Emma and I have been tight since she was in high school, and last weekend was her 25th birthday which, yes, made me feel incredibly old. But I'm feeling old lately anyway. For Emma's 25th birthday, and and her friends came to Vegas, and if you want to see all of the pictures, just click here. It was a fun night. There was some crazy running around, and finally we ended up in Rum Jungle (don't ask).
Emma made friends with a grandpa who was tearing up the dance floor.
Emma put on a little show.
Toni & Steph were ... classy.
And then there was Jan.
Let's not, to begin with, talk about how we know Jan. It's embarassing. But here's how the story goes. So, Emma and I head out of the club to smoke. Rum Jungle is located in such a way that it's also right next to the doors that lead out of the Mandalay Bay, so you can see the taxi area. We look out of the doors, and there is Jan, seemingly drunk beyond all human control, to the point where security has been called and are trying to manage him in.
Emma and I sigh.
Emma and I head outside.
Emma and I sit down on a bench and Emma hollers, "Jan, over here."
Jan stumbles over to us and immediately plants his six foot four Nordic (he's Swedish, hence the name) frame on my lap. I'm like, "Excellent. Comfortable. "
Security comes over to ask Emma and I if we want them to remove Jan. Emma's like "No, we're straight." Emma, of course, does not have a six foot four Swedish dude on her lap.
And then Emma turns to say something to Jan, and then she immediately starts tugging on my arm until I turn to her, and then she says:
"LOOK HOW MUCH POWDER IS UP HIS NOSE!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Dude, not just up his nose, really all over his face. It must have been the line to end all lines. It's like it's Halloween and he's going as a druggie ghost.
Then, valet pulls up with Jan's car. WTF? Who gives somebody who's so intoxicated that you had to call security on them a car to drive, even in Vegas? Emma is not having this. "Oh HELL no," she tells valet, "You straight can't give him a CAR. What are you THINKING? You put him in a cab."
Like, the 25-year-old party girl should not have to be telling this to the Mandalay Bay valets, seriously.
So they get him a cab. Jan offers me money for sex, because that's what he does. I consider it for a moment because there are these hot Jimmy Choos I want, but there was no way that wasn't going to be a mess (you can decide for yourself how much of that last train of thought was true). I kiss Jan on the cheek to say goodbye and it's like licking a table that people just did blow off of for an entire night. Emma walks over the cab.
"I'm sorry about your passenger. He stays at the MGM. I'm really sorry about your passenger."
And the look that the cab driver gives her is so "Oh Jesus. Another? I wish I were a cab driver anywhere except Vegas."
Except that given how Jan was throwing money around (literally), that cab driver probably made out.
And Emma and I? We go back inside to get our dance on. Because, sadly, Jan is a normalcy in the Rum Jungle.
Right, I know I said Friday, but I really didn't get around to finishing this until this morning.
So, St. Patrick's Day.
(Is that going to be funny every time when I put "St. Patrick's Day" in bolded green font?)
St. Patrick's Day was supposed to be mellow. There was a plan. The plan was that K-Rock, Hott Scott and I were going to run Six Tunnels and then we were going to go see Flogging Molly at the House of Blues that night, have a few cocktails and then turn in. That was the plan. Mellow, more or less. Nobody (by which I mean me specifically, but might mean others) has been in a mood for a rager here in a while. And honestly, I'm okay with that.
Six Tunnels was delightful. Hott Scott insists that we show up at the crack of dawn, which turns out to be not necessary but nice nonetheless because you can see some special sights in an off-strip casino at 6:00am. The run is beautiful, the weather is beautiful, it's a great way to start the day.
Things begin to go wrong right after that. To begin with, I don't get a chance to nap at all between awaking at 5:00am to run and meeting up for pre-Flogging Molly drinks at 5 or 6pm or whatever time we met up. I intended to nap, but I had a bunch of errands to run and it didn't quite work out that way. So I'm already exhausted by the time we hook up at the classy, classy Mermaid Bar at Mandalay Bay in the early evening.
It's fight night at the Mandalay, which means that the crowd is a mix of frat boys who never quit being frat boys ... and Mexicans. And then there are a bunch of hipsters and punks and aged-out punks and Irish nationalists running around for the Flogging Molly show. I was sure there was going to be a race riot, or more accurately a social-class riot, but in the name of St. Patrick everybody seemed to get along just fine.
So, the show. Firstly, the show begins with the single most awesome opening act you will ever see - The Cherry Cokes. Apparently, Irish punk is all the rage in Japan, and so there are now a series of Japaness bands that play Irish punk. I'm not making this up, and also I almost enjoyed this band more than I enjoyed FM. They were brilliant in a completely non-logical way. Enjoy.
And then we meet Teddy.
Teddy is everything you hate about people who answer the question "Where are you from?" with the answer "I'm from Seattle, but me and my band moved down to LA. And then we broke up."
Firstly, let's talk about Teddy's form of introduction. Scottie has wandered off, and K-Rock and I are chilling at the bar when I sense that somebody, somewhere, is WAY too far into my personal space. I turn, and there is Teddy, standing silently and stalkerishly about half an inch from my body. Teddy also looks like everything you would expect from somebody who answers the question "Where are you from?" with the answer "I'm from Seattle, but me and my band moved down to LA. And then we broke up." He has on the obligatory hipster striped Sesame Street reminiscent shirt, the shaggy but still sculpted hair and the kind of "dead behind the eyes but not quite" stare.
