Number of Drinks Consumed: 12,048
Number of calories I consumed: 500,000,000
Number of cigarettes I smoked: 9,000
Number of times my heart almost stopped: 3
Number of boys I made out with: 2
Number of boys I went home with: 2
Number of boys I went home with over the age of twenty-three: 1
Number of sailors I went home with: 0
Number of bartenders I went home with: 1
Number of tattoos he had: 401
Combined weight of boys i hooked up with: 160
Number of dogs that I took care of that quite possibly had the mange: 1
All and all a pretty solid weekend. Well, all was solid except for what came from my bowels. Not so solid. Ew.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Top Embarassing Moments that have Happened to Me Since I Started Drinking
Valentine's Day, 2000. New Orleans.
It was my 3rd date with Keith, who would go on to be my boyfriend for 2 years. Keith had all the credentials I was looking for in a boy: 1) He had good looks 2) He had a car 3) He had multiple piercings 4) He had a record 5) The most serious of the charges, 4 counts of attempted rape, had been dropped.
So obviously, I was in love.
I've always really enjoyed Valentines day. I like candy. I like flowers. I like love. I LOVE wine. What's not to like?
Not knowing where he was taking me on our Valentine's day date, I was very meticulous about my outfit. I settled on this shiny deep blue velveteen mini-skirt two-piece that looked purple in some light, and 3 inch white heeled sandals. I looked trashy enough to go anywhere in New Orleans.
Armed with the carton of cigarettes I had carefully selected earlier that day for him as a gift, I was ready. If not at all classy.
He picked me up and presented me with roses, a mix tape, and a necklace. I was appropriately shocked/grateful/sheepishly apologetic for the missing packs of cigarettes that had mysteriously made their way into my purse. We then drove to the bar where he worked for pre-dinner drinks.
Now, I know this may be hard to believe, but there was a time when I didn't drink that much.
*record scratch*
Yes, it's true.
And I certainly wasn't a big vodka drinker. Perhaps because I was nervous, perhaps because I was thirsty, perhaps because I was a moron, I slurped down two big vodka tonics in about half an hour.
By the time we got to the restaurant, (which was one of the best in New Orleans), I was more than a little tipsy.
We were seated in an outdoor courtyard amongst some of New Orleans finest. Keith ordered a bottle of wine, two turtle soups (delicious!), and I got half a chicken.
We drank the first bottle of wine in a matter of minutes. Out came the second bottle. Now, I must explain that i have a serious issue eating in front of people, particularly boys I like. I will address this problem in a future post, but I would just as soon everyone believe that I exist by photosynthesis.
I have never had a problem drinking in front of anyone, particularly boys I like.
We are now on the third bottle of wine. Because I have this eating issue, I had had maybe two bites of soup and one bite of my chicken. I had probably at this point had 5 full glasses of wine and two vodka tonics. I was shitfaced.
All of a sudden, I remembered something.
I had my period. But because I was weird and hadn't yet figured out how to put in a tampon, and because of the nature of my outfit, I had decided to just fold a bunch of toilet-paper into my underwear. I never claimed to be a smart girl.
I stood up.
You know when you stand up and the whole world flips and spins and you go rushing into the vortex of hell? I took a deep breath, and then teetered around the courtyard, briefly stopping at a table occupied by an elderly couple to check in on them during their date. I then tried to sit on the gentleman's lap.
Keith watched the whole thing, and found this all hilarious. The waitstaff, however, did not. The manager collected me off of the geriatric patients lap and escorted me to the Ladies Room.
I proceeded to hurl my face off.
I then made the executive decision to spend the night in the toilet, and laid my head down on the seat and passed out.
The next thing I remember is Keith busting into the stall holding a glass of wine and a cigarette. I remember him setting down the glass of wine. Still smoking, he picked me up like a rag doll and stuck his finger down my throat.
I barfed some more.
Then i heard:
"Oh my God! Is your nose is bleeding?!"
