Cub Scouts are judgy motherf*ers.

             

- the little pricks. Walking around the metro station like they own the place. Like they've never been gloriously hungover at eleven:00am.

other possible titles for this post were...

Is 30 Too Old for Silly Bandz?

- No. Especially if they're not the real thing and were purchased from a convenience store on the way to a drinking party (like there's any other kind).

or...

At Least My Underwear is on the Right Way

- Which is better than I can manage most of the time. The following is dialogue from an actual conversation that took place. More or less:

"Do you remember puking last night?"
"What? No. In the toilet?"
"Uh, no. Do you remember me putting you in the shower to clean the puke off of you?"
"What? No. And I took my clothes off first?"
"No. I had to undress you."
"But I managed to put them back on so well?"
"No. You didn't. I did that too."
"Huh."

or...

The Four Hour Walk Ride of Shame

- Because somebody left his car keys at Thing Two's apartment in DC, and we weren't made aware of it until we were at Pentagon City, on our way to King Street to transfer to the blue line and then we had to get off and head back up to Mount Vernon Square and then do the whole thing all over again.

or...

The Time the G-Man Left Me Passed Out On a Bench in the Metro Station

- But first I had to convince him that it would be in everyone's best interest to just leave me in the station, because there was no chance in hell I was venturing out in that heat to walk back to Thing Two's apartment. And, yes, yes I would be okay by myself because I am, after all, an adult. And then I curled up in the fetal position on the hard bench and took a nap. Okay, well maybe not the fetal position since I was wearing a dress and there was a weird Asian man next to me and I didn't want him looking up my dress.

or...

Old Asian Men Like Passed-Out, Hungover Chicks

- Why else would the old man try to converse with me when I was obviously trying to snooze. I'm pretty sure my lack of response was only encouraging him to try harder. Why else would he refuse to let up? And how did he know my name?

or...

That Time I Mistook The G-Man for an Old Asian Dude

- Did I mention I was hungover?

or...

I Want to Die

- "You can die once we get to the car."

or...

How Long Does it Take OBG to Eat French Fries?

- About thirty minutes. Because when she's laying down on the bed, with the fries about six inches from her mouth, she'll be tempted to eat them straight from the container, with her mouth, because it would require way too much energy to lift her head up, but she still tries to maintain a certain level of dignity and uses her hands to eat the fries, but this requires that she take a quick power nap between every bite, wherein she forgets she even has fries, and when she opens her eyes after each nap, she is pleasantly greeted by greasy fries staring her in the face, and she thinks, "Ooh, look. Yum, fries."

Yeah so, that was my weekend. How was yours?

If I made a list of every place I've left my panties...

  

...well, I could add one more place to my list. My sister's bathroom. Lovely. Usually I leave stuff at my family's houses when I leave (a razor, a washcloth, soap). Apparently I'm raising the bar and leaving decidedly more embarrassing things behind when I arrive.

And I really don't want to know who it was that picked my dirty undies up off the floor, folded them, and then placed them on the bathroom counter. Was it my 14 year old nephew? My sister's boyfriend? My sister? (Oh please, dear God, let it have been my sister.) Here's hoping I get out of the house tomorrow without having to see any of them. You know, aside from the hour long car trip with my nephew when I take him to hockey camp in the morning. *Sigh* I mortify myself.

Now imagine these are yellow and white striped with a blue picot trim, the ribbon on front is blue, and take away the eagle. 

Oh and throw in a few rhinestones. Yup! That would the undies in question.

So, in case you missed the memo, I'm in New York for a few days. I intend on having tons of fun with my sisters and nephews. So much fun I won't have time to blog (well, that and I will have no access to high-speed wireless internet. Only *gasp* dial-up!). 

So, have a great weekend and catch you all on Monday. Or Tuesday. Definitely Wednesday. Yeah, Wednesday.

(For the record, I hate the word panties, but underwear didn't quite fit in the title.)

