High School Snot Invading My Territory

Thankfully, I'm not old enough to attend my 10 year high school reunion (haha, suckers), but I share md's sentiments about those years of my life -- former classmates are better off left in the past.

At my high school, the cool guys were "jocks" and cool girls were "preps." I can't imagine the term "prep" in that context is still in use today, but what do I know? I'm fucking ancient. In the popularity hierarchy, there were two rungs so to speak, the "really cool" and the "cool." The latter group consisted of the girls who had "really cool" friends, but they weren't part of that inner circle. They were destined to remain an outsider due to one or more of the following: a.) weren't pretty enough b.) didn't have a big enough rack or c.) got good grades

A year ago I was in the elevator of my apartment, about to leave for work, when it stopped on the 4th floor. Much to my horror, the doors opened to reveal UglyHighSchoolSnot. Shocked, I didn't say a word. And neither did she. Who is UHSS? She's one of those lower-rung, not-pretty-enough chicks. In fact, she suffers from a., b., and c. -- all of the above. While we've never spoken, I have this inner hatred toward her. In elementary school, she happened to befriend the right group of girls so by the time high school rolled around, you could tell by the smug look on her face she thought she was better than everyone else.

Out of ALL the apartments in Minneapolis, why must she occupy mine?!? I've been in my apartment four years now -- seniority should count for something. Why can't she respect that and move to the other side of the river? To make matters worse, she switched units a few months back and now she lives right down the hall.

What irks me the most is I see her on a daily basis! Not only do we leave and arrive home at the same time every day, making for awkward elevator rides, but we pass one another going opposite directions while running across the Stone Arch Bridge. Yesterday I doubled my normal run (13 miles, woo hoo) so she ended up passing me and going in front of me as I hit the halfway point. It was disappointing to realize I couldn't keep up with her pace, but it was a valiant effort on my part -- I can be pretty competitive when I want to be. I kept thinking to myself, I bet she's not doing 13 miles!

Maybe she's actually a very nice person and I will never know, but I associate her as a representation of all the popular preps I'd just as soon forget.

Standing Still

I loathe this time of year: the dreadful reminder that, "Hey, guess what? Another year passed you by and you've done jack since college!"

I'm bombarded by the fluster of college kids moving in and out of my building (note to my new neighbors: pounding nails into the wall at 11:30 is not the best way to make friends!), stumbling drunks on the lawns of frat houses, and students' high-pitched squeals of, "OMG! HOW WAS YOUR SUMMER? WE NEED TO HANG OUT AND PARTY!" as they stock up on household necessities at the local Target.

What do I get? A notice taped to my door informing me it's almost time to sign a new lease. Seriously? Where did the last year of my life go? Scratch that -- where did the last 4 years go??

Recovery Mode

Yesterday I woke up feeling like I'd aged twenty-five years. My Diet Mountain Dew caffeine fix didn't even cut it. Late-night boozing + 3 hours of sleep + 8 A.M. runs = exhaustion. As if the energy drain weren't enough, my leg muscles ached with a stiffness I hadn't experienced since I started running again last March. Apparently, my body felt the need to punish me for not taking better care of itself! Painfully questioning, how the hell do you plan on running 26.2 miles in a month?

I don't have the energy to give a detailed weekend run-down so you get the truncated version. Friday night GC and I hit up The Loop. Every time I go there, I like it even more -- good music, laid-back atmosphere, older crowd (25-35 age range). Through repeat visits, we've established a "regular" bartender -- she bought our first round!

GC and I saddled up to the bar and passed judgment, as we do. She noted that most of the people there are average-looking, but they're dressed nicely. The majority of guys wear button-down shirts and the girls wear cute tops. So true! And what a difference it makes. I love hanging out with her -- she really cracks me up and always offers insightful observations. Never a dull moment.

TheGuy texted and asked what I was doing so he met up with us later. By the time he got to The Loop, he had to stand in line seeing as how he wasn't a hot chick. To further delay his wait, some drunk douchebag directly in front of him kept harassing the bouncers, eventually calling one of them a "fucker" and getting kicked out of line. Prior to TheGuy's arrival, he sent me a text saying he was at some bar in the suburbs where there were thirty dudes and two chicks, wanting to know if I thought it was a gay bar. Turns out it's just some dive bar in a strip mall, as he explained later. Funny nonetheless, especially when GC said, "So you were at a gay bar?"

Not-So-Honorable Mentions:

- Someone had a heinous case of gas all night - it was foul and obnoxious
- One chick (the crazy dancing fool she is) got permission from the bartenders to dance on the bar and wowed everyone by doing the splits
- I met some girl while standing in line for the bathroom - our urination schedule was in sync
- Note to self: Stop sleeping in your contacts!

Saturday I went out with a friend downtown. We bounced around from place to place, bumping into friends and acquaintances along the way. We spent time at The Annex in hopes of spotting my friend's crush and he did, in fact, turn up there, but it was so packed that we never found him again and she later learned he left five minutes after we saw him.

Over the weekend, it was apparent just how much I go out these days. At my regular places, I no longer have to pull out my I.D., the bartenders know what I drink, and they hook us up. When I end up in AA, I'm blaming them.

