Ennui

I have ennui. Bad.  Michel from Gilmore Girls accurately sums it up here:

I think now that my summer of traveling to other countries and spending a lot of time with dear friends has come to a close, my mind, body and bank account are finally decompressing and acknowledging that this is my life. I am not a carefree wanderlust anymore. I am some sort of adult. Woo-fucking-hoo.

I’ve barely been checking my Google Reader. I don’t want to mark all as read, so I don’t check it at all, which then causes a panic when I do check. It’s a vicious circle. Even my beloved LOLCats haven’t been getting visits from me. I was in process of creating a Facebook account for the blog, and suddenly stopped checking FB for anything. I haven’t responded to rather important emails from friends, and if it weren’t for Tweets being sent to my phone I probably would update Twitter as well. I’ve gotten called out on FB twice for my lack of response/updates, causing some to wonder if I’m still alive.

Coach Skinner, now Vagabondventures, has given me more than one guilt-trip about my communicative shortcomings, since we all know I’m not known for keeping my yap shut, my silence had been worrying her.

I feel like I’m depressed, but this isn’t the crying-into-a-tub-of-Ben & Jerry’s-depression. I feel completely and utterly unmotivated, which is especially dangerous since school is back in session. I get home and sit in front of my laptop and zone out doing absolutely nothing other than listening to music until bedtime. (Side note: Héroes del Silencio’s Tour 2007 is an incredible CD. But more on that in another post)

Work has been shit-tastic and completely draining. It has become a daily occurrence that I feel the need to either punch someone, or just get up from my desk and walk away, never to return. I don’t know if it’s the economy or what, but goddamn, have clients been treating us like dog shit on a daily basis. Hello, insurance flashbacks. I haven’t missed you. You know what doesn’t help? Getting yelled at by the dregs of society.

I look like crap b.c I don’t bother w. makeup or doing my hair. My skin has also decided that the zits I missed out on during puberty should now appear.   The hair is currently a horrific color that is a combo of faded red and the golden brown I attempted 2 weeks ago. Much like AC/DC, I will be back in black very soon.

The one bright spot lately has been school. Despite not being very motivated, the classes are extremely interesting and I’m already developing a list of books that I want to read. The weekly writing exercises for one class I hope to use for blog posts, (hence today’s posting) despite my snark being slightly restrained. Speaking of classes, how is it that there are NO cute guys in my class, but both profs are easy on the eye?!  I’m guaranteed to pay attention this way, but ye gads, this is so not fair.

I had more to post, but an extremely cranky octogenarian needs help figuring out how to cut and paste, so chau.

the Interwebz aren’t for everyone

While I’m not a social media expert by any means, I am comfortably informed about it and even more comfy w/ various techy stuffings. I Tweet, blog, Facebook, have a fully loaded Google reader, work at a techy place surrounded by Big Bang Theory extras and occasionally use LOLSpeak in normal conversation.

Occasionally I forget that not all my friends are as plugged in as I am. Namely, Chihuahua.  Only recently was I able to convince her to sign up for Gchat and I had been on that for at least 2 years. She does email and text occasionally, and uses the Internet for work and research, but that’s it. She refuses to get on Facebook, much like she refuses to play nice w/ the gas company in Lynchbore and have central heating in her home. (To be fair, they were absolute dicks to her, hence the hate and why I only visit in the Spring and Summer).

Despite the techy shortcomings, I try to keep her in the loop by emailing her stuff from my GoogleReader. Last week a Textfromlastnight.com entry popped up that I had to send to her, since there is a long running joke among my HellU friends about my ability to find information on the Interwebz. (You call it stalking, I call it being informed. )

Here’s what I sent:

From: Pithy
Date: Fri, Aug 14, 2009 at 10:27 AM
Subject: (630): I sat a few seats down and…
To: Chihuahua, etc.

think I’ve found my soulmate

Sent to you by Pithy via Google Reader:

(630): I sat a few seats down and…

via Texts From Last Night on 8/14/09

(630): I sat a few seats down and one row behind a cute girl at the Cubs game today. Having watched her talk to the guy next to her, I found out only her name and age. I then used that information and pieced it together with over 500 girls on Facebook with the same name. I found the same girl, and we’re now fbook friends.
(1-630): if being a creepy fuck was an olympic sport, they’d think you were using performance enhancing drugs…

And here’s how part of our convo went:

Chihuahua: Hey Pith, did you send me an email last week? A strange one? About a girl you met?

