Friday, August 28, 2009

Riding Under The Influence

Drunk bike riding is totally the tits, but sometimes it can be a bit tricksie, like when you're black out drunk for example. Last night I left the grown-up bar I was at (see previous post) and was totally trashed on quality beer. Chris was like, "are you ok to ride home?" My response, "OF COURSE" and then I almost crashed into a parked car not even 2 feet from the bar. It was a precarious start, to say the least, but I eventually made it all the way home by cruising down the middle of every street.

This reminded me of another time, oh about 5 or 6 years ago, when Jenny, Blair and myself were in Fire Island for the weekend. Blair was off trying to find his own kind (re: gays) while Jenny and I got trashed and tried to ride bikes to the bro bars. I didn't even make it onto the bike. I was merely standing next to it and totally toppled over on top of it. Beach cruisers are heavy as fuck.

Anyway my suggestion is to ride after having a couple drinks, not a couple dozen drinks. Mothers Against Drunk Driving should totally give me a medal for that helpful tip.

Grown-Up Bar

Being 27 lumps me in the "quasi-grown-up" camp. On the one hand I enjoy going to the farmer's market and am beginning to have lofty dreams of home-ownership, but at the same time I also get stoned to the point of feeling roofied and am hungover at work more often than not. It's a very thin line, that line between responsible adult and drunk kid.

One of the things that makes me feel way too old for my own good is a grown-up bar. I went to one last night with my buddy Krishna and we made a few observations that will help you determine if you are, in fact, in a bar full of adults.

1. No kids from Williamsburg present. It's a given fact that 95% of the bars in Williamsburg are for drunk sluts. I love sluts so I'm not complaining, but they don't venture beyond Daddy's or the Levee.

2. Ample seating. Last night we walked into the backyard of Washington Commons in Prospect Heights and it was the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld - open space and dozens of available wicker chairs. It's not hard to please me.

3. I don't want to bone anyone at the bar. This might have something to do with the no Williamsburg kids but I've seen plenty of hot daddies to know that attractive people exist outside of that neighborhood. Hot daddies don't go out to bars though (too busy boffing the wife and changing diapers), so at grown-up bars the only guaranteed hot people are my friends and the bartender. I don't bone down with either cause my friends are my friends and bartenders are generally just in it for the tips.

4. I drink serious beer. No PBRs for me at grownup bars. I'm like "isn't this Allagash White delicious? You can really taste the coriander and citrus." Yup, I turn into an asshole.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Funny Shit Andrew Says

Dude needs his own blog.

Me: What are you doing tonight.
Andrew: I dunno but if I don't stop eating twizzlers imma be fat.

And for a special Thursday treat, here are various photos of Andrew passed out.

This was in the middle of a picnic in Prospect Park. And no, his glasses aren't foggy. Those are chunks of veggie burger.

This one is funny because Morgan is obviously faking but Andrew, alas, is all real.

This was during a brunch at my house... that I hosted for my grandmother the last time she visited me. When I stated my annoyance she went, "Shhhh, he's tired."

See that Converse sneaker on the right and that small bit of forehead on the left? Yup, we're all sitting on top of passed out Andrew. Jenny's clearly trying to make out with me, btw.

Polish People, What Gives?

If you have ever hung out in the Greenpoint area of Brooklyn, you are probably no stranger to the phenomena that is Polish People. In the Things That Equally Terrify and Fascinate me category, these guys rank right next to Hasids and Old Ladies. Now I have some Polish ancestry in me, but I still walk around Brooklyn completely baffled by this potato crazy crew.

- They love juices. Every supermarket or bodega in a Polish neighborhood has a humungous selection of every juice imaginable. Black Currant? Cherry? Apple Mint?* You name it. Do they make Polish vodka taste crazy delicious? Will drinking this shit make me live to be a hundred and seven? So many questions.
*This is actually delicious mixed with vodka, in my P.O.

- The men are somehow panty-dropping hot and wife-beatingly spooky all at once. These dudes have so much testosterone! All I did was shake the guy's hand who rang me up at the booze store and I had to stop by the pharmacy on my way home to scoop up a box of First Response.

- Their language is nutty. Here's an idea; let's take the least used consonants in the alphabet, like "Y," "Z," "J," and so on, lump them all together, and no more than one random vowel per word. Just made Polish, lookee that.

