Until We Meet Again

Hi.

So, I'll be back sometime around the 21st or 22nd, depending. Awesome. We'll all catch up then!

Somebody very sweet and very special suggested that I pack more camera batteries than blush, so that's what I'm going to do.

In the meantime, this is my new "About Me" on Facebook.

"You know, how, when you were little, you would put fireflies in a can but cut holes on the top? And then the fireflies would die after you'd left them in there to create your weird little lantern. And somehow, you felt like that was more humane, because you let them breathe while they were starving to death in the jar? I'm not like that. I'm either going to suffocate you quickly or let you back out of the jar." It was a weird week this week, pre-leaving. Like, everybody I ever dated re-appeared, some wanted, some not. It's a strange headspace to leave in. That's right - next ask me about my "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" fantasy.

 

Monday! Five! Disorganized!

1. I am not a cliche...sort of. Somebody thought that she was really funny when she sent me this after I said that my psychic said that my jam for 2008 was "Unwritten." Right to hell with you, hooker. I mean that last sentence in an affectionate, "anything is possible" way.

2. I HAD been looking forward to a week of unemployment. How is it that my "to do" list is twice as long for this week? I know, I know. I'm getting PPG ready to leave in ToniK's capable hands for a month, I'm starting a consulting firm, I'm NOT IN ANYWAY READY to leave for Mongolia. Have I told you that I haven't even booked a flight home from Pennsylvania yet? My head hurts. It's 11am on a Sunday, and my head hurts already. And I probably have two full days of laundry to do. I should start that this evening.

3. FERRIS IN DA HOUSE. So, Ferris gets here Thursday for Pretty Kim's wedding. At noon. I want to say I'm going to drop him and his ladeeefriend on the Strip and come home and pack. I'm not sure if this is reality or not. But I know this ... when Ferris and I and the three fat cats are in Vegas together, we PAR-TAY.

4. A list of things that made me cry this week: Yeah, who knows. I was in crying mode this week.
- Mark and Chelsea on "So You Think You Can Dance"
- Katee & Joshua on "So You Think You Can Dance"
- The episode of "Sex and the City" where Steve and Miranda break up
- Last night's middle of the night phone message that I just can't return (sorry). You know, sometimes the people who make you feel the best are really the worst for you, and I hate that.
- The car ride home from pottery when I started thinking about how I won't be in Vegas at this time next year, and this time of year is my favorite time in Vegas
- The fact that I have to wait until September to see Erin
- About 50 different incidents at work. Which is over Monday, so yeah!
- The thought of two to three days worth of laundry.

Yes, I was having my pms week. But still...

5. But speaking of the above ... The worst thing is when one of those people who makes you feel really good but is ultimately not really good for you is one of those people you have some kind of crazy universal connection with. That's the worst, because then even though you know you need to separate out and you're doing all the right things like the no-contact rule and dating a lot so that you don't think about him and stuff like that, the universe is looking for any excuse to put you together. Like last night, you know? I got a text message in the middle of the night, and I was all thinking "I really kind of wish, even though I know it's not what I want, but if I'm being honest I wish that that were him" and then 45 minutes later he called. When that happens, it's really hard to look at your caller ID and be like "I cannot answer that no matter how much I may want to." It's never good to be at odds with what the universe wants. I'm not saying, I'm just saying. It makes it harder to do already very hard things.

 

Definition: "Amazing Time"

I really want to write about the Tater Tot and Dee's birthday, but I'm just brain dead after day three of five of straight on training my replacement. You can see Tater pictures here though, and pictures from Dee's birthday here.

I feel good. I'm clearly in what one would call "amazing time."

Amazing time is when you have a fantastic night out with your Asian Party Posse, then a fantastic weekend in beautiful summertime Denver with K-Yo, the Tater and Princess Dee and her fruity shot birthday. Then you come home, and you have a week that is so busy (cause you know I'm basically working three jobs right now) that your eyes bulge out, but you know that on Friday you will have dinner with two of your favorite people and that the weekend will be relaxing. And that on Monday you will start an entirely new chapter.

And in that new chapter, the prologue involves you sitting by the pool for four days, and then going to a 4th of July bbq followed by a wedding in the Pimp Suite at The Palms. Then you start the first chapter, which takes place in Mongolia with two of your most favorite boys. And then from there ... I haven't figured out the plot. Or even the character list.

