Not going and really fucking sick of hearing about it? I don’t blame you. It’s going to be awesome.

Uh… quick, look at this!…

Moving on.

So. You MAY have heard that I’m going to be traveling to the great state of Nevada tomorrow, to the land of slot machines and margaritas-the-size-of-heads, and all things sequiny and delightfully tacky.

B will not be joining me because he is a sane person (wha wha wha???), but as I told him last night, it’s cool because Aunt Flo’s in town. So not only does he get to miss out on THAT business, I can’t cheat on him! Really, I’m going to Vegas for HIM.

Such a giver, I am.

The things I plan on doing over the next three days are as follows:

Have an ass-slapping contest with Lbluca77.

Not be totally weird with my most favoritest Vixen.

Have a baby with our resident mama bear, Rachel. (Don’t worry, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Babies totally count.)

Make naughty kitty-cat jazz hands with verybadcat.

Maul Tia wildly and inappropriately the moment I see her. (Sorry, Ben. It’s happening.)

Swap “funny boyfriend” stories with Michelle.

Make Kathleen eat some cheese, even if it’s just the schmoopy kind.

Swoon over vampires with Ali. And maybe bite her a little when she’s not looking. What?

Call StaceyParadise “Tootsie Pop”.

Get Mel drunk off wine and make her tell me about her worst date of all time.

Embrace my quirks and inner klutz with Mandy.

Give Lindsay 1,000 bear hugs so she’s not scared of us all. Even though she probably should be.

Immediately go up in flames when Nicole’s crazy and my crazy finally meet. God have mercy on us all.

Draw on someone with Sharpie with Leahchristine.

See Amy’s feisty in person. It may not be on the blog, but I know it’s there.

Drink endless mimosas with Doni.

Indulge in a boatload of unnecessary carbs with Jessica.

Do karaoke with Chelsea, because she can actually sing + I am the most tone-deaf person of all time = HILARIOUS.

Make poop jokes with Nicopolitan.

Help RondaMarie drink to forget.

Reminisce about the days when the BoSox didn’t suck with ohhayitskk.

Steal Katelin’s awesome hair. (Yes, I know it’s not a wig. But put enough tequila in me and I’ll swear it can be done.)

Get 412 makeovers from the fabulous Lizzy Marie, my bi-coastal BFeffinF.

Make listen to because I’m not brown people jokes with Rahul (dot not feather).

Try not to make Mary and Shine sorry they agreed to room with Maxie and me.

Belt out Backstreet Boys everywhere we go with GingerMandy and Just A Girl.

Remarry my beloved Maxie, preferably by an Elvis impersonator, or someone wearing an ascot.

See what the hell it is that Ben got her, in reference to this tweet:

To all the rest of you I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, in person or on the interwebs… I can’t freaking wait to fix that. And every single one of you should prepare yourself for a too-tight-hug.

See you tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Today, I leave my District bubble and head down South to celebrate the first of my Carolina Girls’ bachelorette parties.

Mere, we knew you’d be the first from the moment we met Shawn. (Are you preggers  yet? How bout now? Now??)

Anyhoozle, I can’t wait to get down there and have a couple Very Klassy Evenings out with my ladies…

*coughcough*

Savannah ain’t gonna know what hit it.

My Sweet Carolina Girls - Best in the World

And that’s a threat… not a promise.

(Remember the Dominican, y’all?…

Uh huh.

Let’s DO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!

I had a bit of an adventure yesterday.

I met a new friend for a perfectly lovely lunch, and will hopefully be building a website for her campaign next month. (Speaking of which, did you see my sugarplum Jess’ awesome new online portfolio I made for her yet? Didja? DO IT! And then hire her!)

Anyhoo. While I am rocking my new healthy diet ‘n exercise lifestyle (blech), I couldn’t turn down the sample of homemade potato chips the bartender brought over for us. Trust me, it would have been a sin to waste those puppies.

About a half an hour after getting back to my desk, I was talking to a colleague when I started choking…

and felt my throat start to close up.

Now, I have never been allergic to a thing in my life. Maybe some sniffles in the Spring, but an actual hives/itching/choking sort of allergy? Never. So, I was a wee bit terrified.

We’re fortunate enough to have a clinic at my job, so when the half-closed throat sensation didn’t go away, I headed over.

