FREAKING HOT

Hell Yes

#$%^ this guy is HOT. I didn't even know I had a thing for Asian men. Well, i like men in general, so I guess it really doesn't matter where he is from. I am very pleased. Men, try very hard to be this handsome. AND, BUT, if you think you are even HOTTER, send me a pic. Please.

I Probably Shouldn't Admit to This...

Not only is it a long story, but unbelievably true. Here we go.

Last night, my friend natalie decided that an old mutual friend of ours needed to give her her stuff back. This is of course, with a certain determination in her voice after drinking beers and rolling off of a few hours of unsatisfying sleep. I may have meant that last part more for me, but it was twelve thirty in the morning, two and a hlf hours past my usual bed time, and i had nothing better to do than to agree with her.

"I called her," she said. She had.
"She said she'd bring me my stuff." She sure did.

But homegirl sure didnt show up and we had been waiting aorund all day for her. That's when the moment of maddness seized us both becuase she said, "wanna go with me to break into her house?"
and i said, "sure."

next thing i know we are speeding down all the dark, street light-less streets in Tallahassee with a digital camera and a giddy laugh to arm us. It was about one o'clock when we got to her house but she wasn't home and her dogs were sounding the alarm that we had arrived. After opening up the back gate, finding an open window and shimming in through it....(and landing on a few things in the kitchen), we went around and started to loot like a motherf*cker.

Laughing and stealing, stealing and laughing and taking pictures like FOOLS. About...oh, say...SIX minutes in, I decide to play the good look out and check the front window. Who should I see but the owner of the house heading up the driveway.

Natalie is raiding the fridge when this happens.

"She's home...right now...we have to leave."

I hear a skeptical voice from the darkness. "What?"

When i bolted for the backdoor, she followed fashion and like the dolts we are. tried to pull an in door OUT. Frantic struggling, harsh whispering, success, we shot out into the night like the thieves we were and turned frantic circles trying to figure out where to go.

Can't hop the neighbor's fence on the right..he's in the marines and there is a backyard party next to him. Bush and train tracks straight back, along with pure darkness, and the other neighbor is just too far away from the car.

Fudge. I'm going to go to jail, were not going to get into Medschool (be worried) and im going to get raped in jail because i'm light skinned. Oh God, both of us.

We ditch the stuff behind the deck and pretend that we JUST got to her house and all. When she swings open the backdoor and there were are, bold faced and red handed.

A few knife pulls and arguments later, we bail before the cops arrive (yes, we did remember to take the stuff in the yard).

Today, dressed as regular citizens, we changed all the locks on the doors and the security code should some hoodlums try to rob from us our things we stole in honor.

I hate a thief.

Old Faithful

'ello, kids.

I'm certain all of you invisible readers missed me desperately. Well, i went out with a friend of mine for an evening of foolishness (this friend, by the way, i mentioned before in the last blog so guess who're still friends??? YAY! US> :D)

I supported his new drinking habit so I am currently broke. By the end of the night i was hiccuping like wild bill and laughing hysterically at nothing although i didn't have a drop to drink ( i left my ID trying to flee from someone). I just can't stay up past ten pm and by then it was after midnight.

So when i got home (home, is really an airbed on the floor at a friend's house) i was laying but for a moment when my phone went off at 1245 in the monin'. It was the old boy.

hello?

boy: Hey sweetie. i know it's late.

yeah, i called you centuries ago.

boy: i just got off work. I am getting home now. What are you doing?

i just got in.

boy: you dont feel like haning out with your boy for a while, do you?

yeah but it's a hell of a drive.

boy: you don't have to leave.

Hmm. Consider this: the last line sent me spiraling into a titilating fantasy about James Franco, Johnny Dep, Will Lemay all saying this in unison and all drunk and ready to submit to my will. I am reaching for a tub of butter...

ah the point being, i havent seen the old boy for a WHILE now since we "seperated" on account of me graduating and all but circumstance has found me back in tallahassee and back in his arms laughing at "to Catch a Predator" and discussing the seriousness of it all. I decide im not gonna have any kids to avoid his debaucle. He decides to kill anyone who comes near his child. Whatever works.

