Firstly, do you know what I love about this blog right now? The complete contrast between good and evil. "Hey, I hiked God's mountain, but I did it while swearing up a storm." "Hey! I went to see the innocence of a newborn, but first I had a really dirty one-night-stand."
Secondly, I would love to tell EVERY portion of Friday night, but I am going to have to limit it to just three snippets because the rest would be TMI even by my standards and will be reserved only for an email to my closest friends. I will tell you that Friday night resulted in my sending this text to Shim Shimmy on Saturday morning:
"Nothing says taking it to a new low like getting off a plane to meet a newborn for the first time while wearing a shirt you had to steal from your Vegas one-night-stand because you couldn't find your clothes by the light of your cell phone in the morning."
Thirdly, if you read this and think that I have behaved badly, well, a)you clearly don't know me and b)just take faith in the fact that God has punished me. I was such a wreck getting from one night stand to the airport on Saturday AM that I forgot to turn my car lights off. My battery died, and jumping the battery blew out the fuse for my power steering, resulting in hundreds of dollars of car repair. See? Sex really is the devil's work and God will always remind you.
That said, here is the Reader's Digest version of Friday night, in three short chapters.
Chapter One: You Never Know Who the "Nice" Boy Is So, my Asian Party Posse was in town on Friday night. Yeah. This is how we roll in Blush at the Wynn. And also, you can see all of the pictures here.
So, there's some set up here. We walk in, and there's a table full of guys with bottle service, and I immediately think that the one is hot. Like, so hot. Shim Shimmy disagrees and wants to give him a haircut. I like it messy, though. But I am not feeling the game. I'm really not. I think I just hadn't been out in too long. Because by today, having been back in the game, I am, for sure, feeling the game. But whatever. Because I am not feeling the game at that time, I avoid the boy I think is so hot and hang out with my girlies and also this boy we meet upon entering the club named ... Slick.
Slick seems like everything a girl should want. I cannot deny that he was freaking adorably attractive. He's in town for a debate tournament, so he's smart and just a little bit dorky. He installs high end home theaters. He's from LA, which is almost like being local! He can carry on a funny conversation. AND I COULD NOT CARE LESS. I really couldn't feel it. And I think it was because he seemed too nice.
Wanna know what we learned later?
Slick had done porn in Korea.
Wanna know what happened as soon as I found that out?
I was a lot more interested.
However, it was too late by that point, because cute and messy boy had made his move and I was defenseless. Well, that's not true. I was so not feeling the game that I actually physically tried to hide behind Shim Shimmy when we saw him get up to make his move. Right? I know. Something's been off with me since that whole "Nice to have met you" thing in Madrid. But don't you worry! I think we righted the ship.
Anyway, my point is, that's screwed up, right? That quasi-perfect boy couldn't hold my attention until I found out he'd done Asian porn? I HAVE TO GET OUT OF VEGAS.
Chapter Two: Do You Have Anything Thinner? If you have an IQ above 2, then you have figured out by now that at the end of the evening, or the beginning of the morning (either works), I decided to go back to the Hard Rock with this boy to do inappropriate things. On our way to the room, we do what romantic couples in Vegas have been doing for decades. We stop at the apothecary in the Hard Rock lobby to buy Gatorade and condoms.
You really have to feel something for the girl who works at the apothecary in the Hard Rock. She probably sells a hundred combo packs of Gatorade and condoms a night to drunken, horny fools wondering through there who later may or may not remember their room number. And in that process, there are probably two questions that she has been asked so many times that the mere sound of them will want to make her spontaneously combust in anger. The first, of course, would be "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?" Fortunately, we were not the people who asked that question, because based on her response to the question we did ask, she may just have come over the counter at us with a baseball bat if we'd asked "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?"
What we did ask, though, was what I am sure the second most popular question that gets laid on her when she hands over a pack of condoms is. "Do you have anything thinner?" Yes. Yes he did ask that. And before I could even roll my eyes, the apothecary girl looks at me. And her look speaks volumes, and those volumes read "I hate men and their infinite stupidity."
And then she looks at him. And I fear for him, literally. And she picks the condoms back up off the counter, and the she slams them back down in front of him again, and she says:
"Listen, I sell a lot of these and I know what I'm talking about. YOU WILL NOT FIND ANYTHING THINNER THAN THIS."
Then, literally, she slams them down AGAIN (for emphasis, I suppose), and rings up our Gatorade and condoms. We just stood there, staring. At her, at each other, at the condoms on the counter. It was like she had told us how it was, and now we understood. And again, I am just thankful that he didn't ask if she had anything bigger, because, you know, what would THAT scene have looked like?