I think I lost an earring too

You know those days where you start out in a field, listening to music, drinking wine with one group of people, in one corner of the world, and you end the day in a completely different city, in a completely different outfit, with a completely different group of people, and as you're eating your overpriced ravioli in a restaurant where your new group apparently knows the owner, who is also, apparently, one of the people in the new group, you stop for a moment and think,

"How did this happen?"

Yeah, well, that was my Saturday. Hope the weekend is treating all of you just as well.

B.Y.O.T.P.

     

Today I am taking a quick little road trip (5... 6... 7 hours, depending on traffic) with a guy that I've been friends with for the past nine years. (FYI- this is the same guy from the FWB post. You know, the one that I've been friends with forever but there has never been any romantic or sexual interest? Yeah, that one.) It should be interesting. While we're really good friends and can easily converse and frequently give each other shit for being, well, ourselves, we've never actually had to spend so much time together. Alone. In a car. Plus, we haven't seen each other since Christmas... for about five minutes. So, we'll see how this goes. Don't worry, I'll be sure to relay all the good nitty-gritty happenings. 

In the meantime, enjoy this post that I wrote on Tuesday (yes, I blogged ahead, again. Sue me):

In my house our bathrooms are B.Y.O.T.P. You know, Bring Your Own Toilet Paper? While I live with five six five other people, we never really nailed down a system for purchasing consumables (not in the sense that we eat it, but in the sense that it gets depleted by use. Other examples would be paper towels and dish soap). As a result, there are times when we don't have any toilet paper in the whole house. 

There are gloriously wonderful moments when toilet paper just magically appears in the bathrooms and no one knows how it gets there. I'm not sure how that happens, but I know I didn't put it there. I learned my lesson after the first time I picked up a package of good toilet paper. We ran through that shit in a matter of days. The next time I picked up t.p. I bought the cheap stuff. You know, the kind that feels like sand paper? And I rationed it too. I stored it in my bedroom and put a new roll in the bathroom only after a couple of days had gone by and I realized the magic t.p. wasn't going to appear.

One of my housemates used to steal toilet paper from one of the arts buildings on campus. She hasn't done this in awhile. Maybe the custodians are running low on supply. Who knows?

Any ways, I know from experience to always check ahead of time for an adequate supply of t.p. before I plop down on the pot. (Okay, to be honest, I don't always remember to do this. Like when I'm drunk.) We've all been in a situation where you realize too late that there's no paper on the roll, right? Embarrassing, right? I mean, what do you do at that point? While I've been in this situation more times than I'd like to admit, there was this one time when I felt like I'd hit an all time bathroom blunder low. The year was 2002. I was working as a purchasing clerk...

... at a company that manufactured the operating systems on train doors (if you've ever used a subway, you've used their operating systems). Or something like that. It just so happened that the restrooms were located out on the floor. If you don't know anything about manufacturing facilities, the floor is where shit is built, separate from the offices, which was super convenient, let me tell you. As you can imagine, the plant primarily employed men. Remember this tidbit for later. 

So, I headed to the bathroom in a hurry because I have a bladder the size of a walnut. I looked into my regular stall (yes, I had a stall I used regularly. Doesn't everyone?) and took note of the toilet paper situation. There was a roll perched on top of the holder. Score! I plopped on the pot and took care of business (for the record, I only did #1. Had I needed to do #2, this story would have ended much worse than it actually did). 

Business taken care of, I grabbed for the roll of t.p. Being the oh-so-coordinated person that I am, I managed to knock the roll off the holder when I grabbed for it. I watched in horror as the t.p. rolled across the floor of the stall. Thinking quickly, I checked the actual holder for toilet paper. No luck. Just empty rolls. Not even a measly scrap of paper. 

I assessed the situation and realized that the roll on the floor was just within reach. I carefully stretched my right leg out and was just... about... to... get... it... but no. My foot succeeded in reaching the roll just enough to bump it right out of the stall. I watched, head down, peeking under the door, as the toilet paper mockingly unrolled across the bathroom floor.

