I was addicted to Jake and his Booty Calls a few years ago.
Only way to describe The Romp: it's a choose-your-own-adventure for horny folk. Brilliant!
Here's the new site where you can find all the episodes....no playie at workie!
Laaaaate...
People who work in Publishing are notoriously poor, especially our first couple years in the industry. As a result, we always know where to find the best happy hours. Down the Hatch was pretty close to the office so it quickly became our go-to bar for cheap beer and random hook-ups.
I think it was a Tuesday night when just a couple of us went to DTH. I was gabbing it up with a friend when I noticed this guy was full on staring at me. Like full on. We started talking and eventually he asked me out on a date.
In Thighs dating history only two things happen when I go on a date:
1. I immediately don't like the guy, making me feel relaxed and act like myself, which leads the guy to believe we have a connection when we really don't. I eventually have to turn him down.
2. I immediately like the guy, making me nervous, drink more, and have sex on a first date, which usually doesn't lead to a second date.
I can't help it. If I'm attracted to someone, why wouldn't I want to bang them?? Yeah, yeah. Cow, milk, free, bugger off.
Let's call this guy Doctor C. It turns out Dr. C was a scientist working out of the Museum of Natural History. He had to stay at the lab late so we met for drinks on the upper west side, not too far from his job.
After about four beers, two shots, and some singing (him, not me) Dr. C asks if I wanted to go to the museum even though it was closed to the public. I said shit yeah, so off we stumbled.
It was awesome to walk around the museum when it's empty. I'm not much of a museum goer, but when I do go it's usually this one. The dinosaurs are my all time favorite, so I asked Dr. C if we can go there. He said sure, but wanted to stop by his office for a sec.
Well "stop by" anywhere with me when I'm drunk and you'll get some. At least that's how I used to roll. We had crazy scientist sex on his desk, floor, and I even think his rolling chair. At one point a security guard came by and knocked. Here I am standing naked behind the door, while Dr. C talked to the guard, holding the door so it covered his lower half of his body, which was completely naked and half-mast.
When the guard finally left we just started laughing. We uh, wrapped things up, left his office, and went down to see the dinosaur exhibit. It was totally fun.
The rest of the night is a bit hazy. I think we walked around by the planetarium for awhile and then hopped in a cab. I do remember getting all hot and heavy in the backseat, but I didn't go home with him. I like my bed.
I'm pretty sure I heard from him the next day, but after that he didn't call and I didn't care. It was one of those hook-ups that were just too cool to even bother seeing each other again.
I refer to that night as my Ross and Rachel date. To this day I still get a devilish grin every time I walk by the museum.
There was another reason why I didn't care about hearing from him, though...the "C" stands for Corky. I'm sorry, but scientist schmientist...all I thought of was that fucking tv show.
<"Insert your own down syndrome joke here.">
I'm feeling politically correct tonight. Fa!
Hanging in Delilah right now are 24 pairs of underwear, 28 tanks and t-shirts, 4 towels, 2 capri pants, and 7 normal hang-dry items.
Having worn my last pair of clean undies today there was no choice..I had to do laundry. Poop I say.
It's not so bad once I do it. The laundromat is right across the street from my apartment, so I put my clothes in the wash, come home, go back to put them in the dryer, come home, and then go back to pick them up. I like doing this because running up and down my four flights of stairs is sadly the only exercise I get nowadays.
I went downstairs about an hour ago to get my clothes out of the dryer and hot damn, one load was still wet. (That sounds dirty.) I threw everything into another dryer for an extra 20 minutes and then gave up. I was hungry, tired, and not in the mood.
So now all of my wet stuff is hanging around the apartment and all I keep thinking is that...wait for it...I feel Japanese.
I swear to god that I have no idea if this is mean or rude or what, but as I glance around my living room, I feel this overwhelming sense of being Japanese. Specifically, a Japanese Madam running a fake laundromat as a cover for her brothel of bukkake and gokkun-loving girls.
I went to a brothel a few months ago. I got a lap dance (and more!) from this chick "Courtney". It was a cool experience, but I don't need to go again. Brothels would be awesome if there weren't any men around.
Am I gay? I'm gay, right? Aw crap.
Between Anonymous 2's comment and the fucking mouse in my office, I have been a tad freaked today.
Anon 2, thanks for the reality check. When I read your note I immediately got on the defensive, ready to bomb you with a bunch of excuses. Then I realized what I was doing and stopped myself. As of right now all I can say is that you hit a nerve and I appreciate it.
Office mouse, I FUCKING HATE YOU. I don't want your neck to snap in a trap, but if that's the only way I will get rid of you then...YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHER FUCKER.
If anyone wants to see Die Hard on Friday, let me know!
I just ran out to the store real quick and witnessed a crime.
Some asshole opened a pack of cigarettes and threw the cellophane and foil onto the sidewalk.
WHO LITTERS IN THIS DAY AND AGE!?!?!
I am shocked and appalled. Fucking douche.
Let it be known that if you litter, I will judge you.
