Finger Talks

Goodnight Finger Goodnight

2010-09-15T07:39:00.000-07:00

It has been a long time since I have talked to all my lovelies... and "Finger" has decided to officially retire.

BUT... the new me has started a new blog full of life, love and relocation...

My new home is http://penguin-poop.blogspot.com/

Come on over, share my daily crazy life... now living in... dun dun dun... CHICAGO!

Love you muffins...

signing out...

finger.

What's a Single Girl to do When Faced with Table #9?

2009-07-29T15:04:00.000-07:00

Your own little Finger has found herself in an interesting little quandary while nestled here in good old Jersey. What has she gotten herself into this time, you may ask. Well, let me tell you, she would reply. And so I will...

The magical Kingdom has decided to hold a ball. A ball to celebrate the joining of two young people in matrimonial bliss, or the effects there of. While Maid Finger was being wooed by one Sir Wrong Again, she agreed to attend said ball in her best fineries. Unfortunately, now that the Ball is less then a fortnight away, Finger has realized breaking up with Sir Wrong Again may have been done in haste since she is now partnerless and a poor practiced designated driver.

"But Maid Finger, doest not thou mingle like the dickens, spreading your glee through out the lands with buts the twinkle of thee eye?" Why, yes, my fair cohorts, I do have the knack for hobnobbing. Although, Finger's jousting happens to be a little thrown off since the only attendees the maiden happens to know are the Prince, Princess and Maid of Honor. Fairy Godmother seems to have overdose on the Schnapps and is now sleeping it off in the linen closet with Xaviera the butler. So, what is a fair maiden to do?

A small pixie I may resemble, but delicate flower I am not. This will not be the first Wedding I get the privilege of attending alone. So, the question remains, should I suck it up, growing an even bigger pair of balls and buy the sluttiest dress I can find to make my debut at the Ball of Table #9, or should I run like a mad woman to find some poor schmuck to drag down with me?

PS - as always taking applications for a knight in shining armour with the stipulation of death, maiming and/or dismembership if said Knight fails in his duties. Spanking is encouranged.

Lunchtime Quickies, the only way to be satisified properly

2009-07-23T06:15:00.001-07:00

There is special little place in my heart reserved for a certain man that takes my breath away every time he slides in between my salivating lips. His smoothness under my hands excites me as I wonder just how he fits in my mouth regardless of how large I make him get. My eyes grow as I try to decide where to start devouring him, my hands practically shaking from control. His two friends sit inconspicuously behind him, waiting for some attention and I feel giddy as my eyes twinkly. Once I am finished I just lay back my hand wiping my lips and smile devilishly as I look over my conquest. Until, next time my love, until next time.

Joey Bag Full of Donuts has my back no matter what and I happily fall into his burrito trap every time I hear the tingle inducing sound of "Welcome to Moe's!" And when he's tired from pleasing me in every way possible, I can always fall back on good old lefty Billy Baru to show me a good time.

Although our lunch time quickie's are short they always leave me satisfied and wanting another go. I surprised Joey yesterday when I brought a friend and she invited Billy. A lunch snack to remember!

The Dating Game... You decide who's right for Finger... I give up!

2009-06-19T07:01:00.000-07:00

I have an abnormal personality. No wait... don't do the, "awe Finger, no, you're great, you have nothing to worry about" crap. I know I'm a little screwy in the head, but I'm okay with it because I always thought that was part of my Charming Finger Appeal. So how am I a little screwy you may be wondering? Well grab yourself some Nestles Morsels and hunker down for a little Psych 101...

I love making people happy.

...well, that's kind of it. I would say I'm a people pleaser, but that's not exactly it. If you piss me off I'll kick your ass till my foot bleeds. But people I love; I would bend over backwards for them until my back broke and then give them that chunk of back as a remembrance naming it Stan. So, I've spent the first 28 years of my life in the constant struggle between doing what I know people want me to do and doing what I want to do, the latter rarely winning this death match.

Now, as I give in and devour a retched Mega Kit Kat, I stare at my computer screen contemplating where to begin in my sordid tale of lies, deceit and cross dressing button lickers.

I've decided to begin at the end. That's right I never do anything normal so why start here. Lets keep the past the past and make a new bright, shiny, baby butt future! I'm vowing off loser men! You hear me half-wit, narcissistic, egomaniacle, slothful, ass lickers?

Why do we let ourselves get hurt when we could just have better screening processes? So, in the spirit of experimentation and bettering relationship-kind, I have decided to set in motion a new chain of psychotic ideas. The next time I meet a man that is interested, I am going to view it as a screening process, asking all the logical questions that later bite me in the ass. Then I will post it here, so you my lovelies can determine for me if he is worthy or not. Since I have been making horrible decisions for the last 28 years, why not give the reading public a go at it, right?

Let the games BEGIN!

Hot Red Jeep Man... where have you been all my life?

2009-06-01T07:36:00.000-07:00

Feeling not up to my full Finger self this morning, I started my long-ass morning drive with what felt like a small rodent sucking on my merriment (maybe ferret sized not quite beaver big). My caboose wasn't in gear and I was worried it would just get worse as the day went on... sinking me into a dark hole of fanged clowns and knife wielding crack whores.

As I threw my change into the toll booth (one of the many ways good old Jersey manages to rape me every day), I noticed a Red Jeep coming up fast on my freshly raped ass, speeding through the toll sans quarters and cutting me off as we merged onto the parkway. As Jeep Man passed I gave him a "die in a pile of maggot encrusted flesh eating bacteria infested razors" look and he looked back with at me with the general lightness of a douche bag cutting of a girl who can't drive.

Being the true Jersey girl I am, I decided to speed up, cut off five other cars, drive behind Jeep Man and ride his ass just as one is required to do. Eventually I got sick of my vengeful plot and tried to weave my way around the meandering morning drivers. Failing in my attempt at driving genius I fell back a little and found myself side by side with Jeep Man. He looked over and smirked, then sped up and shot ahead.

Umm... one moment to address the audience... attention I am breaking the third wall: WTF! Did he just taunt me?! Is he playing with me?!?!!! Are we 12 and he's going to punch me in the arm and run away??! Wait... larger question... was he totally hot!??!

I resume my spot behind his questionable motived backside and continue my drive. At this point Rage Against the Machine is shrieking out rhythmic violence and my mood as changed to either wanting to kick someone in the ass or spank someones ass... the jury was still out. As I'm bobbing my head to the music I fail to notice Jeep Man has been next to me and starring directly through my window... I speed up and finally take the lead. Victorious! Suck it hot Jeep Man!

This game is continued for the next 5 exits until the next tolls loom ahead where I get stuck behind a delivery truck and Jeep Man floors it zooming past me. Assuming my morning fun has ended I merge onto the express way and settle in for some bumper kissing traffic. To my surprise I happen to glance over the the local lanes and see none other then Jeep Man smirking at me from across the divide... he gives a little wave and I can't help but giggle at this ridiculous moment as I wiggle my fingers right back and step on my gas never to see him again.

So to you Hot Red Jeep Man, thank you for removing the suckling rodent and making my day shiny and new. I'll play tag with you any day!

Memphis... The Blues Never Made Me So Happy

2009-05-29T10:07:00.000-07:00

A trip to Memphis...

A while ago a made a life list... a corny little list of things to do before I am 30 (so I had a moment of weakness, even Jack Nicholson has made that mistake). Well... I officially have 1 year 11 months and 26 days left to finish said "list" and I'm trying to get my tiny jean clad behind in motion. So, last week I grabbed a few bags, packed way to many clothes, kidnapped my best friend kwizbee and decided to do a road trip! I was going to grab the damn bull by his damn horns... suck the lemon till the last drop... strangle the Cock 'till it crows... ok you get the point.

17 hours and 57 minutes after leaving Jersey we stepped onto the crowded streets of Memphis and breathed in the BBQ, Blues and teeming history pulsing through Beale Street. It was like entering a new Country without the passport and sweaty Italian man pressed against you in baggage claim. The first two days were spent eating, dancing, singing, relaxing, and just enjoying the town. Unfortunately, by the end of day 2 the heavens decided to open and pour down on us partier's like an old women without her Depends. Did we let this dampen out spirits? Hell NO! We're from Jersey bitches! We can last through a hurricane with out lipstick still intact and for our efforts the sun started to shine just a little for us to hear enough music to last a lifetime.

So, to give a condensed version on this life list fulfilling road trip destination, let me share a Best Of list with you of my wet days on Beale Street (damn I wish they were wet in that way, but get your mind outta that gutter, I meant the rain).

Best of Beale Street:

Ms. Zeno Louisiana Mojo Queen. I'm a tiny woman, at only 5', I'm thin and usually dress to show it off. Although, upon entering this town I realized I was NOT going to be getting a lot of play from the local meat. Wandering through the streets I quickly got lost amount the large women of Beale Street, these ladies were owning every inch of their bodies and all the men wanted was to lick those inches right there. I was out of my league when it came to junk in my... well everything. The women made me was to snap my fingers and yell work it girl like a gay man in a Robin Williams film. But, there always must be a down side in all Bootylicious-Sociological advances and I think the following statement sums that up nicely: I have seen way to many Vagina's in the last 2 weeks. Big and Beautiful does NOT mean half naked and wheezing. Dresses should not be worn outside of the house unless they actually cover your whoha! Easy access is one thing, but when a small child tries to stick a toy up there while your standing on the street... not so attractive. As my brain swam with the glutinous buffet of spandex clad rolls and high heeled potential Ladies of the Night, there was one woman who stood out all on her own: Ms. Zeno Louisiana Mojo Queen. She was the lead singer of her band and she knew how to rock every note and every man in the audience. I watched her singer everyday, bought her album, and am still humming Shot Gun... oh and Kwizbee's goal is to have enough money next time so she lets him place it in her ample bosom. Dirty Boy.
After trying almost every restaurant on Beale street and some off, we have determined... dun dun dun... the best pork goes to ... Pig on Beale! Seriously guys, you made me have a pork-gasm... my only action the whole trip. Tip to all my single male readers: If a platter of "Pig's" pork is brought to Finger, she will do many naughty acts as repayment.
Best Rainy day activity regardless of you locations... BAR AND POOL! Seriously, nachos, beer and/or margarita and a nice game of pool can save any day from the crapper. Kwizbee and I ducked into the pool hall and settled down for a nice friendly wager enhanced game of pool. The stakes... loser pumps gas the entire way back to Jersey... winner gets to gloat. Just before our game of pool began Kwizbee ran back to the hotel to get a cigar and I set up the table. I noticed an older man starring at me at the table across. He was there with what seemed to be his wife and my skin started to crawl slightly as he eerily looked over every time his wife went for her shot. This posts a question... (i realize im going off on a tangent, but hello it's me! you should just be glad im not talking about pros and cons of sex with condiments) ...men, why can't you just pay attention to the girl your with??? I realize you have probably been married or dating forever, and her parts may not be as high and perky as some of the other young fillies in the room, but seriously... we don't want you! Keep your eyes forward buddy before I stick this pool stick is your NoNo zone! Have some respect for your girls or leave them... wandering eyes are NOT attractive grandpa!
Best strange food... fried pickles... Dear Fried Pickle, Your semi greasy yet seductively flaky outside crinkles under my tongue as i place you in my mouth. Your body hums as I run you across my teeth gauging then tautness of your flesh. I bite into you and feel you slightly juicy in my mouth, I sigh at your tangy salty flavor and I swallow you down ready for another. I love you fried pickle and I always will. Sincerely Yours, Finger.
Every single band on Beale Street has a resident drunkin fat dancing man that come with them. Like Barbie has her dream house, Ryan Seacrest has his botox and Amy Winehouse has her crack pipe... the bands have a dancing fool who makes each performance a true event. There were 3 or four men who would rotate at any given moment...In order of entertainment 3. Angry Dude... this guy would lift his shirt patting his large stomach, stand next to the singer while he tried to play and try to dance with all the women and when they inevitable said no fling his hands through the air while giving them the evil eye of somethings gone rotten. 2. Old Crooked Dancer... dressed in a thin tight tshirt resting just above his stomach, red suspenders, and a sweat headband he would bobb up and down to every beat whilst the performer looked on in wonderment. and our winners... 1. The Tag Team... like a black and white cookie, these two men would grab ladies from the audience and make them dance with their uncoordinated and horribly unattractive serves while onlookers laughed and handed over tips for their interesting dancing abilities. Why did they win? There was 2! and they might not have even been drunk!
Most heart touching and life enhancing moments... the Civil Rights Museum. Everyone should visit this and see history without the sugar coatings of movies and Schools. It took every part of me not to cry, and it had the beautiful ability to make you appreciate everything we normally take for granted.

This is a town where people of all ethnicity and background can come together and just enjoy music and each other. It will always have a little piece of my heart and Kwizbee and I plan to make this road trip every year.

Road trip completed with candy cigarettes, blues cds and kwizbee playing the harmonica all the way back to Jersey.

Maybe you can fuck a grapefruit... but you can't fuck me.

2009-05-18T07:15:00.001-07:00

Charlie: [about having meaningless sex with many women] It's not that satisfying.

Stu: I'll tell you not satisfying. Last night I masturbated into a grapefruit. I put it into a microwave and heated it up a little bit, which helped, but... still.

- Line from Good Luck Chuck

So that may NOT be how my night started exactly but it sure felt that way at the end...

I was spending a night out with my friends in Atlantic City and I realized (based on the company I was with) I needed to up the ante on my "slut" for the night. I would be partying with some "North Jersey" Girls and these girls were serious about their clubs. Always up for a challenge, I donned my best "starts at the bottom of my ass" skin tight outfit, curled up my hair, glossed my lips and went clicking in my slutty heels down the Tropicana hallways.

After general pre-gaming in the hotel room (which included: copious amounts of Jack and coke, overly exuberant SuperBad movie quotes, and spankings all around), we headed out to a sports bar called Game-On. Upon entering I noticed it filled to the max with Bennies* as far as the eye could see.

*Bennies = Tourists from North Jersey/NY that look like a Guido with umpa lumpa skin paint, popped collars and/or white eyeshadow.

If I had to see another popped collar, gold chain, spiked hair and Italian flag I was going to hurl all over my strappy sandals. Remembering I always try to make the best of every night, I decided what could be better way to break in the evening then dancing on a stage? Nothing! So I wiggled my little butt over to the bouncer and said "where do you want me?" To my surprise and possible disappointment, since my brain was saying, "what are you doing, you're not a dumb slut, get down and put on a coat!", he said I have just the place for you...

Two seconds later he was helping me up a pedestal located at the entrance of the club... "Well, Finger, you got yourself into this, don't be a dweeb now, you better make this look good." Crap, thanks brain for bailing on me. So what's a Jersey girl do when she finds herself on a stage in a club? That's right, DANCE!

Ok, temporary reality break here, dancing on a stage about 2 feet wide in 4 inch heels and a skirt that ends at you ass: Hard as Hell! Props to you GoGo dancers... I was dizzy as hell!

Back to our regularly scheduled story...

The night continued as a swirling mix of dances, shots, mechanical bull riding's and humorous jokes. At one point, after having been hoisted up on the bar to dance one last time, I was approached by a fellow partier who felt the need to comment on my dancing skills. After thanking him and quickly scurrying off I started to wonder... are people REALLY trying to find other people in clubs? So, I asked a few of my friends what they think can come from going to a club and meeting someone of the opposite sex and I noticed a pattern emerging. All the girls felt it was possible to find a person to date and possibly marry in a club and all the guys said... I just want to get laid. Soooo.. girls... just say no! and guys... if you want to get laid, have a relationship or just not get slapped try talking to a girl for real. Stop complimenting my eye, ass, hair, smile, etc. We hear that all the time. Why don't you actually try being funny, witty, interesting... Put some work into it damn it! Let the girl see you're making an effort and maybe you'll get some ass!

Dirty. Naughty. Manly. Rough. Spanking. All Required to Ride This Train. Where have the Manly Men gone?

