Wednesday, June 30, 2010

A 12 day hangover

Just wanted to let all my interwebs know that I'm alive... I'm just still hungover, and my hungover storytelling is not quite up to par. However I will leave you with a few facts from the weekend:

  • The last picture I took on my camera was of me, sitting in the port-a-potty peeing.
  • Hand sanitizer is NOT a good substitute for toilet paper.
  • Keith Urban is a whiny bitch, but he's pretty good eye candy.
Pic of port-a-potty to come soon, I promise.

Monday, June 21, 2010

My Annual Drunkfest with (SHIRTLESS) Cowboys

Close your eyes. Why? Just DO IT! Are they closed? I can wait....



Okay, either your eyes are closed or you're an asshole. Wait... if you are reading this, then your eyes aren't closed and you're an asshole, but how can you keep reading if your eyes are closed? Hmm... I may have just screwed myself. Either that, or I subconsciously ONLY want assholes to read this. I'm not sure it really matters. But the POINT is, that I want to visualize what my life is going to be like for the next week (and is also an explanation why I won't be posting anything):

Picture this:
You're in the middle of an empty cornfield, 5,000 feet above sea level, on the Western Plains of Colorado, camping with 10,000 of your favorite country-music loving, shirtless Cowboys, in 100 degree heat, drinking all day and all night, and going to amazing concerts (all within walking distance)... for FOUR DAYS. 

That's what I'm doing... for the 15th year in row. I was waaaay too young when my mom first let me go to Country Jam, and now I'm borderline too old to be wearing a bikini in public, but that doesn't stop me, or anyone else there. That's the great thing about Country Jam... there will always be a woman older, and in worse shape than you strutting around in a bikini that's smaller than yours. It's quite the ego boost.

And the cowboys, did I mention that they are shirtless? There's nothing quite like the sight of a shirtless man walking toward you wearing a cowboy hat, wranglers, shit-kickers and a "nice to meet you ma'am" shit-eating-grin.

It's a wonderful escape from reality, and a place where there are enough stories and memories made to last you all year... until the next Country Jam rolls around.

So here's to cornhole, to Bud Light, to swimming in horse troughs, and cowboys who have lost their shirts!

See you in a week (if I make it back)!

Friday, June 18, 2010

Chicks vs Dicks, Sporting Events and Sex

I'm one of those Chicks who really enjoys sports. I like watching sports, I like playing sports, and I like drinking beer while I do both of those things. I also know the rules of most sports (especially football)... not because I want to impress all the Dicks* in my life, but because I ENJOY sports (shocking!).

However, when I really get into a game, it's passionate, it's emotional (for me), it's draining. Chicks get emotional about things they care about. Dicks, on the other hand, get worked up, but I don't think sporting events are emotionally draining, like they are to Chicks.

Case in point... the NBA Finals last night. Lakers vs Celtics, game 7. Disclaimer: I am a Celtics fan living in California. I was on the edge of my seat, I was biting my nails, I was screaming at the TV, throwing things at Kobe, and calling people names my mother would be ashamed of. At the end of the game, when the refs decided the Lakers should win, I had to step outside. Not because I needed air, but because my boyfriend NEEDED to watch the replay, NEEDED to see the highlights, and NEEDED to watch the trophy ceremony. Dicks like technique, Chicks like emotions. It's amazing how sports and sex are so alike.

Therefore, if you'd ever like to get in my pants, it's important that you know my passionate likes and dislikes...

My very passionate LIKES:
  • Denver Broncos (I basically bleed orange and blue)
  • John Elway, Shannon Sharpe, Terrell Davis, Eddie McCaffrey
  • Boston Celtics
  • Boston Red Socks
  • Colorado Avalanche
My very passionate DISLIKES:
  • Oakland Raiders
  • All Raider Fans
  • Brett Favre
  • NY Yankees
  • NY Yankee Fans
  • Kobe Bryant
  • LA Lakers
  • Lakers Fans (this one is particularly difficult since I live in Southern California and the majority of people here would pay loads of money to suck off Kobe Bryant)
  • Detroit Red Wings
Yes, my dislikes outweigh my likes, but once you're on my "Likes" list, I'm loyal through and through. Kind of like most men in my life.

Who's on your like/dislike list? 

