side note* All words that I (Gizzy) write will be in blue, Lucky will be in gray, and DDM will be in brown, the color of shit.

Backstory, who is DDM?:  DDM is a single, 40 something, latin, atheist, customer service rep for DOITT (dept of information technology and communications), wannabe tattoo artist, from Queens. {Sexy}

He has been a pain in our ass since the day he requested us on facebook.  Without further ado, I present to you: CAT vs DDM.

Lets start from the very beginning when I first became agitated with DDM, twas the evening of October 29th when I saw that we had a new facebook message that needed a response:

DDM: is there an actual blog or is it just facebook notes? No link on your fb page. (Yes there is, he’s just lazy.  And stupid.)

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Yes, there is an actual blog we just have it set up to automatically put up facebook notes. The web address is https://cocktailsattiffanys.wordpress.com/ Thanks for adding us 🙂

DDM: oh yeah, i re-found it and remembered why I forgot it- those balloons? the whole text on the left set up? is that a political statement? I’ll take the notes, lol.

Yeah, you take the notes douchebag.  This pissed me off because, #1 the balloons were there to celebrate our 100th post, faggot, everybody knows that.  #2 the left alignment is called a layout.  Political statement? Even if we were trying to make a political statement what in the fuckity fuck does that have to do with balloons and left alignment? I mean this guy is just an idiot.  But whatever, I let it go and didn’t reply.

The next incident occurred when he commented on Lucky’s pringle post on facebook a few days later:

DDM: 1. I’m starving too- did a cleanse and on the first day of fasting, I can rip a nun’s head off with a well placed tongue lashing right now… 2. No guys, no sex? Well it may help if you posted your picture somewhere guys could see it you might get some interested options.3. Do you hate on preggers because they’re bringing more followers into the world and because having a kid is the ultimate form of vanity like I do?

DDM: you should friend Melissa King for more content, lol

{Who in the fucking fuck is Melissa King? We aren’t friends}

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Well we would post our pictures DDM but we’re not real into finding dates on the internet, yet! We’re still trying to do it the old fashioned way and get to know someone in person/have the sparks and all that jazz. 
And we mostly hate on preggers/married people because we aren’t and we’re jealous. Kind of.
Thanks for the comment!! – Gizzy (Ed. note: See how fucking nice I was? When I could have easily said hey fuck off you fucking creeper why do you care what we look like? I mean clearly he was trying to date us, clearly. Thanks, but no thanks.)

DDM: my opinion (and historically supported) is in-person meeting and “courting” as it maybe, “getting to know” people for the purpose of dating- is an out of date practice, pun intended? Hormones, intentions, desires, carnal and otherwise impede honest research and retard development of anything destined for success. Usually this is something that can only be confirmed the morning after, if not after a few months, where as the “truth onion” as I like to call it, has a few of it’s layers removed under the guise of “it’s ok not to have to keep up the I’m perfect pretense”. As we know though, for some people, there is no time to drop that pretense, especially if the practice is to lie from the very beginning about who you are.

What? Anyone with access to some sort of decoding device, get to it, and let me know what the fuck this guy is rambling about.  We were talking about online dating and pregnant people right? Then he comes out with this “truth onion” and being true to yourself and talking about retards. This “truth onion” shit will never cease to kill me with laughter. I mean this guy is on crack, he needs to step away from the sharpies.  I just left it alone after that, because honestly where do you even start to address a comment like that other than telling the guy exactly what you think, that maybe he should start shopping for a looney bin.

The last and final incident began yesterday when DDM commented on Lucky’s  post about online dating where she asked at the end for you guys (our loving readers minus one DDM) to write in your questions for the L&G&Shy Guy advice column to which DDM comments via facebook.


with such lack of real insight, I vote no confidence on asking any life questions, sorry.