Teddy wants FRIENDS. OMG TEDDY WANTS FRIENDS. And Teddy is going to get friends using the most tried and true method of obtaining friends: Round after round of Washington Apple shots. I am having one of those nights where I am immune to alcohol (unlike Friday night of this week, where I had four cocktails over four hours and have now been violently ill for two days), but Teddy is not having one of those nights where he is immune to alcohol, and he gets progressively drunker and drunker.
Now, anybody who knows me knows that I am and have been for a while now a tad bit irrationally hung up on a boy, and Teddy is about the polar opposite of K-Rock's kind of thing, but it's St. Patrick's Day and we're out and about and so we're enjoying the company of our fake, hipster, shared boyfriend, Teddy. That is until Scott comes back. Scott will steal your date straight out from under you at any time in any place. And he turns to Teddy and asks him about what kind of music he plays, and Teddy is gone to K-Rock and I. Hott Scott has stolen our boyfriend, and frankly I'm still a little pissed off about it. Teddy LOVES Hott Scott and his interest in his music and decides to celebrate by buying another round of Washington Apple shots.
And then Teddy is obliterated. He begins obliterated by sidling up to me and saying, "I think you're really pretty and I want us to be best friends forever."
"Really," I say, "Would you still want us to be best friends forever if I were forty pounds overweight and played the washboard in a band for a living?"
Teddy, in fairness, actually takes a solid minute to think about this. And then he says, "No."
At which point, I was going to entertain him and talk to him anyway because at least he was honest, but the band got good and I wanted to listen. And so Teddy moves on to K-Rock and her luscious boobs. And, well, that doesn't go so well because Teddy is so drawn in by the voluptuousness of K-Rock's boobs that he can't help but to reach out and grab them, at which point Hott Scott can't help but to reach out and grab Teddy. And so, Hipster Teddy and his Hipster Ways are forced to exit the night under the heavy hand of the punk rock version of Hott Scott. And what have we learned? You don't grab women's boobs at an Irish punk show unless said women are too drunk to know better and/or don't have their ripped up runner bodyguards with them.
After the show, we head over to the bar at Fleur de Lys to meet up with Al and Sue, who are finishing up dinner. We sit in the bar, having more drinks and truffle popcorn and watching the rowed up testosterone lovers exit the fight. And then Al and Sue join us for drinks and popcorn and then Al says, "I'm a VIP Gold member at the Penthouse Club. Wanna head over there?"
Because what St. Patrick's Day is complete unless you end it with some naked boob hanging over your table and a free bottle of vodka? Screw you and your green beer and leprechaun chicks. We want Stoli and some girl whose resume says "Dancer" and who carries a little purse onto stage with her to put her thong in when it comes off.
It was a good St. Patrick's Day. If I see Teddy's band around, I'll go to a show. There'll probably even be a song called "Washington Apple" in which he laments not having been able to fully realize the passionate love of K-Rocks breasts.
Hit It: A Tuesday Five Before We Break Back Into Holiday Coverage
1.OH MY GOD THE RIVERS CUOMO RELEASE DROPPED TODAY!!!! MY DOWNLOAD FINGER COULDN'T HIT THE BUTTON FAST ENOUGH. Don't call me. DON'T. I will be listening to this album all day every day for the rest of the week because it is AMAZING.
2. C-Woo has a blog now! It's in the link list and you can access it here! And I'll probably be referencing it all the time because I always reference her MySpace blog, which you can't see and which I hear may be going away even though apparently we've all told her not to bail on MySpace. So, anyway, enjoy.
3. Happy Valentine's Day. Listen, given the givens of the "complications" of my life right now, Valentine's Day was going to be interesting anyway. But now, now it will not be. Because what I will be doing on Valentine's Day is going to my DUI arraignment. Yes. That will be my Valentine's Day. A courtroom. Special thanks, by the way, to Moon for gently guiding me on this. Wanna know how much love my friends show? Here are some responses when I informed them that I'd be spending Valentine's Day in court.
Said Pookie: "I'll take you out to dinner...or, um, deliver it to your holding cell ;)" (Could you, Pook? Could you do that? Awesome. Maybe even a bottle of wine.)
Said McD: "I'll send you a heart-shaped box of chocolates. With a file inside." (Clever.)
From Darren: "What's the problem with that? Bring a date to the Courthouse. Or better, make your lawyer your date. Offer "Valentine favors" dependent upon the level of his success in the courtroom." (Moon might kill me since he recommended my lawyer. Or he might be infinitely amused. Hell, for all I know, he recommended this guy thinking he'd probably get laid with me as a client.)
From Princess Dee and Big E: "Erik, 'man on the bright side' said that maybe you will meet a great guy also there for the same thing in court that day. And then have a good time with him, but then ditch him because of SMOS. He catches on quick." (I don't even know what to say to that.)