Chapter Three: This is My Life Lesson to You - How to Avoid the Walk of Shame Okay, listen, there is no real way to avoid the walk of shame. There are going to be times in your life when you straight have to roll out of a casino at 5:00am to get to the airport and you're going to be wearing some slutty heels, some tiny black party shorts, a shirt that was obviously stolen from the boy you hooked up with because you couldn't find your own clothes in the morning and later realized that that was probably because he was sleeping on top of them and a big old mascara stain underneath your right eye.
Or, maybe you'll never have to do that, but I'd argue that you may be missing out if you don't experience that at least once. Sure, you don't have to have done it so many times that you have a life lesson to share on it, like I do, but once is good.
Anyway, in that situation, you cannot avoid the walk of shame out of the casino, but you can MAKE IT YOUR OWN. Don't avoid the eye contact of the people playing blackjack at 5am as you walk out. You know who those people are? The people who didn't get laid the night before. You have WON in this circumstance, and don't let them make you feel any differently just because they're down $500 and you may or may not have an std and be missing your panties. You win here. It's not even a debate. Potential STD and missing panties trumps lost gambling cash and drunken red-eye any time.
Then, you own it as you walk out to the taxi line. I mean, maybe you're lucky and you have a vehicle with you, but chances are, you're going to have to face the taxi line attendant in the bright light of morning. In the shirt that is obviously not the shirt you wore out with your sexy heels and tiny black party shorts the night before. You know what you do in that situation? You look the taxi line attendant dead in the face and say, "This is a nice shirt, isn't it?" He'll say some variation of yes, and then you say, "Yeah. New rule. If you're too drunk and tired to get up and help me find my clothes in the morning, then I take yours." And suddenly, with that one sentence, you will go from being just another tramped out girl trying to get out of sight before her one night stand wakes up to THE COOLEST GIRL EVER TRYING TO GET OUT OF SIGHT BEFORE HER ONE NIGHT STAND WAKES UP.
That's my lesson. Take it. Use it. I promise you it is better than trying to hide behind bangs of shame on your way out in the morning. Own it, ladies, own it.
My life is about efficiency. I make lists of lists that I need to make. Check marks are my friends. I time how long it takes me to do laundry. I use Excel, Outlook, Project AND a running set of notes both in Word and in a paper notebook to organize myself. Perhaps you have seen the holiday letter and gift spreadsheet. Or for that matter the former lover ranking spreadsheet. You know it.
But this week, I even exceeded my own expectations about making my life more efficient. Here are two pictures of the nightstand in my bedroom.
It has all your standards. Candle, light, water glass, lip balm, lotion, linen spray, birth control pills, nail polish ... bottle of wine!
Yes. This week I was at the grocery store, buying my standard low-end bottle of drinking while making dinner and before bed wine, and it dawned on me ... every night before bed I clean up, and then I walk into my bedroom, get my wine glass, walk back to the kitchen, pour wine and then walk back to the bedroom.
How much more efficient is my life if, instead of that, I just buy a second bottle of wine and leave it on my nightstand? Then, that entire kitchen scenario goes bye bye. And that kitchen routine? That's four minutes of my life that I now have back every evening!
And those are four minutes where I can now use the items in the bottom drawer of that nightstand! BAM! I just wrote that entire entry to get to the punchline!
Oh, no. Oh, yes I am. I'm about to straight up tell you about how I went to the Menudo show at the House of Blues and it was the most fucked up thing ever.
Firstly, you are wondering how I ended up at the Menudo show at the House of Blues, and I am simply going to answer that sometimes strange things happen and on a Thursday night you suddenly find yourself with you gay neighbor, 300 12 year old girls, their parents and Johnny Wright.
So, this is not so much a Menudo show as it as a Bandamonium show, which is like an explosion of b-level boy-bands. HEAVEN. No, seriously, even by my standards of cheesiness this is a stretch. But then something happens that is so awesome, so blog-worthy, so worth having hauled my migraine ridden ass out of bed on a Thursday for, that it all becomes worthwhile.
I suffer through the first two bands. The first is two yahoos named James and Mark who sing sensitive teenage acoustic rock. Next is BEAT FACTORY, who don't so much sing as they do dance, but they dance like there's no tomorrow (tm Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson). It's a little bit painful, but nothing this girl can't handle.
And then ... Menudo. The lights dim, the music starts, the pre-pubescent girls begin to go crazy and Menudo comes out to do their very first number of the night wearing ...
