probably a huuuuuge WFI at the time

but it doesn't appear as though she was gang banged at all!

craigslist

"WFI that, cuz I'll really do it" - Gem

a bad egg. a very, very bad egg.

Dear Kevin,

RE: Your wall post on my Facebook

It was a BFI overall. However my response was a WFI, as it has left me regretful. You know that Seinfeld episode where George comes up with the "jerk store" comeback long after the insult, and then tries to recreate an opportunity to use it? It's like that. I would love to get fired all over again.

See, I have been working for this restaurant (a chain throughout Arizona) since the first week in January. I always preferred serving breakfast and lunch as opposed to dinner or cocktailing because I would rather go to work at 5am and be done at 2, then go to work at 4 and be done at 11. Or whatever. I like getting up early, and even more than that, I absolutely love having an excuse as to why I can't go out at night. You see, "Oh, I'd love to but I have to be up at 4 for work tomorrow! Oh shoot!" is not only easier [read: less embarrassing] to say to your alcoholic friends, but they also mock you less than with other truths made up excuses like, "Oh I'm not a big drinker...", or "But there's a Degrassi marathon on tonight!", or, the worst, "But they're rerunning Lisa Ling produced documentaries on PBS all evening! You remember Lisa Ling, right? She used to be on The View, that show with Barbara Walters and all those kooky women! I mean, I totally hate Elisabeth as much as the next Liberal Jew, but Rosie really brought that show alive, and I'm a huge Whoopi fan. No, I know neither of them were on the show when Lisa was but still - no thanks, I don't drink, but that's nice of you to offer. No, really, I'm driving anyway. What? You don't even know my mom. Okay, I mean, just one. Is this a double? What does that even mean - oh it doesn't have more alcohol? Are you sure? Really? Okay...But just this one..."... So, when I moved from Tempe back to Tucson to live with my parents - which is a whole separate WFI for another day - I decided to try my hand at transferring from the Scottsdale location to one of three Tucson locations.

I loved where I worked in Scottsdale. Not only was everyone awesome in their own way, but everyone there knew how important their job was: not at all important!!! The restaurant was a transition place for these servers; people were working there in order to get somewhere else. Saving up to travel, paying for college, buying pot (important!), opening up a private practice, etc. etc. etc. They didn't live to be waiters, they waited to live!!!!! ...Not to mention I was well respected and appreciated and people laughed at my jokes there... But this Tucson location! Oh Tucson! With your recovering meth addicts, ex cons, strippers, and community college drop outs. I mean, not that I hold anything against people who are recovering addicts - I mean, good for you! Awesome! Ex cons getting their life back in order? Great! High schoolers - hey, make money money! But...zero aspirations?? Shit! With the exception of a few servers, barely anyone talked to me and when they did they were telling me what I was doing wrong and how I needed to "smile more, SERIOUSLY, IT'S A BIG DEAL", or "walk faster or you'll never make it in this business!" or "blahblahblahstupidblah". Give me a fucking break... I used the wrong size kids cup once and had a serious talking to - that began with "what the hell are you doing!!?" - in the kitchen about it. This place was a nightmare. And I was planning to quit in a couple days anyway.

But the incident! I knew something was wrong when the
manager, a big man with a goatee who looked like he should be running a nightclub and not a family breakfast restaurant, was standing outside talking to one of my customers as they were leaving. Customers that left a shitty tip... I had no idea what the problem could be though. This man had been on my back constantly for my "lack of smiling", so I figured maybe she said something about that. [The irony behind that is that I would often go up to my table and joke around about how the manager doesn't think I smile enough and warn them about how if I looked crazy it was his fault! It was a home run of a joke!] Turns out, that wasn't the problem...

What this bitch of a lady harpie was saying was that she heard me tell another table that the restaurant was a "Shit hole" and how I couldn't wait to get out of there.


WOAH WOAH WOAH. Is that lady a mind reader or WHAT!!1 But seriously...


Why would I say that to a table??? Why wouldn't the table I said that to tell the manager?? This lady is just a tattle tale! But even worse, she is a maker-upper of things to tattle!!

I was taken out to the back parking lot where the manager proceeded to cuss at me and pull the little man's complex on me. "THIS IS MY FUCKING RESTAURANT HOW DARE YOU FUCKING SAY THAT. BLAHBLAH CURSING CURSING I AM UGLY BLAHBLAH TALK DOWN TO YOU TALK DOWN TO YOU. I CAN FIRE YOUR ASS WHENEVER. I OWN YOU BLAHBLAH." And all I could say back was... "But I didn't say that?!" or... "Yeah but still, I didn't say that?!" Seriously, with the inflection of a question. It was just such a ridiculous accusation. This woman had no reason to lie, he kept telling me. And I kept telling him that maybe she wasn't lying, but she definitely misheard me, or misread my lips or something because that is just out of the question! He didn't care. My argument about how I don't even use the word "shit hole" didn't go over well either. Which is true! But the REAL truth was that I was talking to an Indian guy I knew in high school who randomly came in and his name, seriously, from afar, when coming out of one's mouth, could be confused for the words "shit" and "hole"! I AM NOT KIDDING.