Two hours later i am waking up still feeling restless at four thirty and i realise that i still have the remote clutched in my hand and i am sweaty because he is clinging to me like seran wrap and i am not flattered or feeling warm and bubbly inside. In fact i was wanting nothing more than for my air mattress and a glass of water to quench my cotton mouth due to my sudden ipen mouthed slumber.

Shit. Now he knows in the morning i look like death seized me and my subconscious won the battle, tossing me back into my frazzled body. I don't have my facewash, toothbrush, comb and brush...(despite this my body smells fabulous. uh huh). Ease out of his grasp. Make a bolt for the door. I turn slightly and feel his hand dragging down my side. I reach for my car keys

TINKLE TANK CHINK CHANKLE CLICK DING CLACK

That is them evading my fingertips and cascading onto the floor and skidding to a stop against the wall. He shuffles, rolls, takes me with him as if i am not a person at all and rather a flesh teddy bear. My arm is still lingering in the air as i turn to face him to see if he is awake and insulted. Nope. Eyes shut, vise grip, REM sleep, and luckily, breathing through his nose quietly because morning breath is NEVER cool.

I am, in fact, trapped.

Thank God my company is handsome.

Hi, my name is ____ and I’m a Jackass

Everyone: Hi, Jackass.

First off, I like to think I give the best advice because people come to me so I can punish them with my supposed wisdom. In case any of you get the notion, don’t ask me anything I actually don’t know shit. From this point onward, I will be referring to myself in the third person as “Big Mouth,” from time to time.

So Big Mouth was checking her e- mail when I noticed I got a message from my friend R’s girlfriend. It said vaguely that he did something bad and wanted advice about the situation. No sooner than I had replied with “?????” that my phone when off and it was Robert—er, R. After beating about the bush he ‘fessed up about what he did. THEN, Big Mouth mentioned the e-mail…which sent R spiraling silently down about why his girlfriend would be talking to HIS friend about THEIR situation.

I know how he feels…if you make friends with your lover’s friends’, they are NOT really YOUR friends…notice the placement of the possessive comma that I most likely used incorrectly but I don’t seem to care, do I? Look at me. Did you see care? No? Moving on.

So I went to bed thinking, “well, I can’t take her side and form a united front against penis because this penis happens to be MY friend…” and on the other hand, “I can’t pretend he wasn’t wrong and ignore her e mail, the girl came to me bleeding…” I feel asleep and slept well mainly because it wasn’t my problem anyway.

So I check my e- mail this afternoon and she mentions how he was really upset with her for going to HIS friend but I guess she gave him the subtle Fyou because she asked me again about what she should do.

And of COURSE, Big Mouth didn’t do the smart thing by saying how I wasn’t in a position to get involved because—you know. No, Big Mouth went all Dr. Phil in a thesis response about the whole situation, with possible instances where I might have put my foot in my mouth, back pedaled, raped the relationship and spat on my friendship with both of them…her by default and him for obvious reasons. Okay, so I’m exaggerating, but I sent the e- mail and now I can totally see R BOILING over the fact that I am talking to her.

Let me just say this…if anything goes wrong, I hereby solemnly swear, in a sane state of mind, that my PMS is to blame. I pretty mentally mucked up right now. And I’m so bloated I feel like a manatee. So if I said anything more stupider (I intentionally wrote that…) IN the e-mail than sending the e-mail itself….it’s because I am a manatee. I’ll let you all know if I dug a grave for myself.


SHOULD I CALL HIM AND TELL HIM WHAT I DID???? I mean, he should know how daft I am by now…right???

A Night Out

Don’t feel sorry for me, kids. Don’t. I feel sick and queasy and it’s my fault. I’m a health science major (and ill keep throwing that around for as long as I live because I deserve at least that) and I went to a bar last night with 1000 days and a mutual friend. At bars AND pubs, because we went there too, it is obvious that 1000 days is steadily creeping up on 2000 days and it isn’t a big deal because the only men in bars and pubs are 40 year old barnacles.

