phil.

rooms and i went out in uptown charlotte last night.  

 

we were at mez.  having a great time.  hanging out.  chatting amongst ourselves when phil interrupted us.  granted my fathers name is phil as well.  and if only it had been him. perhaps we would have escaped unscathed and a bit less annoyed.  sadly the phil that interrupted us was a five foot 8 balding man with a mustache and the inability to pick up on social cues. (ie. rolling eyes.  repeated bathroom breaks. the refusal of exhanging phone numbers or business cards)  rather he told us about his father being ill. (which granted. i am such a sucker for a heartwrenching tale.  however.  not when you’re only telling it to me as a tactic to real me in and want to spend time with you purely out of pity.  i find them heartwrenching when someone is obviously upset about the situation. not out drinking rather than spending time with said ill father)  

of course the night is going further and further downhill. till rooms and i order another corona. because really how can you not feel a bit of optimism the second that beautiful lime topped beverage is heading your way.  however.  although mine made it into my hands.  rooms made it into phils hands.  then back into the bartenders hand. where for some reason phil had instructed the bartender to pour some grenadine it in. and then it was handed to her.  appalled we both looked at eachother.  sat our drinks down.  and left to go to Suite.  

any man who can’t appreciate a corona for exactly what is is.  isn’t someone we can respect.

 

so phil.  if you happen upon this.  it wasn’t the balding. or the height issue that ruined you. it wasn’t even the sob story.  it was however.  that you … a MAN… poured pink juice into my roomates favorite beverage.  and now we can no longer associate with you…

last night.

i was introduced to “champagne thursday” at blue martini. 5 dollar champagne martinis.  (which by the way… were delicious) after a few drinks. the girls and i headed to bogarts. and then i ended up at brooklyn heights.  which for some reason i have realized i tend to visit at times when i really should send myself home… (due to heavy innebriation)  thankfully the bouncer there always lets me in.  much to my delight. and sadly…  to the detriment of everyone else that has to hear me be even more loud and obnoxious than usual.

i compiled a list of signs i should have taken to mean i should have sent myself to bed by midnight:

1. being thoroughly amused at how much stuff my partner in crime could steal and fit in her purse. (pint glasses. salt and pepper shakers… beer pitchers…)

2. wrestling with her at the pourch and almost knocking over a table of food.  (please note i have never wrestled…sober)

3. buying everyone at brooklyn heights a jagerbomb.

4. hiding behind a building to avoid going to the bassment.

5. telling an extremely slutted out 29 year old. she looked pretty. because it was her birthday.

6. consuming more than 5 shots. 5 beers. a martini. and 2 glasses of champagne.

7. making our friend pull over at bojangles so i could lay in the parking lot. giggle hysterically while debating if i wanted to be sick or not. and watched my p.o.c. pulling everything she stole out of her purse in trophy like fashion.

8. not recognizing brooks. who i have now known. for six years.

9. dancing with the tiny man at bogarts whose best move mimicked my dog wiggling at the front door when i get home.

10. getting a text message from my roomate at 5am. asking what i was doing still awake and hysterically laughing.

 

 

thank you blue martini for the first and last champagne thursday. i am ever allowing myself to attend.

insert gay musical interlude…

last night was phenomenal.

it was my favorite day of the year!

the 5th annual cheers for charity cocktail party at my brothers.
and wow was it awesome.  every year he and his old roomates
organize the event and they get sponsors so you just have to take
your donation for the less fortunate and you drink and eat for free all night.
( ummm… spectacular )

of course on friday at the tacky sweater party. (at which i wore solid glitter leggings mind you) the girls and i came up with an idea for a wardrobe change.
i mean why not embarass ourselves in front of some of raleighs finest.
so yesterday rooms and i spent the day shopping at big lots for all the right
materials, manufacturing costumes for all of us, and deciding which christmas song worked the best while fake tap dancing and lip singing. (rocking around the christmas tree … clearly a crowd pleaser.)