2009-05-08T07:05:00.000-07:00

I like to think of myself as having somewhat or a realistic-feministic view on life. I don't think women and men are equal (one has a penis one has a vagina hello?!), but I do think we are both equally amazing in our own ways. Each are better then the other in different areas and that's what makes us all sexy awesome bitches.

Now on to more interesting matters... I've been having a horribly randy mess of a problem. Its been approximately 7 months since my last "fling" (oh the horrible mess of Senor Casanova ew!) and I'm a randy beast! Yes that's right readers a randy beast. To your possible surprise, yes girls get frisky too after a long dry spells. Especially if your last drink was just a sip.

So, since I have had LOTS of time to think about what I would like someone to do to me, I have also realized that I seem to be provocatively stripping in front of a large road block. What is said road block exactly? Road Block = The Looming Extinction of "The Manly Man". What is The Manly Man you may be asking yourself? Well, let me try to define him.

The Manly Man:

A large imposing character who you're not sure if you should be intimidated by or want to wrestle to the bed, can look devastatingly seductive in a tshirt and jeans (not knowing said jeans would-be "designer") yet can put on a suit and actually fill it out, spends less time getting ready then any girl yet still has that rough sexy look, knows how to give a girl a good spank and rogering in a deliciously good way, isn't scared to be a little rough with his personality and in bed, is smart yet doesn't flaunt it while prancing around the office with his balls between his legs, can be sensitive when the situation calls for it without growing his own vagina, can make you laugh without making a fool of himself, and finally... knows how to treat a girl like a woman.

Some may think at first glance... you're describing a neanderthal who has no emotion and just wants to club you over the head and drag you into his cave. And to those people I say two things:

The ability to balance the animal-istic manly personality with a realistically emotional/intelligent personality is exactly what makes him so elusive.
Who doesn't want a hot man to drag them into a hot steamy sex fantasy? Club away!

So, I've got it down, I know what I want... step 1 complete. Now the problem rears its thin, orange, overly manscaped head. This world is overrun with The Mangina/Metrosexuals! I couldn't find a real man if I hung naked from a tree!* So, dilemma dilemma... what's a girl to do? Is it to much to ask to want a guy to have an intellectual conversation with me and then carry me to my room for a good spanking? Hm, seems to be.

*Internet props out to the only two Manly Men I happen to know... @kwizbee & @mrflossy

A French Man talks about Sex

2009-04-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

So, my company hired an intern from France last week. Never having met a French man in real life I was curious to see what he would be like. Would he be able to handle a Jersey girls loud mouth, my girl's lunchtime antics or a violent thrashing if he got out of hand? Well Frenchy entered leaking his "Frenchness" all of the room with his pointy leather boots, fitted white dress shirt, and thin dark jeans. If there was any chance you didn't know instantly he was European then you had to be a half brained twit. He introduced himself as Laurewhalsfdirlhausylt.... or that's how I heard him pronounce his name and instantly received the easily pronounced nickname Frenchy.

Frenchy turned out to be very open, nice and friendly, to my admitted surprise! I thought our first lunchtime adventure and discussions were sure to scare away our French friend, but he stood strong, giggled a few times and astonishingly came back for more. Possible Reasons to continually interact with us?
Glutton for punishment? Most likely.
We are just insanely awesome? Highly Possible.

Frenchy, once told about this very blog, agreed to be my resident French Man, which developed a nice little section I like to call: Ask Frenchy!

After sending out a little Twitter we received some questions and comments from all you lovely wonderful sugar and naughtiness filled readers out there. So, what next? Well, we asked Frenchy of course!

First Stats:
Name: Frenchy
Height: Averagely tall
Weight: Thin (could I damage him? highly possible)
Relationship Status: Newly Single
Age: 23
Bonus Round: He's wearing a Yankees hat +20 points

Second, Questions:
Finger: What do you think about American Girls?

Frenchy: They are friendly and cool.

Finger: But what do you think about them?

Frenchy: Oh ok... They are more open minded and physical. Something they do, they can date many guys at the same time. You can be dating a girl for a while and still not be her boyfriend. I was out on a date with a girl, we went to dinner then directly she expected to have sex, and for me we could just wait. It was a little to fast for me.
(Finger's mental thoughts: but you still had the sex.)
So American girls are faster. It's what makes them hot (to other cultures).

Finger: So what's the difference between sex with French women and sex with Americans?

Frenchy: Americans are crazier and faster.

Finger: Is that a bad or good thing?

Frenchy: It's good, but sometimes it's better to wait a little before sex.

Finger: Ok.

Frenchy: Oh oh oh! and BIG difference, American girls are screamers.

Finger: Ummmm.... what exactly did you just say?

Frenchy: They are screamers. I am a quiet lover, but American girl scream, they scream like amazing. Do you scream?

Finger: Ummmmm....

Frenchy: Do you scream?

Finger: Ummm.... sure, if the occasion calls for it.

Frenchy: Maid Andi, do you scream?

Maid Andi: *blush*

Frenchy: oh she's blushing again.

Finger: That means yes. Yes, Frenchy, we are all big screamers!

So in closing, if you have any question for dear Frenchy, please let me know. He is on call 24-7, waiting with baited breath. And Frenchy ends the round with +10 bonus points for making all of us girls blush and admit to screaming good times.
PS: I also have some American men on call to answer any questions from foreign women! lol!

Half Naked is Half Naked... rotting flesh and all!

2009-03-18T10:41:00.000-07:00

Ok men, I know you like boobies and all, but doesn't it matter if those boobs are on a live person?

Check out: http://www.myzombiepinup.com/

Looks like it's time for some zombie love makin'!

This poses a valid question... will guys really sleep with anything? If you are really horny, will you just put a paper bag over it and go to town??? Hmmm... and how far is to far? We talking Sandra Bernhardt or Kathy Kinney (from the Drew Crey Show)?

What I learned at summer camp, opps I meant at the last Sales Meeting.

2009-03-13T05:58:00.000-07:00

So, I was stuck in a meeting all day yesterday and I figured, hey, since I'm here I might as well take notes! So here is what I got out of this mucho importante leadership meeting in between necessary mental nap breaks:

When talking about projects you're working on, you must always say I, I, I, ME, ME, ME, WAH, WAH WAH!!!! MINE!!!!! Then swat at someone as they walk by.
At one point my boss actually said Bay of Pigs... Damn I wish I had been paying attention to the reference there!
It is IMPOSSIBLE to take someone seriously when they are wearing a sweater with Lady Bugs on it. Impossible.
When people get really bored of hearing stupid people talk they start quoting Monty Python... bring out yer dead!
The Black Lung Association? What? Crap I think I missed something...
Pee breaks are apparently now called "Biology Breaks". I'm assuming that term is only used when most people taking said breaks are so hideous they aren't sure which species to categorize them under.
The amount of times the word penetration was used = 5
The amount of times I was the only one to giggle at the use of the word penetration = 5
Realizing the I will never get tired of seeing two middle-aged women have a passive aggressive cat fight in the middle of the conference room. ROAR! throw in some mud and give one a sledgehammer!!!
I need a new job.

When Senses Fail... I may have a taste for the naughty things

2009-03-06T09:03:00.000-08:00

Wednesday night, concert in Philly, Senses Fail, Hollywood Undead and my buds Kwizbee, Monique and JohnBoy.

Kwizbee gave me a ride to Monique and JohnBoy's house then we all piled into Monique's Jeep and headed out to good old Philly. Even though it was about 30 degrees out we decided to park down the street and walk the few blocks to the concert. Stumbling through icy slush covered streets, viking horn wearing stragglers, and skinny jean wearing teenage punks we finally cross the side street and see the glorious sight of scalpers. We have arrived!

As we pass a group of people one scalpers offers, "Tickets! Anyone want tickets for Sensesss....I wanna sit on you..." directed towards Monique's right breast. Her confusion was plastered all over her face as I linked arms with her and coughed down a laughing fit stumbling through the main door. As she repeated, "why would he want to sit on me? But why sit on me? I don't get it," I steered us to the bar. (Just a moments break: what? Mr. Dirty Mouth? Seriously? I know not all you guys are stupid out there, but the ones who would actually have said something like this I pose this question... what the f*ck?!? What do you expect to accomplish by saying crap like that? Ok, back to our story...)

A few Jolly Ranchers, Red Headed Sluts and KettleOne's later Senses Fail was emerging and we were scampering to our chosen corners to get our groove on. This is when I looked up, saw the lead singer and needed an instant mental cold shower. The liquor had sufficiently loosened my tongue enough where I actually said, "I want to rip him apart till he can't walk." Ya, apparently I'm part raunchy Jersey girl and part wildebeest. This man, Buddy would be his name (I hate that name like a evil turd by the way, sorry all Buddy's), didn't seem to be my "type" exactly, he had tattoo's, crazy hair, a big mouth and was a Jersey boy, but I seemed drawn to him like a crazy ape to it's next victim. So, this poses a question... Have I been looking for the wrong type of man all along? Well, I think I have since just the sight of this man sturred more naughty thoughts then any possible thing my last boyfriend could have thought up. (This would be Senor Yumminess' pic at the concert to the right)

So after I recovered from my initial shock and heavy breathing, I spent the rest of the night enjoying his delightful music and surprising myself again when I realized I was sporting some extreme f-me-eyes in his general direction.

Ok, on to the next band. Hollywood Undead. This is the kind of band you want to listen to when you want to be angry or dirty. They are not for the faint of heart and I managed to venture out into the pit for the entire show with nothing more then a slight hand bruise at the end of the night. I stepped out of the hot and happy mob with my pride from surviving plastered across my face.

As we walked in the cold back to the Jeep a group of men called out something referring to the state of Monique and my asses. Again, I must refer to my previous question. What the f*ck?! Where do these douchie men come from? Do they think they're going to nastily compliment our asses and we're going to be so thankful we'll just throw them against the street sign and screw them on 4th ave?

So to sum up: Dispite mentally challenged men, I needed this concert. I felt like a new woman afterwards and so I am suggesting everyone go out now and get tickets to a crazy concert you would normally not go to. Live it up Jersey style. What, you can afford a concert you say? Ok, just go out and get yourself a mask like the Undead Boys, blast some raunchy music and attack your bf/gf when they get home!

Return of Hibachi... Maybe not so Hibachi after all. Darn.

2009-03-04T11:12:00.000-08:00

Have you ever received on of those ridiculous emails that says you have an e-card "from a friend" and you KNOW it's a virus? Well, a lovely coworker sent me the file inside one of those and said it was from their "good friend". In reply I said... "Are you sure you're not sending me a virus cause that would suck!" After much protest that this file was 100% safe as a flame retardant jock strap I installed the most annoying virus onto my computer and cried a thousand tears as I watched it melt into my desk.

The upside to this story? Hibachi! For those of you who are not avid finger readers a "Hibachi" is a "hot man you like to be naked and on top of you immediately (preferable in pudding).

(EMERGENCY BREAK:: Maid Andi just walked by and said, "Hi! Hi to all blog world! ::END BREAK)

So I call the computer repair place down the hall and ask them to send over one of their boys for a little one on one action with said Software Transmitted Disease ridden computer. As I'm talking to a coworker I hear a rustling behind me and I turn to see young Hibachi standing in the alcove talking to me through a sliding glass window. "Hurr.. Urrahhh... Ummm... ya right... here." I stumble out in pure shock just happy I didn't lose my bowels right there on the floor. I gesture for him to follow me into the office, but he doesn't seem to fully comprehend so instead of walking around the wall and showing him in I just yell "walk in!" as briskly as possible. Ya, I'm smooth.

I show him to the poor pus spewing PC and stood against the wall inspecting him. Unfortunately, to my disappointment, Hibachi was a little less hibachi then I had built him up to be, especially since he didn't see me, throw me against the wall, and have his dirty dirty way with me... let down. Although I've concluded he got extra points for:

being the perfect "guy" height, but looking silly in my short girly chair and yet still cute
fixing my computer!!!! (his hands must be magical, hmmm. maybe they should try some work on my hard drive. (OK that joke just made me throw up in my mouth a little. I apologize.))
Hearing us girls running around and whispering about him yet only displaying that cute smirk of his.

He got negative marks for the following:

Having that annoying little patch of hair under his lip... why? flavor saver? not so much. Guys, girls hate those! They're not suave, you just look like a prick.
Not being smart enough to walk through the little alcove, but instead waiting for me to come get him (oh maybe he wanted to attack me in the entry? damn missed my chance.)
Not offering his name... hello? hibachi you will forever be a mystery man in my bored at work, dirty fantasies.

I will forgive him of all his faults if and only if he flies me to Vegas immediately and has his way with me in a very naughty fashion which involves a cat costume, ice cream sundaes, and handcuffs.

Final rating: I would put him at a steady Ah Whatever ranking. Maybe I should infect another computer and see if he'd be more frisky in the coat closet?

Let's Get Pierced! Ya! Wait, What did I say!??

2009-02-11T06:50:00.000-08:00

Today's will be a short post because my wonderfully bootylicious WildArs Andy has asked me to do a guest post. Visit his blog, he is the sugar to my margarita and never fails to entertain!

So I made the mistake a few weeks ago, of telling my honey pot friend Monique that I really wanted to get my belly pierced one day. Unfortunately, it triggered some ingrained animalistic need in her to also stab herself in the stomach with a metal ring. So Saturday rolled around and we decided to have a bonding moment and go get pierced together.

We decided to go to our friendly neighborhood tattoo parlor Adrenaline. As Monique, Kwizbee and I walked in and sashayed up to the piercing display I felt my toes curl a little with trepidation. Was I really about to do this? All I've ever had pierced were my ears and that made me want to curl in a ball and die. But, as the young man walked over to us, covered from shoulder to toe with tattoos, skin stretched with overly extended piercings, his hat tilted slightly over his forehead I realized just his ease in the whole environment was enough of a dare for me to not be able to back down. There was no way out with this little pierced punk staring at me and I was about to let him lead me to a room and pay for him to inflict massive amounts of pain! It's highly possible that I am retarded.

Tattoo Punk: What one you want?

Monique: The black one.

Tattoo Punk: And you?

Me: The Red one?

Tattoo Punk: K, sign these and follow me.

Ok, now they make you sign a release form. So basically everything could go tits up and oh well for you! With a gulp I signed that sheet and headed for the room.

Me: Why am I doing this? Ok, it'll be fine. Umm.....

Tattoo Punk: Take a deep breath.

Me: *Deep breath* Oh that wasn't that.... HOLY CRAP BALLS! Wow, that massively sucked!

Girl next in line to get pierced: How was it?

Me: It friggin hurt like hell! Holy crap that sucked. Your gonna be in massive amounts of pain! Good luck!

Can a Realist Believe in Happily Ever After?

2009-02-10T07:45:00.000-08:00

My mother, being a reformed Hippie, had a different view on raising me then most parents. I wasn't allowed to watch Fairy Tales until I was old enough to understand that they were 100% fictional, I was encouraged to be "myself" whoever I decided that may be and she provided me with plenty of dirt/trees to play with/climb. Because of this I would say I turned out to be a tad less then "normal". Okay, maybe just slightly under a raving lunatic. Regardless, I definitely have learned reality and fantasy from an early age. So, this little situation I have found myself in puts me in a weird quandary. How is it that I'm not sure if I'm a bitter realist or a hopeless romantic? Those two options are complete opposites, yet, I seem to display traits of both and it's starting to really screw with my head.

I obviously believe that fairy tale love does NOT exist, (I'm not a dim wit) but I also think that if a relationship is not wonderful it's not worth settling for. Why shouldn't we wait for close to perfection? Something that can last forever instead of just keeping that side of the bed toasty. Does True Love = the Chupacabra of the love world?

What spurred this rare introspective post for the big haired single-and-fab jersey girl? My best friend Kwizbee was officially divorced today. After 5 years of dating and 2 years of marriage he is single once again at 29, and he is posting the question for me: should we even bother looking if we're not sure what we want is even out there?

So, how have I decided to answer said question? I have decided to choose the side of hope, love and all that other mushy crap. There has to be some hope of a decent relationship that can stand the test of time out there that comes with no desperation and oodles of utter desire.

