Thursday, June 30, 2011

I'm a girlfriend's best girlfriend

I've always been mostly a tomboy.  Those who have met me in real life but who don't KNOW me, would say I'm very feminine and probably on the classy side. Those who know me would say I look classy, but I'm brash, forward, more than a little crude and definitely tomboy-ish. I don't even like to use the term girlfriend.  I enjoy poop discussions, I love sports - mainly football - and I'm like a dude in the way that I sex. I'm not a sensitive, give it to me slow, kiss me all over kinda gal. Although, admittedly, my current love has changed a bit of that.  He is quite adept at getting me all juiced up and I've come to enjoy the methodical precursor to the ....

MAN, did I go way off course....I must be in crave mode ...

My point is: I'm not all that girly.  I have a couple of girlfriends, now moreso than in my youth.  In my late teens I had 3 regular girlfriends.  At one time we all lived together in a 2-bedroom apartment. Kels I adored, Amy I couldn't stand and Mo I loved and admired.

Kels was utterly gorgeous! And the best part was she really had no idea.  I remember once walking down the street with her and she ran into a guy she casually knew.  The guy said hi to her, stopped to chat and he immediately pitched a tent.  I know he knew he had wood.  But Kels didn't.  I had to tell her after leaving him on the sidewalk shame-faced with an aching cramp in his groin that she's the only girl I know who can innocently spur on absolutely spontaneous hard-ons. Kels didn't live with the group of us for too long.  She was artsy-fartsy and ended up renting a righteous warehouse apartment which she promptly decorated with neon lights and neon paint flung onto the walls. To this day, Kels is one of my closest and oldest friends.  We frequently reminisce about dropping acid and tripping through Stanley Park in Vancouver.  Or walking home from the gay parties only to have no recollection of how we suddenly arrived at the apartment. By the way, Kels looks just as good as she ever did....better actually.

Amy was a Ho. Well, not literally.  I mean, had she been a real ho, we probably would never have been late with the rent.  The group of us used to go to a nightclub called the Warehouse every.single.weekend. In Vancouver, there weren't a lot of black clubs and my girls were very very into black guys.  Me? I didn't care what color they were. But the club was always amusing and because we went so often we never had to wait in line or pay cover. We used to drive to the club in Amy's car because she had the only parking spot in the apartment building and I had no car. Problem with Amy driving?  She controlled when we left the club and who left with us. I don't think I can count on one hand how many times NO ONE left with us.  While Mo and I were fairly picky about our bed partners, Amy was not. She'd have one guy on Friday from the club and a new one on Saturday night. I don't mean she dated them.  I'd wager 90% of her bedfellows were one-nighters. It wouldn't have bothered Mo and I except that Amy was a shrieker.  Not a screamer.  A fucking, open-mouthed, full-lunged shrieker any time she had sex. Which was at least twice a weekend, if you're still following. I mentioned earlier that I couldn't stand Amy. I can't remember what the falling out was, but it was colossal (albeit ~25 years ago). Mo and I had a chance to meet up with Amy about 3-4 years ago.  She had moved to California, but was back in Vancouver and I was there visiting Mo.  Amy invited us to a restaurant where she was waitressing.  The woman is now completely insane.  I mean, crazy-eyed, shrieky-laugh, inappropriate outbursts insane. And now it doesn't even matter why I can't stand her. Because I don't commiserate with the insane any more.

And Mo. Mo's mom was a friend of my dad's back in the 80's. I met Mo in 1989 and we've been friends ever since.  She witnessed the birth of my son and I witnessed the birth of hers. There are very few secrets between us.  The reason I admired her in our youth was that she was very good with money and she knew how to pay bills.  Sounds funny, but truly? At 19/20 I think that's incredible.  She made good decisions.  She had good judgment. She never really suffered or went without because she wasn't blowing her money every weekend.  She didn't drink and she's never done drugs. Clearly, she was the complete opposite of me.  But if I respect you and admire you I will be there for you at your most difficult moment.

Some time in or around 1991, Mo and I met a couple of cute sailors on the street.  Vancouver was popular with the sailors since it was so close to Whitbey Island in Washington state and crossing the border in those days was as easy as flashing a smile and driving on through. After hanging out and sharing a quick meal with the sailors, we adjourned to our respective apartments for a good ole game of "HEY Sailor!!".  Some time later that evening I get the phone call that would change the course of our friendship forever.

Ring Ring!

Idjit: Yo! You get some?!

