Reason #423 I Should Not Be Left To My Own Devices

Because I will embarass myself. And at the time, while "said embarassing act" is happening, I will giggle it off. Because look at me, I am ss-tt-r-ee-aa-k-i-nnn-ggggg, and, gosh, isn't it funny? It's not just for movies and your movie-watching giggles.

Said embarrassing act usually involves wine. Or beer. Or liquor. Really, whatever is handy.

And I don't know why I am even telling you this because I really am embarrassed for myself. My cool egg has been cracked. When The Internet only knows me as poised.

Sigh. Alas, I didn't go streaking. (See, e.g., Movies, Cinema, Magazines, The Occassional Celeb Car Exit.)

You know (but you really don't) how I have waxed poetically in my head because this blog has been so 2005. I haven't wanted to write about the general malaise I have experienced over the last year (or longer?). Dr. Phil didn't try bailing me out of my depression. Alas, I had to pull myself up by the Juicy sweats and off of the baked potato cloud that my butt was wedged in and say, "Really, Self, this shit has got to stop. So what if people have disappointed you. So what if life is kind of going on and all your friends are well along that ride but you can't seem to catch a break."

So I hibernated all winter long. Just like a Bear in a den (but with the benefit of a TV). It was a chore to have to go out and be social and act the part of a person who actually enjoys being around people. Imagining them as gummy bear characters wrapped in baked potato coats (winter, duh) helped. But then that gets creepy. Or fun, however you look at it. I pick fun.

Anyway, so I got really pale staying in and now it is spring and the daisies are sprung and I just want to go out all the time now. People are no longer gummy bears to me, but actually people I can converse with. They're one of me now. Don't get me wrong, I still don't want to small talk and give a weekend transcript of my comings and goings. And I still want to give out fashion citations to passers-by while sitting outside at Mexicali Blues.

And so I go out now. And I went out, in particular and for purposes of a point, last Saturday night. And this caged bird had herself some cocktails, both before I went out to have cocktails and after I came home from cocktails. So, cocktails bookending cocktails, you see?

You see where I am going with this, right? I'll tell you, far away from any respectable option, such as:

• Oh, it's 1:30 AM, I am going to put my pajamas on and GO TO BED.
• Oh, it's 1:30 AM, I am going to put my pajamas on and GO TO BED.
• Oh, it's 1:30 AM, I am going to put my pajamas on and GO TO BED.

Yeah, that message I did not get.

So, I proceeded to pour the Heavy Pour of the bottle of wine I started earlier in the evening and I got out my laptop and proceeded to email people. Guys, really. Guys, I haven't talked to since before the Winter Hibernation. Guys I've never met in person, guys I've only went out with once, and guys who I have been doing the Metro Dance with for two years now.

While this is going on, one guy actually emailed me right back. At 1:30 AM. And I am this close to doing the, "Can he seem me?" duck behind my couch. Because it is not far-fetched to believe that computers have special powers.

The other guy, I can't even bring myself to see what I wrote to him. I don't even remember his name. I think it was Tim? I went out with him once and I wore a charcoal gray turtleneck which is so not my color and so not my fashion pick and where did it come from. He was during the Great Winter Depression and did not get the Best of Me. I'm pretty sure I curled my lip in a sneer the one time we went out and he talked about duck hunting. I also stuck 2 daisies in his eye sockets and released a dove in his name and walked around him in a circle holding a sign that said, "Ducks are People too.". But why did I email him and WHAT on earth did I say? We will never know because I can't bring myself to look at my Sent folder. Shocker that I never heard back from him.

The third one is harmless really. And he really warrants his own post. So that is forthcoming.

So, right about now, you, Dear Reader, are probably thinking, "how lame" because you were probably expecting something embarrassing along the lines of having a booger hang out of my nose on a first date. Just trust me when I say, I really didn't need to carry on like I did.

But, in the end, it is a good thing that I am at least entering civilization again and appreciating people for the people that they are and not the gummy bears that they were.

Two pizzas walk into a bar...

My motto on friendship: A good friend is someone you call when you are in jail...a best friend is in the next cell over saying, "Damn that was fun!"

