Sunday, September 30, 2007

Drunk Texting

"Ay remember that time we went at it in (undisclosed location even I am too much of a prude to admit to you)? I was just thinking about that."

This is the kinda thing I woke up to in the middle of the night when I got up to go to the potty. Was everyone drunk last night but me? I got THE BEST texts, emails, and IMs last night, and one reeeeaaaaly good voicemail. I LOVE drunk texting (when it's not me)! God bless lowered inhibitions.

What in the world is it that makes us do this? What is it about drinking that says, "You know who I should talk to RIGHT NOW?" and proceed to dial said person immediately? I myself am a notorious drunk texter, and while I've never said anything while d.t.ing that I wouldn't say sober, I certainly woulda tried to do it much... nicer.
Or at least a lil less crude.

Personally, I've gotten into the habit of giving up my phone when I know I'm about to get throwed because the consequences of MY drunk texting have been quite varied in their destruction.

But you? Don't give your phone up! I love the drunk texts. Keep it coming

Good Sleep

There's a couple ways you know you've slept EXTRA well. They include...


1. Waking up and your pillowcase is twisted around.

2. Realizing that at some point during the middle of the night, you've discarded some clothing and you have no recollection of doing so.

3. You wake up completely under the covers... and at the foot of the bed.

4. The bear you usually sleep with has not just fallen under the bed, but found its way under the bed as well.

5. Both of your phones were on loud and you didn't hear a thing.

6. You wake up only because the dog is tapping you with her paw and whimpering because the poor puppy REALLY has to pee.

7. When you get up to take the puppy out, it takes you AT LEAST 10 minutes to get your equillibrium straight.

8. You work the buzzing of the loud ass lawn mower outside into your dream and continue to sleep without ever missing a beat.

9. You have absolutely no recollection of falling asleep.

10. You have to go immediately back to sleep upon waking up because you got too much sleep and you're sleepy.



I dunno WHAT I have been doing different the last few days, but your girl has been GETTING IT IN. Lol Oh it's so lovely...

Saturday, September 29, 2007

Paris

Mari and I are sprawled out on the floor in her living room, for some reason choosing to leave the couch vacant in favor of sinking into the plush white carpet. We're pouring over pictures and yearbooks, and other keepsakes Mari keeps stored in the back of her closet. I take in all the places scattered around me; Athens. Costa Rica. Barcelona. Capri. Cabo. New Zealand. Australia. Toronto. Paris. Rome. Jamaica. Brazil. Tokyo. The only constant in each one is Mari; either her physical prescence or her photographic flare showcased by some scenic still shot that I'd never have the eye to know it would be as gorgeous as it is in print. She's telling me about her time in Barcelona. There she is in a sequence of pictures, her skin tanned a gorgeous color of brown, her curly hair a wild halo floating above her head, a defiant streak of blond cutting through the front of an otherwise jet black mane. She's smiling her big, beautiful smile, the kind I hope my orthodontist can help me achieve, and she just looks so damn... alive. All around me is so much life, so much adventure and experience, so much gall and confidence, so much peace. She flips through the photographs, telling me where she was, why she took the picture, the funny thing that happened that day. I hear her, but I'm hardly listening, every photograph like a knife peeling away my armor like the delicate skin of a peach. Before I know it, a tear hits the coast of Costa Rica and slides down the middle like a lone rain drop that got caught on the lens. Another quickly follows and lands on Mari's face standing next to a handsome Spanish man in the next picture.

"Oh my God I'd forgotten about him. I cannot remember his name but girl he was so-" She stops when she notices my tears. "What's wrong mami?"

I sigh. I don't know how to tell her that I am so damn jealous I can barely breathe. That here I am dreaming about going all of these places she's been and can talk about so effortlessly. She is living the life I want. And I tell her so.

