Dear George Bush: In case I didn't make this clear for 8 years, MORON

So, for reasons we don't really need to go into, I needed to do an in-and-out, one-day trip to Vegas the week before Christmas. This is more absurd if you know that I actually spent Christmas in Vegas, and therefore essentially flew in for one day in order to fly back to Montreal for one work day and then fly back to Vegas.

I know. But it's a weird year. Things happened in a certain order that then needed to be cleaned up.

And...the day I was flying into Vegas ... it snowed.

I'm not making that up. A lot of you are probably aware of it.

And many of you are probably also aware that the Las Vegas airport subsequently closed down. There wasn't that much snow, but - you know - it's not like Vegas owns a de-icer or a blower to clear the runways.

Let's just diverge for a moment now, if we may, to discuss the implications of enough snow in Las Vegas to actually close down an airport. I know that many people like to claim that my President for the last eight years, Al Gore, and his posse are crack smoking liberalists who like to save owls more than preserve American jobs (which, by the way, is an actual quote from George Bush during the 2000 US Presidential election - way to go, W, I can see that your policy of engergy consumption and non-environmentally friendly industry has gone a long way to ensuring the future of the American economy. Big Three bailout, anybody? Did you know that some places are so desperate to sell SUVs that they're giving away FREE cars with them? But, sadly, I'm sure that speech about how Americans were going to lose jobs because we were so busy preserving the environment got you enough votes to lock down Ohio, or something equally lame and uninformed (sorry to my peeps in Ohio).) Anyway, I think we can stop having the global warming debate. When the Vegas airport closes due to SNOW, we're not in normal-ville anymore.

Anyway, my plane was one of the last to try to land before the airport got closed. I knew that we were in trouble when, as we began our descent, the flight attendant came on the PA system and said the following:

"As we begin our attempted descent into Las Vegas, we'd like to remind you of the locations of the emergency exits on our 747 airplane..."

That actually happened. We tried to land. My life would have been much easier if we had landed. But instead, we tried to make contact with the runway and couldn't. There was too much snow to feel the asphalt. So we went back up.

And onto LA.

LA is not where I needed to be for the night. But I could swing it if I had to. I just needed to be in Vegas by the next day. But still.

The first thing that happens when we get off the plane is that we are told that, because our service interuption is weather related, Air Canada can't really help us. If we'd like to get rebooked on an available seat on an Air Canada partner, they can accomodate us with any open spots, but there are no available flights until the next EVENING. Otherwise, screw you.

What is funnier is that an hour later, they re-announced that they had decided to put our original flight back in the air to Vegas the next morning at 8am. Of course, an hour had passed and almost everybody from the original flight had left the baggage area by then, so nobody knew about it.

I took another tract. Firstly, thank goodness for BFFs. I immediately called my BFF "Magic" Mike Cash and said, "Can you go online and book me on the first Southwest flight out from LA to Vegas tomorrow?" And 10 minutes later my flight arrangements were fixed. Of course, if you are not somebody who has lived in the American west for the last 15 years, you would be screwed because you would have no way of knowing that Southwest operates a flight every half hour out of LA to Vegas every morning and they will be CHEAP. You need to be "in the know" to know that that's your move.

So, I've got the flight taken care of. And so I'm standing there, pondering whether I should get a hotel for the night or call one of my LA friends and hassle them into coming to get me. And as I'm sitting there pondering this, my phone rings, and it's Shadalan asking me a question about a Christmas present wish. To which I reply, "You know what my wish is? My wish is that you pick me up at the airport and I get to see your new oceanside condo before my flight out tomorrow!"

So, as a Christmas bonus, I get to see Shadalan. She takes me to sushi, which is a huge bonus because let me ASSURE you that when you hear people say, "Montreal isn't really a world class sushi city," they are BEING NICE. I've had pieces of sushi here that I've actually slithered back out of my mouth when nobody was looking. However, at least I have yet to be served sushi with gravy on top, which seems to be the Montreal answer to all food. Just put gravy on it. Gravy! Awesome! Anyway, we have a sushi meal where we do the obliagory fill in, and then I crash. And it's delightful though I'm exhausted. And it's so good to get to see my girl.

So the universe looked out for me, and made sure that I got both a pseudo LA Christmas AND sushi and Shadee. And a story about snow in Vegas.

And let's not even talk about LAX at 6am the next morning when everybody who couldn't get into Vegas the day before bumrushed the airport.

All good is all good though.

I'm glad we elected a Democrat. Mabye we can stem the tide of snow in Vegas.

 

Miss me? I missed you.

I cannot believe I'm finally I'm finally back in ILovePaulJack space.