I always have my cards read for my birthday. This year, my psychic said, "You know what your song is for this year? It's that Natasha Beddingfield song, 'The Rest is Still Unwritten.'" And that's what it is. After that prologue and that first chapter, I have no idea. And it may be stressful. And it may be in Canada. And it may not. And I may be poor for a while. Or I may not. But I know it will be different than what it was, and that's the most important thing. That's the "amazing time."

I'm excited. I mean, really excited.

 

"Do You Have Anything ... Thinner?"

Firstly, do you know what I love about this blog right now? The complete contrast between good and evil. "Hey, I hiked God's mountain, but I did it while swearing up a storm." "Hey! I went to see the innocence of a newborn, but first I had a really dirty one-night-stand."

Secondly, I would love to tell EVERY portion of Friday night, but I am going to have to limit it to just three snippets because the rest would be TMI even by my standards and will be reserved only for an email to my closest friends. I will tell you that Friday night resulted in my sending this text to Shim Shimmy on Saturday morning:

"Nothing says taking it to a new low like getting off a plane to meet a newborn for the first time while wearing a shirt you had to steal from your Vegas one-night-stand because you couldn't find your clothes by the light of your cell phone in the morning."

Thirdly, if you read this and think that I have behaved badly, well, a)you clearly don't know me and b)just take faith in the fact that God has punished me. I was such a wreck getting from one night stand to the airport on Saturday AM that I forgot to turn my car lights off. My battery died, and jumping the battery blew out the fuse for my power steering, resulting in hundreds of dollars of car repair. See? Sex really is the devil's work and God will always remind you.

That said, here is the Reader's Digest version of Friday night, in three short chapters.

Chapter One: You Never Know Who the "Nice" Boy Is
So, my Asian Party Posse was in town on Friday night. Yeah. This is how we roll in Blush at the Wynn. And also, you can see all of the pictures here.




So, there's some set up here. We walk in, and there's a table full of guys with bottle service, and I immediately think that the one is hot. Like, so hot. Shim Shimmy disagrees and wants to give him a haircut. I like it messy, though. But I am not feeling the game. I'm really not. I think I just hadn't been out in too long. Because by today, having been back in the game, I am, for sure, feeling the game. But whatever. Because I am not feeling the game at that time, I avoid the boy I think is so hot and hang out with my girlies and also this boy we meet upon entering the club named ... Slick.

Slick seems like everything a girl should want. I cannot deny that he was freaking adorably attractive. He's in town for a debate tournament, so he's smart and just a little bit dorky. He installs high end home theaters. He's from LA, which is almost like being local! He can carry on a funny conversation. AND I COULD NOT CARE LESS. I really couldn't feel it. And I think it was because he seemed too nice.

Wanna know what we learned later?

Slick had done porn in Korea.

Wanna know what happened as soon as I found that out?

I was a lot more interested.

However, it was too late by that point, because cute and messy boy had made his move and I was defenseless. Well, that's not true. I was so not feeling the game that I actually physically tried to hide behind Shim Shimmy when we saw him get up to make his move. Right? I know. Something's been off with me since that whole "Nice to have met you" thing in Madrid. But don't you worry! I think we righted the ship.

Anyway, my point is, that's screwed up, right? That quasi-perfect boy couldn't hold my attention until I found out he'd done Asian porn? I HAVE TO GET OUT OF VEGAS.

Chapter Two: Do You Have Anything Thinner?
If you have an IQ above 2, then you have figured out by now that at the end of the evening, or the beginning of the morning (either works), I decided to go back to the Hard Rock with this boy to do inappropriate things. On our way to the room, we do what romantic couples in Vegas have been doing for decades. We stop at the apothecary in the Hard Rock lobby to buy Gatorade and condoms.

You really have to feel something for the girl who works at the apothecary in the Hard Rock. She probably sells a hundred combo packs of Gatorade and condoms a night to drunken, horny fools wondering through there who later may or may not remember their room number. And in that process, there are probably two questions that she has been asked so many times that the mere sound of them will want to make her spontaneously combust in anger. The first, of course, would be "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?" Fortunately, we were not the people who asked that question, because based on her response to the question we did ask, she may just have come over the counter at us with a baseball bat if we'd asked "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?"

What we did ask, though, was what I am sure the second most popular question that gets laid on her when she hands over a pack of condoms is. "Do you have anything thinner?" Yes. Yes he did ask that. And before I could even roll my eyes, the apothecary girl looks at me. And her look speaks volumes, and those volumes read "I hate men and their infinite stupidity."