*In this post, and this post only, I refer to "Dicks" as those of us who have male parts, NOT as those of use who have male parts and are also assholes.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Rediculous Facebook pages

I get a shit-eating grin on my face whenever I hit "IGNORE!" to invitations on Facebook to join a pages like "Stop Child Abuse NOW!" or "Help Stop Skinning Live Unicorns!" I mean seriously? If we need Facebook pages to tell people that we are against shit like this, what kind of world are we living in? And in case you feel like these pages are NEEDED, I have a few more suggestions for future pages you need to create:

  • Don't, I repeat, DO NOT eat babies
  • Try really hard to not trip old people
  • Stop calling old people "old people" call the old people the "elderly"
  • Don't tell people they look mulatto (even if they are)
  • Stop giving money to homeless people... (seriously, all they do is buy booze and get drunk which totally makes them lose any motivation to find a job and get a life.)
Now that I think about... all these Facebook groups/pages/whatever are seriously negative. Maybe I'll start some new, more positively charged pages like:
  • I'm awesome! Give me money!
  • Support NOT eating babies!
  • I agree! Unicorns are real!
What's the most ridiculous Facebook page YOU'VE been sucked into? Mine was: "If I get enough fans on this page, my sister will name her kid Megatron!" I've showed you mine, now you show me yours.

    Friday, June 11, 2010

    Wait, Our Boyfriends Grew Vaginas?

    There are two types of girls: those who can maintain a healthy relationship without alienating everyone around her and appearing codependent and needy, and those who can't. And, just like high-maintenance girls, the worst kind of girl is the girl who doesn't think she's the codependent/alienating type, but actually IS.

    Case in point: I have a friend, who we will call Tabby, who has been dating this guy for 5+ months. A new relationship, yes. They are allowed to still be excited about seeing each other and get butterflies in their stomachs when they accidentally brush hands, or one puts their arm around the other in public. However, neither of these two have jobs. That's right... they wake up mid-morning, in the same bed, wander out to the same couch, watch the same TV show, eat the same lunch, dinner and snack. They go to bed in the same bed and do it all over again the next day. So my theory is; given the amount of time they spend together, they may as well have been dating for at least 2 years.

    With that in mind... here's our most recent conversation:

    • Tabby: I was thinking about coordinating a girls night tomorrow night, what do you think?
    • Me: That sounds great! 
    • Tabby: Cocktails then Sex and the City then more cocktails?
    • Me: That's perfect! I was considering going to see Sex and the City by myself tomorrow night anyway! (don't judge me) 
    • Tabby: Morning friend! We still on for tonight?
    • Me: Abso-fucking-lutely!
    • Tabby: I was thinking... maybe we could meet up with the boys after the movie
    • Me: Did our boyfriends grow vaginas?

    I mean, how is it, over the course of 12 hours she realized that she would be spending more than four hours away from her man, and at what point IS THAT A BAD THING?!

    At least I can still look in the mirror and see perfection.

    (Okay, now even I can't even keep a straight face at that)

    Tuesday, June 8, 2010

    Calling in Burnt

    Air humping, motor-boating, excessive boozing and really good time. Last weekend was an amazing one. In fact, it was so amazing, that I called in burnt to work on Monday. You see, some of the benefits of living in California are that you can get away with b.s. like calling in burnt. And the best part? I actually DO look like a lobster. I also like to eat lobster. But I would prefer not to eat myself. Wait... that just got SUPER dirty.

    So Monday morning, there I was, laying a pool of my own drool, blinding slapping at the snooze button on my alarm clock feeling like death (and probably looking like it too). As I lay there contemplating what could possibly be worse than feeling the way I felt (hungover, burnt to a crisp, on 4 hours of sleep, etc), I realized that... I HAVE SICK DAYS! And... instead of calling in with some kind of illness and having to fake feeling like shit for the next week, I decided to tell the truth(ish). So I texted my boss (I love technology... like, more than a friend) and told her that I was all burnt and couldn't even put pants on and would really like to NOT come into the office. She promptly responded with the "no problem" text I was praying for. WHAT?! You mean I just called into the office telling them I'm an irresponsible asshole who can't even remember to slap on some SPF for my lily white ass and it's okay?! Sold.

