It's saturday night. No one wants to hang out. There's nothing to do. TV was repeats this week. No one is online.
I want to go back to the hospital.
Showing posts with label fat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fat. Show all posts
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
e-mails i sent my mother from israel while on my birthright trip.
1/7/09okay sooo i think my phone works here but of course i cant seem to make outgoing calls but i can check my email from it. so yeah. im on a bus to haifa right now. i made some friends at the airport. but everyone seems like, pretty jewy. there are some cool guys though. its pretty early to tell though. our group is small, only 35. the food is good. and our guard is suuuper handsome. we are supposed to get like, 8 soldiers joining us but they may all get called to gaza. i hope we get some though. nathan and i are going to try and score some drugs today. bye!!
1/8/09
i just hiked golan. or rather, for three hours i took frequent breaks and breathed heavily while tearing my pants and getting sunburned. same thing. im an indoor girl.
1/8/09
back to the kibbutz for a dinner or hummus and vegetables. i am at fat camp. jewish fat camp. anyway. then we went to what we were told were hot springs you can swim in. but really it was more like a turkish bath house that reaked of sulphr and chest hair - whatever that smells like - i did not go in.
1/9/09
yesterday we hung out in tel aviv. today we ride camels, go to the bedouin tents and at 4am tomorrow we hike masada, followed by a nature hike and then the dead sea. i hope i sprain my ankle so i dont have to do any of those things.
1/12/09
i survived the bedouin tent experience, aka sleeping in a sleeping bag on a rug in a tent with 40 other people and three bathroom stalls; in my memoirs this chapter will be called 'reasons why i didnt join the peace corps'.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I've been riding my bike.
For two weeks, I've taken the Southwest Corridor to work. I really like riding my bike and all the fears I had surrounding riding in the city are gone. It takes between 15 and 20 minutes to get to work, which is much faster than the train. On very hot days, riding is a cool breeze. At night, it keeps me from the temptation of taking a cab home. So, riding my bike: BFI.
I've gotten so used to the speed of getting around. A ten minute walk takes 2 or 3 minutes on the bike. So, after my 8 am doctor's appointment (you can guess the kind...) and trying to fit 40 minutes of cardio intensity into 30 minutes at the gym, I got ready like lightning and hopped on my bike like the wind. I always follow traffic laws. I haven't done a lot of research on biking rules or anything, but when in doubt, I always imagine I am a car and think, WWJD? If he was driving a car, that is. But on Thursday, I was running late to work.
Consider this map for a moment: MAP See where it says Newbury St? Find Berkeley St. Now Find Commonwealth Ave.
So, I ALWAYS ride down Berkeley (a one-way), take a right on Comm Ave, and another right onto Arlington (a one-way), so I can get onto the sidewalk in front of the former Ritz, which is now The Taj, and park my bike in front of work. This is the way Jesus driving a car would go. But you know, I notice a lot of people riding up Newbury St. the wrong way as a short cut. I know this is wrong. I know. But, A LOT of people do it. Every day, a lot of people break the law and I see them and they look like nice, happy people. So, the day I was going to be late to work, I decided, I would be less like Jesus and more like nice, happy people and go the wrong way up Newbury St, a one-way street. This is where the BFI becomes the WFI.
After about two car lengths of breaking the law, a woman I'd guess is in her early 40's, stepped out from between two cars to cross the street and just so happened to be right in front of me. I screamed, "WHOA" and swerved to miss her. Due to her inaction, we collided and I fell directly on my knee and ankle, ripping my jeans, scraping my knee, and spraining my ankle. When I looked over, she was on the ground as well. Before I could say, "Are you ok?" she started yelling at me. "Just WHAT were YOU doing riding the WRONG way down a ONE WAY street?!!?" I just stared at her, shocked, and said, "What were you doing not in a crosswalk." She didn't say anything. I noticed the rip in my jeans and the blood as I got up. I said, "We are both wrong. Leave it at that. I'm sorry. I have to go to work now." And started walking off in a daze. She followed me yelling YOU SHOULD GET A TICKET!!! In an unusual coincidence, there happened to be a motorcade of state troopers on the block at that moment. A mustachioed, aviator wearing cliche of a trooper walked up to me and asked if a car hit me. I said no, a lady walked in front of me and I fell. He seemed satisfied with that until whatshername huffed and puffed her way over and said to him, "She was going the wrong way down a one way street!!! I think she should get a ticket!" She was seeking justice, that's for sure, straight from the law enforcement themselves. The officer looked at me, the bike, me again and back at her and shrugged, "It's not a very fast bike." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" Then he snapped into action, "You know. You're not supposed to do that, you know. It's not a fast bike and you're not a messenger, but if you were going fast, you could really hurt someone." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" The woman wouldn't let it go. He just looked at her and deadpanned, "Are you alright." It was not as lost on me as it was on her. She began to answer with her voice all quivery, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little shooken up is all. I'll feel this tomorrow." To which the officer answered with a, "Wellp." And we all walked away from each other.
So, I ruined her day by doing something I wasn't supposed to do. She ruined my day by doing the same. We were even. It was all pretty shitty though. Especially the swelling and bruises on my foot and the oozing road rash on my knee. My friend couldn't come get me from work cause his car was broken. Waiting for a minivan cab took an hour and a half and cost me five extra dollars. Nothing good came from being less like Jesus.
Halfway through my first client, I realized I also lost my phone in the ordeal. So, goodbye all those phone numbers I had but rarely used! I'm currently trying to track down the person who found it and is calling a bunch of people. They can keep the phone. I just want my numbers. Seems like the person who found it has a lot of spanish speaking friends, so my guess is one of the construction workers at Brooks Brothers found it since it happened right out front. Or maybe I left it at the gym and the cleaning ladies found it and don't want to return it. Either way, I feel disconnected and as if time does not exist. In other words, lonely.