And so it begins.

It is the Friday of Memorial Day weekend and Mav and I can not believe we are actually in town. It is her birthday weekend after all. But after the debacle of last Memorial Day, it really isn't that bad - this being in town business. And since her and Morgan are "working from home" in some wireless environment that wasn't a bar, and I was "slaving" away at the office catching up on the music blogs and zines, it was only a matter of seconds until the three of us jumpstarted the three day weekend.

So Mav, Morgan and I settle into the glorious summer day on a deck with a grill (insert Miami joke here) and like a gazillion beers. I know, settle if we must. After all this consumption of food and I should pause right here to give that a mention. Mav WAS the grillmaster of some lovely kebabs - steak AND chicken, veggies, corn on the cob and various sausages (andouille, hot AND sweet italian). The food being swished down with the beers. But somewhere between beer number 1 and 20 (I'm not sure where as calculations were not being kept and none of us are accountants), things took a turn for the worse, as Mav suddenly found herself hanging off the deck writhing in the pain of what could only be alien babies taking over her stomach because her stomach was giving her that sign - the one that closes up shop and says, "Enough, bitch! Get this shit out of here." Except the shit - or the alien babies - whatever was terrorizing her stomach -was having a little problem finding a new home, which Mav was choosing to be a pile of leaves - her hanging off the deck, just inches from the citronella tiki lanterns.

Those buggers in her belly needed some coaxing along. Our dear friend was in pain! So good friends that we were, we each took turns holding Mav's hair back as we concocted the following story to help her along to feeling better.

So in the name of releasing alien babies, this story was born, as told by Me, Morgan and (enter stage left) Diamond who had just returned with a bottle of Moet, a birthday cake and three iPod shuffles for the gals. Best housewarming gift ever? Oh, that's right, it is his house. How about - best boyfriend/fiance ever! (Seriously awesome, Diamond!)

The Perfect Storm (Or I Licked The Tongs)

Two pizzas walk into a bar. (And not just any bar, it's Jay's Elbow Room.) Meat Lover Pizza says to Anchovy Pizza, "J'u wanna pizza me?" And Anchovy P. responds, "I'll slice you a new one, Meat Head!"

The Pizzas could go on all day talking like this, this was their song and dance. But today was unlike no other because just when Sausage, the bartender (Hot Italian) - pipes into the bad joke gone awry with, "I'll blow a casing if you guys don't stuff it!" a Raw Chicken Breast Cutlet walks into the bar and saddles up in between the two pizzas rubbing against them as breasts will do. One could say she might be flirting. Others might call her "easy." Hot Italian Sausage Bartender offers them up a round of shots. That dirty fella - Anchovy P. - wants the Buttery Nipple and Meat Lover wants the Three Kings. So two shots they do.

The Breast gets on top of the bar top and does the chicken dance to nobody's interest but Mr. Peanut from the peanut bowl. Then the Marlboro Man rides in on...a horse? A Harley (on account of Memorial Day in DC)? No - he chooses a dirty ashtray as his magic carpet ride. And he rides into the Elbow Room in a cloud of smoke as only the Marlboro Man can do. He looks around the Elbow Room and then flicks his lit cigarette which gets embedded in the breast that is the raw chicken which slowly cooks her to...a Southern. Fried. Chick. Which, incidently, cures the dirty whore of any disease she was walking around with.

But the Salmonella is out there. The Pizzas and her didn't use protection and certainly didn't wash up afterwards. And Raw Chicken really got around this evening in the Elbow Room. At this point, the pizzas are not feeling so hot as Salmonella has opened up a Disco ontop of Meat Lover Pizza and a Third World Country on Anchovy P.

But now Chicken Breast is Smoking Hot. This is when the illegal immigrant working in the back of the Elbow Room - Del Taco - decides to get him some of that Breast now that she's all warmed up. Only he has no arms and no legs, him being a taco. So he pours a stream of tequila on which he slides into the Elbow Room. Southern Fried Chick jumps off the bar, excited for her third drink of the evening, swims into the tequila, and slides into the fold of the taco. The cigarette butt still stashed in her breast.