After waiting for a half an hour and not dying, I decided perhaps I had developed a very sudden and severe case of strep, rather than a life-threatening allergy. A clearly inexperienced but very sweet nurse finally called me in and took my vitals.

“It’s a good thing you came in!” She said. “I’ve seen strep cases come on so suddenly.” She took blood pressure, temperature, felt my glands, peered down my throat and in my ears, but couldn’t see anything noticeably wrong, so she called in the wizened old nurse practitioner to give me a look.

“It’s just very strange,” I was saying. “I haven’t had strep in years, and I’ve never been allergic to a thing in my life!”

“Well, our bodies change, dear,” Inexperienced-Yet-Sweet Nurse patted my hand, as her veteran colleague entered the room. Without looking up from my folder, this was the first thing she said:

“So, did you have anything sharp at lunch today? Potato chips, perhaps?”

I blinked. “Um, I did, actually… OHHHHhhhhhhhhhh.” I began laughing as the truth sunk in.

“I cut myself on a potato chip, didn’t I?”

She peered down my throat.

“Looks that way. Here. Have a swig of Maalox and drink some fluids. I think you’ll pull through this one.”

Tail between my legs, I slunk out of the clinic and back to my desk, where I had to share my diagnosis with my colleague.

“Apparently, this whole “extreme workout” thing is getting out of hand. Even the way I EAT is extreme now… I don’t even chew!”

Sigh.

And now, to distract you from my idiocy, I give you…

Taylor Lautner looks like a llama.

Sorry, Maxie. But he really, really does.

 Happy Tuesday. Eat safely out there, kiddos… only you can prevent potato-chip throat injuries.

That’s right folks. The infamous birthday/#pbandtuna wedding is finally here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ll be honest, folks. I have been super stressed and freaking out all week.

But now that the big weekend is actually here, I have NOTHING BUT EXCITEMENT churning in my loins.

To everyone who’s coming from out of town:

I am going to lick your faces so damn hard, oh my gaw. You are amazing and totally rock my socks off. Look, they’re totally across the room. (Everyone IN town: you are 9/10 as awesome but don’t feel bad. They really had a leg up on you on this one.

…TWSS.)

To my blushing bride, who wrote the sweetest vows EVAR and made me cry before 8am on my birthday when I read them…

Just you wait until I give you your present today. REVENGE IS A BITCH.

In all serious, I love you so much, Maxie. I don’t know how I existed before you came into my life. You are one of the kindest, funniest, warmest, cuddliest people I have ever known, and I am seriously lucky to call you a friend. (And lovah.)

Tonight we shall snuggle Murray together and it will be GLORIOUS.

All right, y’all. I have a shit ton of stuff to do to get ready, so I’m off. But please to enjoy the one video on the interwebs that makes me happier than anything else in the e-world. It’s an oldie but a goodie…

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

(I am *so* doing these dance moves tomorrow.)

If you’re in DC, don’t forget… the bash is tomorrow at Stetson’s (upstairs) at 16th and U Streets. We’ll be there at 8 sharp to stake it out…

Woot!!!!!!!!!!!

***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Steal this button and put it in your post just by copying and pasting the html code in the box below, or just link back to the hub with this link, so your readers can read ALLLLLLL the TMI glory, and I’ll make sure to link to you.***

<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a>

Now get ready, my darlings, for the ever popular, yet gravely feared, TMI THURSDAYS…

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Hello hello, and welcome to the vomitousness of Thursday! Today, my own TMIT is actually over at That Kind of Girl’s place, and it involves me in a whole new light… a NEKKID light. So get thee to her pad to check it out.

BUT I shall not leave you empty handed over here. Warning to my mom and all straight dudes: You probably wanna skip this one.

Last weekend, my GBF Thomas and I were sipping on our $16 margaritas in the Village (I have no idea where we actually were… I just wanted to sound cool). We were catching up and swapping war stories, when he cracked the ultimate TMI egg of knowledge on my head.

So, back in LA, one of his friends, who we’ll call “George”, had recently split from his boyfriend. Being on the rebound, George was out on the town living it up, like any normal person. He was out at a bar with some friends, when a super hot guy approached and hit on him… hard.

So George is all, WTF, why not, right? So they head back to Super Hot Guy’s place, and are fooling around. George starts to… play around… in the back door of Super Hot Guy, when suddenly, he feels a SHARP PAIN on his finger… so he pulls it out, and it’s BLEEDING!!!