To take care of any bad karma accrued because of the incident, I have decided to be a monthly donor to Greenpeace. Perhaps stopping to talk to those crazy solicitors on the corners of Starbucks is going to bite me in my butt, but at least I'll help save some indigenous people of the forests up in Canada from having their land clear cut by Kimberly Clark. Perhaps it's another WFI. We'll see how long it lasts.
So, anyway. I haven't been riding my bike anymore.
I've gotten so used to the speed of getting around. A ten minute walk takes 2 or 3 minutes on the bike. So, after my 8 am doctor's appointment (you can guess the kind...) and trying to fit 40 minutes of cardio intensity into 30 minutes at the gym, I got ready like lightning and hopped on my bike like the wind. I always follow traffic laws. I haven't done a lot of research on biking rules or anything, but when in doubt, I always imagine I am a car and think, WWJD? If he was driving a car, that is. But on Thursday, I was running late to work.
Consider this map for a moment: MAP See where it says Newbury St? Find Berkeley St. Now Find Commonwealth Ave.
So, I ALWAYS ride down Berkeley (a one-way), take a right on Comm Ave, and another right onto Arlington (a one-way), so I can get onto the sidewalk in front of the former Ritz, which is now The Taj, and park my bike in front of work. This is the way Jesus driving a car would go. But you know, I notice a lot of people riding up Newbury St. the wrong way as a short cut. I know this is wrong. I know. But, A LOT of people do it. Every day, a lot of people break the law and I see them and they look like nice, happy people. So, the day I was going to be late to work, I decided, I would be less like Jesus and more like nice, happy people and go the wrong way up Newbury St, a one-way street. This is where the BFI becomes the WFI.
After about two car lengths of breaking the law, a woman I'd guess is in her early 40's, stepped out from between two cars to cross the street and just so happened to be right in front of me. I screamed, "WHOA" and swerved to miss her. Due to her inaction, we collided and I fell directly on my knee and ankle, ripping my jeans, scraping my knee, and spraining my ankle. When I looked over, she was on the ground as well. Before I could say, "Are you ok?" she started yelling at me. "Just WHAT were YOU doing riding the WRONG way down a ONE WAY street?!!?" I just stared at her, shocked, and said, "What were you doing not in a crosswalk." She didn't say anything. I noticed the rip in my jeans and the blood as I got up. I said, "We are both wrong. Leave it at that. I'm sorry. I have to go to work now." And started walking off in a daze. She followed me yelling YOU SHOULD GET A TICKET!!! In an unusual coincidence, there happened to be a motorcade of state troopers on the block at that moment. A mustachioed, aviator wearing cliche of a trooper walked up to me and asked if a car hit me. I said no, a lady walked in front of me and I fell. He seemed satisfied with that until whatshername huffed and puffed her way over and said to him, "She was going the wrong way down a one way street!!! I think she should get a ticket!" She was seeking justice, that's for sure, straight from the law enforcement themselves. The officer looked at me, the bike, me again and back at her and shrugged, "It's not a very fast bike." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" Then he snapped into action, "You know. You're not supposed to do that, you know. It's not a fast bike and you're not a messenger, but if you were going fast, you could really hurt someone." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" The woman wouldn't let it go. He just looked at her and deadpanned, "Are you alright." It was not as lost on me as it was on her. She began to answer with her voice all quivery, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little shooken up is all. I'll feel this tomorrow." To which the officer answered with a, "Wellp." And we all walked away from each other.
So, I ruined her day by doing something I wasn't supposed to do. She ruined my day by doing the same. We were even. It was all pretty shitty though. Especially the swelling and bruises on my foot and the oozing road rash on my knee. My friend couldn't come get me from work cause his car was broken. Waiting for a minivan cab took an hour and a half and cost me five extra dollars. Nothing good came from being less like Jesus.
Halfway through my first client, I realized I also lost my phone in the ordeal. So, goodbye all those phone numbers I had but rarely used! I'm currently trying to track down the person who found it and is calling a bunch of people. They can keep the phone. I just want my numbers. Seems like the person who found it has a lot of spanish speaking friends, so my guess is one of the construction workers at Brooks Brothers found it since it happened right out front. Or maybe I left it at the gym and the cleaning ladies found it and don't want to return it. Either way, I feel disconnected and as if time does not exist. In other words, lonely.
To take care of any bad karma accrued because of the incident, I have decided to be a monthly donor to Greenpeace. Perhaps stopping to talk to those crazy solicitors on the corners of Starbucks is going to bite me in my butt, but at least I'll help save some indigenous people of the forests up in Canada from having their land clear cut by Kimberly Clark. Perhaps it's another WFI. We'll see how long it lasts.
So, anyway. I haven't been riding my bike anymore.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Great Jalapeno Disaster of '08.
Friday night, I came home fired up to clean the kitchen. First, though, I wanted to eat something, but man, if I got into cooking, I'd get all sidetracked and lazy and 
not do a damn thing. The only solution was to eat Mary's half mini bag of jalapeño and cheddar chips.
They were good. Too spicy for me to purchase on my own, but a fun taste excursion nonetheless. I washed it down with some diet pepsi I keep at my house for when my mom visits. No one reading this knows my food habits, but chips and soda are the least likely things for me to eat, like, ever. Unless there's alcohol involved. That's just how I get down.
