because we're that cool

For you, Shan...

2010-08-14T18:53:00.000-07:00

I haven't given a fuck since myspace.

monday night drinking club....WTF?!?!

2006-06-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

dude, here's the real deal.....i'm a 26 year old child who enjoys day drinking, stage dancing and monday night black outs. this monday night thing is a new thing.....recently discovered that peachtree tavern sells yeagar bombs for $4 on monday night AND they have karokee. sang "sweet child of mine" last monday. before i fell down the stairs leaving the bar, in which i re-opened the wounds on my knees that i got when i ran 3 miles home from the bar while in cleveland last weekend. mondays are no longer the worst day of the week. tuesday is. i HAVE to go home soon.

in case you wanted to know...

2006-05-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

two searches that will bring up our blog:

"peed the bed how to dry"

and

"shannon married aubrey"

awesome.

Luckyfest comes to town, craziness ensues

2006-03-13T12:39:00.000-08:00

Luckyfest 2006 came and went this past weekend. i'm going to recount the few things i remember from saturday morning/afternoon:

we had all our friends over on saturday morning to start drinking at 11 am. NOT a good idea, as it turned out.
got to park tavern at 2 pm.
blacked out at 3 pm.
started remembering things again around 6 pm.
carrie fell into many prickly bushes after, well, just standing.
one of our friends had to be taken home at 6 pm. she peed my bed that night.
everyone became separated at some point, and all went their respective ways by 9 pm. surprised we made it that long.
woke up at 4 am with 5 voicemails from said friend telling me she had peed my bed.
spent all day yesterday in my bed (sheets washed and feather mattress to the dry cleaners)
spent the majority of today trying to piece together what the hell happened to us, and thanking god that festival season 2006 is indeed over.

i need to grow the f up.

Spring Break, part deux

2006-03-09T12:35:00.000-08:00

kristen's most recent post has got me thinking about my past spring breaks, and for some reason, even though i've been graduated from college for almost 4 years now, i have never stopped going on spring break. is that weird? here, my account of my spring breaks of the past, Ironically, they have evolved into something more....

freshman year - went home. got incredibly drunk with friends who never went off to college, or ones who were still in high school. i was pledging that semester, i hadn't drank of my own free will in over 6 weeks.
sophomore year - went home and visited my boyfriend at ohio state. one week later, i found out he cheated on me. spring break has a lot of things to improve.
junior year - road tripped it to ft. lauderdale with the dogs. we nicknamed our group of 13 the "roll dogs" sophomore year. we couldn't have been cooler if we tried. the weather was awful. it rained almost every day. however, in one week's time, we manged to drink too much, celebrate 2 21st birthdays, loose purses and all earthly belongings, witness a stabbing, and return to college almost normal. oh, yeah, our friend megan had sex in the pool with a fellow spring breaker. we stayed out of that pool for the rest of the week. if ever at the sheraton on A1A, i recommend not going into the pool.
senior year - spring break 2002. we showed people that it was in fact 2002, by holding up our first two fingers as the "2's", while our boobs represented the "0's". flew to south padre island. had a blast. weather sucked again. so bad, that we actually went tanning on spring break. theme song for this spring break was enrique iglesia's "escape." stellar.
1st year out of school - actually, i did nothing this year. felt somewhat normal.
2nd year out of school - def. made up for not doing anything last year. went on 2 spring breaks this year. went to hilton head with some of the dogs (we don't call ourselves that anymore, thank god. just a way to refer who i'm talking about.) dana and i drove there, screaming "woo hoo, spring break 2004" the entire car trip down. got crazier than we did in college. woke up in a twin bed with dana, even though there were empty beds in the house. guess we like to sleep together when we're away from home. week after this debaucherous weekend, spent a week in scottsdale with my family. nice, wholesome family fun. i needed it.
3rd year out of school - went to sarasota with my best friend from high school's family. our brothers, who were seniors in high school at the time, were coincidentally here on spring break. embarrasingly enough, we hung out with my brother, while her's was layed up in the hospital from a spring break mishap. mishap = him getting his ass kicked and my brother and the rest of their friends spending the entire rest of the spring break trying to find the kids who did it. never happened. other than that, not a whole lot of excitement happening in the city with the highest concentration of old people.
4th year out - i actually (thank god) have no plans of a "spring break" typed trip this year. guess i'm growing up after all.

so that's that guys. even though i refer to going on "spring break" the last four years, these trips just accidentally coincided with your normal spring break months. um, who am i trying to kid???

Spring Break 2006, Baby!! Rock On!!

2006-03-07T15:28:00.000-08:00

I am officially on Spring Break. My last Spring Break ever. My last Spring Break ever consists of: a) catching up on all the reading that I didn't do throughout the semester; b) outlining to prepare for exams; c) working; d) working on a project for my boss for which he is paying me $500.

This rockin' Spring Break made me recall the Spring Breaks of yore.

College ...

Spring Break 1: went to Daytona (shameful); involved wet T-shirt contests (I was not a contestant, I was a "coach"), bikini dance contests (2nd place, baby!), banana sucking contests (obsever, not participant), dancing on numerous stages, drinking half-gallons of Vodka before we left to the bar, sending one girl to the club before 8:00 p.m. to get in free so she could get a stamp and we could all copy it with magic markers, kissing boys, puking, taking pictures with Daytona Dave, getting in trouble with our sorority when we returned for inappropriate behavior.

Spring Break 2: went to Daytona again (ridiculously shameful); didn't stay at the party hotel, but stayed at Uncle Brian's; took the bus each day to the party hotel; lined up 7 chairs each day on the back side of the pool in order to get maximum tan; repeatedly called the "church sorority" by the DJ because we refused to participate in any contests (see above); went to the movies one night because the weather was bad.

Spring Break 3: worked extra shifts at the Outback.

Spring Break 4: our last undergraduate spring break so we decided to be cultural; got some assigned reading done as I relaxed on the cliffs overlooking the Carribean; cliff-jumping; snorkeling; visiting local scenic sites; doing some, uhh, you know, "things" that you would do in Jamaica.

Law School ...

Spring Break 1: went home to MD in order to spend time with my family.

Spring Break 2: went to La Playa del Carmen, Mexico so we could be far away from those crazy kids in Cancun; shopped for jewelry because of all the lovely silver sold at discounted prices; visited ancient Mayan ruins.

Spring Break 3: (see above)

I am definitely old.

Cohabiting

2006-02-24T11:33:00.000-08:00

OK. We should address our long absence from the blog. Umm, I guess the only explanation would be busyness (business?) and/or laziness (lazyness?). [I think the words in paranthesis are the misspelled versions. Damn, the English language must be hard to learn ... you know, we drive on a parkway, but park on a driveway? Sorry, I digress]. Either way, our absence is inexcusable. There are, in fact, THREE of us. We will [try to] get better.

Today's topic will be: moving in together before marriage.

There is a wealth of internet literature on the topic, mostly from Christian-based websites. Each one claims that doing so will cause dire consequences: (1) will not get married; (2) will divorce. To me, those consequences are not so dire. There is obviously a reason you do not get married or divorce, and I'm doubting that "moving in together before marriage" is THE reason.

Hell, if you don't get married, it's probably because you realized you weren't right for that person (or he/she smelled, or you hate him/her, or he/she is a bum, or he/she cheated, or he/she has anger problems). And, if it took moving in together to learn about one of the aforementioned traits of your beloved, then GOOD. Better to learn before you tie the knot.

As for the divorce, I DOUBT the cause is moving in together before marriage. Who gets married and then says: "Aww, man. Wow. We really shouldn't have lived together before we got married. I mean, we really shouldn't have! What a bad idea. Bad, bad idea. I want a divorce." No one says this. People divorce because they no longer make each other happy. Or maybe they never made each other happy but convinced themselves that they did.

I know, I know. I'm sure many of you are saying "perhaps moving in together before marriage caused them to take steps they never should have in order to finish what they started!" Well, you may be right about this. But people who do that are just plain stupid or utterly lack self-esteem. Stupid people and people without self-esteem are predisposed to marrying someone for the wrong reasons, whether or not they move in together before marriage.

Then there are the statistics. You know, "Cohabitating couples are 65% [don't quote me on this - not accurate] more likely to divorce." My very limited knowledge of statistics gleaned from my freshman "elementary statistics" course was more than sufficient for me to realize that those stats are a farce! For example, perhaps those who tend to cohabit have certain personality traits making divorce more likely. Just because cohabitating couples are more likely to divorce does NOT mean that cohabitation was the CAUSE of divorce. Simple logic. Just because A happens before B, doesn't mean A caused B. We cannot always infer a cause-and-effect relationship between contiguous events. Otherwise, we would all be retarded. E.g., "I brushed my teeth right before Hurricane Katrina! I'm never brushing my teeth again!"

Then there's the "why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free" argument. To those who need translation: why marry someone who is already giving it up. Umm, I think it's a pretty safe assumption that those who cohabit were having sex LONG before they even entertained the notion of cohabiting. Furthermore, if you decide to cohabit with someone who has actually thought "Man. I mean, why would I buy this cow? I'm, like, getting the milk for free. Sweeeet. Hehhehheh", then you DESERVE the misery that results from waiting for a ring. The man (or woman) is obviously a complete douchebag and you want to MARRY him (or her).

The only argument with any merit is: there will be nothing to look forward to after the wedding. You have already made a home together and merged your lives completely. Therefore, the wedding will change nothing. My response to that is: who cares? You ironed out the kinks of living together before you made it official, thereby rendering your post-married life more harmonious. Makes you less likely to have the panicked thought of "Oh my god, he is ALWAYS leaving his water glasses everywhere and he never hangs up his towels. He makes me so mad. He must not care about me. What if I made a mistake????!!" To me, going through the various trials and tribulations inevitable in a roommate situation BEFORE saying "I do" is a good thing.

But of course this is just my opinion. There are lots of people out there who believe in the whole no sex before marriage thing. Well, "lots" may be a stretch. But they're out there. If I were one of them (and I may be! this entry bears no meaning on my personal lifestyle choices!), I wouldn't cohabit either. Sleeping together without sleeping together = plain torture (I would imagine, that is).

It's that time of year again

2006-02-17T07:13:00.000-08:00

It's OysterFest people. This day brings not only drunken debauchery, but stories that will be told and re-told for all time. It is the most highly anticipated day of the year for many, and one that is never forgetten. Please come back Monday (maybe Tuesday, depending on how hungover we still are) for stories that are sure to brighten the worst of days. Wish us luck, as we begin yet another journey to the other, better side.

Cosmic Oddity

2005-11-15T11:37:00.000-08:00

Every time I go to the bathroom the same co-worker goes. This wouldn’t be as odd if I had a strict schedule…ya know, like those real regular people that take their coffee-shit at exactly 9:30am every morning. Nope, not me; my waste intake and output is as predictable as an episode of Arrested Development.

Seeing as today is officially my last day of work (despite the fact that I’ve been putting in no more than 3 hours a day since I trained my replacement), I must bid ado to my bathroom buddy, along with the rest of my co-workers -- there are about 4 left that don’t cause a pulsating vein to appear over my right eye.

Even though I’m thoroughly disgusted with this company and ecstatic to be moving on, I’ve been consumed with an overwhelming sense of depression [that those whom I love most have had to endure for the last month]. I feel like a battered wife that has been conditioned to associate pain with love. It’s difficult to end anything after 3+ years, good or bad…I guess.

Never ending battle

2005-11-09T09:02:00.000-08:00

I was in a wedding this past weekend of one of my very best friends from high school/college. We've had an interesting relationship, to say the least (we got into a huge fight, didn't talk for 2 years, but now things are better than before.) But that's not why I'm writing this. The pictures went up online yesterday from her wedding from the photographer. Naturally, I look at all of them, but I enlarge the ones that I'm in. Ya know, to look it over, criticize, etc. MY GOD did I criticize. I don't know if it was the sun, the misdirection of the photograher, or the fact that he was right in my grill, but you can see every wrinkle on my face. Now I am only 25, so they're not that bad, but in this picture, they look awful. So, sort of jokingly, sort of serious, I call my mom up and tell her that I want botox for Christmas. She says absolutely not, I'm too young, blah, blah, blah. She acts like botox is the worst thing ever. This coming from the woman who's had just about every procedure done in the book. Nothing wrong with that, but c'mon now mom?? Remeber when.....

Anyways, we hang up, she goes and has a few glasses of wine, and decides to call me back 2 hours later to lecture me on the negative effects on plastic surgery, and what I should and shouldn't be doing with my money. This came out of left field. Needless to say, we had words, she said she has the "right" to lecture me, and that as my mother, basically, she is the boss. She didn't use the word "boss," but I know my mom, I know where she was going with this. I flipped out a little, and then she told me we weren't going to finish this conversation until I had calmed down. Then she hung up on me. I didn't mention that this was the second time during the conversation she'd hung up on me. I didn't call her back this time. I have no intention of calling her back, because I don't think I did anything wrong. I'm going to be 26 in a month, my mom has lost the right to "lecture" me or be my "boss."

Sorry for the vent, but I need some advice. Anything??

One more reason

2005-11-09T08:55:00.000-08:00

In a previous post, I told ya'll about my "gay" co-worker. I put that word in parenthesis because he still is not out as of today. However, i think the other day he came one step closer, or at least I hope so. He can in on Monday morning, we went through our boring standard conversation, "how was your weekend?", "how was yours?", etc. Well, here is the response I got from him, word for word. I shit you not:

"My weekend was OK. Sunday kinda sucked, I had to rearrange my whole closet." (At this point I asked why.) Well, I bought 3 new shirts, so..... (Are you kidding me??) They just didn't fit Shannon, you have no idea how many clothes I have. It took forever."