…Thanks to Super Hot Guy’s anal warts.

That were so big and hard (twss) they CUT his finger.

For the record? I didn’t even know anal warts EXISTED. So consider this your herpes PSA for the day.

And never say I’m not a giver.

Other awesomely bad TMITs this week…

Me! at That Kind of Girl’s place: Liv it, Luv it, Look at it naked: A TMI Thursday Guest Post from LiLu, the TMI Queen

moog’s Objects in the Rear View Mirror may be my Bare Ass

Maxie at Jill Pilgrim’s place: tmi thursday: you’ll never look at my hand the same way

shine’s I don’t want to hear it. Hell, I don’t even want to see it. But yes, I did it.

jenniferalaine’s tmi thursday: hotel sex and… parents?

DC Princess’ TMI Thursday: Call Me Wounded Butt

Sebastian’s Boys bouncing wet and naked, another teenage story

Spleen’s TMI Thursday: don’t ask me for advice.

mylittlebecky’s uh oh! hot dog! (tmit)

imgonnabreakyourheart’s a tame tmi thursday: word choice

Mb’s I need your help! You will be properly rewarded.

Carissa Jade’s TMI Thursday: The Legend of the Log (In Rhyme)

Daffy’s TMI Thursday – its Lame its Tame but its all I got

Tabitha’s TMI Thursday: The Time I Didn’t Take My Mother’s Advice.

Jaime’s TMI Thursday: My First Time

Hillbilly Duhn’s TMI Thursday – When kids ask too many questions

Lucy’s TMI:Thursday: We All Know What I Wanted To Hammer!

BigSis’ TMI Thursday: Deja Poo

M’s TMIT: Ur Virginity, I Takez It

Sean’s TMI Thursday: New Toilet Story

Jeff’s is that dirt? no it’s not

Antelope’s Everyone loves a good poop story

The Bare Essential’s Spoogie Stuffs

Tricia’s TMI Thursday: PMS’cuse Me

Big Mama Cass’ Go on, double click that mouse! TMI Thursday

miss. chief’s tmit – mexican toilet

Gladys’ Clowns You Be the Judge

Ed’s TMI Thursday: Amy G is back!

Insomniac Lolita’s TMI Thursday : Captain Commando

Ex Hot Girl’s TMI Thursday: I peed in my pants.

amber murphy’s Popping my TMI Thursday Cherry

Kelly’s TMI thursday

So. I had a positively scrumptious time this weekend in Beantown.

OBVIOUSLY.

And I am A) exhausted from the funsies and B) get to spend the day packing!!! Which, to B, means desperately trying to throw away sort through all of “my junk”.

Communist.

I wish I could put a camera up in the apartment for the day… this shiz ain’t gonna be pretty.

So for yous guyses, this means you get some pretty, pretty highlights. (Don’t worry, they’re the very expensive kind done by a professional gay man- no brassiness here!)

The scene: Dinner with my parents, B, my Lil Sis, and her boyfriend on Friday night. Fun fact: Lil Sis has been aching for a dog for months now, and had planned on getting one when she moves in with her bf in a month.

The highlight:

Mom: So what kind of dog do you want, Lil Sis?

Lil Sis: (As her face falls) We’re not allowed to have one at the new apartment.

Mom: Awwwww, so you’re not getting a puppy?

Lil Sis: No. YOU were the one who told me NOT to!

Mom: Well, no, you shouldn’t. It’s expensive and a lot of responsibility. But… puppy…

Lil Sis: Unbelievable.

LiLu: Oh, come on. It’s just like if your 16 year old daughter gets knocked up! You don’t WANT it to happen… but once the baby’s here, you’re still going to love it!

*crickets*

My poor family.

The scene: Meeting up with Boston’s most fabulous bloggers (and a few other travelers as well) at The Globe Bar for drunkety times. The crew: (if I forgot you, please to forgive, and let me know! It is so very early…) My lovely Julie, brookem, Pilgrim Jill, Hannah, Julie Q, Susan, Emrlds, Alana, A Super Girl, and in some cases, their justly terrified boyfriends, made it the best time any blogger could ask for.

The highlight: Jill Pilgrim double dog daring me to offer Susan’s virginity to a random guy hitting on her for the price of three goats. Which, obviously, I did in approximately 2.5 seconds… at which point we found out it was a friend of hers, and now we had to hang out with him for the rest of the night and be “Those Weird Girls” all evening.