the boy got in town around 8 and we all got ready. headed over around 9:30 to the shindig and started to drink and hang out.  it took quite a few gross shots and miller lites, but right around 11:30, there we were.  three girls dressed as giant christmas presents and three as huge gift bags… sidestepping into a room of people we didn’t know and singing.  needless to say… noone knew what was going on. the applause i was hoping for did not ever happen… and noone knew the words. however. i am willing to say… that even though i forced everyone into doing the damn  musical interlude… it was worth it.  regardless of if everytime i’m out someone
points at me and says…thats that girl from the cocktail party i was at that dressed up in a big box… seeing all my girls dressed up like idiots with me and fake tap dancing for a solid 4 minutes was priceless.

man. i was proud. and mom and dad now have a phenomenal picture of my brother and i in giant gift boxes with bows on our heads for their refrigerator.

we headed downtown afterwards. ending up at sullivans and drinking knockouts all night while having some mob boss don stare at our table and make us feel uncomfortable.  and then i made the boy stand with me in the rain and listen to this amazing man playing the saxophone on the sidewalk outside. i hate christmas music and yet it was so pretty i was willing to stand in the rain and hear it.  of course we had no cash on us and the boy wrote him a check to cash for 20 bucks.  which we realized today was a horrible idea as the dude could just add a couple zeros to that and wipe out our bank account, but he did give us a cd.  which played the entire way home. “sounds of a street gypsy” 

cheers for charity. soooooo  my favorite day of the year.

i’m not exactly sure how to top off the gay musical interlude next year… but maybe we can dress  up as stockings or candy canes…

fayetteville

went home for thanksgiving.  and actually i wish i could say some things happened that i didn’t expect would… but i can’t.  everything sketchy that happens in fayetteville hardly even shocks me anymore.  i think i’m at that point where i just embrace and appreciate it for what it is.

 

got in town wednesday and the girls came over for cake and champagne. and yes we knocked down three bottles before 8pm.  we then proceeded downtown where we ran into ex skater boy and left to go itz.  we had so much fun there.  my ex soccer player was there too.  but it was fine.  we all just took shots together and laughed all night. i had an amazing time!  we left to go home.  not before after being asked to go home with my ex soccer player.   however, after kindly saying no he asked if he could ask my best friend.  smooth…  we left and dropped off the girls.  the first drop off went smoothly. although we did wake up the whole neighborhood by singing so loudly in the driveway waiting till she got inside safely.  the second drop off we had to crawl through a doggy door because someone forgot their house keys.  my house was simple and our dd took her sister home.  i sat up talking to the bro for another couple hours and eating cinnamon toast crunch.  (god i miss a house that always had delicious sugary cereals and 2% milk on hand). 

woke up to like 7 missed calls and was informed one of my friends had been so drunk she’d peed on the floor of her room.  i vaguely remembered crawling through a doggy door.  and dad said i told my midget story so loud he was laughing upstairs.  ha.  what an awesome night.  thanksgiving dinner was perfect as usual. i love that mom incorporates as much alcohol as possible now too.  these are bourbon potatoes. and there is butter rum cake after dinner…  (not like i’m complaining but is funny)  if we had had that cheesy beer soup i’d probably have been concerned…

went out for a bit on thursday. nothing spectacular just visiting friends. and friday. i got stalked by the ex skaters boy’s baby’s mama.  yes. you heard me correctly.  as in she blocked me into a parking spot and called me a slut and cussed me out and i had no clue who she was till she began to beat him in the chest. also. i get calling me a slut. if i am one. shit if i do hook up with your boyfriend. you are more than entitled. but i for one did not hook up with him. and clearly by the shocked look on my face when i was called a slut…  you should have known. you fiesty ridiculous crazy girl.  who then proceeded to tailgate me when i was driving home.  i’m going to say tailgating when you have a 1 year old at home.  is not a bright idea.  anger over a totally made up situation aside.  that is just not a good idea.  if i slam on my brakes your toast!  and i can have road rage with the best of them!

i quickly left fayetteville before my tires got slashed.  but i did get to giggle on my way back to raleigh.

got drunk…check.  crawled through a doggy door…check.   got stalked…check.   all in all.  pretty damn normal.  god i love fayetteville.

today.

