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This is What I Look Like on Saturday Night

21 Jan

Depeche Mode, Jersey Belle, Oingo Boingo, and South Philly Fashionista can totally attest to the fact that this is what I looked like after inhaling far too much tequila that time we went to Mexico together.  This baby nailed the performance, she deserves a baby Academy Award on your toy shelf.

I wept when I saw this.  Actually wept.  I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard since my sister told me a little story about a conversation between 5 year old Lucy(fer) and 7 year old Damien.  The whole fam was in the car and the song “Pumped up Kicks” was playing on the radio.  A song which I introduced the kids to, even though it’s about a shooting. It’s got a catchy tune and I figured they wouldn’t know what it was about.

  • Lucy(fer): Why do the kids in the pumped up kids gotta run gotta run?
  • Damien: [straight faced] To outrun my gun, faster than my bullet.

For some reason, imaging them in strapped into their car seats having this conversation made me laugh.  I have problems.  I know.

No More Hyenas

3 Sep

My date with Mom Jeans the other night was pretty awful.  On my way home from the cheesy ass chain restaurant where we met I started thinking about this whole dating thing.  In thinking back over my history I have some pretty atrocious luck with set-ups and online dating.  This made me wonder whether or not it was worth the effort.  I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t.

My mom always told us that love was like a shadow, if you chase it you’ll never catch it, but if you leave it alone it will follow you.  Maybe she’s right, maybe not.  I don’t fucking know.

When I got home Depeche Mode and I had a chat about stupid dating.  We agreed that maybe match.com wasn’t the best thing for me.  He said that the way it worked was that you had to wait for everything in your life to fall in line, and then someone would come out of nowhere and mess everything up.  That’s what it’s all about.  I’m not going to find it online – it’s not for me.  I’m not going out with friends of friends because I don’t want to play safari and then swim with fake hippos in an above ground pool.

My life has changed significantly since the beginning of the year.  I have a new job that I love, I live in a new city, I have a great home, and I’m making new friends.  I decided I was just going to let things play out.  I was just going to let the whole dating thing just go and fuck itself.  I deleted the stupid match.com app off my iphone after my date and swore off being set up.  If something happened, great.  If not, whatever.  And so, I went off on my merry way just thinking I’d put it all behind me.

And then last night happened…

Even Better than “Who’s on First”

29 Jul

I’m sitting here with Depeche Mode as we’re both “working” from home today.  The discussion turns to names and we begin discussing how much we both hate the name Bob.  Hate.  A lot.  Then we move on to the following:

  • Depeche Mode: I don’t like the name Bobby for a grown man.
  • Me: It’s kind of cute, not so bad.
  • Depeche Mode: Where do you stand on Robby?
  • Me: Ugh, hate that for an adult.
  • Depeche Mode: What about Robb with 2 b’s?
  • Me: That’s just stupid.
  • Depeche Mode: Yeah, I don’t get it.
  • Me: So where do you stand?  Are you 2 b’s or not 2 b’s.

That’s when I proceeded to laugh and laugh because I love stupid puns.  I was then promptly told by Depeche Mode not to do that at his table.

Shakespeare is rolling over in his grave right now.

God, I seriously crack myself up sometimes.

Mexi Melt

5 Jul

Yesterday we had a BBQ at Boom Boom and Depeche Mode’s house.  Jersey Belle, Oingo Boingo (Jersey Belle’s husband), Phashionista and the future Mr. Phasionista all came over to help us drink our weight in booze and inhale some hamburgers.  For us chicks the conversation turned to what it typically turns to: our fat asses.  We decided that it was time for us all to drop some pounds.

Boom Boom brought out her fancy ass scale and we all took a turn getting weighed, having our BMI checked, and getting our body age.  Our ages range from 31 to 37.  Our average body age, according to this evil scale made by the devil, is 58 years old.  Um…are we really such fat asses that our body age is that old?  God, that made me want to kill myself.

Between the six of us, we weigh more than half a ton.  1, 226 pounds to be exact.  That’s a lot of fucking weight for six people.  With Phasionista’s wedding in Mexico looming in exactly four months, you can probably see why we’re all freaking out that we weigh about the same as an elephant.  That’s really bad.