Understanding the Polish language is not something I will attempt, but all foreign accents are somewhat sexy. They could be yelling at me to get the fuck out of the juice aisle, but in my head they are barking sexy commands about how I will one day be their Polish Princess and grow fat on pierogies and sauerkraut.

- The Polish or Ukrainian "Clubs." What the fuck goes on in these places. There is always at least one grizzled old dude hanging out getting day drunk at the bar, but the bar also never seems to close, it just becomes a creepy coked-up after hours club. I want in.

Old Ladies Are Funny

Old ladies fascinate me for a number of reasons. First of all, they're so kooky! It's like they reached the age of 60 and just said "fuck it, I'm gonna let all the crazy hang out cause I'm old and don't give a shit." Also, I can't picture myself as an old lady so pondering their nuances is fascinating. Will I be like that when I grow up? My tells me no, because I plan on being a crotchety old drunk until the day I die. Anyway, here's a few trends I've noticed in old broads.

1. They like to color coordinate. I've seen several old dames (one this morning, in fact) who totally picked a favorite color and just rolled with it. I mean, great, we totally get that you love the color purple but why in the hell does everything from your nails to your shoes, bag, and crazy hippie skirt have to be a various shade of that color? I don't get it!

2. They have no manners. There comes a special age in an old lady's life when she suddenly doesn't give a fuck about waiting in line or saying "please" and "thank you." My grandma is a classic example of this. She was like a drill sergeant when I was a kid but now she uses the phrase "what do you want, I'm old" to get away with all sorts of ridiculous shit. Like telling my best friend to her face that she doesn't like her ...because she thought she was talking to someone else. True story! Jenny was not amused. My grandmother thought she was talking to Nicky. I believe her exact words were "I don't like that other one, you know, your room mate." Her response to me after the fact was "Why does she care what a drunk old lady thinks, anyway?" Good one, granny.

3. They are racist. See #2. Just 'cause you old don't mean you can say shit like "I find Pakistanis to be a very difficult race to deal with." For reals, another grandma classic.

4. They love collecting random shit. In my mom's case it was pigs. Pig statues, pig plates, pig everything! Jenny's mom was the same but with frogs and dolls. My grandmother has a thing with collecting fancy statues of Santa Claus which I will never understand. Do you just wake up one morning and decide "from now on I want every present I ever receive to have something to do with pigs, please!" If I ever do this I'm gonna go with fancy booze or wine. You know, for my "collection."

5. They LOVE Japan. This might be a strictly Shanon's granma thing, but for a racist lady she sure does love those Japs. She wears kimono-style jackets like it was her job and she always talks about how the only man she would consider boning down with at her age is a "nice, rich, Japanese business man." I mean what the fuck.

You know what? This blog should've been about my grandma. She is one crazy nut.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Clothes Calls

As if this city didn't throw my gaydar out of wack enough, Summer brings out a whole new batch of confusing male wardrobe choices. I already live in Williamsburg and have beer goggles on more often than not and I'm not asking for a football jersey or anything, but it would be nice if I didn't have to map out a freaking ven diagram of sexual orientation every time I see a hot dude.

Here are some clothing choices straight males should forgo if they have a muff-dive penciled in anytime soon and if you're gay, your closet should be chock full of this stuff already. If it's not, well, you're welcome.

1. Really short shorts. (Really tight jeans can be lumped into this one too) Has there been an influx of these this Summer, or what. I'm talking like 6" shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Subtlety is a concept a lot of my gay friends choose to pretend doesn't exist, so this is a surefire way to make me think you're batting for the other team.

2. Mandals. Flip flops are acceptable as beach wear, but sandals means they actually went to a shoe store, tried on shit, and thought about what style makes their feet look best. Oh wait, I just remembered I don't give a shit about this one, seeing as I would never go out with anyone wearing mandals anyway.

3. Suspenders. I know these are not holding up their pants (see #1) and as hot as they may look, unnecessary accessories are mostly for the benefit of gals and gays.

4. Vests without shirts underneath. Just typing that sentence invokes a mental image of The Village People. No further explanation needed.

5. Revealing tank tops. If you are in fact heterosexual, please don't wear anything I would want to borrow from you.

I am still laughing at the punny name of this post.

