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I’m not dead yet

10 Jan

Bet you thought I was gone forever, didn’t you?  Not quite – more of a hiatus.  You see, it’s weird how a personal photo of yours can end up on social media somewhere and anyone of your friends who knows you in real life but not on the interwebs could very easily make a connection that you’ve got this secret little writing gig.  So perhaps a self imposed holiday from the blogosphere is best.  But it’s been long enough and I have returned for random ramblings!

I could tell you that I have a serious beau and we’re getting ready to move in.  That he’s an absolute dreamboat and everything I ever dreamed of.  Or that maybe one night in a drunken stupor I called 3D and we knocked boots until dawn.  Or maybe that some failed judgement led to a night of debauchery with a coworker.  I could tell you all of those things, but they’d be down right lies.

But here’s what I can tell you that is not a lie: I’m leaving on a jet plane to Australia in two weeks.  In two weeks for six months.  That’s right, friends, I’m taking my shenanigans on the road and planning on making out with at least one Aussie with a dreamy accent.  Actually, I already have an eye on someone.  It just so happens that I have this coworker who is hotter than fuck and the heavens have aligned to make it so he and I will be sitting right next to one another.

Blond.  Blue eyes.  Accent.  Hot bod.  Why can’t he just be mine?

We’ll see what happens…

God Save the Queen, 2013

26 Aug

Like many couples, Oingo Boing and Jersey Belle (whose name I may change to Ginger Belle because I love targeting all my ginger jokes at her) do this awesome thing every single night when they go to bed.  No, not each other.  Rather, they have a lovely custom of saying a lovely string of things to one another.  There’s a really lovely bit in there about their love for all things British and our upcoming trip to the UK – where we’ll proceed to sight see, eat our faces off, drink too much, and someone (probably me) will end up vomiting.

God Save the Queen, 2013

Skinny England

Half price.

Skinny England.  It’s the reminder that we are less than thin by UK standards.  Let me in on a little something – this I know from personal experience – if you’re a size 14 in the US, you’re a size 16 in the UK.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a size 16 in a sea of size 6’s?  Not awesome.  And know what else?  Somehow, every single time I go to the UK, I try to remind myself that I need to drop at least 15 pounds and I end up gaining 10 just before I go.  My muffin top digs traveling.

In preparation all my travels later I’ve vowed to drop at least one pant size – seeing as how I’ll probably go up 2 when I start binging while I’m overseas.  For the last few Monday’s I’ve woken up and said, “Today’s the day.  Skinny England is on!”  Take today for example.  Packed my breakfast and lunch and vowed I’d eat a good dinner when I got home.

  • Fish tacos – good
  • Fruit – good
  • Bagel with cream cheese that I took over the granola bar I’d packed – bad
  • Ham and cheese sandwich on whole grain bread – not too bad, except for the fact that I buttered the bread
  • Potato chips – really?  What the hell is wrong with me…
  • Banana – good
  • Coffee with non fat milk – OK
  • Coffee with cream and 4 sugars – seriously?
  • Handful of M&M’s – I just can’t
  • Three MASSIVE chocolate cookies – I give up

So, instead of just starting all over tomorrow, I’ll just go ahead and say this week is shot and go ahead and gain the two pounds I’m destined to gain this week.  Tomorrow?  Margaritas!!  And probably some pie.

My Pee-filled Adventures with the Pie Girl

17 Dec

Ah. New York City. Times are shitty. But I’m pretty sure they can’t get worse. It’s a comfort to know when you’re singing the hit the road blues that anywhere you could possibly go after New York would be a pleasure cruise.

No. Wait. Sorry. Those are lyrics from the musical Rent. Sorry, my bad.

Where was I? Right. New York. Good times! There’s something to be said about the adventures that two single ladies can have in the Big Apple. Some end up finding the men of their dreams. Others end up having their handbags stolen. Some end up roofied and wondering why they wake up with their panties down around their ankles, their eyebrows shaved off, and a tattoo of Tone Loc on their right hip. Our adventures, were nothing like this.