Leather zip-up S&M gimp masks.
I did not just make that up.
It's SO FUCKED UP. These twelve year old girls are going CRAZY over these teenage Mexican boys who are basically dressed up like they're about to kidnap a bunch of the girls in a creepy cargo van and then nail them inside wooden boxes and keep them in the basement for the next five years. I only wish that in that moment I had had the presence of mind to look around at the girls' parents and see if any of them were as horrified at this inappropriateness as I was, or if they just thought that this was par for the course. But I didn't look around to see that, because I was too busy being struck down by the vision in front of me of young girls rushing after Latino dominator gimps.
Oh.My.God.
Sadly, though, I am so numb to this type of insanity that I eventually eased up and started to enjoy the Menudo show. I actually enjoy the song "Save the Night," which you can buy in iTunes. At one point, I actually find myself thinking, "Hey, that sixteen year old Latino kid is going to grow up to be quite the heart breaker..."
And then the unfortunate happens. My mind wanders or whatever and I lose track of what's going on, and when I look back up, a boy who looks like he may generously be around eleven years old is singing to me about what goes on "In the middle of the night."
Oh, NO NO NO NO NO NO. Inappropriateness alert! NO NO NO NO NO! Oh, no. Now I just feel dirty. Ew. I mean, at that age, what's supposed to be going on in the middle of the night for that boy is "I wonder what this sticky stuff in my bed is and where it came from." What should NOT be happening at his age is pelvic thrusting on stage as he describes a more vivid vision of "in the middle of the night."
I am on what Red Delicious likes to refer to as negative time right now, which, you know, means that I'm really, really busy. Though, in fairness, I do get to work while watching the tournament games in the office, so that's good. However, instead of taking the time to write anything, I'm just transcribing other funny people's funny stuff that they said to me. Enjoy.
Joe It's surprisingly good. Fine print says it's a Syrah and Cab blend. You should check it out.
Me Is it cheap enough to support my alcoholic tendencies?
Joe It's cheap enough to support mine.
2. More Robin Thicke
Ferris Things Robin Thicke will do with you: 1. Roll with you. 2. Hold with you. 3. Stay warm and get out of the cold with you.
3. More Melissa Etheridge
Hott Scott I was behind you while you were running at the gym today and I just kept thinking "Damn, I really hate Melissa Etheridge."
Me Cause I think "Come to My Window" was on my playlist twice.
Hott Scott So stalkerish. Like reverse stalkology. I mean, I sneak up to look in some girl's window and she's already there. Waiting. "Now who's the stalker?" she'll say in her head as she sings "Come to My Window" It's a game of chess, and I won't have it. I prefer good, old-fashioned voyeurism. Oh, I'll come to your window the second you fall asleep. They all fall asleep sometime.
I bet the witch in Hansel and Gretel was singing that all slow and evil with an Appalachian kind of accent while she watched the children approach the house.
Me Dear God. I wonder what goes on in your head when you're NOT texting me.
Hott Scott It's my crooked little house.
4. Twitch
Boom What are you doing home?
Me i came home to put on my easter clothes and bake the single most delicious thing in the world to take for dessert.
if you were here, i could bake and you could lick my bowl! whew! inappropriate innuendo humor for easter!
Boom are you going to dress up like a bunny ?
Me i totally have a slutty bunny outfit left over from some gay easter gala years and years ago. it has a little cotton tail and everything. i'm sure jesus thought it was an appropriate tribute when i wore it through the castro
Boom does your nose twitch?
Me if it's my nose that's twitching, you're in the wrong spot.
It addition to just the concept....brilliant...it's on LIFETIME, it's hosted by Ian Ziering and judged by Chris Judd AND somebody named Vitamin C. I feel like we're probably missing out.
Dear Jason Castro: The Annual American Idol FanGrrrl Posting
Dear Jason Castro,
I love you. Your such an organic singer songwriter. It's like you sit down and think of how to caress your acoustic guitar in such a way the the words of the poem you're singing reverberate through the strings and your voice and straight into the fuzzy texture of my soul. It's like the fuzz of my soul is melding with the fuzz of your soul. God, not since the days of Cat Stevens in his purest form has somebody touched the core of people through the magic of acoustic music.
Please, Jason Castro, please, DO.NOT.GO.CRAZY.LIKE.CAT.STEVENS.
Just be an artist. We don't need your political views. Just your soothing voice and guitar.