Perhaps, though, the following story is my favorite story. I didn't have time to email the person who shared it and confirm that I could attribute it to them, so I'm leaving it anonymous though said guilty party is welcome to use the comment function to let you all know that he's the rock star being referenced in the story. The story is even funnier if you know that the person who's telling it has a house, a responsible job, three kids and just sent out a holiday card of his family swathed in argyle:
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, at least you didn't have to get picked up from jail by your pregnant wife at 3 am.
I think we were married about two months and Mrs. Anonymous was definitely looking for the return receipt on her husband after that one. Luckily, I beat it in court, which it turns out is pretty easy with a good attorney. Of course, the whole experience cost me about $2500, so now I consider it my tuition into adulthood."
(But I don't want to enter adulthood, tuition-based or otherwise).
4. Ashleigh: By the way, left for her fourth month bike race for charity down the West Coast of Africa. I'm so freakin' proud of her for getting out there and living it. Send her positive vibes please.
5. This ... is what I found in my inbox from Ferris the other day. I wanted to argue that Prince has never done anything that was a crime against music in his life, but, well, I mean. I think the video speaks for itself.
Paul & Kari's Wedding Chapter Two: "It's Your Wedding Night ... And You're Returning a Rental Van???"
So, firstly, we needed to leave for the wedding by 1:30pm. Wanna know when my bag - the one that was PROMISED to my by 12:30pm showed up? 1:20pm. I threw such a yelling, screaming, irate fit that the boys working the front desk at the Holiday Inn (cause I'm about class in hotel accomodations) were actually terrified that this might escalate into something violent. And they work in a concealed weapons state!
By this point, Kolodny had convinced me that if my bag didn't show up, I should attend the ceremony in the clothes that I flew in. I figured he was right and I would go with it. Now, I should let you know that the night before I had spilled margarita down the front of me while I was waiting for eight hours in the airport. I should also tell you that there was NO WAY I was going to put my underwear that had already been on for over 24 hours back on, so sans bag I was headed out commando and with a margarita stain down the front of me. When the bag arrived, I had just enough time to put on underwear and brush my teeth. Margarita stain stayed. I shoved some sunglasses on my head to cover up the fact that my hair was all a bundle from having been washed that morning with Holiday Inn brand shampoo. I was delightful looking. Here's a picture of me and my friends at the wedding. See how nice they all look? I have on sunglasses, some Puma boots, no makeup and a coat to cover up my huge booze stain. Nice.
The ceremony itself is lovely. Not too long, not too short, Kari's dress is lovely, the color is candy-apple red and it looks good on everybody, the chapel is candle-lit, and in the cutest move ever, the flower girl carries a full basket of petals down the aisle and then dumps the entire thing out when she gets to the end. Adorable.
And even after the wedding, the day stays sane. DaveShaft, Robyn, Kolodny and I head downtown where I pound two drinks while they do not pound two drinks each. We have some cheeseless pizza because we are in the ONE PIZZA JOINT ON THE PLANET THAT DOES NOT SELL BREAD STICKS. I buy some bobby pins. It's all good. We go back to the hotel where I can clean up and put on my actual dress and pin up my hair to cover up the mess that was caused by the Holiday Inn brand shampoo. And then we head off to the reception, which is where the real fun begins.
And yes, IU folk, I will email you the uncleaned version of all of this stuff later. Patience. Patience.
It begins with how we get lost on the way to the reception. The reception, by the way, is being held in THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE in the DARK OF NIGHT IN TEXAS. You actually drive by a cult building on the way there, and then you get on a weird one lane road that had no lights and seemingly no signs for anything. Let me begin with the following, the location for the reception is perfect. I would want to have a wedding reception there. It's just hard to find.
The trip there goes something like this.
Robyn Johnson City... isn't that our exit.
DaveShaft Um, I don't think so. (looks at directions as we drive miles past exit) Yep, that was our exit.
(Insert Kolodny sitting in back seat with bemused expression)
Robyn Dave, do you have a vibe? Because I don't have a vibe, but directions are all about having a vibe, so if you have a vibe that we should just continue to drive straight down this road, then we'll just continue to drive straight down this road. Because I don't have a vibe, but if you have a vibe then we'll just follow your vibe.
(Insert Kolodny sitting in back seat with bemused expression)
Robyn Let's get directions from the guy driving the truck from the Salt Lick barbecue place.
Me That guy is cute.
Robyn Do you want me to tell him that you think he's cute?
Me I mean, no. I mean, I have certain limits, you know, and he is driving a truck from the Salt Lick barbecue place.
DaveShaft 'Hello, sir. Jocelyn would like to sample your salt lick.'
(Insert Kolodny sitting in back seat with bemused expression)
This picture pretty much represents the drive there. It's Robyn and DaveShaft in a gas station, huge map tangled up in front of them, figuring shit out.
(Insert Kolodny sitting in back seat with bemused expression)
We then get to the reception. The TEXAS reception. Where dinner is barbecue. From the Salt Lick no less! Also, the reception is in a dry county, so the bridesmaids are serving liquor, which is possibly the most awesome thing I've ever seen. I'm sitting at an all IU table with Amanda, Amanda's friend, AB, Erik and Robyn and DaveShaft. Don't you worry, at no point did we sing the fight song. But at one point, Robyn and I head out to the bar where - in said dry county - they're only supposed to give you one glass. We come back with a bottle. That's right, our table was the table that insisted on our own bottle. What's misleading about this is that WE WERE IN ABSOLUTELY NO WAY THE DRUNKEST PEOPLE THERE.