As fate would have it the lovely WV Pie Girl (Sarah, but I’m not referring to her by her real name because what fun would that be?) end up in NYC on Friday night. PG (for Pie Girl and much more exciting than Sarah, and funny because she’s actually rated R, not PG) and I have been Twitter besties for a long time now. We were both wicked super psyched to FINALLY have the chance to get together and do what we do best: get drunk and mock people. People, it was everything I imagined and so much more. The only thing that sucked about the night was that we didn’t have enough time together to mock the 50+ year old woman in her sparkly gown and her frumpy ass hair. Oh. And the fact that it took over an hour to get our food so they had to pack it because I had to catch the train. Bonus? Free round of drinks. Oh. But then PG left her food in the cab. BUT she did steal the pepper shaker from the table so she can add that to the collection.

Oh. And I dropped my phone in the toilet…after I had peed and then I had to stick my hand in the pee water to get my phone. But it still works. And I’m pretending that it’s totally clean now because as PG put it, “pee is sterile.”

Hopefully next time we get together we’ll have more time, more drinks, and less pee covered phones. On the bright side, it certainly makes for a memorable time! After all, how often can you say that your first time getting together with a friend involves stealing Tom Colicchio’s pepper shakers and a golden shower for your phone…


Blow Out

19 Nov

You know what’s amazing?  Vacations!  I love a vacation.  I love a road trip, and I love it even more when the destination of the trip is yuppie haven: Martha’s Vineyard.  Mamacita and I are on our way to spend Thanksgiving and my birthday on the Vineyard.  We’re fucking fancy, y’all.  And the beauty of it all is she’s paying for everything AND I get to drive her luxury vehicle the whole entire way.

Here’s when it all goes wrong: when you’re on 95 just outside of NYC and a big fat metal crate is in the road way and you can’t slam on your breaks because you’ll be rear ended and you can’t swerve to the right because a big fucking truck is there so you run over the thing and then you end up with a flat tire.  No joke.  In the Bronx, just the two of us with the car piled high and a flat fucking tire.  Thankfully, she has road side assistance and they came to change the tire for us.

BUT and this is a big but, it’s a temporary tire.  One you can’t drive on over 50 mph.  Makes it hard to get to your destination when you’re driving slower than someone’s grandmother.  Yes, that was me you were flipping off and honking at yesterday.  We spent two hours in the Bronx driving around looking for a replacement tire.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a tire for a Land Rover?  Next to impossible because no one fucking has one – except for Land Rover, who doesn’t have a dealership in the Bronx.  Go figure.

After several hours of getting stuck in the world’s worst traffic – because no one near NYC can drive, we finally decided to drive on the temporary to our first stop.  Amazing, fucking amazing driving that slow on the highway.  I seriously thought I would never have to do that…until I turned 90 and became one of those drivers.

We spent several more hours this morning looking for another tire, only to find out they’re backordered and not being produced by Pirelli.  Awesome and amazing.  That means she has to have all four tires replaced and it’ll run her $1500, without the service.

We’re off to a great start!

Traffic Bites

16 Jul

This morning finds me dragging in Mystic, CT.  I had to share a bed my Lucy(fer), who-at 4-kicks a lot.  It came to me in the middle of the night that if I put some pillows between us she’ll kick the pillows and not me.  Success!  Unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from hogging the blankets.  At about 3:15 this morning I thought about pushing her out of bed.  Is that wrong?  My guess is I got about three hours of sleep.  And we still have a few hours to go before we land in Martha’s Vineyard.

Without traffic, Mystic is about four hours away.  With the traffic we hit yesterday, it took us ten fucking hours to get here.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to be trapped in a car with a six and four year old in a traffic jam?  Imagine having the first layer of skin pulled off of your eyeball and then having a gallon of lemon juice poured into it while you’re being anally fisted AND kicked in the groin at the same time.  Only worse.

I can only imagine what the car trip the rest of the way will be like.

God help us all.