Love, jocelyn
A Haiku for Jason Castro Dreadlocks and guitar Next generation hippie Modern day prophet
Dear Jason Castro,
Sure. You're twenty yeas old. Some people might say that that's age inappropriate for me, but you and I both know better. Because you're an old soul. I can tell that you're an old soul by the way that you feel it deeply when you sing. It's like Paula says, you're special and unique and you have an emotional connection with the audience...by which I mean me. I mean, you have an emotional and physical connection with me. Some might say that twenty is too young for me in my vibrant fertility and middle age, but you and I know better. Because your soul isn't young. It's timeless.
Love, jocelyn
A Shakespearian Sonnet Not Using Iambic Pentameter for Jason Castro I have fallen for a child Jason Castro is his earth name He is, like youth, wild He is, like the youth, a cleansing rain
But he is like a dream And I awake when Simon speaks His visage evaporates like steam Which through the cracks of my fantasy leaks
How? How to actualize him in my life? How to make him full of nerves and blood? How to make him take me as a wife? How to control my emotions - for they are a flood?
Sweet Jason I will fully stalk you Until you realize our love is true
Dear Jason Castro,
When you told that story about how you were on a date and you accidentally tried to eat your dreadlock, I was like "eat me!"
Love, jocelyn
Dear Jason Castro,
You're from Columbia? Really? Are you a drug dealer? I mean, it's okay if you are. I love bad boys. I saw Blow AND Scarface. Wow. What if you were a bad boy and a dorm room guitarist (tm Don Lennon)? Then you would be like Johnny Depp in Blow combined with Dave Matthews and you would be perfect for my split personality. Wait, did I say that? I don't have a split personality. I'm very level. Will you please sing me a poem and then deal me some blow, please? No, I mean, don't take that the wrong way. I'm absolutely stable. I LOVE YOU!
Who should read this entry: K-Rock, Shim Shim, A-Train, a certain girl in LA I know who is the master of the dirty text (yeah, you know who you are Princess K). And also a certain girl in Chicago who is supposed to be learning to talk dirty from me.
Person With Whom I Had Text Message Sex Last Night: Don't read this if you ever want to enjoy that activity again. Seriously. Just don't read it. Trust me.
Anyway...
So, as a little background info, I've had this long distance ... thing ... going on for a while now. It's not a SMOS violation (even though SMOS technically ended yesterday!). It's not exclusive. It's not even really defined, but it is a ... thing.
Okay, so media has advanced to the point where the big frontier is no longer cyber sex. Remember when cyber sex was soooo weird and we longed for the days of good old fashioned 900 numbers? Oh no, people, oh no. We have advanced to the point of being mobile while we fuck each other in a virtual imaginary world. We have moved on to text message sex.
And with it comes something totally unique to text message sex as a form of virtual sex: mobility. With phone sex, you may have to juggle that receiver between your shoulder and your ear, but the verbal nature of the act at least requires you to honor the privacy of being alone, usually in your bed. Unless you are a frat boy sharing the experience during rush. With cyber sex, you are by default tied to the location of your computer. But with text message sex -- ah, with text message sex, you can be doing ANYTHING while simultaneously having virtual sex. Think of the possibilities!
Or, don't think of them and I'm going to lay them out for you by telling you the story of my night last night.
So, last night as I was heading home, I get a dirty text from ... let's call him Boom. And I read it, and I smile, and I send back an equally dirty one and think I'm done for the night. And then there is another text with a prompt, and I'm like "Seriously? He wants us to get off via TEXT MESSAGE?" But, whatever, I was there with him anyway. So, you know, games are fun. But, mobility. That's not necessarily conducive to virtual sex, particularly if you have ADD like me. Here's how the night laid out.
Being Typed Into My Phone I just got out of the bath and I'm imagining rubbing my wet body up against you... Coming Out of My Mouth Hey! HEY! HEY! Can I get a sirloin burger, a super size diet coke and some jalapeno poppers? HEY?! Is anybody in there?
Being Typed Into My Phone Before we even make it to the bedroom, I slide down and put my mouth around your cock... Coming Out of My Mouth FUCKIT. That jalapeno popper is HOT. SHIT. FUCK. DAMMIT.
Being Typed Into My Phone I'm gently teasing you for a long time before I slide you all the way in...
Coming Out of My Mouth FUCKKKKK. THE GODDAMN CAT PEED ON THE CARPET AGAIN. FUCKING CHRIST. DAMMIT.
Hot, right? Makes me long for the good old normal days of fake fucking on the computer.
But the real issue is if you think of the future. Cell phones - Devil's curse. But they make anything possible at any time. Think about our society's obsession with porn. Then think about the future of iPhones in everybody's hands. Then imagine a future in which people just walk around all day with a dazed look on their face getting off via text message.