Damn you Sette and your all-you-can-drink bloody marys!!
I did it again. Rocks and I went to brunch yesterday. Since 4 or 5 bloody marys wasn't enough, we just HAD to keep drinking. We went over to Trailer Park to get some PBRs, but then the evil bartender said, "Today's specials are $3 PBRs and $5 margaritas." Ay caramba! I was in a margarita mood all weekend so naturally I partook in the pecan pie.
Stupid! Three margaritas later I blacked out. Again. This is what I remember:
1. Passing 46th Street station, which is one station pass my stop.
2. Setting my alarm for 8am.
That's it.
I don't remember leaving the bar, getting on the subway, taking the subway back towards Manhattan after missing my stop, walking home, or passing out on the couch.
This is very bad.
I love alcohol. I really do, but I have a problem. I'm not supposed to be drinking on Zoloft, let alone drinking to excess. That's it, I am not allowed to drink liquor anymore. I just can't handle it!!
And boy did I pay for it today. I normally shit three times a day, after every meal. I didn't crap this morning, but after lunch, damn. I had to brace myself against the bathroom stall. It was like Finch in American Pie AND there were two other girls in the bathroom. Leigh-bee, I am so sorry.
Four hours later I had to go back for round two which thankfully wasn't as painful. I felt much better afterwards. Now that I'm home, I'm fine but just annoyed with myself. What the fuck is my damage?? I can't keep going to work hungover (I did on Friday, too) and I DEFINITELY can't keep doing this to my body. I'll be fubar if I don't clean up my act soon.
I mean seriously, I'm going to be 30 years old next year. In my mind there are certain things 30 year old women should not be doing and blacking out is in the top 10. The rest, in no particular order:
1. Smelling dirty laundry to see if she can get away with wearing it again
2. Biting carrots in little pieces and spitting them into her salad, being too lazy to cut them with a knife
3. Making out with people under 25
4. Using paper towels to wipe when she runs out of toilet paper
5. Using water in her cereal when she runs out of milk
6. Changing her sheets only once every two months
7. Being financially irresponsible
8. Forgetting to wear sunscreen
9. Shouting out "Wow!" when examining her ear gunk on a Q-tip
Fuck. I'm such an asshole. I hereby declare that I, Thighs, will no longer do shots...ummm...will no longer drink on Sundays except during football season. NO!! I solemnly swear I WILL NOT DRINK LIQUOR ANYMORE. I am only to drink beer and if I start blacking out from beer, well then I'm going to kill myself. AARRGGHH!
P.S. Yes the above list is of stuff I currently do and am working on not doing in preparation for the big 3-0. (The Q-Tip thing happened this morning. It was gross, but totally cool.)
And I wasn't going to write about this either, but fuck it. I'm one margarita and two Coronas in the bag.
I went to my parents' house last night. We saw FF2 (eh) and then watched Flight of the Conchords and John From Cincinnati. I HIGHLY recommend Flight, I am considering getting HBO just for this show. Oh and for Inside the NFL in the fall, which may be my favorite show that I've dearly missed the past 3 years. John From Cincinnati is a little out there, but you can tell some pretty cool shit will soon be revealed.
This morning we put together this massive gazebo. I love putting things together so it was actually a lot of fun, even though it took about 5 hours to finish. My parents were cool, I was cool and it was good. My mom did call my dad a fuckface at one point, but her name-calling has become rather endearing now that her sailor mouth isn't backed by psychotic rage.
I started to get sad about Dickfart and some other stuff in the late afternoon, so I decided to come back to Queens pretty early. My parents were a little upset, but I just really wanted to come home. Then my mom sort of kicked me when I was down, which is always such a blast and definitely made me want to leave.
The first thing she said to me last night when she got to the theater was "Did you wear that to work?" Now Company is very laidback about dress code on the 10th floor, the 11th floor a little more corporate. I had Casual Friday clothes on, jeans and a yellow top that can really only be described as a fashionable house-coat tee. (It's cool, I swear.) So yeah, I was definitely casual, so what? She mentioned this a couple of times. Then the best thing she said, prefaced by "I don't mean to play the mother card, buuuutttt..."
At work this week Fi and I were talking about waffle ice-cream sandwiches and I immediately got warm and fuzzy inside. Waffle ice-cream sandwiches were one of my mom's favorite things to eat so our conversation brought me back to a sweet memory that I forgot all about.
My mom was nice enough to buy waffles on the way back from the movies; we both had a sandwich while watching the HBO shows. For breakfast this morning we had waffles and bacon. For lunch I considered having another waffle ice-cream sandwich, but ditched the waffles and just had the ice-cream.
And here's where the "but" came in. My mom said I shouldn't eat ice-cream because I've gained weight and she knows I want to get back in shape. She also offered to give me $100 so that I can shop for work-appropriate tops that fit, since she knew I didn't want to buy clothes at this fatter size, with the hope I would lose weight soon.
Now picture this. I'm laying on their couch already feeling depressed and wanting to leave, but through no fault of my parents. Why the fuck would my mom think that was a good time to tell me I'm fat and need new clothes????