Me: huh? what girl? (me thinking: OMG, was I drunk last week? did I send drunken emails again? what girl would I have sent a weird email about?

Chihuahua: I was at work, so I only skimmed it, but it was about a girl? You met her at a game?? The email said something about fucking??? You said she was your soulmate????
Me: …

F i n a l l y my memory kicked in as to what I had sent her, and after I finished cackling I assured her that the  email was not some sort of rambling coming out missive (I still <3 the peen), but a forward of a text.  Then I  had to explain Textsfromlastnight.com.

It could have been worse. I could have sent that email to MommaPithy.

Denim booty

Shopping for jeans is never fun. I generally have to psych myself up for the event and even then I leave the fitting room with my ego battered and bruised,  but my wallet intact since nothing fit. I’ve detailed my denim drama here before and made peace with the fact that the one set of jeans that would fit my lovely lady lumps were the pricey Michael Kors line of jeans.  I had picked up about 3 pairs throughout the past year, during various sales and had thought to purchase more when one of the pairs ripped in a slightly delicate location, rendering them unfit for regular use.   Having jeans rip after only one year of use, really pissed me off especially since  I have jeans that were way cheaper that are still in good condition, other than they can’t magically expand to accommodate my arse.

Enter Maxie, the GAP “Born to Fit”  party and Brand About Town, the peeps responsible for LiLu’s awesome Nintendo par-tay.  Sunday afternoon, a still-slightly-drunk Flippy and I emerged from the Metro to walk the 2 or 3 blocks to party central. Unfortunately for us, I took us in the wrong direction, twice (causing more than one awkward passing of a motherly woman pimping some church in the area) and had to use my phone’s GPS to figure out where we were supposed to be. .9 miles later we arrive at the party, completely soaked w/ sweat.  We could have walked to the party from my Lair and it would have been easier and probably less sweaty.

Once upstairs w/ some extremely awesome bloggy chicas the conversation covered every topic imaginable: religion, piercings, tummy penises, recipes, kittehs. It was a blast and I introduced all of them to the wonder that is Colombian cheese bread and aguardiente.  For the first 30 mins I just sat on the couch, downing wine in hopes that my body temp would go down and wondering how much of a party foul it would have been if I put the cold wine bottles down my shorts.

Eventually I cooled down enough to consider moving towards the table o’ jeans and starting looking through the pile for my size, only to hear Maxie tell us that the GAP had only sent sizes 0-12 for the party. FAIL. , GAP? Pretty sure that the average size for women starts at 8 and not 0.  Other than the newly blogging again Coachie, I don’t know any size 0 chickys. In the end I couldn’t try on any jeans, since I’m a 14 in Gap jeans, which was a bummer. Thankfully DC Princess had given me some love, so I had gone to the Gap the day before (daddy issues shopping) and checked out the new denim line.

I really liked these new 1969 jeans. The denim was ooooh-so soft and the SexyBoot was quite sexy and hugs in all the right spots. Flippy tried those on at the party and I swear they added an inch or two to her midget status.  The Long and Lean (don’t think those were at the party, shame) fit like that pair of jeans that you never want to take off.  The Real Straight was really not for me, and I avoided the Always Skinny like it was vodka.  Altogether I really liked this new line. They are definitely cheaper than Michael Kors and I’m hoping there will be no rippage in indelicate areas.

Despite the lack of sizes, the afternoon was made of win. Big thanks to Maxie for ensuring that my ass will be fashionably covered!

Wipeout

so I’m walking around the produce section at  Shopper’s during  my lunch break intently hunting down a jicama for dinner. I am so absorbed in my task that I neglected to notice the dryer sheet-like thing on the floor, stepped on it, slipped  and fell to my knees. I thought I had escaped attention, but the manager and 2 little old ladies that checked up on my assured me that I had an audience. Btw, the 2 little old ladies suggested that I NEVER tell the  manager of a store where I have wiped out  that I am “OK.” To quote one: “I’m living proof that you don’t tell them you’re ok.” ummmm, ok?

