"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. FUUUUCK. WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT FUCKING LAKE?"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I heard from behind me all the way across the one and a half mile marsh that turned into a three mile marsh that we hiked in the cold and the wet at 11pm, by moonlight. Did I mention cold and wet?
Yes, it was the annual summit trip, that turned into the annual hiking trip because nobody was able to summit. Before I even tell the stories, you may be asking why nobody was able to summit.
Well, there's an argument that we were wrong that this could be done in two days and that all along it should have been a three day trip (up to camp, summit and back to camp, off the mountain). I think that I think that it would have been possible to do it in two if you got an early start on the first day, though that climb down off the mountain on day two would SUCK. Either way, we ran out of time to try for the summit. Why did we run out of time?
Well, firstly, there were flight issues. Not for me, but I drove. I pulled into the hotel parking lot at 9:30pm. At that exact moment, my cell phone rings and it's PBM. We start talking, when it dawns on me. "Hey," I say, aren't you supposed to be in the air?" PBM is delayed in Denver. He should be in around 1:00am. Then I check my email. Frank is delayed in Chicago. He should be in around 1:00am.
PBM calls around 11:30pm again. I answer the phone, "Shouldn't you be in the air?" PBM's flight from Denver is canceled. He can't get to Salt Lake City to meet us until 8:30am the next morning, and that's going to be with little to no sleep. Awesome.
So, Frank gets to the hotel around 2:30am. PBM gets to the hotel around 9:00am the next day. We let PBM sleep for a couple of hours, and then there are still all the logistics of going to Wal-Mart for last minute supplies, driving to the mountain itself (several hours), stopping to see a moose (see below) and putting packs together.
So we don't actually hit the trail until ... wait for it ... 4:00pm in the afternoon.
I mean, we should have known.
The first day is an 8 or so mile hike to a lake. A lake where we will camp and then in the morning will pick up the trail to the summit. The idea, per usual, is to head for the summit around 2:00am, be back off the mountain (realistically) by one or two in the afternoon, and then off the mountain by early evening.
It almost looks possible. We're moving slow on the first stretch of the hike, but not super slow. There aren't thousands and thousand of breaks. But we started late, which means were hiking late. Like hiking as evening sets in, ie: it gets dark. So, we cross over this mythical footbridge, from which point it's supposed to be two miles to the mythical lake. The first thing that happens is that suddenly there's a lot more snow. We lose the trail. Okay, in fairness, Frank does not lose the trail, he stealthily guides us through. But if it had just been PBM and I, we would have been lost. So, the trail goes up an elevation gain, and then you come out onto a meadow that stretches for about a mile and a half. And on the other side of the meadow is the lake.
I should self-correct here. In the morning, when it is light but all of the snow has refrozen in the cold, cold night, it is a meadow. It's about a mile and a half across and you can walk it in 45 minutes and on the other side, to the left of the tree line is a lovely lake, and just beyond that lake is the summit climb.
This, however, is not what this is like at 11pm. I should note, that though it was cold, it would have been pleasant to hike across that meadow at 11pm if it were *dry*. The moon was up and almost full and bright and bouncing off the mountains and snow. The walk is flat. And yes, it was cold, but I was never too cold when we were moving and before my feet got wet. Oh, but my feet got wet because...
At 11pm when the sun has gone down but the snow has been melting all day, this walk was not so much a meadow as it was a marsh. And we had to march across the marsh. There was water everywhere. Big expanses of cold, muddy, water. In the freezing cold, so you wanted to avoid them. To avoid them, you had to keep crossing back and forth over stones and jumping over huge puddles. This meandering path turned a 1.5 mile walk into something much closer to two or three miles. Then there are the brambles. Since the path itself is now flooded with run off, you are walking on what would be the land surrounding the path, and that land is full of brambles.
It is cold. It is wet. You get wet which then makes you cold even if you are moving. You get muddy because, oh yes, it is very muddy. You get hit with brambles. You are tired because it is 11pm and you have been hiking for seven hours and you just want to get to camp and warm up and eat something. But you have no idea how much longer it's going to take you to get to the tree line on the other side of the meadow/marsh, and you're not even sure how much further the lake is from there. But you know that, if you turn around, you're hiking back for over an hour or so to the last campable ground you saw AND you're further away from the mountain, so you're not doing that.
I miss a rock and land in the water up to my calf, and my left foot slips in, too. So now I am hiking for however long we have to hike with wet pants, wet boots and wet socks. I lose a snow show in the brambles and don't even care because the idea of backtracking is so horrid (we found it on the way out the next day). I start to cry, OUT LOUD, and don't even care that the boys are hearing it. PBM steps in mud about a thousand times over, and that's when I start hearing the title of this blog entry from behind me over and over again.
We finally get to the other side and ...
... wait for it ...
we completely lose the trail. Can't find it. In the morning, we would realize that not only could we not find it, we were not even close to it. We were, quite literally, lost in a forest.
We give up, and pitch camp, not even bothering to get out the tents, even though they would have held body heat in for us. And it is cold. And at least two of us have gotten wet. Frank, apparently, walks with the hand of God guiding him around puddles.
In the morning, we finally find the trail, which isn't all that near to us, and the lake, but by that time, it's too late to make for the summit unless we don't want to be off the mountain until six the next morning, and that seems unsafe even beyond unsafe. So we agree to try for the summit another time, and head back down the mountain. Which is a bummer, but it's not like I personally didn't get my dose of "hard." And I got to spend time with Frank and PBM. And maybe next year I'll have a story for you where we actually make the summit, but not this year. This year, I have a story for you about PBM walking behind Frank and me through a marsh in the middle of the night and cursing to the high heavens.
That is all. It was an awesome weekend, even with the fubar parts.
This is a conversation that Pookie and I had. However, it's a conversation being given to you with more words and far less emoticons than actually happened since it was a conversation that happened over IM.
Me I don't need a man in my life anymore. My iPhone satisfies all of those needs for me.
Pookie iMann
It's the new apple product.
iMann.
"iMann update is now available."
Me It's perfect.
iMann can collect my email and read it to me.
iMann can have ringtone notifications that warn me of his mood.
I can plug iMann in to download things that will make him the perfect man for me.
