Thursday, September 27, 2007
(but who are we kidding? Being forced to stay in LA any longer than a week might as well be the equivalent of a lifetime in hell.)
Monday, September 24, 2007
Like Business or Leisure, most of you probably have no idea what this is in reference to so let me explain. Yesterday morning I IMed my friend TK to begin heckling him about the impending football game between my beloved Iowa Hawkeyes and the I'm Ranked Way to High Wisconsin Badgers. I put up a status message that said something to the effect of: Wisconsin's main exports are beer and cheese. Iowa's main exports are corn, Hawkeye vodka, and METH. Clearly the winner is obvious.
He then put up a status message that was clearly not as clever as mine, mocking me about Iowa's loss to Wisconsin, not realizing how bad his team looked yesterday and almost lost to a team that lost to one of the worst teams in 1-AA, the Iowa State Cyclones (boo, hiss). My response to him was the status message Business or Leisure was inquiring about. I mean, why couldn't I just IM TK myself? Why do I have to subject poor Business or Leisure to a joke that only two people understand??
I mean, my status message didn't actually indicate what I was actually doing (which is watching Rexy and the rest of the Chicago Bears implode). I never put up something that says, at the grocery store, or taking a shower, or having sex. Certainly I would never put up a status about having sex. That would require me to actually participate in the act of coitus. I digress.
I was also witness to Blythe and Garrett updating their status messages every two minutes to Wilco lyrics. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and had to put a stop to it and yell at Garrett.
I have noticed a vague trend that I will now share.
The Top Five Categories of IM users' status messages are as follows:
- The Cryptic Status Message - I'm guilty of this. The primary purpose of this is for people to read it and want to be a part of the club. It's an inside joke that you don't know...sucka! You want everyone to know how witty and ironic you are. My away message in question from this post is one of those, and it is the one I use most frequently.
- The Obscure Song Lyric/Movie Quote Message - I've done this one before. Obviously Blythe and Garrett's Wilco showdown can be categorized in this as well. I knew a guy back in college who would solely use Rolling Stones lyrics in his away message. I'm also guilty of this. Most of the day Friday I had a Cable Guy quote up (which I cannot reveal as it involves another blog post that I am writing).
- The Vaguely Revealing of Current Task Message - These people kind of tell you what they are going, like "Watching Cleveland choke against the Raiders." (now we are even). These users want you to know how awesome they are, and how they do really cool stuff. But hey, at lease you know what they are doing, right?
- No status message - These people suck.
- The List Status Message - One of my good friends here in New York is guilty of this. Hers are long and detailed as well (hi Chris!): taking a shower, then studying, then downtown for Torts (or whatever you law students study), then changing, then tying my shoes, then breathing, then blinking, then digesting...You get the idea. While I appreciate the fact she is telling me why she is unavailable, it doesn't negate the fact that it seems to be dark out by the time I am finished reading her where the fuck she is.
- The Self Promoting Message - Dear East Village Idiot and Benjamin Kabak, I'm talking to both of you.
- The I'm Not Very Creative Message - They simply say "Away" or "Not here." Clearly these people are not my friends as they are dull.
Writing a shitty blog post.
Friday, September 21, 2007
She apparently has a fever, and the only prescription is more...cowbell. I'm obsessed with this song. I spy Pinsky too! (a cookie to anyone who knows what I am talking about)
Have a good weekend everyone.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Last Thursday instead of going to the gym, I decided to head out for some drinks (surprise!). I was hungry, but figured I could get a slice on my way to the bar.
I got off the subway, and before I knew it I had reached my final destination. I had a flight to Minneapolis at 8am from JFK the next morning, so I'd figure I'd stay at my destination for the 2 hours the open bar would last (approximately 2 or 3 drinks of sipping), and head on home for another peaceful night of booze induced slumber.
I must have knocked my head on the way to the bar, because I seem to have forgotten that uh, I don't do "2 or 3 drinks." Cut to 3 Peroni's and a vodka soda (i.e. "Liquid Satan" for me), and I have conveniently forgotten to you know...eat.
Aound 10:30pm I turn to my fellow patrons and declare that I am going home. I have to be up at 5:30am to catch my flight from JFK. I hail a cab home, and then realize I'm drunk. Real drunk. No dinner, 5 beers and 2.5 vodka sodas (one was knocked out of my hand) will do that to you.