Today the neighbors dog got fleas.  This wouldn’t seem like an issue that would affect me, however, I have this extreme fear of flea transfer.  As in … every time he walked over here i wanted to use a flea comb on him and make sure the little fuckers weren’t leaping off into our living room.  i know… dramatic. 
he also asked if he could use an iron today.  and i had to get out the craft project iron.  its the only one we have.  and if were lucky.. might be two inches long.  it looks like a plastic toy a kid would use when playing house.  there is no on and off button.  there is only plugged in. and not plugged in.  needless to say he made fun of it for twenty minutes while i stared at his potentially flea ridden body.

rooms had a match.com date tonight.  its actually pretty impressive she’s willing to take a chance and go on them.  i have way too vivid of an imagination. before i even got to the date i’d be thinking that whoever i was going to see had some sort of demonic plan for my demise.  and they’d have weird ways to do me in too.  make me eat too many red hots.  or dye me purple and let a huge person mistake me for a blueberry. i’m not so sure i’m someone that could function well with internet dating. i reveal way too much of myself straight out of the gate.  the boy and i have really only lasted this long because we can’t find anyone else that makes us laugh so hard we cry.  i’m not sure most men would appreciate my horrible made up lullaby rhymes or tendency to dance like someone from the 50′s.

hopefully rooms does meet an amazing guy though.  that doesn’t have weird habits we have to overlook.  i hate when people have those weird things that drive you crazy but are nice to look at so you pretend that annoying habit isn’t actually “that” bad.  lets hope for the best.  worse come to worst… just don’t let him be a juggler.

baltimore.

went to baltimore this past weekend with rooms.  we got to canton around 11 and rushed to get to the bars by midnight.  we changed.  put some fake lashes on.  zipped up our boots and were off to drink a few down as we’d had a hellacious day of being hungover.  we walked into the first bar only to realize that no females in baltmore are over 5’7 and we were easily at 6 feet in heels.  sadly no males were over 5’7 either… but at least it made it easy for us to find eachother in a crowd.  i was anxiously awaiting to be called a tall girl… 

we went to a bar called the stocking horse.  (which clearly should have been called stalking whores… they’d sell t-shirts out the wazoo)  and were introduced to a delightful little concoction known as the red bull vodka slushie.  whoever was genius enough to think of that… high five.  we ordered two with extra shots of vodka and felt right at home.  we headed upstairs to dance where i was approached by a man named kevin.  who we quickly nicknamed… kevin that couldn’t hear.  lets reinact.

“hi my name is kevin”

“hi my name is kathy”

“what?”

“kathy”

“what?”

“this is my friend ashley.”

“who?”

“ashley”

“who?”

we abandoned him at the bar and hit the dance floor to do the running man to journey.  i felt the need to buy us another slushie and round of cherry bombs.  (how our hearts didn’t explode i’m not sure) 

the bouncer (who resembled mr. t) chased us out of the bar around 1:45 and our happy drunk asses waited on our ride outside.  getting drunk in an hour and a half… solid.

we got home and hopped out of the car.  stumbing to the door and realized that just two houses down two men were fighting in the street.  like best friends fight.  with shoving and yelling and no real punching involved.  of course we felt the need to yell “hit him” from the stoop we were on.  and “if you aren’t going to punch eachother we’re going inside” they immediately stopped fighting at all and we went inside…  damn them for not fighting.  we were gunning for the guy in black.  athough if we had come out saturday morning and found a dead guy we’d have felt guilty.  of course after egging on the neighbors  we drunk dialed everyone we knew and giggled incessantly over everything.  tried to remember and sang every nursery rhyme in existance.  yes we ended up on nurseryrhymes.com on our blackberry’s and read them to eachother for like an hour.  this was of course after we played the geography game with our neighbors and inducted them into our friendship circle with the usual rhyme their name with everything we could think of.  i laughed till i cried and fell asleep.