Also subtitled: The Annual Camping Trip Also subtitled: The Coldest, Wettest, Most Miserable Night I Ever Spent Sleeping in a CAVE
Yes, you read this right. This story ends with my sleeping in a cave. Actually, it doesn't end there, but that is a part of this, and you can read about it later. That real title is an actual direction from the human waste removal bags you are given at the ranger station when you get your permit to Mt. Whitney.
I came back from the mountain all blissed out. Sore and blistered like a fiend, but blissed out.
Before I even write the never-ending journal entry about the camping trip, let me just say that I camped with the most fantastic boys ever. They are fantastic because they are funny and straightforward, but they are also are fantastic because they treat me like a girl while not forcing me to be limited by being a girl. They took great care of me in the wilderness. I always had water. I always had food. I was never any colder than I had to be. Somebody always checked my pack. And when I had trouble with one of the ascents, one of them actually came a quarter of a mile back down the side of a mountain to carry my pack for me. But they never acted like I couldn't do everything they could. If they climbed to 11,000 feet three times in one day, I had to, too. If they decided that we were going to start hiking at 2am, I was, too. If my dumb ass fell asleep on a ROCK in the middle of the campsite, my dumb ass was left there to deal with being a dumb ass until I work up freezing in the middle of the night. And I actually did do that. They are the best boys ever. And I'm so very grateful for them.
Okay, then, onward.
Chapter One: I Often Pay Very Little Attention to Things Listen, so you know how the year we went to Peru, people would ask "What are you guys doing in Peru?" And I was all, like, "I dunno. I didn't plan the trip. I just know when to show up and what I'm supposed to bring." And then when we went to China the same questions were asked, and my answer was pretty much the same. And then for Uganda this year, the same question is asked and my answer is pretty much the same? Same with this trip. I knew that I was supposed to meet E-Stop on Tuesday in Lone Pine, that I needed to bring food for the group and my camping gear and that we'd descend on Thursday or Friday depending on the weather. This is my own bad, because an entire route map was sent out the week before the trip. I just didn't read it. If I had, I might have noticed that we were going to end up hiking 40+ miles in three days with summits of 12,000 feet, 11,000 feet about three times and of course the big 13,600 at Whitney. I might have been intimidated by that. Thank the lord I didn't actually read it.
Chapter Two: Things Get Off to an Ominous Start And so this is how the trip starts. I blow out a tire IN THE MIDDLE OF DEATH VALLEY IN 120 DEGREE HEAT. Let it be said that I do this because I am taking a corner at 90mph in 120 DEGREE HEAT, and that I already know that I should not drive like that. But fortunately, it all works out.
Bad sign number two is that Paul, Frank and Dave all have delayed flights, meaning that they are landing in Santa Anna at 10:20pm, with still a three to four hour drive to the campsite. This is not good, especially since we are altitude hiking and the acclimatization time is important.
This is how our trip starts.
Chapter Three: Camping With Bart Simpson But because Frank, Dave and Paul are late, I get to spend the entire day with E-Stop. We deal with permits, with Ranger Tyler. Ranger Tyler isn't so bright on the upswing, it seems. Firstly, he fills out our permit wrong - though that will later be an advantage. Then he has us filling out all of our forms to rent bear canisters BEFORE he mentions to us that there are bear lockers at both campsites we're using. Then he has no idea where a good place to eat in town is, even though town consists of about a dozen buildings. Finally, in my favorite part, he begins to explain to us how to use the human waste removal bags he's just provided us with, because "if you take it up the mountain, you have to bring it down the mountain, and that means biodegradables, too." To begin with, I will leave it to you to determine whether we actually took all of our "biodegradables" back with us in our backpacks. But the funny part to me is that Ranger Tyler is so uncomfortable giving us this speech that he won't make eye contact with us. It's like he must tell 100 people a day about having to bring their "biodegradables" back down the mountain with them, but he's still totally embarrassed by it. Cute.
We eat, we head up to the campsite. It's a good day. It's like camping with Bart Simspon. The first thing that happens is we stop at an overview at about 9500 feet or so. I'm taking a picture, and I look over. "E-Stop, what are you doing?"
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the answer.
"I'm trying to push this boulder off the cliff. Trust me, it will make a loud noise while it rolls down. It'll be awesome."
We spent the day shooting pellet guns, throwing knives at trees, taking a hike where he used his trekking poles to pretend like he was slolem skiing down the mountain, talking about a legendary dump he took the last time we were camping, and making fart jokes. In between all of this, he gave me advice about my job and my (sort of not really) boy. It was like camping with Bart Simpson. That night, we lit a propane lantern not necessarily because we had to, but because fire is cool. And we drank Miller Lite.
And we went to sleep and made a $20 bet about whether the rest of them would get there by 4am.
They did not get there by 4am. The arrived at camp at 5am when it was too dark to find our campsite. They slept in the car. Yes, in the car. That's how our trip started. But yet...it all ends so good!
Chapter Four: On the First Day I Slept on a Rock So, we had obviously hoped to be out on the path when the sun came up around 6 or 7am. That plan went out the window when people didn't arrive at camp until 5am. For the record, I'm told that part of the reason people didn't arrive at camp until 5am is because they STOPPED AT WAL MART ON THE WAY THERE. Yes, yes they did. Also, while E-Stop and I were comfy at the campsite, PaulM and Frank were sleeping in the SUV rental and Dave-Shaft was sleeping on a mat in the parking lot. So we let them sleep as long as possible, got the packs together and headed out around 10am. It could have been worse.
Also, one of my favorite stories happens here. The night before, E-Stop and I had a couple of beers at camp. Well, he had one. I had two. The next morning, I'm all like, "Man, we're only at 10,000 and I'm already feeling altitude. I have a headache and I'm nauseous."
Because he is patient with me, E-Stop just looks at me. The he looks away. Then he looks at me. "Jocelyn, you had two beers at altitude last night. What you have is a hangover."
And that's how we start.
It's beautiful hiking. Beautiful. Sometime later in the afternoon we cross over Mt. Langley. We don't summit, but we do go up to almost 12,000 feet. Before that, though? Rain. We're headed up the incline before you get to the mountain switchbacks, and it starts to rain. We take shelter in a cave for about an hour, have some beef jerky and then head on. Why this is important is that we put on rain gear. And then we head on in the rain. And eventually, about halfway up the switchbacks, the rain stops. But we are still in plastic rain gear. You know how when a boxer wants to lose weight he runs in a plastic warm-up suit so he can sweat out all of his water weight? This is the same effect. You don't want to stop going up the switchbacks because you'll lose momentum, but you're dehydrating quickly with the rain gear on. And so, on the way back down the mountain, I get horribly ill from dehydrating and throw up. Lovely.