It's been a long time. Some of you know the reason. Some of you don't. I could talk about it here, but then I'd have to kill you. Suffice it to say, there were very clear reasons why I was forbidden to blog. But don't you worry. I kept back entries. We'll talk. And publish. And hopefully I'll get my writing mojo back sometime in '09. Maybe to start getting us in the swing of things though, we can do a tried and true top 5.

1. Oh, Canada. As of Friday, I am officially a legal worker in the great northern tundra of Canada. This has been a process, but the biggest process for me has been getting used to snow. Okay, that's not true. It's also been a process getting used to inflated cell phone rates, poor exchange rates, a noticeable absence of Sephora, a refusal to ship anything that doesn't suck over the border, a first-language that isn't mine and that I've never been all that fond of to begin with, and no Target or Wal-Mart. I mean, there's an equivalent, but Canada is 1/10 the market size of the US. It's not as easy to get anything and everything you want easily here.

Snow is hard, too, though. I cried the first day it was cold (and just about every day after). I realized I will not be wearing my cute, strappy, Vegas party shoes any time soon. Is that shallow and pathetic?

Don't answer.

Rooney has also discovered snow for the first time. Adorable? Yes!




2. Humanity at a New Low
I know that I frequently say that I think humanity is reaching a new low. However, I'm quite sure I confirmed it forever when I had to visit the Hilton Sportsbook in Vegas on Christmas day. Don't even ask what I was doing there. The story is too long and sorted to even make sense. I think it can be best described by this exchange, which happened later in the day at Kim's house during Christmas dinner.

Me
Man, the men in the Hilton sportsbook on Christmas were just creepy.

Kim's Dad
Any man in any sportsbook at any time is creepy.

Me
Yeah, but the ones in there on Christmas day really take it to a whole new level of special.

Or, perhaps better stated later when I said, "I guess there's a reason those men are alone in a sportsbook on Christmas day." But God bless the NBA and horse tracks across the nation for giving these fine men something to do on the day of Jesus' birth. And when I say "new level of special," what I mean is that I was scared to stand within ten feet of anybody. Then there was one small moment where I was standing in line behind a manly, broad shouldered fellow and thought for a brief moment "He could be attractive." Then he turned around and was actually drooling. I didn't make that up. He was standing there in the middle of the sportsbook and there was drool running down the side of his chin.

I bolted out of there as quickly as possible.

3. Speaking of Christmas at Kim's
If you can't be home for Christmas, at least be somewhere where the hostess is going to make you a pink girlie stocking and stuff it with chocolate martini mix and bath loofahs. Spend it with girls who want to watch "The Family Stone" on Christmas eve and who aren't ashamed to EAT on Christmas day. Thank you ladies of Vegas for a delightful "quickie". Wish I could have stayed longer.




See all of the holiday photos by clicking here.

4. Speaking of Things You See In Vegas on Christmas
I went to Sephora (twice) while in Vegas for 48 hours of Christmas. Because we don't have them here, and it's frustrating. The first day I went in it was Christmas Eve day. I walk in, and the store is humming with women getting their pretty, pretty. And then I look to my left.

And I see it.

The bench of neglected men.

These are the men who stood up and made it happen and accompanied the lady in their life to Sephora on Christmas Eve. It's assumed that most of these men knew that this would be a painful excursion for them, and it's played out on their faces. Heads cupped in hands, eyes being progressively rubbed harder and harder, intense staring at the ceiling while no doubt they pray that their woman will please just find that new Britney scent and Benefit jewelery box eye set. These men are suffering.

These men are soldiers in the battle of pleasing women. It's the little things. Men, take note.

5. And Speaking of Girlie Things...
I didn't get to do a top ten list of gifts for women this year, but most men that I know buy late anyway. So heres a quickie top five of awesomeness for girls.

a. The Urban Decay Urban Ammo Eye Pallette
As all of the girls at girlie Christmas will tell you, I was in love with mine instantly. There are dozens of smokey eye combinations that you can do with this, and the colors are dark enough to make a contrast but bright enough to make some fun. And it's under $30. And it's in pretty packaging. And it's slim enough to travel well. And UD makes awesome, no-fade eyeshadow.



b. Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker
This is an actual conversation that I had with my new gay BFF:

BFF
You smell great.

Me
It's Lovely by SJP.

BFF
Huh. Usually when a star has a product, it's not that good.

Me
Yeah, but this really does smell good. I think she cares a little more than the average star endorser. Plus, I'd buy anything with her name on it.

BFF
Me, too.