I always said my iPhone replaced my need for a man.
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.
An Africa Interlude: A Friday 10 In Which I Surely Cannot be Pregnant
What's sad about the intrusion of a Friday Five here is that the next Africa entry is one of my absolute favorites, and it's very entertaining and it would have been a fun way for people to kind of wrap up the weekend with a funny story about how lazy I can be and how Lisa basically won. But I feel like there have been no real updates on ME lately (ha). And it's been a strange week. I've had lots of change thrown in my face. Upheaval, really. Some hard decision making. So, some of this is short, but it's really a Friday 10 to maybe not catch us up, but cover some things.
1. Meandering: In the face of some change, and some young'ins, I updated The Nature of Sand. Which is to say that I pontificated in a circuitous manner and indulged myself by blogging it.
2. Just for Pookie: I rarely point to the thankful journal, but today's entry is special and just for Pookie, so I want to be sure he notices it. Here's today's thankful entry, baby brother.
3. Gay or Douche Bag? This is a new game that Larry invented for us to play on the Strip. I think the game is pretty self explanatory, but in case you don't get it, you basically grab your cocktail and sit in a casino (or a club, or the airport) and try to identify who's gay and who's just a douche bag. You have no idea how fun this is, or how hard it can be.
4. The Joel Robuchon Mansion: Was unreal. I want to say that the caviar course was my favorite, but the veal was amazing. Also the shellfish course was amazing. Oh, and the mushroom course was amazing. But oddly, there was a palette cleanser of a soy bean risotto that was actually our favorite. I just salivated.
5. Eddie Vedder: It was like 1992 all over again, except not since there were no music downloads in 1992. I rushed to my iTunes account the day the new Eddie Vedder was released, and it is good. I don't know that I'll be able to watch Into the Wild, because the book alone sent me into a fit of depression for a week, but the soundtrack is beautiful. I heart Eddie Vedder.
6. G-Mail Chat Poetics: I have once again translated mine, Paul and Dex's gmail status indicators into a poem for you. In this case, it worked out to pretty much be a haiku.
Nintendo's Bitch - Paul Nintendo Widower - Dex Nintendo's White Slave!
7. Where is my period? This is what we're all asking. I'm sure it's just stress related. I have a zit, a headache and a backache, so I'm sure it will be here any day. Given that it's a week plus late, I didn't drink tonight, just in case. And then you know how it is, the later it is the more you worry and the more you stress and the later and later it will be. And then you find yourself saying things like, "I mean, it would be nearly impossible," but then you do the math and "nearly impossible" is not "impossible." This is my brain right now with every minute that passes with a zit, a backache and a headache but no period. Hi, mom!
8. Later on...when my period comes and we're all like "See, it was just the travel and the stress of all the other unexpected changes when you got back," I'll tell you about all of the other crazy stuff that's been going on in my head as the days drag by and I get later and later.
9. See, now I've stressed myself out: This is the cycle. I know I probably have nothing to worry about, but as soon as I start thinking or talking or writing about it, all I can think about is how freakin' late I am.
10. Let's watch a video instead. This is probably only funny to you if you've ever worked in a corporate marketing department and dealt with corporate design issues. And usually there's only one corporate "design" issue. And it has to do with...logo size. If you've never worked in a corporate marketing department, this is not so funny. If you have, well, you'll laugh your ass off.
"Great news, Jeremy, DoodyBubble is totally available. We can get right on this tomorrow!"
Subtitled: LA is Always, Like, an Adventure
One of the things that I always did love about living in San Francisco is that, if you wanted to go create an adventure one night, there was always something to do to create that adventure and there were always playmates ready and willing to have an adventure. LA is like that for me, too, which is probably why I'm on my way there. (Yes, really.)
I had a good weekend of adventure.
On Friday night, I went with shamus? and Tom to get midnight tacos and then to the Hard Place Pompeii party. Which was at the White Slave Trade. In an alley. In Echo Park. I have three most favorite stories from the night, and also, you can see all of the Hard Place band photos here.
Story Number One: "Well, then I can't help you." So, let it be said that I loved everybody I met. They were all creative and fun and nice and lovers of the absurd. However, I think that I am not telling anybody anything that they don't already know when I say that I am not so much attracted to LA scenester boys in skinny jeans (which, by the way, in my mind are as much as much a travesty on men as are manpris and Crocs). However, possibly as punishment for, well, pick it, God gave me a little scenester boy. This one was so devoted to his favorite band that he had ridden his bike from Burbank to the show. Because bike was his preferred form of transport, which is important later.