So I'm feeling poorly by the time we get to "camp," by which I mean the clearing where we will sleep without tents. I pull out my lightbag and and say "I'm just going to lay here on this rock for fifteen minutes and then get up and eat."
It is three in the morning when I wake up, having now slept ON THE ROCK for a solid five or so hours. I'm not sure if I woke up because it is so horribly uncomfortable to sleep up against a rock or because it had dropped to sub forty degrees. I remind you that we did not have our cold weather gear with us.
Yep. We were all pretty miserable that night. Yet happy, and content. Odd.
Chapter Five: On Day Two, We Sleep in a CAVE Day two, for me, was the hardest day.
We begin by hiking to the nearest ranger station to get water. There we are met by Creepy-The-Hills-Have-Eyes-I-Have-Spent-Too-Much-Time-Alone-In-The-Woods Ranger Girl. No, seriously. She lives in the ranger station which is a tiny cabin IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. She actually suggests that we get some water from the spring WITHOUT FILTERING IT. Hello, creepy girl. And of course, while we're filtering our water, she wants to look at our permits.
Which say we should be entirely off of the mountain that day.
We are a solid 20 miles from being off of that mountain, including the several miles of climbing UP the mountain.
She then asks to see our bear canister.
We're not traveling with one. Even though we know we're required to have one because after avoiding eye contact with us while discussing human waste, Ranger Tyler reiterated to us about a dozen times that tying our food up in the trees was not sufficient and that we HAD TO HAVE A BEAR CANISTER. We lie and say we're camping at Crabtree Lake, where there are bear boxes provided. She looks confused because she knows that if we camp there, we are not down off of the mountain in time. Then she starts talking to animals as though we're not even there. We sneakily hike away. I am only partially joking.
The day is spent climbing up and then climbing down. Not once but twice we ascend to over 11,000 feet. Only to climb ALL THE WAY BACK DOWN to 9500 or so, because remember we are crossing over mountains. The second time we go up, we run into another ranger girl. I like to call this one Ranger GRRRRRL. She also notes that we don't have bear canisters and tells us stories of campers getting mauled by bear. We proceed on, promising to hike at Crabtree Lake.
We arrive at Crabtree Lake in the late afternoon. We stop and eat, by which I clearly mean some more beef jerkey and almonds. Actually, there's some Hickory Farms processed turkey summer sausage, too, which at that point tastes like the finest gourmet meal I've ever had. We take a nap, literally. And then we decide to fuck the good-hearted rangers and hike through the ravine all the way back up to 11,500 feet to camp at Guitar Lake.
Firstly, that hike is hard. It's hard to go back up to 11,500 for the THIRD time in a day, more or less. It's getting cold. We're well above tree line pretty early on so it's not even pretty. It's raining off and on (AGAIN). And when we arrive at Guitar Lake, what we realize is that it's going to rain that night. AGAIN. And this time, HARD.
We-find-a-cave.
Yes, that's right. You heard me. Our solution is to find a cave. The cave is disgusting. It's got what we hope is marmot poop in it. We're hoping it's marmot poop because if it's anything else then it's bear poop, and we want that even less. Also, this is less of a cave and more of a precariously balanced large boulder on top of other large boulders. We put a tarp down so there will be a layer between us and the marmot poop. We share what thin blankets we have. We realize that rain will still be coming in on our heads, so we put a tent fly that we're carrying over top of all of us.
Here's how we pass the "night" (in quotes because we got up to start hiking at 2am). For starters, even with people all in the cave, it's cold. And wet. It's 11,500 feet, so we're all having trouble breathing. But you know what makes breathing in thin air even harder? When you put a freakin' tent fly tarp over your heads so that what you're all breathing is already breathed air with even LESS oxygen in it. It sounded like a porn convention in there with all the heavy breathing. And so, occasionally, somebody would lift up the tent fly to let some fresh air in. When that would happen, all of the rain water that had collected on the top of the tent fly would fall on peoples' faces.
And also, I should mention that high altitude screws with people's stomachs. Farting had been happening with impunity the entire trip. But, BONUS, on this night, there was plenty of beef jerky and cliff bar farting going on. In a confined cave. With a tent fly holding all the air in.
I'm actually fairly sure I've probably been more miserable than that at some point. Sleeping outside in the crime ridden gypsy park in Budapest that one time comes to mind. Also, the time I was broke and panhandling in my early twenties in Calle trying to get back over to the UK and I ate food out of the trash (see, Mom, it was better that not every story was shared after that first trip to Europe). And possibly even this one time in PA when the heat in my parents house broke. But there have not been many more nights that were as miserable as the night I slept in a cave full of marmot poop with boys farting and thin air and periodical showers of rain on my face. That one is up there.
Oh, and also, we said fuck the bear bag/cannister issue. We slept with the food still in the packs next to the cave. We got lucky. That could have been bad. Never do that.
Caves. Farting. Animal Poo. Rain. Heavy Breathing. Are you turned on yet?
Chapter Six: High Up On a Mountain Top...I Start Dreaming of Hamburgers Day three begins at 2am. And let me tell you, nobody really had a problem with starting the hike up the mountain at 2am because, frankly, walking and climbing, as painful as it was, was a better deal than the "sleeping" arrangement.
I can't describe it in words, so I will simply say that going up that mountain from that side (the west side - where most people don't go up) is stunning. And religious. And the type of challenge that you need to be mentally ready for (You can still make it work if you're physically weak, but no matter how bad or good shape you are in physically, if you are not mentally prepared, you will break. You have to be very, very mentally strong.) . Actually, for the record, you only need to be mentally strong until about 13,000 feet. After that, it's not like it's an option any more, so even if you sit down and cry every 100 feet after that, you're hitting the top.
The top was high. Again, I could journal for paragraphs and not be able to tell you what it feels like when you realize you really are going to cross over this mountain and go down the other side.
Going down sucks.