Whatevs. The shoe fits.

Also? All of this happened.

Pretending to be classy. What?

You can’t see that I’m grabbing Jill’s bum.

In a word: FINALLY!!! <3

There is some hate sex in here.

Gawd, I love this woman. ALLLLL of her, apparently…

Tiger hands for Maxie!

Why I oughta…

We bloggers get friendly quick.

The boys entertained themselves just fine…

Sure. I mean, clearly.

Hiccups are a BITCH, yo.

Love you hookers.

Yeah. So. The awesomest of AWESOME. And that is all I have to say about that.

Except get all your asses down to DC so we can do it again soon. LUFF YOU BISHES!!!!!!

The scene: B’s sister getting mawwied!

The highlight: Everything. Jewish weddings are so much more fun! There was breaking of stuff, chairs in the air, a dancing train through the entire room, and incredible view, and a few speeches that even moved my cold dead hooker heart.

A sample from the mother of the groom’s toast:

“When my boys were little, I always changed the descriptions of the princesses in fairytales to say “kind” and “intelligent” instead of “beautiful”. I am so incredibly glad that my son has chosen to share his life with a woman who is kind and intelligent… as well as beautiful.”

*cue heartwrench*

All in all? Best. Weekend. Ever.

And now, we pack…

Sigh.

(Did you get to ask B a question yesterday? About me, us, his balls, footballs- anything! Just head this way…you have til Fri-dee!)

So, today is sort of a little somethin… it’s my 300th post. That’s right, folks, I have annoyed y’all with my writings, musings and atrocities in this corner THREE HUNDRED TIMES. Instead of writing some big recap, (since yesterday’s was sort of a collection of my least proud moments anyway, and what’s better than that?), we’re going to play a game.

It’s called:

Guess WTF Is Going On In This Video Footage From Our Trip to NYC.

I’d explain the rules, but… yeah.

The prize for guessing correctly, you may ask? Well, you have your choice. I will take a picture OR make a video using only your direction- have me dress like an idiot, serenade you, try to dance to a hip hop song- and I will send it your way to post as you see fit. The only thing I ask is that we leave the whole nudity thing out of it, as I know someone in my home who would probably not approve.

(The kittens, of course. They don’t need to see their mama whoring it up.)

All right, chillens… and awayyyyyyy we go!

(Youtube link here.)

Have at it!

Update: I’ll give y’all a hint for bonus points… there is a movie playing in the background. If anyone can guess what it is along with what’s happening, you win HARDCORE.

Second Update: Whoever gets the most specific (correctly), first, will win. Woot!

Final Update: Winner will be announced Friday!

***FYI, the lovely Brookem asked me to take over her space today while she suns herself in Florida. Whore. I mean, just kidding! Luff you, chica. So, everybody, you can check out my guest post here! Gentlemen callers, you might be better off reading over at Brookem’s today… This here below is a PERIOD post, and not the Renaissance kind. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!***

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s! Now get ready, my darlings, for the ever popular yet gravely feared TMI THURSDAYS… (I think even I may have crossed the line with this one…)

When I was in 8^th grade, I was part of a team of seven students who competed in this program called Odyssey of the Mind. Let me ‘splain.

No. There is too much. Let me sum up.*

Basically, it was an ongoing project that we worked on throughout the school year. The team presents their solution to the given challenge at a Regionals competition, the winners go on to a State-wide competition, and finally, the lucky winners from each state got to go on to WORLDS! (Which was actually only national. Kind of misleading, but hey, if the MLB can pull it off, so can we.)

Anyhoosits, during my year in the 8^th grade my team was da bomb (remember, this was 1998) and we totally won ( no DUH!) and it was as rad as my stretchy neon stirrup pants tucked into my socks and hot pink Keds. We’d won in years past, and been to mega awesome places like Iowa, Maryland, and Tennessee. You know, because we were All That (best show ever!)… and a bag of chips.

But this year was different, folks. This year was special. Because this year, the World Finals was being held in DISNEY WORLD!!! Wicked cool! (Listen, I grew up in Massachusetts. Adjectives were not used unless preceded by the word ‘wicked’. True story.)

So, despite the fact that we were bummed about missing a whole Friday of TGIF (Tapanga, why can’t you just let Corey LOVE you?!), we kiddos hopped on a plane and jetted down to DW for a week to hang with Goofy, scream our way through Space Mountain, and oh yeah, maybe, yanno, compete at some point.