I should have walked out right there. That is what I regret the most. I should have called him a fucking loser, told him his restaurant was a shit hole, and gone home right there; after all we were in the rear parking lot. My car was twenty feet away. But I thought that that would all look quite silly when I had to walk back to restaurant and go inside to the front register to get my keys. And then come back a couple hours later at 2pm to get my paycheck. Things just didn't work in my favor in that regard. Then after I went back inside and WENT BACK TO WORK I thought...why am I not throwing a fit? I should have yelled at that man, gone back inside and made sure he was scolding me in front of customers. Or perhaps said something to which he would respond with "YOU'RE FIRED GET OUT NOW" and then gone back to a table, and told them that I had just been fired for saying something I didn't say, and point at the manager, who would inevitably be watching me with fiery eyes, and let them know that he had just cussed me out and yelled at me for something I didn't even do and that I was sorry I wouldn't finish up taking care of them and to please tip their server! That would have stuck it to the man! "See that guy? With the bad earrings and spiky hair?? He just fired me cuz some old harpie told him I called this place a shit hole! Can you believe that? A SHIT HOLE. Hey, also, he used to be in prison for dealing firearms and drugs! FUCKING GUNS AND DRUGS. SHIT HOLE SHIT HOLE!"

But I didn't. And I'm left wishing for one more shot at the establishment. At that man. It would have made a much bigger statement than the "no call no show" I pulled over the weekend.

So, the BFI = I don't ever have to go back. The WFI = I didn't stand up for myself and I let a man get away with treating me like shit.

But at least I have my paycheck. [And I didn't declare my tips for that day...!]


Job hunting soon omg byob bbq bff lolz!!111!!!!,

Lewis

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.

temporary tattoos!

ah, passover week! aka, my birthday week! an entire week! well, no, but passover began on the 19th of april, as did my venture into My 24th year. Yes, i turned 23. and yes, i randomly punctuated some of those Letters. my mom demanded that i drive two hours down to my parents' house for seder. and, after telling her how much i didn't want to do that and how much it would totally ruin my birthday plans (of which i actually had none...), i succumbed. i caved. i went. and i brought a shiksa named jacqueline.

mother said the whole family would be there! and the whole other family we "celebrate" with would be there! and my parents' best friend from college and his girlfriend, neither of which i had met, would be there, and my mom really really wanted the whole family to be together and for me to meet the friends!!! yay!!!

turns out, my brother didn't get off work (which means his totally awesome girlfriend, who is also my totally awesome friend wouldn't be in attendance), my creepy uncle chose to spend the evening by himself (no loss really, but i had been telling jackie how creepy he was and i think a part of me wanted her to experience the weirdness for herself, but alas, another time...), their daughter didn't get off work, and i have met her friend, paul, and his girlfriend, fran, NUMEROUS TIMES. a ton! A SHIT TON. a lot!

thusly, dinner was me, jackie, my parents, paul and fran, and lynn and cliff from the other family.

i am the only jew jackie, a product of private catholic schooling and a right wing family, knows. so, naturally, everything was a little awkward. but i introduced her to matzo ball soup and maneschewitz wine so all was well.

i wore short sleeves by the way. remember this?? my parents had yet to see it. i was hiding it very well. but on this night, which is unlike other nights (joke for all y'all jews out there!!), i wore short sleeves.

and i showed it to my parents.

"here is my tattoo!"

WTF!!!Q!!!@#$#$WERASSE#WS#@#%R$%#T^U

they were not happy!!! i thought they would sigh and roll their eyes and figure what's done is done, and it was my 23rd birthday so they can't tell me what to do I'M FUCKING TWENTY THREE BITCHES!!! and i had a guest with me - you can't have family arguments with a guest! (jackie is well aware that my timing was NO coincidence - but she also thinks my mom was pretty drunk and my dad has a tendency to forget absolutely everything so...you know, maybe it all wasn't/won't be SUCH a big deal??).

in a panic - or maybe, MAYBE, in a moment of brilliance [read: another WORST FUCKING IDEA] -

i told them it was a new form of temporary tattooing! and it would be off within TWO WEEKS.


did i mention i am moving back into my parents' house in SIX WEEKS.


oh goodness!!!!!!


lord help us all!!!


and yes - that is a real picture of my father!!!