I was not in the mood for game. I had not been in the mood for game to begin with. Bike Boy kept telling me that my gold lame stretch pants from AA were so hot he couldn't stand it, which may have been the funniest thing any boy has ever said to me in my life while trying to pick me up. Because, I think we all know that gold lame stretch pants are not hot on ANYBODY.
It is also important to note that shamus?, Tom and myself had no place to sleep that night. None of us had so much bothered to work that out, and all of us were like "We'll just figure that shit out after the show." That's how we roll. So, at one point, I'm trying to extract myself from the couch with scenester boy, and I'm like, "I need to go check in with shamus? and Tom. We don't have a place to sleep tonight."
Scenester Boy You can come back to my place. I have a fold out couch in the living room. They can sleep there.
Me In Burbank?
Scenester Boy Yeah. Burbank.
Me What are we going to do about your bike then?
Scenester Boy We can take it apart and put it in the back of your car. Then you can drive to Burbank.
I see how it is. YES. We're all about the preservation of the environment by riding bikes, but when the possibility of getting laid is on the table - LET'S BURN SOME FOSSIL FUEL.
There were many reasons why that hook up wasn't going to happen, including but not limited to a)I was tired, b)I wasn't in the mood, c)I wasn't all that into it, d)I was on my period, and e)I am way too old and make way too much money to hook up with somebody just so that me and my two gay friends have a place to sleep that night. I totally stopped doing that sometime in my mid-twenties.
Anyway, it's time to extract from the situation. shamus? is about to walk away and I grab him by the toga (oh yes, yes he did) and I'm all like "You can't go anywhere. Help me." So shamus? actually offers up a good excuse to leave the situation. And that excuse is, "Lady friend, do you need a vodka drink? I'll buy you one, but I'm not carrying it for you. You need to get your ass up and walk to the bar."
I give you MAN TOGA.
Now, admittedly, he's given me a perfect reason to disappear. The entire world can see that I need a drink. He's offered to get me one. All I have to do is get up. But immediately the struggle begins in me, and my brain starts screaming "What up, bitch? I can't believe you think I'm getting off my ass to get a drink when you have perfectly healthy legs and arms to bring said drink to me over here." And before I can stop myself, I say, "I am NOT getting up to get a drink. What's wrong with you?"
And shamus? stares at me. Baffled by my reluctance to leave the very situation I just said I needed help getting out of (making this moment a microcosm of my entire life). And he sighs, and he says:
"Well I can't help you then."
And then he disappears. Leaving me there with all kinds of bad touch on gold lame and having to live with the results of the uncontrollable dose of princess in my blood. And in the best news you will hear all week, somebody actually took a picture of this entire scene while it was going down. Perfect.
Story Number Two: Five Dollars, Please. Shortly after shamus? disappears, I get up and go after him. He is standing by the door with one of the guys from The Passionistas. If you didn't notice it in the photo, the guys from The Passionistas had made their togas from American flags. Perhaps you are offended by this, perhaps you are not. In either case, you don't need to tell me about it because I am not the person who showed up in an American flag toga. I am simply relaying a story that requires you to know that there is a person in a toga made from an American flag.
To this moment, I am not sure how this happened, but shamus?, the guy from The Passionistas and I ended up working the door. I really don't know how it happened. One minute we were talking, and the next minute we were asking people for $5 on their way in. We have no idea where the actual doorman, a large man with questionable dental hygiene, disappeared to. But at one point, the actual doorman comes back. And he's on some substance. And he looks at the guy from The Passionistas and says
"Thanks for working the door for me. Thanks so much. You know, you know, I'm gonna tell you something. You know about all that shit that went down at Roswell? You know? Like aliens and shit? Yeah. You know where George Bush was born? Yeah, like an hour from Roswell. George Bush isn't human. He's an alien implant. And global warming isn't global warming. It's making the climate right for the aliens. I'M FUCKING GLAD YOU DENIGRATED THE AMERICAN FLAG, DUDE."
We did not work the door for much longer. That is all. And for the record, this is how the night ended. If you didn't know better, you would think that shamus? was all emo and I had overdosed. But really, there's just no better way in my world to end a night than curled up asleep next to shamus while he's wearing a bedazzled shower curtain as a toga.