I must admit, I'm more upset about Dickfart then what my mom said, but I wanted to vent. For the first time ever I'm feeling pretty damn sexy, despite weighing 180 pounds. I find it ironic it's not the guy who recently rejected me, but my own darn mother that has taken my tiny bit of confidence away. And here I thought she couldn't do that anymore. Sucks ass.
It's 8pm on a Saturday night. Delilah and I are kicking back with some Coronas.
I had my first stressful week at work because of a couple spats with one of my bosses, GP. Out of the 3 peeps above me, GP and I have a history of butting heads. Long story short, he wants a few projects to go-live when I know the data is wrong. What's better, getting a project done fast or right? Luckily Fi and Mags are going to help out, so the week ended on a high note.
I don't know if it was the stress or an allergic reaction, but all week I got these ugly sores along my jaw, hairline, and neck. They look like picked at zits, which is weird because I've had pretty good skin my whole life. It's clearing up now, but I still don't know what caused them. I think it may have been this sunscreen I don't usually put on my face, but did on Monday. Yes, I am so pale that I put on sunscreen before I go to work. I've been known to get sunburned on lunch breaks. In March.
I was also bummed out about something else on top of that poop, too. I'm embarrassed to write this, but if this blog thing is going to be real, well then I'm going to be real.
I'm having a hard time getting over Dickfart. I know we only went out that one night, but I really felt like something was there. I know, I ALWAYS feel like something's there, but this was different.
I think the reason why I felt such a connection with him is because of his blog. I only started reading it this year and I immediately felt that we were the same person. The way he writes, the way he jokes, everything seemed so, so...me.
Maybe that's just what good writers do though. They tap into what gets you almost as if they are writing only for you. Rage, my favorite writer and good friend does that. He's so raw, so honest, and so fucking out there that he makes me feel sane. Dickfart did that, too. His writing makes me feel like I'm not alone, that there are other people out there who are truly awesome, but have a hard time seeing it for themselves. Plus he is a gluttonous pervert like myself.
Or maybe it's not Dickfart I'm upset about. Maybe I'm upset that I have to get off my ass and keep looking for The One. I mean fuck, I ain't going to meet him in my office or on my couch or when I'm shitfaced at a bar with friends. I need to put myself out there for real, not any of this dramatic "I-went-to-Ohio-or-emailed-a-quasi-celebrity-to-find-love" bullshit.
Furball made fun of himself by saying he's boring, that this weekend he's hanging out with his family and fixing up his house. While I don't want kids yet nor think that going to Home Depot is an eventful weekend, I want what Furbie has. I want to always be with the people I love, in a place I love to call home. I'm halfway there, but now it's time for me to have it all.
I'm going to my parents' house this weekend for a belated Father's Day celebration. For the past few years we've been going to Seaside Heights to bar hop along the boardwalk, play video games, and eat at the Beachcomber but since Rippie is out in LA I think we're going to go back to our roots. It just wouldn't be the same without him. Who would whip my butt at air hockey and who would me and my parents make fun of for smoking a cigarette like a pansy ass sissy girl?
Our old Father's Day tradition was to go to the movies, chill out at home, and then watch Predator or Total Recall. Every year. We are huge Ah-nold fans. I think this year I'll take him to see FF2, then watch Total Recall. It's not every movie you get to see a three-breasted hooker.
I like my dad. Isn't that nice? He is the silliest bastard I have ever met. One of my earliest memories is when we'd run around pretending to be superheroes. I would either be Wonder Woman or Batgirl, depending on which Underoos I had on, and my dad would either be the Joker or The Penguin. I don't remember what my weapons of choice were for Batgirl (most likely the Batarang) but for Wonder Woman I'd lasso him up or chuck my headband at him. Awesome.
I also had hand-me-down Robin Underoos from my cousin; whenever I wore them my dad would put on "Rockin' Robin" and we'd dance around the living room. If I ever get married I always thought I'd tell my dad we were going to dance to some standard father/daughter song, but then have the DJ throw "Rockin' Robin" on as a surprise. I also thought it would be cool to rip my wedding gown open and be wearing a Robin costume underneath, but yeah...this is probably why I'm still single.
The sad thing is I don't really remember my dad being around that much through my teen years. I think it was because my mom was the dominant force in the house that there just wasn't room for any other relationships to form. Weird right? Thankfully we became close again when I went to Rutgers because my dad works near the campus. Sure I'd hit him up for cash or the keys to his car, but I think he liked that I came by.
I'm pretty sure the last time we spent a whole day alone together was when I moved to Delilah. I seriously freaked out that day. I don't know if I was just scared of moving by myself or what, but I did not stop crying. I cried the whole ride up to Queens from Jackson, I cried when the movers came, I cried when they couldn't get my couch in the apartment, I even cried when I ordered two sausage sandwiches at Home Depot (they have like a cartdude). My dad was like what the hell is wrong with you?? Three years later I'm still not sure, I guess it really was just nerves.