Even as I wiped vomit off of my forehead, I realized what had happened.
The tissues I had stuffed in my panties had fallen out onto the floor, and Keith, bless his soul, thought my nose was bleeding.
Sick.
Post Script: I told him I loved him. He quoted True Romance in response. Thus kicked off a trend that would continue with all of my boyfriends.
It was my 3rd date with Keith, who would go on to be my boyfriend for 2 years. Keith had all the credentials I was looking for in a boy: 1) He had good looks 2) He had a car 3) He had multiple piercings 4) He had a record 5) The most serious of the charges, 4 counts of attempted rape, had been dropped.
So obviously, I was in love.
I've always really enjoyed Valentines day. I like candy. I like flowers. I like love. I LOVE wine. What's not to like?
Not knowing where he was taking me on our Valentine's day date, I was very meticulous about my outfit. I settled on this shiny deep blue velveteen mini-skirt two-piece that looked purple in some light, and 3 inch white heeled sandals. I looked trashy enough to go anywhere in New Orleans.
Armed with the carton of cigarettes I had carefully selected earlier that day for him as a gift, I was ready. If not at all classy.
He picked me up and presented me with roses, a mix tape, and a necklace. I was appropriately shocked/grateful/sheepishly apologetic for the missing packs of cigarettes that had mysteriously made their way into my purse. We then drove to the bar where he worked for pre-dinner drinks.
Now, I know this may be hard to believe, but there was a time when I didn't drink that much.
*record scratch*
Yes, it's true.
And I certainly wasn't a big vodka drinker. Perhaps because I was nervous, perhaps because I was thirsty, perhaps because I was a moron, I slurped down two big vodka tonics in about half an hour.
By the time we got to the restaurant, (which was one of the best in New Orleans), I was more than a little tipsy.
We were seated in an outdoor courtyard amongst some of New Orleans finest. Keith ordered a bottle of wine, two turtle soups (delicious!), and I got half a chicken.
We drank the first bottle of wine in a matter of minutes. Out came the second bottle. Now, I must explain that i have a serious issue eating in front of people, particularly boys I like. I will address this problem in a future post, but I would just as soon everyone believe that I exist by photosynthesis.
I have never had a problem drinking in front of anyone, particularly boys I like.
We are now on the third bottle of wine. Because I have this eating issue, I had had maybe two bites of soup and one bite of my chicken. I had probably at this point had 5 full glasses of wine and two vodka tonics. I was shitfaced.
All of a sudden, I remembered something.
I had my period. But because I was weird and hadn't yet figured out how to put in a tampon, and because of the nature of my outfit, I had decided to just fold a bunch of toilet-paper into my underwear. I never claimed to be a smart girl.
I stood up.
You know when you stand up and the whole world flips and spins and you go rushing into the vortex of hell? I took a deep breath, and then teetered around the courtyard, briefly stopping at a table occupied by an elderly couple to check in on them during their date. I then tried to sit on the gentleman's lap.
Keith watched the whole thing, and found this all hilarious. The waitstaff, however, did not. The manager collected me off of the geriatric patients lap and escorted me to the Ladies Room.
I proceeded to hurl my face off.
I then made the executive decision to spend the night in the toilet, and laid my head down on the seat and passed out.
The next thing I remember is Keith busting into the stall holding a glass of wine and a cigarette. I remember him setting down the glass of wine. Still smoking, he picked me up like a rag doll and stuck his finger down my throat.
I barfed some more.
Then i heard:
"Oh my God! Is your nose is bleeding?!"
Even as I wiped vomit off of my forehead, I realized what had happened.
The tissues I had stuffed in my panties had fallen out onto the floor, and Keith, bless his soul, thought my nose was bleeding.
Sick.