I deleted it.  Because, really douchebag? It was at this point when it came to me that this guy has no idea what our blog is about and doesn’t realize that it is a humor blog and that obviously the advice would be funny and that no one should be like, “Well my blogger friend told me to jump off the empire state building because he wants to put it in my butt, so I did.”  And here is where I give kudos to all of you for being intelligent people with excellent reading comprehension.  Kudos guys! DOUBLE HUGS!!! So yesterday, I’m ichatting with Lucky and telling her about the comment and that the next one he leaves (because we all know, there will be a next one) I am going to go off on him and spit some Gizzy fire.  Lucky knows that my “going off” will probably be way too nice so she decided to start a war that we will now and forever refer to as: CAT vs. DDM – The Exile.

I will say, I had absolutely no idea this shit was going on. Had I known sooner, this fucktard would’ve been knocked off a week ago. When Gizzy told me what was up, I just went off. Such is the luxury of hiding behind a fake name, location, and occupation.

First, she swamps his facebook page:

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Hey asshole! Why did you insist on friending us if all you want to do is insult our writing?

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: FAGGOT

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: too scared to show everyone what a fucking asshole you are?

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: no wonder you are single

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: thinks DDM is a complete dickhole and a beaner!

Of course I’m sitting at home reading these giggling like a little school girl because I never would’ve had the balls to do this but I am oh so glad Lucky does.  Shit really hit the fan when DDM got on facebook and like an idiot started to fight back (prepare yourselves for a novel):

Cocktails At Tiffanys: Hey asshole! Why did you insist on friending us if all you want to do is insult our writing?

DDM: wow the immaturity is insane with you isnt it? You put out the writing- take the critique- holy crap, unfriend me if you cant take it. I may giver you my opinion, but I dont go to your personal page and insut you- so who is coming off like an asshole self professed drunk bitch?!?!

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: I don’t give a shit what you think about our writing, that isn’t my point. My point is why you would waste your time reading our shit if all you want to do is hate on it. I don’t care if you think I’m an immature self-possessed drunk bitch. You’re a fucking dick.

DDM: contrary to popular belief- FB and WP are not simply for kissing each other’s asses. If you consider youself a writer- take the heat. i dont delete or lash back at anyone like you did just now. I respond and counter point- this what you are doing is completely immature and you discredit yourself

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: I’m not kissing your ass, I’m telling you to go fuck yourself.

DDM: God youre stupid or drunk? I’m referring to what you seem to expect of posting your writing- you WILL get criticism and comments that ARE NOT praise

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Yeah I’m drunk and stupid.

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Do you realize that there are two of us? And one of us actually is a professional writer? And that the blog is a humor blog? Or are you just too busy trying to come up with snarky comments that you completely missed the meaning of any of the content?

DDM: do you realize that if that is the case, how you reacted stupidly and attacked me on a personal level- when if you FEEL personally criticized, its because you wrote abt personal stuff- YOU put it out there- PEOPLE READ IT, oh my goodness what came back wasnt all praise and smoke up your ass, well thats life, boo hoo I am sorry. YOur pro writer friend will tell you- you dont lash out- you respond, there is a difference

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: We never asked for criticism on our writing or for anyone to critique it. We left it open for people to comment because we share our stories and wanted to hear the stories of others. All you have done is insulted the layout of our blog, told us we are stupid and that you wouldn’t be emailing us for advice because of our “lack of insight,” argued with us about our style of dating. In what way is any of that constructive? This is a humor blog, we aren’t trying to win writing awards or be published, it is a HUMOR blog (do you understand the meaning of humor?) It is meant to make people laugh. The hundreds of readers that visit our blog laugh and comment on daily and do not provide negative feedback, because it is A BLOG, we don’t discuss politics, race, or anything controversial for people to provide negative feedback about. We discuss our relationships and the daily happenings of our jobs, none of which you have constructively commented on. Just because you read it through the facebook page and you’re the only one who comments via facebook does not mean the blog is written solely for you and for you to insult. The professional writer is the one who lashed out at you, she has been published several times over and lashed out because this is our personal blog not a writing experiment. This comment here, and the one before this is from “the self proclaimed drunk.” So kindly, shut up and fuck off.