In light of my decision I am asking you non-singles out there to grab your significant other sometime today, run your fingers through their hair and give them a big wet one with all the implications of raunchy sex in the near future. And since this Valentines day my naughty little red riding hood costume will have to stay in the closet, I suggest you all do something terribly shocking in my honor. Channel this naughty Jersey girl and surprise your lover with a night of insatiable madness! Now go! I said go damn it! Have sex, be happy! That's an order!!!

When a button is just to big...

2009-02-06T08:54:00.000-08:00

So I shrunk my pants a little bit in the wash last night, except the only thing that seemed to actually shrink was the button hole. I felt the need to explain this over a quesadilla filled mouth at lunch today, but I guess I hadn't planned out my delivery well. You know how when you're in a crowded area and there are peaks and valleys in sound levels. Well, for some reason I chose one of these troublesome little valleys to say quite loudly, "My hole is to small. I just couldn't fit it in the hole!"

I think I might wear a disguise next time I visit Qdoba.

Girls: Likes, Dislikes, and Other Sexual Escapades.

2009-02-03T10:45:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's the fact that I haven't had a boyfriend/fling in a few months, maybe it's cabin fever, or maybe it's just pure frustration, but I have noticed that the majority of my conversations seem to begin and/or end in a discussion of sexual nature. Today seemed to be no different when I chose the topic of this afternoons post.

The purpose of this post is to get out in the open all the likes/dislike of women during a naughty little romp in the hay. Since I am a women, sorry, I only have our side to offer, so I welcome all my male readers to tell us some of the things you're fond of or could do without.

Let us begin.

I asked a small collection of girls over lunch this question: What do you like that a guy does during sex, and what do you hate?

Hmmmm.... they all said collectively, their eyes searching the ceiling for invisible answers. Some of their lips curled in a silent giggle no doubt replaying very successful encounters. "BITING!" one of the girls shouted happily. We all gave a collective growl under our breaths and reaffirmed her choice with animalistic head nods and eyebrow raises. Nice bites on the neck and shoulder during a passionate love fest. Little nibbles across the stomach and up the side. Oh, and you have to be a man and be able to take a few nice bites right back at you. It's only fair, right? So, that's a plus for biting. (There's a reason why vampires are sexy boys, and it's not for hickeys)

"A good hair tugging, if done correctly."

Now I'm not saying just reach up and pull a girls hair like a friggin ponytail, this maneuver takes a little finesse to be done correctly. You're in the heat of the moment, draggin your hand up a girls back, over her neck, tangling you hand through her hair giving a nice pull with a hand full of hair can just make a girl love every second. Maybe tugging her head slightly to the side with her hair so you can nibble your way down the side of her neck? Yes please sir! Oh don't worry you can thank me later.

DON'T have TV on in the background. And if you do and the girl is paying attention to it, then you're not doing your job. So get crackin Mr.!

If we get up the nerve to go to a store, buy a slutty costume/outfit, take 20 minutes to get into said costume, do our make up, and put on bang me heels, your only acceptable reaction better be a growl before you attack us. Any other response is unacceptable. Also, we didn't just spend 40 minutes trying to get on a leather cats suit for you to just rip it off... FYI boys- leave them on! It's more fun!!! (Ya, i can't believe I'm saying these things either, but it's for all our benefit.)

This one maybe be a bit messy, but well worth it. Food play can be fun. Now, I'm not saying you should eat a ham sandwich off the girls stomach, she's not a plate, but some chocolate sauce or caramel dripped nicely over her body and licked back off? Always a winner! And if you do it well, who knows, maybe you'll come home one day to her standing there wearing nothing but some strategically placed sundae ingredients.

Foreplay (in general) - should last longer then 2 minutes. Geez, why do we even have to tell some of you men that!!?!

A nice grab of the buttocks was an all around good thing in our books. Now don't be tentative boys, use your whole hand and give it a good squeeze. And on a side note, as mentioned before, spanking can be a yummy alternative if done at the right moment.

Like to make little noises of pleasure come out of your girls lips? Well, little kisses, sometimes large kisses... every type of kisses, all over her body, everywhere, can be nothing but good news.

Ok, now this may sound like a strange one, at one point one girls eyes glazed over and a small scowl formed as she said, "No laughing!"

"Laughing? What? When? ... wait huh?" we all said staring at her in confusion.

"I had one boyfriend who would laugh during sexy. Nothing funny had just happened, no one farted, no reason to laugh... but he would. And when I asked what was wrong he would say, I'm just enjoying myself."

The confusion and disgust in the air after hearing this was palpable, broken only when she followed up with, "then every time I climaxed, he would CLAP! Yes, he would applaud and say YAY!" We felt so bad for her, we gave her a hug for the horror of this story. Our prayers are with you honey.

Although, I think it's possible nothing can top that last DON'T, I think I'll continue in that direction for a little while. Please do not talk to our body parts. They can't actually hear or understand you, they're just breasts. You have something to say... face please! Along that line, another good thing not to talk to would be YOUR parts. "One of my ex's would compliment his penis during sex. He would say it was so big and wonderful. And it really wasn't," my friend laughed over her chicken sandwich. And if you do do something wrong, say your bag pops before the popcorn is ready, don't apologize. Just never apologize during sex, it's emasculating and just makes the situation more uncomfortable. K? Thanks!

Last but defiantly not least, this was a unanimous decision by all present. Guys, take off your socks during sex!

In conclusion, I think this was a very productive lunch discussion and I thought I should share some of the learned enjoyments and hatreds of the girl world. Enjoy! Let me know how it goes! ... well... maybe don't.

Lunchtime Confessionals. 1. A new book 2. Spanking Yay or Nay? 3. The Butt hole 4. Naked and Painted

2009-01-26T07:57:00.000-08:00

I realized I haven't written about my lunch time adventures in a while so I thought this was a perfect time to bring you a new edition of Lunch Time Confessionals from last Friday.

My girls and I scurried over to Chevy's just in time for the noisy business crowd. Around 12:30 all the people from the company's in the area make their way over to Chevy's to try and break from their stifling cubicle life and act like they have some form of control over their monotonous droner lives. We're not exactly different, except for some reason when we walk in it looks less like a metropolitan power meeting and more like a group of young women about to drink a lot of alcohol and dance on the bar. (Hmmmm.... maybe something I need to work on.)

Anyway, our conversation opened with a round of waters and the pondering of why sucky women always mess up the awesome men and vice versa. Haven't you noticed this? Every time I meet an awesome guy they always seem to introduce me to their violently homicidal girlfriend who is soon to rip out their heart crap on it and shove it back in through their nasal cavity. The same is true of great women. They always find these loser, misogynistic, egotistical, a'hole men who make them think there's nothing out there but other loser 'hole men. So, to spread the word that this phenomena is prominent in our land we decided it might be a good idea to write a book entitled "You Ruined the Man of my Dreams you Stupid Cunt". Yes, harsh but necessary. The few times this does not happen would probably be the relationships we all puke over because they are just to darn cute and we're not used to looking directly at them without eye protection.

On to the next line of conversation: spanking. Consensus: spanking = good! So you're in the moment. Maybe having a good quality play with your man and he lays a nice hard spank right on your behind. Some people may think: why would he do that? Oh my! Now we're not saying we want you guys to beat us here, but a nice palm to the ass cheek? Yes please! And don't be a wuss boys we can take it, get some good smack on that back hand!

While we're on the topic of "butt play", another unanimous decision at this lunch table: the butt "hole" is totally off limits, always. Enough said.

Last but not least a mental picture for all you male readers out there. While discussing the things you can do to be "sexy" for your man, we somehow decided that if at all possible the abilities of the character Mystique from X-Men would be much appreciated and delightfully fun! Although, we would like to request pink skin, a little less mutant in the face region and when we're morphing back and forth a cute superhero like noise to play.

Fantasy script:

Unsuspecting Boyfriend: Honey I'm Home.

Newly Superhero'd Girlfriend: Hi, I'm in the living room.

UB: I had such a long day, I...

(Walks into the living room to see his girlfriend naked painted pink in high heels.)

NSG: Honey, Let's get it on.

UB: (*grunt* vaults towards NSG as fast as humanly possible. Fun filled night ensues.)

Old School... Roller Skates... Party Time... Oh, not so much?

2009-01-23T04:07:00.000-08:00

Remember back in the 80s when it was the "thing" to go Roller Skating (well it was in the 70s too but I'm an 80s kid so I can only talk about that). The girls wore the skin tight pants and off the shoulder tops while they learned the latest dance moves and perfected their cross over and pop. The guys broke in their new speed skates, shuffling while starting a train along the outer walls. It was a bevy of skin, wheels and flashing lights.

Last Saturday my friends Jay and Heidi decided it might be fun to try to recreate some ankle twistin' fun at an old stomping ground.

Step 1: Slut up. Yes, I know, that always seems like step one in my preparations for leaving the house, but this was an actual tradition. You can not go to a roller skating rink with out wearing something flashy and small. So a purple corset and tight ass jeans fulfilled my first requirement.

Step 2: Everyone pile into one car, get to the rink and freeze outside waiting for them to open the ticket booth. That was VERY easy to accomplish since it was about 24 degrees and I was wear before mentioned corset top.

Step 3: Enjoy. Dance, skate, eat, laugh till your hearts content.

This was the step we seemed to be having the most difficulty with. The once shiny, freshly buffed wood of the rink was now a splintering circle of warped planks where nothing but small children scuttled around to a prerecorded mix tape spitting out of a DJ'less DJ booth. The once flashing twinkle of neon lights was now a star shaped ceiling of burnt out bulbs and broken tiles. Even the poor rentals had seen there last day; the brown and orange bent in weird directions as I tried to do my patented cross over shimmy.

I stayed out on that crackled floor till the very last song, but I must admit my heart was not in it. I longed for the day when my hair was bigger then an icebox (oh, wait it still is), the Dj winked at you while playing Brick House, and you can make out with a boy in the party room before they set up the balloons.

I think I'll try again in a few weeks. Maybe I can at least find a cutie to make out with between the arcade machines.

Darn it, love really does last sometimes? How can I be bitter now?!?!!!

2009-01-22T08:30:00.000-08:00

So, I was visiting my parent for a few days as required by my mother every week otherwise I get nasty voice mail and rotten tomatoes hurled in my general direction.

I woke this morning to a sight that made my insides curl from pure nausia and longing all at the same time. I'll give you a general run down.

I stumble out of my bed at 6am to the sound of Billy Ocean's Caribbean Queen. As I wander towards my livingroom I peek my head around the corner and then quickly scurry back to my room to get my camera phone. As I hit record capturing my parents dancing in their pajamas to a mid 80s super hit while my mom's turn table spins, I feel a mixture of disgust for how cute they are being at this very moment and horrible longing that one day I will be 60 dancing in my livingroom at 6 in the morning to the person I still love.

For your viewing pleasure... yes even the dog wanted to get in on it!

Guys will pay to get rid of their virginity, Girl gets 3.7 mill for it!

2009-01-14T11:06:00.000-08:00

So there is a young woman out there that will either be deemed genius or lunatic by everyone in the world for the rest of her life. Her name is Natalie Dylan (not her real name) and she has decided to sell her virginity to the top bidder. She's auctioning it off with a night in the Moonlight Bunny Ranch in Nevada where prostitution is legal. She has said that she currently has over 10,000 offers and the highest bid stands at.......... wait for it wait for it..............
ya it's worth the wait........
ready......... 3.7 million dollars!

Wow! are you guys kidding!?!! 3.7 million for girl who has no idea what she's doing??? Is a virgin REaLLY worth that much? I must need a males perspective cause I say NO!

Oh and what happens if she's not actually a virgin? Do you get your money back? half price? WTF?

Natalie says, “I understand some people will condemn me … but I think this is empowering. I’m using what I have to better myself. ” (read a complete article here)

Ok, now my first thought was, horrible, why would any girl do that! This thought is still present in my brain, but there's another one rolling around in there to. And that thought would be... why hasn't someone thought of this a long time ago? Is it any worse to lose you virginity to Johnny the Jock in the back seat of his pick up after the pep-rally 10 minutes before curfew for free then with someone who just paid you 3.7 million at 22 to pay your way though college? My morals are of course saying NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!! but I have to admit that my wallet is saying... hmmmm, this girl's brilliant! If some moron is willing to pay... well... welcome to college Ms. Dylan. She claims to want to Major in Marriage & Family Therapy! Maybe she'll minor in ethics.

I'm not a Slutty Duck! I'm NOT!!!!

2009-01-13T07:01:00.000-08:00

This Jersey girl has been seeing more dark clouds then silver linings lately, but she is determined to take today, grab that damn bull by the horns and turn his fat crusty ass around. I guess all that yellow CAUTION tape around my head was just starting to cloud my judgement.

So, since I haven't posted in a while, I think it best if I start with an update. UPDATE UPDATE: I'm a douche, sorry blog world (especially my Blog Husband Andy) I will not abandon you again my love muffins. For those who remember, my would-be Casanova turned out to be yet another frog in Casanova clothing and I had to kick him violently to the curb and then shank him as he fell. (That damn curb is starting to overflow. Watch out ladies, don't walk by that street.)

My big "AH ha!" moment of my life was reached last week when I finally (with a little help from my friends) realized why I attract such horrible men. It came after a terrible moment at a Brazilian Buffet with a man in a turtle neck sweater and gold chains. According to them I walk like a duck, and talk like a duck, but I'm actually a fish! Let me 'esplain... no that's take to long, let me sum up...

Yours truly enters a party. I am all sexified up, wearing naughty thought inspiring clothing of course, sharing my fun and naturally flirty behavior with everyone (regardless of if I like them, their appearance or their personality [I happen to like being friendly, so kill me]), then I inform them I enjoy video games and computer programs and they are instantly like, "oh look a hot, slutty, geeky girl who's flirting with me, I can totally get her." Now they don't care what I'm really like, that I'm actually not a slut I just impersonate one at parties, that I'm actually smart, like to bake cookies while dancing to salsa music, hike through the woods just to climb my favorite rock, love rainy Sundays curled up reading a book and painting in my pajamas. All these thing are inconsequential because these men will never actually see me, they'll just see this girl they have created in their minds based on my actions. Frustration rampant.

So, what to do what to do? Do I act differently when the male gender is present then I would if it was just us girls? Ya, I dont think so, I am me regardless, I will not change for anyone. So suck it! Instead I have decided to turn my annoyance back to men and say, SCREW YOU! I can dress nice and be friendly without being a hoe! Maybe you guys should try to get to know a girl before you snap to judgement. Hellooo?! Book? Cover?!!! need I say more???

So this Non-Slutty Slut is holdin' out for the guy that can use more then just his eye, and can apprechiate all aspects of a woman.

And addressing my most recent Butt Wipe wanna be suitor: you can stick your thumb back up your ass and find some other schmuck to date. Thanks bu-bye.

Why am I such a nice bitch?

2008-11-10T13:25:00.000-08:00

I have this amazing ability to disregard all thought of myself and be overly massively insanely generous to a fault. Giving way to much of myself, time, energy and funds to people who I care for. It always seems that I regret these actions. I've never met a person, to date, that has been truly grateful for anything and made me feel appreciated. The moment I do one thing wrong, all my previous actions are flung apathetically out the window, and I am left the evil bitch who likes to stomp of people's heart with my stilettos.

Yet I never seem to learn my lesson. Am I a glutton for punishment? Or am I just a moronic bleeding heart destined to keep repeating the same mistake over and over again with different people?

And the small naked gold man goes to...

2008-11-07T06:21:00.000-08:00

As I sat at my desk this morning, staring blankly at my computer screen, willing small serpents to rise from my filling cabinet and eat my office building (but spit me out of course), I received a twitter message on my phone. I practically jumped out of my panties since it was dead bone quite and I had forgotten to put my phone on vibrate. Instead I just settled on shrieking a girly yelp and then giving myself a dirty look for betraying my cool demeanor. I opened my phone and was happily surprised it was a tweet from my favorite blogger I affectionately refer to as Blog Andy aka WildArs. It said check the 'ol blog today, and to my surprise and extreme elation I saw I had been one of three happy awardees of the Superior Scribbler award! Since being bestowed such award made my little blog heart go a-pitter-patter, I decided Blag Andy was now going to be my new blog husband and, on a side note, I would continue the sharing of Love.

