With Friends Like These...

With Friends Like These... Who Needs Enemies?

I knew life would get even more interesting after Ray and Matt moved here from Australia. So on Saturday night, the three of us and Steve hit up a gay club in the city called Mr. Black. We managed to get past the bouncer, a 200 lb lesbian who could probably bench press a normal-sized sedan and who said "Eeew, look at this bitch" when she saw me. The club was in a basement, and filled with writhing, half-naked men. So already the night was a winner. I don't even know what straight bars look like anymore.

I have to preface the following story by stating for the umpteenth time that Steve is in fact, STRAIGHT. All pictures to the contrary, he does actually prefer women to men. /end obligatory disclaimer that he made me put.

We walked into the joint and added a couple of SoCo shots to our respective tallies of a bottle of wine (for me) and half a bottle of vodka (for Steve). Twenty minutes later we were all on the dance floor and Matt was probably wondering why we were grinding up on him like we had poisonous skin rashes and the antidote was on him. I'm a straight female so it's no big thang but Liquor 1, Steve 0. Some self-fondling and a mini strip-tease later (much to the delight of the almost nude go-go dancers next to us) and the score was Liquor 4, Steve 0.

We headed outside for some air and noting that our friend was completely trashed, did what any good friends would do and made sure he didn't do anything he'd regret. Pause pause pause, NOT. In actuality, Ray and I then spent the next ten minutes alternately bullying, bribing and begging Steve to kiss either Ray or Matt. With tongue. Yes, I know you guys are thinking "Riss you are the worst fucking friend on the planet." I'm not denying it.

Anyhoo, eventually the stakes were set that if I kissed Matt then Steve would too. Inner drunken monologue at this time: "What, you mean I get to kiss a hot guy then watch two hot guys make out? This is the best day ever." Incidentally, Ray is a lucky man (and vice-versa). Matt is a good kisser. Steve still didn't take the bait though, so I guess he's more than 4 Long Islands away from gaydom. Did I mention I got to kiss Matt? Woot! I didn't get in trouble though, apparently gay guys and other girls don't count.

And here was this morning's chat:

Me: I could have sworn I heard that you would kiss Matt if I did. But it's okay. Welcher.
Stevie: What's a welcher?
Me: Someone who doesn't do what they said they would in a bet or agreement
Ray: see also: Steve
Stevie: I don't remember making such a bet
Me: Of course you don't, you were trashed
Ray: steve doesn't remember anything
Stevie: riss (n ): person that takes advantage of drunk, innocent men. See also ray (n).
Ray: that's the definition of a great night out
Me: Yeah, that isn't the definition of "Riss and Ray" that's the definition of "A good Saturday night"
Stevie: *sigh*
Me: Hey, no one told you to down half a bottle of vodka in like 15 minutes.
Ray: or touch yourself at a gay club
Ray: in the middle of the dance floor
Ray: in front of the strippers, like the strippers
Stevie: shit
Me: Or to grind up on Matt. And agree to kiss him.
Ray: and then don't
Me: And to order more shots, when we told you you were already drunk.
Stevie: I did not agree to kiss him!! you know there's this voice inside my head that says: "wait - riss and ray ... TOGETHER?! BAD NEWS, STEVE!!" but I think - No ... they're my best friends. they'll look out for me
Me: "Danger Will Robinson!!!!!"
Ray: dude that'd be an interesting social experiment. get steve fucked up, leave him in a gay bar
Ray: and he has to stay while we all leave
Me: HAHAHAHA
Ray: and we watch via closed circuit camera
Me: And he's wearing no shirt
Stevie: um not funny
Me: And is covered in something sweet
Stevie: shit
Ray: and he's busting to go to the bathroom and the urinals are mirrors
Stevie: you guys are evil
Ray: and it's a foam party
Stevie: is there ice cream?
Stevie: NO WAIT
Me: Yes, on you.
Stevie: I'm NOT PLAYING THIS GAME
Ray: i dunno about ice cream, but there is white stuff on ur chin
Stevie: bastard
Me: There is ice cream but it's in your ass and people have to find out what flavor it is.
Stevie: hahahaha shit
Ray: HAHAHA! you're covered in ice cream and everyone is playing a game called "Complete the banana split"
Me: And your banana doesn't count
Stevie: no please
Ray: FUCK i just coughed my diet pepsi out
Stevie: Really - would people get the wrong idea? yes ... yes, they might.

Man I love these guys so much. Also, I don't know what Americans sound like anymore.

Wiiiiiii, Meat Pies, Competitive Karaoke, Two Bottles of Sake and Three Bottles of Wine

Wiiiiiii, Meat Pies, Competitive Karaoke, Two Bottles of Sake and Three Bottles of Wine

On Friday, Abel, Steve and Mike came over for dinner, Guitar Hero and of course guitaraoke. Which I found out today, is the name of an actual video game but at my house it's playing the guitar and singing along. Courtesy of Mike, I am now in possession of a Nintendo Wii for an undetermined amount of time and WOOT, that shit rocks. I get all into it too, Geo just kicks back and swings his hand but I actually do the golf poses, full batting form and the bouncing around tennis dance. Afterwards, we had a midnight meal at Houlihan's. Movies watched on Friday: The Princess Bride, Gridiron Gang, Bewitched, The Guardian and 1/3rd of Miami Vice before I did us the enormous favor of switching the channel to a documentary on the history of Japanese knitting techniques.

On Saturday night, I headed into the city with Abel and Steve to do a consult with Yoni at NY Adorned (the guy who did my most recent tattoo) about the tattoo me, Tony, Steve, Geo and Mike are getting Abel as his birthday present. He picked out a Chinese fire dragon which Yoni is going to re-draw to the specifications we discussed. That thing is going to look hot, Yoni estimates it will take about 5 hours to do. After the consult, we walked over to Tuck Shop, a little Australian joint nearby because Steve was craving "meat pies" and "sausage rolls." Heh. Too many jokes. They were good, but I will pretty much eat anything that is in pie format. You could bake old socks and gravy into a flaky crust and there is an actual chance I'd try it.

After dinner we sat on a bench and tried to map out a plan for the evening. Steve had his guitar with him so he considered going back to his apartment to drop it off, then changed his mind because it'd be humorous to be randomly lugging around a guitar as we bar-hopped. We wandered back to Second Avenue and surveyed the territory for a suitable bar to start in. Across the street was a place that had no name, just a neon sign with a red rooster on it. So of course I said "I'm open to the possibility of going to the random bar that has no name, just a sign with a cock." We stood outside for awhile trying to figure out if we should go in or wander further, when I spied a menu board with the magic word on it, KARAOKE. Naturally, we went in. You know Asian people and karaoke. We live for that shit.

The place only had a couple of people in it, so we grabbed a mini-booth next to the karaoke hostess but by 9 it was packed. I sang a couple of songs ("Feed the Tree" by Belly and "#1 Crush" by Garbage) and then Abel said I had to sing "Sk8ter Boi" and dedicate it to Steve (Avril Lavigne is his What The). So for shits and giggles, I go up there to sing this ludicrous song and really throw myself into it. After the dedication "This goes out to my boy Stevie, who is the biggest Avril Lavigne fan in the entire world" I straight up belted the song out like I was on tour. Insane. Afterwards, Steve sang "Billie Jean" just so he could do the moonwalk onstage. Also, for some reason Steve and I decided it would be a stellar idea to consume two bottles of sake and three bottles of Pinot Gris. YES.

Abel and I would pop out for a smoke every so often and chat with the bouncer. He informed us that we weren't actually in the bar with the cock on it, that was a gay club. Abel asked him what funny shit he sees, sitting outside on Second Ave all night and he told us that he sees all kinds of crazy things because there was a Hell's Angels bar down the block, a skinhead bar next to it, a gay bar and then the gay club next to the place we were at. His exact words were "You ain't seen nothing until you watch a 6-foot tall transvestite painted blue and dressed as Smurfette beat the shit out of a skinhead." Oh my God, we were dying. Seriously, I'd pay good money to see something like that. Abel also asked him what kind of brawls he's had to break up, and he said that people fight because they get competitive over... karaoke. Of all freaking things to brawl over, that wouldn't have made it into the top 50 reasons on my list of things people could possibly throw punches over. Fucking hysterical.

At one point, I went up to sing "Have You Ever Seen The Rain" and the lyrics fizzled off the little prompter after the first sentence. The hostess re-started the song but inwardly I was freaking out a bit. One of the things I randomly held onto is the idea that I will forget song lyrics if they're not in front of me. Which is stupid because I always sing along with my iPod and don't screw up the lyrics. But I de-constructed it and it stems from this time in high school, when me and this girl Ann sung the duet from Phantom of the Opera "All I Ask Of You." I sang the soprano part and she sang the alto, but I was so nervous because the 300 members of the audience were right there on level with us (usually we sang in an auditorium and the lights kind of make you blind to the audience). Anyway, I straight out fucked this song up. My voice was shaky and I forgot the lyrics and so made up new ones "Say you love me every waking moment, kiss my hand and think of solitude" or some shit. It was awful.

