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This Train is About to Derail

25 Jan

Nothing makes my day like having lunch with a hot mess.  There’s something so sigh-worthy about meeting someone who is clearly more messed up than you.  It’s a way to validate that we’re not as crazy as we think, and gives us the chance to be thankful for what we have.

This afternoon I had lunch with a new friend of mine, and all I could think was, “this chick is a train wreck and I can’t wait to go home and blog about it.”  You can’t begin to imagine how difficult it was to stay rooted in my seat and command myself not to roll my eyes.  Maintaining my eyes in a fixed position was physically painful, I still have a headache.  This was hard, people.  Harder than turning down a free drink from George Clooney.  That hard.  I was riveted by her stupid stories, and appalled at her low self esteem all at the same time.  It was amazing.

I haven’t known her for very long, but she seemed nice and funny enough.  I know a few dudes at work who can’t stand her and think she’s too emotionally needy.  Instead of taking that as a big fat red flag, I chalked it all up to them being dudes.  Christ, they were so right.  I can’t wait to talk about her behind her back tomorrow at work.  It’ll be magical.

She’s completely hung up on this dude who broke up with her.  The break up happened over five months ago, and she is still reduced to tears when she talks about him.  Total mess.  Crazy part?  They dated for seven weeks.  She’s been mourning the relationship longer than it actually lasted.  She told me she ran into him at a happy hour last Wednesday, and when he ignored her, she proceeded to run to the bathroom and sob uncontrollably.  Heaving sighs, mascara running down her face, saliva dripping from her mouth hysterical.  Her friends had to rescue her, dry her eyes and tell her to get it together.  Instead of leaving, she did what any stupid idiot would do, got completely bombed and then confronted him.  90 minutes, 2 Jaeger shots, and 3 beers later she cornered him, told him she still loved him, started crying and begged him for another chance.  You can imagine how that ended.

So she’s sitting across the table from me telling me this story and all I could think to myself was, “how does this girls make it through the day without slapping herself for being so incredibly stupid.”  She actually teared up when she recounted the story and I had to talk her down from crying.

She then went totally bipolar on me and told me how excited she was because she found out an old boyfriend of hers was going to be in town.  A college boyfriend who was the best sex she had ever had.  She was SUPER excited to see him.  I asked her why things hadn’t worked out and she told me because he was a total asshole, and he didn’t want a relationship with her.  She made herself available to him (or she made her vagina available to him), he’d fuck her, and then he’d end up dating other girls.  Meanwhile, she’d wait around for him to “see the light” and realize she was the one for him.  Look, I’ve been there too, but it’s been a good 10 years since I deluded myself with that story.  Fact: if the dude is fucking you but not committing to you, he will NEVER commit to you.  The only thing he wants from you is your vagina.

I played it all calm and asked her how it had come about that they would see each other.  So she proceeded to tell me they had been messaging back and forth on facebook and that’s how she knew.  “Oh!  I have the messages right here.  I’ll read you the chain!”  Goody, I was psyched.

  • Him: [Facebook status update] I’m going to be in town from Feb. 15-25th.  Hit me up if you want to get together.
  • Her: [via private Facebook message] I’d love to see you!  It’s been way too long.  Let’s definitely make plans to see each other so we can catch up.  Wink wink, nudge nudge.
  • Him: Hey, you!  I’ll see what I can do.  Might not be able to make it, but will let you know.

She was sure that he meant he’d clear his schedule.  To me that translates into, “I’ll visit your vagina if I can’t come up with anything better to do.”

Sometimes You Can’t Cover the Skank

7 Jan

Last night I went out with Biggie and some of his friends to a townie bar.  It was amazing.  There were chicks wearing mom jeans, hot dudes, college kids, a dude who looked like Howard Hughes who I thought was going to stab someone, whores, sweatpants-wearing slobs, and even a former male model.  A very drunk former male model with whom I did a shot of Wild Turkey.  I totally would have flirted with him, but he was too busy trying to remember how to walk upright.