But before I get there I would like to thank pop tarts for keeping me well sugared in the morning, various bad music for always encourage my mentally retarded state, boys for being douche bags that provide endless amounts of material, and booze. Ah booze, how you've stood by me through the good times and the.... ok ok turn off the music I'm done already!

Here are "rules" of the scribbler. I will expect nothing less then totally disregard and hatred for any authoritative musings, but I will provide them all the same.

Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List.

The price is right biatches, come on down:

So@ from Starting Over at 24: Only he can make mega man look good. Navigating through the single world isn't easy, I share your pain man, hang in there and get yourself a little tail already, k?

Shelly D. from Shelly D. Louise: Can you be my home girl? Oh wait you already are! What other person will write about legends of the hidden temple, the Druggers non-kissing requirements, and first date staplers at the same place? Oh and she can drink a mean amount of JD!

Just say NO to Jager Shots with Guys in Masks!

2008-11-04T19:09:00.000-08:00

So remember dear old Casanova from a land a far? Well let me tell you a new story... sit on my knee, hold tight to your binkey and listen to my spiderweb...

When we last left our merry little frolickers Maid Andi (the evil little snipe) had penned an agreement for our young heroin Maid (mwah) to accompany Sir Casanova on said outing. Our young maid, with slight trepidation, asked if Casanova wouldn't mind joining her and the gypsies for a night of tomfoolery and spirits. The night commenced with merriment and general positive thoughts all around. It ended with our Maid losing a little bit of her frock over Casanova's wiley hands and an agreement to continue their courting in the near future.

Flash forward a month or so, and we find our young courtiers jolly in their snarky non-relationship humor. They've settled into a nice little friendship with benefits.

Back to present time because I'm having a hard time finding medieval words for various naughty acts. Casanova happen to be attending a party at my cousin Monique's house. The day is spent laying around playing Rock Band 2, chasing Pedro the Chiwawa around, watch The Zohan (which I have to admit was surprisingly funny!), and getting gorgeous in preparation for Casanova's arrival. Around 6, Monique and I hightailed it to the liquor store for some provisions and munchies and scooted back the house just in time to watch out guests arrive. As Casanova strolled in behind me I was distracted by the flurry of activity and regretted the cursory hug and smile I gave him instantly. "I got here right behind you. I watched you walk in," he said as he slipped past me into the kitchen. I felt disturbed as I thought, how can I find that cute and a little creepy at the same time?

The night was a bevvy of tequila, flip cup, stolen kisses against the pool table and Nerf wars. Everything was going quite nicely until the one moment when my memory slows to this one point. It's the clearest memory of the night. I see myself looking up at a fellow party goer who has just challenged my "manhood", and smiling evilly up at his half paper masked face, I look down to the table and see the sweat dripping from the freshly chilled Jager bottle. My mind is to cloudy to remember the horror of Jager mixing so I grasp it firmly by the base and giggly pour two black death Jager shots, slam them down in front of Mask guy and challenge him right back. He hesitates, shakes his head no and starts to back away like I've just placed a schnauzer sized Piranha in front of him. I give him that "grow a pair and man up" look, he smiles back and grabs his shot. Clink, clink, down the hatch.

Twenty Minutes later we end the night throwing up in each bathroom. Yes, I actually threw up and brought another party goer down with me! Apparently neither of us were man enough. Casanova attempted to hold my hair back before I kicked him out and crawled into bed to pass out and curse Jager for the rest of my life.

Moral of our story kids?
Never drink Jager with a man in a paper mask!

Surprising Pro of our Story: Casanova still wants my puking ass! Go figure. The next day was spent cuddling on the couch, rubbing my belly and watching the Packers. Now that's a better party!

Cayman nights in Coconut Joe's

2008-10-29T09:56:00.000-07:00

Saturday night in Grand Cayman.

All gussied up and ready for a little action me and my best friend tramp out to a local outside bar across from our hotel called Coconut Joe's. As we walk over a Radio DJ scats about the large party taking place at this very moment in Coconut Joe's, the very place we are standing, and the "crazy insanity" that is ensuing at this VERY moment. Jason and I look around and are perplexed by the lack of "crazy insanity" and "hoards of party goers". About 20 people are spread throughout the bar weaving through a drunken haze and a shocking lack of attractive tail.

Determined to make something of this night we make our way to the beer stands and once again survey our surroundings. As we contemplate our locale a half drunken man stumbles up to us and starts a conversation with Jay. "Whaat ur yous guys doing here sooo lllllate?" he stumbles. Apparently, we come to find out, the reason for the lack of drunken party goers is the island closes at 11:45pm on Saturday. The WHOLE island. For religious reasons there is no where to go once midnight hits. So this is now crunch time, do we go back to our hotel sad and sober, no! We have the next 45 minutes to get just as stinkin drunk as everyone else! Local Drunken Man (LDM) decides to help us out by buying us a few beers and winning a chugging contest we never joined.

During our beer guzzling and general chatter he made a very VERY painfully cliche mistake. Now guys take note, this is exactly what NOT to say to a girl. "You have to stop looking at me. No NO don't look at me like that!" he drooled out at me. "What are you talking about? Where should I look? You're bein a'hole." I said trying to introduce some authentic jersey in his diet. "Stop lookin at me, you're eyes they're just to beautiful. Your friend is right here and you're to beautiful for me to control myself." (Excuse me a moment I just vomitted in my mouth a little... Ok, I'm better.) No matter what you men think, girls do NOT want to hear this. We hear this all the time, we know you say it if we're pretty or not so it means nothing! Never say anything along these lines if you want even the smallest chance with a woman.

Back to our story.

Even though in my mind this guy is a complete douche, it was not past me to accept the challenge to drink him under the table, especially since he was buying. So four shots, a couple random ass spanking by the dj, and 3 beers later we were kicked out of dear old Coconut Joe's and we helped point DLM in the direction of his house after promising to party with him next time we came to Cayman.

Being the Jersey partiers we are, the night was just beginning for us. After some major skulking around the island, we happened to find a Kabob stand open all night! This was like finding the Holy Grail and our excitement was magnified when we order thousands of Queso Quesadillas, brought them back to the hotel and ate them while jumping on our beds.

Once our bellies were full and our buzz was swinging we had an idea that at the moment seemed like pure genius. Looking back now, it just seems like drunk revelry, but either way the outcome was the same. It ended in me wading out into the ocean, chasing a crab who I named Petey, and Jay jumping full clothed into the pool. All-in-all good time Jersey style in the Cayman Islands!

A Lonely Night

2008-10-28T19:09:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there are nights when all my preference, strength and ingenuity leave me to sit alone. When a smooth smoky voice can caress the parts you try to hide, and I have to turn my head from the embarrassment of my own thoughts. When my back aches to just be touched, arching to the hand running down my trembling spine. These are the nights I dread; held back with a stinging smile, the night feels long and cold in my bones. I looked down at my hands tonight and they felt small. Tenacious spunk drained out of every finger to lay tiny and dainty on my bed sheets and I hate myself for feeling things that aren’t welcome stick in my throat.

This isn’t a job for a Prince Charming. No, these are the night when just another warm body pressed against the span of your skin, sharing the warmth of your flesh, can be all the fairy tale you need to feel whole again. The massage of humanity can smooth out your bruised soul when it feels too heavy to turn over. When the weight of the shadows hanging above you could crush the breath from your lung, someone’s hands along your waist twisting to the side to share the blow could be right for that moment. The steadying breath against your neck may calm each tumultuous thought as it eases though fluttering eye lids.

My small hands may drag up your chest to linger on your shoulders but I feel the pull in your step. That twist of a hip when you’re suddenly on top holding back all the forces pulling at me. You melt into my lips from above and I welcome the lingering warmth stolen from your tongue.

This night is deceiving and dangerous.

Flirty Married Women & This is Why You're Fat

2008-10-22T07:42:00.001-07:00

Ummm... ok. I know everyone has to deal with spam and I really HATE those people who complain about it like they are the only ones who get it, but a few weeks ago I went to clean out my spam folder and couldn't help but laugh hysterically. It wasn't especially funny, but the moment I read "Flirty Married Women: Meet me Tonight... I'm married and lonely - sexually explicit" I couldn't keep the ridiculousness from bubbling out of my mouth. I just had this image of me sitting in front of the computer and being like: "well, I was going to go make myself a sandwich, but now that I got this email I think I will re-think my sexual preference and give this randy housewife a call!"

Do people actually open these?

Or how about this one from Dr. Suzanne: "This is Why You're Fat". Oh my God, life's long question finally answered! If only millions of people everywhere could get this email.. but wait they can!

And last but not least, my personal favorite, which I might actually have to open for research purposes only: 2 Geeks and a Robot: Two Geeks use a robot to make them $100,000 per year."

Strangely, the usual penile enlargement techniques and Horny Hot Bear Sex messages were noticeably absent. Guess they reached their quota for the month.

What are some of the weirdest messages you've gotten? My sick curious mind needs to know.

Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants my Ass! More like stab in the back of the pants!

2008-10-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

My peoplez and I were hanging Saturday night watching Iron Man (possibly my favorite superhero movie), eating some home cooked fish and beer (the fish was the meal the beer was bottled), doing some home made shots (apparently you can make your own version of Three Olives Chocolate with some 3 dollar vodka and Hersey syrup, but I don't recommend tasting it until you've have at least three shots of something else!) and discussing various topics of life.

Through a series of groans and grumbles, my friend KC announced her inability to find an acceptable, attractive and equally interested man. Since we have all been aware of her plight since her turning of age, this old hat comment was mostly ignored and giggle/pointed at. My cousin Monique, the bleeding heart she is, offered that she was throwing a party and it would be a wonderful place for KC to meets some tantalizingly lick-able men. KC's jumping with euphoria snapped up the chance and instantly started planning her game.

As Monique left for the night, I said, "see ya at the party", and KC's ears instantly twitched sending shock waves through the shiny wood floor. "You can't go to the party!" she called over to me. "That's not allowed. That won't work at all!" she said in a mock teasing voice, trying to hide her 120% honesty with a fake chuckle. Her fear that I would fly into the house, snatching all the single men away perched on my broom while I cackled and spit, was written all over her face. I, being the lovable girl I am, reassured her with an equally poisonous smile that, yes now that she has made such a fuss, I think I will pull out my pointy shoes.

I love my girl KC, but what is her freakin' problem. If she likes a guy I will totally back off. I have given her non-expiring first dibs on all guys at every party in the future unless Gerard Butler (who I would love to have draped all over me at every moment of the day) happens to be present. Why does she still feel the need to be catty and defensive towards our outings? She has a tendency to throw a tantrum whenever she isn't the center of attention and rip any girl that gets in her way regardless of friendship or not.

Maybe I have more "man" qualities then some girls but I do not understand this. Is it ever possible for girls to just be comfortable with each other, not get catty and stab each other in the back. The green eyed monster is a scary thing and I say just say no to excessive estrogen!

Blog Action Day - Fighting Poverty Everyway We Can

2008-10-15T08:16:00.000-07:00

Today is Blog Action Day, and this years focus is on Poverty. Since my blog is usually about frivolent messes of relationships, drinking, and partying, I thought this would be the prefect opportunity to talk about something actually important for a change.

Since I am defiantly not an expert on... anything... I will just give you a heads up on a few ways we can all help fight to reduce poverty. You might think it's something that doesn't come near your life, so why bother, but it's closer to all of our worlds then we realize. This is not a 3rd-world epidemic. This is a problem living in our towns, neighborhood and backyards. I live in a small lake community in a country area of New Jersey. People are middle class and make a decent average income. Their houses are well kept and children run carefree on their well watered lawns, but every spring there's an older man that walks up our hill and bunkers down in the woods behind our house to sleep at night. I've tried to catch up to him and offer him some blankets and food, but he seems to be hesitant to talk to anyone. I haven't seen him much lately and I worry that he didn't make it through the last few weeks.

So, what can we do? The answer: something. If we all do something, anything, all our somethings will finally add up.

You can go to One and help fight global poverty, something as small as buying a T-Shirt where $10 of every purchase goes to the ALAFA (Apparel Lesotho Alliance to Fight Aids) Fund, which provides life-saving AIDS treatment to Lesotho factory workers.

Or visit World Vision and sponsor a child.

Wait, ok I got one for us techy game geeks out there, go to Free Rice and play a little word game. It's fun, helps your vocabulary and for each answer you get right, we donate 20 grains of rice to the United Nations World Food Program. I like to play this game on work break, when you're brain says please let's just play a game!

And there are so many more places out there where we can all help a little. No matter if we're a entrepreneur, mother, geek, or party girl we can all lend a hand to help end poverty.

The Man Chart 1.0

2008-10-10T12:17:00.000-07:00

When a friend of mine asked me an innocent question the other day it got my brain a'thinkin'. He was wondering where he fit in women's "hierarchy" of manli-goodness. When I replied, "oh you're a TM don't worry about it," he was intrigued by my immediate response and colorful explanation. Through a little prodding, my girlfriends and I came up with this little chart. It is a horrible, superficial and bitchy graph so if you take offense or cry easily please grow a pair, stop suckin' on the tit and be a man because I don't care.

All men can be placed in or between one of these slots. If you are curious where you fit just ask a female and she will show you your corresponding placement. For you're viewing and reference pleasures, I bring you the man guide: (Click on Photo to Enlarge for all manly details)

When I was eight I wouldn't even date a gay man!

2008-10-02T19:32:00.000-07:00

Intro:
When I was 8 one of my best friends asked me "out" in the cafeteria, (even though we all knew he was gay before we even knew what gay was, and he really wanted to date my other best friend Mike) I still said, "no thanks silly." He had "dated" half of our friends already (8yr old dating = avoiding each other at all costs, playground tag which ends in throwing questionable sand in each other's eyes, and eventually having one of your friends tell one of their friends you don't like them anymore and you want to share your snack pack with Bobby from three desks over instead) so it was just "my turn". This is where I have tracked back my commitment problems to and my goal is to go back in time, say yes to Jermaine and warn myself NOT to wear those Barbie Velcro sneakers no matter how adorable my grandma thinks I look in them. Unfortunately, since my time machine is on the fritz again (note to self: time machines engines do NOT make good smores), I have come to realize I must fix this problem at the present time.

Extro:
So, I have decided to turn over a new leaf, start a new chapter in my life, ride the mythical giraffe of sprightliness up the river and try my hand at this "letting it go" thing. How am I going to achieve this? Well, other than implanting electrodes under my skin that fire every time I try to sabotage or weasel my way out of something, I guess I'll have to do it the hard way. Which is: not be such a bitch. Or, if fate can give me a break for once, let the next guy that likes bitchy girls have a fighting chance before I make him run crying for 1. His mommy to make the mean girl stop hurting him 2. The closest Johnnie Walker 3. An iron studded shield and mace.

So, I officially just put myself back on the market. Watch out boys, I bite.

Road Trip to DC anyone? Now I know I am the Flip Cup Queen!

2008-09-30T15:59:00.000-07:00

So, my friend and co-worker "Michele with one L" and I got to go to DC last week for a "work thing". Being the young vixens jet-setters that we are, we decided to go a day early and get our party on before the actual "work" started and we had to be "adults" (I've decided I love quotations marks and feel the need to make them constantly with my fingers tips in the air, unfortunately it doesn't translate as well to typing, so just picture me with a suspicious face, furrowed brow and furious gesticulations).