While a disco inferno is brewing on the pizzas and Marlboro Man is pulsating to the beat of the disco music in his dirty ashtray, Sean Connery walks into the bar. He is hungry and sees the taco and takes a bite. A bite that has the lit cigarette.

Well, the combination that is the Hotness of Sean Connery (we had to scratch Louie Anderson for this very important plot development) and the burning butt caused Sean's head to BLOW RIGHT OFF. But he is still hungry so a headless Sean Connery sits on the Pizzas. Hot Italian Sausage has backed into the corner - he doesn't want to be anywhere near that region, even if it is Sean Connery. He takes off for the Sausage Factory. Mr. Peanut, dancing across the bartop, ditches his cane and heads for the Peanut Gallery. And the Marlboro Man goes up in a puff of smoke - the Big C finally taking him over and leaving tobacco lobbyists without a job.

End scene: It's closing time in Jay's Elbow Room and Jay sweeps up the reamins of the day....sausage bits, pizza crusts, taco shells, peanut shells, and the town drunk with no head (little does Jay know he has a movie star in his dust pan). To Jay, it's just another day in the life of the Elbow Room...

The end.

An hour and half later, the story came to a close, but not until Mav had finally released a stomach's worth of discontent all over the back yard. More fodder for the dust pan at Closing Time. The story was a successful means to that end, Dear Friend.

Cheap Thrills To Be Found South Of The Border

When To Turn Down A Beer

If you are on a very crowded deck, on a Saturday night, singing along to a band, where girls walk around with buckets of beer, and you happen to be holding an empty coosie when some guy comes up behind you and first asks you your name and then asks if you would like a beer, and you say, yes....what do you owe the guy?

What if he looked like he swallowed a small child? He gave new meaning to beer gut is what I'm saying.

Well if you are me, you endure him tapping your ass for about 4 songs, which was enough time to finish the beer. And then you move, because you realize you can afford the $4 beer without a Small Child Eater slapping your ass.

What To Do When You Don't Know The Words

Karaoke finds me. And it is getting a little scary. I don't even like singing that much. But the world is strange these days. Dare I say, things are falling into place? No, I didn't say that. God, please take that off the record. Woe is me, hail mary, I'm deeply indebted to you.

This weekend at the beach, there were instruments and microphones and lots of music and a makeshift stage in the little friendly house out front. At 1 AM Mav and I took to the stage. All night long until 4AM.

So when you find yourself not remembering the words, because, oh, it's late and you should be in bed and not opening a miller lite at 3 AM, insert "mexican hat" EVERYWHERE in song.

Since you been gone
You got a mexican hat, yeah-yeah

I'm in over my head
With a mexican hat

Going downtown in a mexican hat

Girls just wanna have fun
Oh, girls in a mexican hat just wanna have fun

Don't wanna be an american idiot
(in a mexican hat)

You get the picture.

And so when someone asks you the next day how the Mexican Hat song goes, you can answer: "Like every song you have ever heard before!"

Dear Diary: You Had To Be There

Memorial Day Weekend 2005...The kickstart to a summer of Fun.
1 Beach House + 11 House Mates + 11 Cases of Beer + 4 Days + 4 IPods + 4 Bars Within Walking Distance = A GoshDarn Good Time

It is hard to describe it and I tend to shy away from giving a play-by-play diary recap of my weekend doings because, frankly, I'm sure you care. There were just so many hilarious moments of the weekend that tend to be of the you-had-to-be-there variety. Really. Case in point: At one point over the weekend, I was making eye contact with a cute boy. Mav and Goose were both talking to boys. I thought of something and shared it with Mav, Mav told Goose, and then the three of us were literally doubled-over with laughter. The something I said could only be funny to the three of us because it had to do with an inside joke we had working all weekend long that NEVER got old. Never. The inside joke came about kind of piecemail - everything that happened or that we encountered kind of contributed to it - and it stuck.

So now the evidence of the Not Funny. The cute boy took this as his opportunity - us sprawled together cracking up - to move in.