It is also around this time that Robyn, bless her heart, decides she needs to find me a "nice boy." This story is funnier if you stay with me till the "Hunter" story at the end. I turn to find Robyn, who will never be deterred once she sets her mind on something, dragging some poor, unsuspecting boy who later turns out to be the SON OF A PASTOR over to me by his arm.
"Tom from Texas, this is Jocelyn. Jocelyn, this is Tom from Texas. Tom is nice. Jocelyn is nice. Discuss."
And then she disappears.
The first round of conversation goes something like this.
Me So, you've lived in Texas all your life?
Tom from Texas Yep.
Me Do you own a cowboy hat?
Tom from Texas I do.
Me Do you own a large belt buckle?
Tom from Texas I do.
Me Huh. How about that? ROBYYYYYYN.
No, Tom from Texas was adorable and sweet and nice. He was actually the son of a Pastor AND a shrink, so much fun ensued when he decided to on-the-spot analyze me. Okay, that's not fair. He didn't so much decide to on-the-spot analyze me as I bullied him into doing just that. And if he's right - I might as well just confess to being a character from Sex and the City. Though it's possible that he analyzed me by just pulling out the characteristics of those women. Who knows. It was spooky.
The rest of the reception was fun. Super fun. I had a super good time. I talked with Paul's dad for a long time about football. I caught up with Amanda and it was surprisingly delightful. I ate *a lot* of potato salad. I drank a lot, yet was surprisingly un-drunk, which I attribute to the potato salad. Here are some pictures of "the fun."
After the reception, it was decided that a group of us would head down to Austin's famous Sixth Street to check out some bands. Oh, the cluster. I mean, fun cluster, but cluster nonetheless.
The first cluster involves trying to get out of the parking lot at the Holiday Inn. There are three vehicles involved. The drunk bus, a rental that apparently MUST be returned that night and which, also apparently, nobody but the bride and groom seem fit to return (hence Robyn's comment, "It's your wedding night ... and you're returning a rental van?"), DaveShaft's rental and Kolodny's rental. There is some basic plan about returning the van and then splitting into two cars and meeting up at a set location on Sixth Street.
In the drunk bus: AB who got to be designated driver due to a series of events with the original designated driver that are way too inappropriate to discuss on this blog, me (who is not drunk despite copious amounts of alcohol both now and later in the night. I attribute this again to the copious amounts of potato salad earlier. Good to know.), the bride, the groom and the groom's younger brother. Here, enjoy a few drunk bus pictures.
The groom's younger brother is HAMMERED. He should not be coming out. My understanding, in fact, is that it was well known that he should not be coming out and that somebody actually had taken him upstairs and put him in his room previous to our heading out. However, it took us so long to figure out who was driving what cars, which cars were being taken downtown, where we were stopping, who was following whom, who was riding with whom, etc., that he kind of just wandered down and got into the drunk bus with us. Go figure. Now he's along for the ride, too.
After we finally get the cluster figured out and head out to return the rental bus. The rental bus needs to be returned to a place called Lonestar Rentals. I believe that all you need to know about the neighborhood in which Lonestar Rentals lives is that this comment was made as we were driving away, "Wow. I bet that you could buy some good meth in this neighborhood."
Exactly.
Now, the key point that you need to follow here is how things were split up into two separate cars after the Lonestar Rental experience. I went in a car with Robyn, AB, Drunk Brother of the Groom and me. Kolodny took the bride and groom to drop them at the hotel.
Here is what happens next, in this order.
Firstly, this. But before this, you should know that it was a common misconception at the wedding that DaveShaft and I were a couple. This, of course, was based on nothing other than the fact that we showed up together, otherwise dateless. It's very flattering to me that people think that since DaveShaft is an attractive, successful, personable man. Although I find it laughably ridiculous that people think that I would ever end up with a successful and personable man (see Hunter story). Anyway, firstly this:
Drunken Brother of the Groom You're so pretty. If I'd known Dave wasn't your husband, I would have been all up on you earlier.
Me Well, I'm nine years older than you, and I dated your brother, so that's ... not gonna be so much on the hook up tip for you.
Undeterred, our hero continues this for the rest of the night, often in such over-the-top manner that AB needs to be called in to mediate. Now, in fairness to Drunken Brother of the Groom, I don't discourage in the way that I could, it's true. This is not so much in any way out of a desire to explore the evening with a twenty-four-year-old, hammered, relative of a man I once went out with. It's really just because I find Drunken Brother of the Groom a harmless kid who doesn't need horrible, awful rejection. And because at times it's kind of funny.