I just stood there and stared. Had no response. What do I say? I think after a few seconds (what seemed like hours, I'm sure), he just walked away.

Then I almost threw up in my mouth. Not because I care or not if he is gay, but jesus christ, please admit it. I would like him SO much more if he did. I'm getting mad all over again reliving this very, VERY awkward moment between us.

Sorry for the delay, folks.....

2005-11-09T08:53:00.000-08:00

Sorry we've been so MIA lately. Promise, promies, PROMISE we'll be better. Just been a little crazy busy lately.

Dear Old Golden Rule Days

2005-10-10T15:42:00.000-07:00

I don’t really divulge personal life on here blog; my individual blogging style is one of absurd humor and surface stories. This is expected, considering by nature I’m a private person. However, I’ve made a rather large life decision and not sharing it with you makes me feel all dirty inside – not in the sexual way, but in the I just ate a handful of dirt and now there is a worm in my mouth and I must spit it out, kind of way. Ohhhhkay.

I have made the decision to subject myself to major debt (aka go back to school for a degree in graphic design).

I’ve only been out of school (my first degree) for three-point-five years, but I’m glad to see that none of the stereotypes have been broken…and seeing as I’m enrolled in ART school, I have a plethora of new characters to observe. Art school is a fondue pot full of the abnormal…mixed with some familiar faces:

Creepy guy. You know the type; the quiet dude in the back of the class that has his eyes fixated on your every move.

The really old student. If I feel superior to the 18-21 year-olds, they must consider us unborn fetuses. They become real chummy with the professor…exchanging generational anecdotes and looks that imply, “these kids know nothing.”

Transvestite and/or flaming gay male. Pre or post-op, you can’t throw a Gucci bag without hitting one.

Anorexic girl. Basically, she’s a mute because all she’s doing is thinking of ways to decrease her caloric intake from 250 to 100 a day.

Funny guy. I’ve always had an immense appreciation for this guy. Always ready with a wisecrack and gonads the size of cantaloupes (I mean this figuratively, of course). Normally, I would develop a crush on said character, but seeing as I’m a taken woman, I now just admire platonically.

Blonde girl. I know, you’re thinking “what?” This is a personal art school phenomenon. Seeing as I don’t meet the regulation piercing OR tattoo quota, I am considered an outsider. So anyways, there is usually one other blonde girl in the class…and without fail, we are automatically bonded by our passion for bathing, social norms and peroxide.

So there it is. A tidbit of my reality. I’m in a constant state of insecurity and have an unceasing desire to vomit.

It’s Awsome.

Judgment call

2005-10-04T10:08:00.000-07:00

Should I be more embarrassed that I accidentally call my own extension at least once a day, or that the displayed message, “You cannot call yourself,” makes me laugh out loud?

Coldplay

2005-09-29T06:57:00.000-07:00

i almost made the biggest mistake of my life last night: turning down coldplay tickets. you see, i was never really into their music. until now. it was one of the greatest performances i have ever seen live, and i now have a new obsession with chris martin. if given the chance to see them, do it. even if you don't know the music. you will most likely be downloading all of their music from the beginning of their career the next morning into your itunes account. $45 later, i am now the biggest coldplay fan. ever.

Someone's got to be the slacker

2005-09-28T07:06:00.000-07:00

6 things you want to do before you die:

Be "can't live without each other" in love
Live in New York City
Love my job
Own a jeep wrangler
Have a family
Learn to speak a foreign language fluently

6 things you can do:

Make people laugh
Listen
Keg Stands
Be a good friend
Shop
Put things in organizational rows

6 things you can't do:

Sing
Drive
Hide my frustrations
Eat mushrooms
Give directions
Fight with my dad

6 things that attract you to the opposite sex:

Smile
Sense of Humor
Compassion/Kindness
Determination/Strength
Sarcasm - at the right times
Height

6 things you say most often:

I'm so over this
Are you f'ing kidding me?
Huh?
I'm tired
I need to stop getting so drunk
Sa-weet

6 celebrity crushes:

Kevin Connelly
Vince Vaughn
Ben Affleck
Jake Gylenhall
Garrett Hedlund
Ryan Gosling

The Story of the New Jaw

2005-09-27T10:41:00.000-07:00

By popular demand (OK, if by "popular" I mean the demand of my co-bloggers and one reader), I will provide some more detail on the surgery.

I got a new jaw because mine grew at a downward angle based on years of sucking my thumb (till I was about 8 or so - shut up, tough habit to break), faulty orthodontics, and TMJ problems. Therefore, the bottom part of my jaw was removed and re-attached. It looks fab to me, subtle to others.

The recovery was a bitch. I don't do well with anesthesia. This is probably because prior to going into surgery, you must sign a waiver saying you understand the risks associated with anesthesia (the one that stuck with me most was "DEATH"), and anesthesia tends to exacerbate the emotions you feel when you are being put to sleep. Those emotions for me were: fear, apprehension, and anger. Therefore, I woke up kicking my oral surgeon and slapping my nurse.

Also, for some unknown reason (seriously, the doctors have no idea why), I insisted upon being escorted to the bathroom every 2 minutes to pee. Even though I never actually peed, not even once. I went a total of 6 times. And you can imagine that this was no easy task. I had just gotten out of surgery - my mom and nurse had to carry me, remove my pants, and sit me down on the toilet each time. Embarassing - in hindsight.

Further, they gave me as much anesthesia as they would typically give a 200 lb man. This is because I metabolized the drugs very quickly. Or because "my body metabolizes drugs very quickly" - hehe. (J/K. I'm a lawyer, and therefore, law-abiding) So ... because of the excessive amount of drugs I was given, the doctors gave me a REVERSING agent for fear that I would swallow my tongue and suffocate I was so drugged up. Well, the REVERSING agent worked, and freaking REVERSED the effects of the anesthesia. Mother-fuckers. Excuse my language, but I've never been in more pain. Since they had sewn my tongue to the gums behind my bottom teeth (out of fear that I would swallow my tongue during the procedure - seriously), my tongue and bottom of my mouth swelled up somethin' fierce. I had a big blue hematoma (large swollen bruise) on the bottom of my mouth and my lips were swollen and my face was swollen and my head was swollen and my eyes were swollen ... well, not really. But I was ridiculously swollen. So, since I couldn't talk yet, and I didn't have my precious drugs yet, all I could do to express my pain on the way home was kick the dashboard over and over again and make noises.

When I finally got my lovely Percocet, it was a bitch to take. Couldn't hardly open my mouth or swallow. My mom had to shove it down my throat. When I started choking and regurgitating the pills, my mom had to grind up the drugs and put it in jello. Not all of it neatly slid down with the jello. So, it tasted like a bunch of ground-up aspirin with a hint of cherry. Yum. I'm NEVER eating jello again.

Finally, I was able to sleep. Until the nausea came. Blood was draining out of my mouth constantly (seriously - ruined some blankets). When I laid on my back, rather than my side, it drained down into my throat. My tummy was totally empty and therefore MAD. It wanted to get rid of the blood. Mind you, I have no movement of my mouth or the capability to spit - so puking was traumatizing. I puked all night and the puke just sat there in my mouth - slowly draining out. As I cried and occasionally napped on the toilet. Couldn't spit, couldn't rinse ... awful.

Eventually I was able to talk again, the swelling went down, I was able to finally eat something (after the severe heartburn subsided - taking about 20 pills a day on an empty stomach feels like someone is holding a lighter to your esophagus every time you swallow anything, including water), the dressings were removed from my head, lost about 9 lbs and looked like a cancer victim ... life was good.

Per Aub's Request

2005-09-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

What are six things you want to do before you die?
1. Have babies
2. Go to Africa, India, Bangkok and Australia - in that order, in one trip
3. Find religion and be happy with it
4. Stay in love
5. Have a second "vacation" home
6. Love my job

What are six things you can do?
1. Write a damn good brief
2. Make others laugh
3. Be there when I'm needed
4. Drink a lot
5. Analyze and problem-solve
6. Use my head at 50% and my heart at 50%

What are six things you can't do?
1. Organize
2. Remember to pay bills on time
3. Be patient
4. The splits (anymore)
5. Eat marshmallows
6. Kill a spider (or cockroach or centipede)

Name six things that attract you to the opposite sex?
1. Smile
2. Sexy wrinkles
3. Passion
4. Intelligence
5. Honesty and openness
6. Confidence

What are six things you say most often?
1. "Oh, Lord"
2. "Holy fucking shit" (potty mouth)
3. "But ... I digress"
4. "Regardless" (said in Spanish accent)
5. "What were we supposed to read for today?"
6. "Are you fucking serious?" (potty mouth)

Name six celebrity crushes:
1. Jude Law
2. Josh Duhamal
3. George Clooney
4. Angelina Jolie
5. Edward Norton
6. Chris Martin

Home is where the heart is

2005-09-16T12:42:00.000-07:00

Cleveland, OH. Born and raised. On the playground....Anyways, I went home last weekend to hang out with my friends and family. I still have quite a few friends from high school that live in the area (mostly guys, they lack the motivation to leave the f'ing place.) My best friend from high school lives in Boston, so she flew in to meet me. We had a weekend planned, to say the least. One of the main highlights was attending the Cleveland Browns home opener. I am a die hard Browns fan. Have been since my dad used to drag me to the games as a small child when no one else in their right mind would brave the below zero temps and 50 mile an hour wind that surrounded Cleveland Municipal Stadium. But I was a daddy's girl. I thought it was cool. So I went. And loved EVERY minute of it. Anyways, me and Brittan (HS best friend) went to the game on Sunday. Let me say this: Cleveland Browns fans are insane. I mean almost to the point of clinical. They are mean, loud, rude drunks who take over downtown Cleveland every Sunday the Browns are in town. We fit right in. Anyways, we go to the game and sit in my dad's kick ass seats. We have plans to meet friends at a bar called "The Blind Pig" after the game to continue the debauchery that is our Sunday. I wish I could tell you more about this, but I got SO drunk that I don't remember much. I can tell you this though: Brittan's mom had to pick us up from the bar (I am 25), take us to her house so she could attempt to sober me up a little before I had to go home to pack because my flight was at 7 the next morning, that I infact did not pack at all because I fell through the front door, stumbled to my MOM'S bed and passed out fully dressed with my head at the bottom of the bed. My mom was so pissed that she didn't try to help me. I woke up at 3 in the morning with the right side of my face swollen. Still have no idea how it happened. I left my cell phone in Cleveland, got called white trash (by Brittan's mom, none the less) because we peed outside of a VERY nice area, and tried to "publicize" men at the bar by telling them "let us help you get the best ass you've ever had." And we did not mean ours. We were helping out the men of Cleveland. Do I need to grow up? Maybe. Do I intend to now? Absolutely not. You only live once, right? God I love life :)

Everyone's doing this one all of the sudden

2005-09-15T02:35:00.000-07:00

I know, I know…lists are the lowest form of literature; however, my mind naturally/psychotically thinks in lists, and I thought the following was a worthwhile list to have on record. Blogmates, I think you should fill yours in accordingly…especially since you apparently have nothing else to say.

What are six things you want to do before you die?
1. Pack-back/travel around Europe
2. Love my career
3. Attempt to be as good a parent as my parents were
4. Live in a house that has a view of a body of water
5. Read the newspaper every day
6. Develop a small, underground cult following that worships anything I create

What are six things you can do?
1. Be a good friend
2. Organize
3. Find humor in things
4. Be positive
5. Influence others
6. Be creative

What are six things you can’t do?
1. Fake laugh
2. Be a sales person
3. Eat sweet potatoes
4. Water-ski
5. Accept ignorance
6. Smell

Name six things that attract you to the opposite sex
1. Personality
2. Passion
3. Humility
4. Confidence
5. Ambition
6. Physical Health

What are six things you say most often?
1. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
2. “cool”
3. “jigga what”
4. “regardless”
5. List things alphabetically…“A. blah, blah, blah, and B. blah, blah”
6. “What do you expect? Have you seen my crap-ass marketing budget?”

Name six celebrity crushes
1. George Clooney
2. Oprah
3. Johnny Depp
4. Gavin Rossdale
5. Paul McCartney
6. Angelina Jolie

"Daddy Dickfinger"

2005-09-12T16:40:00.000-07:00

Proving just how dangerous IT can be...

Dumber by the Day (2)

2005-09-07T01:25:00.000-07:00

Have you ever left someone a rather long, detailed message only to hang-up and question whether you called the right person?

No?

I didn’t think so. Damn.

Not a drug dealer

2005-09-06T10:13:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been quite slack lately. Thank you to my fellow bloggers for picking up said slack. My life, as busy as it has been, hasn't exactly been a template for even the most slightly amusing stories (well, at least for those stories that I'd be willing to share with the internet).

An update:

1. Got job offer - my enslavery begins next September

2. Got surgery - I have a new jaw

Ummm, that's all. See, I told you. Big events - just lacking the funny little details that make them "blog-worthy." Or perhaps I just can't remember the funny little details because I've been on Percocet for the past 3 weeks. And no, I don't have any left to sell to you.

Because honesty counts

2005-09-01T16:01:00.000-07:00

Shan and I must have “we’re as easy-going as it comes” written all over our faces; otherwise, I don’t think our waiter would’ve opened with “I’m so hung-over, I had a rough night,”…and closed with “thanks, you girls were fun.”