And then she looks at him. And I fear for him, literally. And she picks the condoms back up off the counter, and the she slams them back down in front of him again, and she says:

"Listen, I sell a lot of these and I know what I'm talking about. YOU WILL NOT FIND ANYTHING THINNER THAN THIS."

Then, literally, she slams them down AGAIN (for emphasis, I suppose), and rings up our Gatorade and condoms. We just stood there, staring. At her, at each other, at the condoms on the counter. It was like she had told us how it was, and now we understood. And again, I am just thankful that he didn't ask if she had anything bigger, because, you know, what would THAT scene have looked like?

Chapter Three: This is My Life Lesson to You - How to Avoid the Walk of Shame
Okay, listen, there is no real way to avoid the walk of shame. There are going to be times in your life when you straight have to roll out of a casino at 5:00am to get to the airport and you're going to be wearing some slutty heels, some tiny black party shorts, a shirt that was obviously stolen from the boy you hooked up with because you couldn't find your own clothes in the morning and later realized that that was probably because he was sleeping on top of them and a big old mascara stain underneath your right eye.

Or, maybe you'll never have to do that, but I'd argue that you may be missing out if you don't experience that at least once. Sure, you don't have to have done it so many times that you have a life lesson to share on it, like I do, but once is good.

Anyway, in that situation, you cannot avoid the walk of shame out of the casino, but you can MAKE IT YOUR OWN. Don't avoid the eye contact of the people playing blackjack at 5am as you walk out. You know who those people are? The people who didn't get laid the night before. You have WON in this circumstance, and don't let them make you feel any differently just because they're down $500 and you may or may not have an std and be missing your panties. You win here. It's not even a debate. Potential STD and missing panties trumps lost gambling cash and drunken red-eye any time.

Then, you own it as you walk out to the taxi line. I mean, maybe you're lucky and you have a vehicle with you, but chances are, you're going to have to face the taxi line attendant in the bright light of morning. In the shirt that is obviously not the shirt you wore out with your sexy heels and tiny black party shorts the night before. You know what you do in that situation? You look the taxi line attendant dead in the face and say, "This is a nice shirt, isn't it?" He'll say some variation of yes, and then you say, "Yeah. New rule. If you're too drunk and tired to get up and help me find my clothes in the morning, then I take yours." And suddenly, with that one sentence, you will go from being just another tramped out girl trying to get out of sight before her one night stand wakes up to THE COOLEST GIRL EVER TRYING TO GET OUT OF SIGHT BEFORE HER ONE NIGHT STAND WAKES UP.

That's my lesson. Take it. Use it. I promise you it is better than trying to hide behind bangs of shame on your way out in the morning. Own it, ladies, own it.

Tomorrow we'll talk about cuteness and babies!

 

Would You Believe? A Friday Fiver

1. Would you believe that ... I am ending the week with my to do list entirely done, except for the item that I need to call Shadalan because she and I seem to play endless phone tag. Endless. I don't know how this happened, because please believe that having a job and running a second business and starting another business and getting ready for a weekend in Denver and then a wedding and then three weeks on the Asian subcontinent is extensive, especially when you were on a mountain with no phone or internet for the previous week. I'm pretty happy.

2. Would you believe that ... this is the actual image from an ad running on Facebook:



And the text that accompanies this ad is "This is pretty gross, huh?". And it's for weight loss. Now, I don't necessarily think that being on the non-anorexic side of things is gross, though I do think that being a size ten and dressing like you're a size four is gross. You wouldn't see me trying to squeeze into a size zero because that size would be too small for my body and I would look fat and messy. But, you know, I can't decide if I find the ad offensive or not, honestly? I mean, I do not think that we need to be dogging on the overweight folks who, in actuality aren't overweight. However, I think we also go too far with the "love your body no matter what" mentality, and the truth is that most people are going to look at some nasty, white trash muffin top and think that it's gross. I might actually applaud the ad for it's honesty. I don't know. What I do know is that that may be one of the most brilliant ads ever because you can't not look at it. It's totally shocking, and I bet it shocks some people into purchasing, which is unfortunate because ...

The other thing I know is that putting a pink patch on your arm with some herbal supplements in it will not cause you to gain weight.

3. Would you believe that ... I'm going to Mongolia in about two weeks? I remember being in high school and dreaming that some day I'd see the world, and now we're riding horses across the desert in Mongolia for two weeks. Crazy, right? I am excited beyond belief. I need an extra camera battery. I need to find a cat sitter. I need to book a flight back from Pennsylvania for after. I need ... to relax about it and let it run its course.