One of the girls who waltzed in (wearing leggings, a sparkly top, Uggs, and a Snooki-bump) has it BAD for Biggie.  This girl has thrown herself at Biggie so many times I’m surprised she hasn’t left a mark.  She doesn’t care that he’s married, she just wants to get on him.  The first time she met him she pretended to be so drunk she couldn’t drive so he offered to take her home.  He practically had to carry her into her house.  As soon as she had him in the door she started stripping and asking him if he wanted her.  As a chick, I imagine how empowering and sexy it would feel to do something like that, but she totally botched it.  She got her panties stuck in her leggings, and then couldn’t get her feet out of the leggings so she started walking around like a penguin and then fell on her face.  Not hot.  He burst out laughing and promptly left.

Ever since then she’s found a way to show up everywhere he goes.  She sends him “sexy” pictures, and propositions him on a weekly basis.  He’s flat out told her no (I’ve seen the messages he’s sent to her) and she just keeps on coming.  I had a feeling that he might be egging her on a little bit, and I imagined he flirted with her, but I was proven wrong when I saw them together last night.

Biggie and I had been there for about 45 minutes when she waltzed into the bar and took the stool next to him.  She was not happy to see her.  He immediately looked at me and his eyes got all big.  As she ordered her drink he leaned toward me and said, “That’s the girl.  Please don’t leave me alone with her.”  The rest of the night she told stories about how drunk she would get, and how often she went out, and she kept trying to get Biggie’s attention.  Sadly, she was just making herself look like the drunk slut she was.  It was clear she was on the prowl, you could tell the way she was sitting on her stool.  While everyone else was sitting back, lounging in their seats, or slouching a little, she was perched at the end of the seat completely upright with one arm on the back of her chair (she was sitting sideways) and one on the bar.  Good luck to her.

Biggie knew the male model and he came over to do a shot with us.  She passed on the first round, but said yes to the second.  She suggested a Jaeger bomb and the male model was all impressed.  For those of you who don’t know, a Jaeger mom is a shot of Jaeger and a red bull.  You take the shot glass of Jaeger and drop it (including the actual shot glass) into the glass of red bull. The male model was all psyched, right up until the bartender gave them the drinks and the idiot chick explained how she had to pour the Jaeger into the glass.  She then proceeded to sip it like it was a drink.  Um, that’s not a Jaeger shot.  That’s a red bull with Jaeger poured into it.  Fail.

She spotted some dude who was wearing a sweat suit and proceeded to go on a tirade about how it wasn’t fair that girls couldn’t wear sweats to a bar.  I promptly told her any girl could wear sweatpants to a bar, she just couldn’t expect to get laid.  That shut her up for about 20 seconds.  She then started talking about how it wasn’t the same and she just wanted to be comfortable and cute.  She could be comfortable, but unless she goes under the knife, she’ll never be cute (I didn’t tell her that).  I leaned forward to her and said, “Leggings are like sweats.”  As the words were coming out of my mouth I realized she was was wearing leggings.  I immediately had to backpedal and try to make up some story.  Not sure if she bought it.  Then again, I don’t care.

When it came time to leave Biggie made me swear I would walk out the door with him because he was afraid she would follow him.  We went outside and were talking at my car for a few minutes when he received a text from her.  Nothing major, just that it was nice to see him.  We said our goodbyes and ten minutes later I got a phone call from him.  He told me the idiot girl had called him and as soon as he picked up the phone she said, “Is that your way of making me jealous?”  He had no idea what she was talking about.  “You said you were going to be with friends tonight, and I walk in and you’re with Catherinette.”  He explained to her how other friends had been there before she had gotten there, and some had bailed.  She then proceeded to yell at him and hang up on him.

She’s special.  And by special I mean a total idiot.

Look, I’m all for having an imaginary relationship, but I draw the line at believing that my secret boyfriends are actually part of these relationships.  This relationship she’s having is purely in her head, and she needs to keep it there.

Cheers to the stupid whores in 2012!

Not so Hot Yoga

7 Apr

Sunday I declared I was sick of my fatness and was making a change.  So far so good.  Managed to make it to the gym twice this week and eat well most of the week – minus yesterday when I hit up Capital Grille for Mainline Restaurant Week.  Mmm…steak, mashed potatoes, lobster mac n cheese, creamed spinach, cake, and two cocktails.  Damn it!  I think I basically fucked up my entire week by pigging out yesterday.