Bring Your Dancing Shoes

Last night I met up with a guy friend of mine and a few of his co-workers. In a quick phone conversation prior to meeting up, he said, "I'm here with three HOT guys." He then proceeded to hand the phone off to one of the three HOT guys, who wanted to make sure I knew how to get where they were going and told me to bring my "dancing shoes." Yes, that's right, your eyes are not deceiving you: dancing shoes. Luckily, there was no bringing of the dancing shoes since we ended up on the rooftop patio at The Drink. Did I fail to mention the long ass line you must wait in just to stand on the patio (seating is limited)? At least my friend came up with a no-fail excuse for the bouncer: tell him you forgot to close out your tab -- works like a charm.

So the HOT friends were not-so-hot. They weren't ugly by any means, but nothing to write home about. DancingShoesGuy was the cuter of the two single guys, but what turned me off was his outfit. He tried too hard with his white track jacket (which would've looked good on its own) and matching trendy shorts and hat. There was way too much thought process involved in the planning of his wardrobe -- perhaps he was compensating for something??

I saw many attractive females last night so I don't know how it happened (maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt and call it a serious case of beer goggles) that DancingShoesGuy and his wingman spent the entire night talking to the nastiest women there. I swear, if you took away these ladies' make-up, styled hair, and cleavage-baring dresses, they'd look like ogres. They were tall, busty, and big-haired with the make-up of a tranny. No lie. They looked old too, upper 20s (guys were 23 & 25), maybe that explains the need for excess make-up. The irony is that these women claimed to work for Chanel and were not shy about dropping that bit of info. Perhaps Chanel recently came out with a drag queen line.

The third co-worker was celebrating his last day at work as he plans to move on to bigger and better things. He was dorky with side-swept hair, tapered jeans, and tennis shoes -- the kind you'd wear to the gym. To attest to his nerdiness, he has a Beagle named Chewbacca and on his first date with his wife, she asked if he liked Star Wars. Fortunately for her, it was a match made in geek heaven, as she later told him it would've been a dealbreaker had he said "no." He was friendly and nice, however, and I'm glad he was there 'cause I enjoyed talking to him.

StarWarsGuy told my friend he thought I was cool for the sole reason I could pick out a skank a mile away. We spent most of the time mocking the single guys' lame attempt to hook up with the Chanel Ogres while they mooched drinks and bummed cigarette-after-cigarette from said clueless men. The best quote of the night was from a married college friend of my friend who said (after a girl in a V-neck pushed her way past him): "I just got moved by a breast. I was already having a good night, but that was the icing on the cake." Glad to see he got some married guy action. The two marrieds also spoke of their wedding bands being a chick magnet -- another reason to delay marriage?!?

I didn't stay out long and gave StarWarsGuy a ride back to his car since it was on my way home. We continued talking about the pathetic pick-up scene we'd just witnessed and he couldn't get over the fact his buddy (the wingman) had no idea that one of the Ogres clearly had zero interest judging by her body language. StarWarsGuy has been married four years, so in that time, he's learned a great deal about women and the way they think. He said if he'd known what he knows now, he'd have gotten a lot more women back in his single days. Miscommunication between men and women is palpable -- while women overanalyze every word that comes out of a man's mouth, guys are totally oblivious. They say things and sometimes, as hard as it is to believe, it means absolutely nothing. In terms of mood, StarWarsGuy said guys are one of three things: 1.) Hungry 2.) Sleepy 3.) Horny

3 very enlightening words.

One Big Party?

I get the impression from those who read my blog they think my life is one big party. Ha, I wish! Sure, I go out on weekends and drink one, or two (ok, sometimes more than a few) too many alcohol-laden beverages, but oftentimes, these nights of reckless abandon turn out to be a bust. When nothing exciting occurs, I resort to making fun of the d-bags we meet and their pathetic attempt to get laid -- the things you gotta do for a story!

One of my friends asked me if I enjoyed being single more than being in a relationship. It's a good question -- one I don't know that I have an answer to. Here's the thing -- if you know me, you know I'm resistant to change. I'm a creature of habit: I wake up several minutes before my alarm, my stomach starts growling around 11 am and 6 pm every day, and my body will only work out at certain times of the day. I enjoy following a set schedule, but I know it's limiting and I become prone to falling in a rut.

So when I hear things like, "My weekend was so boring compared to yours," the writer in me promptly takes credit for my questionable ability to make a boring story entertaining, but I'm also reminded of my non-single days. When I had a boyfriend, my life was nothing like the drunken binge it is now. More often than not, weekend highlights consisted of dinner and a movie and that was perfectly acceptable to me. Granted, we went out with friends too, but as time wore on, the pairing of couples expanded like Deborah's waistline and slowly but surely, our circle of friends began dropping like flies.

If you're in a relationship, things are predictable whereas when you're single, you come to expect the unexpected. I suppose that's where the excitement element comes into play. Do I HAVE to go out and consume copious amounts of liquor every weekend? Certainly not. Is it more fun that way? It certainly is. You never know who you're gonna meet, who you'll bump into from your past (or present), or where you'll find yourself come the end of the evening (3rd floor of the Vu).

In response to my friend's question, I don't know that I prefer one over the other, but now that I'm here, I like the place that I'm in. It definitely took me a while to make the transition -- I basically spent the first two months after the break-up holed up at my parents' house every weekend. I had no desire to go out or be social, but even if I had, I felt as though I had no one. It was rough, but getting past that opened the door to so many new experiences and friends. I'm enjoying not knowing what's in store for the future...

