Postage Stamps are Bad Luck

Okay, so I know I've been slacking on this blog and while there is never an excuse for slacking I would just like to say that my reasons are as follows:

1.) Some jealous chick who apparently has nothing better to do with her time than stalk me on the internet and try to ruin my life by telling my non-boyfriend that I am cheating on him and spreading my blog links around the office got a hold of not only this blog but my personal one as well. I'm not really upset her reading and subjecting everybody else to reading the content of my personal blog but what I'm more upset about is the name of the blog. I really hate the name of that blog. It was really lame and I'm slightly embarrassed by it.

So the whole point is, that I left this blog open to "invitees" only and thats really no fun, thus I had no motivation to update. But alas, I digress and wonder why I pretended to give a shit when in theory, I don't give a shit about much nor do I have anything to hide. However; I think I did offend one of the readers of this blog and while she was not meant to read it, it was not my intent to offend anybody and I apologize in advance if I do. Please, if you find yourself referenced with a nickname, Don't.Get.Offended. I honestly mean no harm. The nicknames are good fun-loving humorous nicknames which may or may not play on peoples' flaws. The fact of the matter is, we all have flaws and they are funny. For example, I have one huge ear and it is not rolled in on the edges...you know what I mean how normal ears kind of curl in, yea mine doesn't do that. I also have a point on the tip of my nose and despite doing hundreds of sit-ups every other day, my belly still jiggles. I also have an excessive drinking problem. Please feel free to come up with creative nicknames.

2.) I believe I am beginning to run out of stories (gasp). I mean, there definitely has not been a lack of alcohol consumption in combination with idiotic decisions I decide to make. I guess the real problem is that when excessive alcohol consumption becomes a way of life, one (such as myself) might start to get confused as to whether their behavior is actually funny or if it has crossed the line into common (and thus unfunny) everyday behavior. For example:

A couple of weeks ago I was out with my Chicas from Alexendria. Chicas doesn't mean they are Hispanic, just a general term I was using for "girls", but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, I drank about 1/4 bottle of vodka with a splash of cranberry on my back porch while eaves dropping and trying to get a good glance at the boys next door before I left. I like to think that pre-gaming saves me money but in actuality, it just gets me more drunk.

So I meet them in Clarendon and we have a pretty eventless night. Fun, but eventless. I mean, the drama for the night was that we got followed around by a group of degenerate boys and were forced to leave the bar because they had crossed that line between stage 10 creepers and straight out stalkers. I think they rufied our drinks too. After that is when my memory gets a little foggy. I know this because I have pictures that I don't remember taking to prove it...honestly, no recollection of the photo in my camera of my 2 friends with some boys that apparently were friends of one of my friends. Man I'm an asshole. What I do remember though, and where I must have 'come to' (if you will) is gracefully tripping out of the metro train and vomiting on the platform. This has become somewhat of a tradition for me if you've read this blog from the beginning. I believe I was at the Smithsonian Metro Stop when this happened, because I remember thinking, "Thank God I'm close to home and way to chrissen our nations capital with your barf...stay classy A, stay classy."

After demonstrating my fascinating upchuck reflex to any lucky winner who happened to be standing on the platform at that moment, I got on the next train and apparently passed out. I vaguely remember trying to keep my eyes open and noticing a homely looking older couple gazing at me in disgust. I hate to break it to you Pops, but your daughter is out doing the same thing right now...well, maybe not.

The next thing I remember, I'm waking up. I can't recall if I just woke up on my own or if the metro police or whatever they are had to wake me up because:
A.) We were at the end of the orange line (I couldn't remember which line I was on until days later my friend solved the mystery by reminding me that only the orange line runs through Clarendon. Thank-you Cornwad) or
B.) It was 3:00 in the morning and the metro had stopped running.

I believe it was the latter but probably a combination of both. So, I stumble off the metro and I remember being extremely offended that the metro police helped some fat black lady but didn't help me. I couldn't figure this out but it COULD have been that I reeked of vodka and cranberry scented puke. Well luckily, there was a cab waiting outside of the metro who offered to take me home but he immediately demanded $20 when I slopped myself into the cab. This was the first time in my life that I was so drunk that I had to put my cab ride on layaway. Let me tell you that a $25 cab ride is the longest cab ride in the world. My head felt so heavy that I'm shocked it didn't fall off my neck. But alas, I got home and apparently paid the cabbie, took whatever cash I had left (about $20), put it in my purse and left my wallet including everything in it the cab. This would include my credit cards, I.D., military I.D., Insurance Card and checkbook. It really sucked losing all that stuff but what really got me was the postage stamps in there. I had at least a half a book left. Man I hate buying those things.