So I'm in this joint, under the spotlight, no lyrics are coming and I'm freaking out a bit. But then I was like "Fuck it, you know you can do this" and belted out the song. Abel and Steve were cheering like mad because they know all about me and my random I-forget-song-lyrics hang-up. Steve pulled out his guitar right in the middle of the place and played along. It was awesome. And I have to throw some props out, Steve is pretty shy and he was not only getting up and singing songs in front of like a hundred people, he was actually going up to a few and serenading them. It was a good night. I woke up at 6 a.m. and said out loud "Where the fuck am I and how did I get here?" Abel fills in the details and I just start howling with laughter. And then of course responded "I'm hungry, you guys want to order food?" By the way, we passed out at 11 p.m.

Today, I sat outside my house for a bit and played my guitar. I was singing "Have You Ever Seen The Rain" again when a guy walked up to my fence and listened. After I finished the song, we started chatting about it and normally I would go into my house after like 10 seconds. But since the forum I view things pretty differently now so instead, I invited him to have a smoke and we talked for a bit about music. I mentioned that Geo played the drums and he said they were looking for a drummer for his band. He just moved in across the street and so now I have a new friend. Later on, Min came over for a bit and we Nintendo Wii-ed. Wii-ing rocks.

It was an awesome, awesome weekend.

Super Bowl Weekend Recap

Super Bowl Weekend Recap

Okay so despite the ridiculously random shots we took yesterday (Cuervo, Jaeger, Absolut Peach, Soco), I feel completely fine and it's because the COLTS WON THE SUPER BOWL!!!!!

Naturally it was all due to my lucky Peyton Manning jersey (thanks Stevie) and the fact that I kept rubbing my friend Alex's Chicago sweater for luck, WOOT! I'm still stupidly happy, Kwame said it best a couple of weeks ago when we were discussing their win over New England, it's a bit ridiculous to care so much about a team that isn't even yours. But I am giddy with joy and happy for the Colts.

Anyway, so on Friday I invited my friend Steve over to play. My mom called his mom and assured her that she would indeed, be home. And that she wouldn't feed us junk food for lunch and let us play with matches. Steve rolled in off the train from Manhattan at about 2 or so, and within 5 minutes I had placed a Guitar Hero controller in his hand and we were battling to Cheap Trick's "Surrender." One and a tenth movies later (Maid In Manhattan -- which I took pity on him and removed 15 minutes into the movie "You know how I know you're gay, you like that movie Maid in Manhattan" and Eurotrip) Steve decided to give me a guitar lesson, which ended up being him just playing songs, which then turned into "guitaraoke." Seriously though, guitaraoke rocks!! It's a lot harder than singing along with pre-recorded music, and more fun because for a short while you get to pretend you're an actual musician.

Eventually, Abel showed up with his Nintendo Wii and we (along with Geo) cracked open a bottle of Malibu. First of all, Nintendo Wii is off the fucking hizz-ay. Sorry, couldn't resist. Seriously though, it's a spankin' good time and I mean that in every sense of the phrase. Second of all, Steve and I need to stop hanging out with each other because we're both idiots who egg each other on. I swear we're 12. By the end of the night we had gotten trashed off Malibu Coconut Rum mixed with V8 (yeah you read that right, V-fucking-8) just for the stupidity of doing it and somehow got into a competition in my front yard to see who could handle wearing the least amount of clothes in 10 degree weather, at 4 in the morning, in Jersey fucking City, while Abel watched us and alternately laughed and shook his head at our idiot antics.

Incidentally, playing Nintendo Wii is more strenuous than half the things people do at the gym. Oh and enough shit talk flew that night to fill eight NBA All-Star Weekends, but it's fucking hysterical when it's coming at you in an Australian accent. At one point we were doing flips in my living room and I did a bridge then tried to turn it into a back-walk-over but needed a spotter. So Steve walks over and freaking flips me over in a full backflip. Apparently, I still landed it.

Malibu and V8, the choice of a new generation. "Wiiiiiiiii!!!"

On Sunday me, Geo, Tony and Abel headed into the city to meet up with Steve, Alex and Alex's friend Alex (dude that's like the Bob Newhart Show "Hi I'm Larry and this is my cousin Daryl and my other cousin Daryll") at Tonic to watch the Super Bowl

Tony finishing off the mini-keg (really, who lets us in public)
and Alex representing the Windy City. Alex is about as far from a
hoodlum as you can get so this picture is actually pretty funny.


We decided to do prairie fires, as in tequila with Tabasco sauce.
And by "we" I mean that I decided for the both of us. Steve's shot
has better presentation though. Or is that liquor feng shui?


Alex is pointing out the infamous Chicago sweater that I kept rubbing
for good Colts luck. Incidentally, that's not a Bears sweater, it's a
University of Chicago sweater, his alma mater. You can't mess with the
God of Sports Paraphernalia, he will shoot your team down.


Abel was rooting for the Bears and Geo was rooting for the Colts. Steve
was dubbed "Switzerland" because he's Australian and halfway through the
first quarter, was still waiting for the soccer players to take the field.

One thing (among many) that cracked me up was this random drunk girl in a Marvin Harrison jersey that kept walking up to Alex and screaming "Go Colts!!!!!!!!" and "The Bears suck!!!!!!!" right in his ear. It was mostly amusing because she was doing it to the other Alex as well and I really, really thought he was going to throw an elbow. And by "thought" I meant "hoped" because that would have been even funnier.

Also...

Me: Did you throw that football that just went behind the bar?
Steve: Yeah but it went through Alex's fingers. It was a perfect spiral.
Me: Oh, that's okay then.

Also also...

Never drink Tabasco sauce out of the bottle just because your friends Alex and Steve are doing it. This may seem like a basic instruction to life, along with "Always flush the toilet" and "Wash your hands after you use the bathroom" but apparently there are some people that don't understand this. Especially don't battle your friends, counting seconds VERY slowly, to see who can down it the longest. Especially don't plan to do it again one day, because your friend Steve thinks he blew your ass out of the water with his Tabasco-guzzling time, when in fact you know he lost it harder than a cheerleader on prom night.

I See Drunk People

I See Drunk People

You know it was a good Friday night when it's Monday and you're still tired as hell. It especially makes me feel guilty when I look at Geo, who seems to have come down with the flu, a respiratory infection, bronchitis and a cold all at once. Also, his throat is sore and his voice is half gone. Meanwhile, I'm prancing around in the kitchen making pancakes and singing along to "Just Want You To Know" by the Backstreet Boys. He probably wants to smack me. I thought I had flu symptoms a couple of days ago but they've disappeared under the deluge of orange juice and cold medicine I pre-emptively attacked with. That's my philosophy, respond with every weapon in the arsenal. In response to a few chills that may have just been the result of a minor hangover, I dropped the equivalent of a cold medicine H-bomb and any flu germs I had have scattered for cover.

So on Friday, me, Geo, Tony, Mike and Alex sent my cousins off to Houston/the Philippines and Steve off to Australia (don't worry he's coming back) with some Aussie burgers at The Sunburnt Cow. Don't ask me why an Australian guy, going back to Australia, wanted to eat at an Australian restaurant in his last shindig in New York City. Afterwards, using Magic Drunken Warmth for fuel, we trekked through some random park to a karaoke bar called... wait for it... "Sing Sing." I guess it's similar to the prison in that the rooms are small and people peep at you through the door. No one tosses salads at the karaoke place though, it's too expensive. Time is money. The rooms are $45 per hour and 2 bucks per song. New York city has balls of steel when it comes to pricing. Steve picked up the tab, refusing all offers, which was higher than my rent. When I woke up the next morning and soberly contemplated the bill, I decided that in all fairness, one of us should probably give Steve a blowjob. And since Tony, Mike and Alex are the only single ones among the revelers... Oh come on. Straight is just a state of mind. (And remember Steve, it's not gay if THEY'RE sucking YOUR dick.)

Before the workers kicked us out in the morning, they delivered all the shots we had ordered (thinking they didn't get our previous orders) at once. 20 of them to be precise (to add to the previous 40 or so). I don't remember who drank them all but I think it was me and Steve mainly, since Alex had bounced by then. Without saying goodbye. This is apparently his modus operandus after a heavy night of drunken debauchery, Steve says he follows a homing pigeon in his head that tells him how to get home.

The rest of the pics are here and I laugh out loud every time I look at them. God bless people who are sober enough to take embarrasing pictures of the drunken ones. My one regret is that in all my SoCo and limeyness I completely forgot to give Steve the teeny wedding gift I got for Maria and Rhandy. I guess Girlie will be schlepping it to Australia in March.