I did manage to talk to some people over g-chat that night. Some of you had no idea I was drunk, others knew within the first sentence. Someone finally convinced me to go get pizza thinking that would help me sober up [foreshadowing].
I don't remember any of the conversations had that night, but I was woken up by that leftover woozy drunk feeling at 6am in the morning. I guess when I was drunk I pushed my alarm back thinking I was really drunk and needed more sleep, but forgot that I had to travel to JFK in the morning--an airport that once took me 2 hours to get to because of the fucking Van Wyck ("They say no one has ever beaten the Van Wyck...")
Alright, so it's now 6:30 am, my flight is at 8 am, and I now realize I have to hail a cab if I have any chance of getting to the airport on time ($50...bah!). On the way there, I started to feel a little nauseous. I know that feeling. I am hungover enough to know when I'm going to puke. It's not going to happen in the cab, but I know it is coming soon.
You know when it happens? When I'm in the line waiting for security. Of course I get behind the people who are all, "What? I have to take out my laptop? No I will not take off my shoes? You mean I can't bring an 10 gallon jug of gasoline on the plane?"
Finally I make it to the bathroom, which is of course a public bathroom. Just in time though because I see that toilet and my gag reflex kicks in. I'm like Pavlov's dog, but with vomit.
I kept on flushing the toilet for fear women would think I was bulimic and hearing mothers shield their children's ears while whispering "Sssshh, you don't want to end up like her."
We board the plane, and I'm feeling ok. However, when I am hungover I will keep on puking every 15-30 minutes or so until I fall asleep again. The problem with this is sometimes I need longer than 15 minutes to fall asleep. In the worse cases of hangovers, I was dry heaving every 30 minutes or so for 18 hours. It was horrible.
As soon as I sit down, I know I'm going to need to puke soon. It's 8am, the time of our scheduled take off. We pull away from the gate, and I feel relieved. I close my eyes for a second, on the feel the spins come on. Now I also have a problem the problem that when I get on a plane, I can't stay awake. Yep, I'm the girl you see with her mouth hanging open and head rests uncomfortably on her shoulder. As we're taxi-ing on the runway, I'm fighting the urge not to close my eyes which will only make me puke. Then...we stop. And start moving again. And stop. And start moving again. For 45 minutes. At one point I actually checked for a barf bag, but it seems Northwest was too cheap to keep them in the seat. I unbuckle my seatbelt while we are stopped only to be yelled at, "ALL PASSENGERS MUST REMAIN SEATED UNTIL TAKE OFF!" At this point I note how lovely it would be to puke on that flight attendant's face.
Finally, we're in the air, and the plane is at an angle. I can't hold it in anymore and I stumble in to the bathroom. That same flight attendant tried to motion at me that the fasten seat belt sign was still on, but there was no stopping me. The vomit was coming out whether he liked it or not.
And then I puked. Seat up into the blue water style. While the plane was still gaining altitude.
I guess I was in there for a while cause when I opened the door there were 2 women waiting impatiently to get in. I looked back and realized I left the toilet seat up. I tried to give them a look that said, "I was puking. I don't really have a penis."
I don't know if they bought it, but let me tell you, that pizza was just as good coming back up as it was going down.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Please submit your opinion in Top 3 format, in ranking order with 1 being the highest. Popular opinion may sway my decisions.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Dad: Meg, what's wrong? You look sad.
Megan: Iowa lost to Iowa State.
Dad: Oh, so there are two very unhappy people right now [my brother-in-law went to Iowa too].
Megan: Yep. Inconceivable.
Megan: I will cut you.
UPDATE: Also fun. Having the TSA agent at the Minneapolis airport heckle me (I wore an Iowa t-shirt to show support) about the game. As I passed through the metal detectors, he informed me that he was an Iowa State graduate.
Yep. All time low.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
So, the other day Meg and I had this great idea. Or it might have been just her. Or maybe just me. Also, we might share a brain, so maybe it was both of us. Question: Do you watch Rock of Love on Video Hits 1? Neither do I, but Meg does and based on her description and what I can glean from Best Week Ever, Bret Michaels' of the elusive, I mean ubiquitous 80s band Poison, is looking for a lady friend on TV a la the other guys who have shows like that on VH1. Crazy bitches compete for the attention of the aging rockstar while the rest of the country laughs/feels better about their shitty lives/changes the channel. Why didn't I think of this? Anyway, so we are starting Blog of Love.