Other than my pride and what will no doubt be an awesome bruise, I’m fine.

Never did find the jicama. ;-(

PS. I blame this guy.

pimpage and other housekeeping items

I’m a bad blogger. I envy those of you who post daily or far more regularly than I and respond to their comments quickly and comment on others (I’m a lurker, really).  I barely find time to tweet and keep my Google Reader under control. And when I do post, I find myself writing looooooong ass missives. Not very pithy of me. Seriously, how do you guys do it??

I have tons of things I want to write about: I have at least 2 more Barcelona recaps,  a nerdgasmic post about Farscape, book review,   and at least one more TMI Thursday. And not enough time to squeeze it in.

Here’s the thing that gets me the most. I love blogging. It’s fun and I’ve met some seriously cool peeps b/c of it. Seriously cool peeps that will be at a seriously cool happy hour this Friday:

see what I just did there? Smooth, huh?

Now that two of my favorite people have flown off to foreign countries, I find myself wanting to update more since I know they’ll be checking here to keep up with the goings on in DC. Landloping Lady is traipsing around Southeast Asia while earning a teaching certificate and blogging about her adventures in Thailand at http://landlopinglady.blogspot.com/.

Le Coachie moved to France while I was in the motherland. She’s studying for her master’s, hopefully developing a taste for wine and shopping for a very comfy couch.  The last part will be vital since I’ve been planning a visit 20 seconds after she told me she was moving.  She’s SUPPOSED to be starting a blog soon *hintHINT* hopefully detailing all her wine tastings.

I’d like to promise that I’ll be a better blogger, but I think we know how that would end.  I just need a few more hours in the day. And a personal assistant. And a pool boy.

Especially the pool boy.

3-inch heels and Catholic weddings don’t mix Pt. 2

The day before, Bride, Groom’s Mom (let’s call her MarlboroRed) and I did a quick dry run of how things were supposed to go, since there is quite the protocol for the church entrance.  I played the role of BoB, Marlboro was the Groom and the Bride was herself. After we did our practice I leaned over to the Bride and asked if there was a rehearsal. No rehearsal and both of us were completely confused by who entered w. whom.

Here’s how it was supposed to go: After the bridal couple and parents enter, then the godfather of the wedding enters with a family member (me) and then the godmother of the wedding with another family member, followed by any close family members. Then the guest filter in grabbing seats wherever, kinda like this:

Here’s how it went: Groom, Bride, MoB all entered as expected. It was my turn to enter, only they never told me who the godfather was (I thought it  was one of the groom’s brothers, neither of which I met).  I figured it was one of the 2 dudes w. the boutonniere, but I wasn’t about to grab the arm of a random Colombian and walk down the aisle.  I wisely stay back and entered alone, behind my other cousin, Tweety and her bf.

Once we were in we grabbed the first seats we could, but they were too far back.  The priest is giving some sort of benediction and people are still playing hot potato w/ the seats, going back and forth across the aisle. So the three of us joined in and crept up the to front of the church, with me trying to inconspicuous but failing due to my bright red dress.Tweety and I again moved up to the front row to sit w. MoB and BoB. The entire time I’m thinking how dead I would have been if this were an American wedding.

While the guests were playing musical chairs. BoB, Bride and Groom are supposed to complete a complicated maneuver that involves stacking hands on top of each other to signify giving the bride away, which Bride and I had practiced but the boys never had. What ended up happening was BoB holding out the Bride’s hand with the Groom just standing there not taking it. BoB ended up sorta flinging the Bride’s hand toward the Groom as if saying “Here! Take it, take her!”

Once we were all settled, I started paying attention to my cousins. I’ve only gone to one Catholic Mass in my life and that was years ago. I had no idea what to do, other than to cross myself when they did. Well, I couldn’t even get that right, as not only do you make the big sign of the cross, there’s a lil tiny cross you make over your forehead.  And since I never knew when the crossing was coming, I was always a second or two behind. I finally just gave up on it altogether.