That's really all you need to know. There's your perfume purchase for the year. Especially if you are a pathetic celebrity driven consumerist like myself and my BFF.



c. Flowering Tea Kettle
It's so Oprah, I know, but when you brew the teas in this charming little tea pot, they turn into flowers. It's flowers and tea. I sent one to many people.



d. The Everyman's Library Pocket Poets: Chinese Erotic Love Poems
I first got turned onto this publication during Knopff's annual poetry month email program when one of the included poems was sent as the daily email. The book will appeal to the sensitive yet erotic side of most women, as the poems really cross between love poems and erotic poems. Here's a sample:

At Night I Hear My Neighbor Singing
I cannot fall asleep at midnight,
overhearing my neighbor singing.
I imagine her red lips moving
till dust falls from the beams.
I don't laugh when she misses a beat,
just pull my clothes on to steal her song,
but when I put on clothes, the song ends.
Only the moon in the window still shines.

It's a lovely book, even if you're not romantically involved.



e. Sephora Smokey Eye Brush Kit
Better when given in combination with the UD eye shadow pallete, but just as good on its own. The nicest set for quickly creating awesome smokey eye looks. Plus mascara! And easy to travel with! And shiney!



Anyway, I'm glad to be back. I'll write again later this week and we can hear about my big L.A. adventure, and possibly also New Year's Eve if all goes well!

Missed you!

 

Sexes With My Exes: An Experiment in Art

So, firstly, I know that there is an impression out there that any time there is a "bad girl" idea, it has come from me. This is inaccurate. Sometimes, I am lame. Sometimes, I don't really want to go out. Sometimes, I just want to chill. For example, last time I was in Pennsylvania, Pookie and Honeydunce took Ferris and I to a "hipster rock and roll party." The party was thumping. The music was jumping. There were forties, and people were going to drink and get stupid until the AM. And I looked at Ferris and said, "Let's go home and play online scrabble and take pictures of the cats." So that's what we did. Sometimes, I can be lame.

I say this, because I am sure you would assume that the "Sexes With Exes" project at pottery night was my idea. It was not. NOT. It was Kim's idea. And the idea was that we would all make large, round serving platters that basically were pie charts of things that applied to our "sexes with exes." Yes, Paul Jack. I know that you must be very jealous right now that you and I did not at one time think of this.

At any rate, the idea, obviously, brilliant. And I thought I'd share the platters. Kim goes first!



So to review, Kim's list:
- Lamp breaking, sheet ripping sex (which is a phrase said Paul Jack and I used to use, which I am proud to have sent out into the world.
- What the hell was I thinking?
- Don't remember your name
- Took your virinity
- Misc. Locations
- One night stands
- Boom! I got your boyfriend (dirty)
- Walk of shame
- Cyber, virtual and phone (I'm personally surprised how big this section is in her chart)
- I wish I would have had sex with ...
- anal (I cannot believe your color choice for that! Gross!)
- Experimental
- Crazy in the head, crazy in the bed (It's somewhat sad that we all needed this category)
- Just don't even bother to finish (Which is even SADDER)
- Age inappropriate
- Oral sex really is sex
- Too drunk to get off

And now ... K-Rock!



K-Rock's list!
- Crazy in the head, crazy in the bed (We REALLY need to select better)
- Holy crap, you're old!
- The Big O
- Musicians (OMG)
- Peanut Butter Jelly Time
- In my parent's bed (Gross!)
- Oral
- Random bar hookup
- Somebody's second
- He smothered me
- Well. I guess so.
- 3 Ring Circus
- Experimental
- Are you in yet? (I cannot tell you how sad this makes me. This should never be on anybody's list! So sad!)

And now, I give you mine.



And my list:
- Crazy in the head, crazy in the bed
- Sheet ripping, lamp breaking
- It was Christmas, I was lonely
- I had sex with you while listening to Boyz 2 Men
- Age inappropriate
- Internacional
- Cyber
- Misc. Locations
- NOT my future husband
- WTF????
- Faked it.
- Didn't fake it.
- "Experimental" phase.
- I don't remember your name.
- I never asked your name.
- I was fantasizing about an American Idol while we were having sex.

That last one is embarrassing for me, too.

You, too, should learn to express yourself creatively through pottery painting.

 

The Tale of a Very Large Zit

First of all, I promise funny on Friday because that entry is about St. Patrick's Day (I know, FINALLY) and that night had good stories.

But today I really want to talk about this: Pretty Babies.

Firstly, let me say that I know mothers who engage in this behavior, though perhaps not as extreme as this article lays out. But I do know mothers whose eight year old daughters get manicures and eye brow waxings. I surely do. And worse yet, I actually think those little girls look adorable with their perfect pink nails and their perfectly sculpted eyebrows. Much like I think that ear piercing in little girls is cute. And to a certain degree, I hate myself for thinking that because I'd like for little girls to just get dirty, too. And I could not promise that if I had a little girl, by the time she was 10 she wouldn't have been dolled up like that. But I'd like to think that I had trained her to be dirty, too.

Dirty in the play in the dirt way. Stay with me.