No, seriously, it's way worse than going up. Firstly, going up is from 11,500 to 14,000 if you go to the highest point. Coming back, you have to descend all the way to the portal at 8500. Secondly, if you do the math, from 14,000 to 8500 feet, you have a solid 4000 feet before you ever hit the tree line. That means that for 4000 feet, after having hiked HARDCORE for three days with almost no sleep and way not enough food, you will be climbing over rocks with no trees for shade. Every step will have your already blistered and cut up feet hitting hard rocks. No matter how tightly you've tied your boots, rocks are going to get into said boots because you're walking through paths of tiny rocks. Cuts and blisters will start to open up. You will begin to repeat the phrase "All I want is off this fucking mountain and into a place with a hamburger" over and over again. In the case of other mountains, you may not say exactly that. But you're aware that there's a hamburger joint right when you get to the parking lot at the base of the this particular mountain. For me, there was a hamburger right in front of my face the whole way down.
Frank and I descend most of the way on our own. E-Stop catches us somewhere shortly after the tree line. We have never hiked in so much silence before in our lives. Frank kicks in into a new gear when we're within 1000 feet of the portal exit. I just keep repeating the phrase "I want off this fucking mountain" over and over again.
And, finally, we are. And we eat burgers. And later that night Frank and I have more burgers from Carl's Jr. And there are showers, and goodbyes, and "See you next year's."
It was a great trip. I'm still picking scabs off of my ankles and feet. I'm a little sunburned. My lips are still a little chapped. And I alternate between wishing I were back in the woods unable to think about anything except that I needed to keep walking to get up the mountain and being glad that I'm off said fucking mountain. Mostly, though, I miss it.
I do not miss beef jerky and instant oatmeal.
But I do miss the way sunset looks above the tree line and the way water tastes when you actually need it.
And This, Ladies and Gents, Is Why I Like My Life the Way It Is
Weekend blog post coming when I theoretically get the last photo (ahem).
In the meantime, I LOVE FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS AND SO SHOULD YOU. I love every minute of anything ever done by Flight of the Conchords because I watched every single minute on YouTube tonight, but "Business Time" is particularly special. And sexy. Special sexy.
Now if only I could tell you this amazing condom story I have...
Friday Five! By which I mean Friday 10 on the 13th
Because just because I didn't have time to post last week, it doesn't mean that there weren't all kinds of random things I wanted to drop on you. Here's how this is working. I do one item, then I go and clean a patch of carpet because shamus gets here in two hours and I'm trying to reduce cat hair.
1.Speaking of shamus: We are doing what I like to call "Rich Man/Poor Girl Weekend," in which on Friday we eat at Michael Mina and have a VIP table at Caramel with Hott Scott and Sean and Saturday we see a movie at Sam's Town and then go drinking on Fremont Street. It will be perfect. IT HAD BETTER BE PERFECT.
2.Wanna know what else is perfect? My travel schedule for the rest of the year. In August it's a trip to Denver to see K-Yo and then the Whitney Summit. In September/October it's Uganda. In November the Woodalls and select Jocelyn friends and I are taking the kids to NYC to see the Macy's Day parade and other spectacles for Thanksgiving. In December it's home to magical PA for Christmas and then on to Tuscon for margaritas and Parkers. Perfect.
3. Dear Men of Match.com: Here are some more free pointers from me.
a. Chances are, dating you is not my top priority. Not to sound snotty, but it's not like I'm having a hard time finding dates. If you email me, I'm probably not going to jump off my chair and say "I HAVE TO EMAIL HIM RIGHT NOW." Unless you are Leonardo DiCaprio. Chances are, in a couple of days when I have some free time, unless your Match handle is "Welcome2MyNitemare", I'll at least respond. THAT IS UNLESS YOU GO CREEPO ON ME BEFORE I EVEN HAVE A CHANCE TO AND SEND ME AN EMAIL EVERY DAY FOR A WEEK ASKING IF I GOT YOUR LAST EMAIL. Dude, seriously, come on now.
b. Here's another free tip. Let's say you're local and you may have seen me out at the Venetian one night and then come across my profile on Match. IT IS THEN CREEPY IF THE FIRST EMAIL YOU SEND ME IS ASKING ME IF I WAS THE PRETTY GIRL YOU SAW AT THE VENETIAN AND THEN DESCRIBING WHAT I WAS WEARING THAT NIGHT. Don't expect a response back to that freako. We have Craigslist for that if you want to go there.
c. And finally, on that should be so obvious that I'm not sure why I have to point it out. Don't use pictures in your profile of you and your ex. That's just going to make me think that you haven't cleaned up that situation yet. You and your dog? That's good. You and your ex? That's not good.
4.Speaking of Boys: Uh, wanna hear a freaky accurate assessment of me from somebody who barely knows me?
"You're an over achiever. You like to work, you like the sense of a job well done. You are a mother (ing) type. You love the little rascal in a boy, but you don't want to be a man in the relationship. You are a submissive woman (so to speak, pull my hair and show me who's the boss kind of gal). But mostly you're afraid of the unknown,,, marriage, kids sex with the same guy over and over..."
And the childrens all nod and say "Yep."
5. Also Speaking of Boys: And that word is being used intentionally, I sent what has to be the ugliest, cruelest email I've ever sent in my life this week. But the saddest part is, there wasn't really anything in there (or very little) that I don't believe to be true about the person I was sending it to. For about an hour after I sent it, I was actually a little embarrassed that I did. I mean, I was like, "Man, I am the kind of person who can say those things - and I know EXACTLY how bad those things are going to make that person feel." But then afterwards, I thought about it and was like, "No, this is a man who lies to women, many women, over and over again. And for no reason other than that's he's selfish emotionally. I don't feel bad about calling that behavior at all, especially since I've been enabling it for the last two months or so." And then I bounced back and forth a couple of times and felt bad about some of the horrible things I said and then felt like I'd had a right to say them. And in the end, if nothing else, the action got my head unbent where previously it had been bent. Okay, really what happened was a strong woman and an incredibly sweet man reminded me that I had every right to say those things, and then I felt better.
7.G-Mail Chat Status Indicator Poetry: (I Love) Paul Jack and (I Also Love) Dex and I have been playing a word association game with our Gmail Chat status indicators all week, and if you put it all together, it almost reads like a poem:
big time small time no time timeless wordless soulless mindless speechless speech is overrated speech is rated r pandemonium is rated r pandemonium is rated wow my boobs are rated wow pandora's boobs are rated AWESOME i have no boobs to rate boobless boob time is back it's 5:00pm - boob time
8. See, I knew 10 would be a stretch. Here we are at 8 and I have three spots to fill but only two real things to talk about. How about we do one featured photo and then the last two hot items? Here:
So this is actually one of my favorite shots from home. It's my mom's yard. Lawn birds. Yep.