Michele with one L and I thought we would take this opportunity to complete one of the numbers off my list and do a road trip. We left work early, jumped in my Yaris "Krawl the Warrior King", and hit the open road. I had enthusiastically made an iPod playlist affectionately entitled "Michele and Lis's Road Tip Mix" for the long ride, so we started our trip to our favorite Jersey boys screaming "Your love is like BAD MEDICINE, and bad medicine is what I need... oh oh oh shake it up just like bad medicine, so lets play doctor baby, cure my disease" (OMG I didn't even have to google that!). Armed with a glass Iced tea bottle microphone and a heavy foot we sped the first 3 1/2 hours of our trip screeching the lyrics of every bad/good 80/90s song ever made, dancing in our seats to raunchy salsa music, and discussing the perplexing situations involved in dating, sex, and the best flirting techniques to get a free drink and not be "that slutty girl" at the same time.

During a lull in the Prince's high pitched, "women not girls rule my world, i said they rule my world, act your age mama not your shoe size... you don't have to watch Dynasty to have an attitude, you just leave it all up to me, my love will be your food, you don't have to be rich to be my girl, you don't have to be cool to rule my world, ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with, I just want your extra time and your KISS!" we both happened to look up at the next billboard and simultaneously shrieked "CRACKER BARREL!!!!!!" I turned at the next exit and was welcomed with a big sign flashing, "You Just Took the Wrong Exit Dumb Ass, Wave Goodbye to Cracker barrel A'hole". As we made our way back to the parkway, our windows down, M.I.A.'s Paper Plane's blasting at 90, and our "Jersey Gangsta" dance moves poppin, we noticed every eye in the entire town trained heavily on us saying either "those bitches ar 'bout to rob us of aur tabacci!" or "mama, is that what a slut looks like?"

Where were we? High tailing it out of that town was a now #1 on our to-do, so I pulled a Jersey U-y and sped to the closest "Get the Hell outta this Town" sign. Goodbye Cracker Barrel, we decided stop at the next rest stop and eat anything that would make our stomachs stop devouring themselves. Unfortunately, that choice haunted us for the next 3 days. Ya, don't eat a Italian hoggie, chicken nuggets, mac 'n cheese, mashed potatoes, french fries, and biscuits with jelly at a rest stop, it is sooo not a good idea. That night I got to see my lunch for a second time and I had time to really contemplate my bad decision while hanging my head in the bowl.

But that's jumping ahead, back to our story. Our belly's full with evil plotting fixin's, we head out for the final lap of our trip and eventually, after much confusion driving through DC streets, we found our hotel goal, parallel parked very badly, and lugged our bags to our cozy, if not sparkling, hotel. The front desk man gave us a card and proceed to explain how it works. "Place this section just above the black dot over the key hole and slowly pull back, when you see a blue light... blah blah blah," did we really need this? It was a door, who can't open a door? Well, apparently two college educated, business women can't. We spend the next 15 minutes trying to open our door, laughing, crying, taking pictures, and eventually gave in and asked for help like the poor helpless females we were trying SO HARD not to be. DAMN DOOR LOCKING LIGHT CARD THINGY!

After washing the travel off our faces and getting big haired and tight clothed, we headed out for our night on the town. Long story short? The night included a Bartender buy me some drinks, us buying some boys some drinks, me winning an insane Flip Cup game, me on a counter making out with a man named Mike, and Michele discussing some kind of a string theorem? or some other intellectual stuff i can't understand when I'd rather be kissing someone. All in all B+ night!

Unfortunately, the night ended with my lunch finally demanding some attention and since it wasn't getting it, it decided to come back up and show me how lovely it looked after partial digestion and partying with 2 beers. Michele's lunch also followed the next morning when we both realized food poisoning REALLY sucked. At least we were able to have a B+ night before the ralphing and hurling started!

Superhero United Against Evil Chihuahuas Everywhere!!!

2008-09-29T07:34:00.000-07:00

Weekends at my cousin's house always seem to turn into a strange string of insane moments of hilarity. The last time I visited was no different. The following information may shock and nauseate you so please look away if easily sickened.

The characters of the weekend included: myself, my cousin Monique, her husband John, and my other cousin Jay. It started as any other family/friend outing, we went the Chickie's & Pete's in Phili (may I just say I ate so much of the best food here I think part of my insides cried when I had to leave!), then stopped at Toys R Us for some Rock Band and Nerf guns. While perusing the costume section Monique and I decided to dare each other to wear a superhero costume. Unfortunately, neither of us can turn down a dare, so we left the store with two children's superhero outfit under our arms and entered the house moments later as Batman and Spiderman (I would be Spiderman of course!). The next few hours were spent fighting evil villains, learning to leap small furniture, being faster then a speeding Chihuahua and considering new ways to revamp the superhero costume to be more "hot".

Moments after this picture was taken the evil dark lord "Skinny Rat Dog" had to be taken out for trying to soil the magical carpet.

Once Spidey and The Bat were back to their everyday identities, we decided to have a night out at Dave & Busters and then partake in the world's best cheese steaks to ever grace this planet. I know this is a controversial subject that many people have their own view points about. All opinions are as always welcome in this debate, but honestly I don't give two craps what anyone else says, Pat's in Phili is the BEST cheese steak maker ever! Screw you all who don't agree; yay to all that do. Just go to Pat's and order a "cheese wit" and try to disagree, go ahead try it... I'll be here when you come back drooling from the supreme awesomeness.

Soon our bellies were full and our superhero head were ready to hit the pillows, so we decided to call it a night. Unfortunatly, even as our superheros sleep, lord "Skinny Rat Dog" was out taking advantage of the helpless and innocent. Looks like we will have to fight another day, yes you will be sorry Evil Doing Chihuahuas everywhere!

Lost my Hoboken Virginity, there are way to many creepers in Hoboken.

2008-09-08T11:21:00.000-07:00

Friday night, five sexy chicas, feisty high heels, a multitude of alcoholic beverages and lots of skin baring outfits always equals a good time in my book.

Me and my four girl friends (Andi, Michele, Kim, and Leanne) decided we needed to do a girls night out. Leanne conveniently lives in Hoboken and since I've never been there we all decided this was the perfect destination. So after work and a disgustingly huge dinner at Red Robin, we went to Michele's to get into out party gear.

We all brought at least three outfits and then tried each others on, inevitably deciding on the first outfit we tried on only to stare at it for another half hour while moaning about unacceptable body parts. This is a necessary girl ritual that can not be avoided in fear of random outbreaks of West Nile. (Yes, bad garment choices brings on West Nile, aren't you glad you read this.) This lovely pic to the right would be Andi unsuccessfully trying on my corset top. (I decided I didn't want to be a complete ho, just a little ho, so I opted for a different shirt. Sorry boys.)

Finally dressed and ready to go we piled into Michele's car and headed to Leanne's in good old Hoboken. This pit stop was needed for the very necessary "pre-gaming". The "pre-gaming" for those who do not know, it where you start to drink at someones house so you don't have to drink as much when you get to the club therefore saving some much needed cash, although you always pre-game a little to hard and then spend more then you would have at the club and defeat the entire purpose. Pre-gaming is also a necessity.

At Leanne's we got the part started a little by making Vodka Fanta Lemonades and Jack/Cokes. Pre-gaming also involves taking various strange pictures of each other so in the future we can look back and actually watch the progress of our drunken state. Stage one: lots of glass clinking toasts to various body party's and vulgar activities and compliments on outfits. Stage two: Facebook stalking. Motor skills are currently still working and we feel the need to make fun of various people at our leisure. Stage three:random pictures of each other doing things that we're sure will be hilarious in the morning when we can remember where we are or where are pants went. Stage Four: leave for the club. During Stage three we learned that Kim used to be a tap dancer and got a nice little show, proceeded by Andi and my fake boxing match o' fun. Then kiss kiss to the camera and were off to the races!

Hoboken was a bevy of flashing lights, popped collars, burly bouncers, colorful shooters, and sleazy creepers (creeper: a guy who watches you, follows you, dances to close to you, unwelcomingly touches you and is just downright creepy). I, never having been to Hoboken, was whirling with new sites and interesting individuals. We all seemed to have a little niche and got along wonderfully together. Sometimes when girls go out together there can be a cattiness in the air, but our little five-some worked perfectly like a well oiled party machine. Michele, the journalist of the group, found some interesting boys to have various conversation with. Kim bounced around giving high fives and flirting with all the hotties. I started dancing the moment I entered the club. And Andi bounced in between all of us corralling and joining in all our crazy antics.

My one problem of the night?

I have decided no more letting a guy dance behind me. A guy asks you to dance, a few minutes later he spins you around and it never fails, he wants to dance behind you. Well, I have no idea what you're doing back there. I would assume you are dancing, since we're in a club and that would be what I'm doing. Yet, it never fails, when the pictures are shown (like the one to the right) I always find out they were doing a little more then just dancing. What exactly was this guy doing? Reclining against the wall and shoving his crotch in my butt? Granted I may have had a few to many Red Headed Sluts by this point, which might have been why I didn't notice the vulgar molestation being performed behind me, but come on. What are you doing? Next guy that does this is going to suffer for every guy before him. Rabid hamster right down the pants, that's right, rabid hamster is the new self defense weapon in Japan. It's a hamster and he's rabid! Think Cujo but tiny and in your pants!

So, eventually, we closed the club and had to leave. Unfortunately, as we walked to Leanne's house the sky decided to open up and pour buckets of rain all over us.The streets were tiny rivers and there was only one option we saw possible. When mother nature decides to pee on you, all you can do is dance in the love!

The Karate Kid bad guy makes an appearance as a talentless hack!

2008-09-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

I went to concert party Saturday. There were 8 bands playing from 4-11:30pm. They build a stage, hired a sound system company, lighting, special effects, the whole camel in a sundress.

About 20 minutes after I got there I actually noticed someone I knew. Who be it, but the friends of my current male interest. I walked up to Jose and Natalie and asked how they knew the host. Natalie said Jose was in one of the bands that was playing. Instantly I plaster a fake smile across my face so none of my true emotions had a chance to seep out. Seeing a friends band for the first time is a horrifying experience. They could could be awesomeness smoldering rock monsters, or rancid festering musical dotes. Unfortunately, I soon came to find out, Jose's band was the later. Surprisingly, Jose was actually good, which made me practically fall off my seat, but his band was frighteningly sickening. What do you say when faced with this situation? I hate lying and try to make it a point to always tell the truth, so this was a challenge. I settled on... Jose was my favorite part of the band, maybe he should dump the other guys. This response seemed to get mixed reviews but I was happy with my evasive techniques in the face of danger.

While some of the bands were playing a young man, maybe 24, was able to weasel his way into guest singing on some of the songs. His singing was amazingly horrifying, but his appearance was strangely familiar. I sat through two songs before it came to me, The Karate Kid!!! He looked just like the bad guy in the first Karate Kid! White blond feathered hair, tall, 80's clothing. He was even wearing a sweat band around his forehead!!! I kid you not!

What was most intriguing about this situation was that this horrible geeky man that was now on stage had a following! Young girls between 18-24 stood before the stage in all their groupie glory. How you may ask does this doof have a fan club? Well, I have no freakin' idea!!!! They swayed to his tuneless crows, giggled at his random kickboxing moves and gyrated to his bobbing feathered hair.

Vomit. I will never understand the groupie. Especially a William Zabka groupie.

ATM madness, I need a margarita after that one.

2008-09-03T10:56:00.000-07:00

The average person visits an ATM, what, maybe 3-4 times a month (at least!). So after seeing the same screen over and over again, eventually it become ingrained in our minds like second nature.

1. English or Spanish 2. Type in your pin 3. checking or savings 4. Amount 5. Receipt

Right?

Well, why does it take some people nine years to complete these simple questions!!?!!?? I am not usually an impatient person, but everyone has their breaking point. I was at Commerce bank on my lunch break today. I stepped into the ATM waiting area and stood about 6ft back from the next person in line, who happened to be an older women with salt and pepper hair, crazy eyes and can of pepper spray on the ready (I'm sure she had the spray, she was way to twitchy, and there must have been a small wielding axe laying in the zipper of her purse for easy access). As she stepped up I turned to the left so she could obviously see I was not trying to look at their pin, but she still felt the need to lean to the left and peer over her shoulder to give me a dirty look.

After she was sure I wasn't going to pillage and ransack her she turned back to begin her very lengthy objective. After fiddling with her card for a minute or two she began to read every line of the screen under her breath. Her lips moving at the speed of a dying slug, she hesitantly raised her hand to hover just above the ATM buttons. My own hand itched to smash hers down into any of the keys just to get her away from my violent insanity.

She continued to read each word on each screen three times over before dragging her finger across each button. If it wasn't for her repeated death stares at me over her shoulder I would have thought it possible she was blind and somehow reading the screen with her fingers (how does that work? it's just the button that have Braille? I never understood that). Eventually, my madness barely contained in my reddening face, I took a deep breath and started to laugh. I stood there and had a nice hearty chuckle and this woman reached into her purse, I'm positive grabbing for her closest weapon and shot daggers at me with her ever shifty eyes.

Belated Blog Day - sorry I'm late for everything.

2008-09-02T06:48:00.000-07:00

Well, I may have missed official BlogDay08, buuutttt..... I decided to recreate it today with just me! So here are my belated blogs that I LOVE like hot sauce on a spicy thigh. Check them out and laugh your ars off.

(BlogDay was created with the belief that bloggers should have one day dedicated to getting to know other bloggers from other countries and areas of interest. On that day Bloggers will recommend other blogs to their blog visitors. With the goal in mind, on this day every blogger will post a recommendation of 5 new blogs. This way, all blog readers will find themselves leaping around and discovering new, previously unknown blogs.)

Always a Drunk Never a Bride - girl you rock. She's able to mix a little bit of relationship drama, with a dash of current even irony, a splash of DC nightlife and shake it all up for a nice little shot of fun and entertainment. Oh, and she shares my obsession for My Boys!
Wild ARS Chase - This is my boy. Funny, witty, sarcastic, basically me with a penis! I am addicted to this blog and feel like spreading the infection. Swim in it, 'till your fingers get all pruney.
Elle Michelle - A fellow Little Mermaid and crime show fan, Elle is the cream to my coffee. I love her blog and feel confident in saying it's the bee's knees.
The Rest is Still Unwritten - A very good writer, who is a self proclaimed "non-writer". His posts are strangely insightful, always entertaining, and I totally agree with him that men should never wear white spandex shorts EVER!
Tremble - Ok,sometimes his posts make me want to pee my pants I'm laughing so hard. Not the most diligent blogger, but when he writes a good one, it's REALLY good.

Commitment: why go through all the hassle? Let's just call it a night.

2008-08-28T19:33:00.000-07:00

Ok, so here's the shniz... I am a commitment phobic. *cries of outrage and disgust from the balcony* Yes I know, cover your eyes! Shun, shun my cretinous vile self, but it's still true. I have a tendency to unconsciously date men I really don't like that much, that way when I feel like it's getting to serious I have no problem dumping them because I know I feel nothing. Also, if he doesn't really like me I won't give two craps and a donkey. This is a new realization I have come to and now that I know it I think I wish I could forget it again.

Today I was faced with a situation that has the potential to place me on one of two paths. Path 1: the path to acceptance and recovery. Path 2: the path to happily rolling in the phobic muck and wiggling it between my toes.

Once upon a time there was a young man; we'll call him Casanova. Now, Casanova is a smart, biting noble man who has a way with the young maidens of this fair land. Until one day young Casanova decided to go to a party on New Years where he met a snarky maiden brimming with witty conversation, high heels and tequila. This nights merriment ushered forth a friendship cultivated via carrier dragon (modern day translation: online) through witty banter, casual flirting and off color teapot jokes.

Little did Casanova know, this maiden he was talking to, happened to be one of the elusive cursed damsels in distress, that everyone always seems to hear stories about, but never really saw in person. Must be all the lights, they can't be good for the complexion...

But, back to our story... This young Maid was cursed to believe that love does not exist and she must run from anyone who might stir any emotions of the heart. Casanova tried his best, but the fair maiden kept dodging his advances. Eventually, after a day of humorous shared speculations on the traits of the Goat Herder, Casanova could take it no longer and asked in his last message for her to accompany him on an outing.

My lady stumbled on her words when reading Casanova's request. Her mind was telling her to say no, since Casanova was way to smooth and the heart is a traitorous thing, but her sneaky little friend Maid Andi scribbled an acceptance to Casanova before she had a chance to reply... (Andi is now going to be tortured then fed to the dragon for her traitorous act! Poor Maid Andi.)