And then there was communion. For some reason I thought Communion was delivery and not take out, meaning you sat in your seat and they came w. the wafer and you took it. I had an internal debate as to whether or not I would partake and decided that I would for two reasons: a) I didn’t want stick out more than I already was and b) I hadn’t eaten since 6 and it was now 1.30. I was starving and  wanted that goddamned cracker!

Well as I was standing trying to decide what to do, I noticed people queueing up. I leaned over to Tweety and asked what was going on.  It was the Communion line. They didn’t deliver. Crap. By now the line was long and getting to it would be more of a spectacle than a wafer was worth. Plus, Tweety wasn’t taking it either, so I figured if someone from the family abstained, I would be cool.

Meanwhile, in between the crossing, communion, prayers and vows, we were standing then sitting then standing again. Halfway through the service, my cute strappy heels ceased being cute and became devices of torture . I wanted to sit out the rest of the service, but again, red dress and being in the front friggin’ row I sucked it up and thought of the aguardiente that awaited me at the reception.

By the time we got the reception my head was pounding, my neck aching and my feet felt like they were being stabbed. I wanted food, but first came the champagne toast and cake, with the food coming and hour or so later.  The reception eventually dwindled down to the 2 families, each at their own lil table. MarlboroRed , who LOVES me, dragged me over to her table and started introducing me to her family (she has 11 brothers and sisters, most of which were there) as a reporter in Washington. I tried explaining that I wasn’t exactly a reporter, but I can barely explain my job in English, much less in Spanish to a table full of drunk Colombians. I went w. what Marlboro said. I’m sure they all think I work for the Washington Post now.

Marlboro made sure I met her oldest son, since he had lived in the states for a few years. Other than that we didn’t have anything in common, so I was just sitting there sipping aguardiente and trying to figure a nice way to get back to my table. Thankfully my cousins started calling me over. When I called MommaPithy to give her the rundown on the wedding, she told me that MarlboroRed wants me for her son. As in, she WANTS me to marry him and had every intention of hooking us up at the wedding. MommaPithy decided to leave that tidbit of info out before I left. Had there been less booze at the table I’m sure Marlboro would have made her son and I dance or something, but thankfully I was spared.

Sadly, my feet weren’t so lucky.

3-inch heels and Catholic weddings don’t mix Pt. 1

Hello my lovelies!

I’m back from my quick trip to the Motherland and getting my cousin married off. Five days in Colombia is just not enough!  This was my first Colombian wedding , so I was  excited to see how it was different  while scared I would do something wrong at the wedding, like say, have lighting strike as I entered the church.

My trip got off to a rocky start. I took the Metro to DCA, and while switching trains I managed to get my suitcase stuck on the escalator, nearly fall down same escalator when the suitcase got stuck, and then elbowed a nurse in the neck when I finally got off the escalator.  All in less that 5 minutes.

At the airport there was some mixup w. my reservation thank to the idiot travel agent that MommaPithy uses for all our travel.  She misspelled my last name. My last name has 8 letters, 2 of which are vowels and it’s not an uncommon last name either.  But somehow that fucktard left out a vowel which makes electronic check-in extremely difficult.

Once I got to Colombia (after two rounds of applause once the plane touched down) , it was a flurry of activities, cousins, cakes, having a cousin and his gf break up b/c of a cake (looooong story short: gf made a display cake for the wedding –they have 2 cakes, one for eating and a Styrofoam one for pics– and it was fugly so we politely said no thanks, gf and cousin fought about the cake, and now my cousin is single)  and  errands.  Two nights before the wedding, La Novia (my cousin, the Bride) and I went out for the Cena de Despedidas de Soltera (Bachlorette party but waaaaaay tamer) with some of her friends. We were spending the night at the Groom’s house w/ his family in Medellin since La Novia lives some 45 mins away in a mountainside finca (country house). That night  the Groom had arranged for a traditional Serenata de Mariachis for his bride. We were all in on it, except for the Bride, so at 1 am a 12-piece band snuck into the house and started playing. Even if you know it’s coming, trumpets at that hour still scare you shitless.