Mo: Uh. Yes.

Idjit: what's the dealio? you sound weird.

Mo: ummmm. this is awkward.

Idjit:  the fuck dude? what's going on over there?

Mo: you should check your sailor for crabs.

Idjit:  EXCUSE ME??

Mo: yeah. you should.  right away. because mine has crabs.

Idjit: but, if yours has crabs and you just....

Mo: yes, exactly.  the thing is, I gave him head,  Shit.  can you come over here?

And I spent the next hour or so pulling crabs and eggs out of Mo's massive blond mane.  THAT is what a girlfriend's best girlfriend would do.

Also, I would totally have done the same for Kels.  But fuck Amy.  She would have had to shave her head. 

Friday, June 24, 2011

An Open Letter to my Stepson

I remember when I first met you.  You were 6 years old and angry.  Your mom and dad weren't together any more and here I come intruding on your fantasy that your folks would ever get back together. I apologize for your perception of me at that time: an interloper who was the ONE reason his nuclear family wasn't going nuclear. Never mind that I didn't even get together with your dad until 6 months after your mom and dad divorced. Still, I understand how my presence was unwelcome.

Your dad lived with his mom, your grandma, and you lived with your mom and your little sister.  I know that was hard for you.  I remember hearing about you having to wake up your little 4-yo sister and position her in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal before getting yourself out the door to walk to first grade. And Mom? Mom was in bed sleeping off last night's bender or meth session. Thankfully you were available and reliable, even at the tender age of 6, to care for your little sister. But I can't help but wonder what went on in your head at that time.  Did you disconnect?  Did you resent?  Were you terrified that you were virtually alone as man/adult of the house.  It gives me tremendous grief to imagine you in that position.  I wish I had been able to rescue you from such a horribly detrimental time in your early development.  Because I can see how it, at least partially, molded you into the man you are now.

You and I didn't spend a whole lot of time together when you were little.  You were never really comfortable being around me.  Your sister thought I was pretty cool.  I remember she used to sit in my lap and play with my ear for hours. Do you remember that your mom is responsible for the first time we were thrust together as a unit? It was two days before Christmas 1996 and it was also your little cousin's 3rd birthday. We went to Grandma's house to celebrate the birthday and then your dad and I were taking you and your sister home to your mom.  We arrived but your mom wasn't home. We waited for a while, we sent messages to her pager, we knocked on the door, we looked around the condo complex, but she clearly wasn't home.  We waited a while longer, drove to a nearby Kmart to see if her car was there, we drove around the neighborhood to see if she was at her friend's house, but we never found her.  We wanted to make sure we exhausted every avenue to drop you guys off, but she was nowhere to be found. So, we took you and your sister to my apartment. That was your first time ever being in my apartment.

The next day your mom called to say she was out of state and she'd have your Christmas for you in a few days. She had never informed your dad that she was leaving town.  Had she let him know, we could have made arrangements - clean bed for you, extra food in the fridge, a change of clothes would have been nice, maybe a jacket since it was December. Oh, and Christmas presents suitable for a 6 and a 4 year old. THAT was a mad scramble LOL! I remember using part of my bill money to buy you guys lots of little stuff that I hoped you'd like. Your dad couldn't contribute.  He was giving 89% of his net income to your mom in child and spousal support because he hadn't gone to the divorce hearing and your mom generously inflated his income so she could get more support. She certainly won that battle! My mom was kind enough to buy you and your sister some clothes to wear for several days, also a winter coat and some hair stuff so we could do your sister's matted hair.  Your mom came home from her out of town vacation several days later and you went home to her.  But not for long.

A week after you turned 7, your mom called your dad to tell him that she was being evicted and could we "come get the kids for a little while" until she gets on her feet.  Your mom was still getting 89% of your dad's net income, leaving him $100 to $125 every two weeks to live on.  That was in April 1997 and you lived with your dad for the rest of your youth.

In October 1997, I just couldn't support a household of 4 on my own any more.  We had moved to a bigger place since my 2-bedroom apartment wouldn't suffice. I helped your dad draw up the paperwork and we went to court to ask for termination of the child support. When the court agreed, we started living again.  You and your sister had a birthday party EVERY year.  You played flag football and basketball in the neighborhood league.  You played in a baseball league near your aunt's house.  We had family over all the time and we bar-b-que'd.