And now, Meg will explain the rules, because I don't know them.
Sup, peeps? The rules are there are no rules really. Twice a week Blythe and I will nominate people that we no longer want to participate in Blog of Love, and you must immediately "pack your knives and go." Shit, wrong reality show. Blythe and I have the ability to cut you based off of the content of your shitty blog (or lack of content), and comments you leave us, or any praise you send or way (hint: we accept bribes). We won't be nice and democratic. We will be biased, partisan, shallow, and 100% antagonistic to name calling and hair pulling. And no, we have no idea who the winner is going to be. Your fate is in your own hands, gentlemen. Show me what you got!
Now without further ado...the nominations for Blog of Love 2007
Blythe's nominations for Blog of Love:
- CrimeNotes - The Hold Steady archivist, eternal/inexplicable Michigan fan, xenophobe/Manhattanite, all around (lovable) assface.
- Jebus H. Christ - Our Lord and Savior, ex-girlfriend enthusiast, figurative(?) gold pants wearing, Rosa Parks loving Hawkeye.
- Garrett Reid - Hobbit footed, DFW dwelling, plastic bag gazing lawyer with a heart of blog.
- [redacted] - escape artist, Puppy lover, (former) Gawker darling.
- Clinton - Girlfriend appreciating, Texas hailing, fried food expert with a penchant kicking everyone's ass at frequent posting.
- Passion of the Weiss - Beards, blazers and glasses, music for the masses.
- Alex - Spirit shopper, Hosty associate, fast food orderer extraordinaire with the biggest hair in town. Also, he will argue about sports until he passes out.
- Shain - (My) gay boyfriend, master debater, quitter.
- Michael5000 - Avid "reader", Oregonian, master quiz maker, theologian.
- d - Indie music miner, dynamite on the rocks, living my dream life in the CO.
- Dan - in his own words: Combining the effortless elegance of Maria Von Trapp's meadow with the austere functionality of a Trapper Keeper since 2005.
- Cherry Ride - Cape wearing, Shain hating/loving, star stalker - PROPER!
- The Lost Ogle - The three wisemen of the OKC, steeped in the traditions of the BC Clark anniversary song and Newsok.com, breaking free from the shadows of Linda Cavanaugh's helmet hair, they will one day freely worship Oklahoma deity Gary England.
- Copyranter - Simply too smart for my little Oklahoma brain. I love him, obvs.
- Cajunboy - Gawker regular, storyteller, almost famous because he once dated Liev Schreiber's ex-girlfriend among other unspeakable things.
DMBMeg's nominations for Blog of Love
- Midwesterner in NYC - He writes about the subway, and other New Yorker stuff. I once asked him if he read one of my favorite non-NYC blogger blogs once and he simply replied, "I only read New York." Well then.
- Todd - While his blog is mostly of pictures of himself standing in front of a mirror, and writing about how his comuter is broken, Todd is really one of my favorite people in this world. Oh yes, and he is a "doctor." Yeah, I use quotes cause it's an inside joke and you had to be there.
- Dr. Monkey von Monkerstein - Every comment this guy leaves for me is something to the effect of, "if I didn't have a girlfriend..." I mean, how can anyone argue with that?
- Flop - Oh Flop. He is 1/2 (3/4 content. Zing.) of the amazing duo over there at Cole Slaw. Flop and I spend many a night together watching Lost and making fun of Crime Notes. Flop almost was a shoo-in for this little competition of ours. WAS a shoe in. That is, until he told me I was just a replacement for his real Lost watching partner. Bullllllshit, Flop. Bullllllshit.
- TK - ok TK. Ours is a tempestuous relationship. We're hot and cold. Yin and Yang. Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. But his comments are some of my favorite despite the fact that all he writes about is his 3-legged dog that ate his NFL preview Sports Illustrated (You should have bought another dog), and of course, my favorite topic, RESUMES.
- Mortarbored - You may be asking...why? Isn't this guy a little crazy? Didn't he molest you? Well, yes. But everyone knows crazy is good for ratings, so I'm throwing him in.
- New Texan - This guy has the nerve to imply that a life in Texas is somehow better than a life in NYC. Wait, you mean people are happy elsewhere? I call bullshit. Oh yeah, the SEC sucks.
- Peter DeWolf - One of my favorite guys. For reals. He is narcissistic. He is sarcastic. He is pretty. Sounds like me. How can I not like anyone who is so similar to myself? [notices herself in the mirror. Stares longingly...] I'm sorry, what? Where was I?