So, maybe it's the white trash thing to do or my chip eating inexperience, but there were those bits of chip shrapnel at the bottom of the bag and the only logical thing was to pull at the bag to create a nice crease so as to create a virtual chute to pour chip crumbs directly into my mouth, eliminating the need for a middle man/hand usage. After this, I'd get right down to cleaning the kitchen.
However. When pouring the chips into my mouth like a lazy, overweight, starved lonely, single white girl child, a jalapeño laden particle ambushed my poor left eye. In a panic, I began blinking because I knew the searing pain that was about to take place. Immediately after the realization that jalapeño oil was about to burn my eyeball, it did, in fact begin burning.
There are times in my life when imaginary life-threatening events take place and I am wracked with anxiety over how I will handle myself in those situations. Walking home at nighttime, for instance. Riding the train. Dreams. Will I be able to fend off a mugger? Is someone on the train planning to rape and murder me when we get off at the same stop? Would I actually RSVP yes to Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson's wedding*? But who knows what life actions to take to prepare oneself for pouring jalapeño chips into one's own eye?
My first action was to turn on the sink and begin throwing water at my face, blinking
all the while. This helped, but with every blink, I was reminded of my contact floating around in there, jalapeño chip bit trapped underneath. Thoughts of corneal abrasions, blindness, the possible admission to whatever eye professional that I have been wearing this same pair of contacts for months...a year? longer? I don't know!!!!...began exploding in 
my brain. I rinsed my greasy fingers underwater and made the executive decision that soap wasn't necessary. Pshhhh, water cleans oil all the time. :rolleyes: I jabbed at my eye and fished my contact out of the water/mascara/jalapeño abyss my eye had become only to experience a second round of more intense burning. With my contact safely on a paper towel, drying to a crisp, I grabbed a small glass, filled it with water, held it to my eye, and threw my head back with all the finesse of a 20 year old on spring break doing tequila shot #10.
Oh sweet relief. My relationship with water has always been a loving, successful, and supportive friendship. Never before Friday had I needed water so much and never before then had it come through so valiantly.
With one swollen, bloodshot eye and a drippy nose, my first thought in the moment's respite following the entire ordeal: I'VE GOTTA GET PICTURES OF THIS. Battery's dead. Where's my charger? Call Mary! Use hers! Head-related injuries must cause rampant nonsensically frantic behavior.
Photo shoot over and done with, I vow to never eat those chips again. And to also close my eyes when I'm too lazy to use my hands to eat.
*The life-threatening aspect here being my eventual suicide from perpetual nausea and/or sheer embarrassment.
not do a damn thing. The only solution was to eat Mary's half mini bag of jalapeño and cheddar chips.They were good. Too spicy for me to purchase on my own, but a fun taste excursion nonetheless. I washed it down with some diet pepsi I keep at my house for when my mom visits. No one reading this knows my food habits, but chips and soda are the least likely things for me to eat, like, ever. Unless there's alcohol involved. That's just how I get down.
So, maybe it's the white trash thing to do or my chip eating inexperience, but there were those bits of chip shrapnel at the bottom of the bag and the only logical thing was to pull at the bag to create a nice crease so as to create a virtual chute to pour chip crumbs directly into my mouth, eliminating the need for a middle man/hand usage. After this, I'd get right down to cleaning the kitchen.
However. When pouring the chips into my mouth like a lazy, overweight, starved
There are times in my life when imaginary life-threatening events take place and I am wracked with anxiety over how I will handle myself in those situations. Walking home at nighttime, for instance. Riding the train. Dreams. Will I be able to fend off a mugger? Is someone on the train planning to rape and murder me when we get off at the same stop? Would I actually RSVP yes to Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson's wedding*? But who knows what life actions to take to prepare oneself for pouring jalapeño chips into one's own eye?
My first action was to turn on the sink and begin throwing water at my face, blinking
all the while. This helped, but with every blink, I was reminded of my contact floating around in there, jalapeño chip bit trapped underneath. Thoughts of corneal abrasions, blindness, the possible admission to whatever eye professional that I have been wearing this same pair of contacts for months...a year? longer? I don't know!!!!...began exploding in 
my brain. I rinsed my greasy fingers underwater and made the executive decision that soap wasn't necessary. Pshhhh, water cleans oil all the time. :rolleyes: I jabbed at my eye and fished my contact out of the water/mascara/jalapeño abyss my eye had become only to experience a second round of more intense burning. With my contact safely on a paper towel, drying to a crisp, I grabbed a small glass, filled it with water, held it to my eye, and threw my head back with all the finesse of a 20 year old on spring break doing tequila shot #10. Oh sweet relief. My relationship with water has always been a loving, successful, and supportive friendship. Never before Friday had I needed water so much and never before then had it come through so valiantly.
With one swollen, bloodshot eye and a drippy nose, my first thought in the moment's respite following the entire ordeal: I'VE GOTTA GET PICTURES OF THIS. Battery's dead. Where's my charger? Call Mary! Use hers! Head-related injuries must cause rampant nonsensically frantic behavior.
Photo shoot over and done with, I vow to never eat those chips again. And to also close my eyes when I'm too lazy to use my hands to eat.
*The life-threatening aspect here being my eventual suicide from perpetual nausea and/or sheer embarrassment.
Monday, August 27, 2007
tomorrow, maybe, i'll change my life, unless i'm too tired, in which case i wont.
gemath y: I am going to join weight watchers tomorrowgemath y: if I wake up in time
gemath y: if I don't wake up in time, I'll go buy the rilo kiley cd
whiitethrash: can i WFI that?
gemath y: No.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
On Perez Hilton.
gemathy: if he were skinnier
gemathy: went back to the grey hair
gemathy: kept some scruff
gemathy: and wore more muted clothes
gemathy: he'd be more attractive
gemathy: I would like to be his stylist
gemathy: I've been dressing fat people for over 23 years
*i am just now noticing that we have yet to tag anything with "GAY". how the hell is that possible??? this blog is full of GAYness!! i hereby tag this entry as HOMO!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
See that annoying fat fuck over there? THAT'S LIFE.