Big hats, fancy suits, 4 or 5 violinists, an accordion, 2 trumpet players, a singer w/ an amp, 2 guitars…it was a full house and they sounded amazing.

All of the Groom’s family joined us downstairs to listen, along w/ the  couple’s  friends from their bachelor/bachelorette parties.  The band played love songs for 2 hours, (I could only imagine how well that would play in the States, but in Colombia the neighbors never complained. Pretty sure some of them joined us) while tequila and aguardiente was passed around. It was perfect. Should I EVER change my mind regarding marriage,   future Mr.Pithy take note: I will expect a traditional serenata. Just clear it w/ the neighbors first.

On the wedding day, the bridal party (me, Momma of the Bride,(MoB) the Bride, Brother of the Bride (BoB) and 2 cousins and a boyfriend) woke up at 5.30 am for our respective appointments. After a breakfast that amounted to a slice and a half of bread w/ sour cream (it’s more like sour cream and cream cheese had an illicit affair and produced this spread thing) and a hot dog (their version of sausage links) and a quick gulp of juice we were down the mountain. I didn’t eat again until 5. 30 PM.

After the makeup, the Texas pageant updo and the sexy red dress, I looked pretty much unrecognizable.  But a really hot mama kind of unrecognizable.  Simply put, I looked awesome. But nowhere near as awesome as the Bride. She was stunning and never showed the 20 kinds of nervous that she kept telling us she was.

I slapped on my brand new 3-in strappy heels and headed to the church w/ MoB, trying to remember which part of the protocol I was supposed to follow for the church. See, in Colombia, the guests wait outside the church for the bride. The Groom and his mother enter first and take their place at the altar. The Bride and her father (or in this case her Brother since the dad died when they were little) and ringbearer  drive up. There was no flower girl b.c they couldn’t find one. After the Bride entered, the MoB and Father of the Groom enter together. And then it got confusing.

Must See TV

A recent a  Tweet-versation reminded me that thanks to my cult-like upbringing, I missed out on a LOT of pop culture and even more troubling, some vital formative movies from childhood  While VH1’s various “I Love the 70s’/80s’/90″ has filled in a lot of my pop culture gaps,  there is still a sad dearth.  I know a lil’ Netflix re-adjustment would help, but I have like3 seasons of Dr. Who and 2 of Torchwood to get to, last half of BSG, Pushing Daisies and that’s just the Netflix. We won’t talk about the personal collection.

But, I do need to fix this, but half the time I don’t know what movies I’m missing. I do have a partial list, to which I’m always adding to, but I’m sure I’ve left some out:

• ET (as a kid, my neighbor offered to pay for MommaPithy and I to go see this. MP turned her down, since, y’know…it glorified evolution.)
• Pretty in Pink
• Sixteen Candles
• Breakfast Club
• Newsies
• Karate Kid (I’ve seen clips…I think)
• Goonies
• Say Anything
• pretty much any Disney Cartoon (I have been making progress in the last 5 years and if they would just open that goddamned vault!!!)
• I’ve only seen the Star Wars movies once, and that was when I was a senior in college.
• The first 2 Back to the Future movies (seen the 3rd repeatedly)
• The Christmas Story
• The 2nd Indiana Jones movie
• Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (but I was allowed to watch Parker Lewis Can’t Lose)
• Dirty Dancing
• Flashdance
• Caddyshack (seen most of it, I think)
• Beetlejuice (again, clips only)
• Most of Gremlins
• The Last Unicorn (Flippy contributed this to my list, and honestly, I’ve never even heard of it)
• Fast Times at Ridgemont High
• Can’t Buy Me Love
• Grease
• Saturday Night Fever
• Willow

The list of movies I have seen seems a little off in comparison:

• All the Airport disaster movies, hence my immense fear of flying as a kid
• West Side Story
• All Audrey Hepburn movies
• Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin movies
• the Ma and Pa Kettle series
• Abbot and Costello (but none of the Stooges. MP hated them)
• the Smokey and the Bandit series
• Cannonball Run series (thinking about it now, this could explain my driving skills)

Now for TV, it gets even sadder. No Saturday morning cartoons, ever! You name it, I didn’t watch it. Somehow I was able to sneak in some Saved by the Bell, but that was with major lectures before and after each ep, to ensure I wouldn’t “backslide“.