"Mami you're young. You gotta remember I've got an eight year lead on you." I'm silent, shuffling through pictures, thoroughly red faced embarrassed for that display of vulnerability. She takes the stack of photographs from my hands and starts to shuffle through them slowly. I notice that it's not until around Paris that Ella shows up even though I know they knew each other back then. And then there they are together. At the Eifel Tower. The Collosieum. Ella wrapped in a colorful Jamaican flag and little else, staring out into the sunset over her native land. At Carnival, both tanned, wearing next to nothing, grinning and standing next to a woman in a colorful costume. Ella towering over Mari and a small Asian woman at a resturant. She sits the pictures down on floor and presses gently on my shoulder until my head is in her lap. She releases the band holding my hair in a messy bun on top of my head and starts kneeding her knuckles into my scalp.

"Going on these trips," she says to me, her slight accent still peppering her words, "was not as fun and glamorous as it seemed. In most of these places, I was alone. I lost alot of friends who didn't understand why I'd rather visit a Buddhist temple in Asia than stay here and go to the club and get drunk every weekend. Much of my family turned their backs on me because they didn't understand why I wasn't at home taking care of our family with some fancy job my Ivy League degree could get me. They didn't understand why I chose to see the world rather than just exist in my own. The guy I was engaged to at the time, he didn't understand why he just wasn't passionate enough for me, why I wasn't content to just be an armpiece at a charity event. He didn't see how travelling would give my two dimensional world depth. He didn't get it. He didn't understand why I left."

She pauses, her fingers still in my hair, her sighs over my head telling me that she's back in that place again, twenty-one and packing only one suitcase, liquidizing all her assets, buying a one way ticket to Greece, leaving the ring and her life on the kitchen counter.

"Getting outside of yourself," she continues, "is what changes you. Seeing other people, other lives, other families, other religions and cultures and customs, is what makes you open your eyes. That one moment, when you finitely realize that the world is so much larger than yourself and yet you are still fundamentally connected to it, it is like baptism. A cleansing of your old life so that you can live your new one. I didn't get that until probably around Australia or so. And all of a sudden I was burned up with this desire to go back to the countries I'd already visited and look at them with these new eyes. For me, it literally was an instant transformation. I was suddenly someone new and different. And that was the last straw for everyone I'd ever known from my old life. Except for Ella."

She pauses, staring off into the distance, a slight smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

"El didn't know what I was going through. She'd never been to the places I'd been or lived my life. She was so young. But she listened. Genuinely. And she remembered even the smallest thing I mentioned. Because she cared. What started out as a quick email after we met in New York ended with me sending her a plane ticket to meet me in Paris. I remember, before she got there, loving the countries I was visiting, the things I saw and did, the adventures I had. But at times it was so lonely. It's like, you know when something funny happens and you wanna call someone and tell them? It's just that instinct, you know?"

She glances down at me and I nod, afraid if I say anything it will distract from what she is trying to tell me.

"Well imagine being in some of the most beautiful places in the world, and wanting, needing to share the experience with someone, longing to talk to someone about the person you were growing into and realizing that you literally have no one to call. El was the only person willing to think outside of the box of her life and listen to what I needed to speak. Hell La, I've been everywhere, seen so much I never thought I'd see, girl I've slept with some of the most gorgeous men and women you've ever seen in your life."

We laugh because, well, Mari is a goddamn mess.

"And all I wanted to do was run home and email or call Ella and tell her all about it. It took me going that far and losing that much to realize I could decide for myself what I wanted my life to look like and who I wanted to open it up to."

She pauses, coming back to herself, shaking her head like she was shaking off the cobwebs of the memories.

"My point is, mami, that your life takes shape on it's own. You just have to get out of it's way. If anyone had told the me I was back then at 21 when I was engaged to a man who looked like sin, loved me more than life, and had a perfect life set up for myself, that at 31 I'd be living with and loving another woman much younger than me, NOT doing what I got my degree in and still be wildly successful and done all the other things I've done, I woulda laughed at them. This isn't your life because it's my life. But you can take your desires and make them into your own version of it. Ultimately, you and God are all you have to answer to. And he already knows where you're going."