Cute Boy: What is so funny?
Me: {chuckle, snort, chuckle}
Cute Boy: You just made these girls crack up? What is so funny?
Me: I said - {chuckle, gasp} - I said - Wait! - You really won't think this is funny. Trust me.
Cute Boy: Try me.
Me: OK. So, I told my "mom" that I feel like the stepchild of the family and blah-blah-blah (Note to readers: trust me on this, not funny to you so edited to spare you.)
Cute Boy: ????
Me: And- (And he is not laughing.)
Cute Boy: Yeah. That wasn't funny. {Turns away, then turns back.} Oh, and tell that guy standing behind your friend to turn his collar down.
{Once Cute Boy turns and walks away into the darkness. His switch went out but he just set off another lightbulb of hilarity in my head. Time to share with the girls!}
Me (turning to Mav and Goose to tell them what he said because if only he knew how funny that was because he just touched on another inside joke): He said...
Me, Mav, and Goose: {Doubled-over yet again in laughter while the Guy With The Collar Up is still standing behind Mav}

Once Cute Boy became a contributor. And this is really how the weekend went. Funny on the inside, but probably not funny on the outside. The Unfunny will be our Funny. You may just shrug your shoulders and walk away too. But the Guy With The Collar Up Who Keeps Standing Behind Mav is gone now, so let's go with this...

The Car Drive Down, Friday. With my old friend, Mav, and my new friend, Goose. Just three girls zipping east in a shiny, pretty car, packed to the floorboard and ceiling, trunk to front seat, in beach towels, coolers of beers, beach chairs, and stereo equipment, while listening to Mav's Playlist in which she streamed the best party tunes a girl could want. The weekend was off to a good start. I love these gals.

The Bay Bridge. Poor Goose can not drive over the Bay Bridge. She is embarrassed about this but I don't think she should be. I am not afraid of heights and I find the Bay Bridge terrifying. My dad would never drive over it, so I understand it. Mav drove then. Goose in the backseat with a pillow over her face: "Is it over yet?" Me and Mav in the calming voice, "Almost over, honey. Hang in there." Until...the car accident that we just missed involving a PT Cruiser and a golf cart. Yes, a golf cart. How fast do those things go? So we were temporarily held up at the top of the bridge. We eventually made it over and Goose survived. We were ready for the Double Arches now.

The KMart KeyMaker, The KMart Gift Card, And The KMart Bathing Suit. Two trips to the Big K over the weekend. One to get keys made by someone who may or may not have worked there and another to return said keys. Because they DIDN'T WORK. So the return amounted in a lovely $44.80 gift card to which Goose replied to the Customer Service rep in her sweetest, "motherly" voice, "Oh, honey, I'm not coming back here." The girl has never been in a KMart before. Do they even have any in DC? Also in KMart, Mav was able to score a "delightful", shimmery, flourescent, turn-the-lights-down, day-glo, glistening and blinding and - you get the picture - swimsuit because she packed for the BEACH and went to the BEACH with NO SWIMSUIT. In the store, we were like, "Oh, that's cute, that'll do." On the beach the next day, we were like, "Damn, what were you thinking buying that thing? Who told you that looked cute?" Friends. That red bathing suit then became a House fashion show staple, modeled by Goose over her lovely Soccor Mom sweathsirt.

The Crazy Old Lady Who Lives Out Back With The Big Beautiful House That Semi-Blocks Our View. She's crazy. Bipolar maybe. Or drunk. Or sad. Crazy Old Lady likes to come out back and yell up at our deck while it is still light out about how we need to get to the bars and she will call the cops on us because our voices are too loud and our laughs are too much. The next day she was all sunshine in her conversation with us, asking how our night was. It was like the movie Groundhog Day because we witnessed the same conversation and the same Crazy every night.

Backyard Entertainment. Some in the house got to witness Crazy Old Lady's Late Night Drunken Gentleman Caller banging on her door, "Leett mmee iinn!! I wwoonnn'ttt ddiissaappppooiinntt youuuu!" That plea was repeated all weekend long. It never got old.