DON'T give family members your email address.

I have one email I use to give to family where they are free to send as many fwds as the inbox can handle and I am free to say "Oh really? You sent me something? I get sooo much spam in that thing I can hardly read it!" And it's worked for years. Meanwhile, I maintain the other email pristine and family free. Only mom was allowed to email me at that address until...DUN DUN DUHHHHHHHN! She gave it to my cousin!!!! Awfulosity. I opened the email and got scared, mad, and annoyed, in that order. All before becoming entirely indifferent to the actual email content, which is as follows, creatively titled hi it's joce:

Hey girl!! It’s joce,

You better put your name down for something, even if it’s something small… like a bullet.. hehehehe, or....... A Charlie brown xmas tree... I actually asked for a boyfriend, with blue eyes, and a dog that doesn’t poop in my house.. hahah! I amuse myself... . Anyways, I look forward to hearing back from you, and I hope you’re doing well, let’s go out some night!

Love you

joce

That was way back in December before Christmas. It was about not wanting to participate in the bullshit Secret Santa my family does every year. I still haven't replied. It made Christmas a little awkward. But to be in my family you have to be good at pretending, showing up without engaging in any sort of relating, and dodging questions by shoving food in your mouth. It's rude to talk with your mouthful, afterall. I'll never reply. Let's see what that does for next year's Christmas Awkward-o-meter.

In addition, I berated my mother accordingly.

Then there's the constant barrage from my father: Did you get that email I sent? I sent you a link to the article! Didn't you watch the video? No, dad, I didn't. Because my father is what I assume would be labeled a constitutionalist and an income tax protester he sends me emails from an income tax protesting email newsletter. Unfortunately, inboxes across America bounce them right into the spam folder. Burnsauce on www.861.info and LOL email clients! That's The Man for ya! To combat the sighs and groans, I gave him my real email under a solemnly sworn oath he would NEVER, EVER reveal it to another family member without my explicit permission to do so.

So, today I get this email from my father titled, Democracy?:

This quote says it all. We live in a democratic REPUBLIC! (supposedly)

"Damn democracy. It is a fraudulent term used, often by ignorant persons but no less often by intellectual fakers, to describe an infamous mixture of socialism, miscegenation, graft, confiscation of property and denial of personal rights to individuals whose virtuous principles make them offensive." Westbrook Pegler: New York Journal American, 1/25/51, entitled "Upholds Republic of U.S. Against Phony Democracy, Democracy in the U.S. Branded Meaningless"

First of all, the quote implies my father hasn't yet realized we've been entertaining an increasingly fascist administration acting under the guise of traditional American democracy for 6 years or so. That aside...MISCEGENATION? Ok, even if a majority of Americans would agree with the quote...MISCEGENATION?

I responded:

This aint the 50's dad. Them races all be mixin! Your quote is cripplingly dated. Next time, make sure the people you send these sorts of things to are also as racist as you are.

In conclusion, DON'T give your family your email address.

Please Don't Hate

I'm committed to you, blog. I am. Of course you would never know it seeing as how I rarely post now, and when I do, it isn't even a bad idea, it's usually a good idea, or sometimes it isn't even an idea at all, but a conversation that only I would find funny, and therefor, is a complete waste of your time, yet I try to disguise it as some sort of "idea" (good or bad) so i have an excuse to post it for my own enjoyment. AKA the post below...

But I am here. I am. And I want to post. I do. I have bad ideas, I swear. For example, yesterday I traded a joint for two slices of pizza in front of the art building. Just like that! No secrecy, just open, visible exchanges followed by a rewarding and satisfying lunch. No, seriously. That wasn't smart, was it? Not to mention, the only way I was able to afford any pot at all was by trading found oxycontin tablets (read: my dad's expired prescription medication that he left in his car which I am currently borrowing) to a guy I met off the internet during the summer who carries a gun and has a bad habit of inviting me to go "skiing" which is apparently slang for SNORTING COCAINE ("I don't have the proper attire for skiing, nor can I afford it, sorry!" ugh! Embarrassing!). More. Bad. Ideas. !!!!!

Anyway...

I still have no job and I owe my credit card about $3,400. Doesn't sound like too much when I compare it to friends of mine who owe somewhere in the $15,000 range - but those kids paid for cars! or school! or plastic surgery! I just spent it all on sunglasses, drinks at the bar when I should have been at the studio, sandwiches and CDRs!! DAMMIT!!!!!! I do have some legitimate vet bills in there and responsible cab fares home that were upwards of $60 because I LIVE SO FUCKING FAR AWAY FROM ANYTHING. Those are okay though I think, but that doesn't make me owe any less money. And now this weekend I am having a kegger and I have barely a dollar to my name (which will surely be spent on a Snickers bar by the end of the day). WORST PARTY EVER is all I have to say about that.

