Tuesday, March 25

I'm wasted.

I'm so drunk right now that I knwo I'm going to totally regret posting this. I just feel like I haven't connected with Thighs in quite awhile...I guess that's why I want to write now....

I ain't going to spell check this. Hell my head isn't even looking at the monitor right now either. The date I had last week was awesome. Let's call him Krull. I like Krull so much. We've had a great week together. He was supposed to come out to Queens tonight but he cancelled. For some stupid reason I feel like this is the end of the world. So much so that I cried. I am stupid.

Ufh ugh ugh. I really wish I was sober right now. No scratch that I'm glad I'm drunk and blindly typcing. I want this to be honest. And honestsly...I like Krull alot. I just hope he likes me back...But yeah my stupid brain said "oh he backed out because he hates you so why don't you make out with a 23 year old kid on an opposiing dodgeball team to make yourself feel better."

Yeah well making out with a 23 year old sucks. I mean the kid was cute but he grabbed my breastuses like they were air pumps and shoved his knee in my crotch like I needed it to stand. Basically it was awful...and I've never felt older in my life. Oddly enough he didn't faint when i told him I was 30 but a couple of his friends did. yikes.

Wah wah wah. Fucking Krull. I've wanted to connect with someone so bad, but now that I have all I want to do is puke. I seriously don't know how to be normal when it comes to liking someone. I was so freaked out about the prospect of dating Krull that I was actually hoping he'd stop calling...

What the hell is wrong with me??


Sunday, March 23

Random Diary Entry: April 7, 1986

Today is Monday, April 7, 1986. Today is the 125th day of school. I would like to tell you about Friday the 28th, Saturday the 29th, and Sunday the 30th. Friday I had to go shopping for Easter shoes. I got white ones with little holes in it shaped like a heart. When I got out of the store I saw Alison, Lynn, Beatrice, and their Grandma [Ed note: my neighbors]. Then when I was on my way home I saw Mrs. Maniaci, Mr. Maniaci, and baby Michael [Ed note: my teacher and her family]. We couldn't really get a chance to talk because we were in the street. I had fun.

Saturday we all went out. We had fun.

Sunday I went to my Aunt's and Uncle's house. When I woke up I saw my Easter basket. I got a Mad magazine, a coloring book , and a comic book. I had fun.

I love sharing entries from this diary for a few reasons. One, it was the first of many. Thank you Mrs. Maniaci, wherever you are. The Daily Dairy is probably the best assignment I was ever given. Two, it cracks me up. And three, my other diaries are sad as fuck. I'll probably share them at some point, but for now I'd rather relive 8 then 18.

Cool to note: I don't remember what comic book I got in my Easter basket that year, but I still have the Mad magazine. In fact I loved the issue so much that my mom got me a subscription. I think she finally cancelled it when I went to Rutgers. I still have all of them, too.

HA! I just realized that could be why I have a sick sense of humor!

DOUBLE HA! Maybe that's why I like redheads too...because of Alfred E. Neuman!!

On second thought, nah. He's kind of butt for a redhead. Sorry Alfred. "What, me worry?"

Wednesday, March 19

Sunburns and Vibrating Cockrings

Soooo...I sort of kind of had a date last night. And by "sort of kind of" I mean "definitely."

Yeah...I definitely had a date last night.

He's Irish and perverted. Can you guess what we talked about?

I had a really nice time.

Monday, March 17

Happy St. Patrick's Day!!

In the past few hours I have begun to atone for my private failings with my drinking buddies, my non-existent children, and my entire family. The remorse I feel for not going out tonight will always be with me. Words cannot describe how grateful I am for all the free beers and tongue many firemen have shown me over the years. From those to whom much booze is given, much head is expected. I have been given much: the love of my fellow Irish pals, the faith and trust of the bartenders of New York, and the chance to lead my drunk friends to the bathroom to vomit. I am deeply sorry that I did not live up to what was expected of me this and every St. Patty's Day. To every single male New Yorker who was hoping to get laid tonight, and to all those who believed that I am the fastest female car-bomb drinker of all time, I sincerely apologize.

I look at my time as a St. Patty's Day Funbag with a sense of what might have been, but I also know that as a public imbiber I, and the remarkable people with whom I have gotten smashed with, have accomplished a great deal. There is much more drinking to be done, and I cannot allow my private failings of this day to disrupt the people’s work. Over the course of my drunken life, I have insisted, I believe correctly, that people, regardless of how long they can stay in the kegstand position or keep up in power hour, take responsibility for their shenanigans. I can and will ask no less of myself.