Funny? Or another "typical life in the day of..."? I just don't know.

Another Bathroom Story.

One city that I have always wanted to go to for some unknown reason, was Chicago. Actually, I’m pretty sure my desire to go there stemmed from a book I read called “Devil in the White City”, about a serial killer going after females during the World Fair in Chicago in 1893. Well, last March, I had the chance to do that. My friend Zog was going on a business trip and offered to extend his hotel room through the weekend so that I could come and stay in Chicago with him. I booked the flight about a month a head of time and all I had to do was keep myself happy and out of trouble until that time came. Fortunately, I like to sabotage all relationships and every possible positive situation in my life, if this were not the case, well, I wouldn’t have all of these stories to tell.

The trip was doomed from the beginning due to a bad snowboarding weekend I had with the Zog. Granted, this was not really his fault, but it was definitely not ALL my fault. The only fault of mine that I claim in the situation is inviting him to come on the trip in the first place. What I really need to do is to stop fooling myself into thinking I can get along with people, and just travel alone. I do not play well with others, but alas, I am who I am.

So the Zog and I were not on the best terms when it was time for this trip but we were cordial and I was still super excited to finally get the chance to explore Chicago. The trip was in March so the weather conditions were definitely not ideal. I believe the temperature was somewhere in the 20s and while I’m not all in touch with how fast the winds were blowing, let me assure you, it was freaking windy, making the wind chill…cold as balls.

I left for the airport on a late Friday afternoon, wearing jeans, high heals, a ¾” length black t-shirt, some jewelry and a long, very expensive wool coat from Ann Klein. The flight went well and I was waiting for my luggage when I realized there were tons of delays and people sitting around the airport due to cancelled flights from a snowstorm, somewhere in…lets say the Mid-West (I honestly don’t remember). So there I was waiting…and waiting, and waiting. Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that my luggage was definitely not in that airport…damnit. GODdamnit. At the same moment, the Zog had called and we realized he had gone to the wrong airport to pick me up, on the other side of Chicago. So now I am waiting for my luggage and my ride. I have nothing on me except my purse containing my wallet, some lipgloss, a twisted Chuck Paliunuk book and my house keys. I am tired and irritated, and I don’t know how to tell Zog how to get to the damn airport and he is asking me directions…funny thing is, how am I supposed to know because I’ve never been to Chicago before!

Low and behold, Zog finally gets to the airport and I was being rather quiet because I wasn’t in the best of moods…and then the doting starts. Yes, the Zog likes to dote on me. Now, not sure how many readers know me personally but I DO NOT like to be doted. I’m pretty sure it irritates me more than anything in the entire world. Yes, I am fine. No, I don’t need anything or I’d get it myself. Again, Yes I am fine. Nope, there is nothing else anybody can do. Please shut the fuck up or I may stick my head under the front wheel of this tire so that I don’t have to answer your meaningless questions anymore.

Obviously at this point, the trip is already slightly a debacle. But we get to the hockey game and I’m starting to calm down a little bit. We have a few beers and after not eating all day long I start to get a little tipsy. Zog is still doting because that is what he does, so about ¾ of the way through the game I “go to the bathroom” for a bit so that I can slightly lose him, moreso that I don’t kick him in the eyeball. As I’m walking around, this group of guys start talking to me. Most of them are older but there are a couple around my age and they are damn hot. It turns out, the one guy is a recruiter for the competitor of the company I was working for at the time. Needless to say, we get into conversation and I end up hanging out the rest of the game with them. When it is over, we exchange business cards and I go on my merry way, happy to talk to somebody other than the Zog and airport security searching for my luggage. Throughout the entirety of the game, I believe I had about 6-7 beers, which is a lot for a person my size so I think it is safe to say that I was pretty wasted.