Did I miss any movies?  Lemme know and feel free to mock me. God knows that Flippy does.

TMEye Thursday

***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.***

I’ve recounted my many eye-scapades here and here,  (quickie version: have a tube running through my tear ducts and it’s “anchored” in the back of my nose w/ a tiny cotton swap, better known as my nose tampon) and with my last visit I had expected that the teeny-tiny tube that resides in my eye would be removed.  Didn’t happen.  I had yet another appointment once I returned from Barcelona where I was again supposed to have Clyde (yes, I named my tube) removed. Shockingly, didn’t happen.  I was instead prescribed $75 worth of eye drops.  Eyedrops that came with the warning from Dr. Quackadoodle that I might be allergic to them. Ummm, thanks?

While Clyde is just a tube, the real annoyance came from the repeated dr. appts that since February had promised that the “next visit we will take the tube out.” In the meantime, Dr. QuackyMcQuack  prescribes pricey eye drops for Clyde. I develop allergic reaction to said drops which turns into an infection, which requires new drops that I develop an allergic reaction to that turns into an infection…..lather, rinse and repeat.  Since September of last year we have been playing the eye drop game. My bank account loses everytime.

While I don’t have a medical degree,  I was pushing for Clyde and I to part ways, since the thing causing me to have issues was having tube in my eye. And since Clyde and I were only supposed to be together for 6-8 months and we we were now looking at our one-year anniversary together, in my opinion, Clyde needed to go bye-bye.  I was alone in my opinion.

So of course I developed a reaction to the $75 drops and of course, Dr. Quackers prescribes me more drops after telling me that I was leaving him with v. few options b.c of all my allergic reactions. Soooooo fucking sorry, asswipe.  But this time, the reaction was legendary.

First came pain. It hurt to fucking blink. Blinking people!!! It’s not like I can’t do it. And I stare at a computer all day. Then came the constant aching/stabby feeling. It felt like the first time w/ Clyde. Oh, and should you look out the corner of your eye? Yeah, more pain.

And then Saturday morning I wake up, eye crusted shut as it has every morning for the past month, stumble into the bathroom to slap on a hot compress  and what to me wondering eye should I see but…

Blood. Lots of it. From my eye. I looked like I had been in a bar fight.

After staring in the mirror in shock for several minutes, I cleaned up and looked for some sort of gaping wound and found nothing but the usual swelling. I briefly considered the emergency service, but knew with the stellar service I had gotten so far, I would be better served by  just waiting for Monday.

Yesterday after a snarky call to Dr.Quacksalot’s office, I was hurriedly rushed in for an appt. where once again Dr. QuackyQuack starts poking around my eye w/ a q-tip.  My eyelid has developed a “granuloma” which is basically zits of the eyelid. BTW, for a good time,  Google search granuloma — you can get them anywhere on your body…including ye olde wang. Diseased wang is surprisingly not photogenic.

After the pokeypokey, Dr. QuacksRus leans back and informs me that my repeated eye infections has resulted in the aforementioned granuwhatevers and they in turn have transformed into, wait for it…a fungus. On my eyelid. A fungus that can only be removed by Scraping. It. Off. My. Eyelid. Not the outside, mind you…underneath the eyelid.

And Clyde? Dr.QuackersforCocoPuffs says Clyde’s part of my not-so fungus problem and will remove him next week.

RIP, Clyde. RIP.

The 30th bday that I kinda sorta remember

Holy crap, what a weekend!

I have some v. awesome friends!

Saturday night was my planned belated b-day dinner. I had left the planning up to Coachie since in between planning and recouping from No Sangria Left Behind, I was drained of creative energy.   As Saturday drew closer, I was getting antsy b/c I didn’t know what was going on. Coachie’s “updates” were to tell me that my friends suck b.c no one had responded to her emails asking for ideas/help.   Also w/in that week, FAIL told me he had a wedding to go to, Schmitty told me he had forgotten and had a friend in town, NittanyLion had a bellydancing show, etc. Now, most people might have caught on, but I’m not that bright.  Considering my bday had been 3 weeks ago and I had sent this invite before I left and hadn’t really followed up, I just assumed that peeps had forgotten.