We tipped him well.

the scariest night of my life

2005-09-01T13:29:00.000-07:00

our old house was very old. very cool, but very old. anyways, i thought i'd write about this story because 1.) it's very funny, and 2.) aubrey said i should. i was home alone one evening/night, and i was walking outside to check the mail. let me set the scene: we had to walk down the back staircase, around the front of the house, and onto the wrap-a-round porch that faced piedmont road. piedmont road is full of hookers and homeless people. no criminals really, because the hookers keep them away. ironic, but true. so i was rounding the porch, which is completely concealed by trees/bushes. i've actually had to go into this disaster more than once, as the cats we used to own used to jump from the second story windows to escape the wonderful lives they had inside. anyways, now i've lost my train of thought.....oh yes, so i was rounding the porch and what do i see all of 3 feet in front of me? a dead man! an actual dead man. as one can imagine, being a white girl from cleveland, i flipped the fuck out. took off running as fast as i could, like marathon man fast, flew back up the stairs and locked myself in the house. i had no idea where kristen was, but i knew aubrey was out to dinner. i started frantically calling her, as i had no idea what to do with the dead man. she does not answer. the 15 times i call her. her phone has one ring that sucks. ass. well i can't be in my house with a dead man on the front porch. so i go to the next door neighbors, taking the long way, as i was not going to pass the dead man again. the moment he sees me he asks what in the hell was i doing flying by his back door a minute ago. i understood his confusion, but there was no time. i tell him the story and he agrees to come and look at what i had seen. we walk slowly up. i hide in the bushes, but the neighbor walks right up to him. the man is breathing. apparantly not dead at all. just sleeping. i am a retard. whatever, there was still a man passed out on my porch. as luke (the neighbor) tells him to get up and get on, the man refuses. and the little white girl in the bushes is saying, child-like, mind you, "go! get out of here! now! leave!" i'm sure he was scared. the man then proceeds to tell luke that he wasn't leaving because he in fact lived in my house. i can assure you that this is not the case. the homeless man was confused, thought my house was his homeless shelter. apparantly it really resembled the actual homeless shelter on ponce. we moved one month later.

What would you for a…?

2005-08-31T16:51:00.000-07:00

My *favorite* co-worker just walked in my office and handed me a Klondike bar.

I was so genuinely happy you’d have thought he just handed me an enchanted Eskimo that would grant me three wishes.

Sometimes we all just need a messy ice cream bar coated in a thin chocolate shell.

When sexy goes wrong

2005-08-29T10:20:00.000-07:00

Sexy: escaping the party to make-out in a field

Not Sexy: making-out on an empire of the most vicious fire ants east of the Mississippi

You can imagine the repercussions.

how girls are like boys

2005-08-22T07:55:00.000-07:00

i had a conversation with some girl friends yesterday that made me think: girls are like boys more than we think girls are like boys. take the following convo for example:

friend 1: i can't believe i had sex last night. the guy didn't even ask for my phone number when he left this morning.

friend 2: well, just add that to the notch on the never-ending belt.

friend 1: god i know.

friend 2: and you should've had sex with that boy in boston.

friend 1: god i know.

friend 2: how many people do you think you've had sex with?

friend 1: no idea. you?

friend 2: no idea. jesus christ.

point proven?

ex-boyfriends

2005-08-22T07:32:00.000-07:00

let me begin by saying this: ex-boyfriends suck. i know the last few posts have been about how things suck. maybe i'm a little bitter. in general. anyway, i wish there was some sort of technology that existed that would allow you all to listen to the message that i received on my cell phone recently. from my ex-boyfriend. we broke up in october. of 2004. anyways, we haven't talked in 2 months. we talked quite frequently after the break-up, and had the occasional sleepover, but never had talks of getting back together. their are many, MANY reasons for this statement, none of which are even worth the time it would take to write. he calls me last monday night around 1am. leaves me this message about how he regrets that it didn't work out with us, but that he has met someone else, but he will always love and care about me, and hopes we can get together soon. the kicker, as if that shit isn't bad enough? he's moving back to new york in a few weeks. you'd think i'd be sad, a little nostalgic maybe. but this same exact story is what lured me in 2 months ago to have "goodbye sex" with him. recall the sex and the city ep. i could lie and tell you that i told myself he's not worth it and write him off in my mind. however, i'm not a liar. i fell for it. again. am i pathetic? am i an emotional wreck? do i miss him? do i want him back? absolutely not. i am a girl, living just the way i'd imagined, just trying to get a little sex from the ex.

The scariest thing I’ve ever viewed on television (and I’ve seen “The Surreal World” before)

2005-08-11T16:12:00.000-07:00

Teletubbies. Apparently this show has been around for years, but seeing as I avoid children like genital warts, I’ve never actually witnessed this disturbing phenomenon.

I took the trusty civic to Jiffy Lube today (just hit 100k and still runnin’ like a champ!) and while I was waiting in the “customer waiting area,” I was subjected to these colorful blobs of insanity. Honestly parents, if you can call yourself “parents,” how could you let your children watch this?! They don’t speak! They just gyrate and make weird sounds. And kids crowd around the television and stare like lobotomized monkeys; which leads me to believe its encoded with subliminal messages telling them to go bother the child-less lady sitting in the corner at every commercial break.

Luckily, I escaped relatively unscathed…but I’m going to have nightmares about sunshine and baby heads for a long time to come.

come out already

2005-07-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

so i got a new job. common knowledge. not so common knowledge? i work with the biggest closet case i have ever seen. swear to god. this boy is 19, so i give him a little bit of credit for being scared to reveal. but he has gone as far as to date the boss' daughter to try and prove his heterosexuality. they broke up last week after 5 months of dating. shocker. here are my reasons for believing he is gay:

he hates home depot
loves armani. people know him by name there
ex-girlfriend's family thinks he is gay
reads maxim for the articles
probably does the same with playboy
talks gay (you ALL know wht i mean when i say that)
bitches CONSTANTLY
i know many gay people.

now please don't think i have any problems with gay people. my life's ambition is to have a gay best friend, will and grace style. love it. my cousin is gay. he is my most favorite person in the whole entire world. i just think this kid will be so much happier and less anal (no pun intended) if he takes one large flying leap out of the closet known as denial.

traveling sucks

2005-07-29T08:43:00.000-07:00

airports suck. atlanta sucks. philadelphia sucks. u.s. air sucks. delta sucks. bad. real bad. do you understand, or at least see where i am going with this incessant rambling? i am sorry if i've offended ANYONE who has ANYTHING to do with the things listed above that suck; well, not really, because i am still that mad (ask my friends, this happened 2 weeks ago and i am still. talking. about it.). to make a really, really long story short, here goes:

my flight was delayed
my flight was cancelled
my bags were lost
my bags were returned THREE days later
my flight was cancelled again
my bags were lost again
my bags were returned TWO days later

do you see why i am so mad? or at least see where i am coming from? moral of this shitty story? drive. everywhere. everytime. this is my plan, at least. or until i buy a plane. and a pilot. i have already started saving.

A Post About How Moving Sucks

2005-07-21T07:29:00.000-07:00

I'm never moving again. I'm staying in this townhouse, as a renter, until I die. Moving. Sucks. It has certainly sucked the life out of me.

I feel like we've been moving for 3 weeks. I've had to move out old furniture, move in old furniture, move out old furniture again, move in new furniture, put together new furniture, take apart new furniture, put together new furniture again (properly), buy many things, replace many things, return many things, paint many things, assemble many things, drive to many stores, park in many massive parking lots, walk many miles, go up many steps. . . . I'm so over it.

And the trash! The trash. There is so much trash. And taking our trash out is no easy task, let me tell you. We need to put it in a car and DRIVE it to a dumpster located a 1/2 mile away. Very inconvenient. If you're moving anytime soon, be sure to find out where the TRASH needs to be dumped, because if it's any farther than your freakin' back door, DON'T MOVE THERE.

On a side note - the new bed frame and mattress I've purchased has produced a freakishly tall bed. Seriously, it's embarrassing. My room looks cartoon-ish . . . like it's made for a giant. I have to use a ladder to get in bed at night. When I jumped down this morning, I broke my leg from the impact. My friend Ryan tells me not to worry - the bed is great for certain sexual positions. Too bad I'm celibate. And have a broken leg.

It’s probably just me…but…

2005-07-13T02:20:00.000-07:00

I can’t help but be skeptical of the “type what you see here (case sensitive)” security measure. I’m sure some IT wiz is snorting with disgust at this very moment, but I’m unable to comprehend how/why it is effective.

Not to mention…have you ever been prompted by this “security measure” only to realize you have no idea what the hell crazy letters they want you to type?

Celebrating America's Independence

2005-07-12T07:26:00.000-07:00

Time to mention the debauchery I was subjected to during 4th of July weekend - sorry for the belatedness. When I say "subjected to" - I mean just that. I did not initate any (well, most) of it. Shan and Dana (another friend - currently going through breakup - you know how those go) handed my ass to me that weekend.

So all the relationshipsters left to their respective romantic beach destinations, while we singles were left to wreak havoc on Atlanta. I would have preferred a nice dinner ... perhaps a couple beers in the highlands ... maybe some martinis at a nice lounge somewhere. Well, Shan and Dana had different plans.

Without providing too much detail, let's just say the weekend involved:

- a stripper by the name of "Storm"
- body shots (yes, people still do those)
- being publicly molested by a bartender
- Mike ("The Mizz") from the Real World
- fighting
- seeing ex-boyfriends - which had nothing to do with out behavior
- running around outdoors in underwear
- getting our asses literally stamped (difficult to remove)
- riding in the bed of a truck owned by a bouncer
- almost starting a fight with a girl who was simply trying to set her male friend up with one of us
- becoming best friends with that girl - phone numbers were exchanged
- phone calls from Josh, Eric and Bryan the next day. We don't know Josh, Eric and Bryan. Dana's detective work reveals only that one might be black.
- being annoyed by rednecks who kept putting shaving cream all over themselves and pushing each other into the lake
- singing "Raindrops on Roses" during torrential downpour on the boat
- going to the top of the boat (bow? stern?), putting our arms out Kate Winslet-style, singing "My heart will go oooooon aaaaand ooooooonnnnnn"
- attempting to read a MAP of a LAKE 10 beers into the night during a hurricane
- falling asleep in a boat
- waking up 3 hours later to realize we are still in a boat
- getting lost till 4:30 a.m. on Lake Lanier
- calling 911.

Sometimes it’s worth being the sober one

2005-07-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

(1am - front door slams open)
Shan: “What’s going on?! Why is it dark?”
Kris: “I think the power is out”
Shan: “But whhhyyyy are the lights not working”
Kris: “‘cause I think the power is out”
(Scuffle, bang, scuffle, boom)
Shan: “The bathroom lights don’t even work”
Aubrey: (in bed, sober, giggling my ass off)
Shan: “I wanna watch TeeeeeeeVeeeeeeeee. [Profanity!] I’m calling Georgia Power.”
Shan: (on speaker phone with GA power) “[indecipherable slurring about her inability to watch television]”
GA Power: “Ma’am, your area is experiencing severe storms and tornados, your power won’t be restored for a couple hours.”
Shan: “Oh.”
Aubrey: (in bed, sober, still giggling my ass off)

Dumber by the Day

2005-07-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been on an elevator and when the doors open you can’t remember if you’re supposed to let the people in or get out first?

No?

I didn’t think so. Damn.

In Response

2005-06-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

I don’t even know where to begin. Breathe…okay. I know “anonymous’” comment wasn’t malicious, but that way of thinking is exactly why this issue exists. Yes, a lot of women eventually redirect their goals towards family, BUT not all women do. Just because we have a uterus, doesn’t mean we automatically have a maternal instinct. Apparently, “once you have a husband and child of [your own, your priorities] completely change and you finally realize in that moment that your life's ambition is your family”…and if your world never revolves around your hubby and kid then society makes you out to be a debauched monster. Okay, maybe “monster” is severe, but you will endure a lifetime of pity looks and “why don’t you have kids, are you barren?” When faced with that, no wonder so many successful women give into the pressures of marriage and family.

And Kris…based on your experiences, your assessment of what men want is accurate. HOWEVER, you must consider the type of guy you usually go for – being the extremely successful, financially-fortunate type. What do those guys have in common? Can you say control issues? (there I go typecasting again) They obviously enjoy the company of a smart successful woman, but when it comes to holy matrimony, they’re looking towards Stepford. Speaking from the other side of the tracks, from someone who dates more of the financially-challenged type, if I told 85% of my past boyfriends that I wanted to be a “stay-at-home”, they’d laugh in my face…"you be the bread winner, baby. If you ain’t working how are we going to afford all my Nintendo games?” Just kiddin’, I don’t date losers…much.

I’ll get off my soapbox now. The truth is I think raising a family is amazing and admirable. It’s just in my nature to get fired-up at the mere mention of women’s progression being stifled. I must have burned a lot of bras in a past life.

The "Stay-at-Home"

2005-06-21T13:59:00.000-07:00

I'm going to make a generalization: men seek unambitious women. Almost every guy I've dated has praised and lauded me for my personal ambition, motivation, intelligence (thanks, guys) and independence. I've been told those were among the main qualities that attracted them to me in the first place. So then, we date for a while, we date some more, we realize we like each other, we get serious, and ... whammo. They ask me, "Are you willing to give up [your life goals; everything that you have been pouring your blood, sweat and tears into for the past 3 years; all that is uniquely you; the only portion of your future life that will belong to you only; the product of your hard work that I've praised you for since the beginning of our relationship; your financial independence, etc.] in order to pop out some babies and raise 'em for me?"

I paraphrased a little bit there.

The men I'm attracted to are looking for a type of girl that does not exist. Not many independent, ambitious, career-oriented, and motivated young women pay lots of $ to go to school and work really, really hard for the purpose of doing nothing with it. The girl they are looking for is an oxymoron - career-oriented housewife. Just doesn't exist, boys.