R.I.P. Eddie Griffin

In lieu of our drunk visit to Santana's, my friend sent me this link declaring the death of Eddie Griffin. 'Tis the end of porn and Santana's for Griffin.

Muggy & Buggy

Ambivalent about whether to work out later or not. I noticed a difference in my arms the tortuous two times I did weights not long ago so maybe I'll do the elliptical and weights today. I did 8 miles outdoors yesterday, but I was disappointed because I was aiming for a 12-miler. Unfortunately, the weather refused to cooperate so I cut the run short -- the last quarter of a mile turned downpour. I assume it was due to the return of the humidity, but there was a plague of little black bugs yesterday. I had bugs in my hair, in my mouth, caught in my mascara, clinging to my tanktop. Every time I looked down, I had to shake off two or three bugs stuck in the thread of my shirt. If that weren't enough of a distraction, my stride was off since I failed to resist checking out every biker that passed me by in case it happened to be MJ. It creeps me out to know he sees me and I don't see him. At least I know he doesn't sport a spandex unitard -- yes, my friend inquired.

So the real reason I want to skip the gym today is so I can return a pair of jeans I bought a couple weeks ago. Standing before the dressing room mirror, I recall how flattering the jeans were, accentuating just the right places, and how I was loving the dark denim and yellow stitching. I tried on the jeans Saturday night, thinking it would be the perfect time to break them in, only to be horrified by the reflection staring back at me. Clearly, something drastic happened between the store and my apartment -- as if the length and flare of the jeans shrunk by two inches! How does this happen?!? At the time of purchase, I was of sober state of mind. Must be trick mirrors in department stores. Never been so anxious to return an article of clothing in my life.

7th Grade Diary Ramblings

1/9/94

Dear Diary,

Well, I finally got to see Bobby the whole week. So cool! Know what I super hate? We switch spots in science a whole bunch of times. I've never been able to sit across, behind, or in front of Bobby. Never even close. It sucks! I hate it! Yesterday these kids in my math class took one of the other kid's calculator and started kicking it on the ground. Then this 8th grader came and he said, "Oh, you guys are so cool, kicking a calculator on the ground. You're so cool." Then Bobby was behind me, I didn't even know it. Bobby said, "Oh, you're so awesome yourself." I don't think the 8th grader heard him but it was funny.

In lunch Bobby came to the table I sit at asking for money, his usual routine. He said, "I like Cheetos now." Because they're just starting to get Cheetos. While he was waiting for someone to give him money, he was going back and forth and bumping into me. I wouldn't give a shit though, as long as it was Bobby. Ever since I first caught a glimpse of Bobby, I liked him. He did change his hairstyle though. I liked his old hairstyle better. I still like him though.

Something I forgot to tell you is that when I was taking the science test and Bobby was in front of me, I accidentally burped. I had my mouth closed so it wasn't loud. Bobby heard it though. He turned around and said my name. I started laughing. He has so many different shoes. Also changed his earring to a little hoop.

1/15/94

Dear Diary,

Hi! Guess what? There's a girl named Maggie (in my grade) and Bobby's going out with her older sister! Somehow it doesn't bother me though. Sure, I hope Bobby dumps her, but they just started going out on Thursday. I don't know anything about Maggie's sister but if she's anything like Maggie, I worry. Maggie is, well, she's really popular and goes out with a lot of guys. She's not very pretty, but okay, and she is boy crazy. Sexually active, horny, things like that. I'm sure she's checked out every guy's ass in school.

Don't Stay Together for the Kids

Sorry, it's a serious one folks...

A few weeks ago, my friend and I got to talking about her parents' divorce. I was surprised to learn she was happy (at thirteen) when her parents, who fought non-stop, announced their divorce. I'd always hoped for the same.

To this day, I'm sometimes haunted by raised voices, slammed doors, and the image of my mother's car peeling around the corner after yet another quarrel with my dad. It was typical marriage disputes -- financial issues, unmet needs, stubborn disagreements and the like. Each time, my dad reassured me and my two younger brothers (the youngest bawling his eyes out) she'd come back, saying, "Where would she go?" He was right. She always returned. In her mind, she had nowhere to go -- desperate housewife trapped in a loveless marriage.

Over the years, she brought up the "D" word time and time again -- vocalized her misery, threatened to leave, and discussed future plans. She'd insist, "This time I'm serious..." Her biggest mistake was dragging us kids into it before it was a done deal. Yet it was always one excuse after another -- after swimming season is over, after your brother graduates high school, after the holidays, etc. In the end, the motto for dysfunctional marriages everywhere overruled: "Stay together for the kids."

I never understood. She had options. There are always options. You make do.

Thirty-one years wed, they're still together -- for better or for worse -- the two individuals who were supposed to set the example of a healthy, loving marriage. Is it wrong of me to feel bitter toward them for robbing me of this?

That is all. I promise "funny" next time.

Double Digits

Pretty sure I hit double digits last night in cocktails. My friend’s co-workers had a work outing and they partied it up downtown so she invited me to go out with them. We started at The Imperial Room and spent the rest of the night dancing at Rosen’s. Her co-workers were really fun and the guys were great dancers (far from your stereotypical white boy dance moves) so that made for great entertainment.