A Dog Named Fu Manchu AKA Fu. Crazy Old Lady's dog. We have photo evidence of the Crazy Old Lady screaming up at our balcony in her mumu and poor little Fu looking the other way as if to say, "Who is this Crazy Old Lady? I don't know her. Send help." Goose promises to kidnap Fu by the end of summer and have Fu drive over the Bay Bridge for her because he the Little Dog AKA Fu.

A Game Called Dance Moves. That never got old either. It involved lot of butt-shaking and The Pants Dance and The Ear Muffs. And lots of forgetting of who's move was whose.

House Underwear. Emblazoned with the logo, "Open 24 Hours." The best 99 cents I ever spent. Worn over clothing by many people in the house. Mav even wore them out in public under the Red KMart Bathing Suit and over gray yoga pants. Fashion Maverick, that girl.

The Photo Ops. Many, many photos of the sleeping posing with various objects, including lit cigarettes, stacks and stacks of beer bottles, Soy Chips bags, hats, and the blow-up swordfish that turned into the Where's Waldo of the weekend because he showed up in many pictures. His home is now above the mantel because he was hooked and blown up for our very own house. It's a 20-pounder, I tell ya!

Trashy Beach Reading. Including an article from Cosmo about the "new" "positions" you just must try. Notably one involving a Krispy Creme donut. Donut on a stick, anyone? And one involving saran wrap and humming. I'm guessing they don't mean humming something like, "Cuts Like A Knife" or "The First Cut Is The Deepest." Others involved a lot of right to left, no left to left to right, leg to knee to shoulder, then flip and then stand at a 35 degree angle. And don't breathe. You would need cue cards to follow along.

Random Characters. Remember the "it's Brad Pitt in disguise" story that ran about a year ago where it was supposedly him with the long hair, hat, straggly beard in cognito? Well That Guy was at the beach. Except he really wasn't That Guy. There was also the guy in the British flag skivvies, strutting his stuff, not shy in the least. Also, the Big Burly Branded Black Guy who told Goose he would do her all night long any way she wanted. And, the Guy With The Cracked Head, who took a dive over the ledge into the water and cracked his head open on the rocks. Owww.

Words Of The Day. It's "delightful." "What a delight it is to still smell your scent on my clothes." "Outstanding." "He's a Fu." "Holla(back)." And finally, "I hate people."

Hooch, My Weekend Boyfriend. {Sigh} Good kisser. I think he was cute. Doctor. Phone number demander. He will never call.

Road Rage On The Car Ride Home. The crazy family of four that would not let us in at a merge, the father grimacing all stone-faced shaking his fist in the air, the two daughters in the backseat flicking us off, and the mother all Mrs. Cleaver there-there-family about it. So we took photos.

Bed At 8:00 On Monday Night.

See? Wish you were there.

On A Date, I Am A Class Act...Always

So I had the date on Friday, which, going into, I was very nervous about. It was with a guy I briefly dated about a year ago. I blew him off at the time - a case of possible right guy, definitely wrong time. As in, my heart was foolishly somewhere else. But now I am in such a better place. So I contacted him a few weeks ago and after a couple emails, I suggested meeting for a drink. Surprisingly, he agreed.

We were meeting after work - at a bar I had never been to nor heard of. Instead of believing that a guy maybe did want to see me - and maybe even happily - I instead went through all these revenge-seeking scenarios he was going to seek against me. Like...Does this bar really exist? I have never heard of it. Is he sending me on a wild goose chase? Or will he throw a drink over my head? So then do I take my new sizzling leather jacket off before I sit down? He can take my dignity but not ruin my wardrobe. Maybe he will just do the tried and true and stand me up? Maybe he plans on berating me - and all his friends will be in attendance? Everyone will laugh at me. Maybe I will show up naked, forgetting to put on my clothes. Maybe I will have to stand on the bar and recite the Declaration of Independence or sing a Celine Dion song a capella. Whoops...you see, I got creative with these scenarios and they were taking a turn into Scary Things Than Could Happen and my Fear of Public Speaking. So, I got back on track and decided to focus on the outfit - carefully chosen. But by the time Friday 6:00 rolled around my stomach was in a tangled knot of nerves.