For this reason, I am resigning from being Irish. At my father's request (since he was deeply saddened to know that he was the only drunk Thighs Family representative today), the resignation will be effective Monday, March 17, a date that he believes will permit an orderly transition.

I go forward with the belief, as others have said, that as drunks, our greatest glory consists not in never falling down stairs and almost breaking our tailbones, but in slowly rising (with the help of others) every time we fall. As I leave public debauchery, I will first do what I need to do to help and heal myself and my family: have a beer by my lonesome now that I have woken up from my nap (!!) and finished doing laundry (!!). Then I will try once again, outside of today's ridiculous tragedy, to serve the common good and to move toward the ideals and solutions which I believe can build a future of hope and opportunity for us and for our children.

I hope all of New York will pray that next year I, Thighs McGee, will not only take off from work on March 17th, but get so fucking drunk that I'll need to take off the 18th as well. Thank you.

PS I wrote Spitzer's speech for him.

Doges of Dodging Season 2

Dodgeball starts up again tomorrow night. I didn't think I was going to play this year, but I sort of feel obligated since there aren't enough girls. Oh well, at least we’re playing in the Queens league. The gym is only a ten minute walk from Delilah. Hooray!

Unfortunately we’re still stuck with the boring Doges name. You know what name I wish we had??? The name of one of our opponents:

“Get Your Balls Out of My Face”

I will make it my life’s mission to marry whoever came up with this name. Man, woman, or vegetable. Well maybe not vegetable, unless it’s a pickle or a cucumber. Snootch!

Sunday, March 16

30 years and 1 week

It's been a pretty weird week, I guess that's to be expected when you start it off watching a David Lynch movie. Wild at Heart is a pretty cool flick, but for me to know it inspired Preacher makes it a brilliant one.

Saturday was the first wedding of 2008. (Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. V!! I am so very happy for you both!!) I planned on wearing this really nice dress I bought a couple of years ago. It's the most expensive item of clothing I have ever owned. I feel absolutely gorgeous in it though, making it worth every penny.

Unfortunately I did not try it on until Tuesday of last week. I = COW.

The last time I wore The Dress was to a holiday party in December 2006. I still felt pretty in it then, but when I saw some pics I did notice a little backfat bulging over the strapless top. At the time I remember thinking, eh no biggie. Yeah well, it's a biggie now. I'M a biggie now. It friggin sucks to go from a buxom woman to beached whale in just over a year. Even though I could still get The Dress on and zipped, by no means should I ever wear it in public. My "little backfat" turned into "lotta backfat," Bethany Beergut is apparently pregnant, and my ass looked like a toilet seat cover. I knew I put on weight last year, but I guess it didn't hit home until that night. DREADFUL.

Needless to say I was pretty upset. What did I do? I called my mom for comfort and support. You read that right. Comfort and support. All I wanted to hear her say was "Oh Thighs, I'm sorry to hear The Dress doesn't fit anymore but don't worry. You'll look beautiful no matter what you wear." FA!!! Yeah right! What did she end up saying? I can't remember, I blocked it out as she was saying it. Basically she kicked me when I was down, speaking with the same cold negativity she always did whenever we discussed my weight issues as a kid.

So why the hell did I call her?? punishment. I subconsciously knew that my mom would make me feel like shit, confirming that I am indeed a fat bastard. What a headcase.

I was still upset the next day too, so much so that I went out that night with B and Janeypants (love you!!) to get DEE-RUNK. I figured what the hell, I need the release. Well one Delirium Tremens, four Sam Smith Pale Ales, and about eight raw oysters later I got the release I needed, right into the ladies' room toilet. I can't remember the last time I barfed from drinking. It's not fun.

By Thursday morning I was fat, dress-less, nauseous, slightly hungover, and depressed. Luckily that all changed by the wedding Saturday night:

~I found the perfect dress at Macy's: pretty, slimming, and inexpensive.
~I got to hang out with my Company boys for a bit.
~I full on admitted I have ignored my weight long enough. It is time to get back on track to ensure I can wear The Dress to one of the other weddings I'm attending this year.
~I went to Minnow's warehouse in South Jersey with my boss Tennis and co-worker Breen, who both said they are very happy I'm working with them.
~I got to see Bacon and Dill who came in from Michigan for the wedding. I miss you guys!
~My direct deposit kicked in.
~AND I used liquid eye-liner without hurting myself.