In the fall of 1997 we announced that we were having a baby.  You were FURIOUS! I wasn't sure why you thought having a baby was going to eliminate your place in the family?  But I guess kids just feel however they feel. I was sure you'd try to maim the new baby or do some horribly disfiguring thing to the child.  But when he was born, you sat in that hospital and held your new brother. We have a picture of you holding your little brother and I could cry right now just envisioning that picture.  You looked absolutely radiant and proud. It is, frankly, my favorite picture of you EVER.

We lived in relative peace, going through the motions of life.  We went to your school numerous times for the carnival, the Halloween parties, talent shows and to watch you dissect gross stuff. 

Do you remember the trip we took in 1999?  My friend was getting married in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  It was our first little family vacation trip. We stayed at a great condo/hotel with a room right off the pool.  We spent almost every day in that pool! It was great fun. We did a little exploring around town, it was a nice family trip. And it opened the portal for wanderlust.  Until we travel, we generally don't know how fulfilling and how exciting it can be.  I'm glad we were able to provide you with the opportunity to see life outside of San Diego.  I'm not sure if you know this, but the trip was made possible by my own grandmother's passing and my inheritance from her. 
In 2001 we planned a trip to Vancouver to visit my dad and his wife. Since your mom had moved out of state in 1998, she wasn't available to sign a note saying she would allow you and your sister to travel out of the country.  This was actually a blessing in disguise.  Your mom not signing the note forced your dad to go to court where he won win sole custody of you and your sister.  We happily traveled to Canada to see grandpa and nanna and a few of my other friends.  We went to the science museum and did some other sightseeing.  I remember you enjoying the jacuzzi at my dad's house and playing pool with grandpa and your dad. During that trip you bonded with grandpa and it seemed like you really liked the Vancouver area. As a matter of fact, I sent you back to visit on your own a couple of years later in your early teens. It was like your own personal vacation, grown-up style.

When you were getting ready to enter junior high school you wanted to try something different than the neighborhood school. You asked me to help you get registered for a Magnet school in a prestigious neighborhood north of town. We completed all the paperwork and got all the references and when you won the lottery and were set to enter the school, I took you shopping for new school uniforms and school supplies.  Since the school was only about 5 miles from my job, you carpooled with me every morning and every afternoon.  The school was a challenge and as it turned out, you weren't all that keen on the program.  Before the end of your first year, you asked to be transferred to the neighborhood school so you could just be a regular kid. That sounded perfectly reasonable to me.  I believe in preventing failure wherever possible. You seemed pretty happy to be able to walk or ride your bike to school, you made more friends in the neighborhood and all was good.

In 2002 we had another baby: SURPRISE!!  We had not intended to have any more kids, but....there it was.  Thank God we were ruinous at staying sterile.  That child is a true blessing.

During this time we were living in the southernmost part of the city.  You used to ride your bike all over, you built a bike ramp and you and your brother used to jump off the ramps.  Around this time you started to go out and socialize more.  I used to drop you off at the movies where you and a group of kids would meet up and hang out. You were a pretty good kid.  You never gave us any trouble, really. Decent enough grades, not trouble at school, no trouble with the law. You were pretty easy.

In 2004 we decided to move to Texas.  The housing prices were shooting through the roof and we decided to move some place with a lower cost of living.  Some place with better opportunities for all of us.  Our life in San Diego was completely stagnant and we realized there wasn't going to be a lot of upward mobility unless something drastic changed.  After a couple of trips to Texas, your dad and I agree that we liked what we saw.  I found us a rental house in the Houston suburbs and we made plans to move in June 2004. Your dad had taken a temporary assignment in Greece and he was able to send money home to help us with the move and to help us after we got to Texas since I wouldn't have a job right away. I was so proud of you when we were packing up the U-Haul.  There was no way we would have been able to get all that work done without your unbelievable strength and exceptional work ethic.  I'm not kidding.  You and your friend pretty much staged and packed up that entire truck while I cleaned and purged. Without you we would never have been able to drive off into the sunrise.  And drive we did!  It was helpful to be driving cross country with another family.  I know you probably enjoyed being able to ride with them for long stretches. You know, they still ask about you?  Ask how you're doing, what you're up to? The last time you saw that family was at your high school graduation a few years ago. We used to spend quite a bit of time with this family.  It's just funny how people can make a mark on your early life and become so dispensable later on. I, by the way, saw them 3 days ago.