Now, the numbers are important here. Five of the seven teammates were girls, and almost everyone’s mother had come along as chaperone, as opposed to their father. Which means there were a whole lotta women living in close quarters. And men, I don’t know if you know this, but women living together tend to… umm… get on the same cycle. You know… *whispers* menstrually!

Wicked gay, I know. (For the record, I would never say this anymore. But hell, we were tweens. What you gonna do?)

For serious, all FIVE of us girls (and many of the mamas- funsies!) happened to have Aunt Flo visit that same damn week. (Thanks a lot, baby jesus.) This was a major problem, as we were in DISNEY WORLD and we wanted to GO SWIMMING and RUN AROUND and BE CAREFREE like the goddamn women in the “So Fresh!” commercials. BUT, we were 14… and most of us had not yet upgraded from the sanitary napkin (read: small diapers) to the tampon. Except for one.

Men, you know those visions you have of a group of girls at a slumber party, pillow-fighting in their underwear?

THIS IS NOT THAT STORY. This is, in fact, the ANTITHESIS of that story. Run away… run away now!

Terrified and more than a little grossed out, we girls huddled together in the bathroom of one of the hotel rooms, an enormous box of Playtex resting on the bathroom counter. All five of us took one, and Carolyn, the only girl with any knowledge of this foreign contraption, proceeded to demonstrate. We watched her closely, gripped our weapons, and as a group, went in for the kill.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” Teenage-girl shrieks and squeals immediately filled the air.

We flinched, we clenched, we squinched and we… eventually gave the fuck up. We threw in the tamponian towels, and refilled our panties with the veritable diapers we were accustomed to.

There was no swimming that week as we waddled around Walt’s World. But I believe, after that bonding experience, that we were all juuuuuuust fine with it.

Happy TMI Thursday!!!

*Bonus points to anyone who got that reference without clicking this link… (That’s for all you twitterers!)

Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

The Foggy Dew’s TMI Thursday: War and Poetry

f.B’s TMI Thursday: You May Have Already Seen My Prop

not your plain jane’s TMI Thursday: Poop Patrol

vazenchick’s TMI Thursday: When is Thin Too Thin?

I-66’s TMI Thursday: Head Me Off at the Pass

Maxie’s TMI Thursday: The One Where I Show My Creative Genius

Dagny Taggart’s TMI Thursday: Something Out of Sweet Valley High

Life of Mb’s Bajingos and Peginas – dear god how I love Elliot Reed!

Jo’s TMI Thursday: Thumb Sucking

Dana’s TMI Thursday: The Pooper Scooper

Bffie Deutlich gives in to my power!: TMI Thursday: Dinosaurs Don’t Work

Claire’s TMI Thursday: A Little Hair of the Dog

-jd’s TMI Thursday: I Only Play at My Home Field

justjp’s TMI Thursday: Oh, It’s Like That

A Southern Belle’s TMI Thursday: Let’s Talk Feminine Products

Tabitha’s TMI Thursday: Snap, Crackle… Pap?

Kendall’s TMI Thursday: Why Pretty Much Nothing Can Scar Me

Vittoria’s TMI Thurday: The Thing We NEVER Do

Pirate Meghan’s TMI Thursday: It Was NOT Whisper Quiet

Pumpernickel’s TMI Thursday: Removed by Security

BirthControlJill’s This One Time at Church Camp…

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join me and the fast-growing harem of TMI-participators in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. If you want, leave it here in the comments! If you’re chicken, share someone else’s! Ah, the anonymity of the blogosphere… it’s a good thing. Now get ready, my darlings, for the ever popular gravely feared TMI THURSDAYS…

Public Service Announcement:

As I said yesterday, I will NOT be writing a TMI Thursday today. Oh, stop crying/ cheering. You’ll get your TMI, don’t worry. But it’s coming from a very special guest blogger… he’s known around my lil corner of the innerwebs here as B. You see, when I posted last week’s TMI, it reminded him of… well, I’ll let him tell you the story. That’s what he’s here for, after all, isn’t it?

Without further ado, your weekly dose of TMI…

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TMI Thursday: Of Hand Jobs and Farfalle: A Cautionary Tale

by B

After reading LiLu’s recap of her first hand job experience last week, I shared with her a similar incident from my past and she asked me to blog it. Since I/we are so often the subject of her over-shares, this will be a nice opportunity to do the embarrassing myself.