I smile because I hear what He's saying through her, just as I've gotten the message from the other messengers He's sent it through this week as well.

"Mami take the time now to see whatever it is you need to see, to go anywhere you've ever seen in a book, to do whatever you never ever dreamed you could do, to explore whatever it is about yourself that you want to know more about. But let it come. Let it shape itself. You're so young La. Why are you so hard on yourself?"

I take a long moment to digest the question so many have asked me so many times. I can only come up with the same answer I always come up with.

"Because it never occurred to me not to be."




She sighs, her thumbs massaging circles at my temples, and we let the silence fall over us. We stay that way for a long time, us laid out amongst the pictures of a life lived so fully that isn't even close to being over. I resign within myself to never again be jealous, but rather to seek those desires from within myself that will get me to my own Paris.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

First Day

Seriously, I was having problems. Black button down? Navy blue belted shirt dress? Black pants? White pants? Gray pants? Pumps? Flats? Sandals? Hair straight? Curly? Up? Down? So many very important questions.

And then I thought to myself, "Self, I'm the SHIT. Why am I trippin'?"

And that was that.

I settled on white REALLY wide leg pants, the blue shirt dress on top, red belt, red espadrills, hair half up, half down, and some "grown up jewelry" as Shani puts it. I appraised myself in the mirror and noted that not only did I look professional and nicely pulled together, I still looked like ME. Yay!

I was already tired from staying up half the night fighting with B (another story for another day) and lemme tell you what's not exciting at 8am when you're sleepy; rush hour traffic. In Houston. Which is comprable to LA or NYC traffic alllll day except with rednecks. Bah! Good music helps though. You know what also helps?
Coons.

Lets discuss that shall we? Exhibit A...

One of the best things about having an SUV is that it affords me the opportunity to look down on people. Not in a derogatory way, more in a nosey way. Nosey like, hey! You there ma'am! Are you seriously giving your man head behind the wheel at 8am? Who gives head at 8am?




Ok. Good point. Moving on...


You know what's even better? Ricans in muscle cars. I love my people, but Lord they're just so... RICAN. So I passed a guy in an old school Mustang. I turned to look at his car. He was apparently enamoured with the tiny girl in oversized glasses with "I'm so Hood" blaring at 8am. Once traffic stopped completely he motioned me to roll down my window. He shouted something to me in Spanish. The bits and pieces I did catch amount to nothing romantic. Seriously? Soliciting THAT at 8am? No mas!

I got to the building and got my ID picture taken. I have to admit that I look ALOT like Mr. Magoo. It went immediately into the bottom of my far-too-large bag. I went and sat in the waiting area and immediately noticed another new hire sitting next to me. I looked up to make small talk and the words caught in my throat when I realized she was studying the Bible intently. Now before you get all up in arms and call me a heathen, its not the fact that she was reading the bible at work that threw me. It was the fact that it was one of those super old school bibles. You know one of those ones that are like as big as your torso with the heavy pages trimmed in gold all leather bound and whatnot that used to sit up on the table in the front of the church? That's what she had. I thought to myself, "Self how the hell did she even carry that in here?" Lol

We were summoned to our orientation and on the way I passed this big butchy bitch who give me the Oh No Not That Bitch eye. So I prayed my serenity prayer...

"Dear Lord... please don't let me have to punch a bitch in her throat the VERY 1st day at my new job. Amen."

And instantly I was granted the peace I sought.
:-)

During orientation, the only other black girl and I, TC we'll call her, started to catch each other's eye and shoot each other looks everytime the ditzy white girl asked inane questions that go on far too long. (So is mase considered illegal? Is it a weapon? I work a night shift, can I bring it in? Now is it only illegal if I use it? Or if it's concealed? Is it ok to have it on my keyring? I mean it's pretty small, its not a weapon right? Does that violate corporate policy or is that ok?) After we broke for lunch, I rode with her and we started talking like we've known each other for months. Yay new friend! She's in a different department than me, but dammit if she isn't hilarious.