Shortly after we arrived in Texas and got all moved into the house, we worked on getting you enrolled in the local high school.  You were going to be a big Texas Freshman! What's even better, you were going to play football! I remember taking you to the first day of football training.  We walked into the training room to hand over the forms and the coach took one look at you and said, "yo, California. Give your jewelry to your mom. We don't wear that stuff here." You unhappily handed over your chain and your earrings. But you replaced those cherished items with people and new experiences.  You made friends easily, your willingness to learn and your work ethic secured you a good position on the freshman football team. You played football all 4 years of high school.  Despite the knee injury and subsequent surgery, you made the varsity team and you even lettered!  I remember going through the forms and the decisions of what to put on your Letterman's jacket.  I think you picked just the right badges and crests.  It's a great jacket and it was totally worth the money I paid for it.  I'm REALLY glad you took my advise and you didn't give it to any girls in high school.  Girls are vicious creatures and you likely wouldn't ever have seen it again. But you do have it and it will, hopefully, always remind you of a fair and easy time in your life:  High School. I'll never forget your senior football banquet. The smallest offensive lineman was voted the Line MVP for the season.  It was a really excellent culmination of all your hard work on the line and your boys and coaches wanted to be sure to recognize you for all your effort.  We loved that moment for you!

When you graduated high school in 2008 we had high hopes for you. I personally hoped you would go to college and try out for football as a walk on.  We knew you wouldn't be in line for a scholarship because you didn't have the size to be a really effective lineman with the big boys in college. I did always hope that you would get faster because I thought you'd make a really excellent fullback.  I think, though, that life just got in the way.  I think we failed you when we let you start having 100% freedom in high school.  Well, I was against it, but I was always vetoed by your dad, which I believe you know.  I think, at the time, you were probably pleased that your dad wanted to be your buddy and he allowed you to roam the streets without curfew.  I think you probably loved it that, after I spent several months carting you back and forth to/from driving school, your dad let you drive his jeep without impunity - and without a drivers license. I don't think it occurred to you how dangerous it could be to drive without a license until you hit that drunk guy. I'll never forget the heart-stopping midnight phone call. You were absolutely hysterical.  You know I also heard the 911 call?  You actually called 911 to tell on yourself.  It was pretty morally righteous.  Most people would have driven away from a scene like that.  But you took full moral responsibility for hitting that man.  I hope you know that that accident wasn't your fault.  I believe that idiot drunk was in the street.  That intersection, now lit up like the 4th of July, used to be dark, marred by tall shrubs on all sides and with no street lights.  I do believe he was weaving in the street after a nearby concert in the park. Did you know that his insurance company tried to come after us for $25k since you were uninsured?  I wonder whatever happened with that...

When you finally did get a license at 17 you received a car. I don't think I need to even remind you that my mother and her husband gave you their SUV. Your dad was expected to pay them a small stipend for the car. I ended up paying them about $1,000 for it which was way way under market value. You really liked that car.  You put a new stereo into it. It's too bad you don't have it any more.  I understand your dad commandeered it a year ago to drive back to California from Texas.  I'm sorry you weren't able to hold onto that car.  It was intended for you to keep.

You and I never did get on very well.  From the age of 6 you had a fundamental distrust of me and a real dislike of women in general.  I'm not saying I blame you after how you were raised early on.  I used to watch how you treated your mother and your sister...and even me, if I allowed it. You used to complain about your female bosses - such bitches! I know you've got a real problem with women in positions of authority. Because frankly, you don't believe we have any worth other than serving you 24/7.  I watched it with the girl you dated in high school and then with the few you used afterwards. What's interesting is that I never maligned you in any way.  Frankly, you had more opportunities and benefits than any of the other kids since you were the eldest.  But what's strange is this:  you never took the time to get to know me as a person.  Regardless of who I am, all you had an interest in was taking as much as you could get without giving anything at all.  I remember mothers days when you wouldn't utter a word to me.  Birthdays when the other kids and your dad made an effort to give me a cake, you waited until the celebration was over and everyone had left the room to come serve yourself MY birthday cake. There were many times you ignored my existence until/unless you needed or wanted something.  I'm not all that hurt by your selfishness.  Except that you still think *I* have something against you.  If you had taken the time to know me you'd know that I'm "live and let live" about most everything.  Ask your sister.

A couple of years ago, the last time I really saw you, you tried to physically intimidate me.  I found it very very sad. It was like dealing with your dad all over again, except, I don't believe you're insane.  I believe you're completely sane, but you're utterly furious.  Just like you were the day I met you.