{At this point, I’m gasping for air laughing so hard}

DDM: now I remember- and I stand by it- with what you write it does not inspire confidence of any relevant or constructive help coming from you. Period. Don’t like it? Try and deal with it like an adult and a writer- not an immature child with a lack of self control and a mean streak.

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Because it is a HUMOR blog, how do you not fucking understand that? Our readers asked us to start an advice column for them to write in because they wanted us to give them HUMOROUS advice. Do you understand yet? Or are you just that fucking stupid? There is no lack of self control, you don’t know who we are, therefor we don’t give a flying fuck and can and will say whatever we want. You insulted our blog, you’re damned right we’re going to say something and stand up for it and ourselves. And please please tell us we are immature again because that is going to change how we act. That’s called sarcasm, hopefully you understand that better than humor.

DDM: Where’s the joke? Its a humor blog, so where is the comical response? Even that would have been better than the attack, and personal attack at that- that you seemed to think was an appropriate response to a comment from a nobody who reads your blog… You can’t support your argument or justify coming on my facebook page and attacking me. You just can’t. In this stream of back and forth messages, nothing. Nothing but contradiction. Both you, whoever is writing now, the less-than-professional “writer” and the non-professional writer- neither of you seem to get it. I made my point. Several in fact, but it seems youre of the typical female mentality that when your “feelings” are hurt, any response you make, even when way out of bounds, unprofessional, immature, raging, stalkerish and profane- is justifiable because aw poo-baby, little girl says it is.

Well it’s not. Unless the glass ceiling is justified {how is a glass ceiling justified, ever? I think he thinks the things he sees in his head are real.} and women should be held down because they can’t hack it in a man’s world, and you agree with that- then there is no excuse for the reaction you allowed yourself to have to a little itty bitty comment about your blog. I mean are you freaking serious? The rules don’t apply to you? If I reacted the way you did I would be called a psycho- and like I said, if men and women are equals, which I would like to think they are (your example aside), then you reacted like a complete psycho. I’m home chiilin’ and bam-bam-bam, 4, 5, text messages on my phone- blowing it up with insults and personal attacks- all because of a what? Three line comment saying eh, I’m not confident in your advice??? I had to stop what I was doing {playing video games and fondling his junk}, go to the PC and see who the hell was freaking out and how badly.

So which is it? Are you a stereotypical woman who got hysterical over nothing, and we have to excuse you for this apparent handicap and call what you did “excusable under the circumstances” because of your gender… or are you a mature person who lost their shit over nothing and big enough to say youre sorry?

I cant emphasize enough- how if I did what you did, I would be branded all sort of sick names- and I’d deserve it- so how is it you think you can go there?

do you knwo how well you would have come off had you simply said “hmm, too bad you think so” or engaged me as to why I feel that way? Do you realize how good it would have made you and your blog look if you simply took the overly emotionalism out of it and made me engage you in return, made me justify my comment? I might have ended up playing the gentleman and apologizing even, but this way- for-get-it.

{Somehow, I seriously DOUBT this mother fucker would have “played a gentleman” no matter what we would’ve said.}

You claim “humor” and yet- I see no Daniel Tosh-ish come-backs from you, something I could respect! All I see is rage and irrationality.

And I think everyone sees it.

It’s a shame. With every critical comment you have an opportunity to either learn about yourself and your writing, or the chance to teach someone else they are not doing a good enough job in interpreting your work- and you failed at both.

A chance to show me up, change my mind, blown. And what you have done, is only support the sentiment with which I did rather flippantly write that off handed statement.

So how does it feel? To know you acted a fool, embarrassed yourself, your blog, your gender even- on an off handed comment I sincerely didn’t even remember when confronted with your craziness?

In terms you might understand… isn’t it a bit like confronting a guy you slept with for not calling you back when you run into him some time later- and he says to you … “uhm, who are you again?”