Yesterday I was in a real grump state of mind and decided to go eat some lunch-special sushi by myself. I'm sitting in a table at the back, reading the menu, when suddenly I get this weird feeling as though someone's watching me. I look up and who do I see in the doorway but all three of my bosses, slowly shaking their heads and chuckling at my expense. I'm not making this up! Out of all the fucking sushi places on Bedford, they walk into my lonely lunch special for one. They then proceeded to sit at another table to have, what I can only assume as, a "grownup" lunch. I was pretty mortified but had just ordered so what's a girl to do? A girl can call her buddy Emily to get over there tout suite and make it look like she's not a loser. Yup. That was my day.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Unsolved Mystery

One of life's greatest unsolved mysteries to me, is why a dude who'd like to get sexy with me would think that getting stoned right beforehand is a good idea. A drug that manages to make most things hilariously awkward? Yes, please, but getting busy can definitely be filed under Things I Do Better Drunk, as far as I'm concerned. Right behind driving, karaoke, and babysitting. Hippies are probably the ones to blame for this terrible idea, along with dreads on white people and birkenstocks. Was there some kind of strand called Lady Viagra back in the 60's that I don't know about? Because movies and books back then make it seem like sparking a doob is is the only way to get the no pants party started. When I'm stoned, I like to watch Family Guy in my underpants, drink coffee, eat snacks, and talk about how weird cats are. I don't want to deal with any joysticks that aren't attached to my Super NES. Stick to booze. If God thought that reefer alone was enough to get dudes laid, he never would have invented Zima.

Friday, August 21, 2009

We Were Roofied Last Night

What Jenny remembers:

I had exactly two vodka drinks and one beer last night. So why did I wake up in the top bunk of twin bunk beds with no sheets or pillowcases, wearing only my bra and underpants? Roofies is why. Now the remaining question is who.

My first instinct would be Shanon, of course, because what are best friends for if not slipping you the occassional mickey. But since her memory is cloudy as Redman's piss, she's off the hook. What's the point of roofie-ing your friends if you're too fucked up to remember it.

Nicky & Chris were also hanging out with us, but if they masterminded this, I'm pretty sure we would have woken up with an invoice and a note that said You're Welcome.

This narrows it down to Ezra, whose family Shanon is house sitting for and I have caught checking out my rack on more than one occassion over the years. He also suspiciously knew where my bike was this morning when I asked if he had seen it. Did we get roofied by a twenty year old last night? Sigh.

We Were Roofied Last Night

What Shanon remembers:

So one minute I'm drinking vodka, and the next minute I'm at the local Park Slope watering hole (two blocks from my house) handing over the dog I'm dogsitting for to the bartender. I literally one-handed it to him over the bar. Dude held that dog while serving drinks. I woke up and the dog had puked. What an alcoholic. I also don't remember coming home last night, but Jenny and I slept in some bunk beds. Here's Jenny with the dog. She probably doesn't remember this photo either.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Ugly Dudes I Still Want To Boff

1. Jack Black. Specifically his character in High Fidelity. "Rob, thank you for that kind introduction. We're no longer called Sonic Death Monkey. We're on the verge of becoming Kathleen Turner Overdrive, but just for tonight, we are Barry Jive and his Uptown Five." Dude is probably a crazy spanker (inside joke: SORRY JENNY!).

2. Lead singer of Crystal Antlers. I know, I know, this one is a little music snobby. And some of you are probably thinking, "he's not so bad looking." But for serious I think of catholic pedophiles from the 70s when I see this dude. Yet. I would totally bone down. "Swollen Sky" is an epic song.

3. Derek Jeter. Dude looks like a retard. Plus I'm pretty sure he's the type to do crazy amounts of cocaine off of a hookers tits. But hey! He's loaded and I rather enjoy cocaine. Um, wait.

4. Zach Efron. This kid is totally a woman, right? I just can't get down with the hair and tan, but I've always secretly (ok not so secretly now) wanted to try out dominating with whips and other such accoutrement. Enter Zach Efron, numero uno candidate.

5. Ellen DeGeneres. Dude looks like a lady too! I bet he's really good at eating box.

6. Chris Farley. Tommy Boy is one of the greatest movies of our generation. And I stand by 30 Rock's opinion that ugly people are both grateful and attentive in the sack.