The second thing that happens is that we lose Kolodny. Well, really, it's that we never find him once we get downtown. Remember that Kolodny is in a second car taking the bride and groom to the hotel (and how did that happen, by the way?). So Robyn, AB, Drunken Brother of the Groom and I go to a FANTASTIC bar where there is a FANTASTIC band that once again makes me want to run to the hills and move to Austin. And a flurry of calls and text messages ensue, and basically we find Kolodny right about last call time. Which, also, by the way, is the time when the bouncer at the FANTASTIC bar tells Drunken Brother of the Groom that he is CUT OFF, BROTHA.
At which point we then lose Robyn and Drunken Brother of the Groom as they go to explore another bar.
And then a whole bunch of stuff happens that I just won't even go into. For a while, AB and I get lost getting pizza, and then everybody is lost, and then everybody finds each other. And then we go home. But you know what? Despite all of the cluster, we had an awesome time. See for yourself.
It's about 3:00am when we get home. Closer to 4:00am, really.
We're leaving for the airport at 7:30am.
So, if you're keeping track, that means that I had four hours of sleep, if that, on Friday, and will now get three hours of sleep, if that, on Saturday. Awesome.
We get to the airport on Sunday morning. (Thanks for the ride, Kolodny and Robyn). I get on the plane. I sit down in a middle seat because I really wanted to breakfast before getting on the plane so I was one of the last to board. I don't even look at who's sitting next to me on my NINE IN THE MORNING FLIGHT until I hear this:
"Thank God. I usually get stuck next to the fat, old guy when I fly. I hardly ever get to sit next to the little, pretty girl."
Ladies and gentlemen, meet Hunter. He's everything I said I was staying away from these days: in his early twenties, from a family with money, a heavy partier (which I know because he bought me Jack and Coke at 9:00am) and still searching for his soul. Awesome. I'll see him in two weeks. And you thought that Facebook question was a joke. Our first conversation went like this.
Him What do you think of this hoodie I'm wearing?
Me I think it's a little bit gay, honestly.
Him Some girl on the pom pom sqad at UNLV picked it out for me.
Me Well, you get what you ask for then.
Him You and I would have so much fun hanging out.
Me I know. (HUGE SIGH). I know.
And that, that was the wedding. Paul & Kari - Congratulations! It was all perfect. DaveShaft, Kolodny, Robyn, AB ... I miss you guys already. Drunken Brother of the Groom - WATER is your friend.
And so Thanksgiving was, as usual, fantastic. It was also, as usual, exhausting and full of cluster. But I am, as usual, very thankful for my wonderful friends and wonderful San Francisco ... and mimosas.
Wednesday, 7:30pm: A questionable call the evening before a three day gauntlet run in San Francisco is to have a dinner guest over. Right? Because then the things you are not doing between 7:00pm and around midnight or so include packing, sleeping or getting cat supplies ready. But dinner is lovely, and by the way there is a fantastic recipe in last month's Cooking Light for a holiday beef stew with Guinness and cranberry sauce. And it is amazing. And my dinner guest is the kind of super sweet dinner guest who shows up with flowers and wine and then offers to restore an antique picture of my grandmother that has some water damage, so that made me fine and content with not packing, sleeping or getting cat supplies ready in the evening.
Thursday, 4:30am: This is when you leave for the airport if you have a 6:00am flight on Thanksgiving morning. It sounds worse than it is in real life. I mean, it's early, but the airport is also peaceful. You're not battling crowds at check in or security or in the parking lots. You can grab a cup of coffee and sit and enjoy McCarrrean's free wireless. I mean, it's early. It means you haven't slept the night before, but it's got its benefits. That is all.
Thursday, 8:30am: This is when you arrive at Chez Halff and take a one hour nap, acting like that hour is going to make a difference.
Thursday, 9:30am: This is when you leave for Chez Kennelco. You were supposed to arrive by 10am, but you know that's hopeless. You say before you leave that no matter what time you get there, you are staying only for an hour because you need to nap before people come over for Thanksgiving dinner.
But then you get to Chez Kennelco, and you are having a wonderful time because Ken and Eleanor and their beautiful children are so lovely and so engaging. And it is sunny and warm outside and so Ken takes the kids out to play football and you get to spend your late morning sitting in the sun and watching kids toss a football in a perfectly manicured back yard on Thanksgiving day. And Eleanor is cooking in such a way that it is required that you pick fresh sage from her backyard garden, which somehow feels like the most appropriate Thanksgiving day chore altogether. And everybody has stories and it's warm in the kitchen and the kids are playing and it's all perfect. And you're a little bit jealous, except that you have to check yourself and remind yourself that your Thanksgiving is wonderful too. It's all good and perfect and delightful.
Thursday, 1:00pm-ish: Is when you arrive back at Chez Halff. You offer to help in the kitchen, and graciously Halff allows you to cut some brussel sprouts. But that is it! No working in kitchen de Halff. It's good that he, as he says, knows his limitations. Around 3ish, Rice, Michael and Ho show up.
And it's the best Thanksgiving in years.
Firstly, the food is amazing. The turkey is rubbed with sage and pancetta butter. Halff has made rich folk green bean casserole for me. There are pies, oh yes, there are pies.