Random shit found in pocket next morning:

1.) Crumpled $2 intended for the tip jar of DJ who played our songs and bought us a shot
2.) Blue tootsie pop

I am envious of the fact my friend works with such a fun group of young professionals. I wish I could say the same. In job news, my raise FINALLY went through, but I’m still in the dark as to how much of a boost it is. However, it doesn’t change the fact I hate my job with a passion, and I deserve so much better than what I’m doing. When my internet starts working again (Qwest is garbage, I had to come to Panera to use their Wi-Fi), I really need to push myself to be proactive in my job search. I’m disgusted every time I hear myself tell others what I do for a living.

And in other news, I could not be any happier with the change in weather. With the humidity gone, I got three good outdoor runs in last week and it felt wonderful. I’m actually looking forward to doing some long runs in prep for the marathon now that it’s cooler.

Why do I do this to Myself?

In college, I worked in the cafeteria as part of the work/study program. It was never more than ten hours a week, but it was nice to have the extra cash in hand -- $5 for a plastic cup filled with shitty keg beer went a loooong way. During a salad bar shift one night, I worked with a high schooler, MJ. He lived in town and had a mom who worked in the pizzeria. He spent the entire three-hour shift hitting on me. He was funny and nice, but it was comical at the time – all I could think was, yeah right, you’re in high school.

In the time since I graduated college and he graduated high school, we randomly cross paths in Minneapolis. The first time I was drunk. My ex-boyfriend and I, along with a few of our friends, were going to his place to pass out after the bar. MJ, also an apartment resident, was standing outside having a cigarette. I continued to see him a number of times in that same exact spot.

Then a few years ago, my friends and I went to a bar/restaurant in NE Minneapolis for a birthday dinner and he happened to be a server. Not our server, but we spoke briefly in passing.

I went back to that same place Friday night, and sure enough, he was still there – only he’d moved his way up to bartender.

He told me he sees me running while he’s biking and asked if I lived in the warehouse district. My reply: “That’s embarrassing.” I cringe at the thought of people I know seeing me running. I imagine I look like a total idiot: arms flailing, gasping for breath, sweating like a pig. Not a pretty picture. He’s the second person now to tell me they saw me running and I didn’t see them.

I must digress for a moment. Remember Buzzkill Biatch? I’ve tried very hard to like her, but it’s just not possible. She’s changed and I will NEVER like her. I must accept this and remember it next time she pesters me about going out and I have no plans. I usually ignore her calls and emails, but when I do break down and hang out with her (from lack of better options), I question why.

Chalk it up to amnesia, but the reason we went to this NE bar was that I decided to hang out with BB and her friend for a girl’s birthday. The big b-day group was out on the patio, but service was slow so we ordered food and sat at the bar inside and talked to MJ. On our tab, he only charged us for two drinks even though I’d had three and she’d had two. Of course this presented a dilemma for me because BB is so damn cheap and had no qualms about taking full advantage of the free alcohol. I later went back and got a drink from MJ and left a huge tip because I was embarrassed about the pathetic tip she left earlier. He called out, “Not necessary!” But whatever, I worked in the service industry once upon a time.

The evening almost went without a hitch (in that she didn’t annoy the hell out of me) until she made a snide remark about one of my friends, saying, “I wasn’t overly impressed.” Thanks for sharing, but if I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked. Contrary to what this blog may lead you to believe, I’m very laid-back and rarely take offense or get upset over what people say. It’s not worth it to me. But without realizing it, she single-handedly has the ability to get under my skin in a way no one else can.

I always feel like an ass when I get recognized by someone I have no recollection of meeting or someone I should remember like the time I asked the guy on the elevator who lived directly across the hall for the last two years which floor he was going to. I got to experience this Friday night when a guy that lives in my building approached me and asked if I lived in the same apartment complex -- he didn’t look the least bit familiar. The same thing happened to me at a wedding a couple years ago with a guy who recognized me from work and I quickly came to realize I see him all the damn time.

Dis.con.nect

When my wireless internet connection decides to be a bitch, I scan the list of neighbors' unsecured connections to steal. I get a kick out of my options. What can I say? I'm easily amused.

Names and potential corresponding personality types:

Leinie Lodge

You are a true woodsman at heart. You're most relaxed spending time at your cabin, fishing pole in one hand, Leinienkugel in the other.

melissa

You're a loner. You iron your bedding. You've never had a day of fun in your life.

Shi-Tzu Connect

First of all, learn the correct spelling of your dog's breed. Secondly, why? Shih-tzus are quite possibly the fugliest of small dogs. It looks like your dog's face was smashed in with a rubber mallet and the first syllable of his or her family's name is "shit."

Martini007

We could become great friends. I've got a three-year-old, never-been-used martini shaker and set of martini glasses housing dust in my cabinet. It beckons you.

sex is good

You must be having phenomenal sex on a regular basis if this was the first thing that came to mind.

What Corporate Values?

Make it stop! In case you're not a mind-reader, I'm referring to the pounding in my head. I've got a slight headache this morning. That's what happens when GC and I polish off a bottle of cheap wine last night at The Loop. Not only am I far from being an avid wine drinker (I feel like I get drunk off it more quickly), but I almost never go out on a school night!