Anyway…

Since I moved here almost a year ago I’ve been trying to find a yoga studio.  The yoga classes at my gym blow ass.  One class was so bad that at about 15 minutes in I said, “fuck this” and rolled out.  Don’t think that was very relaxing for the rest of the people in the class.  Fuck them, who cares.  The other class I went to was so crowded we all started bumping into one another.  Trust me, the last thing you want to do in yoga is bend over and find your face buried in some sweaty guy’s crack.  Not my idea of a good class.  Pass.  Totally pass.

You can imagine my delight when I moved into my new neighborhood and found there was a yoga studio within walking distance.  Yeah!  Tonight I went for my first…and possibly last class.  I rolled in, handed them the payment for the class, and that’s when the dude announced, “We keep our studios between 88-90 degrees.”  [insert sound of scratching record here] Say what?  This is hot yoga??  Nowhere on the website was there any mention of a hot studio.  Here’s the thing, I hate sweating with a fiery passion.  There is little in this world that makes me feel as uncomfortable as sweating – with the possible exception of hearing someone complain about their regularity.

“Fine,” I think to myself, “I can suck it up and deal with it and give it a try.”  So I did.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to try to balance yourself on one foot while you sweat all over your mat?  Plus the dude in front of me was so sweaty he was dripping down his own legs.  It was absolutely disgusting, but I couldn’t look away.  I just kept staring at his hairy ass legs all drenched in sweat.  Ugh.  Gross.  My eyes.

But I made it through!  I made it through, I now smell like corn chips, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Yeah!  Good times!

All Dolled Up

6 Mar

Every once in awhile BBC America airs some GREAT (and disturbing) documentaries.  My favorite, by fair, was the one about men who purchased synthetic, or real, dolls.  These dolls are life sized dolls, with orifices, and you’ll be shocked to hear the dudes were creeps. The one who takes the cake, however, is this dude named Davecat.  You’ll be surprised to hear he still lived in his parents’ home…in the basement.  He claimed (and still does) to be in loved with his doll, Sidore.

He was recently featured in an episode of My Strange Addiction.  Apparently, he and his doll are now “married”.  Not quite sure how that happens.  AND both he AND his doll have twitter accounts.  Being the crazy person I am, I’ve decided to follow both of them.  Obviously her account is crazier than his because, well, she’s a fucking doll.  Last time I checked, dolls aren’t alive and they can’t tweet.

The beauty of the whole thing is you can submit questions to her and she will respond to you!!  Yesterday I was hanging out with Jersey Bell and Oingo Boingo and reading her answers to them.  One person asked her if she and Davecat ever got into fights.  My first thought was, why are you asking a doll a question?  And then I kind of went to the way of, she’s a doll and dolls don’t talk back when you argue with them.  Boy!  Was I wrong!  Apparently, early on in their relationship, they used to bicker a lot.  I mean, can you imagine this scene?  Him sitting in his mom and dad’s basement arguing with a life sized doll?  If that’s not crazy, I don’t know what is.

But wait, it gets better.

Someone asked her if she was English?  Again, I’d like to remind you she’s a doll.  Here’s her response:

Technically, I’m half-Japanese (dad’s side) and half-English (mum’s side). I was born in a district of Tokyo, then my parents and I moved to Weatherfield, a suburb of Greater Manchester, when I was five. I still have the accent, thankfully — my lad says I sound like Shirley Henderson out of ’24 hour party people’ — but I’ve forgotten most of my Japanese! 😦

Um, she has an accent but she forgot her Japanese?  REALLY??  She’s a doll!  A.  Doll!!

It’s Broke and it Needs Fixing

28 Feb

You know what I love?  Having $7.39 to take me to my next paycheck.  It really rules.  My breakfast, lunch, and dinner this week will consist of dry cereal, Ramen, and wheat crackers.  Perhaps this will help me gain the 20 pounds I’ve put on since last summer.  Hmm…perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise.

This is what happens when you decide it’s a good idea to own a house, not sell it, and use it to store furniture and junk you don’t even want all while renting a lovely new house in a great new neighborhood.  Oh, and let’s not forget going out and pretending like you have money to spend on drinks which are too expensive.  Oh, and buying coffee, breakfast, and lunch everyday.  Yeah, doesn’t turn out so well.  Here I am with $7.39 until Friday and I’m trying to figure out how I will spend it this week.  My guess is it will go to coffee and sodas I won’t finish.