So what is it - do men really want to be the sole provider for the family? Are they really threatened by successful women? Are they scared of being demasculated by the possibility that their wives will make more $ than them? Are they worried that their children will grow up to be axe-murderers, degenerates, and drug-dealers if god forbid their wives do not "stay-at-home"? Do they want to be the dominant figure in the relationship? Do they want security in the relationship by ensuring that their wives are completely dependent (financially, emotionally, socially and otherwise) upon them? Do they fear that their buddies/bosses/co-workers will think less of them if they don't fit the mold of coming home to their wifies each night who cook their dinners, decorate the house, and drive the kids to ballet 3 x week?

Is it all of the above?

I don't get why men don't want women who can provide true friendship, decent conversation, and intellectual stimulation? Women who can hang with them at work functions and actually understand what the hell is going on? These women are no less attractive, loving, and caring than women who have no career goals.

What is sick and sad is that these men have made me re-think the direction I'd like my life to take. They make me think that perhaps being with a man who loves his future, unborn children so much as to be concerned that they will grow up less accomplished without the daily love and attention of their mother is better than having a career. Or better than having a career for however many years it takes before the little brats go to school. That is still on the table for me - the whole "stay-at-home" thing. Am I selfish for wanting a career? Am I selfish for fearing the intense boredom that likely accompanies making beds and wiping babies' asses on a daily basis?

People, I need your help. What is the truth? Women are obviously the ones that must have the babies. We are equipped with estrogen - a hormone that forces us to be the "caretaker." Did nature/God intend for us to "stay-at-home"? We simply can't do it all - having a career (at least a successful career ... as a lawyer) and raising a couple of rugrats is no easy task. It certainly isn't a recipe for a fun and fulfilling life. Is the whole "Womens Movement" a big movement towards the impossible and unintended?

Boys Don’t Cry

2005-06-17T14:42:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting conversation the other day. It involved analyzing relationships from the male and female perspective. I made the comment that I usually agree with/relate to the boy’s point of view. Apparently, this is because I’m a “guy-girl.” No, I’m not a hermaphrodite; I’m just bewildered by the lack of logic behind most female opinions/actions.

Until college I could count the amount of girls I ever liked on one hand. Most girls didn’t share my passion for tackle-soccer, and whenever I attempted friendship I would receive oddly folded notes asking why I talked to Kelly more than Jen at lunch. Boys made more sense, plus I could make-out with them…best of both worlds.

The person I had this gender convo with, who happens to be male, said “guy-girls” can’t be trusted. Mmmm…Insulting, yet interesting. I consider myself pretty damn trustworthy, but he has a point. “Guy-girls” are exposed to the worst of the worst. Girls, when you think you know the bad things guys say about you, multiply it by 10 and you might be close. This extreme exposure has caused irreversible damage. Since I know what [“most” – wouldn’t want to typecast ALL men] guys say and do behind their loving girlfriend’s backs, I feel justified in doing the same behind theirs’.

I’ve lost the thing *most* girls come equipped with: ignorance.

Crossing the line

2005-06-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

so SO wrong...but effing hilarious.

Fun with Linguistics - part deux

2005-06-16T07:57:00.000-07:00

This is just a lil' addendum to the previous post. My friends hate me when I talk about this. Well, I hate them when they do this: "put the wrong emPHASis on the wrong syLLABle."
- Mike Myers in some movie about stewardesses

The worst one ever is "green BEANS." Yes, I know, "beans" is not a syllable of the word "green beans" since "green beans" is not one word, it is two.... but, I hate hate hate when people emphasize "beans" rather than "green." Kills me.

How about "I'm going to watch TEE-vee now" rather than "I'm going to watch tee-VEE now"??? Aren't you burning inside? I have the lovely, adorable, and endearing habit of constantly correcting people's grammar and word choice (as in this weekend where Emily said "conversate" at a bridesmaid luncheon and I habitually and instinctually said "converse" immediately thereafter in front of everyone. Oops, uncalled-for. Sorry, Em). Therefore, I always feel the need to comment on these usages. Even though they are not technically wrong, they are wrong by me. No one ever gets away with saying "green BEANS" around me, and my fellow bloggers can vouch for that.

*Note - this is not an invitation to comment on my grammar and word choice in "becausewerethatcool" entries. I am hypocritical - like to call out, not be called out.

Fun with Linguistics

2005-06-09T18:43:00.000-07:00

For some weird reason, I'm obsessed with accents. Seriously, I could talk about them for hours. I sound so uncultured, naive, and uneducated when discussing accents with a group of people not from the same state. I'm literally fascinated by the subtle nuances in the pronunciation of various words. I thought I'd share some of those fascinations with you, Internet:

1. I'm from Maryland - there is no difference between "pool" and "pull"; "wolf" is pronounced "woof" (oh, have I gotten some ridicule for that one); "Baltimore" is "Baldimore" - and other than that, I speak COMPLETELY NORMAL. Yes, I firmly believe that the Maryland accent is general American English. I speak like the people on TV, damnit. I do not speak like a Yankee, nor like a Dixie. Also, I never even used those the terms "Yankee" and "Dixie" until I moved to Atlanta. GET OVER IT people. Sherman is no longer with us. We are all sorry for your loss. But it's OVER.

2. I find it amazing when people from the South say "writing pin." They think there is no difference between "tin" and "ten" (and, likewise, "pin" and "pen"). Love it.

3. Anyone heard someone say "bayg" for the word "bag"? Where the hell are those people from?

4. I think only people from the South say "heck." As in "Heck, I'm tired!" or "Heck, I'm hungry!" and "What in the heck?" Or perhaps there is simply a disproportionate amount of crazy Christians in the South than in the North. God (oops) forbid we say "H-E-(double hockeysticks)" and utter the words of Satan's Lair! It's practically devil worshipping. Oh, heck, who am I kidding - I can't even type the word Christian without capitalizing it ...

5. Minnesotans are funny. They say the word "no" so very quickly and with the most pursed of lips. They think I say it like "Naaaaaooooooouuuuuuwwww." Hah. They also think I have a Southern accent. They need to come down to Georgia. Unbelievable.

6. In closing, I will mention the ever-annoying NY, NJ, and Boston accents. I don't even think I need to phonetically spell some example words. We all know what they sound like (said in a disgusted manner). Cawfee, Cah, Bah, Doowag (as in "Dog" - can't even spell how they pronounce that), etc. Miserable.

Feel free to add some of your own observations of various regional dialect. No, seriously, do it. In all seriousness, I'd love to read them. Enough of that. Time to pack for Pittsburgh. Speaking of Pittsburgh, isn't it fascinating how they say "you 'uns" or "yins" or "yous guys"? Fascinating.

Isolated T-Storms

2005-06-09T16:46:00.000-07:00

Atlantans have been dealing with some turbulent weather as of late. We’ve been enduring monsoon-like conditions at least once a day. I know the tropics and Caribbean have rain showers once a day, but an hour of rain is bearable when you’re surrounded by crystal blue waters and cabana boys. Atlanta is packed-full of northerners who are huge babies about the weather; being able to wear flip-flops March through October is why we live here. So when we’re forced to deal with unfavorable conditions, we get a bit temperamental. If there is a spec of rain, Atlantans will spend 2 hours in traffic and then lock themselves in their homes. Because what’s the use of socializing if it isn’t sunny out. I have to imagine all this bad weather causes a strain on area businesses…I mean just last night, as I was being lulled to sleep by the start of a torrential down pour, the only thing louder than the raindrops were the screaming transvestite hookers running for cover. Gotta love midtown. I’ll miss them when we move in TWO weeks.

***
In other business, we’ll be in Pittsburg this weekend for our roommate’s wedding. Wish us luck, we’ll need it…especially shan – she has to read during the ceremony. waahaha.

cool/not cool

2005-06-03T15:44:00.000-07:00

Alright, time to detail the Destin trip. What could have been a long-weekend of drunken debauchery, turned out to be rather low-key, yet enjoyable; consequently I give you “cool/not cool, and account of Memorial Day Weekend 2005”…

Not cool: We get on the highway and I realize I forgot my cell. TURN AROUND. Get back on the highway and I neglected to notice when 75/85 split. TURN AROUND. Continue on the correct highway.
Cool: Despite my early-morning-retardation, it only took us five hours to drive there - and between our lengthy/random discussions, and our interpretations of every song that came out of the speakers, it felt like no time at all.
Not cool: We quickly discover the “cool” place to be (Sandestin hotel) is guarded like Fort Knox.
Cool: The beach is frickin’ beautiful – green/blue water! This is a great luxury for anyone who usually is subjected to the cesspool that is the Atlantic Ocean.
Not cool: The beach is really short (that statement is misleading)…meaning, from the street to the water is about as long as two horizontal Yao Mings.
Cool: We find an obscure hotel that has one more available room.
Not cool: The room was $130 a night. The “Destin Inn” was nicer than expected, but it was undergoing renovations and certainly was not worth $130. That’s economics for you, supply and demand; we were demanding to not sleep in a sand-covered civic, and they were supplying overpriced beds.
Cool: We go to the local night attraction, “AJs”. We slurped down some oysters, drinks and played a game of “check-each-other-out” with the guys a few tables away…the night appeared to have potential.
Not cool: All of a sudden the bar was overtaken by bachelorette parties and ‘bamans. I’m sure people from Alabama are very nice, but the accents. The accents! Anyway, cute boys didn’t have the testes to approach, and we were annoyed by our surroundings so we left…and went to bed.
Cool: Covert Mission: Infiltrate Sandestin is a success.
Not Cool: Apparently, there are about 10 Sandestin hotels within a 15 block stretch – we infiltrated the wrong end. Instead of joining the rocking beach party, we joined the Kradinksy’s for a wild game of shuffle board.
Cool: An odd maintenance man appeared out of nowhere and hooked us up with a free parking pass for the entire weekend. I thought we at least owed him one sexual favor, but Kris frowned upon that.
Not cool: We try to avoid the masses by going to Pizza Hut for dinner and still wait an hour. This is around the time we decided to not go out that night. (you can disregard my “25 going on 18” post, I meant “25 going on 65”)
Cool: Despite our anti-socialism we still buy vodka for the hotel, get shitty, and have naked pillow fights all night long (I may or may not have fabricated that last part…just trying to keep the male readers happy).
Not cool: Crazy-man and his family decide to create a sand memorial right next to our beach chairs; it was intense – American flag in a large mound of sand with a laminated list of veterans displayed, AND the words “Freedom is not Free” written in the sand. Best part, crazy-man had some red liquid (my guess, he pricked his children’s fingers) and colored in the word “Free”. So all day passersby assumed we created this radical war monument. Awesome.
Cool: no speeding tickets, no arrests, no piercings or tattoos, no fights (besides the naked/pillow variety), a lot of rest, tan bods = fabulous weekend.

Start spreading the news.......

2005-05-31T13:20:00.000-07:00

new york city. h-o-l-y s-h-i-t. i spent the weekend there with my 2 best friends from high school and a sorority sister from college and a shit ton of random people i've never met before. it was my first time. i know, i know, no one can believe that i'm 25 and never been to new york before. it's a good thing i haven't. i came back broke as the homeless and hungover as a college student on their first real bender. serious. but i must say that i indoubtedly had the best weekend of my entire life and have now made the decision that i will be moving there someday. soon. well 1 or 2 years soon, but nonetheless, soon. let me give you a brief (who am i kidding) recap. well what i can remember anyways.

i fly into newark on friday night. newark, you ask? yes, newark. one of my best friends lives there. again, newark, you ask? yup. when people refer to jersey as the armpit of america, they are hands down discussing newark. i think an actual armpit is better. these people in newark are unreal. i went to the only bar/restaurant/dance club (yes it was all three) that is suitable for white suburbia, and i am lucky that i survived. here's why. i am seated at the bar next to a large brazilian man. 80% of the population in newark is brazilian. nothing against brazilians, just stating the obvious. i ask him for his lighter to light my cigarette. it's a zippo. zippo's are prized possesions in newark. he gets up to go to the bathroom. when he comes back, his zippo is missing. he taps me on the shoulder, asking if i know who "stole" his coveted zippo. i say no, and turn the other way. next thing i know i get elbowed in the face by this man when he gets into a heated argument with the patron sitting next to him who is the one who in fact "stole" the zippo. this patron turns out to be a friend of the large brazilian and he "stole" the lighter as a joke. i guess he learned his lesson. as i did mine. stay the f out of newark. forever.

saturday moning, this trip has a LOT to do to redeem itself from the night before. i have the worst taste in my mouth about this place. we board the path to nyc (yeah baby), and walk off 45 minutes later onto 6th and 27th. Gramercy Park. ooh la la. already i was in love. but enough about my torrid love affair with this city, we'll get to that later. well, probably not. just rememeber: i love new york.

anyways, we spent the rest of the day/night doing typical new york things: eating, drinking, shopping, central park, battery park, luna park, eating, drinking, shopping. you get the pic. now comes sunday. the best day ever. we wake up in a haze from the night before. we got in as the sun was coming up. did i mention i love this place? we go to brunch where it is $17.95 all the mimosas and bloody's that one can drink. holy. shit. bring it on. there are 6 of us there. sorority sister brought along her gay best friend rob (alter ego bobby), and now he is my best friend as well, seeing as how every time the waitress would think we were leaving, he would order another round. brunch ended at 6. brunch started at 1. you understand. we continue on the bender that was our day, and go to another outdoor drinking hole. we manage to stay there until 9 or so, and remember that we have forgotten to check into out hotel. nice. we gather ourselves a bit and check into the facey hotel. when i say everyone knew we had arrived, please believe me. 3 drunk girls, facey hotel, hot bellboys? you do the math. our hot bellboy carted our 9 bags (yes, 9. for 3 nights. 3 girls.) to the 16th floor. so we get to our room. tipped the bellboy. and by tipping i mean made out with. brittan (best friend, NOT the one from newark) bet me i wouldn't do it. i am not one to turn down a bet. ever. try me. so i made out with the bellboy. hey, i never said i was classy.

the night continues. you all should appreciate this. remember the boy i talked about in the ritz carlton post? remember he lives in new york? yes, you all remember. anyways, he calls. he's at the jersey shore, and won't be returning until monday. the day i am leaving. he has now asked me to stay in new york an additional 2 days and HE will pay for my flight change. on sunday night this is obviously what i am going to do. monday morning i was thinking a bit clearer. then he calls. and asks me to do stay. AGAIN. what do i do? spontanaity (sp?) is not my thing. i am nervous. long story short, i end up not staying, much to his protests. but then i got thinking...i was genuinely upset when it didn't work out. i might actually like this guy. awesome. i live in atlanta. he lives in new york. i'm flying to see him next month. i'll let everyone know. i'm sure you'll be sitting on the end of your seats until then.

and that was new york for me. i f'ing love this city. bag pedlers and all. new york, here i come.