- Onthevirg - This guy has a self proclaimed "creepy" obsession with me, and I dig it.
- Superbee - If he wasn't so darn into boys, I might fall in love with this guy. He complains about living Miami, and leaves the occasional disparaging comment about how much my blog sucks. And I love him for it.
- WJR - Oh Bill. He is a friend of mine, but he has a Flickr page comprised mostly of dog pictures. Not blog related, but he did give me some great life advice when I saw him at dinner the other night. "Eat some meat. You'll feel better." And you know what Bill? I did.
- Business or Leisure - I gotta be honest, the majority of the time I read his blog I can't figure out what the fuck he is talking about. Like I said in one of my comments on his blog, he is either insane or a genius, but I don't think the two are mutually exclusive. You will also leave his blog strangely attracted to ibexes.
- Amish - Ah, Amish my friend. The king of the "I'm so sorry I've been too busy to blog" posts. You know what Amish? You're actually funny. Oh yeah, he is also the frequent participants of the occasional Michigan circle jerk that goes on in the comment section of my blog. (Not jerkin' now are you, friend?)
- East Village Idiot - When not writing about grammatical errors in AM New York, or complaining about how much stuff perturbs him in New York, the great East Village Idiot is writing about...well...nothing. That's all he writes about. (Kisses!)
- Beehive Hairdresser - Guy is seriously funny. He updates regularly about random shit, and it makes me laugh every time. But I gotta be honest, I want to steal his girlfriend away from him, (Hi Cheese!)
GAME ON BITCHES!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
So there I am like a jackass on the street trying to read her tits, which she clearly doesn't want me to read cause you know, her eyes are up there. She REALLY wanted to get the point across that she should be loved for her "mind", that she went ahead and bought the t-shirt about 2 sizes too small. Just large enough that it wouldn't fit, but small enough that I can see the lace from her bra (shutup, I read slowly) and her gettinglargerbytheminute muffin tops.
Honestly? If you want people NOT to stare at your tits lady, wear the words on a hat, not on your chesticles.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
You've seen Kate before (she amassed the largest quantity of comments I'm Quietly Judging you has ever seen, all while
So when Kate has the opportunity to get out, she rages. Everyone knows when she goes out, something memorable will happen. And we all need to get the fuck out of the way.
Sunday night as we were getting ready, Amy Winehouse came on, and someone shouted, "I'M DEDICATING THIS TO YOU, KATE!" She is absolutely one in a billion, and I adore her (just as she is).
Kate starts out the night taking shots of Jager. Out of the bottle. That's my girl. What was supposed to be a sophisticated cocktail pre-party with hors-devours and wine, turned out to be lets cook any shit up we can find in Megan's apartment when the friend who was supposed to bring the appetizers never showed up (potato pancakes, spring roles, some pasta...I mean, it was budget). So, you get the point. Little food + cheap wine = TROUBLE.
Kate leaves to go to the bar early, while Megan, Katie, Dave and I opt to walk to the bar. When we arrive, I spot Kate belly up to the bar. And she is smoking. Now I love when Kate smokes. She never ever smokes, and when she does, she does it in a way that is so obvious she never smokes. She awkwardly holds a cigarette in her hand while never inhaling the majority of the smoke. This is irrelevant except to the fact that when Kate smokes, she is really really drunk. And that means we're all in for a good night.
OK so the rest of my night was spent separate from Kate, but I would check over my shoulder every now and then, and make sure she was still doin' it up right. Eventually I got too drunk to care, and it appears Kate has left to go to another bar.
Eventually, I make it home, and there is a somber gathering in the living room.
"Kate stepped on a needle. She is in Megan's room with Megan."
"WHAT!?!?! SHE STEPPED ON A NEEDLE?"
Suddenly images of Kate walking along innocently plunging her foot on the tip of a dirty needle in the middle of Chicago flash through my head. I run into Megan's room.
"What? Where is she Megan?"
"She's right here."
I look down, and see the top of a head covered in blankets. I remember thinking to myself, "That can't be Kate. Why is Megan sleeping with a My Buddy doll?" (And wouldn't Kid Sister be more appropriate?)
"Megan," I say as seriously as I can, "if Kate stepped on a needle, we need to take her to the hospital."
She tells me that our friend Kirk, a former paramedic, pulled out the needle and looked at the wound.