Under normal circumstances, I consider myself a pretty smart lady. Maybe because the brain cells who manage to survive my constant booze barrage get made more powerful? In fact, hey brain cells - you're welcome - what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right.

But there are certain things I attempt to accomplish that go over about as well as a dude with a boner at Lillith Fair.

Learning to play Chess.
The first time someone attempted to teach me, I was incredibly stoned and the second time I was hungover and on a bus, which are both valid reasons for feeling like I'm in a K-hole every time I try to get my mind grapes wrapped around this game.

Math. This is my kryptonite.

Google Analytics. Sweet Christ on a cross, I have been attempting to decipher this business all morning and still don't even know what the hell is going on. Can they put this shit in lolcat speak for me already? It came to a point where I glanced at the bottom corner of the screen, saw a button that said "English" and went to click it. Duh.

Directions. My sense of direction is terrible. If there is ever an opportunity to go in the opposite direction of where I am headed, I will take it. Combine this with my inability to listen to instructions that don't involve food and you can see why I got lost so many times on the way home from my local bar that I eventually moved right above it.

Trivia night at bars. You would think for the amount of trivia nights I attend, my team would have won at least once by now. Thank God for whiskey penalty shots.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Who Am I

My friends like to send me pictures of stuff that they think I will find amusing. I am still not sure whether I should be honored or terrified to be on the receiving end of all of these, but either way, keep 'em coming.

Besides this first one, which my friend Leslie took and really needs no explanation due to the level of creepiness involved, the captions are the subjects of the actual emails.

From Cian: "Do with these what you will"

From Blair: "What's for dinner?"

From Bennie: "Check out my dong, so close!!!!!!"


I ride my bike to work every morning through Hasid town at the exact time when all those giant yellow school buses are making their pickups. They drive dangerously fast and then pull over sideways across the entire street to pick up those cute little Hasid tykes. Aside from the obvious fear of being run over and left for dead, I get a little nervous about being spit on. It's like a billion degrees out and I wear, at most, two articles of clothing. We're talking a dress and biker shorts here. I'm always fearful of getting a kosher lougie hawked right in my face for showing too much cleave.

Where was I going with this? Oh right, my fascination with Hasids. Why in the hell can I not stop thinking about them? I see those ladies all dressed in tights, nightgowns and turbans and I want to know what they talk about when they all get together. Then I see the cute kids all going off to school and I wonder what they learn about. I mean, are they learning about real shit or just religious stuff?

Why oh why hasn't anyone come out of the Hasid closet and written a book about what it's like growing up like that. Aren't some of them gay? Don't at least a few want to get out and start wearing dunks or listening to punk? SO MANY QUESTIONS.

Anyway, I'm borderline offensive right now, but seriously - Hasids. What's the deal! I'm mesmerized and terrified, all at the same time.

Embarassing Purchases

One of my best friends refuses to buy toilet paper because she finds it embarrassing. She'll make her boyfriend or her friends do it and this also makes visiting her house, literally, a crapshoot. Buying TP doesn't really bug me out, but I am a total pussy about most other marginally uncomfortable purchases. And when the checkout clerk tries to throw in their two cents about your purchase? No thanks. I know they're just trying to be helpful or whatever and I'm sure their years of training at Duane Reade University have paid off, Dr. Cashier, but I really just want to get this purchase made with as little interaction as possible.

Things I try to purchase without making eye contact include:

Anything prompting or preventing trips to the bathroom.

Condoms. Okay, I know it's the year 2009 or something similar, but nuts to feminism, it's the dude's job to make this purchase. Not my penis, not my job to dress it up in its STD scuba suit.

Tampons. Baby-hating scientists have made it possible for women to opt out of the crimson tide via birth control and God Bless them for that because tampons can suck it. I don't remember the last time I bought some, but I do remember thinking to myself that everyone in this deli line knows I am not getting any action tonight, great.

Adult Diapers. This is just me looking into my crystal ball at the future, when I am old and incontinent. Or the next road trip I take hungover.

Lube. I dodged this bullet thanks to one of my best gays, Blair, who gave me a giant bottle as a housewarming present. And a fire extinguisher. He is always looking out for my comfort and safety.