So to our two readers: Hang in there, this dry spell shall pass, and I'll be doing horrible things once again.

WFI: Editing the Blog's Content.

Back when Gem had posted dirty pictures in her Pee Party entry, we were getting about 24 hits a day. Which is brilliant considering I only know about two and a half people; Gem being the half, because she's mostly just an internet persona. However, I was way beyond grossed out when I checked the "referrals" stats, and noticed people were only finding out page by looking up things like "peeing boys" and "piss porn".

That's not cool.

So I edited her post and removed the images, which were directly linked to their respective fetish sites.


And ever since our daily hits number has been dwindling. First it went down to 20, and then 19, and then 14, and then 12...

But we bounced back! Who knew so many people googled things like, "is Brandi Carlile gay??" or "How gay is Brandi Carlile!" And who knew that the 28th return was none other than "Another reason why I'm SORTA gay!!!! Wow, right?

(And now this post will pop up as a find too!!!)

Ah, but alas, back down it went.


To 7.


SEVEN.


Five of those are probably me and Gem, seeing if the other wrote anything.


We haven't, by the way.

But for our one dedicated reader (or is it "one, dedicated reader"?), there will be some craigslist posts to come.


But from now on, all direct links to pornography sites stay up!!

Gem's Date

And how was it?

gemath y: it was terrible
gemath y: he was a freak
gemath y: thank god I was so high and drunk I could barely talk
gemath y: I had an excuse to ignore him
gemath y: but I looked awesome.
gemath y: that's what's important

The Duathalon.

What an awkward mess of an evening. There is nothing funny about this post except for the absurd circumstance of the night.

That morning, Billy ran a 5K and biked over 50 miles and was exhausted and sore. Kaitlin was confused and thought the two were related in some sort of Duathalon. That's when I thought of our every weekend Duathalon: drugs and alcohol.



Erin's house party in Allston was definitely a bust. There was no one there. Once again, we brought the party. I don't know why people even have parties if we aren't there. Useless wastes of time. There were a few people there (like 5) but they were all friends from the Warped Tour and/or in Big D and the Kids Table. Srs :rolleyes:. They wanted nothing to do with us and we wanted nothing to do with them. The only thing we could do to enjoy ourselves while we waited until the cookies kicked in was drink and dance. I didn't even dance much because there were too many lights on and it was just various groupings of the 4 of us in the center of the living room. It was like being on display. I hate those kinds of parties. So, in an attempt to win the Duathalon, I just drank. And I was good at that.

The myspace date was the bigger disaster though. He sort of flaked out on coming and I convinced him it would be fine if he came because it was a shitty party anyway. I was on the porch when he arrived and I saw him through the kitchen window and I knew immediately the whole thing was a mistake. He wasn't attractive like his pictures AT ALL. At least I look like my pictures!!! And when he came out on the porch, he was clearly gay. Gay like homosexual. It's sad he doesn't know it. Then he rolled a cigarette (gross) and sat in a chair with his arm across his chest like how fat girls sit with pillows on their laps. He was extremely uncomfortable the entire night. I was in another state of mind honestly. And I was comfortable there, so I couldn't relate to this guy. And by relate I mean I barely talked to him and wanted to get away from him every time I went out on the porch to try to talk to him again. It was really awful and I made sure I got good and wasted before we went to a party on Mission Hill.

That party wasn't good either. And we got there after 2 which is not too late for a Mission Hill party, but a lot of people had already left. There was cake though and it was a welcome taste in my mouth. I can really only remember how it felt squishing in my mouth and it was awesome. Then we went to get pizza which was another surprise to my taste buds. I have never loved cake and pizza more than last night. On the way home, KT, Billy, Em, Mary and me sang/screamed along to Hero, All By Myself, End of the Road, and Don't Want to Miss a Thing. Nothing says wasted like a Mariah Carey/Celine Dion/Boyz II Men/Aerosmith sing-a-long. The best part was I had my eyes closed the whole time. That's right, I was singing with my eyes closed.

Going to bed was the best thing I did last night. I think, in the end, no one wins the Duathalon.

craigslist time!

also, here are some future WFI posts to be ready for, because right now they were totally really great ideas (tRGIs) but pretty soon they will become really really bad ideas (RRBIs), and then ultimately, the worst fucking ideas...

•fucking with things that don't belong to me but to someone else in the art department - and i hate her.
•the reason i googled "racing pigeons"
•pissing off Gem (see the previous two posts)

truth hurts. hey what's up, Mark??

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!

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.