I can't tell you how excited the kids were to receive your letter from marine corps boot camp yesterday. They immediately wrote you back and I hope you get their letters very soon.  For some reason, the kids asked me to read your letter to them.  I didn't need to read your private words to them, but I guess in a way I'm glad I did. Your first sentence read "...I hope you actually get to READ this letter..." as though I'd ever interfere in a family relationship that isn't MINE.  I have never prevented you from being with your siblings.  I have never prevented your dad from being with his youngest children, no matter how I personally felt about his state at the time. Before you were ever out of diapers I learned that each person is entitled to make his/her own relationships and I am not at liberty to manipulate any of that.  YOUR relationship with the kids doesn't belong to me.

I guess I'll stop ranting and just say this:  of all 4 kids I always thought you'd be the most successful, the most balanced and the most stable.  I still hope this is true.  For you.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

The errant pube

I am pretty hairless.  I mean, naturally, I'm NOT hairless, but I invest heavily in shaving instruments and, therefore, I stay pretty smooooth. Baby is not hairless.  During football season he wanted to go hairless to see if it would help reduce rug burn (from his own personal rug). We fully used two bottles of hair remover to get the hair off his body and he STILL ended up having to shave some off.  He is a very hairy man. Luckily, I'm kinda ole skool so it doesn' freak me out.

Every morning I iron my work clothes for the day.  Because I'm a lazy bitch and a slouch, I have a bachelor-style ironing board that never leaves its spot in my bedroom. It's pretty much on the ground and I squat to iron each morning.  Ironing also doubles as my daily exercise. Today I'm wearing a knee length tan skirt, a black shell and a long white belted top. My outfits are quite appropriate for my conservative work environment. I work in a downtown office building where the parking elevators are consistently packed to capacity and everyone rushes down the escalator to get to their respective desks so they can sit and do nothing but surf blogs and play Mafia Wars on Facebook. Hey, someone's gotta keep the economy moving.

This morning I packed myself into the parking elevator and made the obligatory rush down the escalator, but something  You know the feeling?  Like maybe you have toilet paper on your shoe or your skirt is tucked into your panties or...WHAT'S THAT??  Is that a black string on my nice white top? Fuck.My.Life. The biggest goddamn pube I've ever seen has been squatting in a freakishly visible location on my top since I ironed it this morning.

I just wonder how many elevator patrons believe I have a full 70's bush. LOLOLOL!

Hoes will be Hoes

Some of you might think that bringing your partner to a strip club is just asking for trouble.  I'd say it's just asking for extra good sex afterwards. Oh, and I'd be right.

I'm no stranger to strip clubs and I have no problem with all the sexy little things that go on there.  It's a FANTASY for men (and some women) and I think it's normal and natural for men to want to see naked women.  It's also natural for said naked ladies to want to get paid to be seen naked.  I DO think there are boundaries, though.

I took Baby to the nudie bar last weekend for his birthday.  It was a BYOB, all nude (read: no liquor license) club, which...WOOHOO!! I'm definitely down for that.  We went with another couple and overall  it was pretty entertaining.  Some of those girls were REALLY good at their job.  One stripper was VERY flexible...possibly double-jointed...maybe made of plasticine. One girl with long boobs, a big ole booty and a blonde weave came and sat on Baby's lap.  We told her it was his birthday. We all chatted for a while.  Baby told her he had no intention of giving her any money unless she was on stage.  In other words, no lap dance is gonna make you any extra cash, sweetie. We continued to chat and I noticed that her hand started to creep. that...?? Does she have...?? Is her hand on Baby's JUNK? I think the other couple must have noticed something weird was going on because the husband was trying to get rid of her.  After she finally left, I told Baby that it's really not gonna fly for the stripper to be grabbing his junk. I don't care about a lap dance, I don't care about the harmless flirting, I don't care about a lot of stuff, but she had no business touching his member.  Did I mention I was sitting right there??

About an hour later, the blonde-weave stripper was on stage and Baby went up to give her a few bucks for her dance.  I saw her reach up and try to touch his unmentionables.  He wagged his finger at her and told her to stop it. When she came off stage and came over to thank Baby for the tip, I pulled her to me and said, "Sweetie, if you ever try to tough MY DICK again, I'm gonna get real fucking angry.  Got it?? I don't wanna get angry in here."  Her eyes got all big and she said "I'm sorry!!!!" about 4 times. Goddamn right bitch.  Don't make me start cracking bottles up in here!