9. A Wish for You and Shoes: In case you were one of the two people who didn't hear my shoe story from today. In which case I don't have your email and you should correct that. Or you are a man. But anyway, I digress. So today I had a couple high stress things going on at work and I started to feel a little run down, so I decided to cope with that by running to Designer Shoe Warehouse to buy what I thought would be a $100 pair of ballet flats to wear with this dress that I bought to wear to the aforementioned Michael Mina/Caramel spectacular on Friday. But DSW was having a massive sale! And for just $33 I walked out of there with FOUR pairs of ballet flats! FOUR! And what I wish for all for you for the weekend is a little unexpected happiness like DSW delivered for me today.
10. Friday Remix! Is back! Five songs for Friday! Playlist and everything. Here we go!
"Scrubs" from TLC: Last week (or really two weeks ago), I was all like "Unpretty is the best TLC song EVER." But really we all know that the best TLC song EVER was Scrubs. Remember how you and your friends would all sing that song over and over when it first came out? You know that you did. Don't front. And it still speaks to me. Enjoy. Catch the lyrics here if you want.
"Jet Lag" from Joss Stone: This song is so freakin' sexy. And I've been on a Joss Stone kick lately. Kick the lyrics here. Hawt.
"More than Anyone" from Gavin Degraw: I really have never felt that this was his best album track, but I do think it's one of his best live tracks. And this is a live version. Maybe his best live track. It's so lovely to listen to. I give you no lyrics link because the lyrics aren't all that special.
"Four in the Morning" from Gwen Stefani: You can hate me later for closing out this week's playlist with Gwen Stefani and Fergie, but I can't stop listening to both of these songs. Shut up.
"Big Girls Don't Cry" from Fergie: No, I am actually embarrassed about these songs on my playlist. I am. But yet here they are. I enjoy these lyrics, too.
So for a couple of days now, I've been trying to put a real journal entry together about my trip home to Pennsylvania to spend time with my mother, the Woodalls and Ferris for his big birthday (age STILL undisclosed)...and, of course, Pookie, Dana and Jai. And the thing is, I haven't been able to do it. There are dozens of stories that are funny to me, and funny to the people there, but they won't be funny to you. You know, because they're the kind of stories that are funny because all of the people involved know all of the history behind them, or are emotionally intimate enough to understand the laughter. So while the trip was amazing and perfect, it wouldn't be funny to anybody but us. But for those of us who participated, let us just take a moment and remember:
- Larry using a Buffalo Wild Wings as a locational reference point to guide me somewhere - "I thought taking a walk to the park would be nice." - "So what if I don't have a cell phone - I WAS THE FIRST ONE TO DINNER." - BIG TIME - "Clyde is here, Ferris. Brokeback it up for your birthday, baby." - Japanese food and the missing server. - Bar Louie and how somebody thought his move was to let that hobag walk in front of him and steal the table that should have rightfully been ours. - BIG TIME - "Did you know that your mother was in Guadalajara?" - MORE BIG TIME - "I'm so glad that cell phones were invented so that, while we're all here spending time together, you all can be texting other people who are NOT here." - "Let's make some MySpace magic tonight." - "Counting every blade of grass, taking a stand, starting a revolution." - FANTASTIC cocktails at the Shady Grove - Making ourselves sick with more food and booze at Gullifty's. I mean, like, SICK. - Larry wishing Ferris a happy birthday by telling him about his sweaty ass - My mom's cooking, including her attempt to lame out on stuffed mushrooms by microwaving them, to which we responded, "That's bullshit. Turn the oven on." - My mom's face when the question "Did you know that your mom is in Guadalajara?" was asked. - BIG TIME and BIG JIM - Snowballing. Don't even bother asking. - Jukeboxes - "Everything is definitely cool."
I love you mom, Pookie, Ferris, Dana, Candy, Larry, Jai. Thank you for such a wonderful set of perfect moments. You can see all of the pictures here, but here are my favorites for reference.
Don't you wish you could rock to ANY music? Even the servers singing at Yokoso?
Dinner. Good Times.
Much like The Jackal, where there is bottled beer, The Unicorn will appear.
Ferris, I guess we'll have to buy it. Then load it on a flatbed truck and take it on a cross country roadtrip called "Go West, Big Jim< -- Go West."
Now, all we need is $10,000 each......
To which Ferris replied:
We'll cross the country with it, finding out a lot about ourselves and America along the way. Finally, upon arriving in San Francisco, Big Jim becomes a gay icon, but during its triumphant (yet ill advised) parade down Lombard Street it teeters over and kills Joel. James, in a fit of anger, curses the day the steel giant was ever created; the statue gains sentience and in a fit of remorse, throws itself into the Bay. It is never seen again, and James ends his days working in a coal mine.
And so on Saturday we're sitting at my mom's house and we're all like, "Hey, Ferris, what do you want to do today for your birthday?"
And he's all like, "I want to go find the Big Jim statue and worship it."
Surely he did. So first we drive to where the Big Jim statue originally lived hoping, beyond hope, that perhaps he had not been moved yet. He had been moved. We then drive all the way through Charleroi, the town where Big Jim had resided, to see if he had been moved to a central park area or something. We have no luck.
I wrote that last paragraph like driving through Charleroi took us hours, but in reality driving through the entire length of Charleroi takes less than 10 minutes. At the end, disheartened and sad, we pull over to the Cougar Mini Mart. What shall we do? Almost twenty minutes into our quest, we've failed to find Big Jim.
So, the average age of a citizen of Jesus Land in Western Pennsylvania is about 115 years old. Pookie and I roll into the Cougar Mart (named, by the way, for the team mascot at the local high school) to ask if anybody knows where Big Jim is. There are two people in the Cougar Mart. The woman behind the counter (balding) and the woman buying her lottery tickets (old). We get in line to ask our question. It's at that point, that the woman buying the lottery tickets realizes that one of her FIFTEEN LOTTERY TICKETS has been misprinted not using the super secret lottery number that she wanted. What do you do in this situation if you are the lottery ticket purchaser or the woman behind the counter? Do you say to the old lady and her lotto tickets, "Just give me one moment to help those two people standing behind you and then we'll work out." NO! You proceed to spread ALL FIFTEEN LOTTERY TICKETS OUT ON THE COUNTER and then start tediously going through them with the old woman while Pookie and I stand there with our mouths open.