25 going on 18

2005-05-24T16:12:00.000-07:00

The blogmosphere certainly doesn’t need more dribble about the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something (hate, HATE that term), but GEEZUS it’s an odd time of life.

I’m constantly being catapulted from maturity to adolescence...and I feel like I’m faking one of the two, but I’m not sure which one. Do I enjoy laid-back evenings discussing heavy issues, or would I rather be *wasted* dancing on a stage? Is my mature behavior a societal obligation I’m conforming to, or has stage-dancing lost its luster and I’m just holding on to the threads of a fading youth? Deep.

The only way someone can survive this age bracket is to be one helluva actor. One second you’re in a board room presenting this fiscal year’s marketing budget, and the next you’re roadtripin-it to Destin, without a hotel room, planning to sleep in a Honda.

Maybe I’ll find the answers to my questions this weekend. NOT!!!!!!!!!!!! Destin or bust!

Ha.

Homeless Beach Trip

2005-05-23T20:24:00.000-07:00

So Aub and I are headed to Destin for M-day weekend. We do not have a hotel and we are not planning on getting a hotel until arrival. We know this isn't the most intelligent move, but we are broke. The friggin hotels are all, like, $800 a night. I think we can pull it off. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we do our best not to get raped and pillaged while shacking up in our car for 2 days. We thought about being quasi-prostitutes and sleeping in boys' hotel rooms. But, again, not the best method in trying to avoid being raped and pillaged. Plus, we're not quasi-prostitutes. Should be an interesting weekend.

God, we are too old for this.

I am a desperate housewife.....

2005-05-18T17:55:00.000-07:00

well, not really. but i do consider myself to be a housewife these days. actually, i am pretty desperate too. but i'm not. well i am. well.....i've now gone on too long.

for those of you confused, i have quit my job. i've left the huge assholes behind to actually start doing work on their own. lazy mother-fuckers. i have a new job, but currently no office. therefore, i work from home. henceforth, i'm a housewife who is not a wife. i wake up and make the girls breakfast every morning, clean the house, do the laundry, and tuck the girls in at night. sometimes i read them a bedtime story. its really helping kris get a good night sleep for her new job.

for those of you who believe the above paragraph, why in the hell are you reading this blog? you don't belong.

Poop Wars

2005-05-13T11:28:00.000-07:00

No, this isn’t a jab or commentary on the upcoming Star Wars movie. To be honest with you, I’ve never even seen a Star Wars movie, and don’t plan on it. I know the bare minimum to get through society without having to face the shame of never viewing “the best movies EVER”: Darth Vader is Luke’s father, George Lucas decided to make the movies completely out of sequence, and if someone calls you Chewbacca, it’s not a good thing. I digress, as usual…

(I’m warning you now. If you’re the type of guy that doesn’t believe girls poop, and you’d like to continue having me as the lead role in all your fantasies [because I know I am] I would refrain from reading right now)

What I’m really talking about is a maddening (female) bathroom ritual. I can’t speak for the men, but I imagine they’re rather uninhibited about their bowel movements, so they probably can’t relate to what I’m about to detail. In keeping with irrational womanly principles, it is unacceptable to let anything pass through your asshole within 25 feet of another human being (there are exceptions, about 75% of my best girlfriends are exceptions [TRUST me], but I’m talking in general). This makes for some uncomfortable situations in public restrooms.

First of all, an attempting-female-pooper will choose the most discreet stall, most likely the last stall – also known as the handicap stall – what a sensitive humanitarian you are, shithead. When I walk into a public restroom (specifically the one at my office) and all the stalls leading to the last one are empty, I know I’m in for a battle. Immediate silence combined with awkwardness radiates throughout the facility. My opponent is at a disadvantage; I know her thoughts, and I know her pain…and FYI, I can’t smell so there is no chance of gassing me out. Sometimes I’m a nice gal and piss/wipe in under 20 seconds…even skipping the hand wash in order to give privacy. But most of the time I don’t have the best disposition at work, and I’m going to make somebody suffer.

I begin by slooooowly walking to the stall directly next to the pooper. I then wrap the entire seat in toilet paper, de-pant and sit - doing all excruciatingly slow. I then challenge myself to release the piss at the rate of an 80 year-old woman with a urinary track infection. A little painful for me, but worth the cause and it’s probably good for the kegel. I wait for a while by looking at each one of my fingernails, wipe, re-pant and flush. At this point, it’s been about two minutes, and I can spend another 2-3 washing my hands and checking myself out in the mirror.

I know in my heart the pooper is infuriated with me, and that there are beads of sweat forming on her forehead. So why does this give me joy? Well, like I said, I’m generally mean at work, but more so, I feel that I’m teaching a lesson. You have two choices, change your diet so you can hold off till you’re in the privacy of your own home, OR be loud, be proud and POOP.

happy birthday to me, happy birthday to.....

2005-05-12T10:33:00.000-07:00

well, not me. aubrey. it's her 25th. everyone wish aubrey a happy birthday tomorrow night when you see us passed out somewhere between 1150 and 5th street. long live college drinking binges.

Livin' it up, Ritz Carlton style

2005-05-09T06:01:00.000-07:00

I celebrated Cinco de Mayo last week. Not too sure what or why I was celebrating, but I certainly celebrated. Kris and I were on our own...Aub had class, so we had to brave the festivities together. We started off at Smith's Old Bar, not your typical Cinco de Mayo local. We went with a couple friends, and some clients of these said friends. Well, it was open bar. Did we take advantage of this? What do you think? Kristen and I are about 4 coronas deep when we concoct this amazing story about the 2 of us being quarter mexican. Now I won't go into detail, since Kris did in her last post, but let me tell you, it was fucking brilliant. All I am going to say is our only mexican like characteristic is the fact that we both have brown hair. And Kris's is even on the blonde side of brown. Who were we kidding? Whatever, we had a blast amusing ourselves, if no one else.

So anyways, on with the night. We continue to drink many cervezas (as we say in Mexico), many shots (being brought to us by a 50 year old female client of our friend), and just having a grand old time. Then we meet some boys. Well, I meet a boy, Kristen meets a weird dancing dude that she was NOT amused by. Anyways, to make a really long story short, we decide to go to East Andrews, where another Cinco de Mayo party was taking place. We somehow concoct another lie, to get said weird dancing guy away from us. Me, Kris, and my brand new boyfriend Marc go to East Andrews. About an hour into being there, we decide to leave. We put Kris in a cab and are discussing where we will go next. Home, obviosuly. It is 1:00 a.m. and I have to be up in 5 hours to get my ass to a job that I despise. So we head off to the Ritz Carlton...did I forget to mention that my brand new boyfriend Marc lives in New York and his company put him up at the Ritz Carlton for the night? Of course, I did what any Julia Roberts wanna be would do, and I went with him. For anyone who was in the vicinity of the Ritz Carlton on Thursday night, yes, that was me. That drunk girl dancing along, singing her own praises for ending up at the Ritz. Well, let the truth be told, that we went to the bar, had more drinks, and before anything above a PG-13 rating could occur, I passed out in my own stank. That's right, so drunk that as soon as my face hit the pillow I was out. Like a light. Julia Roberts would be proud. Fuck me. No really, would someone?

So that is my tale of our very first Cinco de Mayo as Mexicans. Don't worry Kris, this will be a story to tell for years to come.

On a little side note.....I might be off the blog for the next couple of days....I am trying to get enough balls to quit my job. I am furious with my boss at any given time, want to kill the idiots that I have to deal with on a constant basis, yet the thought of having to quit terrifies me. Please everyone, say a little prayer.....

puh-thetic

2005-05-07T14:32:00.000-07:00

My life is, that is. So much studying. The funniest thing that has happened in my life lately is this old guy in one of my classes said "your mama" to this orthodox jew in my class because he said he looked like a truck-driver. No offense to old guys, orthodox jews, truck drivers or mamas . . . but it was funny. Or maybe it isn't funny, but my life is that bad. Hahaheh, no, it was funny. The old guy was totally serious when he said it. I think he thought it was a genuine, hardcore insult. We should revive it, peeps - it's a little dated, but funny.

Anyway, as a side note, I highly recommend that no one go to law school. These are the reasons why: 1) it's usually boring; 2) everyone is a lawyer - you won't be special; 3) you probably won't get a job; 4) if you do get a job, you will hate it; 5) the better you are at it, the more work you are required to do; 6) most lawyers are huge dorks; 7) you will be constantly surrounded by these huge dorks; 8) you will start to use words like "unequivocally" and "slippery-slope" as part of your normal vocabulary; 9) people will hate you; 10) you might be able to make $, but won't be able to enjoy it; 11) if you aren't a huge dork now, you will probably become one; 12) you will most likely become an asshole.

Sorry. Needed to vent. The negative attitude is a result of the fiery, burning hell that is exam time/my life.

I did go out for a minute on Cinco de Mayo. The only fun part about that evening is Shan's and I's ploy to convince everyone that we were Mexican sisters. We wanted the holiday to be OUR holiday. We came up with this elaborate story of how we were a quarter Mexican, because our Mom was half-Mexican, because her dad was Mexican (Grandpa Martinez), how Grandpa and Grandma Martinez met in La Playa del Carmen when Grandma was on her college spring break, and how the family at first didn't accept Grandpa Martinez . . . Anyway, we only told one guy and his reaction was probably not worth the amount of time we spent conjuring that little diddy up. Actually, it was way worth it. We love lying to foolish men at bars and we love spending time making up those lies. Ha.

OK , so just 2 more exams to go . . . Friday night will be my Heterosexual-Coming-Out-day/Aub's-Bday-celebration-extraordinare. Yes, the night has been named. You will only be so lucky to run into our drunken, lying bunch out on the ti-zown.

Uninspired

2005-05-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

I want to write. So bad. But to be honest with you, I can’t formulate anything funny or entertaining at the moment. I have so much going on; my brain only has the ability to focus on purely factual, urgent subjects. All creativity has been abandoned. There appears to be a silver lining…a point in which I can foresee my type-A taking a backseat, allowing my carefree, humorous side to take shotty, but until then I apologize for the contents of the blog (or lack thereof).

While we’re on the subject of slack-ass blogging; my co writers apparently have nothing to say either. We’ve all been stressed. I’ll give Kris till next Friday (her finals will be over then). And Shan, you get till Tuesday (because you shouldn’t care about your boss and because I hate Tuesdays and it will cheer me up). Okay? Okay.

Welcome to Atlanta

2005-04-27T15:36:00.000-07:00

Where the traffic sucks a fattie.

Cheeplestase

2005-04-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

Day drinking is always a fun time; driving two hours to a horse race in the middle of nowhere, while wearing dresses and fancy hats, now that is a KICK-ASS fun time. The photographic evidence of our frou-frou outfits will be enough to make all our northern friends/family stomachs’ churn. I consider it our baptism to the south; first is the slip of a “ya’ll”, then less and less people call you “Yankee”, and then you wear a fancy hat to a horse race and you’re officially a southerner. I digress, back to Steeplechase.

So last weekend Kris and I caravanned with some of my “work friends” up to Steeplechase. This was a pretty random group to begin with, which was only to become more random after meeting-up with the “work friend’s” friends – we were quite the motley crew of age groups. Our presence wasn’t necessarily desired by the 40+, divorcee, single women. They only warmed up to us after we provided them some fresh 26 year-old male-meat to flirt with (Thank you, Quincy and Peter). Apparently, Steeplechase is high season for aging women to find their next prospect(s). This is taken very seriously. ~~Women~~ Whores scour the surrounding area for men, like buzzards on garbage the day after Thanksgiving. Within minutes the DSWs (Divorced Single Women) were pissing a ring around the men in the group.

The day progressed quite nicely. A lot of alcohol and bean dip were consumed. One of the group’s bookies took a liking to Kris, so we were hooked-up with free betting tickets all day. We pocketed $18 – buoya! The bookie obviously could not hold Kris’ attention, because she passed the F out in the middle of the day. Distraught that their time together was being wasted, the bookie pulled-out his very best pre-pubescent tactics to wake her. I saw him waving a brownie under her nose at one point - so maybe the scent would wake her (?). I don’t know. He was odd.

The funny thing about day drinking is that nobody seems to realize (or admit) just how drunk they’ve become. At least three times that day, Kris would proclaim how not drunk she was and then say something so apparently drunkard, such as “cheeplestase”.

We stayed way after the races were over. Only us and one other car were there. Ironically, it was a car filled with girls whom the DSWs had a confrontation with earlier in the day. As the enemy car was pulling away, one of the girls actually shot a spitball at our group. Paralyzed from shock, we all sat there in amazement. I would be more enraged with this happening if I wasn’t such a firm believer in Karma. And in this particular situation, Karma is a very good friend of mine. The spitball slut just interviewed with Kristen’s law firm. Wonder if she’ll get the job? Waa-ha-ha.