Two of her guy friends met up with us and we toasted to a mutual hatred for our jobs and corporate America. It's always a pleasure to meet others who despise their job as much as I do.

I almost went home and drunk blogged last night, but thought better of it. It hasn't happened yet, but fear not, I'm sure a future blog with numerous typos and absurd thoughtlessness is in store. I know I've got one in me somewhere, relishing the thought of sweet release.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

I recently saw a picture of my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend. From what he's told me, she's really into him and they share a number of common interests (much more than he and I did) so it sounds like a good match. I used to think it would bother me if he started dating before I did, but I don't feel an ounce of jealousy. I'm glad he's moved on. Sure, every so often, I think it'd be nice to have a Saturday date lined up, but I'm pretty content at the moment. However, I'm only human, so it's natural to be curious. What does he see in her? When he compares us, how do I stack up? Would we be friends under different circumstances?

Ok, so maybe my concern over whether we'd be BFF in another life is just a cover-up for my superficiality. Honestly, my first thought was, is she thinner than me? Not prettier. Thinner. That was the first thing I wanted to know. I couldn't conceal the smug glow when my ex confirmed she tipped the scale dial to the right more than myself. But it wasn't until I saw her photo that my reaction was, whoah, she's bigger than I expected.

While at work, chatting online with a girl friend, I sent the picture for support and scrutiny. We started off with the pros (we women folk don't want to be labeled "bitches"), in agreement she has a cute face, but had trouble coming up with more than that.

I almost fell over backward in my chair when she told me her co-worker walked into her office, saw the open picture on her computer, and asked if it was taken in 1995. If you were going off the new girlfriend's wardrobe, you would most definitely think so. She's wearing light denim capri jeans that look like they're about to bust at the seam, particularly in the badonkadonk region (pants that tight cannot be comfortable, can you say muffin-top?) and a horizontally-striped cotton top in camo colors -- light green, brown, and dark green. Word to the wise: horizontal stripes are for skinny people, and skinny people only. Like Waldo. They say the camera adds ten pounds; the same logic applies to horizontal stripes.

In an effort to acquire unbiased views, we both passed the photo around to male co-workers.

Here were the results:

Guy #1: "Too big for me. Sucks for him."

Guy #2: "She has a cute face, but that's about it."

Guy #3: "She'd be hot with makeup, after ten cocktails, and four shots of Patron."

I told my ex about our little poll (left out the male commentary) and he called me "psycho." Why am I not surprised? While the deluded thought of two women fighting over him must've been an ego boost, he had very little to do with the equation. It came down to women and the complex they develop when compared to other women. Female animosity trumps all.

Random Post

It's Tuesday and I'm still trying to get caught up from the weekend. My friend dyed my hair, it's her own concoction of three different shades, and it looks great! Props to her. In the right lighting, you can see fabulous shades of red. I am still getting used to dark hair again, but I really love it -- it's even darker than my natural color; I look stern.

Why is it that the sweatiest people at the gym are the ones who neglect to wipe down their machines???

So I never even looked into any online dating sites (I'm lazy), but GC and one of our guy friends wanna try speed dating so I said I'd do it. I can't imagine taking it seriously, but it'd certainly be a one-of-a-kind experience for me to write about.

Over the weekend, I was sitting at a stoplight when a passenger in the car beside me said, "Heeeey, honey. Mind if I hop in your passenger seat?" Uh, yes I DO mind!! WTF? Who goes around picking up people at stoplights?!? I was scared for my life.

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, I missed a call from my brother so I tried to listen to his voicemail, but couldn't understand what he was saying over the music at the bar. The next day, I went to retrieve a new voicemail from a friend when I replayed the message from "my brother" which turned out to be the guy from LA I met a few weeks ago. His number never registered as a missed call on my phone.

I love drunk dials, how 'bout you?

Here's the drunk voicemail I received Sunday morning at 2:41 am:

WTP, this is LAGuy, I'm in town. Um, I'd love to take you to Perkins tonight. And um, we'll go to Perkins and let's go get something to eat. WTP, let's go eat and then we'll talk. I really wanna hang out with you. I'm back here in Minneapolis right now. Ok, let's go get some stuff at Perkins. Ok, I'll see you soon. Hey, talk to you later. Bye. Thanks. Call me back. Call me. Hey, call me.

Now this was a call I returned promptly. Riiiiiight.

It Never Ends

Saturday night I met GC at our regular hangout -- per usual, we met our fair share of winners.

The Social Retard

While standing at the bar, ordering drinks, Social Retard tapped GC on the shoulder.

SR: Are you gonna order me an Absolut tonic?

GC: No.

She shot him a dirty look.

SR: I thought you were taking drink orders.

GC: That's the worst pick-up line I've ever heard.

If I knew the equivalent of a high-five or fist bump for women, I would have used appropriate gesture. Awesome.

The Smooth Talker

His name was AJ and he was flying solo that night, but he didn't need a wingman. Instead of using a bad line (see above), he marched up to us and ripped on us for evading men by checking our cell phones. It was two against one, however, so we ganged up on him as soon as we noticed his fruity drink. It was something clear in a short glass with ice and two lemons, two limes.

Me: Are you sure don't need another lime or lemon?

AJ: Huh?? This is hardcore -- straight gin. Try it.

GC: Is that sangria?