Fortunately, at that moment, a man who was roughly 115 years old and holding a respirator in his hand comes in and gets in line behind us.
Pookie to Said Man Have you lived here your whole life?
And at the time, it was a nice intro, though, you know, OBVIOUSLY. The man explains to us that the Big Jim statue has been moved to Bentleyville. We return to the car to suggest a trip to Bentleyville. Ferris is like, "Do we really want to drive all the way to Bentleyville?"
Again, this is said like this is some kind of trek. IT'S A TEN MINUTE DRIVE. We, of course, begin this ten minute drive with Ferris pulling his hybrid out in front of an 18-wheeler that was speeding down the highway at 80 miles an hour and literally CAME WITHIN FEET OUR OUR BUMPER. Ferris' response to this?
"This may be it, people."
I mean, and really, we were pretty close to death there.
And we turn into Bentleyville, and...THERE'S BIG JIM. In a park? No! In a town square? No! On a pastoral hill somewhere? No!
IN FRONT OF THE BENTLEYVILLE BEST WESTERN. You know it. You can't even take a picture of this piece of history without a Best Western sign in front of it.
You can see all of the pictures here. And you should look at them. But here are my four favorites:
Big Jim: Ass Up to the Sunlight
Ladies love Big Jim.
Gunslingers!
Go West, bitches.
I end with a haiku.
Big Jim. Such a man. Balls of steel. Literally. Bentleyville icon.
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.
THANK YOU for every gratuitous shot of Mark Phillippoussis with his shirt off. Mark Phillippoussis coming out of the shower. Mark Phillippoussis stretching on the beach. Mark Phillippoussis getting dressed. You really, fearlessly, went for it.
THANK YOU for EVERY awkward edit where you cut to Mark Phillippoussis' face in various contortions of horror as he realizes that the women he's been set up to date are all in their forties and many of them have children not that much younger than he. Awesome.
Maybe thank you for putting together a set of forty-year-old women who seem impressive and put together. Of course, as somebody said to me the other day, "It's a reality show. Give that time."
THANK YOU for hand selecting the STUPIDIST, SHALLOWEST set of 20-somethings you could find. We all know you're hoping for a scripted ending where he picks an older woman so we can all learn a valubale lesson about age and love.
Mostly, THANK YOU for giving me a reason to exist for the summer.
Thank you so much for creating "Age of Love." Now I can simply make my goal in life to never have to say "I went on a reality show where desperate women tried to 'find a man' through a competition between twenty-year-olds and forty-year-olds and I represented the bitter, jaded and heartbroken forty-year-olds." You've simplified my life so much. Before that, I thought my needs and wants were complicated, but now I realize it's just that simple. But seriously, even though I haven't watched your crappy bachelor show since the Trista and Ryan season, between this painful exploration of stereotypes based on female age and Mark Philippoussis (YUM), you've got me back.
love, jocelyn
Dear Shimmy,
What Greg said.
love, jocelyn
Dear Men of Match.com,
It's advisable that if you want me to look at your profile, you don't make your username "Welome2MyNitemare." I'm not coming along for that. I'm betting Dr. Phil didn't advise you to do that, either.
love, jocelyn
Dear ILovePaulJack Readers,
Okay, listen, we all actually loved the personal ad and the "Everybody Loses in Vegas" idea. I did too, honestly, and I was ready to go with that. But I think we're going to have to go with "I hate your crappy logo tee" because it means that Shank and I will have a game to play together. How could I possibly NOT do "I hate your crappy logo tee" after I got this email:
"hear me roar.
I am going to have to go for the t-shirt angle. I see this as the most furtile ground for self expression.
I am also selfishly planning on using your site for my own creativity as i promise that i will submit t-shirt designs photoshopped onto your frame as a show of suport.
Please pardon the sentence structure of that last sentence...I have just realized that it is 11:30 am and I am a bit tipsy from starting the day off with a can of Sparks.
Me to ToniK If you're going to the liquor store, can you grab a bottle of vodka for me?
ToniK to Me Yes, but I'm not coming back. I can give it to you Sunday morning.
Me to ToniK That's fine. I'm just out and I need some replacement. It's not like I was planning on spending Friday night sitting home alone with a bottle of vodka and a video game.
Mike Pouncy Don't diss my night just because you don't like it!
Me You know, it does sound like a good night, honestly, but vodka and video games does not get me closer to marriage and babies. There are no babies coming from vodka and video games.
Mike Pouncy Yes, Jocelyn, but if you force yourself out, you'll just end up with ugly babies.
FIVE REASONS TO LOVE RY The day started with all of us arriving at the office, the office in Vegas where it's hot as hell, to discover that, over night, the heat in the building had gotten stuck in the "on" position and the office was 110 degrees.
So the first thing we did was go to 7-11 to get some cold beverages. For Ryan, this meant a Big Gulp of freakin' Mountain Dew AND a Nestle ice cream bar. Not joking.
The second thing we decided to do was work around the conference table since it was much cooler there.
What this means is that I spent the next three hours sitting to already hyper Ryan while he was on a sugar rush. If I had to experience it, you do, too. Read on.
Chapter One: Something About Mac and Cheese
Ry Who are you IMing with?
Me Larry.
Ry I don't know Larry.
Me Yes, you do. We all hung out at the Wynn for my birthday the year before last.
Ry Oh, right the room with 12 gay men. I was a little uncomfortable being the only straight guy.
Me Really? But you know all kinds of gay people.
Ry But there were twelve of them plus me. I like mac and cheese, but I don't want to swim in it.
Chapter Two: Your Mama's On You-Tube
K-Rock Ryan, I saw your mom on You-Tube.
Ry Yeah, well, I saw your mom on You-Tube and she had a lot of favorites.
K-Rock Well, I saw your mom on You-Tube and she had a lot of downloads.
Chapter Three: But Why Do You Love Vegas?
Ry I love Vegas. You always smell like hooker in the morning.
Chapter 4: Stating the Obvious
Me What is wrong with you today? Stop harassing me.
Ry I'll tell you what it is. A big gulp of Mountain Dew and a chocolate bar at nine in the morning.
Chapter Five: Let's Get Trampy on Myspace
Ry
Jocelyn, everyone likes a little slut, as long as she doesn't actually whore herself out.