Story Number Three: It's 4:10am! Do You Know Where Your Jocelyn Is? So, we leave that show/party at around 3:30am. Still with no place to sleep. shamus? looks at me. "What are you going to do?" I'm like, "I think I'm just going to get on the 405 and find a hotel closer to Long Beach since I need to be there in the morning." And so the three of us split up. But after I get on the 405, my thought process is as follows:
"You know, Shimmy said to me yesterday that she had to leave her place at 5am on Saturday morning to go for a run. If I just drive all the way to Long Beach, I'll get there a little after 4am, which is right when she should be waking up. That works. That totally works!"
And so I drive my ass down to Long Beach. And I pull up in front of Shimmy's bougie building. And at 4:10am I text her this: "Hey! Txt me back if you're awake!"
My phone rings.
Me I can't believe you're awake!
Shimmy I can't believe you just texted me.
Me Can you come down and let me in?!!!!
And that girl, that wonderful girl, she came down and let me in and put me to bed and made me tea later. Right now, don't you wish that you and I were tight like that? Because if you and I were tight like that, I would possibly show up at your place at 4:10am begging you to let me in, then invading your calm and peaceful home while wearing some gold lame stretch pants and a hoodie, smelling like cigarettes, booze and alley urine and justifying all of this by yelling "YOU'RE SO LUCKY, IT'S LIKE GOD SENT ME HERE TO MAKE SURE YOU GOT UP AND WENT RUNNING THIS MORNING!!!!!!"
That girl is wonderful. I am not wonderful because, really, who behaves like that?
As for the rest of the weekend... Well, it was pretty much perfect. Shimmy came back from her run, and we went out and had crepes and mimosas (well, I had a mimosa, Shimmy is being good). The I managed to spend $160 on two dresses MADE OF T-SHIRT MATERIAL to take to Africa. Then I managed to spend $70 on two candles. Then I turned to Shimmy and said, "Maybe I should spend some money today." That's when we realized that shopping should stop and went and had PinkBerry instead.
And then we slept. I think the plan was more like "nap," but I slept until Charles called to tell me that dinner was at six. At which point, I was like, "Uh, maybe six thirty - I'm still in Long Beach." And then I arrived at dinner at 7:00pm. Shadalan, Shimmy, Charles and Luci were ALL there before me, and Shimmy didn't even leave until I was supposedly five blocks away from the place.
But that excepted, dinner was lovely. It was beautiful outside. Charles and Luci had brought two lovely, lovely bottles of vino. Shadalan looked like a beautiful Persian princess. Shimmy was hungry. I was thirsty. Conversation was easy and laughter was frequent. And we all left contented.
The next morning, Shimmy and I got karmic-ly cleansed and talked about anger in the world from a Buddhist perspective. You can decide for yourself if that was time well spent for me when I tell you that after I got back to Vegas that night, I had to pull over to the side of the road to talk myself out of ramming my car into the back of the car in front of me to make them drive faster. So maybe that class worked in that I didn't do that, and maybe it didn't in that I still wanted to. Whatever.
After getting cleansed, we filled back up with this ridiculously good diner food that included but was not limited to all of the following on two plates: toast, french toast stuffed with cream cheese and sugar, hash browns, poached eggs, gravy, corn beef hash, some kind of eggs of a scrambled or omelet variety, avocado, bacon, sour cream...you know what, I'm missing something. Even the man sitting next to us was like, "You guys put a huge dent in that for such little people."
And then it was time to leave, and if I didn't have the fact that My Favorite Mike (MFM) was in town and we were having dinner at Rao, I would have cried about leaving.
So.Fucking.Tragic. That's what I'm subtitling that weekend. Only because of that picture of shamus? and I.
I miss you LA! I'm headed back any day now! Seriously!
Oh, a long weekend of a bachelorette party. And a party before a bachelorette party. Yeah. As I look at all of the pictures (and there were just shy of 500 of them, but I narrowed it to 87 winners for you, all of which can be found here), we're really dirty girls. Enjoy the stories.
So...this was our Friday night crew.
Chapter One: Morty and His Hookers On Thursday, the throw-down six and I went down. It would have been the throw-down seven, but I had wussed out on Thursday night's activities. We start with Morty. You see, we start with Morty because while the girls were finishing up getting ready, I was having a cocktail at the circle bar in the Venetian...by myself. Often, that sucks because you get mistaken for a hooker. But I instead befriend Morty, who is a sports bettor who lives in Costa Rica, so we have a lot in common. He's old and everything you would expect from a sports bettor fleeing the law in Costa Rica. He's also very funny. I tell him about how you often get mistaken for a hooker when you sit at this bar alone, and he YELLS AT FULL VOLUME TO THE CROWD, "WHAT? YOU'RE NOT A HOOKER?!!!" Good times. He buys all of us cocktails. We love him. He's an auspicious start to the evening. Love him!