And I don’t use that as an insult, we live in FL (at least I do , I dunno where you are from) and everywhere by the beach has a nautical theme. Last night was a typical “no thanks, I’ll just wait until my p***y dries up,” night.

So I’m at the pub with 1000 days so I can take her drunk ass home at the end of the night, and we’ll call her V, a hot-bod firefighter who’s cock blocking because men already recognize the hot bod.

Three young women sitting at a table in a den of decaying wolves like tender lambs, eating Shepherd’s pie, hot wings, calamari and a giant salad as if there were five of us. Anyway, we dine and dash to another joint after we had had enough of the crooked smiles, the drunken stupor stares and the pass-by-your-table-a-million-times-until-you-notice-me-men. We practically flew to the parking lot to avoid catcalls. Which, by the way didn’t work.

The next place was a hole in the wall—you know the type where the bartender knows your name and his name is Red or something that makes just as less sense as Red. It was a hole in the wall but all her firefighter friends are there and that means hot buff men. Yeah, no. The hole in the wall didn’t even have a name that I could remember and it was LITERALLY a hole in the wall.
“Just go into the alley and make a left,” V says, dashing into the alley ahead of us to make a zip line to the bathroom. She had gone to the bathroom, bought a beer and nested at the bar before we even got in.
I get an apple martini so 1000 days can polish it off but I think I ended up drinking more than her…anyway I’m a beer chick when I’m in a bar. So I’m sitting there LA LA LA LA LA most of her friends are women and if I was a bull dyke or a man I’d be so on it but out of boredom I play darts with two horridly drunk individuals named RJ and Samuel. What?? I used their names?? No worries, they can’t read anyway. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like watching the drunk throw better darts than you. Their drunken slurring, random screeching of profanities and delayed reactions to things said gets dull after a while. And you wonder why you didn’t know they were drunk the first time they asked if they could play? It got so bad at one point when they weren’t looking, I ran up to the scoreboard and scribbled in a few points to hurry the game along. They didn’t notice.

What the hell did I do with my purse? Oh, there it is. Back to the blog.

After that, I sit back at the bar and notice Rod Steward eyeing me up across the way so I make it my business to suddenly immerse myself in conversation with the fray of firefighters. Our conversation was thus,
“Giggle giggle, giggle. Giggle giggle penis giggle.”
“Giggle? Giggle, giggle!”
Like a bunch of turkeys. Anyway, the cock block brigade wasn’t enough because I ended up talking with Rod and bonus nephew K-fed for the rest of the night. And he smoked his 305’s in my direction, sharing his lung cancer with me for HOURS. I think I have cancer and I’m not kidding.

He invited me to his house today, but I commend him for thinking he had a chance with me. Hope is hard to kill.

I got home and my dog runs up to me and hauls breaks when he gets a whiff of my ashtray scent. He usually does the “Crotch Check Examination” to make sure I wasn’t having sex or hanging out with another dog. (I GUESS that’s what he means when he does it. He used to dick check my boyfriend.) I took off my clothes and threw them into the garage and fell asleep hugging the window to try and purify my lungs. This morning I woke up just as bad because the smoke was in my hair. So now I have a shower cap on until I finish breakfast.

Here’s hoping 1000 days got lucky.*sniff* Oh jeez, I smell wretched. Is it in my sheets????

Publix and Stuff

What it do, children? Before I begin addressing issues, I’m going to say this only 10,000 times, so listen up; I HATE SOUTH FLORIDA DRIVERS. You guys suck, and if you aren’t a south Florida driver, or you disagree, or are offended, f*ck you, I don’t care. I think I’m entitled to using that word considering one of you southfloridians just tried to kill me on my way home from Publix. If you see me driving my out-dated car, just try and drive a little better than a trained-ape. And not well-trained, either.

Anyway. Up in Tallahassee, we at Florida State and FAMU have this joke about Publix…the one on Ocala is commonly called “Club Publix” because it might as well be a club. Girls come dressed to the nines, guys look like they’ve been ripped from the pages of GQ and I don’t know if it’s because the frat houses are across the street but whatever. The point is, you can get a date at Club Publix if you can work the eye contact. And if you’re a typical college student and you came in for some R. Noodles in your PJ’s, there’re some scrubs for you too.