So, we raised our booze filled glasses over the giant bowl of fatty potato chips and made a pact: everyone is going to lose some weight…or face the consequences, and they’re bad ones.

Everyone has decided that they need to lose at least 15 pounds.  The incentive?  If we don’t, then we have to have our picture taken in a bikini and each one of us will feature it as our facebook profile picture for three days.  Do you have any idea how humiliating the possiblity of strangers and friends and Office Adonis staring at my fat gut and thighs is?  Yeah, it’s bad.  And so, dear people, Boom Boom and I are hitting the gym today.

If you thought Operation Muffin Top(ple) last year was something, you have no idea what you have in store with Mexi Melt.

Never Take Dating Advice from Depeche Mode

17 Jun

Tonight I got my very first text message from a dude on match.com.  Taking Depeche Mode’s advice, I responded.  Pretty sure that taking his advice made this the ONLY text message that I’ll receive from this dude.

  • Match Dude: Hey, it’s [fake name].  Match.
  • Me: Game.  Set.

Hello?  Anyone?  Anyone?

20 Grams

14 Jun

Did you ever see that movie with Sean Penn, Benecio Del Toro, and Naomi Watts? No? Well, you didn’t miss much. Basically what you missed is that when you die, you instantly lose 20 grams. Perhaps that’s what one’s soul weighs. Who knows?

What I do know is that I need to die about 100 times over to lose the weight I have gained since I moved in with Boom Boom and Depeche Mode. Remember the Freshman 15? I’ve managed to gain the Philadelphia 15. I’m simply having too good of a time to care about what I eat.

Stop going out for dinner, you say. Screw you, that’s what I say.

Quit having Thirsty Thursdays or just cut back on the booze? How dare you! How very dare you!

This November we are all going away to Mexico for South Philly Fashionista’s wedding. You’d think that would be enough to dissuade me from eating/drinking everything in sight. You’d be wrong. Jersey Belle and I have decided that maybe what we need to do is have a little contest over who can gain the most weight. Yesterday I had peanut butter and banana french toast, booze, french fries with fried lobster, pork won tons, chicken tenders, half a hamburger, and fries. Just writing that out made me gain a pound. I am so going to kick her butt. Kick it hard.

Sadly, it looks like the world is against my big weight gain win. I just tried going to the cafeteria at Widgets & Co. to get some lunch – meatball sub, fries, soda. I stood around for 10 minutes waiting for someone to take my order. No one came. The only other option was a measly little side salad. Sad day for me, very sad. I’ll just have to settle for a granola bar and some damn fruit.

Guess I’ll just have to redouble my efforts tonight at dinner when I dine out…again.

Another Bottomless Pit Day

31 May

Barring getting your eyes gouged out by a rabid dingo, there’s really nothing quite like PMS.  Most of us that suffer from it are delighted to tell you how we would rather die a thousand deaths than have to live through it.  Some of us turn into royal bitches, some of us weep during cat food commercials, and then there are those of us that will eat the world.

Eat.

The.

World.

You’ll all be shocked to read that I am one of those poor bitches that not only weeps when cats jump over rainbows, but that has a bottomless pit right around the time that I’m getting my period.  Poor Depeche Mode and Boom Boom were witnesses to such events on Friday night.  That night, I ate dinner for four.  Seriously, for four grown adults.  I ate:

  • 1 plain quesadilla
  • 4 chicken fajita quesadillas
  • 2 Kosher hotdogs (complete with the rolls and condiments)
  • an entire bottle of wine.

All by myself.  I was about to start eating a third hotdog when Depeche Mode was kind enough to tear it out of my hands.  Frankly, he’s lucky that he managed to rip his hands away from his mouth with all of his fingers intact.  Meanwhile, Boom Boom, who had enjoyed her own bottle of wine and insisted (more like slurred) that she wasn’t drunk, yelled at Depeche Mode for taking away my food.  He said he was trying to save my hips.

Now there’s a true friend right there.  Someone willing to risk their own limbs to save my fat ass hips.