I think even in my responses I’ve been ten times more sarcastic and humorous than you claim to be.

Maybe you should pay me, since I got THIS kind of reaction from YOU in just a few words through a comment- imagine what I could do as a columnist!


Have fun faux-justifying yourselves ladies. It’s never gonna be OK no matter how many Cocktails at Tiffany’s.

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Hahaha! Loving the fact that you took the precious minutes out of your day to write a god damn book for us DDM! Fuck, I love you so much right now!!!! Let’s make sweet love and have babies who will be shitty writers and piss off the world simultaneously. Ah, man.

You’re so right, there is no justification for coming onto your Facebook page and personally attacking you. why? Because I don’t need fucking justification!

Just for funsies, I’m curious, what’s a “poo-baby”? And why did you put the word feelings, in quotes?

I can’t tell you how fucking awesome it is that your phone was “bam-bam-bam” blowing up with three messages from two little females who are drunk and stupid. In our world, that’s called everyday life. And damn, that’s awesome that you don’t have a job. Can I get a baller?

And who is this “everyone” that you speak of that doesn’t think we’re Daniel Tosh? Guess what, fuck face? I don’t think daniel Tosh is funny, so whatever that means.

I don’t want to change your mind about us, because this shit, sir, is making my day! Loving it…keep the paragraphs coming! XOXO

DDM: The really funny thing is this response wreaks of back peddling in the face of realizing you went too far by getting racist. With only a few words of critical commentary on your blog you lost your shit, and no amount of LOL’s or XO’s are going to make you look any better than the racist scum you lowered yourself to be to try and get a rise out of me. If I can say anything about myself, it’s that it would take a lot more(obviously) to get a rise out of me than it does you, and when it happens, I wouldnt lower myself to using racist epithets in reference to those I debate with.

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Good for you, DDM.

Here was a different convo happening simultaneously, LOLZ, did I mention how much I LOOOOVE LUCKY!? Cause I do. {aw shucks!!!}

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: no wonder you are single

DDM: unlike you – I’m single by choice honey, if you read as much as you wrote, and then some, because your writing is quite lacking- then you might see that is the case

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: You don’t know me, faggot.

DDM: i dont claim to- IDIOT

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: You just claimed to know why I was single.

DDM: beats all you get racist on your Facebook page though. Proud of yourself I hope, the lows to which you’ll go as a person, as a woman, and disgracefully you call yourself a writer, all because of a negative comment on your blog.

And then there was this facebook chat that Lucky started with him too, oh it gets better guys, you just hold on to your britches…

Cocktails At Tiffany’s: Faggot

DDM: advice is advice, commentary is commentary, critique is critique- I prob commented, take a chill pill

you came to MY PAGE and insulted me?
thats like me reading the paper and going to the offices and spitting at the first person I see
do you KNOW how out of line you are?]
you could have simply unfriended me
had you done ANYTHING ELSE I would have wanted to keep reading your stuff
but this “angry bitch” kind of response, when one wasnt warranted at all- YOU WROTE AND MAKE IT POSSIBLE TO COMMENT
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: lol I just saw this comment from earlier
DDM: dude, learn to read “angry bitch” kind of response is referrential to the type of response- not to you personally.
Cocktail’s At Tiffany’s: i didn’t say anything about that
DDM: And no matter what- I didnt get racist
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: I never said you did
DDM: Talk abotu wrong on top of wrong
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: okay
DDM: i hope youre proud of yourself racist
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: haha
DDM: truly ugly
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: yeah
DDM: and i DID liek your blog actually, but youre an ugly person inside if this is how you behave
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: okay 

Thanks for the shoutout on your blog 🙂
DDM: no link
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: still, thanks!
DDM: yeah, and your welcome, I’m sure its the KIND of shout out you need, being exposed as irrational and racist
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: All press is good press, right? 

DDM: too bad one of us lost their dignity so soon in the game 

dont run for office, lol
that screenshot of your page will make me famous
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: for real, it just might! 