Well Drinks Suck Ass

Well Drinks and Getting Screamed At In McDonald's

I've found my cause. Screw the whales and global warming, the FDA needs to ban the substances known as "well drinks." These substances, under the guise of real alcoholic drinks, are acquainting people throughout the land with their toilet bowls. Intimately. A little too intimately. My toilet is now sending me flowers and writing me bad poetry. In iambic pentameter no less, how ambitious is that. For those not in the know, well drinks are the generic versions of top shelf liquor. Designer Imposters for the cheap bar. Which you know, generic imitations may be well and dandy for pharmaceuticals but for liquor, perfume and handbags it's always best to buy the real thing.

Unless, you're an idiot who can't seem to let go of the fact that there is a two drink minimum at the comedy club you're at, so the drinks will go to waste. And, unless you're an idiot who doesn't realize until the next day that you could have just given them away to one of the 7 other people at the club with you. And, unless you're an idiot who completely forgets that the first and only time you consumed well liquor, you were sick for longer than it takes some people to run the Boston Marathon. In other words, unless you're me.

At midnight on Saturday (Sunday), me, Mike J and our friends from Chaos Radio went to go see the newest Mango Radio DJ Maria Shehata do stand-up at the Improv Cafe. The comedians were funny as hell, but then again I'm a big fan of stand-up comedy. Afterwards we hit up St. Mark's Bar for a few nightcaps (SoCo and lime) and some arm wrestling. By the way, is it normal to still be fiending for a smoke even though I quit four months ago? I really am stubborn.

Three of the Mango Radio lady DJs
(we need to superimpose Utopia and Eliza)


The Alex versus Alix arm wrestling match was almost
the drunken highlight of the night, until McDonald's.

After the bar, Mike and I hit up McDonald's. I ordered a Big Mac value meal, then turned to Mike and commented I really should have gotten a salad but it's not like I eat Mickey D's much anymore anyway. (Yes folks, I have limited my fast food intake and it sucks.) Some black chick who was taller than Geo and bigger than any of my guy friends overheard me and went ballistic. She started bitching "What the hell are you doing in here anyway if you're on a diet?" So I cheerfully announced to everyone around "Because I LIKE MEAT!" Which her boyfriend found so hilarious he had to prop himself up on the counter to stay up. Which infuriated his girlfriend so much she started bitching about me all over again, "Why does that skinny bitch care what she eats anyway." (Because I actually do have to exert some effort to fit into my clothes. I'm not 21 anymore.)

She takes a bunch of steps back, yelling "I'm fat, I know it, so what, I'm fat, that's why I'm in McDonald's, I don't care. I don't care!!" And then proceeds to fall right onto her ass with the entire restaurant watching. Her boyfriend goes to help her up and now she's yelling "I fell, so what, I know it. I don't care, I fell, so what!" And Mike of course has to call out "Because you're at McDonald's?" Her boyfriend was trying to pull her up, all the while apologizing to us and everyone else. Hysterical. Incidentally, for those of you thinking my memory is pretty good for someone who was drunk, I just remember certain things happening. Mike is the one who fills in the specific details the next day and then I remember them. Like how I kicked some homeless guy's bag out of my path on the way to the car. And how when the screaming woman fell, I just watched her disinterestedly then turned around and started helping myself to some condiments. Apparently I am a sociopath when inebriated to a certain level. In my defense, it just doesn't occur to me that those things are wrong. I just think "What the fuck is this thing in my way, let me kick it to the side." And "Oh, she's screaming at me and she fell. I need some ketchup for my fries."

P.S. - Thanks G for the belated birthday gift! She gave us a portable DVD player for our car with two screens. One for each of the girls (super spoiled) or one for them and one for me (super super spoiled.)

Happy Hour

Happy Hour

On Friday, Geo and I went out to celebrate the birthday of one of his co-workers. Different co-workers this time, only Morpheus was there from last year's "Night of the Grimy Strip Joint." We started off at Houlihan's, where the lesson began, in how fried mushrooms caps and a buffalo wing are not good pre-cursors to a night of drinking.

After that we went to Whiskey Bar, which is apparently the it place to be, unless it's summer, when everyone is in Belmar. Meh. Is it me or does anyone else loathe the it places to be. I feel dirty just for being there. Luckily, it was dead and so the crew decided to head to a place in Hoboken, which was super trendy. But by that point I didn't care since I was already feeling a slight buzz, thanks to something called "The Godfather" (whiskey and amaretto) which sounds unpleasant and scary but is in fact welcoming and cheerful.

Eventually, it came that time of night. That time of night where I get sent out to convince women the men have previously scoped out to come over and say hi. Tonight's contestant was a waitress at the joint who Mike J and I dubbed "Kirlie" because she looked like a cross between our friends Kat and Girlie. I walked over there with some gay ass line about how I thought she was one of my friends and struck up a conversation. I was at my effervescent and charming best and she was like "You are so cute." Yes, I really can be cute when I'm trying to get my friends laid. I am going straight to hell. I try and justify it by saying that any man or woman who would bang someone they've only known for 18 minutes is probably pretty easy anyway, so my actions aren't determining the course of events they're just navigating them in a certain direction. That works doesn't it?

The birthday boy (Happy Birthday Rob!) got nice and toasted through the night. Luckily he's not one of those mean drunks, he's one of those mushy ones. The ones that get uber philosophical or start talking about love. Unfortunately, my alcohol-sodden mental filter never registers in time when someone is being sweet and I end up ruining the moment. Like this:

Rob: You know that guy George really loves you man.
Me: Well that's good, then I won't have to kill him.
Rob: Huh?
Me: You know, to get custody of the kids.
Rob: No I mean he LOVES you so much. I've never seen anyone love someone that much.
Me (belatedly feeling sheepish): Yeah I know, I love him that much too.

At least it wasn't just me, Mike J is good at ruining the moment too:

Rob: Everyone touches everyone's life. Even strangers touch your life.
Mike J: Yeah, this woman at my work... a stranger really touched her life once. She walked into the office and we were like "What is that on your back?" Some guy on the PATH jizzed all over her jacket. She just threw it away at lunch and bought a new one.
Me: I would have just sent it to the cleaners. Was it a nice jacket?
Mike It was a red fur jacket.
Me: Oh definitely then.

When we got home, Geo and I had to take care of some business because we always get frisky when buzzed. It's the reason we have the twins. I mean sure it would be pleasant and All-American to give this big old speech about family planning but in the end we owe our darling daughters to whiskey and a Victoria's Secret bustier. He literally fell asleep about a minute after, and the next day I saw this at the bookstore. I didn't buy it though, I don't understand why some women get so upset with men for falling asleep after sex. You're already finished with them right. Better after than before or DURING.

By the way, apparently my comment box is acting a bit sheisty.

On 8/14/06, Marc wrote:

Your comment box doesn't like me.

"Please wait at least 20 seconds between posts (another -2 second(s))."

How do I wait another -2 seconds?

Cheesecake, Germs, Talking Bison and Drunken Walks and My Big Ass Stye

Cheesecake, Germs, Talking Bison, Drunken Walks and My Big Ass Stye

I'm a bit tired. This may not make any sense.

On Friday, Tony treated us to dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, where I gorged myself on crispy crab won-tons, taquitos slathered with guacamole and sour cream, that yummy wheat bread they have, madeira chicken, steak and some crazy cake that seemed to be chocolate cake, mousse and coconut cheesecake all rolled into one. Thanks T!

On Saturday, we were unable to take the girls to Sesame Place for their birthday because of the rain, so me, Geo, Mike J, Tony and Abel took them to the "Please Touch" Museum in Philadelphia, which was 3 hours of exhausting, germy fun. Imagine a building filled with toys and 200 children. Some parents though, seemed to be begging to get knocked out. One of my daughters was climbing into a truck when some kid a couple of years older saw her and ran around the other side, bumping her out of the truck so she could use it. I felt a quick flash of Momanger and opened my mouth to say something but then that inner voice went "Riss, you can't say 'Hey skank don't you push my daughter" to some 5-year-old.'" So I looked for her parent and her grandfather was just standing there watching her. No gentle reprimand, nothing. But I can't really scream at some old guy anymore than I can scream at a kid right. Stupid stupid common courtesy.

Afterwards we all went to some steak house near the Franklin Mills mall, where an enormous bison head that talks is mounted on the wall. Kind of insult to injury, not only are you going to eat him, you're going to listen to one of his brothers talk to you while you eat. Then, the waiters put on moose heads and sang a weird birthday song to the girls. It was... interesting. (Thanks to Mike, T, Abel and Joeben for that meal!) Also, if the plural of goose is geese, then I'm calling the plural of moose meese.