I don't think I remember seeing her again that night.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Monopoly may be responsible for de-segregation in the US

[Parts of this post were borrowed *ahem* from Wikipedia. My comments will appear in bold text because that way you can tell truth from fiction. Probably.]
The history of Monopoly can be traced back to 1904, when a Quaker woman named Elizabeth (Lizzie) J. Magie Phillips created a game through which she hoped to be able to explain the single tax theory of Henry George (it was intended to illustrate the negative aspects of concentrating land in private monopolies). Her game, The Landlord's Game, was commercially published in 1924.
Since slavery was abolished in the 1860’s but segregation still existed, I am going out on a limb to say that Monopoly is directly responsible for integration.  And I will prove it.
In 1941, the British Secret Service had John Waddington Ltd., the licensed manufacturer of the game outside the U.S., create a special edition for World War II prisoners of war held by the Nazis. Hidden inside these games were maps, compasses, real money, and other objects useful for escaping. They were distributed to prisoners by secret service-created fake charity groups.
Nazis also hate black people, so I’m pretty sure I’m on the right track here. The game helped free gatrillions of white captives and also encouraged blacks and whites to be together in harmony whilst playing board games.
Parker Brothers [the game’s eventual owner and manufacturer] was founded by George S. Parker. Parker's philosophy deviated from the prevalent theme of board game design; he believed that games should be played for enjoyment and did not need to emphasize morals and values. [values like bigotry and slavery and segregation...see?  I’m SO right on this.]
I must credit my 12-year old son for discovering that Monopoly indeed changed the face of black/white relations in the US.  Thank you, Monopoly, for showing blacks and whites how to play TOGETHER.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

My daughter might be Georgia O'Keeffe reincarnated

If you don’t know who Georgia O’Keeffe is, look her up.  She’s a quite accomplished (now deceased) painter whose artwork seemed to be fully based on vaginas, no matter how much she denied it.  The fact that she traveled and resided with her “good friend” Maria Chabot leads one to believe maaaaybe she knew a whole lot about the nuances and the internal workings of a good vagina.
My 8-year old daughter may be the next Georgia O’Keeffe. Her 3rd grade class was charged with creating a piece of clay artwork to give to a family member.  My daughter made me a dish.  I think.  When she asked what I would do with it, I choked a little and told her I’d save it always.  But what would I DO with it?  I’d admire it. That’s what I would do.  It is absolutely not functional in any way unless you call it ART. Even still, I have no idea how to make art functional.
If you can figure out how to make use of this dish, I’d be happy to hear it.

Monday, June 13, 2011

The ridiculous BIRTHDAY extravaganza!!

hide the children immediately....unless they can't ready yet.  because there's no pics, so probably you're safe...

My Baby and I share (kind of) the same birthday weekend.  His is 4 days before mine.  This year, since grandmummy has offered to take the brats, I have planned a couples massage, a nice hotel room in town and a night of strip club debauchery.  This is TAME compared to last year.

[I should mention that I really wasn't with Baby at this point last year....and you'll see why shortly]

Last year I had a 4-day birthday party.  No, I am NOT a celebrity.  I'm black.  We celebrate for any goddamn reason whatsoever.  Last year my kids  Where were my kids?? I think they must have been at their dad's.  Or my mom's.  I'm pretty sure they were somewhere safe, though because CPS never contacted me.  In any event, I left work on a Friday and immediately checked into a 4-star hotel in town.  I actually booked 1 room for night 1 and 2 rooms (adjoining) for night 2 of the festivities. The plan was to go to Club #1 Friday night with 3 other people who were also celebrating a birthday that weekend.  Then I'd invite a few specific people from that club/party back to the hotel for the afterparty. That worked out quite well...we clubbed, we ate, we drank, a few of us afterpartied (ahem....) and I was left to my own devices by 6am.  It was GLORIOUS!  I had a delicious nap and then took the laptop to lounge and surf by the pool. 

Saturday after luxuriating by the pool, I showered and waited for the occupants of hotel room 2 to arrive.  I was also waiting for a guest to come in from New Orleans. We'll just call him Big C for now.  Once everyone arrived, we were off to an afternoon Club for a few drinks.  It was a nice simple gathering with more food and more drinks in a nice open air lounge.  Very chill. Then it was back to the hotel to change for the evening activities.