If I were smart, I’d probably use some of it to pay for nail polish remover.  I got a pedicure last month and the pain is finally peeling.  The state of my toes right now is more reminiscent of someone who lives in a trailer park and shops at a Walmart than of a fine, upstanding, and sophisticated young lady who rents a house in one city, and has a vacation home (read, my primary residence) in another city.  People, I can’t afford nail polish remover??  This is bad!!  What makes it even fucking worse is this means I can’t afford a god damned pedicure.

**GASP**

I’m not going to be able to afford alcohol this week!  All I have is 1/3 of a bottle of Arbor fucking Mist in the fridge!  What the fuck am I going to do??

All I Want for Christmas is for My Ass to Be Smaller

20 Dec

Christ almighty I need to freaking stop eating everything in sight!  Why on earth do we use the holidays as an excuse to pour ourselves into our loosest sweatpants and eat every peppermint flavored treat in front of us?  It’s just not right.  Add in the fact I haven’t hit the gym since November and it’s no wonder the zipper on my jeans is straining.

And yet I had no trouble buying a bunch of Peppermint Bark from my favorite cafe in Baltimore, Stone Mill Bakery.  I convinced myself it was going to be for everyone at my mom’s house at Christmas Eve.  That worked until about an hour ago when I popped open the box and inhaled three pieces.  Thank freaking God I’m not in a relationship right now, I’d be far too embarrassed with my body right now to actually have sex.  Plus I think when I sweat I smell like peppermint now.

Ugh, I have to stop.

What treats send you over the edge this time of year?

Horse’s Ass

21 Nov

Last night I was in Baltimore hanging out with some peeps for additional birthday celebrations.  As a reminder, you still have plenty of time to send me a gift certificate or cash money as my birthday isn’t until Tuesday.  But I digress.  So I was in Baltimore getting my drink on with my friends.  It was supposed to be a special night, and it kind of was.  But not special like I got to touch someone’s wiener while I was sober special.  It was more like that guy was lucky he left when he did or Jewcy Bits would have punched him in the face special.

That’s right, kids, there was almost a fight.  Starring Jewcy Bits and the Master Overlord of Douche Bags.

My girlfriend invited the asshole she’d been seeing on and off for the last 6 months.  We already didn’t like him since he basically dumped her on her birthday and then got back together with her a few days later.  His idea of making up with her and apologizing involved a drunk phone call at 3:30 am on a Monday where he drunkenly told her he had acted like a jack ass and wanted to come over to “talk” to her.  Kids, this is a perfect example of what I like to call a “booty call.”

Like a typical chick, we’ve all been there, she took him back.  And she believed he had changed.  I can’t blame her, I too am a chick and have fallen for such behavior myself.  So he came out for my birthday where he proceeded to be a total ass the whole time.  Examples of his shitty behavior include:

  • Berating her in front of her friends
  • Ogling other chicks in front of her
  • Calling us all lame
  • Kicking my friends to get their attention
  • Spilling drinks all over the place
  • Rubbing another girl’s bare legs (repeatedly)
  • Slapping Jewcy Bits’ boyfriends gut

It was that last one that just about sent Jewcy Bits over the edge.  And with good reason.  I have to say, I would have paid good money to watch Jewcy punch him in his mouth.  He totally deserved it.  He really did.  I think I might dream of seeing his drunk ass laid out on the floor and watching Jewcy kick his fat gut all over the floor.

Fucker.

Drugs Aren’t Always Bad

20 Oct

You know what’s awesome?  Throwing out your back.  We’ve all had those moments when we do something strange and end up pulling a muscle in our back.  One of those terrible muscle pulls where the whole side of your body is totally tight and you can’t turn your neck.  Good times, good times.

Know what’s even more awesome?  When you do it while you’re getting dressed for work in the morning.  I don’t know what the French I did this morning when I was putting my shirt on, but whatever it was, it’s freaking hurting me a lot.  Driving to work this morning was so difficult.  I couldn’t turn my neck so every time I had to turn behind me it was like I was the rusted tin man from The Wizard of Oz – I had to turn my whole body.  Not good, not good.

Know what is good?  Muscle relaxers.  I just took one and I can feel it getting ready to kick in.  Drugged up blogging?  Might have to try it…