"He said it was fine."
Well, since I was drunk and tired, I figured any HIV she contracted from the needle would still be there in the morning. I went to bed.
The next morning, everyone slowly woke up one by one. In what was our normal college activity of sitting around the couch recounting the nights drunken events, I remembered Kate and her injury.
"Guys, we need to take her to the hospital ASAP!"
Everyone looks at me, puzzled. I mean, come on. Doesn't anyone care but me? ANYONE?
Finally Kate emerges at like 1pm from Megan's bedroom. When I go to express my concern for her well-being, she states, "Don, I stepped on a sewing needle on Megan's floor, not a hypodermic needle on the street."
Thanks for clearing that up for me, guys.
Oh yeah, the ending of Kate's night is clutch. When she got home, she created an improvised smoking contraption (for the weed she managed to find-WTF?) out of a can of Mountain Creek Laura picked up in Wisconsin. When no one wanted to smoke with her, she just lit up a bowl by herself. Brilliant. Just for the record, the entire six pack cost Laura I believe $1.50. My friends are some classy motherfuckers.
And I wouldn't trade any of them in for the world.
Monday, September 10, 2007
I appears my friend CrimeNotes doesn't change his shirt, but rather just changes the bag he wears over his head in public.
(Awesomefest Part III is coming, but I just took Tylenol PM and I think I am starting to see clowns in my room. It'll wait be up tomorrow. As Tom Petty said, "The waiting is the hardest part." I understand, my pets. I understand.
Friday, September 7, 2007
You've all hopefully read Hellafied's recap of Awesomefest, Part I. If not, you're going to be as confused as I was trying to watch the Sixth Sense halfway through. OK probably not, but best read it anyways.
12:02 am: I start pondering how the fuck I'm going to get home alone.
[time unknown]: Open up Rozy's fridge. Realize only beer he has is Old Style. Strike 1, Rozy.
[time unknown]: Rozy brings out old Domino's pizza. RBI, Rozy.
[time unknown]: Rozy brings out ranch dressing to dip pizza in. FUCKING GRAND SLAM, ROZY.
[time unknown]: someone suggests we play some Wii Bowling. I agree. The four of us proceed to do nothing but go through all the Wii people Rozy has created. I ask him to make one of me, and he replies, "Sorry, Don. No more room."
[time unknown]: I pout.
[time unknown]: Gatesy gets up, and declares she has to go to the bathroom. Fawn gets up, declares he has to go...too...at that very moment.
[time unknown]: Rozy and I collectively roll their eyes. Resume extreme Super Mario Brothers game. I yell at Rozy for missing the extra guy on board 1-1. In an attempt to show Rozy up and fucking OWN HIM, I start going as fast as I can. Superspeed. Forward arrow while holding down the "B" button style. I remember the timing of every jump. I am a Mario Goddess. I think to myself, "Wow, Megan, you should have played this drunk all the time." The next moment I fall into a gaping hole.
[time unknown]: Gatesy and Fawn re-emerge from the bathroom with hair tousled, and clothes a little messy. Rozy and I again collectively roll our eyes.
[time unknown]: Rozy declares he is a Republican. Must be all those WMD's planted around Super Mario Land that inspire him for political debate. He goes off about how we have to trust our government. I reply, "itsssss the goojonb offff eth poppeple ot nioques ter gvt." Translation: "It is the job of the people to question their government." I then proceed to respond to every point he is trying to make with, "Are you kidding me with this shit?"
[time unknown]: Rozy and I look around. Realize Gatesy and Fawn are no where to be found. Rozy shouts, "DON'T YOU GUYS FUCK ON MY BED!" I shout, "Make sure you soil his sheets real nice! He is a Republican!"
[time unknown]: Fawn suggest leaving. Gatesy, Fawn, and I say bye to Rozy and get in a cab.
4:30 am: Arrive at Gatsey's apartment. Realize I'm sobering up. Gatesy and Fawn play the game of "Who is paying for the cab?" Obviously stalling since both want to play naughty upstairs, but no one will say it. I reply, "[Fawn], just fucking pay the cab already and come upstairs. I'm tired." Fawn immediately throws cab driver some money.