Dear Life,
Why are your people hellbent on taking photos of their very existence? What is wrong with a normal person memory? You remember what you need. Oh, you say they want to document all the entertaining moments you give them? Why then are your people hellbent on posting those awful photos on the internet in very public forums? Lastly, why are all the awful ones of me!?!!!! I finally fully understand the devastating wrath someone feels when they utter, "That's life!" It's your fucking fault.
Eat a dick.
Regretfully yours,
Meghan.
P.S. I refuse to satisfy you by posting the pictures again because, as you well know already, they involve some drunken dance moves, bigface, and a frizzy bad haircut.
P.P.S EAT A DICK!
Why are your people hellbent on taking photos of their very existence? What is wrong with a normal person memory? You remember what you need. Oh, you say they want to document all the entertaining moments you give them? Why then are your people hellbent on posting those awful photos on the internet in very public forums? Lastly, why are all the awful ones of me!?!!!! I finally fully understand the devastating wrath someone feels when they utter, "That's life!" It's your fucking fault.
Eat a dick.
Regretfully yours,
Meghan.
P.S. I refuse to satisfy you by posting the pictures again because, as you well know already, they involve some drunken dance moves, bigface, and a frizzy bad haircut.
P.P.S EAT A DICK!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
THE WORST FUCKING IDEA PLAY
twenty hours ago, attending someone's contemporary dance recital sounded like the worst fucking idea. because that shit is boring and i am only in LA for two nights. and yet twelve hours ago, as i sat disturbed and bewildered in the back of what can only be described as a makeshift-bunker-sorry-excuse-for-a-theater theater, contemporary dance was looking pretty effing good...
basically, you don't know now nor will you ever understand what exactly it is that i have just been through. you don't. i can't even put it into words to explain it to you. but i sure as hell am going to try.
thanks in part to a delayed birthday present from the folks (and a loan from wells fargo!) i was able to spend the weekend in LA with my friend Christopher. i am still in LA right now, actually. and instead of sleeping at 8 am, i am writing this down because it is just that important that i get it out of my system.
okay so, christopher and i have another friend here, kathryn, who invited us to go see her friend's dance recital saturday night, we obviously said no to that, and instead went to see a play featuring one of chris's friends from high school. now this friend, liz, chris has not seen in about four years, so it was to be an exciting night (we all went to high school together actually, but i wasn't friends with her). did i mention she and chris were theater kids? they were. that's important to know.
oh, PS, liz
so what is the play called? oh, it's called, "ubu the shit".
no. wait. what?
yeah, you read that right. the play was called "ubu the shit". I KNOW. RED FLAG.*
okay, forget the fact that chris and i rushed there, forget the fact that we each ate an entire sandwich in about 10 seconds because we went out to dinner and didn't even check the time, forget the fact that we valeted the car at the entrance cuz we just could not be late, forget the fact that it was fifteen bucks a piece for a ticket and forget the fact that the set was constructed out of butcher paper, masking tape and one spray painted toilet. forget it. because it doesn't matter. it doesn't fucking matter.
remember the movie "she's all that"? when laney takes zack to the performance theater thing and it was weird and they were all in spandex birthing themselves or something? that little performance deserves no less than eight thousand tony awards.
i honestly don't even know where to start with this thing. oh wait, how about here: the main character has a giant penis dangling between his legs the entire show. is that a good starting point? it was about a foot long, green, and bumpy. he strokes it, fucks his dinner with it, rapes people with it (who are puking in the toilet at the same time), slaps his wife with it, and puts it in various mouths. and i believe this all happened in the first three scenes. how many scenes were there? oh, just twenty. WTFWTFWTF.
this production was andy dick (the most worthless, vulgar, disgusting and pathetic person on the planet) meets multiplicity (you know, that michael keaton movie? but imagine it with andy dick) meets the toilet in the movie "trainspotting" (absolutely grotesque) meets the holocaust (the worst thing to happen to people by other people ever). does that explain it well enough? maybe.
but in all honesty, no, it doesn't.
every possibly offensive word in the english language was used. and i don't just mean the boring four letter ones. i meant every single racial and derogatory slur and none of it was needed and none of it stood for anything. they just thought it was cool, or edgy, or funny. and it wasn't any of those things! and every single line in the play was YELLED AT YOU, there was no speaking, saying, reciting or ACTING WHATSOEVER involved!
forget the fact that i couldn't even follow the "story line".
right about the time they started playing the theme song to mortal kombat (which i believe came after the scene where they played the x-files theme song - god i wish i was making this up) i turned to chris and said, "i'd rather be hanging out with mischa barton right now". and i was dead serious. MORTAL KOMBAT. MISCHA BARTON.
i also told him that i don't care what he does with his life as long as he does not join that acting troupe. if chris were to have surgery to look like carrot-top, started dating janice dickinson and developed an addiction to opiates it would be a better idea.
the only funny parts of the entire two hour train wreck were when the cast members would give up. on stage. during scene. one guy took off his mask and started yelling at another guy about how he was bad at acting like a horse, and then shortly after that some girl looked out into the
now the whole time, christopher is sitting there wondering what the fuck he is going to say to liz after the show. i don't care if you're merryl fucking streep, you cannot act your way out of this. there will be no, "you were terrific!" there will be no "i loved it!" there will be no "great job!" there wont even be an "it was very interesting" because it wasn't fucking interesting!!! there will only be, "sasha we have to go NOW", during the 19th scene, while liz was hidden behind a sheet making shadow puppets and couldn't see us head for the exit.