Okay, so, the first thing that happened in that article was this brilliant line about what happens when we make girls too pretty, too young ... and "How, without the ugly years, will girls learn to accept themselves?"

And I agree.

My "ugly years" were in my early to mid twenties, kind of that last year or so of college and the first years of San Francisco. First, I gained some weight, people. Seriously. I was smoking a lot of pot near the end of college, which of course means extra weight - especially when you live in a college town where half of the economy is driven by pizza delivery that happens after 3:00am - no pun intended. And then I moved to a city where the 3:00am shwarma is king and Victor's Italian was right down the road and my life become more sedentary because I had an office job. My clothing size was almost double what I currently wear, though I guess in fairness I was also wearing my clothes baggier.

And my skin went bad. My skin has always been temperamental, but when I'm stressed out about something my immediate physical reaction to it is to break out. And I was stressed a lot during those years, so there was always some skin issue of varying degrees going on. And sometimes it was embarrassingly bad. Bad like the "before" stories in a Proactive infomercial. AND I WAS USING PROACTIVE AT THE TIME AND IT DIDN'T HELP. For example, one day when I was living with (I Love) Paul Jack, I woke up one morning and my skin was broken out so excessively that I couldn't even physically open my mouth. I had to call a doctor and drink through a straw for a day.

I'm probably remembering most of this as worse than it was - but that's not the point because I'm sure that a teenager who goes through her ugly years then remembers her breakout and unibrow as worse than it was too. What I know is that I felt insecure and unhappy about the way I looked, and I had to find other ways to like myself. Or, at a minimum, because that may be an overstatement, I had to be able to look in the mirror at my big, fat butt or my incredibly broken out face and just be angry about it, not hate myself for it.

And eventually the weight fell off. That's not true. Eventually I worked the weight off through changing my late night eating pattern and making it a point to work out.

And eventually, though I still respond to stress with a big zit here or there, my skin pretty much cleared up through better product, better birth control and a dryer climate.

So, back around Super Bowl time of this year, I was very stressed. Because as you know, for the last several years Super Bowl has been one of my most stressful times of the year. And I developed a stress zit. Actually, it was more like a stress boil. Actually it was more like an alien child trying to birth itself from a pod on my right jawline. It was bad. It actually literally was about the size of a quarter and took about two months to completely heal/drain. You couldn't look at me without seeing "Frank the Zit" first. *I* couldn't look at me without seeing it first. And I am single and ready to mingle and a huge blemish on my skin is not ideal.

So, ToniK and Mike and I go to the Super Bowl. And we're hanging out in the RV one night and "Frank the Zit" decides that this is when he wants to explode all over my face, meaning that I will now have a big, draining, scar-ridden cyst for the next two days while surrounded by hot available men at the Super Bowl.

And my response to this?

Literally...

My response is to shrug it off and say, "I mean, you know, whatever. If I were a super model, I wouldn't be hanging out in an RV with you yahoos at the Super Bowl. And that would kind of blow."

But most importantly, I meant it when I said that.

And I mean, the point is, if from the time I was a tiny tot I'd had perfect nails and perfect skin and perfect eyebrows, would I still be able to kind of shrug off the BIGGEST SKIN BLEMISH ANYBODY HAS EVER HAD - EVER and not think that it was something that really detracted from the awesomeness that is me as a whole? I mean, who knows, but probably not. I probably would have stressed about that stress zit for weeks and spent money better spent on saving starving African children on treatment after treatment and whined like it was the end of the world.

So I see the author's point. It's important that we're not always perfect on the outside so that we don't start to expect ourselves to be perfect, either on the outside or the inside. Or, more accurately, if we start to expect ourselves to be perfect on the outside, the degree to which we're imperfect on the inside will grow.

I hope that Sadie and Rayna and Cienna all have ugly years. I just hope that they don't have the kind that scar them for life but instead the kind that make them closer to perfect on the inside.

And I hope that the next time I get a big old stress zit, it's on the right side of my forehead so that I can brush my bangs over it and just conceal it.

 

Really, It's Like I Was Never in Africa at All

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.

And that is all. We resume Africa tomorrow.

 

More Things to Make My Little Brother Proud

This is an actual quote from last night.

"NO. You are not allowed to talk to him. He's drinking DOMESTIC BEER for God's sake."

This is how we rock Tuesday night. Remember last year's party binge? Welcome home.

 

Friday Night: Where We Call It In

So Friday night was good. Yeah. For real. We started the evening with a little shindig at my place to wish K-Rock well as she heads to Clarion for six weeks. People got silly. Here are some pictures.




The we decided that Sean needed a new Myspace photo. This was productive until somebody was all like, "You know what would be an awesome MySpace photo? You in the princess bed deep in love with Hello Kitty." And then these happened. Don't worry (ILove)Paul Jack and (I Also Love) Dex. I protected our girl from any real damage.