4. Would you believe that ... that there is a bar in San Francisco called "Would You Believe." It's in Chinatown 3 and specializes in mixing Kaluha with ANYTHING. It is the Asian gangster dive bar of all Asian gangster dive bars. The night that shamus and Slappy and I were in there there were actually police trying to track down a gang leader, and only one person other than us who was white. And it is one of my most favorite places on the entire earth.

5. Would you believe that ... the rest of that Kid Rock album is actually pretty good? "How to seek salvation when our nations race relations have me feeling guilty about being white?" That's a pretty good lyric. "Rock and Roll Jesus" is a good song for what it's supposed to be doing. Yeah, I'm going to say it. I liked the album, just hated the single.

Happy weekend.

 

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. FUUUUCK. WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT FUCKING LAKE?"

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I heard from behind me all the way across the one and a half mile marsh that turned into a three mile marsh that we hiked in the cold and the wet at 11pm, by moonlight. Did I mention cold and wet?

Yes, it was the annual summit trip, that turned into the annual hiking trip because nobody was able to summit. Before I even tell the stories, you may be asking why nobody was able to summit.

Well, there's an argument that we were wrong that this could be done in two days and that all along it should have been a three day trip (up to camp, summit and back to camp, off the mountain). I think that I think that it would have been possible to do it in two if you got an early start on the first day, though that climb down off the mountain on day two would SUCK. Either way, we ran out of time to try for the summit. Why did we run out of time?

Well, firstly, there were flight issues. Not for me, but I drove. I pulled into the hotel parking lot at 9:30pm. At that exact moment, my cell phone rings and it's PBM. We start talking, when it dawns on me. "Hey," I say, aren't you supposed to be in the air?" PBM is delayed in Denver. He should be in around 1:00am. Then I check my email. Frank is delayed in Chicago. He should be in around 1:00am.

PBM calls around 11:30pm again. I answer the phone, "Shouldn't you be in the air?" PBM's flight from Denver is canceled. He can't get to Salt Lake City to meet us until 8:30am the next morning, and that's going to be with little to no sleep. Awesome.

So, Frank gets to the hotel around 2:30am. PBM gets to the hotel around 9:00am the next day. We let PBM sleep for a couple of hours, and then there are still all the logistics of going to Wal-Mart for last minute supplies, driving to the mountain itself (several hours), stopping to see a moose (see below) and putting packs together.



So we don't actually hit the trail until ... wait for it ... 4:00pm in the afternoon.

I mean, we should have known.

The first day is an 8 or so mile hike to a lake. A lake where we will camp and then in the morning will pick up the trail to the summit. The idea, per usual, is to head for the summit around 2:00am, be back off the mountain (realistically) by one or two in the afternoon, and then off the mountain by early evening.

It almost looks possible. We're moving slow on the first stretch of the hike, but not super slow. There aren't thousands and thousand of breaks. But we started late, which means were hiking late. Like hiking as evening sets in, ie: it gets dark. So, we cross over this mythical footbridge, from which point it's supposed to be two miles to the mythical lake. The first thing that happens is that suddenly there's a lot more snow. We lose the trail. Okay, in fairness, Frank does not lose the trail, he stealthily guides us through. But if it had just been PBM and I, we would have been lost. So, the trail goes up an elevation gain, and then you come out onto a meadow that stretches for about a mile and a half. And on the other side of the meadow is the lake.

I should self-correct here. In the morning, when it is light but all of the snow has refrozen in the cold, cold night, it is a meadow. It's about a mile and a half across and you can walk it in 45 minutes and on the other side, to the left of the tree line is a lovely lake, and just beyond that lake is the summit climb.

This, however, is not what this is like at 11pm. I should note, that though it was cold, it would have been pleasant to hike across that meadow at 11pm if it were *dry*. The moon was up and almost full and bright and bouncing off the mountains and snow. The walk is flat. And yes, it was cold, but I was never too cold when we were moving and before my feet got wet. Oh, but my feet got wet because...

At 11pm when the sun has gone down but the snow has been melting all day, this walk was not so much a meadow as it was a marsh. And we had to march across the marsh. There was water everywhere. Big expanses of cold, muddy, water. In the freezing cold, so you wanted to avoid them. To avoid them, you had to keep crossing back and forth over stones and jumping over huge puddles. This meandering path turned a 1.5 mile walk into something much closer to two or three miles. Then there are the brambles. Since the path itself is now flooded with run off, you are walking on what would be the land surrounding the path, and that land is full of brambles.