Back to modern day... So that's the poo. Now I have this "thing" I have agreed to go on and all I can think is run, run while you still can!!!!

I am such a lucky girl... I'm not afraid of the dark, small places, spiders, scary movies... nope, for me, any relationship that might actually lead somewhere, now that will make me pee my pants!

Does online chemistry translate to real life chemistry?

2008-08-26T18:19:00.000-07:00

What happens when you have online chemistry with someone, but in person you’re like two cold fish in a wet bucket?

You meet a guy and exchange email/myspace/facebook/tweeter/that’s enough slashes. You start to chat online or possibly even over the phone (if you’re daring) and you hit it off instantly. Your personalities mesh well together. There’s sexy typing, chemistry, sparks, atoms splitting apart to create pieces of pure energy shooting through the atmosphere. There might even be a little *gasp* flirting travelling across the digital waves. Whatever it is, you guys have it.

So you decided to hang out. Make a casual date or just hanging out with some friends, whatever it maybe, this night is bound to be magical. If all characters continue to follow the set course and everyone stays on their designate story line, then the night should end in various fireworks and suckage-of-face.

Right?

Yet, for some reason, nothing. You look into each others eyes, part your mouth to continue your usual witty banter and nothing seems to come out. All the cute jabs and comical sparring just seems missing. The spicy chemistry you usually share online has fizzled into bad Chinese food and one or both of you would just like to leave and flush this horrible experience down the crapper.

What has happened? How come when you are typing to one another everything seems to click and the attraction is palpable, but when you physically enter the same room with this person all bonds just fall apart? Are all online relationships doomed to fail when brought into the real world? If so, should we just leave good enough alone and be happy to have some intellectual stimulation online and look elsewhere for other ... stimulation? Or can we somehow pull that online paprika out of the computer and into the dating world with us?

Are blueberries the new Viagra?

2008-08-26T14:17:00.000-07:00

Ok, so a recent article some of you might have see on MSN Seven Foods to Power Your Libido, was talking about different foods you can eat to increase a mans sexual ... umphf. They all seemed pretty straight forward until I got to number seven. It stated that "The soluble fiber in blueberries ushers cholesterol through your digestive tract before it chokes your arteries. The berries also contain compounds that improve circulation for a natural Viagra-like effect."

Blueberries = Viagra?

So I suddenly imagined men everywhere eating blueberry everything: blueberry coffee, blueberry beer, blueberry pork rinds (does anyone really eat those?). Just before a man and woman get down to business, as men like to say, leaning over and saying "hold on babe, I just gotta take my blueberry upside down cake..." Hold on, that one might be fun...

Hot men bring out the doofy 12 year old in me.

2008-08-22T18:39:00.000-07:00

(Disclaimer: Although I am 27, I rarely act like it. Do not read if you are a prick. Actually, I really just felt like saying prick. Please continue reading even if you are a prick, dickweed, a**rat bastard, douche bag pecker, or tool. All pot belly smoker faces are welcome as always.)

The other day, as my girls and I were walking out for lunch at Atlanta Bread (where you can eat so much friggin' bread you want to ralph but keep eating more instead), we spied a very yummy morsel of manliness walking in our direction. This was a startling event since we are lacking such tasty little treats in our building. As he passed Andi and Kim the sides of his lips tilted slightly giving us the barest smirk. Andi every so smoothly turned around and stared to make epileptic head and spastic hand gestures while I tried to stifle a monstrous laugh from escaping my mouth as he passed. Kim quickly yelled Hibachi with the excitement of a guido poppin' his first collar. (Hibachi is Kim's wonderful code for "HOT A** MAN WE WANT TO SEE NAKED!") Our excitement was quickly squelched by the fact that we were still in our parking lot and therefore supposed to currently be "adults".

The next day, our newly discovered man candy nearly forgotten, we were heading back from another lunch break outing. Andi who had been up ahead, scurried back to us and rushed, "it's him, Hibachi! He just went into the bathroom. He must work here!" We all giggled like school girls and hurried up the stairs in hopes to get a small glimpse or an accidental "sorry i ran into you knocked you over and accidentally ripped your shirt off" encounter. Unfortunately, we seemed to be to late since the men's room door was closed. Walking by Kim throws her hands up in the air facing the door and yells "why, why couldn't you take a little longer" as the door starts to open slowly and I see an all to familiar smirk starting to emerge. Before I am able to nudge Andi she begins, "well I thought it was him, but maybe..." then her head twists to the door, twists forward and she stomps off like she's crushing small dragons with every step. I smile back to Hibachi, smack Kim on the shoulder with my papers and we hurriedly scampered off to try and recover from our shameful stomach turning encounter.

So, welcome hot man we would like to see naked and possibly lick hot fudge off of. Welcome to our building. I hope we have many more embarrassing moments to share in the future.

Laugh at me for having a moment of weakness and DIE!

2008-08-21T17:50:00.000-07:00

I went to party the other night...

I took a shower, put on extra makeup, made steamy sexy hair, and wore my non-breathing tight ass jeans. As I jumped in the car, flipped up my visor mirror and stared at my reflection I thought, “What am I doing?” Then I put the car in gear and drove off.

I drove the 57 minute drive, Corona bottles clinking as my mocking passengers, with female punk rock queens screaming in my ears the entire ride. “Don’t think, just don’t think and you won’t turn around…”

9:03pm I screech to a halt just before the entrance to Oakwoods apartment buildings, and make a hard right into the development while brushing off the protests of a surprisingly creative elderly woman in a blue Accord. Building 36 apt 8 is all I have as a direction inside this new brick labyrinth. I turn slowly to the right area of the complex, and as I am counting numbers going in the wrong direction, I can’t help but wish I had some pink plastic flamingos.

I try the left side next and am again laughed at by signs, “You’re wrong again.” As I make my second illegal K turn I notice a car at the entrance whose driver looks just as perplexed by this sign situation, turning his wheel with one hand and texting with his other. I slam on my breaks as I pass him, but then decide to continue looking for my destination and let my heart have a second to recover from its surprising little skip. It’s a disabled heart without a lot of exercise and can get overwhelmed easily. As I make my left the texting driver falls in behind me and I receive a text from him telling me exactly where to go. I pull into the my parking spot and figure it will take him a minute to get to my car so I decide to mimic a female and check my makeup and rat my hair a little more before I grab my bottles and slip out of my car. Brian is standing about 8 ft from the car when I step out. In between the two building lights, his silhouette is disturbingly unmistakable. I nervously note that I knew it was him following me and then wish I would have learned to control my retarded babbling by this age.

He makes no note of my slippery tongue and I walk over and give him a hug. As I turn to lock my doors he comments on my hair’s amazing ability to smell awesome and I smile to myself and give way to high pitched “thank you.” I officially feel like a school girl, and immediately smother a giggle. We walk to the first building and the door is locked. Brian admits that he can never remember which building is the correct one and I dumbly smile, swallow another insipid giggle, and offer that they all look exactly the same. At the next building Brian knocks lightly, and presses his ear to the side of the door. The people inside are enthusiastically discussing fishing and we know this must also be the wrong apartment because I have been informed Jose is a delinquent and would never talk about fishing.

We stumble out into the dark and try the next building. A woman answers and gives us a fat wrong again. Once back outside I sit down and let Brian try to get his bearings. There is a garage door open about 2 ft with some young male legs and disgraceful rock music peeking underneath. I wonder how it would look if I just poked my head through the crack and asked if they knew Jose. This idea was quickly dashed by the better option of calling Jose and asking him to pop his head out the window. Now walking to our affirmed destination I decided it would be a good idea to trip and wobbly tumble down the driveway. My idea to wear sensible shoes is now laughing heartily in my face. A traitorous giggle tumbles out and I am grateful it is at least dark.

Once at the party, the enormity of my stupid decision hits me square in the face. I enter a large room with a group of people sitting on couches to my left and an empty dining table to the right. Our host greets us and quickly sweeps my only anchor away to leave me standing insecurely by the front door. I smile at the small group of people and nervously play with my ring, trying not to notice everyone not noticing me. All sitting areas are full and I am forced to stand awkwardly by the front door, boring a mental hole into the back of the head of the guy sitting in front of me. “Oh my god, please don’t let me be that girl. I can not be that girl!” You know the one that only knows one person at the party. I hate that girl! I nervously look around for any inconspicuous exits and quickly calculate the distance from the balcony to the street minus my height.

The night shifts into a stifling swirl of names, faces and watch checks. My plight is occasionally broken by the effort of Brian to engage me in some conversation which I thankfully grasp onto like a downing fish. My confusion about what my part is in the gathering is displaying prominently on mine and all of the party goers faces. I somehow find myself at the “boring people” table, losing all ability to talk about anything except the horrid state of the pork appetizers, and wishing for a fish tank of tequila and a machete.

I decide to spend the rest of the night figuring out if I’m just too old for this party (as someone places a biker helmet on and screams SOMEONE PUNCH MY FACE!), or if these people are really just groaningly boring. I eventually assure myself that it must be the later since if I could think of a way to make this party less boring I would skin all guests with their own fingernails dancing around their lifeless bodies and I have my first genuine chuckle of the night bubble out.

When I feel it is acceptable to leave without being an official stick in the mud, I made my rounds saying the quintessential goodbyes. I thank Brian for the invite and reassure him that even though I was not my usual “funny” self, I had a good time. Before I can get my mouth to close, my tongue accidentally trips out, “yes, I would like to do it again,” and I instantly regret the night for the seven thousandth time. He smiles, gives me a hug and I’m not sure if he is just being nice to my wildly thrashed ego or if he for some strange reason really wants to see me again.

I slip out and quickly run to my car, every step echoing loudly in my ears. As I sat in my car and took my first independent breath I looked at myself in the sallow glow of the security lights. I was going to drive home and go to bed, that’s all, “now drive.”

Midgets, Carnies and Circus Freaks 2

2008-08-21T10:52:00.001-07:00

We have bodies!!! Kim is the keeper of the candy. Andi has her cell phone embedded in her hand, as usual. Michele might be a little addicted to pop tarts, which is why she is now on a retarded diet (diet post soon to come), and I must have my monster frozen lemonade or I am not a happy camper. (I swear I don't normally look like I'm on massive amount of crack in real life.)

Controlling Women vs Whipped Men: A love story

2008-08-20T07:12:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine, lets call him Rob (since that's his name), has recently started acting very shifty. He has been disappearing, flaking out on parties, taking phone calls in other rooms. We have a theory about what might be making him so mysterious lately.

A couple years ago he was dating a girl, Sadie, who everyone hated with the fire of a thousand suns. Sadie was controlling, stuck up, slutty (most likely the main reason he was dating her since Rob has NO play. Gary Coleman is a panty dropping fiend compared to him.) and unattractive. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, Rob seemed to love her. He was the definition of whipped. The embodiment of every controlling woman pathetic man cliche. There was a time when she even forbid him from buying a Jeep basically implying it was to rugged and low class. Eventually she cheated on him and moved to California leaving him to lick his wounds and grow a new pair.

Now that Sadie has moved back to the east coast the prospects of Rob and Sadie coupling again are about as likely as Bush mispronouncing nuclear; you know it's inevitable.

Maybe I just don't understand men, but why would he do this? If you are an attractive, semi-intelligent man, what would make you start dating someone who is obviously mean, surly and ugly. Is desperation more prevalent in men then they let on? Come on you big tough cow eating macho schmucks, you just want someone to cuddle with don't you!

This situation gave me one of those Ahah! moments. Since I can also be a controlling bitch (but in a sweet, endearing, lovable way) I realized I could NEVER date anyone who didn't have a back bone. Now I'm not saying I want someone pushing me around, but the sight of a man cowering in fear lying in the corner licking my stilettos is not very attractive either.

Blog Action Day '08 Poverty

2008-08-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

"Blog Action Day is an annual nonprofit event that aims to unite the world’s bloggers, podcasters and videocasters, to post about the same issue on the same day. Our aim is to raise awareness and trigger a global discussion."

I just signed up for Blog Action Day '08 Poverty. On October 15th, each blogger who signs up will write a posting about poverty in their own blogging "style". If you want to sign up too, just go to http://blogactionday.org/

You're not in a relationship until you declare it on Facebook!

2008-08-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

My friend Andi has recently started seeing a nice young man named George. They have been "seeing" each other for a little over a month. Although, today George talked her into changing her Facebook status from "single" to "In a relationship". She was so anxious and stressed over it I kept saying it's no big deal, it's just a Facebook status, no one will even notice. But, I quickly learned I was very VERY wrong.

Three minutes after changing her status she started to receive IM messages. Six minutes later she started to receive text messages. In ten minutes came the network wide notification with her name and a large red heart being shot out to all facebook stalkers. This was three hours ago and she hasn't been able to get any work done all day because all she's been able to do is field questions.

So, my question for you, are relationships only real if they are announced on some form of a social network? Are they less real if you don't officially announce them? Were they just as committed this morning when Andi's status was single? And what did we do before Facebook? Smoke signals? Carrier Pigeons? Telegrams:

Attention all stop
Andi: status change stop
In a relationship stop

Midgets, Carnies and other Circus Freaks

2008-08-14T09:08:00.001-07:00

There is a dry marker board next to my desk that has been taunting me far to long. In case you were wondering what my three work buds look like, here is a wonderful rendition of my crew:

We're all between 4'11" and 5'2, brunettes and totally rock. Suck on that super models! I have decided to add a little more to the picture each week to give you a little visual into our weekly activities!

Read your bosses email or swim through a pool of discarded crusty skin grafts... hmmm.

2008-08-12T09:17:00.000-07:00

Through the inquisitive prodding of a coworker, I have come to realize that I have a routine for reading emails sent to me from my boss (John. (I have another boss named Willy, but I usually enjoy his emails because I like to read them back to myself with a Scotish accent.)).

When an email comes in I stare at it for a few minutes, contemplating my preference between reading the email and running through the hallways in a rubber chicken suit screaming violently and tumbling down the stairs (the latter has only seemed viable 6 or 7 times). Eventually I open the email only to close it quickly before I can read it. Then I go do something else to distract myself from it. Next, I open and close it at least two more times before I actually give in to "The Man" and start to read it. I usually get half way through, get bored and need to find something else to occupy me for a few minutes. Finally once the boredom from the first half has faded I lay my head in my left hand resting my forearm on the desk and read the second half sideways, cringe and/or grunt softly and quickly throw it in my deleted folder. I have two more to get through today.

Dating Requirements: Please check all that apply and step to the side for your score

2008-08-11T18:42:00.000-07:00

During torturous bouts of boredom at work, me and my fellow chica Michele (that's Michele with one "L") came up with our "Guy Requirement Lists". So sorry to anyone who doesn't fit either of the lists, we just don't like you. You kinda suck.

My Manly Man's Requirements:

Tallish (5'7 - 6'1")
Age flexible* 21-36
British, Australian and Irishmen welcome
Funny (sarcasm highly preferred but not necessary)
Somewhat Intelligent (we have a conversation without you leaving with my fork in your eye)
Must know proper bird calls (no substitutions for the generic word, ie: "You wanna hear a turkey call? ...Turkey Call! Turkey Call!")
No Firebirds or mid-life crisis cars
No excessive body hair
No Neediness (girls really really hate that, men you really need to find a balance and stop being pricks!)
Must love dogs (except the movie)
Would rather watch a soccer game and drink a beer than read me his latest poem about his "feelings"
Likes to travel and be adventurous, but does not try to get me to cut off limbs for the thrill
Metrosexuals need not apply

*flexible to be taken in every sense of the word

Michele with 1L's list:

Age: 22-32
Height: 5'6" - 6'3"
Britain Invasion Welcome!
Accents preferred
Glasses encouraged
Doesn't live in basement and have wild delusions of self worth and career aspirations
Ruggedly handsome but ruggedness does not need to be included
MUST HAVE FRIENDS
Does not aspire to be his drunken father or have sexual thoughts about his brother (um add that to my list too!)
Enjoys going to museums or humouring me enough
Does NOT have long finger nails

Some exceptions do apply, smoking is prohibited and all rules will become null and void upon the event said man happens to be 1. George Clooney or 2. Brett Favre

Lets all go to the Carnival and get our smooch on!

