Archive | February, 2013

The cost of adulthood

27 Feb

As a college student getting drunk was a breeze.  All it took was a combination of hard liquor and watered down shitty beer, or watered down shitty alcohol.  My fave combos consisted of:

  • 1 mind eraser, and a pitcher of Coors Light
  • 1 shot of Goldschlager, and 4 Long Island Iced Teas

Total cost?  Approximately $10-15 per drunken night.  Hangovers?  Nope, none at all.  Ah, the good old days when my body could handle the booze.  I’d wake up the next day and was perfectly fine.

The cost of a drunken stupor now is far more expensive – in more ways than one.  You couldn’t pay me to drink Coors Light now, and a mind eraser with a Long Island Iced Tea would probably be enough to cause a blackout.  Instead I find myself enjoying fancy cocktails that look like art in a glass and cost $10-15 per drink.  My max is usually around 4, BUT a few weekends ago my bill came out to $156.  I have no fucking clue how that happened – that’s what happens when you blackout, you don’t remember shit.

Last night my friend from college came into town.  On his way to meet me for dinner he alluded to a night of drunken debauchery for which we would both pay in the morning.  Fearing the hangover at an 8:30 meeting I was smart enough to pace myself and enjoyed only four glasses of wine with plenty of water.  He enjoyed his vodka tonic, five glasses of red wine, and beer.

At about 11 this morning he sent me a text saying that he was so hungover he thought he had died and was suffering in hell.

I love when other people are hungover and I’m not.

Is Lent Over Yet

20 Feb

People, I am struggling with my Lent sacrifice.  Please remind me why I decided to give up boys?  It seems like such a bad idea now, especially since part of my sacrifice included not enjoying the hotness that is my boss.

Today our entire team had a working session at his house.  He wore this clingy shirt that hugged his pecs and biceps.  God.  Damn.  He is so damn fine!  At one point he was kind of laying on the couch and I actually imagined walking over to him and just climbing all over him.  Thankfully, I was saved from making a terrible decision by the fact that all of my coworkers were around me and I would have had to push one of my teammates out of my way to get to him.

Tomorrow we have our regularly scheduled meeting.  Just the two of us.  The meeting where he offers to buy me coffee or lunch and then will wink at least twice.

Is it wrong to want to climb into his lap?  Because it really doesn’t seem all that wrong – even though we’ll be in the cafeteria.  I mean, I’m sure that the people will not mind.  Right??

When old dudes sweat

18 Feb

Friday night I went to see a show of a band that was celebrating their 20 year anniversary.  I was 19 when they had their ONE hit that was played on the radio.  It was a good song, apparently good enough to get them a following that is still interested in following them around 20 years later.  I mean, it was a good song, but it wasn’t THAT good.  Catchy?  Sure, but certainly not as big of a one hit wonder as Chumba Wumba’s Tub Thumbing.

So there I was, totally out of place, with my over sized Badgley Mischka purse that everyone kept bumping into, and my Burberry scarf.  Maybe I don’t belong in concerts with standing room only.  I want a table where a waiter is going to come over, take my order, and bring me a GD glass of champagne or an overpriced cocktail.  Not Bam Margera’s bar where I have to elbow my way through a crowd, push my way up to the bar, yell at the top of my lungs to get a drink, and then get served a shitty vodka tonic in what can only be described as a shitty dixie cup.

The opening act was incredible.  Sure, he was dreamy and cute and about 20-nothing (so you know that’s right up my alley), but the kid had some amazing talent.  As soon as he left the stage I was pretty much ready to go.  But my friend who I had gone with, the one who had “dated” the lead singer of the band insisted we stay.  Fine.  Whatever.  I had scored a chair at the front of the venue, and the only thing obstructing my view was the sad 50+ year old woman who hippie danced her way through the show.

As I was watching the crowd and the band I thought to myself how these guys, in their prime, may have been handsome.  I imagined the groupies getting all excited when the bass player sweat all over the place.  The throngs of women who wanted to be invited back to the bus to see if they could get a lick of that bass player’s sweaty sack (I just grossed myself out with that).  Fast forward 20 years and seeing a middle aged man with a little pooch isn’t quite as sexy.  It’s almost sad watching these guys hang on to something that they once had.  I was half surprised that no one started wheezing on stage.

Not that the crowd seemed to mind – everyone seemed to be the same age as the band members.  They had all left their jobs, spouses, kids, responsibilities at home and were capturing their youth for a night.  All except the one drunk whore who rushed the stage and had to be carried off by a bouncer with facial piercings.  Not cute, ma’am, not cute.

I get the allure of wanting to see a band who played the soundtrack to your youth.  Two years ago I went to see Duran Duran with friends and it was awesome!  We were smashed up against the stage and the music sounded great – though seeing John Taylor up close was a bit of a shock.  The face that had once been so handsome was now covered in lines.  You could see his arms once carried muscle tone, but were now saggy.  It was strange seeing these one time idols who were now on the cusp of senior citizenry.