We split up and I got to meet the people in my office. There's the somewhat egotistical supervisor, the world's coolest boss, and 2 of the funniest chicks ever in life who have made my first three days there entirely too comfortable and too much fun for me to be actually getting a paycheck to crack jokes. I haven't met all the technicians who work in our office yet, but the ones I've met seem pretty cool, and obnoxiously funny. And there are LITERALLY sports surrounding my for 9 hours a day from all around the country. And even though the commute sucks, did I mention I only have to do it til January when we move to a brand new state of the art facility that is TEN MINUTES from my house?

I dunno what I did to deserve this, but thank God for it.

Work is good! I'm sure I'll have plenty of good stories to tell ya.

...

I promise I'm getting around to blogging about my 1st day at work...







Catch up on the archives in the meantime. 300 posts! Get to reading! lol

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Smoke Somethin' Bitch

That has absolutely nothing to do with anything, other than the fact the shit cracks me up. Cool points for anyone who can tell me what song starts like that!

I see X-Factor has taken over Jam's blog bully duties, leaving all that hatefulness in the peanut gallery. Hush, bitch.

Anyway, I'm back. I can't decide if I'm gonna blog about the trip or not because A. It was uneventful B. It was SO eventful and C. I never seem to finish a trip recap anyway. So we'll see.

Wise has "forced" me to busy myself so that Loser Week Blues doesn't knock me on my ass, so part of that is finishing a couple blogs I've been Sidekick writing. I have so much to tell y'all! Truth is, I've been keeping some shit to myself, cause, I dunno, I've just been on my double life shit lately. So I've got some stuff to reveal, but then again maybe I won't. Sometimes I like to know that if I need to, I can sneak off and live a life no one knows about. Hee hee.

The great news is, I gotta job! Woo! All you need to know is I work in sports and my "office" is actually a big open room where one wall is completely TV screens that show nothing but sports 24/7.

Pardon me... just had a tiny little orgasm.

So maybe in the upcoming weeks after orientation, I'll blog about that. And maybe I'll blog about this stuff I been keeping to myself. And maybe I'll finish this stuff on the sidekick and post that. I dunno.

This is my 300th post and I had originally planned to write something really big for it but this shit snuck up on me!!! Wasn't I JUST at like 200 when I called myself quitting the blogging business? What in the FUCK have I been writing about?

And why are y'all still reading? Lol

Anyway, love you guys for it. Jam please don't blog bully me. I'm around. :-)

Friday, September 14, 2007

A-Town Bound

Gone home to Atlanta for the weekend.

Be back bright and early... in the afternoon... sometime... next week... um... yeah. Try not to miss me too much, yes?




Oh, and also, if anyone wakes up extra early or stays up extra late, hit me up! I'm still on the road!!! Play with me! I'm lonely and trying to stay awake and no one wants to answer their phone tonight, lol

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Testimony

"She was such a lovely girl, and then one day she just snapped. She was never quite the same after that..."

Sunday, September 9, 2007

More Things La Doesn't Understand

And/or things that are currently irritating the hell out of me, somewhat in the same vein of Organized Noise's THYFT.


1. Why you're surprised that your boyfriend gave you something when you PERSONALLY know at least 2 of the people he's cheating with.

2. Why I bought a digital camera just because it was red.
a. Why I have the nerve to be pissed that it sucks.

3. Why you're coming to Houston. What do you hope to accomplish? Are you coming just because you're jealous?

4. Why I am suddenly desperately wanting to go to San Antonio to go to Six Flags.

5. Why I am abnormally addicted to "Wake Up Call" on Maroon 5's new cd SO much

6. I'm sorry little boy, I know you're only 12 or so, but riding the spokes on the back of your homeboy's bike with your arms wrapped tightly around his neck is real homo. Real talk.