Fuck!

What now? I'm only slightly embarrassed to say this, but I proceeded to check the floor for scraps of paper. Of course, the one time I could benefit from toilet paper litter the floor is bare. Double fuck.

I again assessed my situation. I concluded that I had three options...

1. I could sit there, patiently, and wait for someone else to come in to use the bathroom. Knowing how few women worked in the building, I concluded that there was no telling how long I would be sitting there, waiting. It could be hours.
2. I could do the whole drip-dry thing, hoping that things would dry off enough so I could pull my pants up part way and then waddle into another stall to snag some t.p. Of course, it would be just my luck that someone would enter the bathroom at the exact moment my bare, white ass was waddling across the room. 
3. I could yell for help and hope someone would hear me and come to my rescue. Of course, if you remember, the only people who would hear me would be the male production workers.

As you can imagine, I concluded that these options were not actually options. So I sat some more (like I had anywhere else to go) and thought some more. At this point, my eyes happened upon the empty cardboard toilet paper rolls hanging on the holder. A-ha! Another option! 

Yup! I peeled some cardboard off the roll, and I used it! Not one of my finer moments, and certainly not one of my most comfortable ones, but it did the trick.

How about you? Do you have any embarrassing, no-toilet-paper stories to share? I would love to hear about them. Especially since I anticipate needing a few laughs after the car ride today. Comment away!

Sometimes the party takes you places that you didn't really plan on going*

                      

Which is exactly why I will not be writing about my weekend shenanigans. Instead I will give you a quick synopsis:

There were vegan cookies and "foul bowels."** 
There was good food, bad conversation and awkwardness. 

There were old friends, new friends and Rock Band. 

There were bad movies, bad hangovers and bad pizza. 

There were shots of whiskey, glasses of wine and Russian beer. 

There was a pretty skirt, a pretty dress and dirty boots.
There was birthday cake, bruschetta and endive.

There were all-time new lows reached, new experiences had and old habits revisited. 

There was no thesis writing. 

There were tears (but not many).

There were bumps and bruises, scrapes and muscle soreness.

There was a ¢25 Blizzard from Dairy Queen®.

          

(Source)

* Brought to you by "Thrash Unreal" by Against Me! (Source)
** Thanks for my new fave phrase, Krissy Sue!

I finally crossed the line...

     

...and became THAT person. Yeah, that's right, I committed the cardinal sin of FWI... Facebooking While Intoxicated.

Typically, I'm pretty good at drinking and living at the same time. This is because I usually stick with alcohol that I KNOW I can handle. Like beer. And wine. And whiskey. The moment I stray from my tried and true and trusted, all hell breaks loose. 

(Um, dear Sister, and you know who you are, if you're reading this, please be warned that I am about to disclose some information that may shock and appall you. You may not want to continue reading. Or maybe you do. Maybe at this point in our lives the things you learn about me no longer disgust you. Who knows, but you've been warned. Proceed at your own risk.)

I've done some pretty embarrassing and shameful things while intoxicated, and 9 times out of 10, these things occurred during a liquor*-induced black-out (LIBO). I try to avoid my danger drinks at all cost, but every now and again, all good sense disappears and I venture from my safe zone. Again, this doesn't happen that frequently, maybe two or three (or maybe four) times a year, give or take a few. 

The fallout from these ventures is usually so devastating that I'm shamed into refraining from liquor consumption for months. I may or may not have lost a job as a result of a LIBO. I may or may not have had to move out of town because of a LIBO. I may or may not have lost acquaintances who had the potential of becoming good friends because I was too embarrassed to look them in the face as a result of a LIBO. And since, once upon a time, someone told me that 3 is a good number to use when giving examples, I'll stop there. 