Dear Potato Chips,

Why are you so delicious? It doesn't matter how you were cooked, I could eat you kettle cooked, baked, even made with that weird substitute for transfat that gave people the runs. It doesn't matter your size or shape, I love you crinkle cut, frito-lay size, Dorito size, salsa-scooping size and even Pringle size (even though we all know only pussies eat Pringles). It doesn't matter your flavor, I love it all! Salt and fresh ground pepper, BBQ, salsa, New York cheddar and herbs, rosemary and olive oil, salt and vinegar, cool ranch, nacho cheesier, pizza cravers, blazin' buffalo, jalapeno, jalapeno and cheddar, sour cream and onion, chipotle, cheddar beer, honey dijon and even the classic plain. It doesn't matter your race, I am friendly with spicy Thai, Chinese five spices, island jerk, Italian tomato and spices, that crazy kimchi flavor I once ate, and even those Mexican tortilla chips. You break all delicious snack barriers. Some might even go so far as to say you are the Barack Obama of finger food. I don't even mind that you make my computer keys all oily from my greasy fingers! Thanks, potato chips, keep up the delicious work.

Shanon (and Jenny, of course)

Gross Things I've Seen in the Subway

1. People clipping their fingernails. I've seen this multiple times and it never ceases to gross me out. Who keeps fingernail clippers on them anyway?

2. Girls putting their makeup on. I know, I know, you probably think this isn't gross, but have you seen the faces girls make when they're doing this? There's a reason why they apply that shit in the bathroom with the door closed. I also fail to believe that they were running so late that they had no other choice than do this on the train. One time I got on the F at 7th ave and saw a girl putting on makeup all the way from there to the city at 34th street. That's a lot of fucking makeup.

3. Eating fast food. I find it quite repulsive to eat in general on the train, but fast food is the worst cause that shit stinks up the entire car. Fried chicken, burgers, french fries, bleh. Plus usually it's families and kids who be dropping their chicken nuggets all over the place, making me want to barf.

4. Flip flops. I hate flip flops! I hate man-feet! I hate gnarly toes and toes nails! Fuck, it really doesn't get any worse for me then seeing dudes on the train wearing flip flops. I just shuddered.

5. Making out. I know I hate on lots of shit and some of you might ask, "How can she hate on making out?" Being drunk in a bar and making out is one thing but usually when I ride the subway I'm dead sober (otherwise I'd be in a cab, duh), so having to watch people suck face really grosses me out. Particularly when it's fat lesbians. Just sayin'

6. Taking off socks and shoes, rubbing foot lotion all over feet, then putting socks and shoes back on. To be fair, I've only seen this once, but it was enough to scar me for life.

7. Bum poo. Chris actually texted this to me as an addition, although at the time I had no idea what he was talking about. Anyway he's totally right! You know how you can totally tell the difference between dog shit and bum shit? Yup. Well imagine that on the subway.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


This morning, Shanon and I were discussing our amazement at how some people we know are even worse at being grownups then we are. Sure, we black out on an average of twice per week, collect unemployment and are still working on the whole not eating junk food until we're sick thing, but we pay our own rent. And bills too, sometimes! Which is more than we can say for some of the dudes we may or may not sleep with.

I vetoed Shan's idea of sitting at bars in fancy restaurants all dressed up (seeing as I prefer not to get paid for sex) so we tried to think of other places to find these elusive grownups. Offices on Wall Street? Libraries? Then I realized we do not hang around any of those and might be better off simply avoiding some of the things/places we do on the regs instead.

- Monday night drunk. Apparently, some people do not like to greet Tuesday with a hangover. Probably the same people who choose not to use their knowledge of The Simpsons and SNL to win them free shots at Monday night trivia.

- Karaoke. (Unless you like Asian grownups)

- Going to brunch at 4pm. I did this on Sunday. The best part is, I made plans with my friend at noon. Taking four hours to get your shit together so you can eat breakfast is what everyone does I thought.

- Any bar that gives you a free pizza with your beer. I guess when you grow up, the "two birds one stone" rule no longer applies, but this sweet little twofer is like a siren song to me.

- Water parks. Technically, there are a bunch of grownups hanging out here, but they're probably saddled up with all kinds of things that are problematic for me like kids, pedophilia, or aqua socks.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Best Thing I've Done All Summer?