Post Script: I told him I loved him. He quoted True Romance in response. Thus kicked off a trend that would continue with all of my boyfriends.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
My First Date
My very first "proper" date was with the boy I bought tampons from at my local CVS. I'll skip over date number 1 which involved pouring rain, my date jumping out of my car to move a live telephone wire in the middle of the road---with his bare hands, my car catching on fire (completely unrelated to the telephone wire), and my parents picking me and my Jerry's kid date up at the Silver Diner.
I'll also skip over date number 2 which involved me
a) Driving into DC with a boy who wanted to be a country-music singer
b) Going to Planet Hollywood (a place where I ironically ended up working for 3 weeks in New Orleans...but that's a different story)
c) Getting lost in Anacostia
d) Being pulled over by a cop because I was going 65 in a 30 in a desperate attempt to get home before my curfew.
e) Having the cop hand me back my license after running it through telling me "I'm just going to give you a warning. Pretty sure you are going to be in enough trouble when you get home."
f) Not knowing what the cop meant until I got home (30 minutes past my curfew), where I discovered that my father had called the cops on me. Twice.
Which brings us to James the Drugstore boy.
I liked to go the drugstore a lot when I was 17. A) it was an excuse to drive B) I liked to eat Gobstoppers for breakfast and C) I was obsessed with exfoliate and pregnancy tests.
James was a very good-looking guy. He had really beautiful eyes. I had this whole romantic notion about him coming from "the wrong side of the tracks," working at a drugstore to save up money for college after which he would buy his family a new house in the "right part of town," and I would be by his side the whole time, being supportive and we would live happily ever after.
When he picked me up at my parents house in a Jaguar, I was thrown a bit.
I was thrown even further when we got to the movie theater (we were going to see Snake Eyes starring Nicholas Cage, also from the hit classics "Valley Girl," and "Face Off"), and he took 5 full minutes stroking his car, whispering in "her" rear-view mirrors that we would be back soon and not to worry.
During the movie, he held my hand and made little circles on my palm and that was the first time a guy had touched me that way and it made me feel real funny and squishy inside. I started to forget about the car incident.
Until we exited the movie and he dropped my hand and went running toward the Jag. (She had a name, but I don't remember it).
He didn't exactly throw himself on the car, because obviously that might have scratched the paint and hurt "her" feelings, however he sort of grinded up against the fender, settled in, and rested his cheek on the hood. He splayed his hands over "her" hood, and gave "her" a kiss. Now, I was only 17, and so this surprised me only because I had yet to see a man hump one of my stuffed animals. That would happen later when I was 22.
He tells me that his parents are out of town, so we should go back to his house to hang out for a bit. We're driving and we're driving. And I'm expecting that we are going to pull up to one of the low-income apartment complexes...until all of a sudden, I realize that we are in one of the richest parts of town. We pull up to the biggest house that I've ever seen.
Now, this is getting too long, and since I've had about 3 glasses of wine since I started this post I'll wrap it up. This is what happened:
a) We played a duet on his grand piano
b) He brought me home
c) He kissed me
d) If you can call it a kiss
e) He was biting my lip off
f) Seriously, he was gnawing on my lips.
g) I went inside my house thinking "oh, god, I haven't been missing a thing"
h) I find my father waiting in the kitchen with his arms folded and the phone book out.
i) I discover that my dad had not only called the cops on me again (thrice), but had also tried to call James the Drugstore boy's parents.
Luckily, they were on a cruise in the Bahamas.
I'll also skip over date number 2 which involved me
a) Driving into DC with a boy who wanted to be a country-music singer
b) Going to Planet Hollywood (a place where I ironically ended up working for 3 weeks in New Orleans...but that's a different story)
c) Getting lost in Anacostia
d) Being pulled over by a cop because I was going 65 in a 30 in a desperate attempt to get home before my curfew.
e) Having the cop hand me back my license after running it through telling me "I'm just going to give you a warning. Pretty sure you are going to be in enough trouble when you get home."
f) Not knowing what the cop meant until I got home (30 minutes past my curfew), where I discovered that my father had called the cops on me. Twice.