And the company is spectacular. We laugh all night long. We play cards, which involves more laughing and the obvious realization that I can't count, as I'm the only one required to take notes to remember my score. Here is my favorite story of the night, as told by Michael:
"So I'm in the bank, and the teller is a cute girl, but, you know, I'm gay. And she and I are talking, and it's all like we like the same band and all, and we're both being friendly, you know? And so she says, 'Hey, that band is playing next week. We should go.' And I'm all like, 'Does she not realize that I'm gay?' But whatever. So I say, 'Sure. Can I bring my boyfriend, too?' And, no joke, she pauses, and then there's this huge sigh and she's all like, 'Suuuure. Siiiiiigh.' And I just keep on filling out my deposit slip. And she all keeps talking, and I swear to God what she says is, 'Mama told me. She said - you're thirty years old. Don't move to San Francisco, you'll never find a man. Mama told me.'"
Best.Thanksgiving.Story.Ever.
It really was so good. Every part of it. Thank you everybody.
Friday, 10amish: Is when shamus shows up for breakfast and Black Friday shopping. Breakfast, in case there hasn't been enough food yet, is homemade waffles with Halff's homemade cherry cranberry sauce over them.
Pumas are bought, and then...
shamus gets horribly, horribly ill. Horribly ill.
I'm just going to say that Friday is a day we will not recall. There is dry heaving. There is a need for Gatorade just to rehydrate what is lost. It's, well, not too pretty. I love you shamus! I do!
Saturday, 10amish: Is when you arrive at Chez Paul & Dex. It is also when the first round of the Jocelyn, Paul & Dex holiday tradition of mimosas served in huge pint glasses is served.
Holiday presents are exchanged. I get a bottle of Godiva Chocolate Liquor, which is as good a present as you can get. I text the following to Shimmy:
"Paul and Dex just gave me Godiva chocolate liquor, so we'll be drinking high end chocolate orange martinis at Bring the Naughty, Leave the Nice!"
To which Shimmy texts: "I love Paul and Dex."
Don't we all, don't we all.
We meet up with Dale for brunch at some mildly pretentious Castro brunch place, where we feel that the correct follow-up to mimosas is a bottle of wine.
Then we go back to Chez Paul & Dex where there is another round of mimosas and many, many hours of video game. And anime. Video games and anime. The afternoon pretty much looks like this from where I'm sitting.
And then we pass out. It's perfect.
Dinner is in the mall -- yes, the mall -- with lovely AshleighE. Here's a picture, taken specifically because we were in the Muni station and I said, "Hmmm. Soft lighting in here. This would be a very flattering place to take a picture of us.
One would think that that day was full enough, and involved enough drinking, but then Paul and I head out to Trad'r Sams to have cocktails with Melis and Howie. By cocktails, we mean a Black Magic, which pretty much puts us on our asses. But Melis and Howie look amazing. Here's my favorite quote from Melis, who is clearly the most awesome mother in the world (and I mean that seriously - because she knows who she is and doesn't let the fact that she has kids change her core, even if it has to change her outward behavior sometimes).
Melis You know, what we learned early was that, sure, you could get a baby sitter to stay until 4:00am and you could stay out, but no matter what you did, those kids were going to be up at 6:30am yelling, "Milk! Milk!" And the smell, too!
11:00pm: Is when you arrive back at Chez Paul and Dex and cram in four hours of sleep before calling a cab to leave for the airport again at 4:30am.
It was a perfect, perfect, perfect Thanksgiving. I love San Francisco. I love my friends. I'm thankful for at least two years where I could spend Thanksgiving there with them. I'm thankful, also, for mimosas.
Applesauce had a good time, too. And then he passed out drunk.
Oh my gosh. Can a person physically feel this beaten down? I am not 21 any more. Actually, this has been a hot topic among my friends and I lately -- How we've really been starting to notice that we don't recover as quickly as we used to. And we STARTED big in Vancouver. Sigh.
For the record, wining and dining is part of my *job* people. If you've ever worked in marketing or its less smart sisters sales, promotions and pr (ha ha ha ha, love you, mean it), you know that part of your job is to buy dinners and drinks and get everybody really drunk so we're all bonded.
Seriously, Vancouver folk, I love you even when we're not all drunk. Especially you, my little pecan.
So far this entry is four inside jokes and no coherent content. Awesome.
OH MY GOD, I FEEL LIKE CRAP.
Thursday - TOO MUCH WINE On Thursday, we literally have to leave to be at the airport at 5:00am. That is not hot. Our flights are fine, though. We get to Vancouver. I immediately get worried that ToniK has booked us into a hotel that is above our budget, but then I decide not to care and instead enjoy the art in the hotel hallway. Unfortunately for me, we are right on Robson. If you've ever been to Vancouver, then you know that that means we are RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF SHOPPING HEAVEN. And so we shop for a couple of hours and then nap. I bought this and this.
And then we have dinner plans with My Favorite Travis, My Favorite Erin and My Favorite Mike (MFM) of My Favorite Client. I had had reservations about having dinner with My Favorite Client and all of My Favorite People on Thursday because part of the reason that they are my Favorites is because they know how to eat and HOW TO DRINK WINE LIKE THE VINEYARDS WILL BE NUCLEAR BLASTED TOMORROW. We went to dinner at Blue Water and also ate sushi like ALL THE FISH IN THE OCEAN WILL BE NUCLEAR BLASTED TOMORROW. I think I can still feel sushi inside me from that meal.