we could not drive fast enough. we could not go far enough. we could not cleanse ourselves enough from the ugly bile we had just soaked up.
it would have been more mentally stimulating to puke on a rock and watch it bake in the hot arizona sun. for ten years.
i tried to make up a list of all the things i would rather do than sit through that again. but as the list was nearing 893,982 pages i figured that a simple summary would suffice: I WOULD RATHER DIE.
in fact it wasn't until after i had put some liquor into my body that i was comfortable being around chris again. you know how sometimes you just experience something so awful and horrific that it's embarrassing to be with the person you experienced it with? eye contact was out of the question.
feel free to google "ubu the shit". their myspace page will come up. but it won't get the point across. and i will not link to it because it's just too much. too much.
and don't for one second think i didn't take pictures and record video, because i most certainly did. but
UPDATE: all the images are courtesy of kevin over at kevinbabbles.blogspot, who saw the play after he heard my vicious rant in person. he has a review up to check out.
*christopher (pictured at right, doing his "sexaaay fayce!") did, during the "production", inform me that this apparently was a show based on an actual 19th century french play called "ubu roi" which apparently is really good and really important in the theater world because it was so raw and edgy and out there when it debuted, but this rendition was an absolute massacre. sheesh.
Friday, July 20, 2007
He called.
To cancel. 
But in a very cute and nice way. I guess.
I should move to Zanzibar. No, he should.
But in a very cute and nice way. I guess.I should move to Zanzibar. No, he should.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Karaoke...oh, boy.
One of the lesser highlights of the holidays for me was visiting with my best friend from high school, Katie. I guess it's always a shock when you realize someone from your past is now entirely irrelevant to your life. However, this realization will neither prevent me from having to deal with her nor help me forget the whole fucking night.
The original plan was that I'd hang out with Katie the Saturday before Christmas Eve. I work Saturdays until 5pm and I had to go to work on Sunday for 10am, so the window was tight. The better idea would have been for Katie, who has a car, to drive to Boston to meet me for a drink and dinner and then head home. Perfect idea. Sensible, relaxing, fun even. But, her manipulative, ever-interfering, 50-something, bleach blonde, straw haired, too tan leatherface, perpetually dressed like a trashy teenage whore of a mother, Beth, had planned every moment of Katie's visit home and decided that Katie HAD to hang out with Kristin, Beth's latest 20 something best friend on the same night Katie planned to hang out with me. I could, of course, come along, but Beth didn't want Katie and I to play 'remember when' all night and ignore Kristin. It was quite clear at that point that this night already wished I wasn't included.
This ladies' night of fun, booze, and karaoke would take place at a local bar in Plaistow, NH called The Corner Pocket with the rest of their karaoke posse (more on them later). First, I hate New Hampshire. Second, I hate Plaistow. Third, I hate Plaistow, NH townies. Fourth, I HATE karaoke. Fifth, I don't like Katie's mom. Since Katie lives in Orlando, I felt like I really wanted to see her for Christmas and she was also bringing home her boyfriend she just moved in with, so I went against my gut feeling and agreed to this plan. I am, after all, 'the best friend.' So, the actual idea came down to rushing from work, taking the commuter rail home, Katie and Beth's boyfriend Brian picked me up, and we went home to wait for Beth to finish tarting up her hagalicious face getting ready. We would then meet Katie's fancy Aunt Nancy (who I like, huge fake boobs and all) and I would sleep over their house, and they would bring me to the commuter rail in the morning so I could then rush to work. What I am getting at here is I went way out of my way to attend this catastrophe.
I was told I would like Kristin because 'she goes to hair school.' Since I neither go to hair school, nor do hair, I failed to see the logic, but I said ok. Katie told me Beth has sort of adopted her as a daughter because Kristin had lost her mom when she was a teen. Obviously, my first question was, "Is she fat?" Katie informed that it was so, but she didn't know how fat just yet. I hoped she was, at the very least, uglyfaced. In the car, while Brian was picking up a pizza, Katie confirmed that she was, indeed, fat. "Bigger than me at least?" I asked. "Bigger than both of us together." What a relief. Then Katie said Kristin was wearing a tube top and I knew we would have at least a little bit of fun that night. Katie also mentioned she and her mother had gotten into a fight earlier that evening and that I had to be nice to Kristin. My response to Katie was, "I am 22 years old, not 15. I don't have to be nice to anyone I don't want to." Katie seemed annoyed by that and said, "Well, I have to be around my mother so, I will." I said fine, but I was not about to adopt Katie and her mother's fake personalities for the evening. I said if I like her, then I like her, if I don't, then who the fuck cares. I then mentioned how I think it's weird we're going out with her mother and Katie said, "No, my mom's really fun when she gets wasted" to which I responded, "I don't WANT to get wasted with your mom."