As I drank my vodka tonics on Friday it occurred to me that I’m more than happy to stick with pretending I’m young and cougaring it up with a 20-nothing year old, than to date someone my age.  After all, I can’t look as old as those dudes on stage, right?  At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.

Unless we’re talking Bruce Willis.  I’d still climb on him like a ladder.

You should be proud of me

16 Feb

Went out last night and I didn’t get drunk, nor did I hit on any dudes.

Well, maybe I got a little drunk.

Okay, VERY drunk.  But nowhere near as drunk as last week.

Aren’t you proud??

Tea and Porn

15 Feb

Nothing says klassy get together like a Tea and Porn party.  Back in the day, Tea and Porn parties were a weekly occurrence.  Someone would bring the tea, someone would bring fancy biscuits and cheese, we’d lay out proper China, and someone would be responsible for bringing the porn.

When I tell people about the parties now, many of them – especially the dudes – imagine that the party would end up with a massive orgy after all the chicks got turned on and started making out with each other.  I assure you, this was not the case.  Most of us ended up going home bloated from all the cheese we ate and disgusted by what we had just witnessed on the TV.  This wasn’t sexy-time, rather an opportunity for us to learn about all the disgusting things that could happen to you.

For example: “Debbie Does Dallas” taught me that if you get jizz in your eye it will turn red and it burns.  I also learned that in the 80’s, no one shaved – I’m not sure why.  In the early 90’s the girls would have massive fingernails and I’m sure caused internal damage when they diddled one another.  That is not cool.

It was typically Claude who would score the porn with us.  His mission “operation steal parents’ porn” brought us all sorts of interesting experiences.  Though, sadly, the one I remember the most was the one that freaked everyone the fuck out.  We were over at a friend’s house, it was her first time at one of our parties, and we popped the video into the VCR (that’s how long ago this was).  Suddenly, we found a dude on his back starting to bend into himself as he dropped his peen into his own mouth.  All the while there was a dude next to him coaching him along.  We had to stop the video, and Claude was on the verge of tears knowing that his parents watched that kind of stuff.  Hard to recover from that one.  Thankfully, we had cheese, tea, and some 80’s porn flick to bring us out of it.

I miss those days.  Not so much for the movies, I certainly don’t miss seeing all the facials (gag).  You have to be super fucked up and/or addicted to drugs to think to yourself, “Yeah, it’s okay if 4 dudes cum all over my face at the same time.”  Yeah, you know what?  That’s not normal.  So says the girl who misses Tea and Porn parties.

A Valentine’s Gift from Morgan Freeman

14 Feb

“Morgan Freemen doesn’t have a sex.  When he smiles a baby simply appears in a field full of kittens.”

This is the most amazing gift that has ever been given.

 

40 Days and 40 Nights

12 Feb

That time of year is upon us: the time when drunk girls show their boobs for a handful of plastic beads, dudes get so drunk they pass out and poop their pants, and people bake cakes with little babies in them.  Happy Mardi Gras!!  As amazing as Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday are, it makes me sad that tomorrow marks the day when my cousin gives up Facebook for 40 days.

Like many other Catholics she’ll give up something she enjoys doing.  Not so much for Farmville and Bejeweled, she’s too cool for that shit, but because it’s how she keeps connected with all her loved ones.  So while her friends and family stage protests and beg her to say, like she does every year she’ll log out of Facebook and do her Catholic duty.

I have friends who give up wine.  Those who give up chocolate.  I even have one who gave up make-up for 40 days – which was a tragedy for all of us that had to be around her.  For years I’ve thought of doing it too, not because I’m Catholic.  On the contrary, I’m a total heathen, my skin practically bubbles when I walk into a church.  When I see priests they often cross themselves, and I can hear them whisper, “the power of christ compels you.”  Yeah, not a Catholic in the least bit, but I’ve had a little Catholic in me (if you catch my drift).  Actually, I’ve had several, but not at the same time – I’m not that much of a heathen.

Anyway, I’ve thought of giving something up just to prove that I can.  So it’s happening, fine people of the blogosphere.  I’m giving up boys.  “Haha” you might think, “not much of a sacrifice since you’re not getting any.”  But it’s more than that.  No pining away for silly boys.  No flirting with the latest cutie at work.  And I’m not going to bat my eyelashes when my super hot and dreamy boss winks those baby blues at me.  No cleavagey shirts.  No dirty text messages.  No online dating.  No corporate pilot.  No ex-boyfriends.  No nothing.

It shouldn’t be THAT hard right?  It’s only 40 days.  I can totally fucking do this.

It’s on.