So, to review, before leaving the hotel, ToniK and I have a glass of wine each at the posh wine reception our over-budget hotel does each Thursday.
While we are waiting to be seated, I have a gimlet. Okay, whatever, two gimlets.
Over dinner, we split two bottles of wine among five people.
After dinner, we head back to MFM's place where two more bottles of wine are had.
My Favorite Travis and ToniK were not drinking all that much, so the bulk of that booze was split among three people.
Back at MFM's place (which is this spectacular waterfront joint with a badass view), My Favorite Erin and ToniK try to make plans for a hike on Saturday afternoon. This is like watching two ADD children try to do math homework. They repeat the same thing over and over, often switching plans mid-sentence. Somehow they have about forty hours of activity planned into eight hours. It makes my head hurt, but not as much as taking ToniK's unfinished glass of wine and drinking it myself makes my head hurt.
We barely make it home. I'm not even joking.
And that's why they are my favorites. Except that I have other favorites. Such as...
Friday - WHERE I REALIZE THAT I HAD SO MUCH TO DRINK ON THURSDAY THAT I AM ACTUALLY INCAPABLE OF GETTING DRUNK AGAIN
For the record, we actually worked on Friday during the day with two client calls and lots of actual work getting done. Ideas being explored, action items being set, things of that nature. We had a lovely lunch with Luca, who I will resist referring to as My Little Pecan, and Dustin, who is not a pecan. We make it across town in record time and then we take a nap.
And then we meet up with Luca and Jake of the Sassy Blazer for dinner at Cardero's.
(I know. My original name for him was funnier, but he didn't like it. What can I do?)
I have no idea what happens. I've had two cocktails before we even sit down. I have three more at dinner AND I don't eat all that much of my entree or the desserts that I insist that we order. Yet, somehow, someway, at the end of the evening, I am the only person sober enough to drive. Go figure.
We head from there to the Railway Club because I promise-promised Elaine that I wouldn't bail without seeing her this time. There is a band playing.
The band has the single most awesome band name ever. You can't beat it if you have a band, so don't even try:
Broken Condom Babies.
I told you so.
Also, why do I love Elaine? Her photo drunk-eye is always as bad as mine is.
My Little Pecan and Jake of the Sassy Jacket are charming and wonderful. We have an excellent time with them, even including the part where Jake of the Sassy Jacket explains how my menstrual cycle makes me crazy for three out of four weeks of the month. Well, I mean, not me specifically, but women. Women. To review: Women are crazy three out of four weeks of the month. It's okay, because Jake of the Sassy Jacket is fun and awesome and I can overlook that he's basically saying that women are crazy because, well, I believe that women are crazy.
Here are five reasons to adore My Little Pecan. 1. Looks up helplessly during dinner -- a dinner where he ordered the market price lobster on my work dime without ever having thought twice -- and then passes me his food so I can declaw his lobster.
2. Wears dapper scarf.
3. Lives in Vancouover, land of rain, but after dinner when a small drizzle is coming down, opts to, rather than get the car in the drizzle, allow me to go get the car and (because I am sober) drive us all to the bar.
4. Then criticizes my driving.
5. While talking to ToniK, refers to himself as a "pretty boy." She's been enjoying that one since we got back.
I heart you, My Little Pecan. I will bat my eyelashes and say vaguely inappropriate things whenever you like.
Anyway, after Luca, My Little Pecan and Jake of the Sassy Jacket leave, Elaine and her crazy friend want to go to a different bar.
He's not crazy, he's an artist. We all know that those are wildly different things. He is, however, hammered and wearing an outfit that can best be described as "on loan from the costume department from Waterworld." It's net. Net over clothing.
"Let's walk!" he says.
It's raining. Hard by this point. But we walk.
It's over a mile.
No joke.
During this walk, he goes off on television. I, stupidly, say "My television IS my reality." I then get a twenty minute lecture, while walking, in the rain, about how I have failed at life. Yet, somehow, I end up loving-loving him.
At the next bar, ToniK and I are cornered/baffled/concerned by some local boys. I am not in the mood at all for boy play, so around 3 we decide to head home. Elaine follows us out. "Those poor boys!" she says, "You left and they just didn't know what they'd done wrong."
Welcome to most of the time of being a girl. That is all.
Saturday - The Call of Nature Lest you think that all we do with our clients is booze, on Saturday My Favorite Erin and ToniK and I took My Favorite Mike's dog, Vegas, for a hike out in the mountains. That was great girl time. If I have not mentioned it before, Canada is beautiful.
Here's one story.
We are 3/4 of the way into the hike, which goes around a lake. A Canadian lake. A COLD Canadian lake. Suddenly, we stumble upon a flooded part of the trail. Impassable, really. No joke. ToniK determines that her best move would be to try to scale across on a FLOATING LOG. Needless to say, she ends up with her ass in the water.
Erin and I determine we're going to take our shoes off and wade across. In the ice-cold freezing water. NOT GOOD. I nearly cry it is so cold. Here, this is how ridiculous I looked.