It is cold. It is wet. You get wet which then makes you cold even if you are moving. You get muddy because, oh yes, it is very muddy. You get hit with brambles. You are tired because it is 11pm and you have been hiking for seven hours and you just want to get to camp and warm up and eat something. But you have no idea how much longer it's going to take you to get to the tree line on the other side of the meadow/marsh, and you're not even sure how much further the lake is from there. But you know that, if you turn around, you're hiking back for over an hour or so to the last campable ground you saw AND you're further away from the mountain, so you're not doing that.

I miss a rock and land in the water up to my calf, and my left foot slips in, too. So now I am hiking for however long we have to hike with wet pants, wet boots and wet socks. I lose a snow show in the brambles and don't even care because the idea of backtracking is so horrid (we found it on the way out the next day). I start to cry, OUT LOUD, and don't even care that the boys are hearing it. PBM steps in mud about a thousand times over, and that's when I start hearing the title of this blog entry from behind me over and over again.

We finally get to the other side and ...

... wait for it ...

we completely lose the trail. Can't find it. In the morning, we would realize that not only could we not find it, we were not even close to it. We were, quite literally, lost in a forest.

We give up, and pitch camp, not even bothering to get out the tents, even though they would have held body heat in for us. And it is cold. And at least two of us have gotten wet. Frank, apparently, walks with the hand of God guiding him around puddles.

In the morning, we finally find the trail, which isn't all that near to us, and the lake, but by that time, it's too late to make for the summit unless we don't want to be off the mountain until six the next morning, and that seems unsafe even beyond unsafe. So we agree to try for the summit another time, and head back down the mountain. Which is a bummer, but it's not like I personally didn't get my dose of "hard." And I got to spend time with Frank and PBM. And maybe next year I'll have a story for you where we actually make the summit, but not this year. This year, I have a story for you about PBM walking behind Frank and me through a marsh in the middle of the night and cursing to the high heavens.



That is all. It was an awesome weekend, even with the fubar parts.

See all the pictures here.

 

Upcoming: A warning of picture explosions

I'm very excited about the next couple of weeks.

Getting Rugged. Friday, I'm leaving Las Vegas for the weekend to go summit King's Point in Utah with my lovely, lovely Hoosier boys. There's still four inches of snow on that mountain, so this summit involves snow shoeing and crampons and sleeping in the cold. I'm stoked. There will be pictures.

Play Date! Next Friday, Shim Shim, Ang and LinLa are coming to town for a play date (among other things). It's been too long since there was Asian posse night loose in Vegas. There will be pictures.

Meet the Tater Tot! The Saturday AM after play date, I'm heading to Denver to meet the Tater Tot. I have bought her the cutest things ever for a baby girl. I'm so excited to see her tiny little face. There will be pictures.

Princess D's Birthday! And then conveniently Princess D and Big E are having their birthday parties in Denver that same Saturday, so we can go from wholesome to ... not. There will be pictures.

And then it's one quiet weekend, followed by Pretty Kim's wedding in the pimp suite at the Palms and then, the next day, Mongolia. Followed by a full summer week in Pennsylvania.

And on top of all that I'm starting a business and interviewing for a job that I may actually want even though I said I was going to take some time off. I'm busy. And really, really happy.

 

Efficiency Expertness 101

My life is about efficiency. I make lists of lists that I need to make. Check marks are my friends. I time how long it takes me to do laundry. I use Excel, Outlook, Project AND a running set of notes both in Word and in a paper notebook to organize myself. Perhaps you have seen the holiday letter and gift spreadsheet. Or for that matter the former lover ranking spreadsheet. You know it.

But this week, I even exceeded my own expectations about making my life more efficient. Here are two pictures of the nightstand in my bedroom.




It has all your standards. Candle, light, water glass, lip balm, lotion, linen spray, birth control pills, nail polish ... bottle of wine!

Yes. This week I was at the grocery store, buying my standard low-end bottle of drinking while making dinner and before bed wine, and it dawned on me ... every night before bed I clean up, and then I walk into my bedroom, get my wine glass, walk back to the kitchen, pour wine and then walk back to the bedroom.

How much more efficient is my life if, instead of that, I just buy a second bottle of wine and leave it on my nightstand? Then, that entire kitchen scenario goes bye bye. And that kitchen routine? That's four minutes of my life that I now have back every evening!

And those are four minutes where I can now use the items in the bottom drawer of that nightstand! BAM! I just wrote that entire entry to get to the punchline!

 

Dear Jan, New Rule: NO MORE BLOW

This is my girl Emma.