4:40 am: Upstairs in Gatesy's apt. I attempt to move the air mattress outside of her room. It is cumbersome. Fawn runs in the room and offers his help. "Here, let me help you with that." He then moves faster than anyone I have ever seen, and throws the air mattress out of the room, and into the kitchen. He turns on his heel, yells over his shoulder "GOODNIGHT!" and leaves me alone to sleep in the fucking kitchen.*
*Just for the record, I'm not really sure what happened behind those closed doors. It's up to my girl to reveal that.
Also realize I was drinking from 9am-4:30am with only an hour nap. Why? CAUSE THAT'S HOW I ROLL.
I'm going to bed. I'll do part III later. Today's my birfday, bitches. I'm allowed.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
I'll be handling part 2 tomorrow (which is coincidentally my 27th birfday).
And remember...I am truley sorry for your lots. (Thanks BoL. That short clip gave me an unbridled amount of joy out of a shitty shitty day.)
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
As a note: I am "certain person". Megan is "certain blogger." My comments to his post are in blue, his are in italics.
This post was originally written and posted Monday night. However, this morning I received an email from a certain person requesting a picture and link be removed and expressing surprise at some of the content. Said items have been redacted and replaced with italics. Otherwise, the story you are about to see is true; the names have been changed to protect the
And then there was Saturday. Saturday was where Blog Life met Real Life. After my roommate had some a coworker and her husband over for a dinner party (he also had an old ex-girlfriend in town for the weekend), I was itching to go out.
As you may be aware, this week was an event, where a certain person came to Chicago to hang with a certain blogger. A certain blogger extended an invitation (OK, yes, I was totally fishing for it) to a few of their planned drinking excursions.
Yeah no shit you invited yourself. We knew what you were up to days before you actually asked Megan to meet us out. We were just waiting for the inevitable email asking her if you can meet us out. You even used the Awesomefest's name in vain. First rule of Awesomefest? No one is allowed to mention the word Awesomefest with the expressed written approval of the owners of Awesomefest.
So after my roommate played pussy and didn't wanna go out (he wanted to stay in and fuck his ex - which is fortunate since he doesn't know about this blog and explaining how I knew everyone would be awkward) uhhhhh....., I headed out to the place they were at celebrating a certain blogger's roomate's birthday. I walked in, bought a Tanqueray and tonic and headed to the back where the party was. I spotted a certain person first, but a certain blogger had her back to me so I had to kind of walk to the side.
Me: "A certain blogger?"
A certain blogger: "Mark!"
A certain person: "Who?"
A certain blogger: "Mortar!"
A certain person: "Hey!"
Me: "[redacted blogger] told me to give you a nipple pinch."
A certain person: [picture of shock]
First off, asshat, we didn't think you would actually show up to a bar where you weren't invited and knew no one. Second, what makes you think just because I write a blog where I drop the f-bomb you can introduce yourself to me like that? Seriously, who do you think you are?
So yeah, thus began good times uhhh...... Seconds later a certain blogger is shoving a shot in my hand of some girly thing she claimed was whiskey but was clearly candy. OK fucktard, she didn't order you a shot. You were sitting at the table with us, and since Megan is a nicer girl than I'll ever be, she lumped you into the group. I don't know how you turned, "I'd like 6 Soco and Lime shots (I was there. She never once called it whiskey. That shit was strong too. If I wasn't too busy wishing you would go away, I would have seen you grimace at the amount of Southern Comfort in the shot--like us all) to "OMG LET ME BUY YOU A SHOT! LET ME LICK YOUR FACE!"
I bought her and a certain person a few drinks too. She ordered some absurd raspberry stoli and sprite, while a certain person went for a martini (WRONG AGAIN ASSFACE. You just bought me the drink because I made mention of it once in a comment section. Do you take notes on this blog? I'm Quietly Judging You 101?) As they didn't have Grey Goose, I got her my favorite martini: dirty Ketel One. And like anyone with a good taste for booze, she loved it. I think I just threw up in my mouth.
While we're all gettin our drizink on I'm meeting her friends as well, taking pictures, etc. Oh yeah, if you call using your cell phone to take pictures of my friends and I while we aren't looking fun, then sure! Every time I turned around, that fucking camera was in either Megan, Dianka, or my face. Can you please stop telling Katie you think she is pretty cause she is now the only one nice enough to talk to you at this point? Who the fuck were you sending those pictures too anyways? firstname.lastname@example.org? Oh wait, no, you already own that email address.