The Zog and I then go to “Howl at the Moon” which is a dueling piano’s bar/club. It was a blast when I went to the one in Orlando, so between the promise of an awesome bar and my drunkenness, I was feeling pretty good at this point. However, we get there and Zog won’t get up and dance, he won’t partake in the festivities that the band is engaging the crowd in and he won’t talk to the slightly overweight but still attractive girl that is blatantly hitting on him. So basically, I’ve had enough of this shit. I start scouering the crowd looking for anybody decent to talk to when I hear my name being called. “Dreeeee!” I know there is no rapper in here so I’m looking and looking and wouldn’t you know, my friends from the hockey game were there. Next thing you know, shots are being thrown back, beer is being chugged and my 110 lb body is again, being flooded with alcohol. I actually lose moments of the night at this point, so forgive me if the rest of the story is slightly choppy.

Somehow in the midst of alcohol overload, I find myself up on stage attempting to teach the band how to play piano. Yep, the same guys who played Piano Man flawlessly only moments before. I am Andrea, goddess of Piano suddenly. Why they allowed such a drunken slob such as myself on stage is completely beyond me…entertainment purposes perhaps? Apparently, somebody found it cute because when I got off stage, I was swarmed by a group of British men trying to dance/talk (ha) to me. I would love to have had a video or some type of reminder of the conversation at this point, unfortunately I am left relying on my memory which at that point had taken the night off and was probably throwing up brain cells in a trash can somewhere in my Temporal Lobe. The next thing I remember, I am walking outside to another club with said British Men and I do believe Zog was still with us at this point. We got to the club, had another drink and I am dancing/sexing with one of the British Men. I believe this is the point that Zog is fed up and left, however, I had no knowledge of this until the next morning when he told me he left, slightly perturbed.

So now this is where the night gets REALLY sketchy. I had taken my coat off when we got to the club, and for some reason we moved…perhaps to another floor? Initially, I believe we brought the coat with me. The place was HUGE so god knows where or why we were wandering around. The honest-to-god next thing I remember, I am in the ladies bathroom, smashed up against the back of a yellow stall, with my pants around my ankles. Yep, that’s what I said, pants around the ankles. British man was doing god knows what, but his pants WERE on at that point, thank god. He was groping me? Going down on me? Just checking to see what color panties I was wearing? I have NO idea. But there was definitely making out and other things going on in this stall that were not meant to be going on in a ladies bathroom stall. At that moment, a big muscular bouncer kicks the stall door open and I imagine…shock silence? I don’t know. “Out. Get out.” Funny because I wasn’t even embarrassed, I’m pretty sure I justified the moment by thinking, “Ohhh shit…hahaha, this stuff must happen all the time”. At that point, we clearly decided to leave and this is when I realized I didn’t have my coat. I think we looked for it for a bit and then I just pretty much said fuck it, I will find it tomorrow. BUT, being the smart one that I am, and in my drunken stupor, I never found out the club name or even the exact location. So we hopped in a cab in 20 degree weather without a coat and went back to the hotel with 3 of the 5 British men…not sure where the other ones were at that point. After the chaos in the bathroom stall and the freezing cold air stinging my face, I begin to sober up some at this point. We went back to my hotel and the British man that I had a very short one-night stand with in the ladies bathroom and I were talking on the couch in the hotel lobby when he reveals some very interesting information to me including that he is a farmer in a town somewhere outside of London, that he has a beautiful wife at home and 2 lovely children. Perfect. Juuuuust perfect. I now am an accomplice in committing adultery, with a British man who has children, in a Bathroom stall, in a club of which I am still not sure the name in downtown Chicago. Clearly, I am goddess of all good things in this world. At the same time while married British man and I were having our pleasant conversation on the couch, apparently his friend was violently puking in the men’s bathroom in the hotel lobby. I am not quite sure what happened to the other one because I know there was a third one with us in the cab. It was the concierge at that moment who informed “whomever is not paying to stay in the hotel” must leave and take their “ill friend” with them or the cops would be there immediately to “escort them out of the building”. And that was the end of that night. I never got any of their names.

So, I apparently found my way to my room and wake up the next morning half wasted when I realized I do not have my luggage, I am missing my coat, I did sexual things with a married British man in a club that I do not know the name of, and Zog is so pissed off at me that he can’t even look me in the eye when he tells me how much of an embarrassment I was last night and that is why he left the club. WOW. Just, Wow. I mean, the rest of the trip was spent mostly in the hotel room getting sick. I did run down the street to a very expensive mall without a coat, in which I was informed by everyone on the street that I need to put a coat on, where I bought a fleece so that I had something to wear. I finally got my luggage at around 2 pm that day. Needless to say, the Zog and I did nothing that night and thank god my flight left early afternoon the following day.