But the motherfin’ diversity down where I live creates a language barrier that becomes laughable when attraction penetrates cultural difference and encourages a “holler.” I am five ten. This will become relevant later. I wanted some mediocre sushi NOW. So I went to Publix in jeans and my new “Hated it” t-shirt from In Living Color. (laugh its okay). I also put on my SWAT hat ßthis is a conversation piece. Go figure. Anyway, I wasn’t two seconds out the car when this quarter English speaking five foot nothing Publix worker says “Hey, I haven’t see you in a long while! What’s going on?” He wasn’t quite so colloquial, though I may have implied, but that was the gist of it nonetheless.

True. You hadn’t seen me in 23 years. So NEVER. And even if you knew me four years ago when I WAS living down here, you certainly weren’t working there. Anyway, I asked him a question about me that he should have known had we been acquainted (my name) and said quickly, “well, I’ll give you till I come back out from Publix to think of it.” I winked at him to seal the deal but I knew I would be avoiding him anyway.

I go INTO Publix, and some short Hispanic lady waved me over frantically and pointed to an item she wanted on the top shelf. A giant bottle of alcohol.
“Would you please?”
Sure. I got her one. Tried to leave. She touched my arm lightly. Pointed again. O-kay. Got her another. I tried to leave AGAIN. She smiled. WTF does anyone need with three XL bottles of alcohol? I want to come to the party! *Shrugs

At the checkout counter, the girl thinks I am on the SWAT team. I put her on. There are no tens in her register. I haven’t had a ten in weeks.

I take the long way to the car to escape another “I don’t know what to say to you to get you to talk to me so I’m just going to act like I already know you” man. When I get home and check -my e- mail, I have a message from a guy who was totally in love with me (supposedly) and when I wasn’t digging him, he pretended to be my friend until he hooked up with a mutual friend of ours and never had time for me. Okay, fine. One less birthday to remember. But does he write to say, sorry he’s been neglectful, or how are you? Yes, of course. But in the same breath (sentence in this case) he tells me about how he broke up with the girl and he’s sad and stuff. Awwww.

Yes, I DO know he’s only coming back with his tail between his legs because he got dumped. Will I take him back? Hell yes. Every woman should have a man that is willing to treat you like his girlfriend even if you aren’t putting out a damn thing. Not even a handshake.


Submit to my will,

-T.

The Asian Guy

As I went looking for furniture in the rain looking like a wet, beaten and abandoned dog, the place i got the furniture from had the HOTTEST jade emperor I've ever seen in person. Yeah, The Oriental guy, Hai, or whatever his name is-good golly miss molly. I envisioned us skipping hand and hand through a field of flowers in the setting sun before he even said hello, and before he smiled we were laughing gaily in a convertible ragtop camero, driving through the golden gate, and before we spoke i was eating Chinese food with his disapproving parents in their house in California. Of course, i looked like hammered shit, mixed with lack of sleep and temperature frizzed hair i could barely communicate with him to express what i needed (from him or otherwise) and answer his questions. I liked to imagined his

"please, call me anytime you want" was saturated with the sweet smell of hidden agenda, but I'm sure he was talking about delivering the furniture. I also want to think his delivering the furniture for free was because he was trying to butter me up, and that it had nothing to do with my father's playful banter, which hid his own "you'd better give us a student discount rate or I'll kick your ass from here to hong kong" agenda.

"is there another number i can reach you with?" he asked me. I pretended a wink and a brilliant cheese followed.

"Yep." i replied. He sat silently waiting for me to give it to me, his lovely muscles jutting out from his polo shirt, his clean fingers posing the black pen above the information sheet. He looked at me lovingly. I mean, patiently. I spat out the number and gave a double meaning to his "i look forward to hearing from you again" and "please don't forget to call" and "call me anytime you need me."
you laugh now, but the next time he sees me he'll be overwhelmed with how flirtatious i can be and blown away when i personally return to give him his "tip" looking my best. He'll be making me stir fry dinners before he knows whats happening, enslaved or not.