    So, I spent the rest of the day on my couch, soaked in aloe and lotion, watching the game show network and reliving the parts of the weekend that I remembered.

    Upon reflection, I think it's absolutely necessary to share with you some very important lessons learned in just 36 short hours:
    1. Don't waste your money on going out to sushi for dinner when you're already wasted and just walk directly out of the restaurant (after eating all the fish you can handle) and into Taco Bell for "dessert"
    2. ALWAYS put sunscreen on your head and hairline so you don't end up with random scabbing grossness in your part and looking like a damn leper. (Have you ever looked at pictures of lepers? Because I just did for the first time and now I feel all creep'd out and also like an asshole)
    3. While sitting at the beach ALL DAY long, remember to reapply sunscreen more than once. Because no matter how much you've had to drink and how invincible you think you may be to the devil-sun, you're not. 
    4. There's a reason guys like to lay on girl's boobs... those things are damn comfortable! (I have some well-endowed girlfriends and put in some good "pillow" time... trust me on this)
    5. The word "pussy" is amazing (I think we all knew that). But when it's said with a southern accent, it's EPIC, and impossible to overuse.
    6. I'm pretty positive there were other lessons learned, but I drank too much and can't remember them. My bad.

    Here's to being sober for a few days, but also to a FANTASTIC weekend.

    Thursday, June 3, 2010

    Running into exes (not axes, although it may feel the same)

    Running into an ex-coitus partner is always interesting. It usually feels like hitting a brick wall at full speed. I hate that wall. It's a wall filled with all these horrible emotions that I've successfully tucked away into a deep dark place for safe-keeping until hell freezes over. The wave of emotions come in three parts: one emotion for the initial contact, one for the conversation that occurs immediately after, and a completely separate emotion for the post-run-in aftershock (this emotion can last for an undetermined amount of time). Since these situations are always awkward for all involved, let's tear it apart and see if we can all start squirming in our seats, silently wishing for some kind of national disaster that would give us an excuse to STOP READING, even though secretly you like to put yourself through this torture for reason unbeknown to anyone, especially yourself. 

    1) The brick wall...
    • Event: The actual physical act of running into the ex. (first glance/eye contact)
    • Emotion: Fear, anger, stomach butterflies, visions of bleeding unicorns
    • Reaction: Stop dead in current tracks, then a quick decision to either fight or flight
    This is where I ALWAYS stick around to fight. Why? Who the fuck knows. I sure wish I knew. Because if I took the (arguably) more cowardly road of flight, the next two steps would be irrelevant.

    2) The conversation that seems to last for-fucking-ever

    "Hey! So good to see you!" "Yeah, you too" "How've you been?" ... long pause while you think about your options here... make it seem like things are FANTASTIC and never been better since the break? Tell the poor, pathetic truth? Make up a lie? Him 'em in the shins and run away screaming? ... "I'm good! You?" "I'm doing pretty well. How's the family?" This continues on for quite some time. Every now and then you'll get a good piece of gossip, or something funny or clever will pass through their lips and you'll be reminded why you allowed the do-it in the first place.

    Then you find yourself standing there, awkwardly holding a dozen eggs (because, of course, you ran into him in the grocery store... so now he can see directly into your overflowing basket of food that's bad for you... DAMN IT, why didn't I put the veggies on top instead of the frozen mac and cheese... now he knows why I gained weight, and he knows that I'm not doing anything about it...). As you start to think about the details of the situation and he continues to talk (of course, the ONE goddamn day I don't wear make-up. Do I look at him in the eyes? Look around for people I know? People he knows? Are there any leprechauns nearby? I wonder what he's actually talking about... oh crap, don't drop the eggs! wait! don't squeeze the eggs too tight! What if you hold them too tight and one breaks right there in front of the two of you? Wait, why do you care? Seriously... loosen the grip! DON'T DROP THE EGGS!!!!)... "Yeah, it was good to see you too! We'll have to grab lunch sometime and catch up!" YEAH RIGHT.