Funny though, when I look back at the trip I still tell people that I LOVE Chicago and that I would like to move there one day, and my trip was SUCH a blast. Not sure Zog would say the same, I haven’t really talked to him since then, ha.

The Most Brilliant Idea Ever.

Alright, so this entry has been a collaborative effort with my good friend Pork Chop (formally known as Crazy, she has been upgraded). Last weekend we decided we need new furniture. She needed a T.V. stand, I needed a new bed and a linen cabinet, all from Ikea because we’re poor and that’s about all we can afford. All this talk of furniture lead us into conversation of how frustrating/humiliating it is being a girl and having to move furniture that is way too heavy for us to handle. Generally the act of moving or buying new furniture involves tears, temper tantrums, chucking particle board across the room or simply smashing it on the walls and of course, heavy heavy alcohol consumption. Being as brilliant as we are, we came up with, ladies and gentlemen, the most fabulous idea ever. Please read our Craig’s List Ad below:

Title: (Women seeking men) Damsels in Distress

Two twenty-something, professional women (photos below) seek the assistance of at least 2 strong, single, fun, willing and abled twenty-something men in heavy lifting of furniture in Clarendon, VA this Saturday, December 13^th. We figured we’d give this posting a shot in the personals section.

We are going to Ikea to purchase a bed frame and some other small furniture and would like some help in getting it up two flights of stairs, and assembled if you’re so willing. Beer, pizza, and the company of said twenty-something, fun, single women is how we’d ideally show our thanks. We would also be willing to pay cash and gas if you have a pick-up truck/SUV and would like to take the trip to Ikea and do any necessary furniture shopping with us.

Please send notes of interest, pictures preferred, to Sara and Andrea at below e-mail address. Thanks! J

Now, naturally, with two hot bitches like Pork Chop and myself, we are going to get tons of responses. Last I checked, we hit over 100. I've chosen just a little taste of some of the best/creepiest/most unique responses we have received. See below for your reading pleasure:

• Sara,
  Sorry i don't have a picture. But he is about 5foot 7inches. He is slim, and has dirty blond hair.
  Oh by the way his favorite name is Sara. If you call him, ask him that or he may tell you.
  He is really out going, not lazy, and a good worker and likes to have fun. If your interested
  in a worker just give a call.
  bye,
  jw

Us: Does Luke have Leukemia?
JW: No, not at all. Why you ask that? He has a little too much smart ass and thats about it.
JW (Next Day): Sara, so did you ask Luke to help you move
Us: Haven't, no. Still haven't seen a picture.
JW: i'm sorry i just don't have pictures of my guy friends. call him and maybe he can text you one. are you trying to see how big his muscles are...haha. its worth a try on asking
anyways.
(End of conversation. No picture, no love)

• I bleed testosterone (I'm sure you do Buddy)
  

• hey gals how ya doin a friend and i will b glad tohelp yall out we wont b doing any thing so if u need some help we b glad to give yall a hand i have a full size truck and a trailer if needed im 29 my friend 27 sorrry just got the pc here and dont know the first thing on how to send pic.hell dont even know if u will get the email but if ya do we could help my cell##571-237-1286 if ya want some kind of what we look like i 6'3 brown hair blue eyes 280 my friend 6'2 blond hair hazel eyes 190 talk to ya (Too intelligent)
  

• Sure you all will get lots of offers of help as you are attractive gals, just one guy but do have an F150 pickup. if you wanted my help - may aks you to return favor in a few weeks helping me move stuff (Return the favor? This isn't an exchange. )
  

• Hi,
  You dont know me, my name is Patsy but I saw your ad on craigslist and you sound like someone that my friend might be interested in. He is pretty picky so he doesnt really meet a lot of women so Ithought I would come out here and see if there were any girls that he might be intereted in. He just moved back to the area from overseas.
  He is a great catch, I made a little list ofthings which you might like about him:
  6'0, height and weight proportionate
  Beautiful blue eyes
  Good sense of humor
  Cute laugh
  Sensitive
  Outgoing
  Popular but doesn't know the whole state
  Friends with my friends
  Nice smile
  Straight teeth
  Likes to party
  Grabs my hand to hold
  Dresses nice hehe
  Hasa good job, and is well off
  Makes me laugh
  Open minded
  Polite
  Holds doors for me
  Opens car doors
  Likes all type of music
  Likes going to the movies
  Talks to his friends about me
  Calls me to just sayhi
  Says what he's feeling
  Compliments me
  *Trustworthy*
  Patient
  Likes to shop
  Has good manners
  Occasionally drinks
  Athletic
  