After dinner, me, Geo and the kiddos dropped by our friend Sean's barbeque. In the rain. Which was actually a lot of fun. Geo and Manny took our kids home to sleep, so me and Janelle stayed behind. At one point, it started raining so I took my dangly metal earrings off so I wouldn't get hit by lightning. Yes. At around 3, the shindig ended and Janelle decided we should walk over the river and through the woods back to her house. I agreed because it sounded like it would be funny as hell, then went back into the house to grab a beer for the walk. 5 minutes later, while we're still on Sean's street, Janelle goes "I'm not sure which way to go" and my confidence in her ability to drunkenly navigate us through the residential streets of Cherry Hill plummeted. Mike C and my sister-in-law Net pulled up in their car at that point, so I jumped in and then bullied Janelle to get in too. Still drinking my beer.

The next day as we were "power walking" and by "power walking" I really mean "strolling around in sweats and running shoes" Janelle and I re-traced the route we would have taken the night before. I told her it was probably a good idea that we didn't end up walking, because we probably would have started stealing items from people's lawns. There was a gnome in particular I may have jacked, then put down 3 houses later because it was too heavy. We just about died laughing picturing ourselves walking into the house at 4am with our arms full of various lawn ornaments. "Where did you guys get all that?" "Uh, a garage sale." "At 3 in the morning?" "It was an early bird special."

On Monday, I woke up with a big ass stye. No, not an ass stye. A stye in my eye that was so big I couldn't open it. It started developing on Sunday, because Manny gave George the herpes pillow to fucking use. The herpes pillow started out as "the sex pillow" and then it degenerated into "the STD pillow" and now it's "the herpes pillow" and I can't think of it as anything else even though I feel a smidgen of guilt whenever I say it. It's one of those body pillows that our cousin and his new girlfriend use for their sexual gymnastics. Janelle pointed it out to me a few weeks ago and said never to touch it or let the girls touch it, and I pointed it out to George and he forgot and so we slept on the herpes pillow and now I have a fucking stye the size of a cherry tomato in my right eye.

Also, we saw Superman Returns tonight but that is a whole different post.

Aussie Invasion

Aussie Invasion

For Steve's 30th birthday, some of his closest friends (Ray, Paul, Loni, Rhandy and Maria) flew in for the weekend, most directly from Australia. For people who are geography knowledge-challenged, Australia is really, really, really fricken far from New York. You're on a plane for over a day, and then some. So his friends pretty much spent the exact same time traveling as they did in New York. Naturally, we made an effort to hang out as much as possible. By the way, would any of you guys do that for me, fly for 50 jillion hours to spend my birthday with me? No? Fuck you then. Ass monkeys.

On Friday night I went out to dinner with some girlfriends, and by girlfriends I mean girl friends, not chicks whose carpet I munch on occasion. Afterwards, I dragged them into the city to go meet up with the Aussie posse. Heh. Sorry, I'm delirious. And also, Steve is right now reading this and reminding me that the correct pronunciation has the "zed sound as in ozzy." Mkay. Paul thinks the Australian accent isn't that great but me and the rest of the Americans in our party begged to differ. Those accents are pretty damn hot. We keep the expatriate Steve around for a reason.

We met up at some joint in midtown by Steve's pad, and the bartender was the drunkest person in the bar. He hit on every female there, punctuating every sleazy remark with "Don't worry, I'm 47 and my sex life is over." Charming, actually. Okay not really. I spent a lot of the time hiding. As has been the case with each and every time Ray is in town, I stuck to our pre-approved gameplan of drinking waaaaay too much on their first night in, and peaking early in the visit. Many of the Aussies did as well. Consequently, more liquor was drunk that first night by less people, than the entire weekend's activities combined.

On Saturday night, we went the Bowlmore Lanes in the village, which was like a weird cross between a club and a bowling alley. I've never seen so many young, scantily-clad white chicks bowling. Suddenly, male interest in my post has perked up. Bowlmor Lanes people, on University Place and 12th. Despite a deep hatred for bowling, I liked the place because they played old school hip-hop all night. That pretty much sells anyplace for me.

After the alleged bowling alley, we hit up Chelsea Grill for some karaoke. This time around though there was no "I like big butts and I cannot lie." Which is sad. I can't believe I didn't think of it. We were entertained by Ray and Maria though, who both have amazing voices. Maria sang a Janet Jackson song and a few black girls looked her up and down when she stepped to the mic, like who does this girl think she is. But after Maria sang her first line they were like "Oh shit!!!" Exactly.

On Sunday, about 20 of us met at the Comic Strip Live for Steve's actual birthday party. Though a few of us had an inkling, we were still pleasantly surprised when Steve himself took the stage as one of the comics. His act was really funny. I love that guy. And I have to give props to him, especially considering it's a hobby versus a career, it takes balls of steel to get up on stage and do stand-up comedy. Huge, boulder-like cojones.

I just flew in from Australia and boy are my arms tired.

The host and first comedians were all good, but towards the end of the line-up the talent started waning and I got hungry. You all know by now how that works out. I tried to hide behind Loni and get a couple of winks in during one of the more boring "regular" comedians (Bush jokes are pretty old by now, especially when you're ripping off Jon Stewart) but Geo tapped me awake. Spoilsport. It was a bit weird though, because some of the comedians were a bit serious. One of the comedians asked me what the secret was to maintaining your energy as a parent and I replied "Crystal Meth" and she looked at me as if I was serious. Um, okay. If I were going to be admitting to some type of drug addiction, that wouldn't be the forum I would do it in. One thing that was funny though was that she also asked me if Geo was one of those lazy fathers and I said most twin fathers have to be hands-on. You just have to go "hold this, bitch." But then I realized later on that it came out as "Hold this bitch." HAHAHAHA. Oh fuck I think she was going to call children services on me after the show. It's rare that two-year-olds are bitches though. Except this one kid down the street who always rides her tricycle by our house like she's all that.

The comedian who was ripping off Jon Stewart started going on about some tribute he was making to Bono. Tired, annoyed and hungry I said sarcastically to myself "Why, is he dead." Except that as usual, I didn't say it to myself the way I planned and by the time my comment reached the comedian like some ridiculous game of telephone, he thought I was seriously asking if Bono was dead. Idiot. Yeah, I get my news from crappy comedians. What? There were no weapons of mass destruction found in Iraq? New Orleans got hit by a bad hurricane?

Luckily, the line-up was saved by some guy who we thought may be retarded but it was part of his schtick. You all know how immature me and my friends are. Of course we're going to approve of the guy who pretends to be a retarded guy hitting on some girl, and asking her under his breath if he can jizz on her face. This guy had us rolling, I almost needed CPR but the guy probably would have jizzed on me after and not called the next day. Never a good experience.

All in all it was an awesome weekend. I'm really tired. But I hope they come back soon. Or better yet, pull a Steve and move to New York.

I don't know why, but a lot of us were scrunching
over in this picture. Like we're so tall.

Helllooooooo

Helllooooooooooo... Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?

Seriously, where is everyone? *forlorn half wave* I'm not a comment whore but I do like to be spoken to every now and again. So that I know everyone's alive and dandy. It's like someone took the peanut gallery and beamed them to the Land of No Internet. Dude, that land sucks. Really, I've been there and it does. Did I somehow manage to piss off all of my friends at once? That would be an impressive feat, even for me.

A few things:

1. This blog is here to stay. That thing I posted on April 1st was a joke. People keep asking if I'm shutting this thing down and I realized that a lot of people just read the posts then bounce. Anyhoo, after I posted that serious message about closing up shop here, I posted a message in the comment box that said "APRIL FOOLS!!!!!!"

2. Dave from Maximum Awesome and I are guest bartenders at a fundraising event this weekend in NYC. It's 50 bucks all you can drink TOP SHELF (very key words) or you can just pay as you go. But any good alcoholic can do the math and realize that 50 bucks is a steal in the city.

Some things to note about the last few times I bartended:

-I drank as much as I poured. (Won't happen this time though, because it's an actual charity event. I don't think my karma can handle the negativity of getting wasted at a charity event and causing a rumble. To ensure this, I'm bringing my adored husband Geo along to keep my ass in line.)
-Some lesbians almost kidnapped my friend. (So if you come, bring someone to protect you from roving bands of marauding lesbians.)
-I didn't know where anything was so every time someone ordered a shot I selectively heard "Jaegermeister" since they had it ON TAP. (Again, won't happen this time around since I will be on my best behavior... and they don't have Jaegermeister on tap.)
-The drinks were a bit strong. Just call me hammer hand. ("I said when motherfucker, WHEN!!!")

Be there or be multiplied by yourself. And say hello will ya. Blurking on the blog is fine but blurking in real life is cause for a restraining order.

The Liquor Embargo

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A Night At The "Gay, Sports" Bar

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Tony's Birthday Shenanigans

Tony's Birthday Shenanigans

I told you I forget birthdays. I even had plans in place to celebrate Tony's birthday with him and I still forgot to come on here and wish him a happy birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY!!)