Anyway, Vancouver is fun, as always. I can't wait to go back, and since we missed a sales call there this time, there is reason. And I think most of the quality photos of this trip are already up in this entry, but should you desire more, here they are.
Though, you know, I do have the next four Africa entries ready to go over the next four days.
It was a stressful week. I mean, one could certainly say that it was a stressful week because I'm impacting positive change in my life. That didn't remove the stress. And then the weekend, wow. I hurt today. Physically hurt. Yes, it was that bad. It can really be told in three chapters.
Chapter One: Fortunately, I am not pregnant. Friday, I was approaching two weeks late. (Yes, I know, you will read this when you get back and say, "You totally told me before I left that we didn't need to worry." It's true. I said that. I just wanted you to have a clear mind while you were on your trip.). Anyway, normally in that situation, I would have just said, "Travel. Super high levels of stress. Late is normal." But there was a small margin of error going on, and so I was worried. And so, on Friday, I wanted to know if I could drink over the weekend with a clear conscious or not. Later, we will realize that I should have just stayed worried and not been drinking, but who knew. So I picked up an EPT test on the way home from work. The very act of buying that test seemed to spur my body into action a couple of hours later, but before that, I did take the test.
I am thirty-three years old.
When I took the test, my two nieces were at my place. One of them is twenty-one years old. One of them is twenty-four years old.
Me (reading directions that make the act of peeing on a stick seem like brain science level challenge) This is a lot more confusing than I though. I've never taken one of these tests before.
BOTH Nieces Oh! I have! Let me explain it to you.
There's so much wrong with what I just described.
I still love them even if they're apparently, ahem, more active than I would like.
Chapter Two: Hott Scott Joins an Exclusive Club This was the conversation on Friday.
Hott Scott I kind of want to keep it mellow tonight. How about we call K-rock and have A-train and Latchkey hang out around nine and we just open a couple of bottles of wine and then call it a night around midnight?
Me That sounds perfect. I had a week from hell, and I have to go out on a rager on Saturday night, so I'd super like to keep it mellow tonight.
And see, that's how the plans laid out. A mellow night of just drinking some wine with some friends and being home around midnight for a full night of sleep and a productive day the next day.
And four hours later, Hott Scott joined a very special club. It's a club with a small membership, but unfortunately not as exclusive as it should be. It's the official "I Have Put Jocelyn to Sleep on my Bathroom Floor" club.
Here's how this played out: After holding my hair for an hour while I threw up, Hott Scott let me lay down against the cool tile of the bathroom floor and pass out for a while. Then he came back.
Hott Scott Jocelyn, will you get up off the floor and go to bed on the couch or one of the extra beds?
Me (Insert about a full minute of moaning.) Nooooooooo. (Insert more moaning)
Hot Scott Do you want to just sleep here on the bathroom floor?
Me (Insert about a full minute of moaning.) Yeeeesssss. (Insert more moaning)
And in the morning, I woke up with a blanket and a pillow and a neck ache from sleeping on the bathroom floor. You know what Hott Scott is? He's awesome for taking care of my drunk ass.
To be honest, I'm not even sure how it happened. I had four, maybe five, glasses of wine over a three or four hour period. I mean, that's a lie. Not a lie about the fact that I didn't drink all that much, but a lie about how I don't know how I ended up that drunk. I had neglected to eat most of the day. I'd had, like, two rice cakes at 2pm and that was it. That's how I ended up spending the night on the bathroom floor.
Chapter Three: And then there was Saturday night... Yes. Sigh.
Honestly, you may just want to look at the pictures from Saturday night. That's a better way to tell the story. Click here to see the full set.
Not only was Saturday night Jess's bachelorette party, but also as I may have mentioned all three nieces plus a bunch of their friends were in town for a birthday party. So the plan was that we'd do Jess's bachelorette and then all meet up at Ghostbar late night.
Here are some highlights.
We started at Voodoo with a Witch Doctor and some steak.
We went to Chippendales for Jess's birthday. Yes, we did. And we all rolled our eyes about how much we're not going to dig this. And then...we were wrong. We were not only entertained, we were all oddly turned on. And I have a total crush on Bryan Cheatham. We all agreed that the best scene in the entire show is the "art scene" in which there is an unexplained bed, chaise lounge and motorcycle on stage and three separate solos about the sadness of being alone going on. I may not have laughed so hard in years. In between stripping, the men just look hearbroken. I recommend. I strongly recommend. That is all. So.good.
After the show, the entertaining, fantastic show that I want to see again, we headed to Moon. Where I will leave it at "We got our drink on. We got our dance on."
And then, the explosion of ghetto hit us at Ghostbar and the party turned up even more, and I can't even think about it, really.
And then I got home at 5 and the nieces were at least an hour later than I was. Rough. I have big black spots of memory. Literally.
Okay, and so I had dreams of going to LA next weekend, but today I was brutally brought to the realization that I went to Africa, and came back and pretty much had houseguests every weekend and went through a traumatic job transition and had a bad pregnancy scare and I'm just exhausted and I need a weekend of Zelda and tea and quiet. So that is what I will do next weekend.
Madonna Tribute - Cast of Glee
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