PHEW. I can't believe my birthday was last Sunday. I'm sure it will feel like even longer ago once all my paintball bruises heal.

Because he's a guy

Why do tripods get away with cooler shit than chicks do? Examples:

1. Getting bombed and making a fool of themselves
2. Hooking up with the wrong person
3. Cropdusting
4. Wrestling in public
5. Eating pizza off the ground
6. Masturbating
7. Flirting
8. Being obnoxious
9. Sticking their dicks in the mashed potatoes
10. Peeing wherever, whenever

We ladies get away with boring shit like:

1. Crying
2. Talking too much
3. Being cold when it's hot
4. Going to the bathroom in groups
5. Crying

It's not fair. I shall pout and cry about this for the rest of the evening.

Monday, March 10

Next year's birthday celebration...

will be at the movies.

If for some ridiculously strange reason you will only allow yourself to read one graphic novel in your entire life, read WATCHMEN.

Holy crap, I didn't know they had pics up.

Sunday, March 9

Happy Birthday to Meeeeeee!!!!

Me + good friends + PAINTBALL + 6 Amstels + beer battered onion rings + a bacon/onion/mushroom cheeseburger medium well that I really only should have ate half of instead of inhaling the whole damn thing in like 10 minutes =

Best. Birthday. Ever.

I am bruised. I am drunk. I am 30.


Saturday, March 8


is a lot of work. I don't get it, but I didn't get myspace either.

That is all.


It was pouring in NY last night. I walked the 25 blocks from work to the pub anyway; I really don't mind the rain at all. Some days I prefer it actually.

It's surprising to me when someone is ill prepared for the elements. I almost always carry an umbrella; you just never know when a NY shower is going to hit especially when it’s been so unseasonably warm this month.

I must have passed at least two dozen umbrella-less people last night. I found this fascinating. Why didn't they listen to the weather report? Why don't they carry an umbrella? Why didn't they just buy a $3 one from the Asian woman on the corner? Do they need to ensure that they will be the soaking wet center of attention upon arriving at their destination? Aren't they afraid of getting sick? Do they simply not care?

I wondered what these sogs were thinking for a few blocks until a new thought popped into my head. If I'm so concerned with their well-being, why don't I just give someone MY umbrella? I was wearing a baseball cap and hood so it wouldn't have been a big deal. Hmmm...interesting.

I began to pay extra attention to The Wet Ones to figure out who should get my umbrella. Court is now in session, the Dishonorable Thighs will now judge you: too fat, too skinny, too pretty, too bitchy, too creepy, too fast, too slow, too weird, too tall, too short, too everything. No one "deserved" my umbrella. It was survival of the fittest! I tightened my grip and held my umbrella with pride, pretending it was a gift for The Chosen Dry Ones who...then my cell phone rang and snapped me back to reality.

By the end of the phone call I forgot all about giving someone my umbrella and moved onto paintball. A handful of us are going, I really hope everyone has a good time. I just know I'll be completely black and blue tomorrow night...I'll post pics of my bruises if I get any in a non-stretch mark/spider-vein/cottage cheese area.

My rainy trek lasted about 30 minutes. I finally made it to the bar around 6pm, but get this...my umbrella didn't make it there with me.

I was waiting for the light to change on the corner of 23rd Street half a block away from the bar. I stood there staring at the people across from me on the other corner, half looking at them, half looking into space. I'd say there were about 15 people across the way, most of them properly dressed for the weather with a hat, hood, or umbrella. There was only one person who stood out, an old man standing directly in front of me.

The man was probably in his 60s. No hat, no umbrella. His wet white hair was a shocking contrast to the black and gray crowd around him. He was wearing an open, oversized trench coat, his t-shirt underneath completely soaked. Ironically his pants were floods, the cuff a good four inches from his shoe. His socks were drenched and sagging.

The light changed and we walked toward each other. He was a muttering, disheveled mess. He kept fidgeting with a plastic bag in his hand; I assume it was to make sure the contents would stay dry. He honestly seemed normal, just a sad, old man that got caught in the rain. I put my head down and kept walking.

A step later, I felt like I failed. Another step, I felt like I let him down. A third step, he was the one. I turned around.

"Sir! Sir!" He tripped into a pothole, his entire right foot submerged in a puddle.

"Sir!" I tapped him on his shoulder as he shook his shoe. "Take my umbrella."

He was such a mumbling space-cadet that I'm not too sure what his response was, but I think it was "Oh? Oh, OH!" He took the umbrella and kept walking.