  Is on time for dates
  Calls back later when he says he will
  Wants to meet my family
  Has a cute butt
  Good kissable lips
  Good memory
  Intelligent
  Has direction
  Creative
  Likes everything about me
  Committed
  *My best friend*
  Respectful
  Mature
  Persistent –Hard working
  Has a sexy voice/accent
  Damn, if I wasnt already married, I would be on a date with him right now.
  Let me know if you are interested, you'll be thanking me later.
  Patsy (I mean, I don't even know what to say about this. You can't pawn your affair off on us.)
  

• Too bad you've limited the ad to twenty-somethings. Because if you had said "Creepy 32 year old creeps should also respond to this ad" you'd have gotten me! A creepy 32 year old with an suv and enough creepy strength to help you out. It's ok, you're not the sizes I'm looking for anyway... I'm trying to make a women's suit out of real women. (This one definitely takes the cake)
  

• You ladies are genuises! Combining fun with necessity, and the risk of a blind date. Very daring. I'm disqualifying myself from this search (exceeding age being the first reason) but wanted to wish you luck anyway. Genuis (Yes, yes we are)
  

• Are you serious.. jajaja. this sounds more like a ploy to get some dates..
  which tell you the truth is not bad.. but I'm above the age critique to the next digits...
  and I don 't have a friend to say in his 20's but I do live close by if you dont get anything YOU LIKE... .jajaj that's funny just to think.. let me know..
  
  I have my saturday opened for now.. but who knows...
  good luck..
  oh and I'm latin..
  pictures.. jaja... now comeon.. just to help youmove stuff.. hmmm...
  send me yours and I'll reply with mine.. I'm not that bad..come on...jeje. (What the hell is jaja, jeje? We already posted our pictures. Weirdo.)
  

• Hi 30 yr old white male here with moving experience. I would be happy to provide your moving service for you two. Would a massage exchange be ok? I am married so not looking for sex but just a fun time (A massage? This isn't a fucking spa. Married and not looking for sex, but hanging out with young broads feeling you up doesn't constitute cheating in your head? Maybe you need to get a new head.)
  

• I'd help as long as one of you are single and is looking for a handsome/sexy, athletic, romantic, intelligent and fun guy to come along and rock your world and compliment your life. BTW, don't have a truck but I'd help ya guys. I live right by Claremdon (Please Sir, please rock my world.)
  

• Eat Me
  

Pork Chop: You Wish
Eat Me Boy: nawww. You're pretty ugly. Just sayin'. Retarded too.
BTW, how anyone know that's really you anyway?
Pork Chop: hi hater. guess you'd have to have some faith and find out. seriously, i'm
responding to responses to my ad. You're just lame. peace out and good luck
with that attitude.
Eat Me Boy: I pooped my pants.


On that note, I'm going to end the responses. I WAS going to post photos, but I'm already slightly nervous that I am going to end up in a trash can somewhere with various body parts sprinkled along the road or possibly in somebody's freezer, or maybe even on their dinner plate after posting this to the public. We ultimately ended finding this sexy little medical student to help us about but ended up not meeting up with him anyway. All this work and I put the bed together by myself in under 2 hours. Maybe my next Craig's list posting will be something to the tune of: "Needed: Sexy single male(s) to test brand new Ikea bed. The fat, ugly, small-weenered and inexperienced need not apply." Ha.


P.S. It has been almost 1 week (and 2 days past the date of supposed furniture retrieval day) since our ad was posted. The ad has gotten flagged and removed from Craig's list multiple times and I am STILL getting responses.

Piss.

So, have you ever hit that point in life where you’ve seriously reached an all-time low? I mean...the point where if it gets any worse, your next best option is to make a nice clean slit in your jugular and drain yourself all of life-inducing bodily fluids? Yea...I had that, or so I hope. The worst part about it is that I was such a bitch prior to the experience that I probably deserved it. I should have listened closer to Justin Timberlake when he preached, “What goes around comes around, comes around, comes all the way back arouuuund”.