And then Shimmy and I went and had drinks with Matt McD at the Venetian, where there were hookers. Ladies (not hookers) love Matt McD. And I'm not just saying that because Matt McD put season two of 90210 into my dvd player before he left. I'm saying it because he shot an M16 last weekend and has hot bruises to prove it.


And then Shimmy and I went off to do what Shimmy and I do. The first thing we decided that we wanted to do was go to to Tao and dance. Really, at that point, we just wanted to dance. And so we're looking for a good spot to dance, and some guy comes up to me. If we'd been playing the "Can you guess where I'm from game," I'm sure we would have both guessed he was from the bay area in about two seconds flat. The well tailored clothes. The slim built. The ambiguous asian or hispanic look. And he says to me, "Would you do a favor for me? It's my friends birthday and he's been checking you out, but he's really shy. Would you come hang out for a while?"

And I'm all like, "I'm really kind of just here to dance with my girlfriend."

And he's all like, "He's a really sweet guy."

And I'm all like, "I'm really just hanging out."

And then he says the magic words. "We'll buy you two some drinks." And suddenly I'm yanking Shimmy by the arm and "I really want to just dance with my friend" turns into this:



Happy Birthday Julio! He even pop-rocked for us at one point. Yes, he really did do that.

This is the point where we start using our amazing mental powers to really call it in. First, we decide we really do just want to dance for a while. Ever been to Tao on a Friday night? There's no room to dance. But we focus on it, and within 15 minutes we find THE PERFECT DANCE SPOT SITUATION where there's room to move and nobody in our way. PERFECT.

Then Shimmy looks at me and says, "I think I'm ready to go now. I kind of feel like flirting with some cute boys." And so we decide to head to the Bellagio, where there are always cute boys. And seriously, we called it in.

Cute boys in the cab line leaving the Venetian. Super cute.

Within seconds of stepping out of the cab at the Bellagio, we were handed two new Italian boyfriends by the universe. Shimmy's was even named "Fabrizio." Don't even ask me what mine was named because I couldn't pronounce it. We didn't stick with that game for very long though because who has energy for tranlsation issues at 3:00am?


And then we walked into the Bellagio and within five minutes we had our new Texas boyfriends whom we hung out with until around 5:30am or so. Yep. Enjoy those pictures.




You know, it was a totally random but GREAT evening. If I HAD to find a negative, and it's hard to do, it's that every single boy we met was younger than 25. Perhaps the fact that it's the "just turned legal to drink" crowd that seems drawn to us presents a glimpse into why we're both single. This said by the girl who's going to the -42 Below Vodka party tonight with a guy she met in a bar when he was too drunk to drive himself home. I know I'm not helping my own cause here. You're welcome.

 

5 Thoughts for the Weekend

1. I won the racial humor contest this weekend with my girlies. I won it with this one, which I busted out five minutes after they arrived: "Em, look, I put the Barack Obama book on the nightstand so that you Black folk would be comfortable in my home."

Though, if you were going for my vote, Em would have won it with this line, "Tell that boy not to upset you this week. Your minority friends are in town."

2. There are holes in this journal from the last eight months. Have you noticed? There are no entries about my birthday, or about the Super Bowl. There's nothing about St. Patrick's day. Or New Year's. Or my trip to Pittsburgh last November. And there are other, non-holidays that were beautiful and important and there's nothing in here about them. It's like those days didn't even exist. And I guess sometimes when you ask somebody to pretend over and over again that the good parts of something aren't there, eventually they start to believe it. I wish I had entries about some of those things right now, because it's getting harder and harder to believe that they ever happened.

3. I'm rewatching The Intruder right now. Somehow, avant guard French film doesn't work as well on dvd. But still beautiful.

4. Today, I arrived home and there was no loud hip hop playing in my home. Nobody was yelling at somebody. Nobody was screaming at T-Mobile over the phone. I could sleep in my own bed. I didn't have to fight through five flatirons and ten dirty washclothes to get to my toothbrush. Nobody stumbled in drunk at 5am. I didn't have to count all three cats to make sure nobody had accidentally let them out during the day. And you know what? For about an hour I was really happy, and then I started to miss my girls.

5. I'm making a decision this weekend about taking an extended trip home to PA, like, for a month or so. I think I may just need my mom to take care of me right now. I think I clearly know right now that I am not going to get better on my own, and I don't really have the support system I would need here. There's part of me that knows that if I go back there for a month, I'll end up never leaving again. But there's another part of me that just wants to be home. I don't know. I'll meditate this weekend and see what I think at the end.

 

YES! Tales of Memorial Day Weekend

Honestly, mom, this is one of those ones where you're ahead of the game if you just stop reading now.