Which brings us to James the Drugstore boy.
I liked to go the drugstore a lot when I was 17. A) it was an excuse to drive B) I liked to eat Gobstoppers for breakfast and C) I was obsessed with exfoliate and pregnancy tests.
James was a very good-looking guy. He had really beautiful eyes. I had this whole romantic notion about him coming from "the wrong side of the tracks," working at a drugstore to save up money for college after which he would buy his family a new house in the "right part of town," and I would be by his side the whole time, being supportive and we would live happily ever after.
When he picked me up at my parents house in a Jaguar, I was thrown a bit.
I was thrown even further when we got to the movie theater (we were going to see Snake Eyes starring Nicholas Cage, also from the hit classics "Valley Girl," and "Face Off"), and he took 5 full minutes stroking his car, whispering in "her" rear-view mirrors that we would be back soon and not to worry.
During the movie, he held my hand and made little circles on my palm and that was the first time a guy had touched me that way and it made me feel real funny and squishy inside. I started to forget about the car incident.
Until we exited the movie and he dropped my hand and went running toward the Jag. (She had a name, but I don't remember it).
He didn't exactly throw himself on the car, because obviously that might have scratched the paint and hurt "her" feelings, however he sort of grinded up against the fender, settled in, and rested his cheek on the hood. He splayed his hands over "her" hood, and gave "her" a kiss. Now, I was only 17, and so this surprised me only because I had yet to see a man hump one of my stuffed animals. That would happen later when I was 22.
He tells me that his parents are out of town, so we should go back to his house to hang out for a bit. We're driving and we're driving. And I'm expecting that we are going to pull up to one of the low-income apartment complexes...until all of a sudden, I realize that we are in one of the richest parts of town. We pull up to the biggest house that I've ever seen.
Now, this is getting too long, and since I've had about 3 glasses of wine since I started this post I'll wrap it up. This is what happened:
a) We played a duet on his grand piano
b) He brought me home
c) He kissed me
d) If you can call it a kiss
e) He was biting my lip off
f) Seriously, he was gnawing on my lips.
g) I went inside my house thinking "oh, god, I haven't been missing a thing"
h) I find my father waiting in the kitchen with his arms folded and the phone book out.
i) I discover that my dad had not only called the cops on me again (thrice), but had also tried to call James the Drugstore boy's parents.
Luckily, they were on a cruise in the Bahamas.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Famous Persons Encounters
I generally have no interest in famous people. Living in New York I imagine I pass by one every now and then, but I'm more likely to notice dogshit than Tom Cruise walking down the street in loafers with 5 inch heels and an attractive male accessory. (This actually happened--I thought I saw someone who looked like Tom Cruise coming toward me and was about to make mention of it to my boyfriend at the time when i was suddenly distracted by dog crap in the shape of the Virgin Mary. My boyfriend later confirmed that it was, in fact, Tom Cruise).
When I do happen to encounter famous people, I have this automatic aversion to them. If I am in the same room as a famous person, I go out of my way to ignore him or her. If I am introduced to a famous person, I pretend I don't know who he or she is and make them repeat their name. I do this, I guess, to make a point that, you know "fuck you, you are famous, but I don't care," but I'm sure it comes across as "I'm not only deaf, but I'm also an asshole."
Like the time I met Matt Dillon. You may remember him from when he was molten deliciousness in the classic films "The Outsiders" and "Rumblefish" and "Singles."
Rio, 2005. I was there for New Years with my ex-boyfriend, we'll call him M. We were in a restaurant/bar having drinks with a group of his friends who happen to be well-known Brazilian artists. I always felt uncomfortable around them, I guess because we all felt like I was beneath them...so I liked to make things more comfortable for everyone by getting shithoused to the point where I called them pretentious douchebags without souls. Actually, come to think of it, maybe that's why they didn't like me. Ah, well. We'll call it a catch 22.