Saturday night we all got jazzed up and headed out to Club #3.  By this time, Big C had had a few drinks.  Our crew consisted of about 8 people and all were planning to come back to the hotel for the Saturday afterparty. We spent about 90 minutes at Club#3 and then I was ready to was time to play :D  HOWEVER, Big C had another plan.  He needed calories.  So, we stopped at IHOP and had a snack.  I realized in the light of the restaurant that Big C was really shitfaced.  And when he gets shitfaced, he gets obnoxious. I was hoping the calories would put him in better spirits.  What it DID put him in was a coma. We got back to the hotel and Big C commandeered a bed all to himself. He disrobed and partially covered himself with a sheet.  The rest of the room got to stare at his naked ass for the next 4 hours. Not that it mattered...the show must go on!  And GO ON it did.  The debauchery and afterpartying were epic. I only know that because when the last guest left at 9am, no one seemed unhappy to have lost that much sleep.

Sunday, after a brief nap, I packed up my wares and made the 45 minute drive home.  But uno momentito!!!  We are not done YET!!  No!  Sunday night is the live music night at our favorite spot on the north side of town. we go to the girls all-white get together at Club #4 for some snacks, vino and live music.

That was some weekend party....until my favorite club promoter found out it was my birthday on that actual Tuesday.  Which is his night for another fun spot on the north side of town.  So, he put me on a flier and I was *coughcough* obligated *coughcough* to attend that club on the Tuesday.  So, Club #5 it was.  And THAT is when "Baby" texted me Happy Birthday. The only reason that's strange is that I hadn't talked to him in about 4-5 weeks and I had no IDEA he would remember when my birthday is.  But he did.   And he came to see me at Club#5.  And he brought me gifts. And he asked me "so, what are you doing for your birthday??" And I replied, "You."

And that is the end AND the beginning.

Friday, June 10, 2011

America's filthy, shameful, gluttonous guilty pleasure

If you're not from North America, you may not be aware of this most disgusting and horrifying place to eat....the All-You-Can-Eat BUFFET.  I think we can all agree that Americans (generally) are a LARGE lot.  We like oversized everything and we end up, ourselves, oversized. There is rarely a limit to our consumption and this is never more evident than at the Buffet "restaurant".

When I was younger I looooved the buffet (insert curly cues and hearts and butterflies).  It was like the zen food garden of every chubby girl's dreams. As I matured and became more aware of germs and hepatitis and typhoid and loose pubes and the number of people who don't wash their hands after wiping, I stopped the love affair with the buffet.  People reaching into the vats of processed foodstuffs, sleeves dangling into the dressing, hair hovering over the potatoes, OOOPS!  I dropped a piece?  Lemme reach under the "protective hood" INTO the chafing dish and retrieve my chicken leg.  It is utterly horrifying.  Also, it is BLISSFUL for a person like me who is fascinated by the macabre, the obese and the unkempt.

Last night we had a family dinner outing at the newest Furrs Buffet in our area.  The fascination started in the parking lot.  People racing to the door to get in while the people coming out were laboring to get to the car under the weight of their enormous dinner.  OMG!  This is GREAT! Since my favorite pastime is people watching, I just KNEW I'd be in for a great evening (inserting more hearts and stars and shit). We get in line to pre-pay for the feeding frenzy and I promise you, I have rarely seen a more disturbing group of people.  The unwashed and the dispossessed were out in full force.  It was like the welfare state meets the crackhead state meets the tweakers, sprinkled with an average middle classer here and there. I stalked the line to check out the delicious fare for my people-watching.  The common theme was the unadulterated CRAZY-EYE.  I'm serious.  It was like each person was plotting their path of destruction through the buffet line - where's the plates?  Okay good, next stop meat? Or should I hit the salad bar and destroy that one?  It was like watching the mental blueprint of Mission Impossible unfold. The eyes told it all.

The hostesses in Furrs are probably overpaid. I mean, how much does horse hair cost?  These girls had more weave on their heads than I've seen in a dozen beauty shops.  I was hoping, given the warm temperatures in the restaurant, the girls were wearing wigs.  Take it off when they home and let the head breathe. It was just weird to see that much hair under a tight Furrs cap.  Once we were seated, we were instructed that we could go on ahead to the food stations and the server would bring our drinks.  Since we're in the US the only drinks that were offered were soda pop.  No milk, no beer, no wine, just soda. My bad...and Iced Tea.  We made our way to the food stations and HOLY SHITBALLS!  It was absolutely controlled chaos. I mean, people were all out of order, but surprisingly polite.  I guess they felt safe about not rushing since they knew there would be no end to the vittles.  They're out of popcorn shrimp?  Wait 5 minutes and go back to the station. I noticed, though, how FOCUSED everyone was.  It was like they were all in a fugue a bunch of undead zombies with their eyes on fooooood. The only people who held my gaze were the employees working around the stations and keeping the areas as clean as possible around the food zombies.