It started as a typical Tuesday night at Fado’s in Chinatown. Every Tuesday we went to this Irish Bar and got there super early so that we could get a seat to play trivia (another instance in where I am so cool I can’t even deal with it). So, for the servers’ sake, they request that each person playing trivia spend a minimum of $10. Well, I never have a problem doing this because I’m an alcoholic and believe in getting wasted at every chance I get, but some of my other group members don’t always eat or drink $10 worth of food or drink.

Anyway, so we are coming to the end of the trivia game when our waitress comes and starts bugging us incessantly about ordering and that we need to spend $10 per person. Generally, I would totally understand her point, I have been in the restaurant business and know how bad it sucks when people take up your tables and spend no money; however, it was not until near the end of the game that we heard from her. There were plenty of times that I would have loved to order another beer and waitress was no where to be found. At this point, there were 5 members in our group and our tab was at $45 and the game was not over yet. The waitress comes over again and very rudely says “You need to order $5 more dollars, and if you don’t I will just add it to your bill anyway.” Ha...drunken Andrea starts to feel slightly belligerent at this point. Despite my bitching, my friends order a dessert to meet our $50 minimum and the waitress returns with the check. SHE ADDED AN 18% GRATUITY...um....WHAT?! NO fucking way. I mean, one good thing about growing up in the restaurant business is that you learn the “rules” fairly quickly. So naturally, my belligerent drunken self says oh so sweetly to the waitress “Excuse me mamn, I don’t think you can add this gratuity. It doesn’t say anywhere on the menu that there will be a gratuity added, and usually it is only parties of 6 or greater that restaurants will do that. Clearly we are 5... I think this needs to be fixed.” Waitress stutters around, she didn’t think we were going to pay the $10/person, she can change it, and she will buy us a drink next time. Again, my friends assure her that it is fine and she doesn’t have to change it (they are so much nicer than I am)...but she walks away bitching with a scowl on her face anyway.

So, I need to step away for a second and just remind you. I was actually pretty nice to the waitress’s face, but the thoughts that were going through my head were just completely inappropriate, I think this is where that whole goes around comes around thing comes into play, because trust me, if there is a God and he has any say over punishments, he can HEAR your thoughts. He can hear mine anyway.

So, despite the fact that I am completely wasted at this point, I had about 5 Black and Tans over the course of 3 hours. All my friends were ready to leave but I just had a point to prove quickly. While the waitress was returning with our check, I go up to the bar and order ANOTHER drink (just to prove a point to the waitress), despite the fact that I was already drunk and my bladder was feeling slightly full. I quickly chug down the drink as my friends were waiting for me and the bitch returns with our change. At this point I was in a pretty bad mood and all I wanted to do was get out of there. So say goodbye to my friends and head down to the metro. There was an 18 minute wait.

Alright, so I’m really starting to have to pee at this point. “18 minutes,” I think. “I will just run up to the McDonalds quickly and use the restroom.” I run back up the metro stairs, down the street to McDonalds, only to realize it’s closed. Fuck. So I walk into the movie theater and ask them if I can use the bathroom and they said not unless I’m going to buy a ticket. Heartless bastards. I run to the security guards...”So, I have to pee really badly. Is there any restroom anywhere around here that I can use?” Nope...and they actually laughed at me as I walked away. I heart being the laughing stock of fat rent-a-cops, that’s just awesome. After exhausting what I thought to be all possible options, I decide to just go back and wait for the metro.

The terrible part about this is that I totally could have just run across the street to Fado’s but I refused to run into that stupid bitchy waitress again and I vowed never to go in there again (I actually just had dinner there last week...Yea, I ate crow. I do that sometimes).