Speaking of things that are homo...

7. Men on certain colored motorcycles. No sir. You are NOT hard straddling Barney. No, a sky blue ninja isn't ferocious. It IS fierce though, complete with finger snaps.

8. Men with tongue rings. No I'm not turned on by the sound of that shit clacking against your teeth. But I know a couple of my favorite kidz who will, you closeted queen.

9. You and I have matching Louis Vuitton bags. You have a penis. Who's wrong here?

10. Why are you 6 ft 5 and driving an SLK? Sure it's a Benz, and I'm sure it's supposed to be sexy. But it's not sexy if you have to use the jaws of life to get out at the gas station. And why is it sky blue? Suspect.

*am I generalizing? Yes. It's still pretty questionable.

11. Why Texans support Bush so hardcore

12. How you think playing these childish ass games are sexy.

13. You order a double bacon cheese burger, large cheese fries with bacon bits on them... and a diet coke. Yeah. Those 30 calories will save you from cardiac arrest.

14. Of COURSE you got caught. You're the world's WORST liar and you have no game.

15. Why I am even entertaining this situation.

16. You weight 400 pounds. You have on a belly shirt. Why do you hate my eyes?

17. Conservative or not, you could not possibly think that having an abortion is automatically damning your soul to hell. I bet you'd feel differently if your daugher got knocked up by a big militant black man.

18. Why everyone is against me getting a car with a Hemi in it. What? Yall are haters.

19. You are a control freak and I hate being told what to do. Do you really not understand why we don't get along?

20. Why people answer my questions with questions. I HATE that. Just answer my fuckin' question before I punch you in your throat.

21. Why you are surprised at how disrespectful dudes are being when your outfit is barely covering only the parts of you that would be considered indecent exposure. Why are you surprised? You're dressed like a hoe. What were you supposed to be? A fireman?

22. I know you're trying me. I'm not slow honey.

23. Why is muffin top a suitable accessory for your outfit Hispanic girl? Is my stomach flat? No. Am I wearing super low rise jeans and a spandex midrift halter? FUCK no.

24. Why does your 9 year old have on a face full of makeup? You do realize you're setting yourself up for failure, yes?

25. You drive a Miata. I drive an SUV. Who will win in this crash? Exactly. Stay in your lane nigga.
25a. To that end, have you ever heard of a person killing a car? No? Me neither. Now get the hell out the street bitch.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

Balls on the Table Bitch!!!

You know what I'm tired of? People apologizing when they don't mean it. Paris, Lindsay, Nicole, Naomi, Foxy, Vick, and now this Vanessa Hodgins chick.

Ok, so you drove drunk/did a line of coke/killed poor little puppies/threw a Blackberry at a random bitches head/made a sex tape/leaked nude pictures/etc that wound up all over the internet, on the front page of every major newspaper and all. That sucks for you. I'd probably be a little mortified myself. But you're not sorry, you're not stressed, nor have you found Jesus you freak/dog killer/inexplicable celebrity. Let's keep it real, shall we?

You're not sorry.

You made that tape cuz you're a freak.
You did a line of coke in the bathroom because you wanted the attention that came with getting caught.
You drove drunk because you knew you could get away with it, rich "white" girl.
You have anger issues.
You are still real hood despite being famous.
You knew better. It wasn't a cultural or regional thing. You just didn't think you'd get caught.
And YOU, little girl, you're just not the innocent girl Disney is trying to portray you as to keep their franchise going.

And that's all cool. But I'm tired of being lied to. And I know the man upstairs has got to be tired of you envoking his name and carrying around his book just because, like on Apollo, people won't boo you offstage when you're singing the gospel.

Just be real. Don't apologize. Don't hold a press conference and apologize to your fans and colleagues. Because you DON'T MEAN IT.