we woke up saturday starving and forced ourselves into the shower before we left for NIH.  which by the way was supposed to be about an hour away. (it clearly took us like 3 hours to get there)  we hung out with the bff all day and then headed back to attempt to get to flemings before dinner.  room’s friend picked us up with the flemings van and we headed to the steakhouse.  where he proceeded to talk for 45 minutes face to the point rooms and i were pounding wine in attempts to make his voice fade away and kicking eachother under the table out of frustration.  finally the food arrived.  and holy hell my steak was delicious.  happiness in my mouth.  we had lobster tempura and scallops.  killed three bottles of wine and headed home.  of course we stopped to get three more bottles of wine first.  because that was entirely necessary. ignored rooms friend as much as possible and went to sleep.

all in all a pretty incredible weekend.  i heart vodka red bull slushies. investing in a slushy machine… immediately.

a bunch of squirrels glued together.

rooms and i were sitting downstairs watching entourage when i happened across this picture…

http://perezhilton.com/2008-11-09-headline-of-the-week-weak-276#more-35770

prior to reading the caption we both quickly looked at eachother realizing neither of us had any clue what the man was holding.  and i said. well it looks like it has a rhino head in it. and rooms said “it looks like a bunch of squirrels glued together.”  needless to say i was a child that used to make monsters out of trees covered in kudzu and clouds into sheep and turtles, so finding what looked like a rhino head wasn’t too hard for me.  however, it was pointed out i meant hippo.  as rhinos have a huge horn.  and when i pointed out they also had that fun thing behind their head… i was told that was a dinosaur…

apparently a weekend drinking in greenville makes us bigger idiots than usual.

its a fucking mushroom.

just your typical sunday.

so it’s one of my bff’s birthdays on Friday.  and last night we decided to have a little get together.  just five of us.  with cake and champagne because we thought it would be cute.  we all met over at our friends house and of course… acted like idiots.  (shocking i’m sure)

it might have began with the idea that rooms and i should go to party city and buy mini tambourines.  (yes. they have them for 1.50)  and who doesn’t want a freaking tambourine.  what if they had mini accordians!  that would be amazing. i’d have bought 72 of them.  but we got mini tambourines and marakas covered in tinsel and glitter.  we also bought a ton of other fantastic items that of course brought our total up to an insane amount of money.  but hey.  at least on friday we’ll all glow in the dark and look hysterical while banging on tambourines and marakas.   we’re bound to have a good time!  although everyone else at the bar might hate us.

we signed our bff up for a phone call from geoffrey the giraffe at toys r us and i never even knew you could do that!  truthfully i feel like the last 24 years of my life i’ve been ripped off!  but oh well.  sadly it takes 6 to 8 weeks for the giraffe to register he’s supposed to call you.  but we did get a crown with his picture on it and a beautiful balloon that blocked our vision in the car the rest of the entire night.

so we arrive.  eat panini’s and drink sweet tea.  don’t even bust out the cake or champagne.  shake some tambourines.  try to look up my picture in the lovely as ever new version of the slammer (on stands now) and tell everyone of our lovely new facebook group we created in attempt to sell the neighbors house to someone cool.  (yes it includes pictures and neighborhood highlights, as well as a request for someone to buy us the big inflatable jungle gym from costco we’ve been eyeing for months)  rooms discovered what she thought was poop on the kitchen table only to realize later it was chocolate sprinkles.  (don’t worry she still didn’t eat it…)  and we discussed match.com profiles and how to date. 

apparently our version of a bad date ends with rooms busting out a life size cardboard cutout of delilah covered in felt so you can pet her and dipping her face in a saucer of milk to really scare off the creepy dudes.  (please god let this actually happen at least once) 

all in all a pretty great sunday night.  i mean who knew that at 24 all we need for a good time is a $1.50 cent tambourine and some sprinkles that look like poop to have a good time.

the speedway and section a.

this past weekend rooms and i drove to charlotte for a weekend of high alcohol intake and the nascar race at lowes saturday night.  we had gotten about 12 people on board for the race and were stoked.  we hadn’t been to a race together since we worked them as miller girls 2 years ago.  what could be better than be surrounded by real honest to god mullets and moonshine.  plus… where else can you wear fake ugly teeth and not necessarily be looked at twice…

we kicked off the weekend at suite downtown.  and mind you.  i was unaware that place had gogo dancers on the bars.  so i walk in sober to a place where booties are shaking over my head at all times.  i was immediately peer pressured into red bull vodkas ( and as you all know i don’t drink vodka… considering it made me punch a bouncer in the face once)  three red bull and vodkas, jagerbombs, and a few soco and limes later, and we were on the dance floor.  the place was so much freaking fun.  we didn’t even make it to whiskey river… and yes. i’m aware that would have been amazing being its dale jr’s bar the night before a huge race.  however, my drunk ass failed to remember to make us all go there till it was too late.