My two good buddies Stephanie & Sam got married this weekend and had a super rad wedding in the Poconos. It was crazy beautiful up there, mountains everywhere and a sweet resort with everything from archery to ping pong to a lake with a man-made swimming beach.

Bennie and I were walking to the lake, discussing which pool toys were the best and worst, (I was making my case that those "pool noodles" are the dumbest "invention" ever) when we turned the corner, saw this, and ran straight into the water to make it less obvious that we had just peed our pants with excitement. It was like Christmas and My Birthday got drunk and decided to make up for 27 years of crappy presents with the most awesome pool toy ever. What you can't see from this picture, is the other side, which is smooth and made for sliding down/cannon-balling off of.

I have been sore as fuck from it ever since, but that's probably more from my lack of any arm muscles and pushing little kids out of line than the iceberg itself. But it is totally worth it. And hey friends who are thinking of getting married anytime soon - the bar has officially been raised.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Dope Video

Miike Snow - Animal (directed by Anthony Dickenson, Pulse Films)

Getting Stoned Was a Bad Idea

Along with sandwiches and great sex, I'd say the doobage is one of my all time favorite things. Man do I love smoking weed. There are definitely some times, though, when being stoned is worse than a wet fart.

Talking to the 'rents. This isn't as big a deal now as it was when I was 15. Man, that shit was terrifying. Trying to come up with a logical excuse for why you pushed the button to close the garage door, even though the car was only halfway out? Fuhget about it.

Talking to your boss. So when I was a kid I used to work at Amoeba SF. I remember one time I went on my break with a buddy and came back super late and super stoned. I tried to sneak over to the very last register when my boss caught wind of my presence and made me take the corner register, aka the busiest register there was. Then she stood next to me and asked all these questions about where I went. No bueno.

Taking a test. Such a terrible idea. Words make no sense when you're baked.

Driving. Honestly I think it's easier to drive drunk then stoned. When I'm stoned I get all distracted by shit like trees and birds. It's too hard to concentrate on other things like the road, or you know, pedestrians.

Learning how to play chess. Jenny texted this one to me this morning. I don't really know where it came from. Was she learning how to play chess at the time? It seems unlikely. In any event I'm adding it to the list because chess makes me feel like I have a learning disorder even when I'm sober.

Wearing a questionable outfit. Last night I got high and then went to this garden party with Jenny, Chris and Bennie. My white dress was really see-through and since I didn't have a slip I wore a tanktop that I tied around my waist. That shit was bugging me out all night.

Meeting new people. Years of drug abuse has left my brain addled and wilted. I can't remember names for shit. I also like to make a good first impression and fuck if that's possible when I'm being a stoney bologna (pronounced "baloney").

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Boner of the Day

Alex Olson, skateboarder. Yes please.

Latin and Fat People

Lesson time! Jenny and I were just discussing how any word with the prefix "jo" makes one think of fat people. Actually it all started when I said I was in a "jovial mood." So I think Jenny just called me fat, wtf.

Anyway, the words jovial, jolly and jocular all make us think of chubby peeps, no? I did a little research and it turns out they're all sort of a diminutive of "Joculus," which means playful, witty, etc. This is also where we get the term Jester from.

WHICH, if you recall, totally circumvrents (Arrested Development reference what!) back to my blog about fatties being super funny. It's all coming together now. You're welcome.

The Great Debate

Here is a conversation Shanon and I just had over chat:

Me: he likes roofies right (a dude I wouldn't mind boffing)
Shanon: HAHA
Me: who doesnt
Shanon: i was actually thinking we should experiment with roofies
like in the safety of our own home
Me: roofie ourselves?
Shanon: exactly
so we can then know the signs
Shanon: where does one even get them?
Me: no idea
but we can get some fo show
Shanon: we should look into that
Me: ok
call up our local date rapist
Shanon: wait wait, i think i'm just kidding
not sure i really want to be roofied
Me: poo say
what about just a little roofie
we can build up a tolerance
Shanon: LOL
Me: and become UNROOFABLE
Shanon: the way your mind works astounds me

Wednesday, August 12, 2009


When people use the phrase "If it was easy, everyone would do it" it totally gets my panties in a bunch, because it is not true. I know lots of things that are easy that people don't do.