Nowadays I talk to my parents about 3 or 4 times a week. Never, ever thought that would happen. As soon as I call they have to put me on speaker and then they keep talking over each other so that I have no idea what they are saying. Actually, my mom keeps talking over my dad, my dad eventually gives up and walks away. They are so retarded...and I honestly can't wait to see them.
Dear Dad,
If you are reading this blog I am most likely dead. I want you to know that while I was alive I loved you very, very much and will continue to do so if I'm not burning in the pits of hell. Sorry for sleeping with so many people.
Happy Father's Day!
Love,
Thighs
Oh yeah, since some of you asked how things were going with FB...well they're not going anywhere.
I haven't heard from him in about two weeks.
'Nuff said.
I wasn't a regular subway rider until I moved to Brooklyn a few years ago. It was around then I noticed an interesting trend in purses.
Many women will carry your typical pocketbook (Ruth Clare), but a good percentage will also be carrying a small paper shopping bag, too.
This shopping bag tends to carry an umbrella, a pair of work shoes, maybe Tupperware lunch. It makes sense because when you're done with those items or dropping them off at work, you can easily fold the paper bag up and tuck it into your regular purse for the way home.
These bags are usually gift bags from either a birthday or Mother's Day, a non-holiday colorful one, or a small bag from a store. I've noticed plenty of Clinique, Bloomingdale's, or Gap bags used to tote random stuff. Again, this seems perfectly acceptable.
The key to using any bag from a store or company is to use some common sense and discretion. Seems easy enough. I mean you wouldn't carry a huge bag that said "Valtrex" on it even if it was a freebie from one of those coked up pharmaceutical sales reps, right?
Well today I was walking out of the subway and noticed a bag. This bag actually made me gasp. Me. Gasp.
One of the last words I think anyone would use to describe me is "conservative" (the others being "tan" and "sober") so if I was a little shocked...well, this lady's fucking out there.
What store was the bag from? Guess. Don't guess. It was from Babeland (this is a clean link).
For the Mormons who read this, Babeland is a sex shop. Her bag was as bright as the store's awning and big enough to fit a pair of boots, or well in this case, three dildos and a butt plug.
I was shocked. I mean I couldn't be the only one who knew where that bag was from. I had to see what was inside so I caught up to her. I was slightly disappointed that the usual paper-shopping-bags-as-purses items were inside: a newspaper, sweater, and umbrella. What the fuck.
The woman herself seemed like your average, petite brunette, maybe late 30s? She was wearing a suit dress without the jacket, her outfit saying "office" while her bag said "orifice."
I really wanted to follow her to see where she was going. If she was going to the office, I would have LOVED to hear or see people's reactions. Seriously, I can not be the only person in midtown who knows what the bag means.
I don't know what I would do if someone at Company brought in a sex bag like it was nothing. Even Victoria's Secret bags are a little much. I think depending on the person I'd either laugh or puke, not much gray there.
So if you're looking for a kinky brunette that likes sex toys, hang out at the 35th Street and 6th Ave exit of the NRW train around 8:45am and look for The Bag.
If you're looking for a kinky blonde that likes sex toys, post a comment and give me your email address. Wocka, wocka!
I feel dirty. I blame it on Philadelphia, but truthfully it's more likely due to the fact that I can't stop farting today.
Yesterday I went down to Philly for the Wizard World con and the Phillies/Tigers game. I haven't been there in awhile so this was my first time taking mass transit down. We rode NJ Transit on the way there since it's cheaper, but the SEPTA didn't wait for us to pull into Trenton so we then jumped on two light rails to get down to the convention center. Not sure if we would have been better off waiting the hour for the SEPTA train to come, but whatevs, it worked out fine. We took Amtrak home, I definitely advise this if you can afford it. They serve beer!!
Rockstar and I got to Philly around 4pm and went right into the con so I can say hi to some friends. I only went to one convention before working at Company, at Philly in 2004. It was funny, I kept getting on line to get DaQ to sign some comics, but then I'd freak out and keep getting off! I remember seeing Red for the first time there, too. We have a mutual friend so my brother kept saying to go introduce myself and I kept pussing out. It's totally weird that less than a year later I ended up working for him and that DaQ would be one of my favorite peeps of all time.
Sadly though, DaQ is a HUGE Mets fan so I had to be the one to tell him that the Phillies won last night. This means Philly is only two games behind the Mets, so let's hope NY gets back on a win streak.
Like I said before I'm more a baseball fan than just a team fan. Bad sportsmanship really pisses me off, like the other night when Bonds was booed in Boston. Yes, he may have taken steroids, "may" being the operative word. And yes, I do believe anyone who takes enhancement drugs should be punished, but still, have some respect. I equate athletes taking roids to actresses who get plastic surgery. I can't imagine how depressing it must be to feel or see yourself lose what you've been defined by for so long. I can't burp my way through the alphabet anymore and let me tell you, it's very hard for me to accept.