The banter went back and forth as such, it was a chuckle and a half.

Note to AJ: If you wanna look like a badass by drinking straight liquor, ditch the fruity accessories. Or maybe just order a beer next time.

The Nigerian

A couple weeks ago when GC and I were at the bar, a Nigerian fellow caught her attention. While they made "eyes" at one another from across the bar, he never came over and talked to us. He was there, again, so GC decided to initiate. We conveniently ordered drinks beside him and his friend which began the conversation. About ten to fifteen minutes later, AJ reappeared at the bar with a lady friend we'd seen him attempting to schmooze earlier. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it looked as though he got shot down so naturally, I started making fun of him.

I don't know what brought it on, but out of nowhere, The Nigerian decided to call out AJ, accusing him of being a bullshitter. He claimed to have met AJ before, but AJ, seemingly aghast The Nigerian even knew his name, swore up and down he'd never met him in his life. The two ended up causing a bit of a scene so GC and I excused ourselves and headed out to the patio. Funny thing was when we came back in, AJ and The Nigerian were standing at the bar, chatting away as if they were old college roommates. What's the story there? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it was all staged.

GC's sister came to pick her up around 1:30 so I decided to go meet a few guy friends at The Front. I was done drinking for the night, but hadn't seen them in a while so it was fun to catch up. One of them was pretty wasted - - always entertaining. It was my first experience at The Front and I have to say, I kind of enjoyed it. There's a dj who spins and there were a lot of crazies dancing, namely this young woman dressed like a gypsie in a crop top and long, flowing skirt, off in her own little world, i.e., high on some really good drugs.

After the bar, we went to Santana's. It's greasy food for drunks. My friend ordered the zuchinni fries and regular fries so I ate some of both, instantly regretting my decision when stomach pains kicked in almost immediately.

It was an eventful two hours:

-- A guy with a blood trickling down the left side of his face came up and started mumbling incoherent statements

-- Friend decided to ask the owner (who remembered two of them from ten years ago) about Eddie Griffin crashing his car into Santana's while watching porn

-- Same friend laughed so hard he spit soda all over

-- Inappropriate questions were raised such as, "If you had to choose, would you rather wish _______ or _______ were on the 35-W bridge?"

-- A drunk ass that failed to stop at a stop sign nearly collided with an oncoming Jeep that came to a screeching halt

-- I've never seen two 30+ year old men so excited over magnetic poetry

A Case of the Drunk Hiccups

There is a guy. Sort of. Not really. I don't know. It's never been established. He's a friend of mine from college that I started hanging out with in March. God, has it been that long? At the time, I was still getting used to the fact I was single and my former live-in boyfriend had moved 8,000 miles away. TheGuy and I hooked up once in college, my freshmen year. Surprisingly never awkward, we always remained friends, chatting when we'd bump into one another on campus and crazy house parties.

We casually kept in touch over the past few years and after meeting a couple times for drinks, our status went from 'friends' to 'friends with benefits'. Thus it's been an ongoing thing from that point on. I've briefly mentioned him here and there, but strayed from identifying him since it's a slippery slope. In fact, I was certain things were over not too long ago. There was about a three-week span where we didn't see or speak to one another -- just a few cryptic texts and emails exchanged.

Nonetheless, things are ok. I think. So Friday night, TheGuy had been out celebrating with friends, arriving at my place with a good buzz. We watched an episode of The Office and for the second time, he asked if I'd make out with Pam (Jenna Fischer). He's got a huge thing for her.

TheGuy: If you had to make out with her, would you?

Me: If I had to? Like if there were a gun to my head?

TheGuy: Well, no. But would you make out with her?

Me: Probably not.

TheGuy: Are you sure?

The humorous part of the evening transpired as we were about to go to bed. I was in the bathroom washing my face when I heard him hiccup. Again. And again. And again.

Me: Haha, you have the drunk hiccups.

TheGuy: No I don't. I have the regular hiccups.

Me: You're drunk -- you have the drunk hiccups.

He'd never heard of the drunk hiccups. Have you ever tried to make out with someone with drunk (or regular) hiccups? He'd go to kiss me, hiccup, and I'd giggle like a schoolgirl. At one point, he hiccuped directly in my ear! It echoed. I burst into laughter. I can still hear it in my head. While it may have been frustrating and a major turn-off for others in my position, I found it hysterical and sort of cute in an odd way. I'm odd like that.

Hiccup cures we discussed:

1. Scare tactic
2. Drinking from the opposite side of glass
3. Spoonful of sugar
3. Holding one's breath
4. Spoonful of peanut butter

He didn't have to resort to any of the above, but here are more hiccup cures.

Got Food?

My 'Oh-So-Exciting' Evening:

- The personal trainer half-smiled at me as we crossed paths on the stairs at the club. Courtesy smile, indeed, but hey, I'll take what I can get!

- I went grocery shopping. If any guests open my refrigerator in the next 168 hours, they'll be in for the shock of their lives. My fridge is stocked from top to bottom with actual FOOD. Not with cans and cans of diet soda, but non-expired, perfectly edible food. After six months of avoiding an all-out grocery trip, my most hated chore, I sucked it up yesterday. In equally shocking news, I made my lunch today. And it's not peanut butter and jelly. I brought bow tie pasta with spinach, tomato, red onion, cilantro, feta and Italian Wish Bone Salad Spritzer.