I cabbed over and was anxiously propped on the bar stool by 6:15. So the bar did exist! And it couldn't be more perfect. Then he came sauntering out from the back. He couldn't be more relaxed and this made me more relaxed. We jumped right into conversation and didn't stop talking or drinking all night. So I escaped having a drink poured over my head! Golly, I was having a fine time so bartender pour me another Belvedere Soda and another and another and another and another. Oops...hiccup...giggle...giggle...time to stop, time to go home. Yes, it was time to call it a night and he kindly offered to drive me home.

The poor dear. Because somewhere between drink #1 and drink #60, I took a nosedrive into the Outer Limits of Coherence - where wacky hijinks can be had. Here is where the fun really begins.

Things I did on the date I was trying to impress:

Had him pull over so I could throw up on the side of the road. Wait! I'm prone to motion sickness. I throw up on airplanes with the faintest bit of turbulence. I am not drunk. But then again, I started to think that maybe I was. Yep, I think I am. Pull over!

Ran right out of the car, never said "bye" or "thanks" or "let's do this again". Nope, just split. I ran right up to my apartment and laid down on my kitchen floor because nothing says drunk like that.

Then the phone rings...it is him! Downstairs, he wants to come up. I want him to come up! But for the life of me, I can not remember how to buzz him up. I am pushing "pound"..."nine"...is it "three"...don't know how I finally got the door to buzz open, but he made it. Heellllooooiieee...(and there may have been two or three of him).

And so, what is the one thing you should probably never ask a guy on a date? If he would like to lay on the kitchen floor with you? Yes. That would be it. You know what I did? I asked him if he would lay on the kitchen floor with me. Beauty. What would his answer be? "Well, no, but I will lay on the living room floor with you." It's got carpet! Good idea...I like smart men! Poor guy, he was just obliging me. So I think in the middle of making out there, I excused myself to throw up again. I know what is happening here - I had no food. In hindsight, he should have fed me. Purrr...(my behavior is kind of kitty-like tonight).

And at the end of the night, when he probably decided he had enough of my drunk ass, I capped off his good night kiss with a roll...of the lint brush. The poor dear was covered in cat hair. So I rolled him.

In the morning, I woke up with a skinned knee, a bruise on my hip bone, and only one eye washed of make up. And I'm sure my hair was all over the place. I chuckled to myself thinking lucky for him he only got to see last night's act.

He has called and we laughed about it. So I don't think I scared him away. Besides, I really do not think I could be with a guy who couldn't appreciate the wackiness that will sometimes follow me and a few cocktails.

Although, I regret not being able to remember the kiss. I want a replay. And eventually I'd like to be able to ask him into my bed and not my kitchen floor.

The Weekend of Tragicomedy

:( Tragic: The Yukkell telling me he will marry (someone else) in June. He prefers the "old lady" and eight sad little (fatherless) pigtails.

:) Comedy: Spending all day Saturday in a bar where people are dressed as Guinness bottles and cans. Waved at by the bottle, toasted by the bottle, all the while believing that Beer likes me (the Sally Field kind of humbling you-really-like-me)...and feeling at home.

Later, attend a wine inventory reduction party (not in the spirit of Reduce-Reuse-Recyle but "I live a life of Excess and you can have some of my riches") and do my part not to disappoint.

At some point in the day, thinking you lost your purse, calling the bar from the taxicab wondering if purse is left behind, sending the bar staff on a hunt for the "missing" purse only to discover that you've been sitting on it the whole time. At what point in the day did I lose all feeling in my ass?

Amusing myself with how much better that story would have been if I had just called my ass.

Brunch on Sunday with The Yukkell. Drag queens, bloody marys, wasabi cucumbers....remembering - and already missing - Him as part of the equation of Us - as this could be the last time you share his company. As he lingers around, you know he feels it too.

Finally, deciding to unilaterally put an end to the despressing winter by wearing my new open-toe wedge sandals.....new shoes = new attitude = new beginning? (Do I have a choice?)