Where was I? Oh yeah, so when I go to other stadiums I always root for the home team, even when their win affects NY. I know, I know, I should move to a state with no team then, but really, it's just fun to get into the spirit of it. So I apologize to DaQ, Furbie, and my other close Mets fans...I cheered for the Phillies last night. I'M SORRY! I feel soooo dirty, like a cheat or a floosie. I don't deserve to live in Queens.
This begs the question, what the hell am I going to do when I'm at the Mets/Dodgers game in LA next month? Well I've decided I owe it to the Mets to proudly wear their colors and cheer them on, risking ridicule and being hit with peanuts just to make up for yesterday.
My thoughts on Citizens Park? It's a nice stadium, check out my pictures. Rocks pointed out that it's very similar to Busch. I looked it up and both were designed by HOK Sport and others, so there ya have it.
Okay, enough dramatics. I really did have a good time at the game and it was great catching up with friends at the con. I'd like to go back to Philly and do some touristy things next time. I really wanted to get down to Pat's and Geno's, but we didn't have time. I ate a cheesesteak at the game that was okay, so it wasn't a total loss. I don't get why my farts smell like Chinese food though...
Anyways, I'm going to be taking it easy the next few weeks to save some cash and lose some poundage before my California trip on the 20th, so if anyone's up for some low-cost and low-cal fun, I'll be around!
A big thanks to the peeps who gave me such nice feedback on my last post. It really means a lot to me.
Here's a little fluff to go with your nutter...
I went to the eye doctor a couple weeks ago because I felt like I've had something in my right eye FOREVER and I needed to renew my contact prescription. It turns out I have a slight infection, although not contagious and not enough for antibiotics. Doc said it could be allergies so he said keep my eye moisturized and come back in a week.
He also said to not wear contacts. I didn't listen. I played softball twice, had that date with FB and the wedding. I love my glasses, but I've become optically vain and can't bear to wear them when I want to look pretty. And, for a less shallow reason, didn't want to risk breaking them during a game.
I went back to the doctor's this week and he said the infection is still minor, but it has now gone to both eyes. He told me to stop being a jerkoff, wear my glasses and throw out all my makeup. Okay, he didn't really say jerkoff, but he did mean business so I listened this time.
I'm not used to wearing my glasses so I did something pretty stupid the other morning. I'll preemptively excuse this by saying a) it was early, b) I didn't have coffee yet, and c) I'm blonde.
I was on the subway staring off into space when I noticed this really attractive girl. While I keep telling myself I'm not gay, I couldn't stop looking at her. She was dressed really nice, good hair and make-up. I like to think it was more admiration than fornication that made me stare, but it was complete retardation that got me caught.
Again since I'm not used to wearing my glasses, I seriously thought I was wearing SUNglasses which lead me to believe she couldn't see where I was looking. (This is dumb for two reasons. One, I was clearly NOT wearing sunglasses as the subway was not three shades darker from the lenses and the bald guy standing next to me had sweat that glistened off his scalp in the fluorescent light. And two, I left my sunglasses on the diner table at the shore.)
Long story longer, she caught me. I knew she knew I was staring and then I knew she knew I knew she knew I was staring. There was nothing to say, so I did what any embarrassed pervert does...turned red, closed my eyes, and dreamt about having sex with Jon Gruden. (By the way Jon, if you should read this, I demand you keep your visor and headset on the whole time, and you must spank me with your clipboard. Thanks!)
To my V-train Vixen, I apologize on behalf of all people who you have or have not caught staring at you. Honestly though you are too pretty to ride the subway, so what the fuck. It's your fault now! Ha!
Will someone PLEASE remind me to buy new sunglasses the next time we're out???
Therapy Thursdays. Gotta love 'em.
I was feeling pretty down this afternoon for no particular reason. In my book this is much worse than having a reason. Basically I start feeling bad, then I start feeling bad for feeling bad, and then I start feeling bad for feeling...you get the picture.
When I left work I felt incredibly melancholy and didn't understand why. I had a great time on my mini-break, a great week at the office despite some project setbacks, and am looking forward to hanging out in Philly on Saturday for the comic con and Phillies/Tigers game. Life is good.
Then my "must-feel-bad" go-to thoughts jumped into my head: I'm fat, poor, boyfriendless and still eat my fingers. Poo.
Lucky for me I was on my way to therapy so the blahs didn't last long. I had a fantastic session with Cee tonight. It took me about a good 25 minutes of babbling to get there, but I made this realization:
My whole entire life, all I've ever wanted to be is extraordinary.
The session began with me saying how badly I wanted to be in love, but how deathly afraid I am of it at the same time. We discussed my commitmentphobia, my ex-slutness, my current tongue-slutness and how all three were my way of making for damn sure I wouldn't connect with anyone on an emotionally intimate level.
I read once that we do what works, whatever we want to achieve we attract it, good or bad. So I thought about it, what exactly am I achieving by keeping others out and holding myself in?
After throwing some ideas around it finally hit me. It started much earlier in life, way before I kissed anyone. It goes all the way back to my impulsive ways, my sense of urgency, my identity crisis, my everything.