When it comes to diet and exercise, the latter is so much easier than the I-see-something-I like, I-must-eat-it part. I love food. Don't people work out so they can eat whatever they want and not gain a pound?? In my head, this is true. I love vegetables, I really do, but laziness overcomes my desire for the green stuff -- too much prep work. By the time I get home from the gym, I'm inclined to scarf down whatever takes the least amount of time to prepare. Hopefully, I intend to change that by grocery shopping on a regular basis (at least for veggies) and packing my lunch the night before work. However, I've set this goal many-a-time before with zero success rate.

- Watched Big Brother. If you're wondering why you haven't seen any posts on my favorite show, it's because I'm waiting for something to happen! Those in charge of casting should be fired ASAP. Unless, that is, CBS instructed them to find 14 of the most boring people on the planet and stick them in a house together. I honestly couldn't care less who wins at this point -- they're all sticks in the mud.

Is Summer Over Yet?

Still fired up from yesterday, I've now made seven calls to my apartment complex, all with the same end result: voicemail. The imbeciles in the the office never pick up the damn phone. I don't know what they're doing in there, but I assure you it doesn't qualify as working! How do I know? I'll save it for another time, I could write a novel...

Why I'm cranky today:

1.) Relentless humidity. It figures I picked the absolute worst summer for outdoor running as I train for my first marathon.

2.) My hair. Ever since I saw my friend's hair on Sunday, I want to dye mine dark again. She came up with the perfect color combo! I've decided mine looks awful.

3.) Qwest. See why Qwest sucks.

4.) Gawkerville, U.S.A. Now that the road near the bridge is open, my apartment complex had to hire security to direct traffic and keep gawkers and gawker jr's (what kind of people bring their kids to the scene?) off the property. These people are like a herd of cows -- huddled together in the middle of the road -- with no regard whatsoever for vehicles. Perhaps I'll see how many of these tools I can take out today.

5.) No more facebook at work.

Deborah's Quote of the Day

"The thing that sucks about losing weight in my stomach is that when I'm sitting and look down, I can actually see how fat my legs are."

Weight. Lift.

Things I would rather do than lift weights:

- Clean up projectile vomit
- Give my grandma a sponge bath
- Offer Deborah a piggyback ride

Weights are sooooo not my thing. Yet somehow I found the motivation to do them twice in the past couple weeks. I only ran three miles yesterday, then dragged my heels to the weight area. My arms are sore today and I suspect it'll be worse tomorrow. Why do toned arms have to come at such a high price? Mine are nowhere near that. One thing that keeps me going is the gorgeous personal trainer/model. I drool. Literally. If I had the extra money right now, I'd hire him. Today.

Customer Dissatisfaction

Dear Qwest,

You have the WORST customer service. After sitting on hold for 17 minutes, repeatedly hearing how valuable my call is, the phone finally rang several times, only to sound like someone picked up -- then hung up!

Good thing for online customer service help. Right?

Becky L.: My name is Becky L. How may I help you today?

Me: I'd like to know why my monthly payment increased from $39.99 to $59.99
Me: Did your rates go up by $20?

Becky L.: Let me look at that for you.
Becky L.: It appears that your DSL promotion is up. You can sign up for the two year agreement, and lock in the Price for Life, and get the lower price.

Me: What other internet service options do you have that are less expensive than $60?

Becky L.: If you want to keep the speed you have you can sign up for the two year agreement and get the lower price. Otherwise you have to lower your speed.
Becky L.: Please click here to view Qwest Broadband prices.



Note: I clicked her link to arrive at this screen, only to be even more confused. No prices? Little explanation? Perhaps this is their way to force you to call and speak to a customer service rep trained to persuade you to upgrade your service. The only kink in their plan is that once you get through on their customer service line, they disconnect you.

Me: How much is it for the 1.5 mbps speed?

Becky L.: $36.99 is the price of the Standalone DSL, 1.5M.

Me: Can I do that on a month-to-month basis?

Becky L.: If your lower your speed, you won't get it for that price, the normal price is $49.99, so if you were going to lower it, you wouldn't get the lower price, unless you did the Price for Life.

Me: I don't want price for life. So the price is $49.99 for month-to-month?

Becky L.: Yes, that is correct.

That was one hell of a frustrating convo with many delayed responses on her end.

Becky L., I realize you're just doing your job in enticing me to sign up for the Price for Life, but my life is much too unstable for a two-year commitment.

Ok, the ex is the one who set up the internet way back when so I had no idea my monthly rate of $39.99 was part of a promotion plan. Is it just me or is $50-$60 a lot of money to spend exclusively on internet?? They probably have better packaged deals that include LAN lines and cable, but I don't need/want either. My apartment complex limits the internet/cable providers residents can use. I'm feeling very ripped off.

Argh, this is NOT the first time I've been frustrated with Qwest.

Above the Belt

In my previous post, I mentioned all the black, too-small t-shirts, piercings, and tattoos we encountered at the bar. We were all dumbfounded by this trend: low-rise pants for guys. We saw it more than once, but there was one guy in particular with tight, black pants and a black belt with metal studs sitting halfway down his ass. It clearly was intentional since his short, red t-shirt neglected to cover his gray boxer shorts. One of the guys GC knows phrased it best when he said: "If you go to grab his ass, where do you go? Above or below the belt?"