Given the givens of how I'm feeling, I was so glad to have the girlies in town last weekend. It helped take my mind off of things, and they were super understanding of the fact that I went home early most nights, and being around all of their positive energy was incredibly helpful in righting the ship. And here's the best part. Despite the fact that I missed out on a lot of "the fun" because I was, well, sleeping, I was around enough to share the three important stories, including the first one, which is about how we really managed to take Vegas, a place with no class, and sink it down to an entirely new low.

Chapter 1: The F#*k Room
Here are two sets of pictures of a hotel room. You will see that in set one, the room is exploding with clothes and makeup and weekend necessities. In set two, the room is pristine. Take a look.


Now, the logical conclusion to jump to is that these are simply before and after shots. The shots of the pristine room were taken when we arrived, and the shots of that Vegas hoochie battlefield were taken after we moved into the room.

WRONG.

These pictures are, in fact, taken almost simultaneously. They are rooms 951 and 955 in the Imperial Palace (because we roll both imperially and palatially). We rented -- and paid for -- both rooms. So, five girls, two beds, eight towels, two showers and two hairdryers, right?

WRONG.

This is how this worked out. The room you see where the hoochie battle is taking place is the room we ALL stayed in. That's five girls, two beds, one shower, one hairdryer, four towels. The room that is pristine? That's the F*#k Room. The logic being that at least one of us was going to hook up each night, and we'd need a room for that person to use. So why would we spread out and make ourselves comfortable and able to do basic things like use a mirror when we curled our hair when, instead, we could cram into one room at all times and leave the other room for some lucky girl each night?

And I will say, it was worth the money cause three out of five mamas (for the record, not me, not even close, I've never been so disinterested in boys on a night out in my life) got lucky, though not simultaneously in the same room, before you get all that excited.

Xtine even stocked the place with condoms, just in case.



And that twisted sista felt that the appropriate place for those condoms was next to the Holy Bible.



I told you we took Vegas to a new low. There's got to be an award for that.

I feel I best summed up the F#*k Room with this comment, "Ladies, perhaps we should worry about the mindset of a boy who enters the fuck room and doesn't run in fear immediately. His thought process when he sees that room SHOULD be, 'Huh. This girl just brought me back to her room, but there's no baggage, the bathroom hasn't been touched at all and there's a pile of condoms next to the Holy Bible. Shit, man, I'm about to straight wake up in the morning in a bathtub full of ice with one of my kidneys removed.'"

For the record, you can keep reading, but nothing will top what I've just told you. Probably ever. Even by us. We've now set the bar so high/low that we can no longer even live up to our own expectations in Vegas.

Chapter Two: Five Women at $1000 is $200 a Piece
Who did we love the MOST this weekend? It was our cab driver Bru. He was funny, he was engaging, he didn't mind the fact that we wanted to talk to him. And he tried to sell us for $1000 to some guys who'd just won a ton of money on the UFC fight and wanted some pretty ladies to come spend the evening with them at Paris. The guys, I kid you not, saw our cab driving by and flagged the cabbie down so they could come to the window and try to talk us into going to their VIP table at Paris with them. Very flattering, sure. But we were set on Mix and skylines and nobody was really in the mindspace to geisha it up. But Bru? Bru is a business man. He offered to sell us to those guys for $1000. No joke. I almost felt bad when we made Bru drive on. So I tipped him $10 on a $10 cab ride to try to make up the difference.

Chapter Three: That is Gay. And I Know Gay.
Here's a delightful picture of us and some crazy guys we ran into at Mix.



They were fun. I mean, obviously they were fun, look at how they were dressed. And we were talking to them about how they were dressed, and they said:

"Seriously, sometimes in Vegas, getting ready to go out is more fun than actually going out. We have a lot of fun getting ready to go out."

Gay. GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY. And I know Gay. I believe even that the namesake of this journal would confirm for you that never has a gay man said anything as gay as what this straight man in a ruffled shirt said to us. GAY.

And also, before I dispense with the weekend awards, a few notes for ya'll.
1. Tao Beach: So worth it. It makes the Pure cabanas look lame, and those are my favorite place in all of Vegas.

2. Why are people religiously waiting in that line at Pure? It's not worth it, folks. It's not. I promise.

3. I'm not sure I love Vegas nightlife as much if I can't drink, which I can't because of the antidepressant. We need to get off those soon.

4. It's okay to come dance on the catwalk if you're a larger woman, but you really need to not be rude and bump your shit into everybody else up there, almost sending several of us sailing off into the air. Come on, now.

Weekend awards!

Ms. KALM gets the best line dropped on you by a guy award.