My story takes place senior year of high school where I was (still am?) the “Skeevy McSkeeverson” of this story. However, please note that unlike him, I both had a driver’s license AND bathed regularly.

Similar to LiLu’s story, I was interested in a sophomore- a girl with whom I ran track. Oh and (cough, cough) she happened to be my best friend’s little sister. I told you I was a bit skeevy back in the day. Anyway, one Friday night before a track meet she came over for some pasta and a movie (nothing gets a teenage girl hotter than farfalle, except perhaps an impressive CD collection). The aphrodisiac worked as planned and in no time we were making out on the couch.

One thing led to another, and soon enough there was some hand stuff going on. The best I can say is at that young age she was eager, uninformed, and had a strong grip. Unlike LiLu, her direction of choice was diagonal and ummm sandpaper.

The aftermath was unlike anything I had ever experienced. That night I could barely walk upstairs to bed. Even a soft breeze felt like the fire of a thousand suns on my penis. The complete inability to walk presented a distinct problem because, as you’ll remember, I had a track meet the next morning.

“Sorry Coach, can’t run. Dick’s broke” didn’t seem like an acceptable excuse. So, I woke up and did what any smart 18-year old would do: completely bandaged it up. Gauze, band aids, medical tape…no resource was unused in the mummification of my penis. When my work was done I could once again walk (and hopefully run)…but couldn’t see a speck of skin.

(Get it? Bandaged… head? GET IT?)

I went on to finish my race, with only minor discomfort while running. But, as anyone who has run track can attest, before the race you try to drink as much water as possible to be fully hydrated. Done and done. Only after the race did I realize what I had overlooked in my early morning triage— a pee hole. This presented a major challenge.

After sprinting to the bathroom I attempted to delicately remove the bandaging before my bladder exploded. This was not successful. The result was like covering Old Faithful with a wetnap— nothing was holding back that explosion. So yeah, that happened.

Afterwards I grabbed some pants, discarded my shorts, and laid low for the rest of the meet. But let this be a lesson to you, men. When bandaging your penis: NEVER, NEVER, cover the pee hole.

Deal with THAT LiLu: handjobs gone awry + peeing oneself = Score one for B.

Other awesomely bad TMI Thursdays this week:

LBluca77’s TMI Thursday: One Day Mr. Hankey You Will Burn In Hell

Sean’s TMI Thursday: A Picture

Saratogajean’s TMI Thursday (And an Apology)

-jd’s TMI Thursday: Love in a Box

Liebchen’s TMI Thursday: It’s No Perrier, But I Guess It Did The Trick

Jo from The Attention Span of a Fly is writing again! And joins in: TMI Thursday: The Farts

Charlotte Harris’s TMI Thursday: Weird Stuff You Didn’t Want to Know About Me

Single Girl’s TMI Thursday: Carnal Knowledge. Or, There are Worse People to be Compared to Than Bill Clinton.

It took 12 hours to get home to Massachusetts.

And yes, there are stories. But they’ll have to wait… I have to save up what little energy I have left.

We’re about to go shopping.

At least I found this this morning… it is the only thing consoling me when I think about the parking lots and lines and crowds I’m about to battle.

Happy Christmas Eve, you cotton-headed ninny muggins-es!

YES, I do know it is WEDNESDAY, despite my debilitating endearing, ahem, absentmindedness. However, since many of us will be traversing across the valleys and snowy hilltops to be with the alcoholics we share blood with people we love most in the world, TMI Thursday is early this week for your horror viewing pleasure. I’ve got a DOOZY for ya, too, but I’m saving it for next Thursday when we’re all bored in our cubefarms, dreaming of the weekend and in great need of a truly coffee-snarfing chuckle.

My official cohorts in TMI Thursday crime, Fatty Lumpa and J of It’s Toasted, are posting theirs early as well, because we love you like that. Everyone else who joins in the awesomely bad and repulsive fun (see Fatty Lumpa’s post today for the Official Rules), I will try to link yours below here, but I worry that I miss some, so be shameless! and leave the tag in the comments as well, here or on Fatty’s or J’s, or all three! If you’re particularly bored.