Overall, a fabulous day…can’t wait for next year already. I’m sure there are a whole bunch of stories I’m forgetting…but if you remember them, you really haven’t done your job, have you?

Things I fear...

2005-04-21T13:48:00.000-07:00

Only being able to converse about topics such as diapers, yard work, what I’m cooking for dinner, a great sale a target…Okay, let’s cut to the chase, I fear domestication.

Heights…I hate heights. Kris thinks it’s hilarious to exploit this as much as possible. It’s NOT funny to dangle off a 50th floor railing, just as it’s NOT funny to pull the bungee rope after I BEG you not to.

Anything related to the medical profession: needles, antibiotics, waiting rooms, throat cultures, even the damn tissue paper they wrap around their reclining deathbeds. I. Hate. It. All.

Karaoke. I loathe it to the point of fearing it. It’s fine to spectate - ya know - if you enjoy the sensation of your ears bleeding. 1 out of 20 karaoke participants can actually sing. Those odds suck.

Ladybugs. I know it’s irrational to fear this insect …actually, I can’t say I really “fear” them, I don’t think they’re going to kill me. I just think they’re grotesque; like little droplets of blood. Mwwmwkjfskjfdwj (FYI – that’s a vomit noise)

nostalgic

2005-04-20T00:47:00.000-07:00

Remember when 420 was treated like a national holiday? Albeit an illegal national holiday, but just the same, a time to celebrate (read: skip class and hang with your favorite donor).

Shan had to remind me what day it is. I'm ashamed. You can officially revoke my cool-card.

Prank calling taken to a new level

2005-04-18T08:16:00.000-07:00

I am warning you...this may offend some of you. It's not nice, it's certainly not mature, but it made me laugh so hard I think I peed a little. If you recall from earlier posts, I talked about my fam. I have 2 younger brothers, one of which is about to start his 5th year in college. He and I are very similar people...we look alike, laugh alike, and have almost the exact same sense of humor. So I obviously adore him. Here is where this prank call comes in. I am driving home from work on Friday...let me set the scene...it is 6:00 p.m. I am only as far as Buckhead at this point (Buckhead is approx. 20 miles from my work, 10 miles from my home. It took me an hour to reach that point on Friday afternoon). I am in a mood of sorts, when a call comes in on my cell piece. It is a 216 area code, so I answer, as this is an area code from Cleveland, where I am from. Here is a bit of dialogue:
Caller: Hi this is....from the relay center, number.....have you ever done a relay call before?
Me: Uhhh.....

Caller: I have a caller on the other line that is hearing impaired. They will type what they want to say, I will relay it to you, and type your answer back to them. Sound good?

Me: Thinking to myself, I don't know any deaf people. I choose to accept the call anyway. Maybe a friend of my parents, who knows at this point. You can only imagine the things running through my head.

Needless to say, I figured out it was my brother by the first thing he had the relay guy say to me, and I died. Literally laughed so hard I almost caused a wreck. My brother used a relay center FOR DEAF PEOPLE to prank call people.

Now I am sorry if this offended you, but this is honestly one of the most genius things I have ever been witness to. The kid may not graduate from college until 2008, but he sure does have an imagination.

Super DUPER Nanny

2005-04-14T02:46:00.000-07:00

I’ve contemplated writing a how-to book on raising kids. The fact I don’t have children makes me all the more qualified. You see, somewhere between conception and birth, breeders lose a large degree of coolness and logic; all of a sudden it’s all about morals and good parenting. They’re so emotionally attached they’re unable to conjure up techniques that would actually have a ~~traumatic~~ significant affect on their offspring’s behavior. The following is a collection of expressions I’ve created/heard along the way - feel free to utilize any you see fit.

1. Don’t touch the walls, they’re poisonous.
2. For being such a good boy/girl, here is a yummy cookie (hand child a saltine – positive reinforcement AND good eating habits).
3. Crying gives you cancer.
4. AND/OR, mommy drinks because you cry.
5. Every time you hit your sister/brother, you kill a reindeer.
6. If you sit too close to the TV, one day you’ll have to get your eyeballs slit open and lasers shot into them (unlike its “you’ll go blind” predecessor, this has way more shock value and it’s the truth).
7. Fine, don’t make your bed…you’ll just give the boogey man easier access.
8. If you don’t get an education you’ll end up barefoot in a restroom, pregnant and married to a back-up dancer.

Doubtful

2005-04-13T09:18:00.000-07:00

What exactly is a “Holler Back Girl”? Should I be concerned that I am one? Is Gwen Stefani intentionally trying to make me hate her? …just a few questions I’m pondering this morning.

I’ve always been a fan of No Doubt, especially their matriarch; I supported Gwen’s decision to lose the pink hair, I completely understood why marrying Gavin Rosdale required two weddings, I didn’t bitch when she decided she was a fashion designer (and charged mucho bucks for her black/white/red scribbling), AND I barely made fun of the acronym LAMB. BUT her last two singles are unforgivable…someone call Gwen’s pharmacist and get her off the hallucinogenics.

Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt, and say “Rich Girl” was bold and original. I mean who would have thought a musical score about a poor Jewish milkman, plus Eve would equal a huge hit that would be played relentlessly on the radio? Gwen, that’s who.

Following her “Rich Girl” success, she decided to see how far she could push her listeners with, “Holler Back Girl.” Regardless of whether I know what this Ebonics-based term means, I still despise this song. It makes me feel like I’m going crazy.

So all I have to say is (in her words) Gwennie has officially gone “bananas, ba-na-nas.”

Milestone

2005-04-12T11:27:00.000-07:00

This weekend was one of my roommates’ bachelorette party AND bridal shower…it also marked my first crack at organizing pre-wedding festivities. Lindsay (da bride) is the first of my/our friends to attempt this whole marriage thing; unfortunately, this makes her the guinea pig for 3 girls that know more about Neuroanatomy than wedding etiquette.

Luckily, Lindsay has maintained friendships with girls that are more suited for this type-thing…because you see no matter how hard I try, I’m just never going to be capable of making goodie bags filled with blue gummie bears, with the tag line, “celebrating our beary special friend, Lindsay.” I don’t have it in me. That type of cheese is only found in girls who have extensive collections of proper pearls, and matching cardigan sets - Not that there’s anything wrong with that. If it were up to me, the invitations would have been evites and the party favors, airplane shots (how uncouth!).

The shower seemed to be status quo – brunch at Einstein’s Grille, chitchat, presents…actually, we decided to open presents at home during the bachelorette party. My best friend Emily, who is one of the girls responsible for making this a respectable event, had us all play “Present Bingo.” How I wish I possessed the genetic make-up that allowed everyone else to love this concept, but I don’t. Instead I relished in the fact that I had access to an entire 1/2g of vodka, and let Shannon draw tattoos on my leg for entertainment.

Once Bingo was over, we could get serious about the whole “party” aspect…or so I thought. First, a female powwow was required. Picture this: 15+ drunken girls standing in a circle, around the dining room table, bawling their eyes out, talking about Lindsay and Adam’s relationship. If I haven’t said it before, girls are whack. Eventually, everyone came to their senses and realized there was a PARTY to be had. Two groups of girls took off in two cabs, while the third group (which included me and the bride-to-be) hitched a ride with two hoodlums driving a Mercedes SUV – undoubtedly, it was stolen, but it got us to where we needed to be.

The night began at Cosmo/Lava, and yes, we were those girls. I know you guys find bachelorette parties to be absolutely obnoxious, but the thing is we don’t give a shit. There’s nothing funnier than to see a guy’s reaction when you ask him if he has a condom; such confusion mixed with excitement, and then complete devastation when he realizes that you’re a member of the 15 giggling girls. Lins was a trooper, she did all we requested – kissed men with mustaches, stood on tables, blow job shots, etc. The party then moved to Twisted Taco...just what we needed, karaoke. Seeing as it was our job to be the loudest most annoying people in Atlanta that night, we all participated in a rendition of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

From that point on was a climatic drop; everyone was beginning to fade and scatter. Kris and I went to the bathroom, and when we returned everyone was gone. We debated whether or not to continue our night at the Clermont Lounge, but I ended-up getting a guilty conscious and determined we should go home where the rest of the group was.

HOWEVER...before we could leave, Kris made a friend (actually, this might be my fav part of the night). A black girl and her huge black boyfriend were walking by us and overheard Kris complain about her feet hurting. Without missing a beat, the girl grabbed Kris’ foot and demanded that her boyfriend rub it. When he declined, she continued rubbing her foot and said that this is what her boyfriend does for her. Kris then switched on her best urban accent and got in a fabulous exchange with this girl about how “her world is magical.” I laughed so hard I cried. Those were the only tears I cried that day/night…must have been subconsciously over my happiness for Lindsay and Adam.

Wiedersehen

2005-04-08T09:30:00.000-07:00

Last week, the boy informed me of some big news…he accepted a job transfer...TO EFFING GERMANY. Our history is not much to speak of. We’ve never been super serious, which makes my reaction all the more concerning – I became an emotional train wreck. I think I held it together for all of 5 minutes. I had hoped this unlikely display of estrogen was of the premenstrual-variety, but the calendar disproved that theory. MEANING I was/am seriously distraught about this person leaving my life.

I never said this guy was the one, but he could have been, and the “could” is what stings. The loss of potential. Potential is a hard thing to come by if you have any standards whatsoever. Most everyone, at some point, realizes the majority of the human population has something severely wrong with them. If you can find a normal one in the bunch, consider yourself lucky. Rarely, do you meet somebody that you can legitimately say, “I could potentially jive with this person till death do us part” (or ya know, for longer than 2 hours).

In efforts to convince myself the boy is notso normal, I’ve created a list of unacceptable behaviors/possessions:

1. He has an exact rotation for everything he wears – including underwear and socks.
2. He has black pleather couches.
3. Until 2 weeks ago, he had a denim comforter.
4. He repeats stories incessantly.
5. He has hundreds of books, of which he’s read barely any.
6. He doesn’t complain about working 16-hour days, for 3 straight months.
7. I’ve never been told where we’re going to dinner/lunch/breakfast. It’s ALWAYS a “surprise.”
8. He has accumulated a collection of McDonald’s toys, and displays them around his condo.
9. He is more emotionally inept than I am (yikes).
10. He likes Germany more than me.

Damn. I thought that would make me feel better.

p.s. sorry about the lame, girly, dribble. Next entry, I’ll write something with entertainment value…funny stuff, like the hilarity of processed meat. Good one, Kris.

Porkie

2005-04-07T10:38:00.000-07:00

It is amazing how I can be quite mature and exceedingly immature at the same time. Though I am a succesful law student, horrified by drunken/loud/giggling girls, and prone to dating people about 10 years older than myself, I also (for example) find fart noise imitations rather hilarious.

Shan and I were watching The Bachelor the other night (oh shut up, you know you watch it too). One of the whores mentioned she was Ukranian and liked perogis (sp?). That meant that Shan and I had to run to Kroger to get perogis for dinner that night (and tater tots, yum). For some reason, trips to the grocery store for Shan and I are always a raging good time. We bound about throughout the aisles, loudly make obnoxious comments about whatever weird food we see, and then giggle like school-girls.

So we're off to the meat section since our other roommate, Lindsay, asked us to pick up some bacon for her. We couldn't find the particular bacon brand she requested, so we started to make jokes about all the other things we could bring her as a substitute. We picked up little cocktail weiners and giggled. We picked up "thick-cut bacon" and giggled. We picked up this weird round bacon and giggled. And then, THEN, we saw "Porkies." I've never laughed so hard. In fact, I'm laughing right now as I think of the Porkies. Porkies are apparantly pork rhinds. Porkies are funny. The conversation proceeded as follows:

Me: Should we bring Linny (nickname of previously mentioned roommate) some Porkies instead?

Shan: I don't know. Does she like Porkies?

Me: Hahhhahahha. Linny like Porkie?

Shan: Hhahhahhaha. Linny no like Porkie?

Me: Hahha. Porkie for Linny! Ha.

I don't know why Porkies are so funny to me. Wait, yes I do, they're called "Porkies".

Hell if I know.....

2005-03-30T08:10:00.000-08:00

Just a couple of things that I've been thinking about, feeling, encountered, and so on and so forth. I'm just really bored at work right now.

Got a keg this weekend....2nd in 2 weeks...feel like I am reverting back to college. Keg stands and beer bongs have become a part of my nightly "going out" rituals. Well, honestly, beer bongs have always been part of said rituals, I've just been too ashamed to admit it. It's officially admitted...shame has subsided.
After this "keg party" ended, we went to Front Page News, a local bar in the area. Shit-faced. After the bar, Kris and I brought approximatly 7 random boys home. When I say "brought home", I mean they actually jumped in the car with us and tagged along. Fine for me though, b/c as the luke warm shots of vodka continued, and others sipped on their vodka/waters (we ran out of mixers), I proceeded to do a little dance number of my own. Picture Phoebe from Friends doing her "sex" dance to "I want your sex" by George Michael. Nothing else to be said.
I recently threw away the previously-mentioned beer bong, not willingly, but because it was broken and dirty. Much easier to purchase a new one from Home Depot with the help of a nice, innocent 16 year old named Jim, rather than attempt to clean and repair.
I am flying to FL tomorrow to meet my best friend and her family for a long weekend. How old am I, you ask? 25, thank you very much. Is it just me, or is this the age that long weekend "getaways" happen with boyfriends, rather than best friend and family? I don't think "friend" trips are at all abnormal; we do them all the time. But with said best friend and family? Honestly though, who wouldn't want this type of vacation? I am going to get a tan and eat real good food and drink lots of alcohol for free for the next 4 days. Thank God for families.
I was just reminded of how bitchy my boss actually is. I asked if I could take an extra day of vacation (that I have rightfully earned, mind you) so I can get to FL a day early. I even lied and said that my little brother was down there and I wanted to be able to see him. Well, I was sent an e-mail, not even told face-to-face (which would not be abnormal in most work situations, but you see, I work with only 4 people, and my cube is less than 4 feet from where my boss sits), that she actually wanted the day off. So basically, I am shit out of luck. Bitch.