So, back to my FWI... My good friend from NYC, SMos**, is staying with me this week while she camps out in our school's library for twelve-hour thesis writing sessions. I'm happy to have her here because it reminds me that I'm not suffering alone in thesis writing hell. Plus, I miss having a good friend around who I can really talk to. Well, after two days of typing, typing, typing, our tired and burnt-out brains decided that it would be a GREAT IDEA to have MARGARITAS, yaaaaaaaaaay!!

(I must inform you, tequila and I have a very rocky history. It would be fair to say that tequila is numero uno on my list of danger drinks. Scratch that, it's numero dos. Van Gogh Vodka is number one. That shit is crazy!!! For whatever reason, when SMos suggested margaritas, I really thought this was the best idea I had ever heard of, tequila be damned!)

Seeing as how neither one of us has ever made margaritas before (you would think two experienced drinkers in their early thirties would have, at some point in time, learned how to make a margarita. Yeah.... no.) we picked up a pre-made mix*** and a 10 oz bottle of tequila (in hind-sight, this could have been the flaw in our plan).

Alright, so fast forward to 3 am when we're out of booze, have probably pissed off all my roommates, and we're drunk to the point where we've been over sharing with each other for the last two hours. No more booze = bedtime. I'm secretly thrilled that I'm still well aware of my surroundings, can carry on a conversation and, most importantly, have not slipped into a LIBO. I'm thinking my reintroduction to tequila ain't going so badly. So I stumble into my bedroom, strip, hop into bed and fall fast asleep.

Or so I thought. 

Imagine it's about 9:00am, I'm seriously hungover, or, more accurately, still drunk, and I know there's no chance in hell I'm doing anything that day that I can't do while simultaneously enjoying the comfort of my bed. I assess my body for damages and discover only one mystery bruise, one mystery scrape but plenty of mysterious muscle soreness. I reflect on the evening and am psyched that I can recollect going to bed, so I conclude that despite the aforementioned mysteries, nothing went down last night to cause me any concern. I pull out my laptop and decide to check in with the world, all the while super proud of myself for NOT making an ass of myself the previous evening****. 

Then I log on to Facebook... and there it is. Evidence that I did not in fact fall fast asleep but, in fact, at some point between hopping into bed and traveling off to dreamland, I slipped into the LIBO and not only logged onto Facebook, but I also decided to profess my friend-love for a long-time male friend and beg for someone to hire me because, as I so eloquently put it, I'M A DAMN GOOD TEACHER. I also felt the need to inform the Facebook world that not only was I drunk, but my dear Sister would be disappointed in me if she knew, so Shhhh... don't tell her. Ugh! I embarrass me. 

Thankfully, my long-time friend is well aware of my drunken antics and actually expressed his amazement at my ability to not only drunk-post with NO grammatical or spelling errors, but to still manage to use big words and sound gosh-darn intelligent. Despite his praise, my shame got the best of me, and I quickly deleted that shit, praying that the Facebook world chose to sleep in that morning and thus were unaware of my talent at FWI+.

* whiskey excluded. For some weird, freakish reason, I can drink this stuff all night and not experience an LIBO.

** identity concealed in order to spare her the shame and embarrassment of being associated with me.

 *** which, by the way, already contains liquor. We knew this, but in all our infinite wisdom, we KNEW the mix would not be potent enough for the kind of drunk we were hoping for.

**** I know what you're thinking. How much of an ass can I make out of myself when I'm drinking with a good friend in the safety of my own kitchen? Oh, trust me, one can make a HUGE ass of oneself in that situation.

+ but seeing as how it was Friday morning, the odds of this being true were pretty slim.

                  
UPDATE: It seems I also managed to send a message via Facebook while I was FWI. I'm so proud of myself, really, I am. The fallout from the drunk messaging wasn't so bad, in fact, it resulted in a discussion that needed to be had. So all-in-all, everything is A-okay! (Curiously enough, it didn't even occur to the recipient of the drunk message that I was under the influence at the time, despite the 4 am time stamp. Evidently, I am quite articulate while drunk in the wee hours of the morning. Good for me... I think.)