Ever since I was a child I've longed to feel special, to be different, to be more than ordinary. What kid doesn't want to feel that way, but throw in some mental illness and a wild imagination, no wonder I became a freakfest stew.
Now when someone says "extraordinary" it's usually meant as a positive. I got straight A's, was in the honors programs, the top clarinetist, and the MVP in softball, and you know what? These things meant nothing to me. All I knew was self-destruction so my extraordinary behavior became completely negative.
From 15 years old, I've taken drinking, drugging, nail-biting, cursing, fucking, kissing, obnoxiousness, and god knows what else to the next level. I've actually taken great pride in them, all because I wanted to feel "special." To this day, I barely ever sit and reflect on my positive accomplishments, simply brushing them off to tell a ridiculous story about banging some guy in a UPS truck. The ironic part is, I pretended I was free, a rebel in a world of sheep, when really I'm still just a punk. A 29 year old punk.
Think about it, what is rebellion anyways? The quick answer is that we rebel against our parents or The Man to stay true to ourselves. Tonight I've decided that's wrong, I mean:
What if I've really been rebelling against MYSELF in FEAR OF my own identity?
In other words, can I allow myself to believe that after all this time...I'm extraordinary just as I am?
We came, we saw, we kicked Missouri's ass!!
The Wedding
Evan and Kimberly's wedding was the whole reason for the trip and I must say, it. was. perfect. They both looked so happy and beautiful!! The ceremony and reception was so them...laid back, cool, and tons of fun. They even got to hang out with everyone and enjoy themselves. Guests travelled from all over the country, which just goes to show what genuinely awesome people they both are!
The wedding also kicked ass because I got to hang out with old friends I haven't seen in awhile. I love it when it feels like no time has passed and you pick up right where you left off. It helps when the group are all hysterical, obnoxious partiers, too!
Ev and Kimberly, I had SUCH a great time. Congratulations and thanks again!
The Baseball Games
Kansas City Royals:
Kauffman Stadium has been around for about 35 years and it's still beautiful today. Tickets are pretty cheap, didn't seem to be a bad seat in the house. If you plan on visiting, definitely go before they renovate and on a Friday...they put on a kick-ass fireworks show that night every week.
Also to note, there is a great hill alongside the parking lot that you MUST roll down as well as a good spot by Section 125 for making out with a total stranger. I speak from experience on both points.
St. Louis Cardinals:
As you can see from my pics, the view at Busch was gorgeous. Definitely sit behind home in the upper decks, so you can take it all in. The stadium itself was really spacious and clean with a ton of bathrooms and vendors, but I was kind of disappointed with the overall look. There were way too many billboards and ads, barely any Cardinal signs or decorations. Maybe that's a chick thing to notice, but honestly, if it wasn't for the fans I wouldn't have realized I was in St. Louis.
In fact, I think Cardinal fans are the best ones I've met on my tour to date. They have so much respect and spirit for the team. Almost every person was wearing a Cards jersey or t-shirt and even when the Angels were kicking their ass, no one booed or fought about it. St. Louis is definitely a good-natured baseball city.
Other Weekend Highlights
Buttercup, our rented PT Cruiser:
Jess, Rockstar, and I did not stop screaming or singing 80s songs and showtunes the whole weekend. Missouri's got some fucked up billboards; I think Testicle Festival topped the list. From KC to St. Louis we played Dead Animal Bingo from Family Guy. (FYI: Foxes are not mythical creatures.) Best 12 hours in a car ever!
Don't Stop Believin':
This song was our anthem for the weekend. Every time one of us started to sing it, the whole group would scream it. Journey rocks!!
Tessie:
Our KC hotel bar waitress. You know you're awesome when your customers do your work for you by taking their own orders and bussing their own table. If I have kids, my daughter may be named Tessa.
Ohio John:
I don't know what the fuck is going on, but this is the third "ex" I've seen this year. The only flame from my past I haven't seen is Psycho Joe and if he pops up then it's official...the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are here.
John and Evan went to college together and it didn't occur to me that he would be at the wedding until I was on the plane. It was actually great to see him and catch up. The only time I felt weird was when he was dancing...I forgot how fucking hot he is. I mean HOT. He was dancing around all sweaty and well, HOT that I wanted to rip my dress off and take him right then and there. I've liked and loved lots of guys, but lusted only a few. Damn John, damn.
Beverly Hill Cops 2:
A great flick to watch when drunk at 2am. That's all.
Underwear:
Undies story 1. Rockstar wore a thong without pajama pants to bed every night. This could be the reason I had a dream that a cheerful prostitute was giving Rocks a breast massage by a public pool.
Undies story 2. On the way back to the airport I sat in the backseat. I was slightly uncomfortable in my jeans so I decided to take them off. I like wearing Hanes sporty underwear so it wasn't like my ass was hanging out or anything, but Rocks was pretty surprised when she turned around and saw me pantsless. "What...are you...are you NAKED!?!?