Geo and I met up with T, Eric, Mike J, Melizz, her friend and Dre at The Office in Ridgewood last night to tip back a few (dozen) in honor of Tony's 32nd. It made me laugh to see that at the ripe old age of 32, Tony's friends could still bully him into downing beer in a mug bigger than his head, a stupid amount of shots and karaok-ing in front of a hundred people. And you thought people mature with age. What is this maturity thing you all speak of.

Afterwards, we tossed around the idea of going to our favorite strip joint but instead decided to head across the street to some "club" called Blend. I tried to get out of it ("I am NOT trying to go clubbing in Ridgewood fucking New Jersey") but they played the Majority Rules card so we hit up Blend. At first, it just seemed like an empty bar-turned restaurant. But aaaaaaalllllllllll the way in the back, there was this secret hallway that led to a club and patio. The bouncers were even wearing snazzy suits. They had one of those bands onstage, that make me want to rip my ears off. I'm not certain what the genre was... they have trumpets and the lead singers are always black men and women with deep voices. Happy jazz? I wasn't drunk enough that I could chill just anywhere and be happy, so T and I hung out on the smoking patio and didn't fricken smoke. Because I tried to jump off the wagon and it sucked.

Remember when Chris Rock said men had to find women and settle down, because they don't want to be the "old guy at the club?" This place was comprised almost entirely of them. It was like we had found their natural habitat and breeding ground. I mean more power to you if you're 60 and still trying to bang 30-something-year-old women, but my ass was grabbed by ninjas yo. NINJAS. A quick feel, I'd turn around and whoooooosh. Just like that they'd disappear. The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing everyone he didn't exist.

My point is, don't go clubbing in Ridgewood okay? That tip's free.

Afterwards, Mike J and I dropped T off at home to sleep it off (Geo went home earlier) and then we hit up the best ghetto diner in the world, Tops Diner. I was all for White Castle and an early night but Mike was not budging off the Hungrymans. Tops has these open-faced roast beef sandwiches slathered in gravy, that are just about the best sandwiches in the entire fricken world. Seriously. And they're served right in the dining capital of the Eastern Seaboard, Newark. Wow. It really *is* "The Renaissance City."

When we walked into the place, there was the prettiest little 3-year-old girl standing in the waiting area. She had long, wavy, honey-colored hair and big brown eyes. She smiled at me and said "Hi" in the cutest voice imaginable. To which I replied, "Hi there. You are such a pretty little girl." To which her brother replied, "He's not a girl, he's a boy." WTF? Naturally I had lost my filter about 8 drinks back*, so my inner monologue was just shooting to the surface unimpeded. "What? You're kidding right?" And Mike said something similar and we just kept walking. Later on, I saw their parents and told them they had beautiful children, and I guess the siblings had pointed me out because they let me know that their beautiful little girl was in fact a boy named Jimmy. I instantly felt like crap. I looked down at his pretty, cherubic face and said "You're a very handsome little boy." Then went back to my table, still feeling like I had run over a bag of puppies.

Note to parents: If you are going to have your pretty little boy grow his hair to his ass, DRESS HIM IN BLUE. None of this green and yellow shit. BLUE. Then the rest of us won't have to feel like we just contributed to the complete fuck-up of his life. Also, what the hell are your 5 kids under the age of 8 doing running around unattended, in a fricken diner in Newark, at 2 in the morning??? Would you like a 6-pack for the drive home??

*I knew my filter was gone when we were on the patio in Blend, and one of Tony's co-workers started criticizing me for not liking Will Smith. He was like "I love Will Smith." He kept going on and on and on and I finally said, "Of course you do. You're a white guy. It's like a law or something that you have to like Will Smith." He was offended, probably because he had just done a great karaoke of "Bust A Move" and had a little flava in him. I wasn't trying to be rude but come on... bitching me out for not liking Will Smith? He's hot, his wife is hot, I like his movies and "Parents Just Don't Understand" is a great song... but I am not trying to Bienvenido A Miami.

The Liver Says Hi

The Liver Says Hi

It happens rarely these days but I drank every day this weekend. But, not as much as I thought I would because apparently quitting smoking has a similar effect on my liquor intake. I mean don't get me wrong, I was super buzzed on Saturday but that was more due to an empty stomach than anything else. There was actually still a lot of Bacardi left in the bottle when I was done with it (I know, weird huh?)

On Friday night me, Mike J and Tony met up with Min, Marichelle and Cheryl in Hoboken to check out the Italian Festival. I mean yes, technically none of us have any need for a T-shirt that says "If You Ain't Italian You Ain't A Stallion" but who DOESN'T have a need for sausage, onion and green pepper sandwiches. Shh, no sausage jokes. After we (I) stuffed our (my) faces, we headed over to Black Bear to get the drink on. Thanks Min for the shot, and Mike and T for all the rest!

Some things I noted while observing the crowd at Black Bear:

1. Men should not sing along with "I Ain't No Holla Back Girl" and not just because it is one of the worst songs in the history of music.

2. People should not dress for November in September. In fact, even in November it might be best to wear layers when hitting up packed bars. Because the long-sleeve denim dress and beige stiletto boots are cute... But pit stains, not so much.

3. Min is good to have along in case space invaders get too space invade-y. I mean obviously people are going to be right up next to each other in a crowded bar. But this one dumbass was so clueless she didn't even notice that she was practically sitting in Marichelle's lap. A minute later, her ass was in Cheryl's face, which she may not have minded if she were cute. Enter Min and some well-placed booty-shaking. Min threw hip shots like Kobe throws elbows. The girl never came back.

4. There are some fashion trends that seriously need to go away. Women wearing nightgowns as a shirt and men wearing their collars up are at the top of that list. Also, if you're going to wear a T-shirt with a whole sentence on it, at least make sure it's funny. "My parents are out of town." <----- NOT FUNNY "Yes I am a Princess, so what?" <----- ALSO NOT FUNNY "Drink like a rock star, Fuck like a porn star." <----- FUNNY!!!!!!!!! My girl Aimee sells those shirts and I've been meaning to get one, not for bars though. For family barbeques.

Don't sit in our laps beeyatches.

Right after I took this picture I thought to myself,
"I sure hope I shaved."

The best pic is of Min and Cheryl and it's on Min's blog. There's cleavage even.

After the bar we hit up Malibu Diner. All of us wouldn't fit in Mike's car so he took two trips. Me, Min and Marichelle decided to hoof it part of the way since it was a nice night, which was a good idea until we hit the other end of Washington Ave. There were a few skeevy-looking people out. My definition of skeevy has nothing to do with race or ethnic background or socioeconomic class. It's a look some people have in their eyes, a look which pretty much says "If I could get away with it you would be in my fridge right now." I'm not a fan of that look.

At the diner there were a bunch of guys at the next table and I thought one looked familiar, but I wasn't sure. I thought he may have been one of Paul's friends. Another guy at the table looked like one of his other friends too so I asked him if I knew him and he said I knew the other guy. Then we did the polite wave/head nod thing.

As we ate french toast and bacon and eggs and french fries with gravy (okay me) the conversation naturally turned to sex. Which I enjoyed because it's fun meeting people who will sit there and share. Like how Mike shared with the table that he (used to have?) nocturnal emissions like most people take showers. One a day except on Sundays.

At one point, Cheryl said she liked porn better than her boyfriend (did) and I agreed, phrasing it the same way. Which caused Mike and Tony to start yelling at me like I was something foul, because they thought I was saying I liked porn more than I liked Geo. Asshats. Of course I yelled at them. Like porn is ever going to be better than the reality. Everyone knows I'm all about the husband's goods. But...

Me: It could depend on the level of expectation. If the expectation is a 2-hour blowjob--
Paul's friends at the next table: WHOOOOAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
People at my table (laughing): The only part they heard was "2-hour blowjob"
Me: If the expectation is a 2-hour blowjob then yes, I like porn more than Geo. My jaw isn't as young as it used to be.

Kwame would just like to interrupt the story here and say a 2-hour-blowjob is too much, his penis would get pruney and after awhile there's sure to be some chafing. I would however like to say that it's not a CONTINUOUS two-hour blowjob any more than 2 hours of sex is a continuous hip-frenzy.

On Saturday, we headed to Cherry Hill for Manny's birthday bonanza. More things I noted:

1. People who drink while they're actively quitting smoking are inconsistent mean drunks. Especially when surrounded by about 40 people who are ALL SMOKING. One minute they're threatening to kick everyone's ass and the next they're trying to get everyone to sing "Kumbaya" around the campfire. And when I say "they" I really mean me (sorry Jon-Jon!!)

2. I am slowly but surely making my way through Geo's female family members with the whole drunken kissing thing. First it was Net, now Janelle. No tongue though, that would be wrong. I think it's written in the marriage contract somewhere, "Thou shalt not slip they husband's female family members the tongue." Our friend Ryan took pictures I think. You know our idiocy always has to be well-documented.