Klass Act: On the Road

15 May

On Saturday I traveled up to New York City with a few of my girlfriends.  Nothing says, “klassy” like being drunk by 11:30.  We are awesome.  Far more awesome, I should add, than the bathroom at the Macy’s in Hearald Square.  Good lord almighty, is that place a shithole.  Literally.  Walking in there was like walking into a sauna – that smelled like baby powder.  And poop.  Let me tell you something, the last thing a girl wants when she gets off a freaking New Jersey Transit train is to be in a powdery-poop smelling sauna.  No good.

The best part, by far, was when the five of us had a drunk lunch at Tom Colicchio’s (from “Top Chef”) Craftbar.  We easily spent 20 minutes discussing the merits of Tom Colicchio’s balls.  His risotto balls.  Foxy Luv went so far as to offer our waiter to go into the kitchen and thank “Mr. Colicchio” (as she called him) for his “moist and delicious balls.”  The waiter was not amused.  Though Foxy threatened to flip the table a la Real Housewives of New Jersey style, we were able to calm her down with promises of another drinks.

I too did my part in keeping it klassy.  Sure, I may not have shouted about balls and offered Tom Colicchio a ball rub, but I did manage to steal two little signs for the handicap bathroom.  Yeah, that’s right.  I said it.  Because you just never know when you’re going to need a “no smoking” or “employees must wash hands” sign for your guests.

Head First

26 Aug

Sweet justice!  Sweet, sweet justice!

After days and days of rain and being trapped with the whole family the sun finally decided to show up.  This meant a trip to the beach.  I’m going to keep this short because I’m very busy pretending to get dressed so we can all venture back out, BUT I just knew you’d LOVE to hear this.

Guess who fell face first into the ocean this afternoon?  My douche uncle!!  Hurray!

Best part?  He had his blackberry in his pocket when he fell.

My heart is so full right now it might burst…

Power to My Fist Hitting Your Mouth

23 Aug

My uncle is so freaking annoying it’s not even funny.  The mere act of hearing him breathe makes me want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he turns blue.  Annoying.  And aren’t I the lucky one for having the joy and pleasure of getting trapped on vacation with him.  He sucks.  He sucks big gigantic dog balls.  Huge ones.

I know that you all love it when I suffer, and so I will share a wonderful example of how he made me suffer today.  It’s because I care.

So here we are on Martha’s Vineyard for the week, and as luck would have it, the weather sucks.  Most of the day was rainy and super windy.  So windy, in fact, that the power went out in a few places.  We happened to walk into one storm about 10 minutes after the power went out.  He wanted an espresso.  Espresso machines don’t work when there’s no power.  Common knowledge.  At least you would think so.

  • Me: There’s not going to be any espresso here, the power is out.
  • Douche Uncle: But maybe we can get some espresso.
  • Me: Actually, no, we can’t.
  • Douche Uncle: They don’t sell it here?
  • Me: They do, but there’s no power?
  • Douche Uncle:  Why? [last time I checked I wasn’t an electrician.]
  • Me: Um, because of the storm?
  • Douche Uncle: You think the storm knocked out the power? [and I’m also not a weather girl.]
  • Me: I think so.  I’m not sure?
  • Douche Uncle: If it wasn’t the storm, what else could it be?
  • Me: No idea.
  • Douche Uncle: When will the power go back on?
  • Me: I have no idea.
  • Douche Uncle: You think they’ll have it on in the next 10 minutes?
  • Me: I have no idea.
  • Douche Uncle: Well, maybe we can ask them to make us an espresso anyway.
  • Me: No, we can’t.  You need electricity to power up an espresso machine and there is no power here.
  • Douche Uncle: You don’t think we should ask?
  • Me: No, I don’t.  How else would you get a freaking espresso machine to work?  Last time I checked there was no such thing as a hand cranked espresso machine.
  • Douche Uncle: Maybe we can just wait until the power is back on.
  • Me: No, we’re leaving.

How fucking stupid do you have to be?