Marking One's Territory

Yesterday was busy. I got up, went to the gym, and did 8 miles on the treadmill. Thought that was pretty good until I came home and checked my marathon "schedule" that said I should have done 12.

Then I went over to Stripes' house and we watched the first four episodes of season three of Weeds. He found them online and downloaded them, complete with French subtitles. Since I was very much looking forward to the new season, I kind of felt like I cheated or something by watching them early. I think disappointment may be too strong of a word, but I wasn't exactly jumping up and down with anticipation by the end. Don't worry, no spoilers though. Andy's storyline is my favorite thus far.

From Stripes' place, I headed to GC's. She invited me to her co-worker's BBQ which was way out in the middle of nowhere in the northern suburbs. I didn't know anyone other than her, so that always makes for somewhat of an uncomfortable situation, but it was a good time in all. I had the biggest hamburger of my life -- it was so THICK. It literally took half an hour to finish. The hostess said they were from Costco. Damn, that was one hunk of meat.

GC's co-worker was a character. She played Michael Jackson's Greatest Hits album, spontaneously busting out in lyrics and dance moves throughout the evening. As we were leaving, she said, "I'm sorry there weren't any cute boys here for you guys to make out with. I'd hook you up with my boyfriend's friends if they weren't all losers."

After the party, GC and I went to Miami. It was a strange crowd. Never seen so many black shirts, tats, and piercings in such an unusual locale. Most likely had something to do with the Uptown Art Fair being this weekend.

Anyway, the night got interesting when GC told me she thought she saw Nick from Big Brother. Of course, at the mere mention of the show, my ears perk up. I didn't see him right away, he was probably outside smoking, but she swore up and down it was him. Okay, she saw the show for the first time Thursday night. I live and breathe the show (albeit no one is very enthralled this season) and it definitely wasn't him. Despite my declaration it looked nothing like him, she was adamant, however, saying she knew it was him 'cause she thought he was hot, so we kept giving him looks until he finally came over to ask why.

Instead of asking flat-out if he was a contestant on Big Brother, she asked his name. I don't recall what it was, but alas, it was not Nick. She thinks she knows him from somewhere, but they never figured out the connection. Still, they had a lovely conversation until the owner of Miami, who happens to be smitten with GC, saw what was going on and came out to stake his claim. If he were a dog, he would've lifted his leg and pissed on her. GC and I were sitting on stools at the bar so the owner came up behind GC and started rubbing her shoulders. His gesture was so blatantly obvious, it scared off NotNick instantly -- he pretty much ran away as fast as he could.

In shock, the rest of the night GC kept repeating, "Did that really happen?" Before we left Miami, she really wanted to give NotNick her phone number, so she boldly approached him at the bar. But all because of a little shoulder rub, she got shot down. NotNick's polite response: "We know the same people." Meaning, he knew the owner and didn't feel like getting his ass kicked anytime soon.

We went to Bar Abilene for a bit, but it was too early to be exciting so since we were both exhausted, we decided to call it a night. Too many booze and boys (notice I said boys, not men) for one night.

Wearing the Elastic Pants

My friend came over after work today since I have VIP access to the bridge. After snapping photos and updates on her friend's mom and brother, we went to Noodles & Company, where I devoured the pasta fresca. So good.

Unfortunately for us, Ben & Jerry's is 1/2 a block away so immediately following an in-depth cellulite discussion, we decided the night wouldn't be complete without ice cream. We both got two scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough in a waffle cone. Btw, did you know Ben & Jerry's sells waffle cone lip balm, room spray, and candles? Be sure you test the products before purchasing, that's all I'm saying.

Usually on Friday nights, I pass out from drinking myself into oblivion, but tonight I'm passing out from eating myself into oblivion. Seriously. I feel sick.

The Collapse Heard 'Round the World

The I-35W bridge is located within steps of my apartment so it's been a surreal, chaotic scene that began with the falling of the bridge, hordes of gawkers (rubbernecks, the term my friend prefers), and cops and media up the wazoo. I received a number of concerned calls throughout Wednesday evening and sighs of relief on the receiving end as I picked up my phone. Being in the heart of the action makes it that much more real.

The cops have the road outside my apartment blocked off so yesterday morning, I had to wait for a press conference to finish before I could leave for work. It's certainly crazy that every time I go home, I have to show proof I live there.

However, nothing struck home and left me as speechless as when when I found out a friend of mine (moreso an acquaintance -- childhood friend of my close friend) hasn't heard from her mom or brother since Wednesday afternoon. The cell phone company picked up her mom's cell signal near the bridge at 5:51 pm (collapse occurred at 6:05 pm) on Wednesday and no one has heard or seen from her or her brother since the collapse. The authorities told her there may be a pocket with trapped survivors, but with no mention of this "pocket" in the media, you have to wonder if they only meant to provide the families with hope. At this point, I think the hardest thing of all must be the "waiting" with a multitude of unanswered questions.

Frankly, I'm not good with words in times of tragedy -- there's a disconnect between my head and emotions in cases of grief and death that the act of writing fails to resolve. I can only hope there still remains a pocket of hope for my friend's family and my heart goes out to them, the victims, and grieving families' during this tumultuous time.