I turned back toward the bar wearing my baseball cap, my hood, and a huge smile. My heart was full of love, my soul felt clean and good.

And then I laughed…maybe The Wet Ones had given up their umbrellas, too.

Tuesday, March 4

30th Birthday Party

Who: Me and yo momma

When: Sunday, March 9th around noon

Where: Long Island City, NY

Why: It's my 30th birthday. I wanted to do something new, fun, and painful.

What could it be???


The Juice is Loose.

Aaaahhh Easter. I look forward to it every year, for one simple reason: STARBURST JELLYBEANS!

I hate Peeps. I don't understand why people like them. It can't be the taste; they have zero flavor. I betcha Peep-lovers drink Coors Light, too.

Is it the consistency? Is it the idea of biting a baby chick's head off?? What is it damn it?? And why the hell were they in the Thanksgiving Parade? If I was a turkey, I'd be pissed. Don't steal my thunder, you peepholes.

Anyhoo, I LOVE Starburst jellybeans. Well, most of them. I have never been a big candy person, but if you give me any cherry, berry, blue*, or purple** treats I will wag my tail and hump your leg for hours. If you give me orange, lime, or lemon I will bite your hand off.

The jellybeans are the same as regular Starburst (cherry, strawberry, orange, and lemon) plus lime and grape. This of course means I both love or hate half of the bag, so what did I do about it? Oh what any normal person would do if they a) don't want to get fatter, b) are single, c) have too much time on their hands, or d) all of the above. I split them up.

I hate orange! Why are there so friggin many?? I really needed to know the answer. A quick Google search later I found two sites:

Starburst Inquiry 1
The current flavor ratio is 25% per flavor. The original packs contain orange, lemon, strawberry and cherry flavors. But some packs or bags may contain more or less than 25% because they are placed in a large vat and mixed together before packaging.

Starburst Inquiry 2
This link tells me nothing at all, but I find the jump from Starburst to pubic hair absolutely hilarious.

Hey Petes, feel free to point and laugh at me when I'm puking up lilac tomorrow night.

*Blue candy: I save all my blue M&Ms in a pile and eat them last.
**Purple candy: Eh, I can go either way with grape. Depends on my mood.

Monday, March 3

Angst over.

I TOTALLY forgot something...

Dear Chris Long,

Congratulations for being projected as the number one draft pick this year. Calm your nerves...April will be here soon enough!

It's a big year for me as well...I'm turning 30. Apparently this means I am reaching my sexual peak. This is probably the reason why your statistics are making me horny:

Career Stats
2004 5 tackles, 2 for loss, 1 sack.

2005 46 tackles, 10 for a loss, 2 sacks, 7 passes broken up.
2006 57 tackles, 12 for a loss, 5 sacks, 1 forced fumble, 1 pass broken up .
2007 79 tackles, 19 for a loss, 14 sacks, 2 forced fumbles, 10 passes broken up and 1 interception.
Total 187 tackles, 43 for a loss, 22 sacks, 3 forced fumbles, 17 passes broken up and 1 interception.

I'm seriously having trouble breathing.

Did you know that at 22, you're already at your sexual peak? Weird, right? Let's bang.

Email me if you're interested,


Soooo hot. Spags, if Miami picks him up can I be your date when they play the Jets??

Write now.

I have about nine different posts I want to write up, but for some reason I can't get started. So, let's babble (something I ALWAYS do...hee hee):

Diet Dr. Pepper really does taste like regular Dr. Pepper.

I can't believe I am turning 30 in six days. Am I bothered by this? I think I am. I never wanted to be one of those chicks who cares about her age, but I care! I just...I don't know...

You know what? My angst has nothing to do with getting older. I'm stuck in the past! All I keep thinking is...

Where the fuck have I been my whole life?

I feel like my head has been up my ass. I feel like all the pain and suffering I did growing up means nothing now...but isn't that the point?? Part of me feels a little gypped. Why couldn't I know then what I know now?!?!?!

Fuuuuckkk, what the hell was I THINKING??? Do you people KNOW what I've done??? Chances are YES because for some reason I thought I needed to blab about how many car bombs I've done in a row or random dudes I banged in a night or things I stole or foreign objects I've stuck in strangers asses. I AM AN IDIOT!! ARRRGGGHHH!!

Closure. I need closure. I need to shut down that shit and move on with my life. My friend Ruth said it best...

30s are great! Don’t curl up into a little ball and sob – it’s the best decade. Shed all that 20s-style ‘where am I going with my life’ introspection and start living it!

Bear with me. This may be a long week.