So there we were, drinking some colorful drink loaded with sugar and liquor at a long table. M and I were at the end of the table. There was an empty seat next to him and surprisingly one next to me. All of a sudden there was a big cheer that rippled across the table. I looked up to see a familiar, tan, bloated man, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and smoking a cigar, accompanied by a thin, much paler man. M kicked me under the table. "Is that Matt Dillon?" he whispered.
I looked again.
The tan, familiar man, who had just taken his place in the middle of the table, was most certainly the grown up, blown up version of the teen sensation who gave me my first wet dream...or the equivalent of a wet dream. I am aware that girls don't actually get wet dreams. Do they? Did I miss out on something? Shit. *Mental note: Ask girlfriends with normal sex lives if I was supposed to have a wetdream*
His companion took the empty seat next to me, unaware of my "untouchable" status. I forced myself not to look over at the middle of the table, and distracted myself by playing a drinking game with myself. The game was "How much can I drink before I puke?" I play this game a lot.
SIDEBAR: SOMEhow, I ended up thumb-wrestling Matt Dillon's companion (who M swears to this day was Ethan Hawk, but I'm FAIRLY certain he was not...but, then again, I was definitely winning my drinking game). I, of course, cheated and won.
We eventually left the bar as a big group and we were standing outside figuring out our next move. The group decided to split in two. M and I ended up in Matt Dillon's group. Matt Dillon turned to M, and says:
"I love your accent. You must be from Brooklyn."
M replied
"Yeah, born and raised. Yourself?"
"Westchester, around there."
Matt Dillon then stuck out his hand and says "Matt."
"M"
I'm standing there furious. Matt Dillon has not even looked my way, but is apparently hitting it off famously with M. Did M masturbate to the thought of Matt Dillon? I think NOT!!! (Well, maybe).
So, as they are in the middle of their love-fest, I, sort of like a deaf asshole, forcefully stick my hand out and blurt
"I'M COOKIEFACE. WHAT WAS YOUR NAME AGAIN?"
*tumbleweed rolls by*
M looks at me and rolls his eyes. Matt Dillon barely glances at me and then takes my hand and shakes it...WITHOUT repeating his name, of course, and then continues his fascinating conversation with M.
I awkwardly backed away. My eyes darted for my nearest escape, but I was in Rio and I spoke zero Portuguese and I wasn't fond of "walking alone in the dark through a foreign city known for its horribly violent crime."
Some highlights from later that night:
1) We tried to get into an exclusive club using Matt Dillon's "star power," however the club had no idea who he was.
2) I attempted the Samba for the first time and knocked over a table filled with semi full drinks with my hips.
3) I picked a fight with M because I thought Matt Dillon sucked and he didn't...obviously, because Matt Dillon LOVED his accent. Dumbass.
Stay tuned for "Famous Persons Encounters II: Cindy Lauper"
When I do happen to encounter famous people, I have this automatic aversion to them. If I am in the same room as a famous person, I go out of my way to ignore him or her. If I am introduced to a famous person, I pretend I don't know who he or she is and make them repeat their name. I do this, I guess, to make a point that, you know "fuck you, you are famous, but I don't care," but I'm sure it comes across as "I'm not only deaf, but I'm also an asshole."
Like the time I met Matt Dillon. You may remember him from when he was molten deliciousness in the classic films "The Outsiders" and "Rumblefish" and "Singles."
Rio, 2005. I was there for New Years with my ex-boyfriend, we'll call him M. We were in a restaurant/bar having drinks with a group of his friends who happen to be well-known Brazilian artists. I always felt uncomfortable around them, I guess because we all felt like I was beneath them...so I liked to make things more comfortable for everyone by getting shithoused to the point where I called them pretentious douchebags without souls. Actually, come to think of it, maybe that's why they didn't like me. Ah, well. We'll call it a catch 22.