When we got to the house, I felt like I had just walked into a broken home. The vibe was so strange. The house was filled with Christmas decorations, but it all felt stale and forced and I got really nervous. The solution: eat pizza obvs. After watching Katie's brother Chris' dance video (he's a dance instructor [yeesh]), meeting Kristin (yikes) and Katie's wet-loaf-of-bread boyfriend, Joe, we ate food and chatted awkwardly until Katie's mom was done putting the finishing touches on her fiasco of a head. Kristin mentioned she doesn't wear underwear in passing and I realized no underwear + tube top = no undergarments at all = EL GROSSO! Joe was wearing light wash tapered jeans with teva sandals, no socks, and a t shirt with an embroidered spider. That's not a joke or anything...it's just sadly true. I was then informed of the blanket and pillows in the drawer for when we come home totally trashed so I can sleep on the couch love seat. Katie quietly told me her mom let Kristin have the guest room, you know, the one with the BED because she didn't think I was going to sleepover. I guess she figured I would just fly back to Boston. Or maybe do that thing in Mary Poppins where you wink, think, do a double blink and jump
to your destination. I decided then that I was going to go with the gut feelings for the rest of the evening cause, fuck these people amirite?
When we arrive at the Corner Pocket, the first person I see is Cindy. I worked with Cindy when I was in high school. At Larry's Clam Bar. Larryland was a family owned and operated seafood restaurant. Larry ran the kitchen, Verna ran the restaurant. Larry's brothers Sherman and Herman, sister Joanne, and daugher Valerie worked the kitchen along with Patrick, an African man from Cameroon (who was probably in love with me), while Laurie ran the ice cream section with her husband Gus. Cindy, 43ish, rides a moped, had worked there since high school and, at $7.85/hr I was paid more than she was. Needless to say, she's slow. I said "Hey Cindy!" (she was, after all, one of my daily highlights working there [second only to The Hat Lady and her boyfriend, Irving]). Cindy informed me The Corner Pocket was her hangout and she was there EVERY SATURDAY. Then she introduced me to her friends: everyone at the bar! Lovelies included the guy with no teeth, a table of geriatric couples, and a red faced lady with a cowboy hat. I felt nauseous in the smoky, dank, mustard yellow and pea soup green awful hole in the earth. When drinks were ordered (white zinfandel for Beth, sex on the beach for Katie, mich ultra for Nancy) I stuck to captain and coke. I
could get away with drinking one and say it was strong and pretend drunk I figured.
What I haven't yet mentioned is that Beth's occupation is karaoke. She has her own night at a doppelganger bar somewhere else in NH where actual deaf people have a shot at local stardom...only if the other patrons clap loud enough when their names are called so they know when go to up and sing. Because she and Katie are both born histrionics, they have practice seshes before going out and bring their own karaoke cds. This embarrasses me to no end when I realize it. Not because of the other people around, but just inside me. In my heart, I know this is embarrassing. Beth also invented something called a Twat Box for her regulars. Short for Repertoire Box, it's a box of cards for each person of songs they regularly sing with their cd codes already filled out. The performer is then to just open up the Twat Box, grab a card, and their entertainment for the evening is decided. This story is something I find actually amusing and for a moment, I thought, Let me give this night a fighting chance.
Once everyone sang their country songs and was on their second drink and I was still a quarter of the way into my first, the posse had arrived. At that point, I decided Kristin wasn't so bad and I didn't have much to make fun of her about. She's isn't ugly, her makeup didn't suck, her hair was boring, but ok, she wore a sweater with the tube top...all that was left was her psoriasis, but like, that's not interesting to make fun of. Caridee on Top Model ruined that for all of us. So, a pretty girl named Sabrina, a woman with a sad case of alopecia + fug named Michelle, and a lovely dyke named Kegga arrived. Kegga is the only decent personality among them. She dresses like a dude, has that short spiky deal going on up top, can rock the karaoke, she brings her own pink camouflage zip up beer cozy, and makes excellent lesbiana jokes.
Example:
Katie: Your hair got long Kegga!
Kegga: Ehhhh...the dyke spikes are looking a little droopy.
All: LOLZ.
Some skinny toothless dude got up to sing YET ANOTHER COUNTRY SONG while his dumpy fat wifey with inch long poodle perm humped him from behind and did that tongue licky thing near his ear and it was then that I decided to keep quiet and wait for the night to be over.
That was really hard to do actually since the night seemed to never end. I did end up finishing my drink and ordered a Heineken..again something to drink slowly. Katie then got up to go to the bathroom and I went with her. After I peed I was looking in the mirror and another woman came into the bathroom. When Katie came out of the stall with her skirt up around her waist and asked "Should I go back out like this?!" the woman cracked up while I didn't even turn around to see what she was talking about. Subsequently, that woman wouldn't leave us alone for the rest of the night and told us about 8 times she was a teacher for high school and she's seen worse things in the bathroom. THX LADY OK BYE CUL8R! I Katie's words: "If I was friends with everyone who'd seen my ass, I'd be friends with EVERYONE!"
I asked what time we planned to leave and Katie said 1...as in 1am. Being only 10:30 I pulled the old I-Have-To-Work-In-The-Morning deal and Katie said Brian and Joe were going to come around 11 and they could drive me home. Somehow in between this discussion and when the men arrived, Katie got upset with her mother and went outside. I didn't quite follow...what I did do was grab all the dollar bills and quarters I could find for the stuffed animal claw game and the m&m vending machine! I figured I could do that until the guys take me home. True highlight of my evening actually. Then Katie met her mom in the bathroom and the drama began.
They holed themselves up in there crying and yelling at each other like teenagers. Apparently the issue was that Beth had quit smoking for 6 months and was on Wellbutrin for depression (side effects include: anxiety, confusion, dizziness, agitation and also AVOID DRINKING ALCOHOL while taking Wellbutrin) as well as Klonopin for panic attacks (use alcohol cautiously. Alcohol may increase drowsiness and dizziness while taking Klonopin) yet, she chainsmoked and had three glasses of white zinfandel. It's interesting to note that Wellbutrin's side effects include anxiety attacks and Klonopin's side effects include depression. This awkward time lasted about 45 minutes as I left several phone messages for my mom to come pick me up and made awkward conversation with Brian and Joe. And just before midnight, we were ready to get out of there just in time to avoid the people from high school that had started arriving! Things were really looking up. I guess the second highlight would be that Brian settled our tab and I didn't have to pay for a thing. FREE AWFUL NIGHT FOR EVERYONE!