2008-08-10T19:28:00.001-07:00

Ok, you know that question girls are always asked? No, not are you a stripper. What is the perfect date? Well, I never really knew what I wanted on a date. I would always just be like, ehh, anything is fine as long as it's the right guy. Well, hogwash. I finally picked and hoowa for me!

I absolutely love a carnival. You love to feel the guys strong arms around you while spinning around on all the rides. The games let you carry around ridiculously useless stuffed animal pigs and other various sentimental crap. Cotton candy happens to be the only food legal to feed to another person in the state of New Jersey without death by stoning. And there's always that perfect carnival kiss. Be it on the Ferris wheel, in the house of mirrors, or leaning up against the balloon popping booth all the people and noise seem to get fuzzy around you and the giddiness just bubbles up into the most perfect moment.

Attention guys, carnivals: the perfect date.

Oh Friendly's, I just keep falling in love with you over and over.

2008-08-09T17:29:00.000-07:00

Every other Friday four of us working girls go out for lunch together. This week, being broke as usual, we decided to keep it low key. Friendly's baby.

After attempting to throw a small child out of the bathroom, admiring our waiters attractive potential and eating enough food to feed a small town I order a strawberry thick shake and bounced eagerly on the edge of my seat. When it arrived I was greeted with an amazing little invention. What I thought was just an already intriguing extra wide bendy straw actually entertained us far more then ever expected! Andi said, it looks strange, like it could change colors or something."

As I leaned over to take that first sip everyone crowded around and inched close. My lips circled around the straw and I could hear everyone take a small inhalation. I felt like we were on the verge of a monumental scientific discovery. And as I sipped in and the ice cream rose up the straw I heard, "wooooooooooooo".

Friendly's:
1 Western BBQ cheese burger, fries, millkshake, color changing bendy straw = priceless.

MOO! Business has a fun side!?!

2008-08-08T15:35:00.000-07:00

Ok, I don't normally do this, but there is a site that I HAVE to recommend. I decided after a million people asking me for a business card that it might be time I had some made up. I just kept getting stuck on the extreme boringocity of business cards (no boringocity was not a word, but it is now so shut up).

Well, I stumbled upon (no pun intended) this wonderful little company in London called Moo. Yes that's right, Moo. They give you the ability to either make you're own cards from scratch uploading your pictures, or (be still my heart) choose from a gallery of artist many who specialize in wonderfully sarcastic and gruesomely awesome images! This is a snap shot of one of the designs by artist Ellis Nadler:
And the best part about this site is unlike most other places, you can choose a different design for each card. If you order 50 cards you can choose 50 different designs. Yippee! My order should come in 2 weeks, I'm practically drooling to see them!

The Art of the Spy - Lesson 1: Stealth

2008-08-07T19:48:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote a post about how I wanted to be a spy when I was a kid. Well, I was so determined to become said spy that I started to train in the "Spasian Arts" (as I called them). And my first lesson was The Lesson of Stealth.

I first tried to hone my skills by sneaking around the house and listening to conversations. I learned some interesting tidbits, but this soon felt too juvenile and tedious. I mean, I was six, training to be a spy; I had to take some risks!

My first phase was to find a subject. Luckily my sister’s best friends had recently wronged me in such a deep way I knew instantly she should be my target (She ripped the body off my glow worm so all I had was a head that I would carry around by the sleepy time hat. The similarities to Wednesday Adams were shockingly apparent.).

The second phase was to learn about that subject. I decided to make my small stature work for me and spent an afternoon seeing which areas of the house I could jimmy myself into. Soon it hit me; they never look at the most obvious spots! So, I piled a bunch of stuffed animals on the corner of the couch and burrowed myself under them. I even stuck my feet out a little so I would just look like another doll. Then, I waited… and waited. Gosh, it felt like forever, and all I could think was please don’t sit on me.

Eventually my sister and her beast of a best friend came bounding into the living room. After rummaging though some records they settled on a Madonna album, like a virgin. My sister quickly sat down on the opposite end of the couch and after gyrating obscenely for a few minutes her friend, Nessy, plopped down right next to me. She was inches away from me and I was compelled to reach out and stab her thigh with my trusty plastic fork. I felt my heart in my nose while I listened, fully expecting my cover to be blown, when Nessy said, “So, where is that little twit sister of yours. She’s usually lurking in a corner somewhere. Is she scared of me since I ripped off her Barbie doll head last week and threw it at her?” I did it, they had no idea I was only inches from them!

“Who cares? So do you really like Bradly or what? He’s so sleazy!” my traitorous sister squealed.

Their amazingly boring conversation continued for at least an hour (was this what teenagers talked about because I was ready to stab myself with my trusty fork after about twenty minutes). I was about to give up, revealing myself and make a mad dash for the door when Nessy stood up.

“Oh my God! Did I show you my new gloves! Look at these, aren’t they soooo Madonna in Lucky Star! I look so hot in them Bradly’s gonna keel over!” she squawked. She held one in her mouth while she put the other one on. I eyed the gloves like a monkey desperate for a banana. They were black leather with the fingers cut off, Nessy’s prize possession. I had made my mark and I wanted nothing but those gloves. After the two insipid crooners left I made haste in drawing up plans. My crayola’s were freshly sharpened and ready for this moment.

Soon I realized that the next phase of my mission needed an accomplice. The possibility of death by Nessy was to strong during only the beginning of my spy training, and I couldn’t risk failure. I decided to enlist the one person who hated Nessy possibly more than me. My mother.

I waited a few days until Nessy was over again and I saw her precious gloves lying on the couch. I quickly snatched them and hid in my fort until she left. Scurrying over to my mother with the gloves in my hands, I said, “Mommy, Nessy ripped the head of my Barbie and threw it at me again and then she called me an annoying midget twit. And, look, she left her gloves.”

“Really…” my mom said quietly.
The euphoria of the next few moments left me in quite a happy daze for the next few weeks and I must admit I am not sure to this day whose mind this next event sprang from. I like to think it was mine.

My mother and I decided Nessy’s gloves looked a little dry. They needed some lubrication. Our dog Peanut was able to help us out with this first problem. It took some maneuvering, but eventually they were well watered with some pungent dog urine.

Yet, they still seemed to be missing something. I pointed out that the toilet happened to be in need of a good cleaning under the rim. I was always trying to lend a helping hand. After introducing our subject to a few more choice areas around the house, we set them up out side to dry in the sun.

The next day when Nessy stood on the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Hey kid you seen my gloves around here?” I quickly nodded, donned my own pair of winter mitten and handed her her specially laundered leather Madonna gloves. As she stuck one in her mouth while putting the other on she mumbled, “why is your sister such a weirdo. Look she’s wearing mittens. Huh,” I just smile and said, “See ya Nessy. Those gloves look great on you.”

“Ya, I know,” she glowered back and sucked on the top of each glove as she pulled them up with her teeth.

The Art of Stealth. Lesson 1 Complete.

Incase you didn't get the memo, I am Portuguese

2008-08-06T15:33:00.000-07:00

I am part of the first generation in my family born in the United States. We wear our heritage proudly, but sometimes it is hard to tell. Unlike the rest of my family, you can rarely tell I'm Portuguese. Usually people just go, um, your... ummm...hmmm. It's amazing how many people don't remember Portugal even exists. So, I thought I'd intruduce a little Portuguese culture into the web-o-sphere.

My cousin and I are trying to brush up on our Portuguese. He is fluently having conversations with people while I am still thinking people are calling me an orange. Fortunately all of my family speaks Portuguese so they can help me. Unfortunately all of my family speaks Portuguese, so they can also make fun of me for calling a door a boat.

One thing I have always loved is the Fado. The Fado is a Portuguese music that is characterized by it's sense of mourning. They are songs sung for the loss or longing of something and are hauntingly beautiful. I must warn you though, they're an acquired taste. I have noticed either people absolutely love the Fado, or hate it with a vile acid spitting rage. Mariza is one of my favorite Fado singers and can make you cry even if you don't understand what she is saying.

My baby peeps go bowling

2008-08-05T08:58:00.000-07:00

Saturday I went bowling with my cousin, uncle and his family aka my baby peeps. I have never wanted to have children, but whenever I am around his kids I just want to bring them to a soda shop and sing show tunes. I'm scared one day I'll have 70 kids running around my house because I just won't be able to resist adopting an entire orphanage.

My uncle has five children, three are his biological kids and two he adopted from his niece. There's Cassie the oldest. She automatically attached to me and we formed a quick bond over our shared lack of bowling skills. Then there's Luke, the oldest boy, who I haven't figured out quite yet. He seems prone to whining fits, strange giggling and is a Mets fan. Next comes Mya, the girl with an attitude. She will tell you exactly what she's thinking and you better think she's adorable or else. The youngest girl is Faith. Faith is a firecracker. She will make you fall over with just one adorable grin and then jump up and down on your lifeless body. Last, but not least, is little Darrel who is just pure sugar. He's sweet, shy and makes you feel like baking him a fresh sheet of cookies.

Theirs is the only family that has ever made me think, ok maybe kids aren't so bad. Once I grow up that is!

20 Things to do before you're 30

2008-08-04T07:36:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, I recently read a great book where a girl has a list of things to do before her 25th birthday. Things always seem so inspiring and life altering in books I decided I had to piggyback off her cliche and start a list of my own. Ya, I know it's trite, but for the sake of enhancing my savoir faire I thought I should give this a whirl. So, since I have already passed the lovely 25th milestone I made a list of 20 Things to do before I'm 30. This is my list as it stands this very moment:

1. Be a Rock star for a night
2. Go Snorkeling
3. Have an amazingly cliche "movie" kiss
4. Do a road trip
5. Buy a new violin and start playing again
6. Ride a crazy horse with no assistance
7. Get a new piercing
8. Take my mother to Graceland
9. Play hokey and go to the beach
10. Make a painting, frame it, hang it
11. Party at Coyote Ugly on the bar
12. Go dancing in the rain (major dancing, none of the foo foo stuff)
13. See a ballet or opera in person
14. Make a large donation
15. Be towed behind a boat
16. Learn to use a weapon
17. Volunteer for something important
18. Experience Weightlessness
19. Do something dangerous and/or that I'm scared of
20. Let someone love me without pushing them away

The beige colored numbers are the tasks I have completed. As you can see, I have a long way to go!

Shame... Shame.

2008-07-31T15:39:00.000-07:00

I have to admit something horrible, shameful and disgusting. Late at night when no one is around, I crawl into bed, turn off all the lights and watch I Love Money on VH1.

I KNOW! I rarely watch reality shows, but for some reason this train wreck has wrapped it's slimy tentacles around me and sucked me into its steaming cesspool of rotten viewing pleasures! Last night over a pint of Haagan Daas I was disgusted once more in the soft glow of my tv.

One of the characters on this show did something last night that made me want to vomit on my screen and then throw it out the window. Girls, please, stop fake crying! No one likes it and we all know its an act. Every tear brings us one step back into that manipulative, catty, dim-witted, useless persona that we're always trying to fight our way out of. Why do we always have to fall back on the helpless dumb act to get our way. Why can't we use our brain, skills and ingenuity. Using your feminine wiles doesn't mean acting like a dumb slut.

Move over Jennifer Gardner, there's a new spy in town.

2008-07-29T06:51:00.000-07:00

Spies are an amazing thing. Their stealthy abilities and unflinching determination are unparalleled in the everyday career world. There is a sense of freedom in knowing your soul purpose in life is not to be seen. This is what first attracted me to a life of intrigue and espionage.

When I was five my parents asked my grandmother to move out of our house. For reasons undisclosed to me, (which I later found out through my “spying” were very good reasons) I was losing my best friend. I’ve always had an uncanny ability to mimic people, and my 60 year old grandmother was my first cohort. I don’t think she actually knew she was helping, but non-the-less. I would limp around the house all day, convinced my arthritis was acting up, and complain about my wet phlegm asthma and achy joins. Once my grandma left and my youthful spring returned, I needed to find another occupation to manifest my creative yearnings. It took a lot of soul search, but at age six I decided I would become a spy!

Do spies get an HMO? What about a Dental Plan? At what age do spies retire and is there an island they can go to for protected vacationing? They make you think your parents know all the answers to your questions. Well, I quickly found out “they” are wrong. Parents know nothing about spies! All I got were a lot of pats on the head and condescending smiles. So I decided I was just going to have to figure this spy thing out myself and what better way then Spy Boot Camp.

So I enrolled and jumped head first into every training course I could get my hands on. They actually weren’t very hard to find since I wrote them myself and had an unlimited amount of crayons for production.

These are the five lessons of The Spy:

Lesson #1 Stealth
Lesson #2 Courage
Lesson #3 Endurance
Lesson #4 Ingenuity
Lesson #5 Style

All lessons must be completed in the order given and in full before moving on to the next lesson. The rules of The Spy are very important and can mean life or death if not followed. I didn’t take them lightly.

Unfortunately, as I grew older, my spy training had to take a back seat to this annoying thing people called "The Real World". This Read World took up all of my time and bored the crap out of me.

Until, last Sunday, I was able to put all my old training into good use for the first time in 19 years! It was on a wonderful thing called a paintball field. Granted, I was a bit rusty, but actually using my flying dive in real life was totally worth landing in a pile of mud and getting shot in the stomach! My sniper techniques came flowing back to me picturing good old barbie between my rubber band sling shot. If there was ever a profession I was meant to excel in it was this. I was born to be a rogue paintball hunter! (That would be me on the left behind the mask.)

I won the award for best slaughtering during the first round and the best bruise (taking a killer close up in the thigh). I have included a shot of the winning bruise for your viewing pleasure. I am very proud of my first war wound.

Bust It, Baby Chicken.

2008-07-18T06:32:00.000-07:00

Being home sick has never really been my favorite thing to do. I tend to bore easily and start to hallucinate. This time I recorded my hallucination for everyone to share!

Where's the love? No, not you Justin.

2008-07-17T05:42:00.000-07:00

My best friend and cousin, Jason, got married two years ago next week. Unfortunately, he recently found out that 6 months ago his wife began cheating on him.

Why isn't love enough? What happened to the ever lasting, awe inspiring, enduring all things, fly through the moon love we were always told is out there. Is this just some cruel joke to get us to get married and procreate? This is an odd emotion that I am feeling right now. What is it... depression... longing... confusion... runny nose? Am I hungry? Aha... I know, I think I might be slightly peeking around my cynicism and am terrified at what I see. Bloody stumps lying everywhere, carcases as far as the eye can see, the wounded hobbling towards cover.

I know this is the conversation of a little girl, but why, why is it always when we get older and jaded we realize the truth. Can we all just hold on to a little tiny bit on that fantasy. Carry an itty-bitty smidgen into reality. No, I know we can't. Oh, welcome back cynicism, I have missed you.

Well, there is a wonderful man writhing around in pain tonight, trying to collect the pieces he has left because a woman couldn't trust that love was enough and keep her skirt on. The days of husbands being the whore has passed. Feminism is in, we have equal rights now. We can be just as slutty, promiscuous, back stabbing and hurtful as you. But we can do it in 5" stilettos.

Is hiking romantic... I just don't see it

2008-07-16T11:04:00.000-07:00

Dave and I went out on a Non-date a few nights ago. We've known each other since high school and have been going out on non-dates for that last 10 years. There has always been a little flirty banter back and forth but he's never actually tried anything. I've never encouraged his advances, but I guess I've never deterred them either and lately I've noticed his flirtiness has been steadily climbing the physical ladder. Humph.

Well, the other night we decided to do some light hiking and then grab some dinner. We got to the suspension bridge walk during daylight and decided to walk the entire length so we could see the bridge before dusk. As we walked he would slip his arm around my shoulder and drag me closer to him. Retarded moron that I am, I thought nothing of this and just smiled as I walked along picking at the cattails and jumping in and out of the swampy mud. Growing up always around boys I have a tendency to think of all my guy friends as brothers or men with no penis', a eunuch. Harmless, fun, and entertaining. Well, this eunuch's parts seemed to have grown back this evening.