we walked outside around 2 to meet up with some friends and headed to fuel pizza, where i bought a large cheese pizza that looked like a small. watched one of my friends flash the pizza maker for free garlic knots and realized my life is probably eerily similiar to a nascar race even when i’m not at one.

we drove home and rediscovered the amazingness of guitar hero.  (and no the cops were not called to the townhouse this time due to our “rocking too hard.”)  rooms and i sang backup for the boyfriend until 5am.  and by backup we mean we jumped around the couches singing into remote controls when the two words of the  song we actually knew were played.  (yes i’m 24…and not 12)

we woke up at 10 and got ready for the race.  i put on the jorts and knee high tube socks.  threw on a tank top and the amazing hoodie i discovered in the little boys section of wal mart.  which zips all the way down over your face and makes you look like you’re wearing a racing helmet.  complete with cutouts for your eyes and mouth.  ( i know… greatest 15 bucks ever spent!!!)  rooms looked like the biggest kurt busch fan ever. and the boyfriend rocked short little cut off jean shorts, a cut off yellow nascar shirt, camo hat, tube socks, and shoes that looked like they were meant to be worn in a game of basketball in the 70′s.  ( needless to say he looked amazing)  and we were off to go the grocery store dressed like idiots.  180 dollars later we met up with the group.  each assigned ourselves a set of fake teeth and halloween goblets.  crammed into the cars and headed off. 

and wow.  was it amazing.  nascar gets better every year i think.  asides from our entire group looking like idiots.  one guy wearing only american flag boxers and a camo shirt.  we were a huge shitshow.  everyone around us actually asked us not to leave to go the race.  (although they might have meant that sarcastically…)  we had so much fun.

 from pretending that the straw to a drink was a microphone.  to busting our asses doing cartwheels.  to sticking the ripped off end of a foam finger in someones boxers to make it look like…well you get the picture.  we had the girl who looked like she fell off the rock of love cast.  to the girl whose overall jumper barely covered her ass.  to the one that had nacho cheese in her hair.  we were amazing.  there are pictures of boys proposing to girls as they hang off of RV ladders.  of us stealing the peanuts of innocent bystanders sitting in front of us.  of our faces amazed at made up car crashes. and one with a man decorated entirely in american flags and literally holding 71 little american flags… who called himself mr. america. 

we watched 344 laps of nascar amazingness.  ate corn dogs. lost people. found people.  tried to get rid of people.  had people get kicked out.  got made fun of by people. made fun of people.  lost one ticket. 3 coolers, and countless brain cells.

all in all.

next year’s sign up sheet is available.  hurry up.  before we let someone else wear your fake teeth and rock the jorts you wanted.

a night in the slammer.

and yes… this really happened.   

Monday night i was enjoying a glass of pinot on the couch.  watching a little gossip girl and chatting with rooms when there was a knock at the door.  initially when she asked who was there and had the reply “raleigh pd” we weren’t shocked.  as we know an officer or two.  

 

however, when the man who identified himself as officer karthur ” i’m officer karther.  k plus arthur.  arthur with a k in front.  karthur.” it was immediately followed by… ” i need your roomate to come downtown with me.”  ummmm come again…. 

 

thank god for the wine…

 

so there i was.  i threw on some jeans and a hoodie and walked outside. got cuffed and put in the back of the police car.  and it was time to start embracing the experience.  you know how i am when faced with traumatic scenarios i put on my game face.  i mean just imagine how entertaining jail could be.  to be honest i was excited.  even more so because on the back of the metal blockade between me and karthur was a bumper sticker that read “cops are your friends” which also got me.  imagine how pissed you are if you got like busted in a drug raid and read that.  amazing!