At some point some cute chick starts grabbing my junk with tongs. Yes, tongs. There was a buffet sort of thing near the table and she had purloined serving tongs and was now trying to clamp my manhood. I imgaine [sic] it was like what a handjob from the Tin Man would be like. If you were actually not a fucktwat, you would have seen she was making fun of you. She wasn't grabbing your "manhood" as you call it (gag), but rather standing behind you mouthing to me, "Who the fuck is this guy?"
So being the gentleman (cough cough....) that I am, I reciprocated by stealing the tongs and copping a feel or two of my own (here comes vomit #2!). Anyway, tongs girl said she had read my blog. "Mortarbored!" she shouted repeatedly. "You blog about sex!" Um, well, yes, but only a few times (She was placating you. Not like I would know since I don't even read your blog). But hey if you wanna give me more material... The tong job was followed by her grinding and "dancing" next to me ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT? WHAT IS IT ABOUT SHE WAS MAKING FUN OF YOU FOR BEING AN ASSCLOWN DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND. In reality she was just humping me while I sat on my stool and sipped my martini. Hot. Well, tong girl, you know how to reach me. [FIRE SHOOTS OUT OF DMBMEG'S EARS.] This is completely fabricated, and you know it. If you interpret what she was doing as humping, you must have thought all the female patrons in the bar were ready to dry hump your leg at a moment's notice. What with you being all suave drinking your fancy Ketel One martini out of a tumbler in a bar with red Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. [Rico Suave begins to play in the background.]
At some point - not sure when, I'm full blown drunk by this time - a certain person and a certain blogger have to head out. Oh the good old, "I'm sooooo tired. Look! It's 2am! Past my bedtime! What? No I didn't write about staying out til 5am the other week on my blog. I have no idea what you are talking about, silly man! Now! Off to beddy bye!"
Again, being the gentleman (and stalker CASE CLOSED!) that I am, I stole a certain blogger's cell number by calling my cell on her phone earlier. So yeah, a certain blogger, no I really can't explain that text message after you left. I have no clue what "WTF happend to my gig!" means (so many jokes....must....not....ridicule....). After they left, though, I stuck around and closed out the place with her remaining friends read: you tried to massage my shoulders and invite yourself along with us. Rule #1 - don't try and touch a girl who flinches when you get within a foot of her. I was heading to some other place with people and they were in a rush, so I couldn't wait to find out what tongs girl was doing. I was sprinting to catch up with the people I'll give you a cookie if you can guess why you think we were rushing out of the bar. Motherfucking Speedy Gonzalez had nothing on us if it meant we had to spend more hours with your creepy ass. I was with as tongs girl shouted out in the street, "Mortarbored!" Damn, my plan to hook up with tongs girl was thwarted by my own drunkenness. Honey, it wasn't your drunkenness that was cockblocking you. Especially considering the next place we went to was retarded and I lost the group I was with after going to the bathroom, left, and just caught a cab home. Um, not quite.
OK let me take over from here since that last sentence did not do the remaining part of the evening justice. The fucker jumps in a cab with us after we are clearly trying to ignore him. We're giving him terse answers to the obnoxious comments we are making, but he doesn't seem to fucking get it. I'm still too nice to say, "get the fuck away from me asshole," However, my patience is waining. This guy is getting more and more insulting by the minute. We hail a cab, and immediately I yell shotgun as to not sit by this guy. I'm scared what even sitting next to him will do to me. I might possibly be infected with his douchebaggyness. Like I mentioned before, he was kind of touchy feely towards me, so I figured the plastic barrier of the cab would be enough of a barrier from him jumping through the front seat and swallowing me whole.
He put his fucking face through the partition, and proceeded to yell shit at me, and the cab driver. My friends would occasionally say something to him to calm him down, but he wasn't having it. Finally, the fucking CAB DRIVER had to tell him to, "Leave the lady alone." A FUCKING CAB DRIVER. Isn't one of the requirements of being a cabby is to have a BA in sexual harassment? That tells you how belligerent and obnoxious this guys was.
So then we arrive at the bar. I politely thank the cab driver for trying to stop the shit show, and walk in line. There is a $5 cover, and when Douchey McDoucheypants realized he had no more money, he asked to borrow $5 from my friends and I. Suddenly we all look in our wallets and proclaim, "Oh gosh darnit, this is my last $5! Oh, I think I saw an ATM in Indiana!. Tell you what, you start walking, and we'll save you a seat."