Once we reached the end of the bridge the sky was gorgeous. Bright blue and purple streaks reached down to rest against lush green mountains far into the Appalachian Trail. As I stood admiring natures glory, hands reach around my waist admiring my own glory. Before I realized what exactly was going on, Dave had pulled me back to rest against his chest and I had shrunk into a ball of mucus unable to move, breath or yelp. Regaining my senses I pointed to the stream and shrieked "Let's see if it's warm," quickly dashing out his grasp and down the bridge.

I avoided physical contact for the next few minutes by launching myself onto the other side of the muddy bog. To my disappointment, my genius backfired when I got stuck and he had to come help me across.

On our walk back there were other groups coming along the walkway so, thank God, we travelled mostly in silence. There is a point at the beginning of the walk where it is shaded by a canopy of leaves and vines. At this point I looked over at Dave and he gave me the look. The oh my God he's going to try to kiss me look. Now let me place you into my stunning gold roped sandals at this moment.

Dave dated my best friend all through high school. After hitting on me for a year and realizing he wasn't getting any, we fell into a comfortable friendship that only included the occasional dirty proposition. Mind you, he was still dating my best friend the entire time he was hitting on me. And yes, she knew about it. He also happened to sleep with every other one of her friends every time they were on a "break". Why, you might ask, would so many girls want to sleep with this whoring mangina? Well, he was "that guy", you know, that guy in high school girls practically hump as he walks by, falling at his feet to buff his toes nails and glimpse at his ankles. Fortunately for me that's just not my type.

Back to present day. Dave, still not my type, has decided to scoop me up and is looking down at me with the face. A moment holding all the romance of a dirty sock stuck to my left butt cheek seems to feel like Walk Disney's actual bowel movement to him. As he closes in I manage to turn my head to face the trees wriggling until he has to let me go or land in the swamp on top of me. He decides to put me down looking all the more unsated and restless like a puppy I just kicked in the ribs.

The rest of the night I feigned interest while running the horror over and over in my mind. Around 12 I kissed him on the cheek as I jump out of his car and haven't been able to call since. Is this the end of a fabulous friendship? I don't seem to have the ability to be mean to this guy, but the nauseating bile that rises every time his lips come near mine seems to be putting a damper on our outings.

Camp Crystal Lame

2008-07-15T17:17:00.001-07:00

I'm an active girl. I like hiking, swimming, running, and other outdoor physical activities. There is just one outdoor event I could never really understand. Camping.

I think I need a little help here people. What exactly is the fun in camping? Why do people all over the world decide to gather together and sleep outside on the ground with no electricity or plumbing? Where's my vacational pillow top mattress and terry cloth robe?

Yes, I would love to pee in the bushes, wash my face in a muddy stream, hang my food in the trees, and sleep on rocks all night. How could I miss such an awesome experience!? Well, for some strange reason, I have agreed to go on my first camping trip/reunion. As if camping wasn't enough, I get the added torture of seeing all my old high school "friends" when I wake up in all my puffy glory. I have my best friend Amy to thank for this hellish experience. She decided her nostalgia needed to be forced upon others, since I clearly didn't have any of my own.

My only hope is that some crazed lunatic in a hockey mask will come dashing out of the bushes and chase all the merry campers around with his lovely machete leaving me to roast my marshmallows and drink my tequila in peace. That way when I sneak away to the nearest motel everyone will be to busy trying to protect their entrails to notice.

Go Psycho Killer! Ra-Ra!

If you want to hit on a girl, DON'T puke first ...and other bonfire tales.

2008-07-14T08:31:00.000-07:00

Friday night I decided all I wanted to do was cuddle into my warm bed, read the book I've been trying to finish, and eat some Lorna Doones with milk. Unfortunately, my friend Julia called and some how my mouth said I'd be right over before I could stop it. My one condition was that I could stay in my jammies of course. So, at 10pm I hightailed it over to see her new house and her new fiance Steve. (I had actually met Steve before and liked him, but that was before he was her fiance, which brings a whole new set of judging standards.)

When I arrived, after performing my appropriate fawning over the ring duties, we went inside to get some drinks. Once inside I was greeted by a man named Scottie. He proceeded to down 1 bloody mary, 2 buds, 2 shots of vodka, walk outside and puke in the bushes, walk back inside and hit on me. Though terribly flattered that this wasted, sweaty, catch of a guy chose me to set his sights on, I quickly helped convince him I just wasn't his type. (Good to know my Superhero power of vile loser attraction in still working.)

Once outside and settled warmly around the fire, we got into a nice flow of conversation despite Scottie's incessant chant of "oh dear, oh dear, oh deary deary dear..." We decided a few things that night:

1. Newark is a very scary place for a white country boy.
2. The disgusting nauseousness of a girl sitting on a guys lap is 100% accepted if the plastic chair breaks and they both land on the floor, 50% accepted if only one lands on the floor.
3. No matter how much you hate weddings, they are worth it for an open bar with top shelf liquor.
4. When a guys is really drunk, he doesn't seem to mind asking another guy to help him pee.
5. Once a guy is on a girl's "F**k only" list, he NEVER has a chance at having a reationship with that girl. EVER.

My love... how I have missed you.

2008-07-11T17:47:00.000-07:00

I have re-discovered an old flame. This man came into my life when I just a child. I held on to him for a very long time, but one day I realized he might be just a little to old for me. When my mother found out about our love affair we were harshly separated. I haven't been the same since.

Yesterday, while over a friends house, I noticed my old love sitting quietly in the other room. Almost as if he was just waiting for my return. I walked over and caressed his gray casing and plastic label. I played Super Mario Brothers for an hour that night and have downloaded it onto my PC so I can play with him whenever I feel the urge. Oh, how I have missed our time together. That bushy mustache, that cute little red jumper, all my old feeling just came rushing back and I am once again addicted to my Mario.

Pass the soap, I feel dirty.

2008-07-11T05:39:00.000-07:00

I was having a conversation with my mother this morning and she said something that made my ears shrivel up and and retreat back into the canal. There are certain phrases that I just can't seem to handle coming from my mother's lips and apparently "going down on her" is just one of them. Is it just me, or would you have wanted to throw up your skim milk and breakfast banana after hearing these words come out of your parents mouth?

Then, when I appropriately freaked out and started screaming, holding my ears and jumping up and down, she just said, "Stop being a baby! I heard that in a song playing in the mall the other day."

Forget worrying about the minds of impressionable youth, what about the damage dirty songs have done to our parents? Mothers and fathers all around the world saying things like: panty foamin', lady lumps, head sprung, spank that yank that jiggle that. I could have a seizure just thinking about it.

Urh... I still have some remnants of the shakes from this scarring experience.

Shawty get loose - shawty take a nap...

2008-07-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

My progression of bad sleeping habits has recently taken a strange turn. When I was in high school I went through this horrible bout of insomnia just before I graduated. The doctor asked if I had an unusual amount of stress in my life. I told him I was a teenage girl in high school, trying to stay a virgin and simultaneously win the war between me and the P.E. department. I would spend the late night hours eating chocolate raspberry truffle ice cream and catching up on late night with Howard Stern.

In college I developed narcolepsy. I would fall asleep anywhere there was a stable surface. Being a waitress was very difficult during this period.

After I graduated college and got a "real job" I started sleeping like the dead. Nothing could wake me. It was the most heavenly bliss I have ever known. I actually slept through my neighbors house catching on fire, the siren's lullaby were so soothing.

Recently, I've starting having fitful sleep. I toss and turn, stare at the ceiling, balance my check book, play with the AC, punch my pillow and finally fall asleep to repeat the cycle twenty minutes later. A few days ago someone told me that the best was to get a good nights sleep is to tire yourself out so bad you just pass out. Well, passing out just happened to sound like nirvana to me, so for the past two nights I have decided to try this new plan. What, I considered, would I enjoy doing and be terribly exhausted afterwards?

You must DANCE!

So I have concocted a masterful iPod mix of every insane dance song I can think of and made myself shake my butt for one hour before I go to bed. It has been two days and this genius plan actually seems to be working! I have not had a full nights sleep yet, but each night seems to be inching a little bit closer with every Ho spanking butt dropping lyric. Tonight's mix of Busta Rhymes, Missy Elliott, and the ever trampy Pussy Cat Dolls may finally take the cake. At the very least I have no reason to feel guilty about eating that crispy creme at lunch.

A happy single female? What is this world coming to?

2008-07-09T05:51:00.000-07:00

"I am a 27 year old single happy woman." According to some people, by saying that statement, I have just made a big fat smelly cheese encrusted lie to cover up my desperate yearning for manly fulfillment in my worthless humiliating life. Well, excuse me, I actually thought I was telling the truth!

I am the first person to admit I am not an expert on relationships and life, but I think I know how I feel better that anyone else. I do actually live in this body every moment of the day. Since this is such a rarity you might want to get your cameras out for the next statement. I am truly happy with myself, even when there is no one around. Shocker huh!?! Couldn't you just fall over and die!

Yes, I am sure most people in this world, including single women, feel a need to have someone to share parts of their life with (even *gasp* cuddle with). Although, that doesn't mean that your life is meaningless if you do not have that one aspect. Happiness and contentment in life is something we should all have the ability to experience regardless of our gender and relationship status.

In her article "Forget this tosh about 'freemales' - single women who say they are happy are lying" Dr. Pam Spurr says:

"...do you believe any single woman over 30 is being honest when she claims to be happy that way? I don't.

What's really going on behind that confident demeanour and fulfilled exterior is crushing loneliness and desperation.

Single women become adept at playing the isn't-life-grand game. They have to do it around men so they don't appear desperate."

Working as a life coach you would think a person wouldn't use such blanket statements like these. Come on women, apparently we should just give up this charade and slit our wrists already, this life is just not worth living without a man. I'm sorry, did I just put on a hoop skirt and apron or am i hallucinating?

Dr. Spurr goes on to recites countless stories of single women coming to her and pouring out their miserable souls in attempts to come clean about their incredible lonely and hate filled fake lives of singledom. Has any one ever thought that maybe these women need to figure out how to make themselves happy and not rely on a man to do that. What are they going to do when they get married and everything isn't peach cobbler and Sunday's under the covers. You're no Cinderella ladies and Prince Charming is a fairy tale! Having a plus one does not fulfill your life, it does not give your magical happy dust and it does not make you a mature balanced individual.

We are continually being admonished not to "romanticise singledom", well I say stop romanticising marriage. You show me a couple who can honestly say that they are happy every single second of their lives because they have the love of their partner and that's all that truly matters and I will eat my sock. Don't get me wrong, I am not a marriage hater, but I do like to think of myself as a realist. Life is difficult, therefore marriage is difficult and single life is difficult. We should go into all situations without blinders, knowing fully what we are getting ourselves into. Not being delusional and thinking anyone can fix our problems, but ourselves.

Be happy with yourself, then you can be happy with someone else.

Let me conclude this rant is the basest of statements; marriage does not equal happy and single does not equal sad.

Jersey summers smell like Jager

2008-07-08T06:20:00.000-07:00

Summer is finally here and in full blast. Flowers are blossoming, asphalt is steaming, middle aged Latin woman are showing way to much midriff, and I am soaking in every sweaty second. I absolutely love summers in Jersey. What would July be without a Guido with a popped collar fixing his hair in your side mirror? Well, every summer I've been carrying on a tradition that has been passed down to every Jersey girl since the beginning of boardwalks. Our annual trek to mecca; down the shore. (Jersey translator: down the shore = I'm going to the beach)

Luckily, most of my family happens to live down the shore, so my mecca doesn't have to be limited to a weekend free-for-all. I am proud to say I'm not a Benny, but became an adopted Tommy when I was thirteen. (Benny = The moron tourists from up north, that increase traffic, pollute the beach, and have no idea that everyone hates them. Tommy = a local who hates all Bennies) I have been making this journey every summer since I was twelve and every year that passes continues to show me a constantly familiar yet always entertaining side of Jersey.

There are the quiet mornings where you can run along the beach, watching the surf play against the eroding sands. This may be my favorite part of the shore. Old couples sit on the benches along the deserted boardwalk smiling as you try to detach the six pack plastic ring from around your ankle. Every pulsating light is waiting to be turned on and every alley is crying to be swept. The walk feels almost like its yearning to be thriving with young writhing bodies once again. And it doesn't take long for that wish to come true. By mid-day the beach is filled with hot sweaty flesh jockeying for the best position to lay out their towel and bake in the Jersey sun. Obnoxious hoots and hollers float through the air from game runners taunting you to pop their balloon. And the hiss of another tourist ironing "Jersey Shore '08 We pump our fists, Not our gas" on their tank top.

Evenings are, of course, what the shore is really made of in the summer. Every moment must be documented with colorful hand gestures and various alcohol decorating each picture. If it wasn't on camera, it didn't happen. Being a somewhat attractive female I have also learned the art of not getting dry humped in the corner of the dance floor. You can always tell non-Jersians by the muffled screams coming from in between two spiky haired Bennies. Most guys can't handle a true Jersey girl and wind up scampering away with their tail between their legs before the second Jager shot is poured.

This year though, having practically lived down the shore for the past 12 months, I decided to try my hand at being a Benny, but in someone elses state. So, I rented a house in Virginia beach and for seven days I will have to leave my beloved Jersey and drag all my friends to pollute Virginia Beach with our loud mouths, hard drinking and general insanity. I have only two weeks before I can make my 6 hour drive and I can barely contain myself. For some reason the prospect of partying in someone else's town always makes me feel like I'm doing something naughty. Like I sneaked into a house and have to hide from the cops. And that makes it all the more fun!

I am NOT old, I'm just really sore...

2008-06-23T08:51:00.000-07:00

Something has happened between the age of 24 and 27. My body seems to have decided there is no use keeping up this charade and has begun it's slow decent towards death. Yes, I know I am still young, but apparently my body doesn't and wants to punish me every time I try to convince it otherwise. Saturday morning was brilliant, the sun was shining, small birds were perched at my shoulders, rodents danced around while sewing me a silk dress (milking the silk worms by hand!), and so I decided it was the perfect day to reestablish my exercise regime.

I donned my new lime green sports bra and a pair of running pants, strapped my iPod to my arm and started out the door. About 10 minutes later something strange happened. My insides seemed to be ripping the side of my stomach apart to get out of my un-cooperative body, my steps sounded like elephants clomping on troublesome circus folk, and my lungs refused to continue working unless I produced that chocolate cake I promised them. I was only halfway through my jog when I was able to convince myself that I could always walk in-between hills. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that second bagel with extra cream cheese before I left, but that had never bothered me before.

As I rounded the lake my usual delight of watching the sun peek over the hills was dampened by coughing and hacking as I gasped for air and scratched desperately at my throat. I settled for watching the ants scurry about while I leaned over and laid my head against a cool boulder. Glancing up I noticed the lifeguards starting their morning exercise routine. I quickly hopped back into a jog and floated by with a smile. "Aye, I totally have been running for the last 27hours while writing my memoirs in my head, debugging that Java code I wrote last week, finding a cure for cancer and I haven't even broken a sweat," I plastered on my face. Once passed them, I fell into the bushes to try to keep the ground from smacking my face and hoped nothing crawled on my stomach while unconscious.

I'm somehow able to drag myself out of the dirt, and decide to take the shortcut home through the woods. If a bear comes he can just eat me. I'm too tired to put up a fight.

I woke up the next morning and realized the jogging part was the least of my problems when I tried to sit up. My butt was now going to be a permanent part of my bed because I was not moving without Hannibal Lector chasing me off. Every muscle in my ass was the density of a rock and felt like it had been crushed with a tractor, my knees were making these strange creaking rubber band noises, and it was impossible for me to move my ankles. Impossible!

It has been two days now since my run of hell and I am still walking like Peewee Herman in platforms. I'm going running today when I get home. 24 here I come.