Me? I'd hold a press conference.

But it would mostly consist of me saying something like...

"Yeah, I took those pictures. DAMN I look good! My man was VERY happy to receive them. We had SO much fun when I got home."

Cuz I'm real like that. Get like me.




Balls on the table bitch!!!

Friday, September 7, 2007

Plug

You must go RIGHT NOW and watch this, read this. This girl is so utterly amazing I can't even put it into words.

I stumbled across her blog a few weeks back and it is fairly new but I am so amazed at her bravery that I am quite literally in tears.



I can't even... Just go...

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Insomnia Part 1: Houston

The sky is a tangled mass of gray clouds, densely crowding an ink sky. In the distance, thunder purrs ominously, softly, intending full well to keep its impending promise of storm. The land is flat enough that in the distance, I can see where the landscape has grown even darker, periodic bursts illuminating the far off clouds from within. The air around me is still, the earth muted, no sounds rising from the asphalt, only the distant rumble of storm.

I decide to run anyway.

My head high, shoulders square, I take off, slowly at first, refusing to wince at the familiar pain in my left knee from cartiledge long since damaged from overuse. I push until adrenaline numbs the pain, until I'm barely aware of my lower limbs moving at all, focusing only on the rhythm of my shoes on the wet concrete.

For some reason, my mind can't seem to focus beyond the thoughts that push past my resolve. For a moment, I retreat into my head and immediately I feel my rhythm break. Before I can refocus myself, my ankle twists on a patch of uneven cement I hadn't bothered to notice. I go down fast and hard, falling straight to my knees, sliding on my open palms a few feet. I pick myself up, ignoring the pain shooting through my limbs. My palms are bleeding badly. I clinch my fists and push off.

I gain speed and the world starts to pass me in a blur. Houses and cars and shrubbery are but colors in my peripheral, eyes trained on nothing in particular ahead. I concentrate solely on the strike of my foot on the ground, landing on the heel, rolling through the foot, pushing off with the ball and the toes to propel me forward. I keep my knees high, my back straight, running with no particular destination in mind.

The skies open up and it starts to pour. Intellectually reasoning that it might not be the safest thing to run in a storm in the middle of hurricane season, I contemplate turning back. But only for a second. I am still pushing forward, being rushed onward by some invisible force more powerful than reason. I hang my head low, round my shoulders to brace myself from the torrents of rain beating down on me. I push harder.

By now my chest is on fire and the muscles in my legs feel like they've been cut open and someone poured fire into them. But I still don't stop. I whip in and out of traffic, past trees, over holes in the street, dodging people and rocks and anything else that might seek to trip me up or otherwise hinder me. I'm not going FAST enough. I push myself a little bit more. I am racing the thunder, the lightening, and refusing to be the one that dies down first.

When I reach the field, my entire body has gone numb and I'm shivering. Rivets of rain fall into my eyes but I refuse to break my stride to even wipe them away. I race across the grass into the endzone. I reach the 10 yard line, and reach down and slap the white line marker hard enough to make the injuries on my hands sting. Back to the endzone. Then to the 20, the 30, the 40, at each line leaning down to hit the paint, sprinting back to the endzone as hard and as fast as I can. Between sets, I don't stop, don't take the requisite breather between sprinting the length of the field and starting all over. With each set I taunt myself; I bet you can't do another set, this time faster.

After many rounds, the pain has bloomed fresh in my legs, even my lower back burning from the effort, but I still refuse to stop. Somewhere between the 40 and 50, my knee gives out on me. I go down hard, this time flat on my face. This time I stay down.

I roll over on my back, my eyes open wide, struggling to breathe under the downpour of water, looking up at the sky, now a dangerous expanse of black. I lay there, silent and unmoving, while the sky cries, and I let myself feel the earth underneath me, open myself up to wherever my mind may lead me. I am still and quiet, completely vulnerable to the elements and I can only hope if I lay there long enough, the storm can wash clean all of the places I cannot reach.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

La's List of Things Not to Do When You go Out with the Wildest Chicks on the Planet

Ugh.