So there we were, drinking some colorful drink loaded with sugar and liquor at a long table. M and I were at the end of the table. There was an empty seat next to him and surprisingly one next to me. All of a sudden there was a big cheer that rippled across the table. I looked up to see a familiar, tan, bloated man, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and smoking a cigar, accompanied by a thin, much paler man. M kicked me under the table. "Is that Matt Dillon?" he whispered.
I looked again.
The tan, familiar man, who had just taken his place in the middle of the table, was most certainly the grown up, blown up version of the teen sensation who gave me my first wet dream...or the equivalent of a wet dream. I am aware that girls don't actually get wet dreams. Do they? Did I miss out on something? Shit. *Mental note: Ask girlfriends with normal sex lives if I was supposed to have a wetdream*
His companion took the empty seat next to me, unaware of my "untouchable" status. I forced myself not to look over at the middle of the table, and distracted myself by playing a drinking game with myself. The game was "How much can I drink before I puke?" I play this game a lot.
SIDEBAR: SOMEhow, I ended up thumb-wrestling Matt Dillon's companion (who M swears to this day was Ethan Hawk, but I'm FAIRLY certain he was not...but, then again, I was definitely winning my drinking game). I, of course, cheated and won.
We eventually left the bar as a big group and we were standing outside figuring out our next move. The group decided to split in two. M and I ended up in Matt Dillon's group. Matt Dillon turned to M, and says:
"I love your accent. You must be from Brooklyn."
M replied
"Yeah, born and raised. Yourself?"
"Westchester, around there."
Matt Dillon then stuck out his hand and says "Matt."
"M"
I'm standing there furious. Matt Dillon has not even looked my way, but is apparently hitting it off famously with M. Did M masturbate to the thought of Matt Dillon? I think NOT!!! (Well, maybe).
So, as they are in the middle of their love-fest, I, sort of like a deaf asshole, forcefully stick my hand out and blurt
"I'M COOKIEFACE. WHAT WAS YOUR NAME AGAIN?"
*tumbleweed rolls by*
M looks at me and rolls his eyes. Matt Dillon barely glances at me and then takes my hand and shakes it...WITHOUT repeating his name, of course, and then continues his fascinating conversation with M.
I awkwardly backed away. My eyes darted for my nearest escape, but I was in Rio and I spoke zero Portuguese and I wasn't fond of "walking alone in the dark through a foreign city known for its horribly violent crime."
Some highlights from later that night:
1) We tried to get into an exclusive club using Matt Dillon's "star power," however the club had no idea who he was.
2) I attempted the Samba for the first time and knocked over a table filled with semi full drinks with my hips.
3) I picked a fight with M because I thought Matt Dillon sucked and he didn't...obviously, because Matt Dillon LOVED his accent. Dumbass.
Stay tuned for "Famous Persons Encounters II: Cindy Lauper"
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Would you Like to Take a Survey?
Perhaps this will explain some things to you
First Kiss:
Was with a pony-tailed gentleman of Arab descent in a club called The Hippodrome in London. I was 16. Later on, back at the hotel, I guess I felt dirty so I washed my face using shampoo which resulted in an enormous cystic-like growth on the rim of my upper lip. I still have a scar from where I popped it--three times. It just kept coming back.
Another thing that I will always remember from that night was my cousin telling me in a very authoritative voice that "As long as it hasn't been on the floor, you can use the toilet paper."
Words that have stayed with me to this day....
First Kiss:
Was with a pony-tailed gentleman of Arab descent in a club called The Hippodrome in London. I was 16. Later on, back at the hotel, I guess I felt dirty so I washed my face using shampoo which resulted in an enormous cystic-like growth on the rim of my upper lip. I still have a scar from where I popped it--three times. It just kept coming back.
Another thing that I will always remember from that night was my cousin telling me in a very authoritative voice that "As long as it hasn't been on the floor, you can use the toilet paper."
Words that have stayed with me to this day....
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