Then the fucker starts yelling at us. That's right, he comes uninvited, and then yells at my friends and I for not loaning him money to be graced with his company. Finally, he stomps off and we see him walking off towards...oh who the fuck am I kidding? Soon as he turned on his heels we made a mad dash inside. My friend Katie plops at a table, I put my bag down to go to the bathroom, and Dave is off to get us beers. I walk out of the bathroom, and my body turns cold. There is Assface Assfaceyson standing there attempting to talk to Katie, who coincidentally is turned facing the wall. I'm not kidding. Katie would rather face the wall than talk to this guy.
I head off Dave at the bar, "DUDE. Heeee's here!" [said in my best Poltergeist impersonation.]
He turns around slowly, throws his arms in the air and in his best James T. Kirk impersonation, yells "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" [like "Kaaahhhnnnnnnnnn!"]
OK so maybe I exaggerated that. I think his exact words were, "What the fuck is wrong with this guy?"
We take a deep breath and go and try to save Katie. There is a creepy old man sitting next to Katie (no, not making love to his tonic and gin), who comes up to me and says, "I like your dress, but who is that guy? He is bothering her." I thank him and agree.
We attempt to maneuver through the back of the bar, hoping that through the maze of high top tables this guy will trip over a bar stool, knock his head on the corner, and be rendered unconscious for the remainder of the evening. No such luck.
We sit down at another table, this time the music is blaring so we don't have to talk. Katie, Dave and I are all just sitting there looking at each other with widened eyes. Finally, he gets up and goes to the bathroom, and we take that as our cue to hit the dance floor. So I'm shaking my groove thing, and suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see him. He is making a bee line towards me. Suddenly he is up against me, grinding his manhood into my side. This is my final straw. I tell him to back off, and he doesn't. He grabs at my waist in a semi-aggressive manner. I ask him again. He doesn't move. I then pushed him away from me, pointed my finger at him and said, "Seriously, dude (yes I really do talk like that) You need to back the fuck away from me." Apparently this guy has the social intelligence of a 7 month old golden retriever cause he thinks this is a game. He comes towards me again, and I try and push him. Dave then intervenes, and kindly walks him back to our table and asks him again to leave me alone, and back the fuck away.
Luckily, he seems to take to guy who is 6'2" rather than my 5'6 ass (ha, I am 5'6--you know I'm talking to you). He then proceeds to take the next 15 minutes to lie on the table with his head in his arms while the guys at the surrounding tables point and laugh.
Suddenly, I look up and he is gone. We take this as our chance to leave, so the 3 of us bust out of there. Who knows if this guy was going to invite himself back to Megan's apartment with us. Katie goes home, and Dave is staying at Megan's apartment for the night. When we get home, Megan sees that there is a phone call or a text message from this guy saying, "WTF happened to my gig?" He may not know what it means, but I guarantee he texted Megan after realizing he was alone in the bar, and how could his new BFF's leave him like that?
So cut to Tuesday morning, and I see motherfucker wrote a post about me which included a picture of me and a complete and utter delusional perspective of what actually happened. If this guy 1) wasn't rude and obnoxious towards my friends, 2) Almost ruined my evening, and Megan's evening so much she left the bar early on her roommate's birthday 3) grabbed me in a way I felt threatened 4) kept grabbing me in a way that I felt threatened 4) took pictures of my friends and I with his camera phone when we weren't looking, and 5) create a blog post in which it makes it seem I actually enjoyed your company, I wouldn't be so mean. I also would not have blogged about this, but you seem insistent on keeping this post up about Megan and I like you are suddenly cool for hanging out with us.
Let me tell you dude, we've been hanging around our friends for years, and they still aren't cool. That means there is absolutely zero hope for you. Think about this next time you make a girl feel as uncomfortable as you made me on Sunday night, and again with your blog post. Oh yeah, and thanks for almost ruining Awesomefest.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
In the meantime, you guys may have heard of a certain school losing this weekend to a relatively unknown school. It appears some sports bloggers have even gone off the deep end as well.
Those of you new readers may not know that I have two friends who went to Michigan, and who are seemingly inconsolable right now. I spent the better part of my evening talking them off the ledge. OK, no not really, but I did hear a lot of whining.
Sometimes though, through great pain comes great genius. You've already seen Sexy Knife Posing, and now, ladies and gentlemen, Michigan fans of the world give you Sexy Bag Posing.
So to all of you out there, go hug your Michigan friends. You never know when Sexy Bag Posing will result in real, actual death.