On the way home to my mom's house (I opted out of the enticing loveseat sleepover), Beth apologized for ruining everyone's night. I accepted her apology and told her she still looked pretty even though she cried a lot. I can be nice sometimes. I woke up to my confused mom at 6 am and told her the whole deal and thanked her for being the best mom ever and the only one I could ever love.
Aw. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
-Gem
Ps- I forgot to mention that somewhere in there all the old people grinded on each other to the Pussycat Dolls 'Loosen up my buttons.' I wasn't drunk enough to actually barf, but I had the vom spirit.
PPs - I didn't win anything in the vending machine. :(
BTW - this post says LEWIS did it, but it's really Gem's.
The original plan was that I'd hang out with Katie the Saturday before Christmas Eve. I work Saturdays until 5pm and I had to go to work on Sunday for 10am, so the window was tight. The better idea would have been for Katie, who has a car, to drive to Boston to meet me for a drink and dinner and then head home. Perfect idea. Sensible, relaxing, fun even. But, her manipulative, ever-interfering, 50-something, bleach blonde, straw haired, too tan leatherface, perpetually dressed like a trashy teenage whore of a mother, Beth, had planned every moment of Katie's visit home and decided that Katie HAD to hang out with Kristin, Beth's latest 20 something best friend on the same night Katie planned to hang out with me. I could, of course, come along, but Beth didn't want Katie and I to play 'remember when' all night and ignore Kristin. It was quite clear at that point that this night already wished I wasn't included.
This ladies' night of fun, booze, and karaoke would take place at a local bar in Plaistow, NH called The Corner Pocket with the rest of their karaoke posse (more on them later). First, I hate New Hampshire. Second, I hate Plaistow. Third, I hate Plaistow, NH townies. Fourth, I HATE karaoke. Fifth, I don't like Katie's mom. Since Katie lives in Orlando, I felt like I really wanted to see her for Christmas and she was also bringing home her boyfriend she just moved in with, so I went against my gut feeling and agreed to this plan. I am, after all, 'the best friend.' So, the actual idea came down to rushing from work, taking the commuter rail home, Katie and Beth's boyfriend Brian picked me up, and we went home to wait for Beth to finish tarting up her hagalicious face getting ready. We would then meet Katie's fancy Aunt Nancy (who I like, huge fake boobs and all) and I would sleep over their house, and they would bring me to the commuter rail in the morning so I could then rush to work. What I am getting at here is I went way out of my way to attend this catastrophe.
I was told I would like Kristin because 'she goes to hair school.' Since I neither go to hair school, nor do hair, I failed to see the logic, but I said ok. Katie told me Beth has sort of adopted her as a daughter because Kristin had lost her mom when she was a teen. Obviously, my first question was, "Is she fat?" Katie informed that it was so, but she didn't know how fat just yet. I hoped she was, at the very least, uglyfaced. In the car, while Brian was picking up a pizza, Katie confirmed that she was, indeed, fat. "Bigger than me at least?" I asked. "Bigger than both of us together." What a relief. Then Katie said Kristin was wearing a tube top and I knew we would have at least a little bit of fun that night. Katie also mentioned she and her mother had gotten into a fight earlier that evening and that I had to be nice to Kristin. My response to Katie was, "I am 22 years old, not 15. I don't have to be nice to anyone I don't want to." Katie seemed annoyed by that and said, "Well, I have to be around my mother so, I will." I said fine, but I was not about to adopt Katie and her mother's fake personalities for the evening. I said if I like her, then I like her, if I don't, then who the fuck cares. I then mentioned how I think it's weird we're going out with her mother and Katie said, "No, my mom's really fun when she gets wasted" to which I responded, "I don't WANT to get wasted with your mom."
When we got to the house, I felt like I had just walked into a broken home. The vibe was so strange. The house was filled with Christmas decorations, but it all felt stale and forced and I got really nervous. The solution: eat pizza obvs. After watching Katie's brother Chris' dance video (he's a dance instructor [yeesh]), meeting Kristin (yikes) and Katie's wet-loaf-of-bread boyfriend, Joe, we ate food and chatted awkwardly until Katie's mom was done putting the finishing touches on her fiasco of a head. Kristin mentioned she doesn't wear underwear in passing and I realized no underwear + tube top = no undergarments at all = EL GROSSO! Joe was wearing light wash tapered jeans with teva sandals, no socks, and a t shirt with an embroidered spider. That's not a joke or anything...it's just sadly true. I was then informed of the blanket and pillows in the drawer for when we come home totally trashed so I can sleep on the couch love seat. Katie quietly told me her mom let Kristin have the guest room, you know, the one with the BED because she didn't think I was going to sleepover. I guess she figured I would just fly back to Boston. Or maybe do that thing in Mary Poppins where you wink, think, do a double blink and jump
to your destination. I decided then that I was going to go with the gut feelings for the rest of the evening cause, fuck these people amirite?