- Walk to the second floor instead of taking the elevator. Unless you are a cripple (in which case the government should issue special elevator Kripple Key® to those who are eligible) you should take the g.d. stairs and quit wasting my time. Elevators are terrible places that make people awkward and annoyed to begin with, so taking one up a flight is not going to win you any new friends.

- Ride Bikes. I don't get people who "can't" ride bikes. There's a reason why most people are taught this before they're ten years old, it's because a third grader with down syndrome can pull this off. So stop claiming you don't know how, take your balls out of your purse, and hop on a Huffy before you get pantsed and have your lunch money stolen at recess.

- Make Phone Calls instead of texting. Now I like texting just as much as the next person and I am sure as shit guilty of doing this, but sometimes texting annoys the tits off me. Like when you have a text conversation that goes back and forth for about fifteen minutes about something that could have been resolved in about 30 seconds of actual talking and saved me a whole lot of carpal tunnels to boot. Sexting is the obvious exception to this rule, but as Shanon and I have learned the hard way, double check the recipient's name before you hit send and triple check if they share a name with someone in your immediate family.

- Get Laid. Friends that complain about not getting any, come on, this is pretty basic stuff here. Dudes claim to have a much rougher go of this than chicks but I don't see why. Here's the trick: lower standards. Get some.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Shrooms Are The Tits

How one can go from not doing mushrooms in almost a decade to doing it thrice in one summer is a mystery that Jenny and I somehow made a reality. Being that we're now what one might call an "expert," I'm going to pass along some friendly advice for all of you novices out there.

1. Do them in chocolate form. This is key! I can't even remember what it was like to eat them the old fashion way. I vaguely recall trying to put them on everything from pizza to peanut butter sandwiches, anything to make the gagging reflex dissipate, but believe me nothing masks the gnarliness better then chocolate.

2. Don't try to operate any electronic equipment. For reals. Make sure you have your iPod set on a 7 hour playlist cause that shit will bug you out if you try to figure it out. I had to do this not once but twice the other night and it took forever. Turns out all I had to do was plug it in, but I was like a monkey in outer space with that shit.

3. No practical jokes. Considering the fact that every statement will crack you up, there is really no need to try and push someone into the pool. I learned this the hard way as well. The result was my being pulled into the pool and a bitch of a scrape that extends from my upper thigh down to my toes.

4. Have another substance ready to do afterwards. Coming down from mushrooms is pretty annoying, so it's good to have something else waiting on the sidelines. I've heard cocaine is a good one but I wouldn't know anything about that.

5. Have fun! Seriously guys, mushrooms are the cat's pajamas. They make everything more exciting. Do them at a music festival or have a pool handy because they turn even the simplest activities into fun on a bun.


So, Andrew stumbled across this photo that looks so much like Shanon it's hypnotic. I couldn't stop looking at it, had to put it away. THIRTY points if you can spot the real one! (The difficulty level went up because there is three now, you see)

Boner of the Day

Eric from True Blood. This dude is so fucking bonable it's almost as ridiculous as the show itself (which is off the ridiculous charts).

Boner Mobile

Whoever owns this bike needs to be the father of my children.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Two Dollar Bills

Last night my Thai food delivery guy showed up with no change, went out to get change and came back with about six $2 bills for me. I took them, but only after giving him a "What the fuck am I supposed to do with these" look first. Which is the same look the dude at Starbucks gave me when I handed him one and then was so torn about which compartment in the register it should go in that he swapped it out and kept it. Because $2 bills are money, but you feel bad about using it.

Kind of like sex with an ugly person. They both still get the job done and you're not gonna turn it down but let's face it, two one dollar bills or a better looking person would make the whole situation a whole lot more comfortable for everyone.

Dog Days

I think that's where we're at now, weather-wise, which makes me extra sleepy while everyone else gets really into A/C. Air-conditioning has never really been my thing and although my Dad insists on buying me them repeatedly, I still have not hooked mine up yet. This is because I am; very lazy, a fan person, and think being hot is well, kinda hot. I'm pretty stoked on it at the moment though because Summer (that rainy bitch) decided to finally pull her weight and hit us with a solid 92 degrees today.