So that's that. I'll be sure to share the stories from my weekend with the fam.

Obligatory Listening

2005-03-29T09:33:00.000-08:00

Whenever I’m in traffic and REM’s, Everybody Hurts, is on the radio I’m unable to change the station. I listen to the entire song and picture the subtitles of my inner monologue…

“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE you heinous wench! If I get out of my car and smack the back of your head, will your pea-sized brain realize that your minivan comes equipped with a gas pedal?!?!”

I know, deep. Stipe would be proud.

Porn v. Excremental Sex

2005-03-24T19:56:00.000-08:00

I thought this to be an amazing outlook on pornography:

"Pornography can be seen as the unique medium of a vision of sexuality . . . a view of sensual delight in the erotic celebration of the body, a concept of easy freedom without consequences, a fantasy of timelessly repetitive indulgence. In opposition to the Victorian view that narrowly defines proper sexual function in a rigid way that is analogous to ideas of excremental regularity and moderation, pornography builds a model of plastic variety and joyful excess in sexuality. In opposition to the sorrowing Catholic dismissal of sexuality as an unfortunate and spiritually superficial concomitant of propagation, pornography affords the alternative idea of the independent status of sexuality as a profound and shattering ecstasy."

Richards, Free Speech and Obscenity Law: Toward a Moral Theory of the First Amendment, 123 U.Pa.L.Rev. 45, 81 (1974).

Had no idea that Victorians had sex like they pooped.

Love the knock on the Catholics. Gotta love that "sorrowing" Catholic guilt, as was so artfully conveyed on Sex and the City (you know, the guy who had to take a shower immediately after doing it with Miranda).

Crawdads are wack

2005-03-22T13:00:00.000-08:00

So we went to a crawfish boil this weekend. Also referred to as crawfish, crawdads, crawdaddies, or the more civilized crayfish . . . depending on your regional dialect. I can't believe people actually eat these creatures. People were walking around carrying bowls and bowls of these alien-like, shelled, beasts. Prior to the boil, I swear the little bastards were communicating amongst each other, waving their ridiculousy long tentacles about, and conspiring to attack. I was frightened.

Anyway, so I think college graduates, especially those more than a year removed, should not act the way that we [read: I] acted. Ridiculous amounts of alcohol were consumed. Continuous drinking for 10 straight hours will never lead to good things, mark my words. Generally, a little buzz before entering these festivals is preferable . . . that way you are not nearly as annoyed by the random people with no concept of "personal space" ramming into you every 5 seconds and spitting in your face via their drunken ramblings. I swear, I can't stand close, drunk talkers.

Highlights:
1) when the lead singer of the band said over the microphone "who wants my beer?" and Aub peeked through a crowd of tall, black men and said meekly "me" and the lead singer miraculously heard her and screamed "you! come on up!" and she did and he only gave her a sip and she stepped down from the stage in confusion [apologies for the longest run-on sentence eva];
2) when the lead singer said "does anyone else want it?" and I said "me!" from the crowd and he said "you! come up!" and I did and performed a little dance;
3) when I grabbed a random boy's hand and dragged him throughout the festival (presumably to find the ex and make him insanely jealous . . . D. U. M. Dumb);
4) when I grabbed another random boy's hand and did the same thing;
5) making our new urban friends. One had a mohawk. They would direct us as to which songs we should dance to and as to which songs we should just stand there in protest because such songs were "weak";
6) crying because I couldn't find my friends in the 100 x 200 space in which the festival was located and feared I may never see them again;
7) when a boy I dated in the past declared, out of nowhere, like a 10-year-old boy, "I'm smarter than you" and crossed his arms in a humph;
8) apparently dancing with a boy from school for hours who approached me on Monday asking "Did you have fun on Saturday?" and me responding with "Yes, thanks. Some friends and I went to a crawfish boil." He looked disappointed;
9) yelling at my friends because I left them and couldn't find them.
10) making out.

Sometimes love just ain't enough

2005-03-21T08:42:00.000-08:00

Oh, the pain of breaking up...for women. I have a theory. Women are stupid and pathetic. We really are. We are often addicted to the comfort of relationships. When things become so blaringly, obviously, patently incapable of working out, we work that much harder to try to work it out. Women just can't seem to accept that two people may not be "right" for each other. When things don't work out, women view that failed relationship as a personal failure. We feel that there was something missing within us which caused our significant other to give up and stop trying. We feel as if we will never, ever possibly find anyone again with whom we feel so comfortable and whom we love so much. Therefore, it is just not worth starting over. It is far more worth it to cause ourselves repeated, continuous hearbreak and pain by incessantly beating a dead horse - after the man has already given up.

This is why women never have the upper-hand - the wonderful upper-hand that we all long to have in our relationships. Though both man and woman may acknowledge within their logical minds that breakup is the best option, and, in fact, the woman may be more unhappy in the relationship than the man - it never ends in woman's favor. We irrationally flip it around so that we end up hurt and pathetic by saying, "I know all these things are horrible about our relationship, but I care enough about you to overlook those things and try to work them out through time. Our LOVE can make it work." And the man is thinking, "Are you crazy, bi-atch?" Well, maybe not so much in ebonics...but along those lines, nonetheless.

Of course, men feel post-breakup sadness as well. However, their depression is mostly a result of the thought that their woman will eventually be with someone else. Men, similar to dogs, piss a circle around their girlfriends and ex-girlfriends alike. It doesn't matter if he doesn't want her, he doesn't want anyone else to have her.

I'm obviously speaking in generalizations, people. Surely they are individual men and women out there who are nothing like what I've described. But my personal experiences, my observations of others' experiences, and the research showing that women suffer from depression in overwhelming numbers as compared to men, all point to support my theory - that women are indeed stupid and pathetic.

Remembering my first(s)

2005-03-18T12:09:00.000-08:00

Calm down, we’re not that close…yet. This entry is to give props to the fabulous bloggers that came before me/us.
When I was a mere tadpole in this corporate cesspool I swim in, I was diagnosed with a severe case of boredouttamygoddamnmind…that is until I came across the blogmosphere.
I believe it all began with “tardblog”; I read every entry, and laughed till I cried. I was able to share my findings with other recent college grads. We all rejoiced. In a way, it made life worth living again…okay, a little extreme, let’s say, it made work less painful.
So now that I’m an official blog-carrying member, out of respect and much appreciation, I would like to say thanks to Tardblog (RIP), Dooce and Eurotrash. Nowadays, there are many more on heavy reading-rotation, but you never forget your first(s).

The "Top 50"....seemed like the thing to do (2)

2005-03-17T23:03:00.000-08:00

Kris' fiddy -
1. I have no tattoos or wierd piercings.
2. I used to have a belly-button ring, but removed it because I thought I needed to be "mature." 3. I've only been in love once and, as you know, it ended in heartbreak.
4. It actually ended in heartbreak 4 seperate times.
5. When I was a child, I said I hated chocolate (but I didn't).
6. When I was a child, I changed my name to "Christina" because I thought Kristen was a boy's name.
7. My mom used to tell me that Saltines were cookies and I believed her.
8. I sometimes create drama when there is no drama.
9. I worry...a lot...about everything.
10. My whole family is in the Navy.
11. My family told me not to go in the Navy because I don't deal well with authority.
12. I sing and play piano.
13. For this reason, I will often break into song sporadically.
14. When drunk, I will do [almost] anything to get to a bar where there is karaoke.
15. I used to think I didn't like babies or puppies, but have discovered that I, in fact, love them.
16. I have lots of random long-term ailments.
17. My orthodontist says I will have no teeth by the time I reach 30 because of my severe teeth-grinding problems.
18. My orthodontist says I, therefore, have to get braces. I'm 24.
19. I've already had braces...for 7 years.
20. I did well in law school and, consequently, I feel compelled to sell my soul by working at a large defense law firm.
21. I'm a small girl, but I can eat a lot...like, more than many boys.
22. I don't deal well with sensitive people.
23. But I myself can be very sensitive.
24. My mom and I didn't get along when I was in highscool. At. All.
25. I miss my mom now very much.
26. I hate the show "Home Improvement."
27. I hate the following words: egg, sausage, milk (most breakfast foods), moist, crease, crevice, and body.
28. I like to date people older than me.
29. Many people tell me I am an "old soul."
30. I dress conservatively. Shan calls me a "prude."
31. My brother is laid-back, but I am high-strung.
32. I have no favorite color, number, or food.
33. I'm indecisive.
34. I one time caught my bedroom carpet on fire.
35. I think ability to dance is a good indicator of one's ability in bed.
36. I think it's funny to add "in bed" to the messages in Chinese fortune cookies.
37. When I was in 5th grade, my only friends were a fat girl and a blind girl.
38. I hate Moe's - the thought makes me dry heave.
39. I dry heaved when I just wrote that.
40. I am very ambitious.
41. But at times, I've thought of being a stay-at-home mom.
42. I am very forgetful, yet have a near photographic memory when it comes to testing.
43. I have an 11-year-old brother.
44. I am very particular about neck-width when checking out the opposite sex.
45. I am independent and dependent, crazy and serious, rational and illogical, all at the same time.
46. I have made the first move before.
47. I do not smoke.
48. I am musically trained, but have a Britney Spears CD.
49. I fall asleep every night to a fan on the "high" setting and blaring classical music.
50. "Red, red wine. Stay close to me."

The "Top 50"....seemed like the thing to do (1)

2005-03-17T10:14:00.000-08:00

Since Aub posted this in her "about me" sec (short for section, I like to abbreviate), I thought it would only be appropriate for myself and Kris to post one as well. I am borderline hungover today folks, so hold onto your pants, this could be a bumpy ride (hahaha, as Kris's date made mention to last night. Still not over that.)

My favorite fast food restaurant is McDonalds.
My favorite food from McDonalds are the chicken nuggets.
I have 2 middle names.
I have 2 cats.
There names were once Leo and Alex; now they are named Felix and Shrek.
I am still best friends with my two best friends from high school.
I can be slightly obnoxious.
I am a very good friend.
I have been to Spain, Italy, England, Scotland, Ireland, and Mexico.
My favorite place was England.
I want to move back to Cleveland one day.
I have no idea what I want to do with the rest of my life.
I love mint oreos.
I have tiny eyebrows.
My favorite store is Arden B.
My favorite department store is Nordstroms.
I love my family very much.
I look up to my father more than anyone else in this world.
I eat small amounts of food at a time.
I have brown hair.
I am a natural blonde.
I have a weird sense of humor.
I have only been in love once.
My father was born in England.
I have 2 brothers.
I can be bossy at times.
My favorite TV show is Friends.
I hate tomatos and mushrooms, but I do like a slice of tomato on a Jersey Mike's sub.
I want 3 kids.
My friends think I will have at least 5, and that's on the low end.
I just bought a new Chevy Trailblazer, named Big T.
I used to drive a Mitsubishi Montero Sport, named Sporty.
My first car's name was Cher. It was a white 1987 Chevy Celebrity with a maroon roof and seriously tinted windows.
I went to Elon University in Elon, NC.
My favorite vacation spot is Scottsdale, AZ.
I live in a house with 3 other girls.
My best friend looks a lot like me.
My favorite movie is Jerry Maguire.
I saw "Titanic" 4 times in the movie theatre.
I do not have a favorite music group.
I like country music.
I say the word "ya'll", even though I am from Ohio.
When I was younger, I used to walk into people's houses and eat all their candy.
I caused a lot of trouble as a child.
I have a tatoo of chinese symbols meaning life and laughter.
For all I know it could mean "I give good head."
I have fake nails.
I love to laugh.
I love the beach.
"I will survive. I will survive. Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive."

The "Zoomas"

2005-03-17T09:18:00.000-08:00

Has anyone heard of these? These "zoomas"? I can only assume they mean poop. More specifically: severe, sudden, explosive diahhrea caused by the consumption of Mexican food. Sorry, folks, I did mention that poop could be a common topic of this here "blog". Let me explain more thoroughly. Make yourselves comfortable and put down the burritos.

Now what I am about to tell you just doesn't happen in real life. It happens to people on sitcoms. The girl who just ended a serious, long-term relationship had a date last night! Yay! See, that's what I do. I break up with people and I schedule a date immediately following aforementioned breakup. Though many will disagree, I believe this is an excellent tactic to overcome the depression following breakups. The classic "rebound" who, to all of us hopeful/desperate, "want-to-be-married-5-years-down-the-road" girls, could actually turn into a real relationship! That'll show the ex...Who needs him? Anyway.

So I'm looking forward to the date. Mind you, I returned from Mexico not long ago, and my stomach hasn't really been "right" since. A.k.a. my bowel movements have not been so much solid, I had the "runs," I've been pissing from my ass, etc. Get the picture? Sorry for the descriptive detail, but we've all suffered from this ailment. I'm not embarassed.

OK, maybe I am a little embarassed. So my date takes me to get some Mexican food. We're having a grand ole time, chatting it up, giggling...a typical first date "getting-to-know-you" session. Everything is going so great, he asks me to go get drinks afterwards. Wow, he must love me!!! Kidding, folks, but it was going well. So, we're driving along...and guess who feels a little rumbling in the tummy? Moi. Estoy malo.