Anyway, so here comes the good part. I got down in the metro and I missed the train. BAAAALLLS. Now I’ve got a 13 minute wait until the next train. I am still sane at this point but my bladder is definitely starting to feel a little rough. Finally the train comes and I get on and switch to the orange line when things start to go down hill. I had my headphones on and I actually had to turn them off because they were distracting me from NOT trying to pee my pants. Shit is PAINFUL at this point. I’m sitting down, legs crossed, hoping to GOD nobody will sit with me. I’m fidgeting a little bit. Headphones off...concentrate Wiest. Okay okay, put them back on, and maybe just try to forget about it. Okay not working, take them off. I’m pretty sure my face is red at this point. I’ve got cold sweats and my forehead is actually beaded with sweat. The hairs on my arms are standing straight up and I’ve got goose bumps everywhere. I’m pretty sure I must have looked like a crazy schizo at that point. I mean, seriously. I kept clenching my butt cheeks together frantically to keep the pee inside. This is SOO humiliating. I seriously have never felt such pain in my life. At one point I almsot just let lose because the embarrassment would have been much easier than the pain. Finally I had to get off the train. I seriously got off a stop early because I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Right as I stepped off, it started seeping out, and there were people EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t even run to get outside, I could only walk or it would have exploded. Lol...finally as I’m riding up the escalator it just let loose. Yep, hot pee running down my leg in the middle of the metro. I was almost crying at this point, tears were actually welling up in my eyes. I mean, thank god it was dark outside. By the time I got to a street that wasn’t lit, my black business pants were soaked with pee. They were sticking to my leg and I kept thinking “OH my god, I’m like one of those smelly homeless people who pee themselves. Is this where my life is headed?” And then I thought about that guy I made fun of at the Broad Street Run who peed himself while running the race. Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have laughed at him. No, but I was SERIOUSLY depressed about peeing my pants, honestly, try it sometime. I’m pretty sure it is the peak of humiliation.

Anyway, I ended up calling my mom when I was almost home and told her. I was half crying. She was laughing hysterically.

I Fucked A 38 Year Old Fat Man.

Okay...this story has GOT to come out. Its been festering inside me like the HIV waiting to turn into AIDS.

So my Father, about 6 months ago literally sat me down at the kitchen table and MADE me read (against my good will, I would like to add) this article in Money Magazine called, something to the effect of, 'How to Marry Into Wealth' (Thanks Dad). SO...needless to say, I met this guy at a bar in DC who was totally smitten. Investment Banker at Morgan Stanley, gets club seats to all the best events, I'm not talking the latest Counting Crows Concert either. I mean, The Preakness (spelling?), The U.S. Open, Oh yea, THE OLYMPICS...I'm sure you catch my drift here.

Now let me describe to you the 38 year old fat man. He looks like a slightly younger version of Donald Trump in the face. His hair is slightly red, balding in the front, and his teeth are shaped like a horseshoe but just a little bit too narrow, two of them are just a bit too pointy and he kind of suckles on them when he speaks. His body could be described as...a Weeble Wobble with legs and arms. Beady blue eyes and tiny hands complete the picture.

So 38 Year Old Fat Man starts talking to me, begins telling me about himself and in the back of my head I'm thinking..."Okay Dad, I'm going to make you proud for once." Of course, he asks my number, I give it to him...blah blah blah. We go on a date the following Friday. Now let me just say that I was pretty intoxicated when I met him the first time, not intoxicated enough to realize that he wasn't slightly unattractive but intoxicated enough to think he was well, "slightly unattractive." So anyway, I meet up with him at the Metro and my first thought was "Shit Dre, run...I know you can do it, run far. Christ, what were you thinking? Where is God when I need him?" But, I suck it up and he takes me out to a very nice, expensive dinner, in which I down at least 3/4 of the $70 bottle of wine he ordered (I'm so classy). The date continues...we go to the bar where we met in which his friends were there (all between the ages of 21 and 24...child molester on our hands?). We leave, go to another bar where some more of his friends were, in which I tolerated comments such as "Wow Dude, she's really cute." (and then to me) "What the hell are you doing with him?" My reply in a slight whisper "Not sure, can you hand me a fucking drink PLEASE."

To make a long story longer...I got WASTED. I'm talking, can't speak properly, can't WALK, I'm leaning on 38 Year Old Fat Man, we get in the cab, go back to Clarendon where I do remember the Cabbie bitching because his tip was so shitty, and walk back to my place. We have ANOTHER drink in the kitchen and go upstairs and well, you know. I'd like to redeem myself in this situation by stating that I was SO wasted, I don't even remember it. Oh...but the story continues.