So Saturday rolls around and Coachie decides that we’ll get our nails done before dinner at Jaleo. She picks me up and we head into Bethesda and the entire time she’s telling me how pissed she is at my friends and how no one responded.  My thoughts: No one?? Not even JRules??  But, bu-uu-t he always responds to stuff. He wuvs me. And Nat?? No Nat??  Seriously??? I know my visits to my B-more posse have been spotty, but to not even respond?? Sniff.

My response to Coachie: Whatever.

Flippy texted to say she would be late. She had warned me of this on Friday so I didn’t really pay attention. Then DR texted that her mom’s alarm had been going off so the security company had called her and she had to check.  By now I was getting slightly annoyed, and Coachie was getting v. irritated in her own special way.  She was also getting hyper.

Coachie, as she hops/skips/dances around the apartment:  I’m so hyper for your birthday!!! Aren’t you excited.

My thoughts: You’re excited about me and you being the only people at a table for 8 at Jaleo??? Ooooooookay.

My response: Uh, yeah, I’m excited.

After the mani’s we stopped by Ten Thousand Villages for a lil looky, and I noticed that Coachie was texting a great deal, but thought it was sister-related since her sis and bf had a huge fight.  Coachie was also v. concerned w/ killing time.  I started thinking that perhaps there was something going on, maybe even a surprise party but quickly dismissed that as there was NO way that Coachie would have been with me for such an extended period of time and not let something slip.

On our way to Jaleo, we stopped at Coachie’s apt to check on the sis since she was v. distraught about her fight and was drowning her sorrows in booze. Being the enabler I am, I brought all the little bottles of booze that I had to donate to the cause of man-hating.

I walked into the apt was met with a sillystring/confetti attack with Eye of the Tiger playing in the back. Everyone was there: Flippy, DR, Mean Fairie, CabanaBoy, Nat, FAIL,  JRules, Hotness Macgillacutty, my Shimmy Sisters, and JP. My WestToast co-workers sent in a group shot of them doing a “Pithy pose” so they were there in spirit, some sillystring almost went up my nose, but were deflected by my boobs, so SmugMonkey was represented as well.  Schmitty and his lady joined us. Best part: both Schmitty and FAIL suited up for me! It was legendary!

The one downside to the surprise was that I had not eaten alot  in prep for dinner. So after my second margarita, I was already drunk. The 2 slices of pizza and a cupcake did nothing when chased w/ half a bottle of champage, taken straight from the bottle,  cuz I’m classy like that.

After the presents and the pre-game, we made our way to Havana Village where we met up w. MalSnay. I attempted to dance w/ my peeps, but the hastily grabbed salsa shoes were not meant to be.  In my less-than-sober state I couldn’t get them buckled properly so I was walkng around w/ shoes half off and a long dress that I was tripping on. But I did have a leopard print tiara on, so it was all good.

After a couple of mojitos, events become fuzzy. I vaguely remember going to Bourbon and meeting up w/ my lovely ladies, LiLu, Maxie, Lemmonex, Deutlich.  f.B and his lovely lady were also there, and I finally got to meet (and place my head in her boobs)  the infamous cavy. (If I left anyone out, I’m sorry and I blame the devil’s drink)

After that, it’s a blur.  Rumor has it boobs were everywhere, I was hugging people left and right and at one point I announced “For those who haven’t seen drunkPithy,  THIS is DrunkPithy!!”  I fully expect nip slips in my pics.

The last thing I really remember is  being at the Diner and staring at my Monte Cristo sandwich while weaving in my seat. I also remember really wanting to lay my head on the table, using my home fries as a pillow.  Thankfully I didn’t. At least I haven’t been told that I did.

The next day was spent alternating between Flippy’s bed and her couch, with a side of KFC and bacon and watching Role Models. Paul Rudd, I heart you. Be my sex slave?

A big thank you to all my peeps!!!!  You rock!