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A few months ago, I went to visit my sweet Carolina girls for one of their birthdays. I was taking the train out of Union Station, early. Very early. Far, far too early for someone who had decided that they had to be on a train early and could sleep for 5 hours, so they might as well get WASTED while bartending til 3 in the morning and then GO FOR AFTER DRINKS at a certain sketchy 24-hour Chinese restaurant nearby.

I never said I was smart. And if I did, well, I probably was at the time. I can turn it on and off. With booze. Shhhhhh….

I woke up to the alarm I’d set, unable to fathom moving, never mind, yanno, actually being a person and walking out into daylight and not vomming in my hair. Somehow, some way, I managed to get myself cleaned up (read: put hair in ponytail, pulled on big sweatshirt, looked at the toothbrush long enough to convince myself it was the same as actually brushing) and down to the street, where I almost managed to raise my arm in the air to flag a cab. Fortunately, one of them recognized the odor of desperation (or of the previous night’s saki bombs, who knows), and pulled over.

With my last ounce of energy, I heaved myself into the car and lay back. The hard part was over. I shut my eyes and tried to enjoy the whole, “me not having to move” of it all. We took off down Mass Ave, through Dupont Circle. Through Scott. Through Thomas. And on, until we were approaching the intersection with I-395.

The nausea hit me like a tidal wave.

Ohmygod I can’t do this, I HAVE to stop, do I have a bag? What will the cab driver think, this is so embarassing… oh lord, what did I drink last night?? I feel HORRIBLE. Did someone pour me a shot of JAGER? I’m pretty sure that happened. Oh EW don’t think about blacklicoricerightnowOHMYGODICAN’THOLDITIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…………..

“I’m so sorry, but could we pull over here for a moment!!!” I yelled frantically, unbelievably grateful that we were both at a red light and stuck in gridlock traffic. Panic-striken, the cabbie swung the car over to the curb as I fumbled for the handle and dove out onto the tiny strip of grass. On the side of Massachusetts Avenue, during rush over, I shuddered and dry-heaved my pathetic guts out while the cabbie, a couple of tourist families, and The Lord watched me, their hearts heavy with pity and disgust.

I finally was able to stand up straight, wipe my mouth, and clamber back into the cab. He, of course, was staring at me in the rearview mirror, trying to contain his shock and revulsion (and doing a poor job of it).

“Miss, are you all right?” He asked, to his credit.

Disclaimer: What happened next, I am not proud of. But, interwebs, I cannot hold back the truth. It is too horrific/funny. So enjoy my shame, and know that I truly do think my actions were ahem, slightly despicable.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, knowing that I was a terrible person for what I was about to do. But in that moment, I felt that I had no choice.

“I’m pregnant. My morning sickness has been terrible lately.”

The very sweet cabbie spent the rest of the ride telling me about his pregnant daughter, and what she was going through. He could relate, he said. I shouldn’t feel bad, he said.

I felt dreadful, both physically and emotionally. But he got me to the train station as fast as he could, which was lucky, because once there I had to stop and throw up again in a trash can outside. A very sweet bum asked if I was all right…

And I told him the same damn thing.

Aw well… we all know I’m going to hell anyways!

Happy Turkey Day, hookers!

Fatty Lumpa’s TMI Thursday: Super Punctual This Week

J’s TMI Tuesday

Foggy Dew’s My Little TMI Friday

Doug’s TMI Thursday: Thanksgiving Edition

B and I have been, well, I believe the official term is “BROKE AS SHIT” since we got back from Costa Rica. Today being Pay Day! and all, you can imagine our excitement at the prospect of doing something other than, yanno, sitting on the couch in our pajamas, drooling on ourselves and figuring out really creative drinks we can make with the lime-infused gin, Kahlua, and two tons of Confetti Cake left over from my huge ginormous blast of a birthday party a few weeks ago.

(Fellow Masshole made the scrum-diddly-umptious cake, but somehow everyone was much more interested in the two-ton pumpkin she hollowed out and filled with approximately 50 liters of spiked rum and Goldschlager-soaked apples. Go figure.)

Anyhoosits, life has gotten… tedious, shall we say. A wee bit hum drum? I mean, I love the guy and all, but I think it’s safe to say we have a bigass case of CABIN FEVER.

Talking to Restaurant Refugee earlier today, I babbled on about 4000 outings, parties, happy hours, and other non-reasons to celebrate that would require my being in a public place while drinking and spending this thing that has become a relatively foreign concept to me, money. I then asked him how pungent my desperation to point a bottle at my face get out of the house was.