While sitting, I kid you not, in the FOOD COURT at Caesar's, a guy cold walks up to KALM WHILE she's sitting with four other women - so the most intimidating rejection scenario possible - and says to her, "I don't know anything about you, but I can tell I want to know a lot more about you." And then (this guy was GREAT) when KALM actually makes a comment about how bold his move was (tm Ford), he says, "Hey, I'm doing the best I can with the circumstances I have." He was awesome. I'm really kind of sad that he's so not her type, because I was cheering for him.

Ms. Xtine gets the MVP award.



It was kind of a weird girls' weekend for us in Vegas. At least two of us were nursing physical illness. At least three of us were undergoing various degrees of heartbreak and relationship pain. Things were "up," but it honestly wasn't our usual explosion of energy. Anyway, at one point during the night, Ang was talking to the most adorable guy from North Carolina EVER and he was WAY into her. But he had a friend, so it was an awkward threesome situation. And Shadalan, KALM, Xtine and I were all just kind of chilling at a VIP table in Mix at the time. And so KALM is all like "Jos, go be her wingwoman. She needs one." And I couldn't rally to do it. And KALM couldn't rally to do it. And Shadalan couldn't rally to do it. And for ten minutes we all try to convince each other to do it. And finally, in the end, Xtine takes one and goes over and entertains the friends for what seemed like a really long time. A long time during which, instead of comfortably chilling at the table and enjoying the view and the VIP lounge, she had to stand in a crowd of people while wearing excruciatingly painful shoes. She's the MVP.

Ms. Shadalan gets the best breasts of the weekend award.



I mean, this isn't even so much a competition anymore if she's around. But what made it so extra special this time was this: We're walking out of the IP and as she passes him some guy says to her "That's a beautiful dress." Of course, he says it while staring directly at her breasts. And as we're walking away from him, I say to Shadalan, "By which he means those are beautiful breasts." And that guy actually went through the trouble to RUN across the ENTIRE IP casino floor to catch Shadalan before we left and say, "I just wanted to make sure you knew, I said 'dress.'" True story.

Ang wins the best outfit two nights in a row award.



And we all TRY, so that's an accomplishment. She looked SMOKIN' both nights. Which is probably why she also won the Stella Got Her Groove Back award. But we won't go into that.

And I'm going to go ahead and give myself two awards as well:
1. The Super Trouper Award: Ya'll, I did NOT feel well. I had bad nausea each night and a lot of fatigue issues, and I STILL rallied until 3am both nights. That is how much I love my girls and our time together.

2. The "I'm gonna rock this stupid hat for real, bitches" award. The look I was going for was, "You know, if you're white enough, you'll think I look all hip hop and stuff."

It was a good weekend. As always, thank you ladies!

 

LA in April is not like Paris in April, but it's pretty damn good.

This is like a little blog-type scrapbook of the last four days or so. Enjoy. Fun times.

How does this happen? HOW?????
There's some debate about at what point in the evening we should have realized that our "non-rager, just dinner and drinks with the girls" was going to turn into something that was more like the polar opposite of a "non-rager, just dinner and drinks with the girls." I originally thought that the moment of realization happened when we left the "calm" place where we were starting the night and went to a club. shimmy walked in and said, "It's sweaty in here. I like it."

shimmy, however, corrected me. The moment of realization really should have come five minutes after we walked into the place we were having dinner. It should have happened when, after the hostess took us to a lovely table in a quiet area where we could really have enjoyed a few cocktails, some tapas and some mellow conversations, we looked at her with confusion in our eyes and said, "But, but, we want that table. The one right by the bar."

Yep. We sure did start the night out looking pretty and made-up. With napkins on our laps and a discussion of the cheese plate and truffle oil. Making little hearts with our hands when we took photos. Not saying things that clearly foreshadowed where the evening was going. Not saying things like "My friend needs another cocktail so she can build up the courage to talk to that guy" or "Your boobs are like a magnet to Bob." No, look. In fact we look like well-behaved, sweet ladies in these pictures.




And then, no less than five hours later, we had somehow acquired a posse of boys to be our entourage and the scene had degenerated to this:






I don't know how it happens. I continue to believe we're capable of having mellow evenings. Just all photographic evidence seems to imply otherwise.

Things Friends Do For Friends
Friends will do three very important things for their friends.

Least Important but HOT: Friends will make their sexy face in .004 seconds flat as soon as a camera comes out to ensure good evening photos.


Of Importance ALWAYS: Friends will devise evil revenge plans with friends (JOKING - don't get stressed)


Of the MOST IMPORTANCE: Friends will make sure that friends don't have to spend their entire evening looking at unfortunate muffin top.


I missed the part where Shalom was THIS MUCH TALLER THAN ME
Maybe it's the power of persuasion, but you do feel peaceful around him, you know? Pookie, Shalom says to email him, you schmuck.