3. How do you stop a gang of Filipinos from jumping you? Turn on the karaoke machine. No really. 3 in the morning and the living room is packed with people singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the top of their lungs.

On Sunday night, Janelle and I played one-on-one Kings in the backyard to finish off the keg. I only drink beer during Kings, but as a member of a single-income household as well I understood her desire not to let it go to waste. Heh. Since it was just the both of us we added a "Truth or Dare" option into the game. And made rules like everytime someone pulled an odd number, they had to stand on their chair and yell "My name is ____ and I love to munch carpet!!!!!!!" Or that for the rest of the game, everything we said had to be sung in an operatic voice. I'm sure Janelle's neighbors are big fans of ours. After calling me a pussy, Janelle picked "dare" and I dared her to bend over and press her ass against the sliding glass door of the room her in-laws were sitting in for 10 seconds. Then of course after she bent over, I knocked on the glass so they'd look up. I'm sure right after she was done Manny's parents must've been like "Our son and nephew married so well." But then we went inside and karaoked with them so everything was dandy again.

Buzzed

Buzzed

I'm buzzed so I was going to blog but instead I'm going to go take advantage of my sober husband.

I was trying to think of that liquor poem while playing pool with T (after a few glasses of merlot, some shots and a corona). I came up with:

Wine before liquor, always quicker
Liquor before wine, always fine.
Wine before beer, never fear.
Beer before wine or liquor, always slicker.

Dude that totally doesn't make sense. But I'm drunk and ready to go so who cares.

12:40 p.m. edit: Alright you vultures, I'll give you the dirt... there wasn't any. Normally, I'm not all talk. But in this case I was. Because as I was headed to the bedroom, I had to pass through the kitchen and I got hungry. My friends always joke that I have ADHD and it is never more apparent than when I'm buzzed. I caught sight of the fridge and all of a sudden my stomach had hijacked my... brain? Nervous system? Reproductive system? My point is, I fried myself up a cheeseburger with perhaps a little too much Wasabi Horseradish Gourmayo and climbed into bed really full. I turned to my sleeping husband and considered my options but after the burger, "go right to sleep" sounded a lot safer on the stomach than "move around a whole lot." So I left the lamp alone because if the genie had come out to play, I might have had to cover my mouth with one hand and wave the other one in the air like those people that have to get off the spinning ride thing at carnivals.

Gratuitous movie quote reference:
"What's the other thing that scares you?"
"Carnies... got small hands. Smell like cabbage."

T says the real poem is:

Beer before liquor, never sicker.
Liquor before beer, never fear.

I guess mine is the binge drinker's version. Mine pretty much says "Drink whatever whenever, it's all good." Actually I don't need a poem, just one phrase that says "NO THAT MILKSHAKE IS NOT A GOOD IDEA, YOU FUCKING IDIOT." Seriously. Because whenever I get really drunk, I wander through the kitchen and start thinking that a milkshake would be just the thing. It almost always has disastrous results but does that ever stop me? No. I have actually brought the blender into the living room at 3am so I could make myself a Butterfinger milkshake without waking anyone. And yes, those are really good. Just not a great idea after eight prairie fires. Contrary to um, popular belief (drunken me) milk and ice cream do not in fact mix well with tequila and tabasco sauce.

Quote of the night, before dinner:

Me: One thing about not smoking in the house anymore, I do miss that after sex cigarette right before you go to sleep.
Mike J: I don't smoke so it doesn't matter. Actually, I don't have sex either.

Oh Mike..... you didn't think I'd forget did you?

I Like Big Butts And I Cannot Lie

I Like Big Butts And I Cannot Lie

Ray is in town from Australia for a week so me, Geo, Girlie, LJ, Steve and of course Ray hit up Cuban Cafe on Eighth Ave to grub and drink mojitos. The food was pretty good but it's really noisy. So it's a good place to take a casual date who's hot but never has anything interesting to say. I however, was surrounded by really funny people so I had to strain to hear things like "It's not that I wouldn't bang an Aborigine, just that I haven't met one yet that I've liked in that way."

After dinner, we considered hitting up Splash aka Splush but it was Men Only night. So we asked the waiter where the nearest place to drunkenly karaoke was and he directed us to Chelsea Grill a few blocks away. On our way we stopped in some clothing store where the salesclerk proceeded to lecture me on my alleged under-accessorization. I was wearing a tank top and dangly earrings so naturally I didn't wear a necklace. He went on and on about how I should have worn one and I pretended to take his advice into consideration but come on. I'm not about to take fashion tips from a guy in a powder blue midriff.

Anyway, we eventually got to the bar, ordered drinks and began perusing the song book. The night started off hot because the first people sang "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen (a karaoke staple) and they did it pretty well. LJ and Steve broke the ice for our group by busting out "In The End" by Linkin Park. They grabbed their mics and as the intro started the following conversation took place:

LJ: You do the rap part.
Steve: No, you do the rap part.
LJ: No you do it.
Me: Luke, you have to do it. You're the only black guy here. You have to do the rap part, it's like a law or something. We're Filipino so if you weren't here then we'd do it, but we're the second option.
Ray: WE'RE NUMBER TWO!!! WE'RE NUMBER TWO!!!
Everyone else at our table: WE'RE NUMBER TWO!!! WE'RE NUMBER TWO!!!

Ray and I then followed up with "I Want You To Want Me" by Cheap Trick. It's a bit uncomfortable singing in public with Ray, because you're acutely aware of the fact that your voice doesn't compare to his. But I did pounce on the opportunity to abuse the mic by using it to ask Steve to get me a shot.

Ten songs later (not ours), Ray announced that Chelsea Grill was the straightest gay bar he'd ever been to. Three hours and not a single Celine Dion song. No Donna Summer, no Barbra, no I-Will-Surviving. Not even a single instance of "It's Raining Men." The only thing that came close was when one guy sang "I Will Always Love You." But by then we were all drunk and singing along so we didn't care.

Some chick who was a member of a bachlorette party bumped into G. I joked to her that G should have moved her "big ass" (G is like a size 1). The girl thought I was saying that she herself had the big ass and started apologizing profusely for it. I thought that was funny. I mean, if I had been saying that SHE was the carrier of the big ass, them's fightin' words aren't they? And incidentally, who throws a bachlorette party at a gay bar? Does that not kill the point of the bachlorette party?

Girlie and Luke left early for their long ass drive back to Bumblefuck Connecticut, but before he left he put in to sing "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-A-Lot. Hence, the title of this post. I told him I would sing it with him then left to go to the bathroom. I was hoping he'd forgotten my stupid offer when I hear over the speakers "Riss.... come up here." Damn. Oh well, I like big butts and I cannot lie. You other brothas can't deny. When a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face YOU GET SPRUNG! I have a soft spot for that song, my best friend George in high school loved it and used to play it over and over again in the car. Then again, he was Guatemalan so he liked big butts and couldn't lie either.

Me: Get up there and sing a solo.
Ray: No.
Me: Why not?
Ray: I'm shy.
Me: You have an amazing voice but won't perform because you're shy. You are like the worst gay guy ever.

Geo wanted to hear "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond (another karaoke staple) but none of us knew the lyrics. So I filled it out onto a request slip, left the name blank and asked a group of guys standing near us to sing it. "Can you guys sing this song? We'd like to but we can't pull it off." Because we're not white. Oh who am I kidding. We sing that song at the top of our lungs like it's nobody's business. But not into a mic. Speaking of which, Geo kept telling me to sing closer to the mic but um EEW! Germs. Some of those people were so drunk they were licking the mic. But then I took it away from Steve.

The best part of nights like this isn't just the camaraderie, it's also watching Steve pick up. Because damn that's funny. He just leans back and lets the Australian accent do the picking up. I met a new friend (Matt) and shared him with my other friends. Geo didn't pick up anyone, but I think a guy did try to do some recon and find out if he pitched for the other team, because a minute later Geo was very publicly displaying his heterosexuality. Just kidding, he doesn't care about shit like that. I also test drove WOOT since I was buzzed. Let's just say, it's best left for private or the written word. Woot!!!!! And yes... MY ANACONDA DON'T WANT NONE UNLESS YOU GOT BUNS HON!

Kings

Kings

On Friday we... well, there was a lot of button-pushing and cut-off curses like "FU-- FRICK." We weren't always successful and if our kids start imitating us Geo and I won't have anyone to blame but ourselves. We've been pretty good about cutting out the cursing in normal conversation when we're in front of them (as long as we're not being very animated in our discussion) but while Mario Tennising it's a whole different um, ballgame.

On Saturday we headed down to Cherry Hill to chill with Geo's cousins. They decided to throw an impromptu barbeque which always means one thing (besides grilled animal carcass)... KINGS. It is inevitable that if people are hanging out at Aris' house with a lot of beer, this particular drinking game will occur. And pretty much keep occuring until people stumble from the table into their beds/couches.