I think I should run, at least it would spice things up a bit
DDM: in fact, let me find out if your editors would like it 

i see why you dont post any pictures now, when you cant control your mouth abnd you get racist on people- good reason to protect your anonymity
Cocktails At Tiffany’s: it’s just because I’m ugly
DDM: you should have used your wit earlier- and kept the racism inside
So here I am slaving away at my new 9 to 5’er when I get a text from Lucky saying DDM reported us to facebook, wordpress, and posted like 10 links on his facebook page about how we are racist from every type of social network out there, they all said the exact same thing:

Racists at Cocktails at Tiffanys
What’s the appropriate response to a racial epithet? Because a person’s parents are Latin, is calling them a “beaner” any less offensive than the N word? I want to know what Latins, Latinos and Hispanics think of this, and in the meantime, go to an FB page for a blog called Cocktails at Tiffanys to see this kind of casually racist bigoted thinking in progress, they recently told me (after racially insulting me) any press is good press, so they wont mind your comments- They have a blog on WordPress too- but should they?

I mean really?! For the record, we aren’t racist.  And if Lucky hadn’t called him a beaner his psycho ass would’ve taken something else we said and ran with it. Honestly, I said beaner just to be an ass. I’m for realz NOT a racist! I thought it was funny…Which by the way, he has gotten 0 comments on.  But anyway, just to say we said it, we aren’t racist, regardless of the status that Lucky put on our facebook, “Home of the racists, just call us George Bush!” And of course he posted something on our wall about how we are racists and yada yada yada and we fought back and then he was all go away and I’m all uhhh you’re commenting on our page dude how about you take your own adivce and fuck off? But he didn’t he came back and told us to get a life, cause clearly we need to but he is the one that keeps coming back for more and is dead serious about it all so I finally told him to stop being a sexist pig because we would never apologize and adios senior (yes not racist, just funny to piss him off even more.) Because have you all noticed how many times he brought up that we are women, and stereotypical women, and psychos? This guy has issues with women REAL BAD.  I mean who cares, call us white trash cracker whores, we would laugh.  So not only did DDM not delete any of this from his facebook page, then he write a blog about it, allow me to paraphrase so he doesn’t sue us.

He starts out with a little intro about how bloggers should handle their commentary and yada yada yada he supports constructive criticism and would never lash out on a reader for giving him negative feedback blah blah blah.  Well we wouldn’t either, except that his feedback was insulting us and not feedback about our writing or the content. Then he rambles on for 2 paragraphs about how his lazy ass was sitting on his couch playing black ops all day long when his phone starts blowing up and how he thought it was because his “ex found the page he devoted to her after the breakup” …umm yeah.  I don’t even need to say anything except that we’re working on finding it.  Then he starts talking about how he made a comment and we raged on him and how he is a Seargent of his black ops video game and won’t take this kind of defamation in front of his digital troops.  Then he rambled on some more about COD and geeked out about his belly button lint.  Then he started in on how if he behaved like us how facebook would shut him down and he’d get called a stalker and a psycho, right because you clearly are, and you’re 40 something, and we’re 25 so um… yeah.  Then he ranted some more about COD and how we ruined his whole day of fun.  Then he says some more stuff like he has in the past that makes absolutely no sense, “In one of the responses I made the analogy that what they did is the equivalent of a person reading the newspaper and going to the offices of the paper and spitting on people in the office- it’s just way – way out of bounds.” I just don’t get at all how this relates to spitting on people in the office? This guy is such a wack job.  If we didn’t hate his every existence we would link the blog for your reading and laughing pleasure but we do, so we’re not.

So, have a great weekend everybody. If you read all this, you deserve a prize—although I will say it is fucking funny! We’ll try to stir up some more drama this weekend, maybe we’ll buy some ouija boards or something.
Oh and for the record the final score:
CAT (Cocktails At Tiffany’s, in case you’re slow) called DDM a beaner ONCE, DDM made sexist comments toward CAT 15 times.  CAT WINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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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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