Me What is wrong with you? Shut up. Just shut up. Don't you have something to do...somewhere?
Ry Like, I want my girlfriend to be a slut with me, but not to whore herself out.
Bonnie No, really. Stop talking.
Me Please. Never again for you with the early morning sugar. NEVER. I will fire you if you do.
This really didn't stop here. I just couldn't keep up with it. You-Tube was invoked several more times. There were some Asian girls dancing to some cholla song that I was forced to stop and watch. Ryan explained relationships to me, based on his current successful three-month encounter. No work of any kind was accomplished.
It was a good day.
21 REASONS TO LOVE FRANKI So I had very bad insomnia last night. When I have bad insomnia, I often play on MySpace. Last night, I couldn't sleep so badly that I was answering MySpace surveys. You don't need the whole list of the 70 questions on this survey to enjoy what Franki does next, you just need a sampling. So here's a sampling. You can pretty much skip over actually reading it and go down to the next part where I talk about Franki.
1. What time did you get up this morning? Maybe, like, 9am. I don't sleep much, so extra hours in the AM help. Welcome to the west coast work day.
2. Diamonds or pearls? Uh, both, because I'm a princess and I deserve them.
4. What is your favorite TV show? What isn't? This week it's "So You Think You Can Dance," but mostly because of the big dude who did swing...And my quest to figure out how a show about professional dancing can be homophobic.
7. What is your middle name? Nissa. It means fairy. That knowledge is my gift to you. Use it as you will.
8. What food do you dislike? Zuchini (won't eat it). Because one time as a kid my dad made me sit at a dinner table for 24 hours because I wouldn't eat this disgusting zuchini and tomato sauce crap. I never recovered.
10. What kind of car do you drive? Saturn. It's sexy. You know it. It smells like a gym locker inside.
15. What color is your bathroom? Purple. It's like Prince got sick and vomited in there and I just kept it.
18. What was your most recent memorable birthday? My last one was good...and then we broke up. I'm going back to the one before with K-Yo and sushi and that crazy Canadian cop who was pretty yummy but way too ready to get married - that night. That's the problem with spending birthdays with boys. You often then have to erase them from your memory. "Oh, yeah, that was the birthday I spent with that jackass where he gave me flowers and was wonderful and then told me not to post any birthday pictures online because his ex girlfriend would get upset." WTF.
23. Favorite saying? Fuck that fucking fucker. Fuck him. Fuck.
24. When is your birthday? February 26th. Pisces all the way through.
28. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? No! I'm still not pregnant! Stop asking.
33. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? I'm going to go with June 21st.
35. What was the last thing you ate? A chicken salad sandwich from 7-11 at 10am. That's not right, people.
36. Do you wish on stars? All the time.
38. How is the weather right now? Hot as hell. Welcome to Vegas. The devil likes it warm.
41. Favorite soft drink? Coke Blak, which is more like a drug than a soft drink.
42. Favorite restaurant? Knob Hill, Nobu, Matsuhisu, Nove
48. Hugs or kisses? I just met a new boy - let's go with kisses.
52. What is under your bed? Cat hair. Lots of it.
55. Favorite smell? Fresh flowers. My mom's kitchen. A well-mixed screwdriver.
58. How many keys on your key ring? 23. I have no idea how that happened. I'm like a janitor.
Franki, apparently, was way more bored during the day yesterday than I was during the night yesterday, because he took the time to do this:
I'm gonna totally turn this survey upside down, inside out, back to front and wear it on the wrong leg.
Instead of answering the damn questions, I'm gonna use a random set of Jocelyn's answers, then changing the questions to turn this survey into an innuendo love feast.
This has got to be/MUST BE a myspace first, so whore em up buttercup. Here goes:
WARNING! WARNING! Watch your eyes.
1. When did you brush your teeth today and how long for? Maybe, like, 9am. I don't sleep much, so extra hours in the AM help.
2. A smack on the bottom or a kiss on the ass? Uh, both, because I'm a princess and I deserve them.
4. What's perfect about you and a rhetoric question for yourself? What isn't? This week it's "So You Think You Can Dance,".
7. A Hummer spelt with a P is just a fucker, a Nissan without an N is? Nissa. It means fairy. That knowledge is my gift to you. Use it as you will.
8. What's your favourite bedroom fruit or veg? Zuchini (won't eat it).
10. What's your fav brand of condom? Saturn. It's sexy. You know it. It smells like a gym locker inside.
15. The colour of your bra? Purple. It's like Prince got sick and vomited in there and I just kept it.
18. What was your most recent memorable root? My last one was good...and then we broke up. I'm going back to the one before with K-Yo and sushi and that crazy Canadian cop
23. Best advice you have ever given to your girl? Fuck that fucking fucker. Fuck him. Fuck.
24. A good date to hit the sack and what position? February 26th. Pisces all the way through.
28. You were trying some new method to increase the population, have you succeeded? Does this method make you cranky? No! I'm still not pregnant! Stop asking.
35. Weirdest thing you had while doing the dirty? A chicken salad sandwich from 7-11 at 10am. That's not right, people.
36. Do you pick your nose? All the time.
38. Are you hot and bothered or just sexually frustrated? Hot as hell. Welcome to Vegas. The devil likes it warm.
41. Favorite inhaler of choice? Coke Blak, which is more like a drug than a soft drink.
42. Favorite adult shop(s)? Knob Hill, Nobu, Matsuhisu, Nove
48. Hitsy fits or kisses? I just met a new boy - let's go with kisses.
52. What is in your pants? Cat hair. Lots of it.
55. You smell like? Fresh flowers. My mom's kitchen. A well-mixed screwdriver.
58. How many boys' keys are on your key ring? 23. I have no idea how that happened. I'm like a janitor.
Oh, people. Today and yesterday. Those were fun days.
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!
At the end of the night, he's brushing his teeth and I'm putting my hair up before bed. And we didn't do anything special that night. We tried to get to the mall to buy some shoes and a belt, but we got there just as everything was closing because he has a habit of almost perpetually running late -- A habit that would normally make me crazy but somehow rolls off of my shoulders with him, even though part of me really wants to train him out of it. So since it was already nine o'clock, we just went and sat outside somewhere where it was beautiful and green and near the water, and we drank well-mixed cocktails and talked about whether, in the long run, it was a bad thing for the continent of Africa that it didn't get completely overrun with European colonization in the 15 and 1600s, and Tijuana strippers, and we tried to see how many times we could use the words "impunity" and "anomaly" and "ubiquitous" in one conversation, and we role played what it would sound like if one of us tried to convince the other one of us that it would be awesome to attend a hugging party.