I figure I have two choices: 1) go to the bar with my date, and excuse myself to the bathroom; or, 2) ask my date to take me home. The first choice was immediately eliminated. Anyone who knows me, knows I CANNOT "go" in public bathrooms. I don't care if they are private, or if my ass is about to explode, or someone is holding a gun to my head saying "You better shit in this public bathroom, or I will shoot you in the head." I just can't do it. Furthermore, I wasn't sure how long this process would take. What's more embarassing, saying "Take me home, I don't feel well" or returning from a 30-minute sebattical in the bar bathroom as my date waits in disgust? Choice 2 had to be it.

Does anyone know that feeling where you are about to get home and your body just knows it, and therefore you have to go really, really bad as you are pulling into your own driveway? That's how I felt on the way to the bar. I thought I handled the situation artfully. I said, "[Date], you're gonna think I'm an asshole, but I'm not feeling well. I think I have to go home. I just haven't been feeling normal since I got back from Mexico. Please don't take this as a reflection of our date. I had a great time."

He seemed slightly taken aback. Since I was freaking out, trying to concentrate on keeping my bowels from imploding, and fantacizing about my toilet, all's I heard from Date is something about "Zooma's" and "Sorry for the bumpy ride." Kiss on the cheek. Buh-bye.

Considering most guys think that girls don't poop, I'm not hearing from this guy ever again, am I?

Bloggin' it Up...2

2005-03-15T23:52:00.000-08:00

The name is Aubrey - which tends to get shortened to “aub”...there is a second half of my name that is much prettier, but whatever, one cannot make up their own nickname. I digress.

If you’d like to know about this third of the blog, I’ve created a list of 50 (read: fid-dee – you know, like the rapper) things about me. I know it’s supposed to be 100, but give me a break, I’m new at this.

1. I don’t have the sense of smell;
2. Yes, I can taste (barely),
3. And no you can’t fart on my head.
4. I went to college with my two best friends from high school; we’re still best friends and I live with one of them in Atlanta.
5. I’m an introvert - but not in the shy, anti-social way.
6. I'm a tad sarcastic.
7. My favorite food is sushi. PB&J is a close second.
8. I’d say I’m more jaded than most people in my age bracket.
9. Atlanta drivers cause me more stress and rage than anything else.
10. If I have a pack of gum, chances are I’ll chew the entire pack in one sitting.
11. Most people don’t understand me.
12. A lot of people think I’m intimidating.
13. I was Sweetheart of a fraternity.
14. I think my brother could be the next Quinton Terantino or Woody Allen. Bizarre brilliance.
15. My father is exceptionally talented, but too scared to put his skills to the test.
16. I’m exactly like my father.
17. I love Mint Oreo’s
18. I’m an extremely loyal friend (see #4)
19. I’ve only been completely obsessed about two guys. They both broke my heart.
20. I don’t like confrontation; however if you back me into a corner, I will display a wrath of unbridled anger that will shake your very existence to the core.
21. People are who they are; I’m not naïve/stupid enough to think I can change them.
22. I went to Elon University - I consider it one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
23. I am not a good test taker…I always think it’s a trick question.
24. I’ve been to Italy, Mexico, Cayman Islands, and Jamaica
25. I’ve lived in Illinois, New Jersey, Maryland, North Carolina, and Georgia.
26. I’m the most loyal employee ever.
27. All of my bosses have been colossal assholes, and I like it that way (I’m always their favorite).
28. The only sports I enjoy watching are Ice Hockey and Gymnastics.
29. My liquor of choice is undoubtedly vodka.
30. I’ve never broken a bone.
31. I have no tolerance for crying children.
32. I don’t believe in daily horoscopes, but I read mine everyday.
33. I have the best mother in the world - I wish I could be more like her.
34. I pushed my mortal enemy AWAY from an oncoming truck and saved her life. Damn I’m too nice.
35. I’m Agnostic
36. I can’t commit to a favorite color - I either say purple, green or sometimes pink.
37. My motivation level goes from extreme highs to extreme lows.
38. I don’t have any tattoos.
39. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that my brutal honesty may offend people, and that I don’t care.
40. I get awkward and uncomfortable when I’m the center of attention.
41. My best friend loves being the center of attention.
42. I’m the antithesis of a drama queen.
43. I like to cook, and I cook well.
44. I’m very protective over my brother.
45. I like my job.
46. I hate being in elevators with strangers - I avoid it if at all possible.
47. I’m going to art school.
48. I’m more sensitive than anyone would ever expect.
49. I’m very happy and content with my current life…
50. “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

Bloggin' it Up...1

2005-03-15T15:20:00.000-08:00

Because we're that cool, we (as in 3 separate girls) are starting a "blog." Yeah, yeah, we know . . . most people are "cool" enough to have their own individual blogs. But we feel as if our combined humor will make for better reading. Enjoy folks.

So, umm, wow, we're really excited to be a part of this little blogging culture. Or, vast blogging culture rather. Though I've always kept a personal journal, I felt it was no longer fair to the rest of the world to keep my comedic musings to myself. One big worry: could get personal. We probaby won't "blog" so much about politics, gas prices, Bush's latest blunder, etc...it will be more or less about our lives. Our observations. Our mistakes. Love, losing love, the search for happiness, the ironies of the "twenty-somethings" (god, I hate that word). We'll probably make fun of people too. And maybe talk about poop. Poop is never not funny.

From what I've learned about blogging, the "blogger" seems to open him/herself up to public criticism and ridicule. We are prepared, peeps. That is, if we can get enough of a following to be criticized or ridiculed. Wow, I hope someone criticizes us. It means, like, people are like, reading this and stuff. Awesome.

Disclaimer: I'm actually going through a [mild?] depression. No one likes to read about depression. And those who are depressed tend to be really not funny. Why I've decided to be the blogger to pop our blogging cherry (sorry for saying "blogging cherry") is unclear. Probably because I need something to do...as the depressed girl who has been in bed for over 16 hours, I was the natural choice to start typing. The others are working. Yuck. Boo.

Time for some introductions...

Meet your bloggers!

Blogger 1:
Me. Call me Kris. I am a disillusioned law student (wow, so unique, so different, a law student who is disillusioned). I am 24. I'm kinda hot. Seriously. And if you don't think I'm hot, you can't deny that a little bit of over-inflated self-confidence never hurt anyone, ok? Anyway. I'm depressed because I've finally ended my 2-year rollercoaster ride with my old ex-boyfriend. Last. Night. I know, you're impressed that I'm doing this (as in "blogging") thank you, thank you. He was almost 14 years older, was rich, and therefore placed me in the stereotypical "gold-digging" role to those who don't know me AT ALL. I come from a standard middle-class background, work hard for what I've achieved, and have actually considered ending relationships because of different socio-economic backgrounds. Read: He had a dramatically more "comfortable" socio-economic background. Not a gold-digger.
I put myself out there to this man, and he said he just wasn't "comfortable" with our relationship ("comfortable" - another word I'm beginning to hate). He was always "guarded." God, WHY? WHY? WHAT DID I DO WRONG? Just kiding, seriously. I am very sad, but I tend to use sarcasm and humor to deal with my pain. Healthy.
I have a couple of pet peeves. Well, many pet peeves. Two I will share with you are:
1) when people spell things wrong. Not accidentally, but on purpose. Like "Kwik-E-Mart." Even "Krispy Kreme." Was that supposed to be clever? OH MY GOD, WE SO NEED TO STOP THERE AND GET SOME PEANUTS, HOW CUTE AND CLEVER, THEY SPELLED "QUICK" LIKE WITH A "K" AND A "W"... HAHAHA. WOW! Sorry about that. I hate that. [with this pet peeve in mind, if you decide to post a comment, please don't use words like "BCuz" and "C-ya" and "Boyz"]
2) when people invite me out to dinner and then ask where I want to go. Hate that.

Ok, I'll let the other bloggers introduce themselves to you, internet. I promise I won't overuse exclamation points or the word "blogging." Another pet peeve!!!! Exclamation points should ONLY be used to make fun of people who use exclamation points.

Blogger 3:
I guess it's my turn. Hello all my fellow bloggers (i hate that word. I will never use it again. mark. my. word.) You can call me Shan. All my best friends do, and since we're about to get personal......I'm from Ohio, went to school in North Carolina, and now call ATL home. I also am kinda hot, and share the exact same sentiments that Kris does on hotness. I work for a rather large commercial real estate company (don't get too excited, I work in customer service, and get bitched at and complained to all. day. long. Sweet. I love my life.) I'm 25 years old, and have more fun I guess than the average 25 year old. Example: we got a keg last weekend and kicked it in under 4 hours. Now, don't get the impression that we drink too much...alright, you may get that impression. But honestly, we work hard and play hard, in that order. Who am I kidding? A little more about me.....I can get distracted easily, and sometimes my attention is a hard thing to keep. Read: I do not listen to boring people. If you have a boring story, please keep it to yourself. I think I have Adult ADD. Seriously.And, to go with the theme, a few of my pet peeves....I was actually thinking of these the other day for my own knowledge. I am so cool.
1. Pennies. Always has been. Don't ask why, you will neither be amused or entertained by the response.
2. Text messages....pick up the phone already. There is no need for someone to be a "master" when it comes to text messaging. You know who I'm talking about.
3. Traffic. AHHHHHHHHHH.
4. Stupidity. No need to elaborate.
5. Missy Elliott.
And I have to throw this in.....I was just recently a "victim" of one of Kris's pet peeves. I have to defend myself. When I asked you if you wanted to get a "bite", I was merely asking if you wanted to take part in our quest of the perfect food extablishment at the moment and if you cared to join. I will be more careful next time with my wording. Ass.
Alright, guess that's it for the "about me" entry. Please rest assured that you will be both highly entertained and amused by our writings/findings. We are a rare breed of girls here. Love us, hate us, just read us. Ha, who the hell do I think I am?? Until next time. Peace. Love. All that crazy shiat.

We've got to start somewhere

2005-03-15T13:34:00.000-08:00

Let me start off by saying that what is to follow is absolutely one of the finest writing samples from Aubrey. You see, a group of us girls used to go out every Wednesday night in an attempt to try new restaurants and be able to catch up on our week. What in turn actually happened was us ending up inevitably at The Tavern, getting hammered, and having to drag our stank asses to work the next day. And live to write about it all. Aubrey was in charge of writing the weekly re-caps. I say was because we no longer partake in these Wednesday night festivities we dubbed "WYNDIC." It was the cooler version of WNDC. It stands for "Weekly Wednesday Night Dinner/Drinking Club." I know there is nothing that the "I" represents. It just makes it flow better. And, I know as well, not that creative. But it sounds funny when said...say it with me.....W-Y-N-D-I-C. Ha. Anyways, here is an entry from Aubrey's 24th birthday last year. Hilarity at it finest. Even though you don't know the people, who cares. We will inevitably talk about them enough on this blog that you'll feel as though you do.

Due to my inability to formulate complete sentences yesterday, the recap is a day late. Yes, Wednesday's festivities rendered me inoperative for an entire day, but as always, totally worth it! Let me begin by thanking each of you for a fabulous birthday celebration – martinis, good; sushi good; friends, gooood.

Onto some details to jog your memory of the evenings events…*disclaimer* my memory of the night is rather hazy, therefore I cannot be held accountable for any inaccuracies or lies my drunken mind may have fabricated.

We started off the night right – Kris knew the bartender and we were promptly served huge shots. I guess technically they’re called “shooters”…but they were strong enough to be considered “will grow hair on your chest” shots.

Thanks to Twist’s 2 hour wait, errbody was feelin’ a lil’ tipsy before ordering the raw fish (good combo…my stomach is still furious with me).
The wait however, was tolerable considering our delightful conversations. All topics were covered. Everything from the crisis in Iraq, to “no seriously, it was so big and heavy he couldn’t get it up…and that’s not even the largest one I’ve been with.” Thank you, Dana.

Unfortunately, there are no Elizabeth “gold-digger” stories this week; HOWEVER, l will break-out one from the previous week. Last week, Dana generously gave a gentleman a cigarette; in return, he graciously bought HER a drink. Biz selectively hears “free drink” and decides to go ahead and get a drink on the gentleman’s tab…”What?! We’re her friends!” As usual, good work.

We lost some soldiers after dinner, but Shan, Dane and I were in it for the long haul. To document our ongoing efforts, I gave my digital camera to the “gangster” on the side of the street. Shockingly, he didn’t steal my camera and took a decent picture. Despite this, we still ran away in fear…”Hurry! He’s going to shoot us in the back”

Surviving our near attack, we comforted ourselves with more drinks at the Tavern, and the company of Jack, Larry and Jay.

Dana and Aubrey get sentimental in the bathroom. Yes, the female gender is known to do such things on a common basis, but seeing as Dana and I pride ourselves on being hard-asses, this is a rare occurrence. We became upset, naturally, that we weren’t friends in college. Don’t worry everyone; we decided this is not such a bad thing. You see, had we been around to influence each other (like we do) college-style, we wouldn’t have seen graduation day. It’s much better that our friendship developed now that we’re mature and responsible. ha.

Dana and Jay get in their usual fight…”I looked happier in the picture than you!” Must be hard to be in such a dysfunctional relationship.

I topped-off the night with a blow-job shot. Larry was the lucky guy. The pictures are very incriminating, and the perverts next to us enjoyed seeing whipped cream on my face a Little. Too. Much.

Larry, Jack, Shan and I did venture to another bar, but my memory is too muddled to even attempt. I do remember Jack and Larry doing a pole dance together. jk...maybe.

Well gals, another WYNDIC, another birthday. I feel fortunate that I get to celebrate both occasions with each of you.

And there you have it. Aubrey, ladies and gentleman. Until next time, peace, love, and all that shiat.