The next morning, I wake up and 38 Year Old Fat Man is BUTT ASS NAKED IN MY BED. Oh my god, oh my god. I ease myself out of bed, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, get some water, etc, etc. Not knowing what to do with myself, I lay down on my stomach, smashed up against the wall, as far away from him as possible. Take a few deep breaths and begin to drift off when... Fuck. Fat man cuddles up next to me and starts rubbing my back...rubbing my ass...rubbing, well...whatever. Somehow...its morning now, I'm no longer wasted...and I fuck him...AGAIN. I was just on top of him trying to get it over with and at one point made the mistake of putting my hands on his chest for support. That may have been the worst feeling ever...straight, thin, silky chest hair. Like thin dog hair, it was terrible. I kept imagining getting one of those stuck in my throat. I don't know why. I can't fathom. I seriously, have NO idea. I still think about and wonder what the hell I was thinking, if I was thinking at all, which clearly I wasn't, well lets hope I wasn't because if my brain thinks like that then...I've got a rough life ahead of me. I was on top of this fat dude, fucking the shit out of him and I remember opening my eyes once...BIG MISTAKE. I'm not kidding when I say I literally had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't throw up. Anyway, so I take him home after that. And now I've got this awesome story to tell

So much for marrying into money. Clearly, I just don't have the stomach for it.

This or That

So. I can spend $60 on a 3 month subscription to Match.com, to date a bunch of deuchebag losers with small penises who just want to get laid, and will get laid, if not by me, by some other dumb chick who decides she wants to feel loved...or liked, or even just wants a little bit of attention.  OR. I I can buy a scale that tells my weight, body fat percentage, and water weight and muscle mass for $43.98 + shipping.  

I cho0se the scale. 

I'm Irritated.

So hear me bitch. (Don't worry, I'm really good at this). I mean, we all have these moods right? I may, more frequently than others, but its just one of those built up moments where I need to explode. And rather than taking it out on stray cats and small screaming children, I'll post a blog. Yay.  So here goes my list: 

• I'm irritated about sucky boys.  How they storm into our lives like Hurricane Katrinas and think they can take over, because most of the time they can't but every once in a while one of those suckers comes blowing in at 145 mph winds and totally gives us no choice except to love the chaos that they bring with them.  I speak for my friend (Crazy) at the moment because nobody should have to engage in retail therapy for boys...ever. And don't you forget it. 

• I'm irritated about all the people on the damn metro. Yes. Every single one of them.  They push you out of the way, the stand the fuck up before the train stops while frantically yelling "Excuse me! Excuse Me!"  Yes fucker, I hear you.  I apologize for the million people crowded around me and that I can't move anywhere to get out of your way.  I mean, seriously.  Calm the fuck down.  Just calm the fuck down.  You're going to get off the train just fine.  Nobody's going to leave you on the metro bus. Somebody will allow you to squeeze your fat ass off the train so you can run like a raging idiot to your next train and realize that it doesn't arrive for 4 minutes yet.  Your Welcome for making my life miserable for about 30 seconds while I have to listen to you and while you shove your nasty sweaty armpits in my face.  Also, you're not that important.  Nobody cares if your 4 minutes late to work.  If you're that worried, wake up earlier. Dumbass. 
  

• I'm irritated that I have to listen to my coworkers and the news talk about Sara Stripper Palin and John McCain and Barrack Obama.  They all suck.  I don't want to hear anything else about them.  Nobody is going to fix the economy, nobody is going to get us out of Iraq, nobody is going to make the United States a better place to live.  All politicans suck.  They are greedy bastards and there is nothing we can do about it, and no I will not vote, so quit getting in my face about it.  I don't like either candidate, why would I try to help one win.  I don't really care.  So please close your newspaper, and kindly shut the fuck up.  

• I'm irritated that I have finally come to terms with an actual Bridezilla, Ladies and Gentlemen: Meet my sister.   I mean, really?  I would much rather buy and iPhone than a $305 YELLOW bridesmaid dress.  Oh, pardon me, the color is "Maize". You  know, that color in the crayon box that was always confusing because I mean, Maize is clearly not yellow. Oh, but she's being so lax.  We can all pick the style of dress that we want, but if we don't all wear the same one, we all have to wear different ones.  We have 5 styles to pick from...and wait, there are 5 bridesmaids.  That means, somebody is going to get stuck with the ugly one.  Can I just wear my iPhone please?  OH but we can pick our own shoes.  As long as they are "bronzy gold".  How nice.  I see tons of "bronzy gold" shoes all over the place.  How will I ever choose. I'm sure bronzy gold shoes will be less than $100 also, since there are so many to choose from.  Bronzy gold...I don't even know what that means. 

Okay, I have to stop because now this is depressing me.  I have funny stories to tell when I'm not in such a horrible mood.  So um, I'm going to straighten my act up and I'll be back.