I've talked about Kings before but for those of you just joining us, you sit in a circle and pick a card one at a time. When you pick the first three kings, you just pour beer into a glass in the center but the game ends when someone picks the fourth king and they have to down the glass. The other cards each have different meanings:

A- Make up a rule like "Anyone who says someone's name has to take a drink."
2- Person to your left drinks
3- Person to your right drinks
4- Girls
5- Guys
6- Up In The Sky (throw your hands up, last person has to drink)
7- Rhyme ("Time" "Crime" "Flime" You have to pay attention on this one, people try to make up words.)
8- I Never ("I never watched midget pron" or whatever and anyone who has takes a drink)
9- Categories ("NFL teams, The Raiders.")
10- Questions (Everyone says a question to the person after them, in order, fast)
J- Social (everyone)
Q- Pick anyone
K- Pour

So I played Counter-Strike buzzed for awhile (that game is horribly addictive), then me, Janelle, Sean and Jon-Jon started playing Kings around 11. Around 1 or so, someone turned on the TV and we kept playing while watching the Playboy channel. Did you guys know that the Playboy channel has some pretty hard core pron (prawn)? Seriously. I thought it was going to be weak like the magazine but I was pleasantly surprised. Wait, can one use phrases like "pleasantly surprised" when discussing pron? It's kind of like looking at a row of dildoes and asking a girl "Which one do you fancy?"

We had a great time but "enlightened" people would despise us. At one point we were playing the drinking game while watching pron, while debating whether or not the male "actor" was circumsized, while eating chunks of steak off a community plate. My favorite parts of the game are the "Questions" rounds because the questions just get rude or raunchy. For example, half of them on Saturday involved Janelle's generous endowments (hot momma). The other half involved various penii. Okay so that's not a word but it should be. My point is, when you play this game with the same people every time you remember certain things to try and trip them up. Last March we played at my house and Sean got Net by asking "Do you want to make out with me" and instead of a question she replied "Uhhhhhhh." So I busted out the question to him when he sat after me (Jon-Jon moved after the first round when I started the game out by asking how big his penis was and he replied "Uhhhhh.") And Sean's response was something like "Uermmp."

Ahhh... I love this game. Screw basketball, that slogan should be for Kings.

By the way, I heard the funniest fricken story this weekend. Some chick has been after our cuz for awhile, but he wasn't interested in her. So she finally sat on him, took off her shirt and said something to the effect of "No man can resist me. Even my boyfriend's best friend couldn't resist me." He replied "Oh yeah? Watch this" and pushed her off him then left. HAHAHA!!! That's even funnier than the time Abel bench-pressed some girl off himself.

Today, we went to a christening for Paul's second son Max. We went because he's a close friend, but also because he said he was going to wear a shirt with a picture of Darwin on it and the phrase "Know your roots." Paul's life would be a good reality show to watch I think. The tagline could be "What happens when an atheist marries into a religious family? Watch Mondays at 9 on NBC!"

And afterwards T came over to hang out and see the girls. We got take-out from IHOP and watched The Rundown with the Rock. The first ten minutes of that movie is awesome, when the Rock takes out the offensive line of some pro football team by himself. If that happened in real life I'd laugh my ass off. Especially if it was the Patriots. Yes, I'm a hater.

A Birthday Story

A Birthday Story

Once upon a time there was a birthday party so five friends (and one random guy Steve brought along that he SAYS is just a friend because Steve SAYS he's not gay, though he was wearing a really, really questionable shirt) hit up the party early and tried to figure out how to pass the time:

They all decided to celebrate by drinking a stupid amount of liquor:

Okay it was just one of them who decided to drink a stupid amount of liquor, cheered on by a new friend she made courtesy of a Wendy's value meal:

But the new friend couldn't hold his liquor and ended up almost drowning in Seagrams Seven:

Until Random Guy aka Alex busted out his handy CPR skills and saved the potato guy's life:

But the other people misunderstood the situation and thought it was open season on the potato guy, and things just went from bad (above) to weird to not as bad to worse:

But the important thing is that the birthday girls had fun (and drank a stupid amount of liquor):

On Friday night we all hit up Vapor on 32nd and Madison for me and Cece's birthday party. We had a good time because the company rocked (despite rolling in kinda late) but the place was wack. For people who don't like to spend a ridiculous amount of money on drinks at a place that is just this shy of ghetto, I suggest you refrain from going there. People were buying us drinks all night so I didn't know how much they cost until I tried to buy Cece a drink right before we left. I ordered two double shots of Hennessy and the bartender poured them then said "Forty-two dollars please." FORTY-TWO DOLLARS?? Apparently each shot alone was $12 but a double was $21. I had severe 9-dollar-silver-dollar-sized-cake flashbacks. I looked at the 20 I had grabbed from Geo, hoping it would somehow magically turn into $42, but luckily our friend Myee and Cece's cousin were there, helpfully shoving money at us. Woot!

Haha WOOT always makes me laugh. My point is, I think we did some major damage to Steve "I'm not gay, just my shirt is" D's credit card (although I'm not taking the blame for the five-in-a-row shots because he wanted to see me do it). But the night effectively canceled out the drinks AND lunch at Modish Cafe AND whatever else that Steve bribed me with to not put a really embarrassing picture of him on my site.

All in all, a good time. By the way, I need a boss like Allan's. I walked up to say hello to him and he introduces the guy next to him by saying "This British prick is my boss." The guy was cool about it, but eventually he got drunk and decided to walk 40 blocks home. I told him he was going to get mugged, flagged a cab down and pushed him into it.

Anyway thanks to all my friends for celebrating and for the loot! Thanks to G, Luke and Steve for the ridiculously huge box of munchies and chocolate, thanks to G for the framed pregnancy portrait of me (you are so talented!!), thanks to Steve for buying me enough liquor to intoxicate Bhutan, thanks to Min for Harrington's Hold 'Em strategy book and Aughra for the Augusten Burroughs memoir, thanks to Kwame for DARTH TATER (hee), thanks to Mike J for the Batman alarm clock (it fricken shoots the Batsignal with the time onto my ceiling), thanks to Tony for the Randy Moss Raiders jersey (WOOT), thanks to Janelle and Manny for the gift card to Borders and thanks to Geo, Mike J and G who got my sister a whole bunch of stuff when I said all I wanted for my birthday was for them to get her something small off her baby registry... then went out and got me presents anyway. You all rock!!!

Peeping Toms, Possums and My Fucking Dog

Peeping Toms, Possums and My Dog

T invited me along for his company's happy hour, so yesterday afternoon I started getting ready. I asked Geo what the weather was like outside so he said we should go check (which is code for "have a stoge.") We're outside and all of a sudden my fricken dog comes up to me with something dangling from his mouth. I look closer and it's the fricken mangled carcass of a baby bird. Eeew. Geo goes inside the house to get a broom and dustpan while my dog plays catch with this mangled carcass. Then he brings it on over to me and starts chomping away in earnest, little raw baby bird parts flying everywhere. Eeew eeew eeew. The least the fucker could do is cook it first. Geo manages to get it away from him and I go back inside to finish getting dressed.

Except that while I'm dressing, I invariably start picturing my dog chomping on the raw mangled baby bird and I feel my stomach lurch and I run to the fucking bathroom and just start heaving into the toilet. I'm not an easily grossed out person so that just sucked. Yes, I realize he's just being a dog but still. Eeew.

T shows up while I'm recuperating on the couch, so I get back up to finish getting dressed. His happy hour was going to be at Circa, the former Metro Lounge in Rochelle Park. We roll in and after a bunch of SoCo and Lime shots we're just chillen and having a good time. All of a sudden our party is infiltrated by bouncers and everyone is yelling. Two minutes later it's just me and Tony standing by the bar. We go outside to see what happened and it turns out, two of his co-workers got kicked out because of their shoes. What the fuck?

Apparently, some chicks were taking a piss and some guy peeped over the top of their stall. But for some nonsensical reason, they didn't see the guy's face, just his shoes. Which begs the question how the hell did they know he peeped over the top of the stall but oh well. So they approached Tony's co-workers and accused them of doing it, despite the fact that 20 people told them that the two guys they were accusing hadn't left our section of the bar in the last hour. Do the dizzy broads then figure properly that they must have been mistaken in their shoe identification? No.

They go and get the bouncers. Who aren't exactly hired for their brain capacity so they kick Tony's two respectable, well-dressed co-workers out based on the strength of two drunk chicks' claim that they THINK these were the guys who peeped at them because of their shoes. Plain black shoes.

Idiots Number One and Two: The two dumb broads. Obviously.
Idiots Numbers Three through Eight: The bouncers, who looked as if had you tallied their IQs you would have reached the grand total of 17.
Idiot Number Nine: The manager, who let his bouncers kick out two people based on skeptical and rather stupid information, resulting in the loss of the other 22 people in the party who were spending over $600 or so per hour on food and drinks.