And it was peaceful. And then we went to bed. And I was really grateful for the evening. And that is all.
1. Maria Taylor is a Goddess: 11:11 is one of my favorite albums. It's one of those albums that I've kept coming back to over the last two years. So I was kind of bumming when people who had listened to Lynn Teeter Flower were all like, "Yeah, it's no 11:11." And then I was like, "Well, it could just be that there's not a lot of room for Maria Taylor and Brandi Carlile to exist at that same time, and that Brandi Carlile album is fantastic (though if you really want to hear her at her best, download her live version of "Hallelujah"). Anyway, so I finally downloaded Lynn Teeter Flower this weekend. And it's no 11:11, but it is fantastic. The tracks you won't care about, you'll flip through those pretty quickly. But there are five tracks on there that are so fucking beautiful that you won't know what to do with them. "My Own Fault" is my favorite right now, maybe because it resonates with where I am. "Small Part of Me" and "No Stars" are also, well, they'll move you. However, "Lost Time" and "Clean Getaway" are the single most fucking beautiful things you'll hear this year (though you have to stay with "Clean Getaway", it builds on itself and then it rips your heart out in the last couple of bars). Conveniently, you can listen to those last two on Maria's MySpace page. And also, we'll be doing two poetry meditations this week. The first are the bridge lyrics from "Lost Time."
And a heart that grieves Gets lost in everything And a heart in need Finds hope in anything
2. Speaking of MySpace: I'd like to thank MySpace for reconnecting me with 500 million people I went to high school with. And I'd like to thank Chris for dinner. I was cool with it until you pointed out that we hadn't actually seen each other in 17 years. It was a great time. Let's do it again this week.
3. Here's What's Not Going to Happen: I'm just going to get this out of the way because I know that you read this (with you being a specific person). I'm not going to apologize for hurting your feelings. I didn't say anything maliciously. I was gentle. I'm sorry you're not getting what you want. I'm sorry you hurt. But when you back people into corners saying things like "I need you to feel this way," you're going to get one of two things. a)A lie that will blow up and hurt you worse later or b)the truth, which more times than not will not be what you wanted to hear. I'm not going to get bullied into feeling something that I don't just because it's what you "need." You need less than you think, honestly. That email was mean and nasty and uncalled for, and you're getting a response here instead of via email because I REFUSE to engage in that emotionally manipulative kind of scenario with you. All I did was say "That's not the right decision for me making me happy." Seriously, I can't believe you have the audacity to say you expect an apology. I'm not apologizing for making good decisions for me. WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? WHY IS EVERYBODY SO FUCKED UP LATELY?
4. Pennsylvania! I have never looked forward to a week at home more than I'm looking forward to this one. Sangria and Sanjaya. Beer and cocktails. Pookie's 30th. Tyler. Maybe spring will even break. And a little more time to play than I was anticipating. Yes. Very exciting. I want coffee with PDG and beer and cocktails with Bill and Sangria with Candy and lots of time with Pook and Ferris and Dana and my mom. And playtime with Red Delicious' kids. And long runs on backroads. And higher end cocktails with moon. And a Pirates game, and mabye a Pens game if I get lucky. I want ridiculous pictures of Joey V. and those other crazy boys. I want tea with Big T. I want to go to my grandfather's grave and talk to him for a while because I've felt a little lost lately. I want to hang out with Doreen and my mom and wonder if that's what Catwoman and I will be like at their age. I want to feel home for a little bit. You don't really feel home when you're there over the holidays because there's so much to do. Yeah, I'm looking forward to this.
5. And, a poetry mediation for the week: I own a book of Anna Akhmatova poetry, and it's some of my favorite ever. In fact, "The Door is Half Open" is one of my favorites of my favorites, and last week it was a featured poem by Knopf, so I thought we'd all start the week with it:
The door is half open, The sweet smell of limes . . . On the table, forgotten, A whip and a glove.
The lamp's yellow glow . . . Things rustle all round. Why did you go? I don't understand.
More clearly I'll see Tomorrow with fresh eyes That life is beautiful. Heart, just be wise.
You're completely worn out-- Beating sluggishly . . . You know, I read somewhere That souls do not die.
The universe is good. Sometimes, it has to give bad news and bad feelings to good people, but then it does something to remind them that the world is good if you let it be. In the last four days:
- The relationship that I thought was the most princess perfect fairy tale relationship ever, the one that I pointed to to say "Look how they fell in love and weren't scared of it", broke up.
- A marriage that I had pointed to over and over again and said "Look how many obstacles they have, and they've found this really healthy way to overcome them and be together," pretty much is almost assuredly breaking up
- I basically got told that I was not loved enough. That even though I had been told otherwise again and again, in the moment where I needed to be the person who was loved the most, I wasn't.
- I discovered that there's someone out there who hates me enough that they will go to unbelievable, UNBELIEVABLE, lengths to shatter my life. And in many ways, they already won before I figured it out.
And so, right, not the best week. But then this morning, early, just as I was waking up, I got asked to be Tyler's godmother. And it was the best thing I've been asked to do in a long time. And I'm going to take my job as godmother more seriously than you can imagine. She didn't even know how much she was giving me a gift I really needed this morning, but she did. Even if she did it via text message!
Boys, girls, it must be dumping season, yeah? So here's what I'm holding on to, and it usually helps. When God takes away somebody who took up such a big space in your heart, it's usually because he needs to make room for somebody who's going to fill you up even more. Stay the course.
Firslty, you know you live in Vegas when at 9:30pm you're laying in bed watching Melrose Place and updating your blog because your dinner reservation isn't even until 1:00am on Sunday morning. What is wrong with this city?
Anyway, the outcome of the UNLV game was sad, but the experience of watching it at B-Dubs was not. We got there at 2:30pm for a 7:00pm game. When we got there, we looked all serious and work-like. Like this (click 'em to see 'em bigger):
Then the following two things happened:
And suddenly the pictures ended up looking like this:
My favorite, of course, is the Bondo high five shot. So.drunk.
And also, this is my new boyfriend. Enjoy. I know I did.
Madonna Tribute - Cast of Glee
permalink baby