    3) How you handle yourself and your brain after the encounter

    Walk away like you just don't care. Wag the ass a little bit so he notices you still got it, but not too much as to make him think he can have it. Whatever you do don't look back. Walk coolly to your car, get in, take a deep breathe and get the hell out of there. Now is the time to tear apart the entire conversation, rethink what you said, get upset about things you wanted to say and didn't, realize you were smiley, like, a lot, then remind yourself the shake it off and get over it. Tell all your friends, but act like you really don't care. Then fall asleep that night still freaked out and wishing it hadn't happened because, well, THOSE FEELINGS WERE MEANT TO STAY IN THAT DEEP DARK PLACE. What a bastard.

    (Just another reason to stick with the theory that females are crazy, and leprechauns should exist)

    (Do guys go through this hell and torture too?)

    Wednesday, June 2, 2010

    June Gloom, Oil Spills, Sinkholes and Skinny Kids

    I live in Santa Barbara, which can easily be considered one of the most beautiful places on the mainland. In July it's 72 degrees, in September it's 72 degrees, in December it's 72 degrees, in February it's 72 degrees, in April, well, you get the idea. It's 72 degrees year round, EXCEPT IN JUNE. In June, we get this weather phenomenon affectionately called "June Gloom." When I first moved here almost 11 years ago(!), I called bullshit left and right when it came to June Gloom. I mean, I was from Colorado, where it's either beautiful outside, or it's a living hell outside. But I was tough. I could handle anything. Whiteouts? DUN. Thunderstorms? Bring 'em on! Hail? Shmail. I scoffed at the idea of being cold in 50 degree weather... then, I moved here. Shit.

    We had THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WEEKEND last weekend (seriously, no lies, 80 degrees, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky-it-should-be-illegal-to-stay-inside type of weekend that was filled with BBQs, disc golf, sailing and convertibles). The sun set on May 31st and I swear I haven't seen it since. Yes, I know, it's only two days later, but still. It's cloudy, chilly... gloomy, even. And it's NOT 72 degrees. In fact, it's 58 degrees. Y'all are luckily I dragged my hungover ass out of bed this morning and made it into work at all.

    I supposed I shouldn't bitch too much, seeing as there's currently an ocean being taken over by the oil-gods, Guatemala just got swallowed by a giant-ass sinkhole, and you know, there are starving kids all over other countries, blah blah blah. But dude... I'M COLD!

    Top 10 Searched Questions
    (Giant-ass sinkhole... no lies)

    Tuesday, June 1, 2010

    Hello, World

    Initially, I thought the idea of setting up a blog would be a great way to voice some of the complaints I have about my life and the people in it, in an effort to vent and help get myself through some tough times, then I thought to myself "Self, get over yourself! Who in the hell wants to read about someone else's issues?!"

    Therefore, intertwined in my day-to-day trials and tribulations, are some really funny things, some random things, some frustrating things, some inappropriate things and some total life altering things. I will touch on all of these things here, on this blog.

    Read if you want to, don't read if don't want to (and if that's the case, why the hell are you even reading this far?!), but I'm here. I'm here for me, for you, for your dog and for your mom... or something like that.

    So, the first piece of business I have to tackle is none other than cheese. You heard me... cheese.

    I have an unnatural obsession with cheese. Blue cheese, soft cheeses, hard cheese, processed cheeses, you name it, I like it. I love cheese so much, it's the 'site key' for my bank account (please don't steal my identity), I tried to put string cheese on a personal pizza the other night (after quite a few hours at the bars, but that's another topic). Note to self: string cheese does NOT melt in the oven, no matter how high the heat. Who needs to put MORE CHEESE on an already cheese-filled pizza? I do. The string cheese didn't work, so I found some monterey jack to shred and put on top. And it was wonderful. But I digress...

    I can't recall the last meal I had that didn't include cheese in some form. I'm not sure if that's because I simply choose not to remember those meals, or if they just don't exist. The thing that really upsets me is how horrible cheese is for you. I try to diet, I try to cut down on cheese, and it just doesn't work. So I start making deals with myself... "If you give up potato chips, you can still have cheese" ... french fries for cheese, soda for cheese, my left pinky toe for cheese. And I wonder why the weight stays put.

    My theory: God loves me so much that he's guiding me toward cheese so I die early and get to chill with the Big Man (or the Big Cheese, as I call him) even sooner. Yeah... I'll go with that.

    Besides, I'll bet I can have all the damn cheese I want in heaven.