She snapped a pic of me in my britches, then hid her camera so that I wouldn't delete it. Unfortunately she hid it so well that it was left in Buttercup. This was the suckiest part of the trip. Keep your fingers crossed she gets it back on Friday...and that the person who finds it doesn't go blind seeing my albino lower half.
Who's Your TV Alter Ego?:
Buy it for your next trip. SOOOO much fun, great for cheering you up when your flight's been delayed for two hours.
And finally, My Fellow Travellers:
Rocks, Jess, Liz, Jason, and Amber...I had an absolute blast! Thanks for making Missouri fun!!
I'm too tired to write so here are my photos from this past weekend awhile.
I had a GREAT time, will share the details this week.
Enjoy!
Tomorrow I'm heading to my first out-of-state baseball games of the year, then rounding out the weekend with my good friend's wedding. Congratulations Ev and Kimberly! I can't wait to party!
Rockstar, me, and a few other peeps are heading off to Missouri for the Phillies/Royals game on Friday, then the Angels/Cardinals game on Saturday. All week I've been saying "Push, push in the bush." and wondering why Missouri is the "Show Me" State. Sack? Tits? Why?!?!?
I suck at geography. It's not that I'm stupid, I just don't care. Pennsylvania was the west coast to me for most of my life. It wasn't until I decided to go on the stadium tour that I made it pass that fucking boring ass state. I'm sorry, but driving on Rt. 80 is awful; I've never been more happy to see Newark, NJ in my life.
Think I'm packed and ready to go? Nope and nope. When I got home I had dinner, straightened up, watched Mean Girls, talked on the phone, and then decided to write. I will most likely shave, give myself a pedicure, dance around in my outfit for the wedding (pretty, pretty!), and read Anna Karenina before I even take out my luggage. I thrive on procrastination.
I've had an entertaining Boy-Week. Haven't heard from FB, although he did say he was busy. I hate busy. Everyone's busy. I'M busy, but I really liked how his kisses taste so I'd probably ditch this whole weekend if he was free. Yes they were that delicious. And yes, I am that much of a pathetic, desperate, horny loser.
I had a softball game last night with two interesting boy events. Donovan and I travelled to the game together. I think that was the longest we ever talked sober. I don't like him anymore, but if he wanted to give me oral pleasure I would not stop him.
After the game I went to meet Rockstar and her company's team at Dive Bar on 96th and Amsterdam. (Warning, Dive Bar is SO not a dive. Total false advertising. ) I ended up leaving the game with this dude I'll call Harold. Harold works at Company, but this was the first time we met. He seemed really nice so I invited him out with me. We immediately hit it off since we both have a sorta random sense of humor and much love for wings and beer. In fact I was slowly starting to dig him when he dropped the bomb...he was only 23.
23? 23? I have an old Gonzo flag thingie from The Muppet Show ON TOUR! back in 1984 that is as old as he is. What the fuck? Yes I know I was only born in 1978, but hearing people were born in the 80s is weird. Hearing that people I have/could have/may have sex with were born in the 80s is even weirder. I mean Rippie was born in '81, I can't go younger than that and still look at myself in the mirror, right?
Right. At least that's what I told myself when we are on the subway home and I was getting off (literally you perv). He gave me googly eyes, kind of puckered up, and actually said (looonnggg pause for effect) that he usually dates women over 30.
AAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!!! I'm 29, you fuck! "Women over 30"?!?! WOW. I mean, WOW.
Now I rarely feel old mainly because I have freckles and still really enjoy picking my nose, but I gotta tell ya, I felt really old last night. He emailed me today something semi-cute, but I kind of blew it off. Harold's a really nice guy and I know he didn't say that statement to insinuate I'm a hag, but I am too young to feel like Maude.
In fact I've decided I can never bang someone in their early twenties, at least not until I'm in my forties. Apparently a big age difference is only acceptable when they are young enough to be your child. Thanks Demi!
I did rub one off to get it out of my system though, but now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I was picturing the wings more than Harold...
I guess I should go pack now, huh?
Technology is damaging my already tender self-esteem.
Every day I am reminded how accessible I am which in turn reminds me how no one is trying to, well, access me. To combat this, I have decided that I can no longer like or date someone who owns a cellphone or uses the internet.
I figure this narrows my dating range to three groups: technophobes, newborns, and senior citizens.
Technophobes:
If you are a technophobe or luddite in this day and age, you are most likely a freak of nature. While I too fit this description, I don't think I can date you since you most likely don't own a television, don't eat meat, and only read books without pictures. I'll compromise if you have a 9-inch penis, though. Soft.
Newborns:
How does one go about dating a newborn? Is that legal? How could you tell we were dating?
Darn, it just occurred to me this wouldn't work out either because I'd probably get really jealous over how much time he spends with his mom.
Me: "You're such a momma's boy! Why do you want to hang out with her instead of me all the time???"
Baby: "Wah!" (Translation:
Senior Citizens:
Yes, I understand that there are plenty of old men who use email or have a prepaid phone, but my guy definitely wouldn't. Instead he'd master the art of story telling with his soft voice, unfettering wit, and charming personality. Although mentally active he'd need to be decrepit, unable to run when I come to visit.