Even the light from the computer is hurting my eyes.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, La had one of those nights. Craziness like the shit I experienced makes me glad I can blame my tom foolery on being 23.

The day started rather blah, and seeing as how I haven't been sleeping or eating, I have been terribly irritable and rather feeble. Forcing myself to eat at one my favoritest Mexican spots in the city and walking around the Galleria with my mama was even a struggle but I made myself get it together because this is her last weekend to enjoy before she has her surgery. After picking up some jeans on sale at Express that had even the chick that was helping me in the dressing room eyeing my booty, Ghana Girl calls and tells me she wants to go to Drink Houston. I'm in a superbly shitty mood but I realize I have 2 choices: I can go home and be agitated and antsy and mad that I can't fall asleep and drive the dog crazy because I won't let her sleep.

Or I could squeeze my fabulous ass into these jeans I just bought, put on some heels and go sweat my hair out with my girls.
Oh, and get pretty drunk in the process.

I choose option 2, mostly because I figure the drinking will put me to sleep. So really, it's all about the science.

I go home, slip into my jeans, (barely) wrangle the girls into a shirt, throw some makeup at my face and I'm back out the door to meet Ghana Girl and who will be known henceforth, now and forever more as The Wild One.

T.W.O. comes and picks us up and announces we will be making an unscheduled stop before heading to our final destination. Did I mention by this time it is getting late and in Houston, unlike most other major cities, most everybody closes their shit down PROMPTLY at 2am.

Oh no ma'am.

We get to the place and I realize almost immediately that I am not dressed for the occasion. Why? you may ask. Because I was not A) in my early forties and dressed in a too tight/too short/overly sequined gown and B) because I am almost certain that if I have to get into a fight with any of the hood ass people staring down Ghana Girl (who is "white" by black folks standards), given the flimsy nature of my top, I am sure to have a wardrobe malfunction.

T.W.O. finds her friends and introduces us all around and I try to pretend that there are not more than a few sisters up in there that are slowly getting agitated with the attention that G.G. is getting from the brothers in the room. (Did I also mention that not only is she "white" but the girl is gorgeous and has a serious ASS on her?)

We make our way to the bar. They don't have my first option (SoCo and lime, but they do have Grand Marnier which will also do the trick) but I decide instead to get a Long Island. Someone grabs my attention so I turn around while the bartender is mixing it. When I turn back, I am being handed a VERY tall glass of something that looks completely black up top and pretty clear on bottom. I mix it together and take a sip.

I will be drunk off my ass VERY soon.

We never make it to Drink, but I don't care as much because I made it to the bottom of the glass. We drop G.G. off because she has to wake up at 6:30. Once I get back to my car, I realize I really don't wanna go home. So I call Mari. She's with Ella and Butter downtown. I tell her to order me a drink and I'm on my way.

I find them all at a random bar I've never heard of where the interior is gorgeous and so are the people. Think very modern, high ceilings, exposed beams, all done in variations of black, white and gray with a little touch of chrome added in. The ladies are well into round number 4 and I am behind so they introduce me to the bartender, she gives me a flirty smile and her undivided attention while she mixes something from a couple bottles with no labels on them. She slides 2 shots in front of me.

So here's where it gets a little fuzzy...

So in favor of not pretending I know exactly what all occurred for the rest of the evening and not divulging some more salacious things that I will not give details about over the Internet, I will just compile a very helpful list. Ladies and Gentleman...


La's List of Things Not to Do When You go Out with the Wildest Chicks on the Planet




1. Do NOT go out with Wildest Chicks on the Planet when you have had a shitty, shitty week, because they WILL do any and everything (and I do mean EVERYTHING) to make sure that you smile.
1a. If you DO go out with WCP, do NOT get drunk off your ass.