Once back at the table, I started to really take notice of people.  "No! You may NOT play without shoes on!", cried one dad. Um, this is why God invented the high chair.  This child was about 2 and she was flailing all over the family's table - under the table, on the ground, in the aisle.  Strap that little fucker to the damn high chair, DAD. Then the shoe discussion needn't happen.  I noticed at most tables, quite large couples eating mounds of food.  It's baffling how most people can consume that much food in one sitting. What's more baffling is the number of times the average buffet patron goes back to get a new plate of food. Two or THREE times if last night's evidence is correct. But, like the parking lot observation, the food station-to-table walk is similar.  The hunters stalk to the station with mad purpose, intent on capturing only the most fresh and most succulent morsels, their salisbury steak and salad stalking is the only thing in their line of vision. It's like something out of an undercover black ops video game.  BUT!!  On the way back to the table, the same vicious predator walks slowly to his seat with a satisfied smirk and a decidedly smug darting of the eyes, wanting everyone to be aware that he has conquered the buffet wholly.

My obvious thrill at the people watching garnered me a "I'll pray for you honey.  Because you're going to Hell.  You know that, right?"

Yes, baby. 

And he'll be right there in Hell with me.  On the way out we saw a young family near the exit door.  "JESUS CHRIST!!" he started on his way out the door.  "Did you see that baby?  That's the ugliest fucking baby I've EVER seen!  Kid doesn't stand a chance..."

I'll save you a seat in Hades, my love.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

I should write something. Let's go with PENIS.

Seeing as how I'm not really doing this blog in any sort of organized fashion, I guess I don't always have anything interesting to say. However, I should probably write SOME-DAMN-THING in order to keep this tool slightly less than blunt.

I honor of Annah's (Red Means Go) blog and maybe because of Anthony Weiner's crotch shot, I will continue the penis erectus conversation.

I wonder if there's a new special ingredient in weed that reduces the flacidity (is that a word?) in men smokers. I seem to recall back in my [much] younger days, the potheads had a terrible time trying to keep fully erect. Of the several potheads I've met in the past couple of years. however, this no longer seems to be an issue. Ahem. I Anyway, so I wonder if there's something new in the pot or if the older guys just know how to keep things working, or WHAT the deal is. You get less action from the drunks that's for sure. It makes smoking pot not such a boring adventure any more. [DISCLAIMER: I do not smoke pot. However, several people in my immediate and no-so-immediate circle do smoke.]

Something else that is interesting about the peni: many men would argue that they're not big enough. Or they'd like to be bigger. Let me tell you something, you average Joes. Bigger is NOT always better. There's the obvious issue of having to be compatible with your mate. Some girls just don't want (read: can't take) that much junk. Oh, it's fun every once in a while, but on a regular basis? Not so much. There's only so much space in there, believe it or not. Another thing men don't know is: MANY very large penises don't get fully erect. I'm not sure if the owner of said penis realizes this...maybe it's just normal for him to be humungous in a semi-erect state and it just doesn't matter all that much since it's more than enough even in the 1/2 hard state. I have some special advise for you...I don't know ONE woman alive who enjoys riding a 1/2 soft penis. There's nothing exciting about a penis flipping in and flipping out. It's meant to be all the way hard so it stays in. Therefore, 1/2-erect + gigantic = not a whole lotta fun. Appreciate what you have fellas...we really prefer a fully functioning normal-sized unit.

I HAVE to mention for my single male friends, I am SO glad you're using condoms. It is extremely important that you stay protected. But can I PLEASE ask you to buy the right size? You do not need a Super-Duper Magnum condom to cover the shaft, dear. A regular Trojan or Lifestyle will suffice. Also, do you know how FREAKY it is to have a too-big condom come off during the act, only to be found hours later? DAYS later? I won't go into graphic detail. I'll let you mull that one over. It is rather disturbing and completely avoidable. So, please use a rubber that fits YOU and stop worrying that your partner will notice that you're normal-sized. Trust me, she'll notice either way and probably not mind.

Last note about the penis: we know you enjoy certain, er...oral engagements. But can I suggest that you not force us down upon your member> Ears are not handlebars and you might get more action if you stop trying to asphyxiate us. Enjoy your day, darlings!