 

one might ask themselves why i was arrested.  failure to appear for a speeding ticket.  (yes i’m aware i should have gone. sadly i forgot.  and was planning on taking care of it next week)  but i mean… don’t these people have better things to do.  like arrest people for drugs.  or maybe murder! 

 

so i walk into the police station and sit down.  only to be fingerprinted and yes… have a mugshot taken.  (which i tried to find online last night to no avail… DAMN IT.  i’m going to frame it for everyones christmas present)  and then searched.  and i better make it into the slammer!  

 

and by searched i mean.  a huge black woman running her hands over every part of my body.  and making fun of the fact i couldn’t fit anything in my jeans they were so tight.  umm… thats because thats how designer jeans are supposed to be… and people that wear them shouldn’t be being SEARCHED! 

 

i was walked to a holding cell and looking through the glass realized that there would be me… and six ridiculous black women in the cell. imagine my face.  this was about to be incredible.

 

and i walked in.  and sat down next to the drunk one ( if i was going to be in jail i was damn well hanging out with the alcoholic (duh)  and what a great choice.  not only was she shitfaced.  but she was hilarious.  i did however immediately notice that she had like 12 more pieces of paperwork than me.  i sort of wondered what those sheets of paper meant in the back of my mind… but was too scared to ask…. have no fear because she was about to explain.

 

each sheet was an individual charge….  which she read to me…

 

“publixxxxx disturrrbbbbans.  dannnggg itttt.  drrruuunnkkk and dizorrrdlllyyy.  noooiiissseee viiioollattton.  daaannnnggg itttt.  ressssisstingggg arrreeeest.  daaannnggg itttt.  atttemptttinnng to stabbb someonnnne with aaaa kitzennnn kniiiiifffffe.  (ummm did she just say try to stab someone with a kitchen knife….)

 

i lost it.  i was laughing my ass off.  here i was. me in jail.  in a cell with a woman who tried to stab people when she was drunk.  and she was just half of it. 

 

to my right was a big black woman with a tattoo that said “brown sugar” on her arm.  next to her was a woman who had been arrested while at her hair dressers getting her braids done.  and only the front half was done.  so the front of her hair was like super long and braided and the back was like a 3 inch long afro.  hilarious.

 

to my left.  next to my newly made drunk attacker friend.  was a woman who was like 50.  curled up in a ball with a woven hat made of like yarn in twenty different colors.  as well as a denim jumpsuit and tube socks.  (yes… i said tube socks… after i said denim jumpsuit)

 

and then there was me.  in a billabong hoodie and rock and republics.  i was so out of place that every cop that passed immediately yelled in.  ma’am we gotta get you outta here.

 

thank god i knew my favorites were bailing me out…  if i hadn’t the whole experience might have been more detrimental to my emotional well being.

 

regardless of knowing i was bailed out.  i was inclined to ask the other people (who had obviously spent more time in jail than me) what it was like upstairs.  in jail rather than just a holding cell.  up where you have to rock the orange and white jumpsuit with orange socks and orange sandals.  to which they said…  “if you go up there.  don’t look at anyone.  don’t talk to anyone. keep to yourself.  lay on your mat.  don’t watch tv. don’t play cards. and don’t take a shower… the frisky ones are in there.”  ummm the frisky ones… that is not okay. 

 

the drunk lady then commented on how boring the decor in the cell was.  to which the chick with half her weave done said… (and a missing tooth…forgot to mention that ) said… “bitch this is jail.  it ain’t the fucking marriot.”

 

and the drunk one’s bail came through courtesy of her boyfriend.  she started saying she’d rather stay in jail.  and did drunken impressions of him yelling at her. (including his stutter) and followed by the comment… “how is it that a man can lay dick so good and stutter… shit ain’t right.”

 

i know… you like me are speechless.

 

i had to go sit at a little desk on the other side of the glass from my bail bondsman.  and pick up the phone.   like they do in law and order.  (my god i was living my favorite show!!!)  and then thank god i was free. 

 

into the arms of my bestests who brought me home and gave me wine.

 

most incredible experience of my life.  i wish i could include pictures….

 

the chick with the hair half done and missing tooth would have been priceless.