Check the fabric on Morty's shirt, yo.
Onward we go. To Moon.
Moon: Everybody Goes to the Bathroom That's what I call this stop, since the first half was about waiting for one half of us to come back from the bathroom and the second half was about waiting for xtine and I to come back to the bathroom. That place was live though. I will share with you my favorite boy moment from that club. So, these two guys walk up to xtine and I while we're on the patio. They're not so much what we normally go for, to the point where we didn't even bother to take a picture. We talk for a little while though.
Me to Guy A So what do you do?
Guy A I'm in the Air Force.
Me Of course you are, because there's a base here.
Guy A And Brody here is a professional golfer.
Me So you're in the Air Force and he's a professional golfer?
xtine WE NEED TO GO NOW.
It might have been funnier if you were there, or you're used to game player guys in Vegas.
And then we went down to The Playboy Club.
The Playboy Club: Where we don't stay for long. Yes, here we are at The Playboy Club. See the bunny? It's proof.
We don't stay for long because it's a little bit dead in there. But I do meet, um, you know, I think his name was Kevin, but I really have no idea. He's a youngin. I'm like "I'm way too old for you." He's like "I've dated WAY older!" I'm not sure that's so much the correct response. Know what he does for a living? He's a professional golfer. Yep. This must be the line of the night. And then he lays this on me, "You know, you and I have really nothing in common, but I can completely tell that we would have amazingly hot sex."
So between that, the youngin status, the pro golfer thing and the fact that I'm being hyper selective right now because I can be, I said...wait for it..."I HAVE TO GO NOW."
And then, reluctantly, we went to Ghostbar, because frankly that place isn't as hot as it used to be.
Ghostbar: Where It's SUPER FUN You never really want to admit that you had an awesome time at Ghostbar because it's supposed to be going out of fashion, but xtine and I had this exchange.
Me You know, I hate to say it, but this is the second time in a month that we've come to Ghostbar and had an amazingly fun time.
xtine Shhhhh. We won't speak of that.
The first thing that happens at Ghostbar is that I become Asian. So what you need to know is that earlier in the evening, I had not been Asian enough. We were on our way into Moon/Playboy Club, and we were getting let past the line, and all of a sudden the line gets closed before I get in (I mean, and bad on me because I was talking to some boy and not paying attention). So I'm all like "Yo, brotha, I need in with my friends." And the bouncer is all like, "You're not with them!" And I'm all like, "What?" And he's all like, "You're not Asian. Those girls are ALL Asian" At which point girls come back to collect me. But I'd had my reverse-non-Asian discrimination for the night.
So for the first thirty minutes or so at Ghostbar, we're all chilling out on the patio, and there are some Black men next to me, who also have ONE WHITE GUY in their group. And there's some exchange where they hit on somebody and somebody's not into it. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention. Whatever. So I'm kind of chilling by the wall and hanging out to regroup for dancing when we go inside. And the white guy leans over and says to me, "Hey, my friend (one of the Black guys) wants to know why Asians hate Black people?" So, to review, a Black man had a White man ask a White woman why her Asian friends don't like Black people. My first response?
"Do I look Asian to you?"
But, apparently, I have been elected to speak for the Asian American female population. So I say, "Listen, nobody doesn't like Black people here. We've just been dealing with really aggressive boys all night long and we weren't in the mood."
This, this is a GOOD ANSWER. Until the White guy turns to his friends and says, "She says that Black men are too aggressive."
YES HE DID.
We went inside. Because that was funny. But not that funny.
Inside "the hat" comes out. By which I mean we meet the sweetest man ever who has a hat. And now we ALL groove with the hat. I don't have a fantastic story except to say that Britney Shim was tearing up the floor and we all had a fantastically fun time. Here are many pictures of the hat, which you can see bigger versions of over on flickr.
And then, just so you don't have to worry that we made it out of there without taking "the signature photo," I give you this.
We had a great time. We went back and ate huge amounts of food at 5:00am in the morning at the Grand Luxe. And then there was Saturday.
This was our Saturday crew.
Yep. That's a lot of women to navigate. A LOT OF WOMEN.
You know, honestly, there's no way to sum up stories. Your best bet is to go look at the pictures. If you're too lazy to do that, I can give you a top five pictures right here, but really, you'd be missing out. Go look at the pictures. It's a better way to go.
Madonna Tribute - Cast of Glee
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