2. Do NOT do multiple shots of whatever the bartender puts in front of you just because "it is pretty".

3. Do NOT challenge the cutie in the black button down that tells you that you have beautiful hair to a game of darts.
3a. If you DO challenge cutie, do NOT gamble for liquor because even slightly intoxicated (at this point) and in 4 inch pumps, you WILL win, and you WILL make him buy you something else random the flirty bartender has concocted.

4. When cutie in the black button down asks you for your name, just tell him. Do NOT come up with a flirty way of telling him which includes things like:
Cutie: What's your name?
Me: Everybody calls me La.
Cutie: So I'm everybody?
Me: You are for right now.
Cutie: I can live with that. So that's what the L on your necklace is for?
Me: Kinda. But it mostly distracts from the S on my chest.
Cutie: What's that for?
Me: You'll see.
4a. If you DO spend alot of your night flirting with cutie in the black button down after above exchange until his boys all but drag him out of the door, do NOT be even mildly impressed when he puts his name in your phone Soon to be Somebody. Do NOT smile at it. Not even a little bit.

5. Do NOT encourage any member of the WCP to give someone she doesn't know a lap dance just because he has really nice arms. Because she WILL do it, and he and his DEVASTATINGLY attractive friends WILL join you for the rest of the evening. (This might be amended.)

6. Do NOT go in the bathroom halfway through the night and change tops with someone because you wanted to have your back out and she wanted to have her boobs out and the shirt that the other was wearing would accomplish that.

7. Do NOT be 5 ft 2 and catch the attention of the tallest and by far the largest of the devastatingly attractive men and try to match him shot for shot.
7a. If you do try to match him shot for shot, do a sissy ass shot like a lemon drop, and not shots of Patron.
7b. If you do have shots of Patron with Tall Man, try to turn your head when you lick the salt off your hand. He will be far too distracted by this action to pay attention and will drop his shot on his foot. This could also result in...

8. Do NOT convince everyone standing at the bar to do mass body shots.

9. Do NOT kiss Pretty Lesbian Bartender just because Mari dared you to no matter how not X rated the kiss may be and you cannot turn down a dare because your pride is more powerful than the SoCo and lime you have in your hand.
9a. If you do kiss PLB, do NOT have a friend like Mari who thinks it would be funny to slip PLB your phone number because she WILL call you in the morning and ask you if you want to go to breakfast.

10. Do NOT sit on the bar. This will make you the center of attention.

11. Do NOT talk to strangers. Because if you do, you will find yourself suddenly with 20 new friends who think you are "friggin' awesome" and would like to buy you drinks to celebrate this fact with you.
11a. If you DO talk to strangers, do NOT offer love life advice because no matter what she says, the tiny blond in front of you is not ready to hear about how you know her boyfriend is cheating on her just from the story she just told you. She WILL cry and you WILL feel obligated to spend 30 minutes sitting on the floor in the bathroom talking to her while she cries her eyes out and her "best friend" makes out with an Abercrombie model at the bar.

12. Do NOT pass up the opportunity to chase your drinks with water. I didn't do this (which is why I can live to tell about it), but Butter did and we're pretty sure she might have died momentarily.
12a. If you do pass up said opportunity, do NOT pass out at the bar. Pass out in the car like soldiers do. (Good job, B.)

13. Do NOT drive. Instead, walk across the street to the all night spot, eat alot of food, drink alot of water and coffee and sober up before you drive because it IS a holiday weekend and not only are the cops all over the place but other idiots are not as responsible as you are about drunk driving and you need to be alert.

14. Do NOT, however, bring those 20 new friends to all night spot with you in addition to your group of 4 and the group of 5 devastatingly attractive men, because the old lady that is working there will SURELY shit herself.

15. If you decide to crash elsewhere for awhile, do NOT leave your phone unlocked and unattended. More on that later. Ugh.