Five Haiku About Sunday Night

Three small girls should not
order this much food, beware
getting muffin top

I am embarrassed
to admit we did not wait
to use silverware

If those people do
not get up from OUR table
it will get ugly

Big Lots of fashion
brand names from hoochie stores, and
KALM KNOWS hoochie stores

Basic Rule of Life:
Never tell your own father
You teach blow job class.

Ruining the Illusions of Men Everywhere
shimmy and I had a sleepover on Sunday night. To encourage your fantasies, this sleepover did involve:

- us in our nighties
- red wine
- chocolate covered strawberries
- an inflatable bed

But you wanna know what we did? We watched Deadliest Catch. Yes, don't fool yourself. There were no pillow fights. There was no making out of any kind. Nobody tickled anybody. We watched men who smell like fish and don't shower or shave for days on end pulling huge crates of Alaskan King Crab up out of the ocean for HOURS. We said things like "There's not a lot of crab in that case. They'd better make up time." and "He just got hit by a huge chunk of ice! Watch out!" It wasn't hot. I know I got you thinking that this was hot with the nighties, red wine, strawberries and inflatable bed, but boys, we watched crab fishing all night. I'm just being honest.

Proof That Not EVERYBODY Breaks Up in the Spring
It was nice to spend some time with people who have known you since you were three feet tall, who have overcome amazing individual obstacles and who have fought all odds to build this amazing marriage. Thanks. Seriously. All we talked about all weekend with EVERYBODY was people leaving people. You were very inspiring. If you'd told me when I was sixteen and you were passed out in my bed between me and Melsa drooling on my pillow that you'd teach me lessons 16 years later, I would not have believed you. You'll get everything you want. Because you've learned how to make that happen.


Sometimes, You Only Wish You Had My Life
Though I can guarantee you that there was a huge part of Tuesday where you wouldn't have wanted my life. But two SUPER AWESOME things happened!

First, I got to take a ride-along in a pace car being driven at speed by Rocky Moran Jr. on the actual track for the Long Beach Grand Prix. And let me tell you, that was as awesome as it sounds. You SHOULD be jealous. That shit is ridiculous. And also, because there is always a story, you know, it went down like this.

The safety guy is strapping me into the car, and I see him adjusting the seat belt down really small, so I say to him, "That won't fit like that. I have really big hips." And he looks at me and makes a face like I don't know what I'm talking about. But, of course, when I go to get into the car, the seat belt is too small across my hips. And he looks at me, baffled, and says "Man, for a little, tiny thing, you sure do have big hips."

Thank you, sir.

Anyway, that would have been the highlight, except that end of the day, in what can only be described as a miracle of miracles, I GOT TO TAKE A RIDE-ALONG IN A DRIFT CAR AT SPEED ON THE TRACK!!!!!

Now, if you saw Fast and the Furious Three: Tokyo Drift, you already know what drift racing is. But in case you missed that gem, it's a race technique where, basically, instead of cornering around bends, you drive STRAIGHT AT THE WALL AT OVER A HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR and then, inches before you hit it, you force the car into a spin-out around the wall. And Ry and I are SO EXCITED to do a drive along. And I cannot tell you how amazing it was. The first time my driver headed to the wall at 120mph+, I honestly thought "What am I doing? It's actually entirely possible that this car will crash and I will die or be seriously injured. That could actually happen."

But that thought soon went away with the rush of adrenaline. IT WAS SO AWESOME.

As I'm being strapped into the car: "This driver doesn't speak a single word of English, so if you get scared and want him to stop drifting and just drive the course, he won't know what you're saying."

AWESOME.

 

Four Hours Into My Future: Otherwise Known as Tyler

As shimmy says, it really writes itself.

Thank you to the two girls who did not need distraction for babysitting the two of us who did so very well. Thank you to all my favorite girlies for giving me a new anchor about Tyler and dancing and Asian Pears and the drunkest pick up lines ever to replace my old anchor for Manhattan Beach, which needs to be trashed.

Thank you for Tyler for leading the rally for one more hour of dancing somewhere. And for the drink. And the cute smile. And the fun on the dance floor. And the picture shimmy and shadalan and KALM took that you don't even know about.

And there will be pictures later, but here's my favorite story of the night. The night of the "non-rager" in Manhattan Beach. Which as you can see from the time did not so much exist as a non-rager.

Drunk, DRUNK Man Picking Up on Us
LADIES!

Shimmy
What brings you out tonight?

Drunk, DRUNK Man Picking Up on Us
You do!

And then...later....so good...

Drunk, DRUNK Man Picking Up on Us
I only go on one speed.

KALM
But what if you have to pee?

Drunk, DRUNK Man Picking Up onUs
I'd go in you!

Yes, people. L.A. isn't really that much different from Vegas. You can make that party happen anywhere, and I'll tell you all about it later with more stories and photos.