When we arrive at the Corner Pocket, the first person I see is Cindy. I worked with Cindy when I was in high school. At Larry's Clam Bar. Larryland was a family owned and operated seafood restaurant. Larry ran the kitchen, Verna ran the restaurant. Larry's brothers Sherman and Herman, sister Joanne, and daugher Valerie worked the kitchen along with Patrick, an African man from Cameroon (who was probably in love with me), while Laurie ran the ice cream section with her husband Gus. Cindy, 43ish, rides a moped, had worked there since high school and, at $7.85/hr I was paid more than she was. Needless to say, she's slow. I said "Hey Cindy!" (she was, after all, one of my daily highlights working there [second only to The Hat Lady and her boyfriend, Irving]). Cindy informed me The Corner Pocket was her hangout and she was there EVERY SATURDAY. Then she introduced me to her friends: everyone at the bar! Lovelies included the guy with no teeth, a table of geriatric couples, and a red faced lady with a cowboy hat. I felt nauseous in the smoky, dank, mustard yellow and pea soup green awful hole in the earth. When drinks were ordered (white zinfandel for Beth, sex on the beach for Katie, mich ultra for Nancy) I stuck to captain and coke. I
could get away with drinking one and say it was strong and pretend drunk I figured.
What I haven't yet mentioned is that Beth's occupation is karaoke. She has her own night at a doppelganger bar somewhere else in NH where actual deaf people have a shot at local stardom...only if the other patrons clap loud enough when their names are called so they know when go to up and sing. Because she and Katie are both born histrionics, they have practice seshes before going out and bring their own karaoke cds. This embarrasses me to no end when I realize it. Not because of the other people around, but just inside me. In my heart, I know this is embarrassing. Beth also invented something called a Twat Box for her regulars. Short for Repertoire Box, it's a box of cards for each person of songs they regularly sing with their cd codes already filled out. The performer is then to just open up the Twat Box, grab a card, and their entertainment for the evening is decided. This story is something I find actually amusing and for a moment, I thought, Let me give this night a fighting chance.
Once everyone sang their country songs and was on their second drink and I was still a quarter of the way into my first, the posse had arrived. At that point, I decided Kristin wasn't so bad and I didn't have much to make fun of her about. She's isn't ugly, her makeup didn't suck, her hair was boring, but ok, she wore a sweater with the tube top...all that was left was her psoriasis, but like, that's not interesting to make fun of. Caridee on Top Model ruined that for all of us. So, a pretty girl named Sabrina, a woman with a sad case of alopecia + fug named Michelle, and a lovely dyke named Kegga arrived. Kegga is the only decent personality among them. She dresses like a dude, has that short spiky deal going on up top, can rock the karaoke, she brings her own pink camouflage zip up beer cozy, and makes excellent lesbiana jokes.
Example:
Katie: Your hair got long Kegga!
Kegga: Ehhhh...the dyke spikes are looking a little droopy.
All: LOLZ.
Some skinny toothless dude got up to sing YET ANOTHER COUNTRY SONG while his dumpy fat wifey with inch long poodle perm humped him from behind and did that tongue licky thing near his ear and it was then that I decided to keep quiet and wait for the night to be over.
That was really hard to do actually since the night seemed to never end. I did end up finishing my drink and ordered a Heineken..again something to drink slowly. Katie then got up to go to the bathroom and I went with her. After I peed I was looking in the mirror and another woman came into the bathroom. When Katie came out of the stall with her skirt up around her waist and asked "Should I go back out like this?!" the woman cracked up while I didn't even turn around to see what she was talking about. Subsequently, that woman wouldn't leave us alone for the rest of the night and told us about 8 times she was a teacher for high school and she's seen worse things in the bathroom. THX LADY OK BYE CUL8R! I Katie's words: "If I was friends with everyone who'd seen my ass, I'd be friends with EVERYONE!"
I asked what time we planned to leave and Katie said 1...as in 1am. Being only 10:30 I pulled the old I-Have-To-Work-In-The-Morning deal and Katie said Brian and Joe were going to come around 11 and they could drive me home. Somehow in between this discussion and when the men arrived, Katie got upset with her mother and went outside. I didn't quite follow...what I did do was grab all the dollar bills and quarters I could find for the stuffed animal claw game and the m&m vending machine! I figured I could do that until the guys take me home. True highlight of my evening actually. Then Katie met her mom in the bathroom and the drama began.
They holed themselves up in there crying and yelling at each other like teenagers. Apparently the issue was that Beth had quit smoking for 6 months and was on Wellbutrin for depression (side effects include: anxiety, confusion, dizziness, agitation and also AVOID DRINKING ALCOHOL while taking Wellbutrin) as well as Klonopin for panic attacks (use alcohol cautiously. Alcohol may increase drowsiness and dizziness while taking Klonopin) yet, she chainsmoked and had three glasses of white zinfandel. It's interesting to note that Wellbutrin's side effects include anxiety attacks and Klonopin's side effects include depression. This awkward time lasted about 45 minutes as I left several phone messages for my mom to come pick me up and made awkward conversation with Brian and Joe. And just before midnight, we were ready to get out of there just in time to avoid the people from high school that had started arriving! Things were really looking up. I guess the second highlight would be that Brian settled our tab and I didn't have to pay for a thing. FREE AWFUL NIGHT FOR EVERYONE!
On the way home to my mom's house (I opted out of the enticing loveseat sleepover), Beth apologized for ruining everyone's night. I accepted her apology and told her she still looked pretty even though she cried a lot. I can be nice sometimes. I woke up to my confused mom at 6 am and told her the whole deal and thanked her for being the best mom ever and the only one I could ever love.
Aw. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
-Gem
Ps- I forgot to mention that somewhere in there all the old people grinded on each other to the Pussycat Dolls 'Loosen up my buttons.' I wasn't drunk enough to actually barf, but I had the vom spirit.
PPs - I didn't win anything in the vending machine. :(
BTW - this post says LEWIS did it, but it's really Gem's.
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