When we got home, I was Mario Tennising when all of a sudden I hear Geo yelling for me. I run outside and he's warding my dog off with a stick or something while protecting something on the ground. He orders me to get some water and I run to get it, still having no clue what's going on. When I get back with the water I find out that the thing on the ground is a possum playing dead and Geo wants me to throw the water at my dog to get him to run away. I throw water on my dog but he doesn't budge so I run to get more.

Throwing the water at my dog does nothing so this time I throw it at the possum, who gets up and starts running away. But my dog is faster and he catches him before he can escape so now my dog is fucking running around with this damn possum in his mouth, evading both me and Geo. Geo finally catches him, frees the possum which plays dead again for awhile, before finally scampering off. Fucking dog.

Sunday edit: Geo read this and wants me to add that my dog (a retriever) originally brought the possum to him, thus retrieving it. Which is essentially what they're biologically programmed to do.

Steaks, Shots, Unibrows and Genies

Steaks, Shots, Unibrows and Genies

So to celebrate Mike J's turning the big three-four, we hit up Applebee's in Clifton. Yes, you all laugh but Mike is very much not a shi-shi frou-frou 9-dollar-cake-the-size-of-my-butthole fusion place in NYC person. He's not even a best-Indian-food-that-isn't-actually-in-India person. He's a good friends, good steaks, large portions and cheap Guinness and SoCo person. Which is a good kind.

Girlie took the opportunity to entertain us with an amusing story about her shopping trip that day to Best Buy. While in the DVD section, she happened upon a Best Buy employee who was um, "mentally challenged." He was standing in the middle of the aisle, clutching a DVD and kissing it. Then he would point at the cover and say "You're so hot" and "I'm going to mmmm you" over and over again. When G passed by him, she saw that the DVD was some comedy with a chick in a bikini on the cover. What I love is the mmmm you part. I wonder if he got caught saying the actual word and so someone taught him not to say it. Needless to say I automatically turned to Geo and told him I was going to mmmm him. Mmmm him like it's nobody's business.

After dinner, Steve and Girlie took off because Steve still has to pack for his trip home to Australia and Girlie lives over the river and through the woods. Mike's friend Drew from college showed up however and we all proceeded to celebrate Mike's birthday in the only way we know how that doesn't involve strippers. SHOTS!!! (Thanks Drew!)

After knocking back a few, I looked over at Mike and asked him if the huge red bump between his eyebrows was a zit. He replied no, then started blushing profusely. Naturally, we were all intrigued. What was the mystery dot if not a zit? A bruise? A boil? Was he now the wife of some Indian gentleman? Alas, it wasn't any of those things. It was a cut. A cut received because while looking in the mirror as a just-turned-34-year-old, he thought he saw the shadow of a unibrow and decided to take preventive measures with his razor. Ahhhh men. Plucking and waxing doesn't seem so silly now does it?

After we got home, I had to do some stuff (code for "Mario Tennis") so Geo told me to wake him up before I went to sleep. But after I climbed into bed I was sooooooooo sleepy. I mean I hadn't actually handled the lamp or anything but there was that implied contract with the genie's master. Is it me or is this analogy getting out of hand (heh). My point is, I went straight to sleep. Geo grabbed my arm after I settled in and I froze, thinking I was caught being the laziest um, lamphandler ever AND a big fat liar, but he just kept sleeping while holding onto my arm. I relaxed and went to sleep.

My last thought before I slept was that before G and Steve and Tony left Applebee's I smacked their butts goodbye. And then I started thinking how that's probably why I didn't get huffy about Arnold and Bill Cosby copping feels, because I always smack my friends' asses without thinking. In fact, sometimes while conversing with a stranger I have to remind myself that it wouldn't be polite to smack their ass when I send them on their merry way. I watch too much fucking football.

Geo bears the brunt of my inadvertent harassment. But he kind of has to, you know the whole man and wife thing. Just like if he wants to rub MY lamp to read the inscription even though my lamp is clean, and the genie's master is asleep, he really can go ahead and make his wish, though the master still sleeps, whether or not the genie tells him to and forget it I'm lost. I was just kidding about this analogy anyway. Well, this part of it.

Indian Food and Hanging Out In Bergen County

Indian Food and Hanging Out In Bergen Fricken County

But first, Happy Birthday to one of my favorite people, my friend Paul, who turns Really Old today. Just kidding.

So last night I successfully badgered Mike into taking me out for Indian food. It's always quite a production because other than Girlie and Steve, none of my friends like Indian food. Mike kind of just tolerates it. Geo eats it about once a year, normally on special occasions. So we hit up our favorite joint, gorged ourselves, had a minor verbal skirmish with one of the new waiters (so I'll probably have Indian spit in my Indian food next time) and then met up with our friend Pam at some bar on Route 4 called Fire Waters. Mike didn't want to go, because he said he didn't like the crowd there. But my idiot self had never been there so we checked it out. The night just kind of spiralled down from there, as we went to places that were progressively worse.

After Fire Waters we went to some club in a Ramada of all fucking things, that had the audacity to call itself Studio 4. Alluding, I assume, to the "legendary" Studio 54, which really no club located in a fricken hotel should ever aspire to be. It's like a Hyundai aspiring to be a Porsche. When we walked in Mike and I were immediately overwhelmed and not a little blinded by the multitude of medallions that shone on us from all sides. Mike said it was like everyone went there instead of to Belmar because it was raining. He did not say it in a complimentary tone and being that I'm not a native of New Jersey, I didn't automatically understand the derogatory nature of the comment. Until of course, I had a look around the club and then the light bulb flashed. Cut-off shirts, over-styled hair, massive quantities of bling and really thick South Jersey trailer park accents ruled the day. And that was just the MEN.

We quickly jumped ship and headed over to some other random bar, which only had about 3 people in it so instantly I was happier. There's nothing better than empty bar stools and a whole crapload of liquor. Except maybe empty barstools, a whole crapload of liquor and tables filled with food.

Some notes from the night:

1. I told Mike J the story of how my other friend Mike got pantsed while he was talking to me. The situation was especially comedic because Mike C was on his way to the shower at the time and had his hands full of beauty products. So after it happened, there was this prolonged pause as he decided in agony how best to cover his nakedness. Oh and that it was happening in front of his friend's girl and like 10 of his boys. Mike J responded that he'd never been pantsed, but he had been "ice-tead." Dirty mind that I have, I thought that was another term for "teabagging." And I giggled. But then he explained that what happened was he walked out of the bathroom, dripping wet from his shower, and his roommates threw an entire canister of powdered iced tea mix on him. So he had to go shower again. The idea of him getting tea-bagged made me laugh. The real story of what his roommates did made me laugh hysterically.

2. I was reminded of why I am so selective about my female friends, it's because some women are just so damn cunty sometimes. Pam introduced me to the manager at Fire Waters, who was one of her friends. He had been talking to a couple of girls earlier, so they were still standing by the side. When I said hello to him, they were in the circle we inadvertently formed so I said hello and smiled at them as well. They in turn, just stared me down. No smile, no hello, just unrepentant cuntiness. I don't understand women sometimes. It would never occur to me to just stand there and glare at a woman who was being cordial, for no reason.

Me: What fucking skanks.
Mike: Did you tell them that?
Me: No. Because unlike them, I actually have a bit of class. You know, when I'm not talking about vomit and butt sex.

I shouldn't have been surprised though. One of the girls was wearing a miniskirt with the phrase "Find happiness in..." and a picture of a palm tree or some shit ON HER ASS. Anyone that wears clothing telling you to find happiness in her ass is clearly going to have confidence issues.

3. I love meeting people who blatantly lie about things like what they do for a living or the experiences they've had. Instead of just accepting their lies and moving on, I like to delve deeper and ask intricate questions as if my interest in the subject matter is all-consuming. I like to see how far they'll go with their fabrications. So the whole time they're scrambling to come up with plausible lies in response to my probes, and I'm trying not to laugh. Is that wrong?

4. There was a guy at Studio 4 who had spiky blonde hair (when the hell did that come back in style), a white button-down shirt with NO sleeves and about 5 choker medallions. He was like a living tribute to everything that is wrong with New Jersey. Besides you know, the landfills and the mafia.

5. Some chick grabbed my ass. I thought it was an accident at first, but later on she tried to pick up Pam "for her friend" who I think was supposed to be a guy. Or a girl who looked like a guy.

6. You know you drank a lot when you pee the next morning and it smells like tequila. And tabasco sauce. I love prairie fires. Although you can't do them with the "good" tequila, you can only do them with the crappy ones. Puts hair on your chest.

7. I've already had my adult time this week (I like that phrase, makes it seem like I'm going to swingers clubs instead of to crappy bars in Bergen County) so if any of my friends are reading this and we had tentative plans for the weekend, I'm flaking. Just so you know.