Things about August in this city I want to roundhouse in the face:

Waiting For the Train. It is like Satan's taint down there and the worst part is you are probably already sweaty as balls in a Speedo from the walk to the station in the first place.

Re-melted Gum. This sucks double for someone like me, who likes to sit on their feet and never thinks to check the bottoms for gum first.

A/C Juice Drips. Getting dosed with a shot of mystery liquid while walking down the street is fun for no one. These guys are extra sneaky because usually if you have been hit you stop, wonder to yourself if it's raining, look up and boom, round two gets you straight in the face.

"Muggy." This word is dumb and should be saved for how those crappy 13-year-olds were feeling when they stole my purse.

But there are things about August that make me want to buy her a Zima and have all of her babies:

When the Train Finally Shows Up. You are so relieved to be in air-conditioning that you forget how about 30 seconds ago you were thisclose to jumping in front of it.

Walking In Front of A/C Buildings. This is almost better than the train showing up because it's an unexpected treat. You know the train will eventually come, but when you walk by a huge office building and get blasted with a surprise wave of frigid air, it's like Frosty the Snowman came out of nowhere and just handed you a popper.

Too Hot For Soberness. Trust me. I have thought about trying.

Bad News, Shanon

First, some background on the situation; Nicky had a graduation party at her parent's house about five years ago. You know how at parties, there's always that one person who is The Most Drunk one there and they do things like make out with everyone (including the designated 19 year old driver) and do crazy dances that involve humping inanimate objects (like the lawn) until they eventually pass out somewhere they shouldn't have (parent's bed). That was our Shannie.

It took about three years for Shanon to venture back out to Long Island for another visit, which she did epically, sporting a missing tooth and face that looked like this, after her unfortunate run-in with some pavement while exiting a cab.

We were miraculously invited out again this weekend and got to talking about Shanon's winning streak. Nicky's boyfriend Chris, told a story that trumped all others, in terms of most embarrassing things to do in front of parents.

Chris said he was extremely hungover one day and Nicky's Mom caught him jerking off n the shower. While pooping. I think my jaw hit the floor, we were all so horrified by this. As I was trying to conjure up some mental soap to get this image out of my brain, Chris handed me a business card with this written on the back:

So! Good news for me, since I most likely never would have allowed Chris into my bathroom unsupervised again, were this true, but bad news for Shanon. Sorry, but the title is still yours, m'lady.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Finding Band-Aids Is The Worst

Okay, maybe not as bad as for real Aids, but it's still pretty bad. Friday morning, one side of the one I had on my heel decided to stop holding up his end of the bargain, so I ripped it off and put it on my friend's nightstand. As I did this, I said, "Finding band-aids is the worst, right" which caused him to give me a look of horror plus disgust, noticed there were no band-aids on my feet anymore and then guessed (correctly) that he would be finding left foot's homeboy in his sheets at a later date.

But in general, I would say finding a band-aid is second only to a used condom, in terms of things you don't ever want to find, ever. Some places to avoid if you don't want a run-in with one of these fallen soldiers include; swimming pools, hot tubs, parks and playgrounds, and me & Shanon's general vicinity. We get a lot of battle wounds.

The Great Bush Experiment

I'm sure Jenny will want to weigh in on this one with her own blog, but being that she's probably getting day-drunk it's up to this poor working sucker to take the lead pony.

Last night Jenny and I were hanging out with some dude buddies of ours, getting crunked and looking at a vintage Penthouse (among other things). This is the second time in two weeks that we've looked through one of these (must be the season), and the awe-inducing full bushes these chicks sport never ceases to boggle our precious little mind grapes. For real, how is it possible to have that much hair?!

Anyway, being that amazing ideas flow freely from our drunk minds like a river, we decided to do an experiment. From here on out Jenny and I will no longer be shaving the beave (except for the panty line, of course, it's still beach season after all and we're not moms from the 80s).

Here's where our brilliant idea went a little sour. Obviously we needed some way to document our "before" shots, and being that neither of us had a camera, Bennie offered up his. That's right. We took full-on beave shots on Bennie's camera. I think I might have lost my senses for a minute.

So here's hoping that I won't see any part of my burning bush on the internet. Lord knows I need to cling on to whatever dignity I have left (it's not very much). And here's to the Great Bush Experiment 2009. Stay tuned.