If I let Ruth Clare fully embody my spirit, it might work. Even better, there is no way for me to feel bad not hearing from him because one of three things probably happened:
1. Senility kicked in and he forgot we were dating.
2. His bum middle-aged children are angry he's with someone younger than them, therefore stopped him from calling.
3. He died.
Yaaayy!! There's no need to think anything bad about myself in that situation, so please spread the good word and let your grandfathers know I'm coming.
Dear Diary,
Today is November 25th. I didn't go to church today because I didn't feel good. But, then I went back to New York and visited my Uncle and Aunt and cousin David I told you about. My other grandmother was there, too. Nothing much interesting happened.
I was just reading the pages I wrote in this diary other days and I realized I sound like a stuck-up snob. I'm always whining about my love life. I'm really sorry. It's just that since this is a diary, I figured I should write anything I want in it.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I wonder if I have homework.
I just thought of it. Oh well. I'll do it in school. I need pictures. I want to bring my camera to school and take pictures. Hey! I think I will!
You know how Melissa S. was having a birthday party? Well it was ok. Her brother is a dick. I hate him, Austin, Erik, and James a little. Ron is all over me. I'm not easy or anything, but he keeps running up to me and squishing me and pounding me to a pulp.
I got Melissa a $27.77 charm that says I(HEART)SOCCER in gold. My mom got real mad at me. Hey. It's my money.
Listen I gotta run. It's 10:30pm and I'm beat.
Thighs
I (Heart) Jonathan
If you like to laugh, please go see this movie.
If you don't like to laugh, please kill yourself.
Jesus H. Christmas, I'm still drunk from last night.
I got to the beer garden at 1:30pm. I got home at 4:30am. I am typing with one eye closed.
At some point in the evening Chewie and I decided that the beer garden wasn't enough, we just had to go into the city to meet Rage and a few other peeps. Oy vey.
I don't really have much to say except WHY HAVEN'T I HEARD FROM FB???????
I hate all tripods AND my right ovary hurts. My new gyno was a little rough (which I usually like), but dude it's been like a month and it's still throbbing. WTF.
That's it. I'm going to the diner for an omelet and a bloody mary. Hopefully my eye will open before I get there.
JERKASS.
Pedros, I don't think I told any of you that I'll be at the beer garden all day today.
I have a Man-Shower to go to. No presents, no pastel decorations, just lots o' beer and sausage to celebrate Pandy's unborn child.
I am so honored to go, as I was the only chick invited.
I'll be surrounded by 15 or so dudes...gotta love those odds!
Love beer, too.
I am the most disgusting person to ever live. I completely understand if you never want to see me again after I tell you what just happened...
I...
killed...
a...
roach...
PUUUUUUUUUKKKKKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!
THAT'S TWO ROACHES IN THE PAST TWO MONTHS. NOT ONE, BUT TWO. I AM SO FUCKING DISGUSTED RIGHT NOW.
I was a shitty roommate. Did I mention this already? I always left comic books, crayons, napkins, plates, empty cigarette packs, clothes, what have you all over the apartment in college. Even after school when I lived with Rippie I was awful. I'd go out drinking and wreck the place without ever cleaning it up. Here's a big fat SORRY to all my former roomies.
My sloppy ways is what made me decided to live alone. I'm proud to say that I have grown up a lot; Delilah's totally not a pigsty. Sure there are times when the Thighs-bomb goes off and she's not exactly the cleanest place, but I really do take pride in her which is why I'm so pissed off right now.
In the 3+ years I've lived here I maybe had a total of five roaches. Three of them were within my first couple months living here although I have a suspicion that one roach was repeat offender. Unfortunately he didn't have any distinguishable characteristics to build a case.
Anyways since early 2004 Dee has been roach free...until now. I WANT TO DIE.
A few weeks back I was in bed when I heard a weird rustling. I almost cried when I thought I had a mouse, then I did cry when I realized it was a "water bug". I have no idea how I saw it, but there the fucker was in my make-up bag. In one swoop I somehow grabbed the bag, leapt the five feet to my bathroom and threw it out, leapt another fifteen feet to my kitchen to grab the Raid, and leapt back to the bathroom and sprayed that bitch to death. I threw out all my make-up and most of the crap on my bedroom floor, too. SO GROSS.
Tonight was a little worse. I went to bed around midnight, woke up about an hour ago to take a leak. Just as my ass hit the toilet seat I saw the biggest fucking roach by my tub. Once again I ran got the Raid and hosed the thing down. I was so freaked out that my neck still hurts from cringing so hard, plus I couldn't bring myself to pee for a good 45 minutes due to my irrational fear that I would somehow get impregnated by one of his friends waiting for me under the seat.
I feel like the grossest person in the world. I swear to Shizza if this is the start of a "problem" I will shoot myself. I totally can't sleep now either. All I keep thinking of is that scene in Nightmare on Elm Street 4 when that chick from Just the Ten of Us turns into a big roach...that can't happen for real, right?