“I can smell it from here,” he said.

“That’s okay,” I told him. “It’ll bring all the other alcheys out to play.”

Moral of the story? Anyone planning on drinking with me this weekend, put yer big girl panties on. Mama’s coming out to play and it’s gonna get MESSY.

Last Friday, I played hooky from work to dance around Lemmonex’s living room in my underwear drink a shitload of wine and finally let the girl woo me once and for all cook for me. I woke at 6am with butterflies in my stomach, anticipating the fun that lay ahead. (Well, okay, maybe my internal clock still hadn’t reset from daylight savings. But it meant I got to catch up on the last three episodes of ANTM that B- justifiably, as it is the WORST TELEVISION EVER- won’t let me watch when he’s around. Something about gouging out his eyes, and not wanting to be responsible for the gruesome homicide of Tyra Banks, I’m not sure. He mumbles a lot.)

The adventures began as soon as I finally cleansed, got dressed and emerged from my apartment into the way-too-bright-and-sunny day around 1pm.

As I’ve mentioned before, I am obsessed with people watching. It is truly my most favoritest game. But sometimes, it can seriously be sensory overload.

It was a gorgeous day; I couldn’t have picked a better one to call in “sick”. (Cough, cough… anyone buying this? No? It’s because my cheeks are so rosy, right? Not that I’m a horrible liar and you all know I’m quitting my job, anyway?) I descended into the metro at Gallery Place and began the trek up the red line to Van Ness. It was quiet and peaceful for once, as all the suckers professionals were neatly tucked away in their offices. Until Metro Center. The doors opened and 15 tweens- yes, TWEENS- flooded my car. They surrounded me, gabbing about pogs, Pokémon and Hanana Montana (HA! I’m so tricksy) or whatever it is the kids are squealing about these days.

Actually, as I looked more closely (which was pretty easy to do, seeing as one of them was about in my lap), I realized that the tweens? Were wearing skinny jeans. And Converse. The boys had Jonas brothers hair cuts, the girls had edgy-Jenny Humphrey bangs. Unknowingly, I had landed dead in the center of a pack of DC-mini-hipsters.

No sooner had I realized this, than I noticed that ONE of them was wearing sweatpants (the speshul kind with the elastic around the ankle), huarache sandles, a baggy T-shirt that said “Ocean City, MD”, and a large camera around her neck. And she was Asian.

WHY, WORLD??? Why do you torture me with these ridiculous stereotypes, and expect me to just ignore them? It’s just so unfair. I don’t want to be a bad person. The universe makes me one.

Anyhoo, we finally made it up to Van Ness and I weaved around them on the platform, texting nonchalantly and walking with a firm, purposeful step that said “How are those chaperones working out for you? I’M A BIG KID AND I CAN GO ANYWHERE AND DO ANYTHING I WANT ALL BY MYSELF. So suck on THAT!!!” (Maturity meter reading: 3. Out of 100.)

Once out in the bright sunny day again, I settled down in front of the Giant and waited for Lem to get her lazy lucious ass down to the metro stop. Moments after I taken my people-watching stance, I was rewarded with the sight of a 6′3″ middle-aged, engineer-esque looking man striding toward the metro’s entrance. But what was so interesting about this old, lanky, balding man, you might ask? Well, there was the fact that he was wearing a long, billowy, powder-pink Little House on the Prarie dress. No, it wasn’t even a dress. It was a frock. And he had a pale pink shawl, a lavendar parasol (yes, a PARASOL), and enormous pink purse to match. And he. Was. Fabulous.

He was going for this…

But it looked more like this.

“Well, life is short,” I thought to myself. “Good for him. At least he knows who he is- or would like to be.” As Lem would say later when I told her, “Everyone deserves to be a pretty, pretty princess.”

I sat back and soaked in the sun’s rays, as two twenty-something blond girls- the kind I would SWEAR had Debutante Balls- exited the Giant and crossed by in front of me. Ever the eavesdropper, I did just that.

“And SHE doesn’t even believe GAMBLING is a SIN!” One exclaimed to the other with disgust.

“No wonder she got knocked up,” her cohort responded knowingly.

I was tempted to ask if they had a light for my crack pipe, but Lem was approaching and there was pizza to be made.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting!” she called out apologetically.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I smiled as we hugged, “It was great.”