Emma and I have been tight since she was in high school, and last weekend was her 25th birthday which, yes, made me feel incredibly old. But I'm feeling old lately anyway. For Emma's 25th birthday, and and her friends came to Vegas, and if you want to see all of the pictures, just click here. It was a fun night. There was some crazy running around, and finally we ended up in Rum Jungle (don't ask).

Emma made friends with a grandpa who was tearing up the dance floor.



Emma put on a little show.



Toni & Steph were ... classy.



And then there was Jan.

Let's not, to begin with, talk about how we know Jan. It's embarassing. But here's how the story goes. So, Emma and I head out of the club to smoke. Rum Jungle is located in such a way that it's also right next to the doors that lead out of the Mandalay Bay, so you can see the taxi area. We look out of the doors, and there is Jan, seemingly drunk beyond all human control, to the point where security has been called and are trying to manage him in.

Emma and I sigh.

Emma and I head outside.

Emma and I sit down on a bench and Emma hollers, "Jan, over here."

Jan stumbles over to us and immediately plants his six foot four Nordic (he's Swedish, hence the name) frame on my lap. I'm like, "Excellent. Comfortable. "

Security comes over to ask Emma and I if we want them to remove Jan. Emma's like "No, we're straight." Emma, of course, does not have a six foot four Swedish dude on her lap.

And then Emma turns to say something to Jan, and then she immediately starts tugging on my arm until I turn to her, and then she says:

"LOOK HOW MUCH POWDER IS UP HIS NOSE!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Dude, not just up his nose, really all over his face. It must have been the line to end all lines. It's like it's Halloween and he's going as a druggie ghost.

Then, valet pulls up with Jan's car. WTF? Who gives somebody who's so intoxicated that you had to call security on them a car to drive, even in Vegas? Emma is not having this. "Oh HELL no," she tells valet, "You straight can't give him a CAR. What are you THINKING? You put him in a cab."

Like, the 25-year-old party girl should not have to be telling this to the Mandalay Bay valets, seriously.

So they get him a cab. Jan offers me money for sex, because that's what he does. I consider it for a moment because there are these hot Jimmy Choos I want, but there was no way that wasn't going to be a mess (you can decide for yourself how much of that last train of thought was true). I kiss Jan on the cheek to say goodbye and it's like licking a table that people just did blow off of for an entire night. Emma walks over the cab.

"I'm sorry about your passenger. He stays at the MGM. I'm really sorry about your passenger."

And the look that the cab driver gives her is so "Oh Jesus. Another? I wish I were a cab driver anywhere except Vegas."

Except that given how Jan was throwing money around (literally), that cab driver probably made out.

And Emma and I? We go back inside to get our dance on. Because, sadly, Jan is a normalcy in the Rum Jungle.

 

Fun With Text Messaging Chapter 445: "At the Titty Bar"

I have an update tomorrow, too! Holla! And it's about partying! Holla!

But anyway, on Friday, I was hanging out in the yuppie hell known as The Yard House. Argh. Shoot me now. Everybody had on khakis and wanted to get laid. K-Roc and I wanted to watch the Celtics and Pistons and drink some beer after a failed attempt to see Sex and the City. It was so freakin' yuppified in there that the guy behind us sniffed his beer and actually said, "That smells DELISH!" Kill me now.

Anyway, the Celtics eliminated the Detroit Pistons from the NBA playoffs, if you care about the NBA, which puts you in the minority.

I have this friend who is actually named Johnny Detroit, cause he's, you know, from Detroit. He's pretty much straight white gangster. In the way that some gangsters are wired up but live in a nice suburban house. YES. I mean EXACTLY like Tony Soprano. EXACTLY. But hot. JD is hot.

So I send the following text to Johnny Detroit:
"Fuck the Pistons. Love, Jocelyn & Kari"

To which he responds:
"I agree. I bet Boston. At titty bar."

Yep. That's the text.

Where to start? Why did JD feel that I may need to know he was at the "titty bar?" Was it because he wanted to put the final male stamp on the fact that he'd ALREADY BET HIS SHIT STRAIGHT BECAUSE HE KNOWS SPORTS? Or was it because he had forgotten that I was female and not in Detroit and that perhaps I should come and join him at the "titty bar?" Or was it because he feared that I was confused and had thought for even a minute that at midnight on a Friday JD would be anywhere OTHER than the "titty bar" (I had not thought that). Or was he just drunk?

Either way, it makes me want to text him more, just to keep track of how often he's:
In titty bar