Who Needs a Calendar?

I always know it's a national holiday when my morning poop smells like smoke. Ya know, from all the barbeque.

Happy Memorial Day, fellow patriots!

The Mystery Deepens

Found a wad of singles at the bottom of my purse. Mentally checked that none of my holes hurt. High-fived self for somehow making money on a night out. Without, you know, earning it.

Seriously, How??

Ouch. I just woke up on the couch with a Playboy and a card from Next modeling agency. I remember going to a gay & lesbian journalist mixer (don't judge, they're fun)... but how the fuck did I get home last (to)night? I also have a card from The New York Post. Oops.

Could I Fit a Backscratcher Down My Throat?

I'm not sure whether it's a cold or allergies, but my throat has been an itchy, tickly mess the whole week. The only thing that made it feel better was sneezing. So of course I tried to induce sneezing by sniffing in & out quickly until I realized that I was getting light headed and probably didn't want to be found passed out, face down on my keyboard. Also, the mail guys refused to deliver packages to me after they saw me doing this. Also, after a few sneezes my left eye wouldn't stop watering. My right eye stayed perfectly normal, which felt weird under the circumstances. Then I tried to scratch my throat with my throat, if that makes sense. It made a low rumbly sound like a hairball was on its way up. Again, the mail guys refused to deliver my mail, but it worked a little bit & it didn't make left eye (my actual eye, not the deceased singer) water.

After our office sounded like The Grudge for a while, my friend Gayle made me take a lozenge and it worked wonderfully. Oh yeah. I never think of the simple solution.

Blerg

Why do they play diet commercials late at night? Don't they know I'm trying to eat??

Love Is...

Getting to yell "Babe! Fabreze my armpits now!!"

Wow

Thank you Maritza, for finding the site that totally captures what China Club night was like for us!!

As a bonus, I got to make fun of J by emailing:
you WISH you looked like this but you really look like this (guy on left)!

Blerg

I was tricked into going to (gag) China Club. Tricked!! J and I were invited to a party at some new club called Opera. Turns out it is where China Club used to be AND they didn't bother renovating anything. (shudder) Never known the horror of China Club? You're lucky. Read on & laugh at our pain.

We arrive, tell the doorman that we're on the list for a party & get sent to the back of the line. Meanwhile they're letting people in who aren't on a list. What? Can I change my answer please? We wait on line amidst girls dressed like hookers (seriously, fishnet trouser socks that end halfway up your calf, paired with a skirt that ends halfway up your butt? seriously??) who push their way ahead of me. I don't fight them because their 5-inch acrylic nails could really hurt me.

Finally, we reach the front of the line with a K-Fed look-alike manning the magical back-of-the-line list. I get in & 10 people scream "get inside! get inside!!" like they're motherfucking Secret Service spotting a sniper or some shit. Fuck! I go inside. J's not behind me. I pop back outside. I get screamed at again. Fuck! They're not letting J in even though I keep yelling "Fuck you, motherfucking K-Fed! Let my goddamn boyfriend in the fucking door because we don't really want to be here & contribute anything to this ridiculous place, but we're obligated. So just let us get it over with. Goddammn!" but the guy must have a K-Fed brain too, because he just blinked & didn't react. After a few more minutes, K-Fed lets J in. What the hell was he waiting for? Maybe his brain finally mustered enough energy for another thought. I should have taken my shoe off and clocked him in the head. Might've jumpstarted something. Then poor J had to pay a $20 cover.

Well, gee once we're inside it should be fine, right? Wrong. Because call us crazy, we'd like to be served an alcoholic beverage in this god forsaken place. We crawl over the aforementioned hookers and order something strong enough to numb our misery. Strangely, it tasted like the bartender pre-placed roofies into our drinks. Perhaps roofie colada is the preferred order for all the guido types with shiny shirts, shinier waxed chests and hair spiked within an inch of its life. Not that they need roofies to take the hooker-girls home. And seriously, even if they were real hookers, they couldn't possibly cost more than the $16 drinks. That's right, I'm calling the girls cheap and the drinks expensive, multi-tasking! While J & I sip our scotches, the bartender sheepishly informs us that she can't start a tab with a credit card because she might lose it. I'm not sure whether she meant the card or her sanity, but we did not stick around to find out.

After a while, I made my way to the ladies room where 3 out of the 4 stalls were stopped up & full (full!!). I had to wait a minute for the one "good" stall because the attendant was sweeping a pile of trash out of it. The pile of trash included several wrappers for sanitary napkins. Luckily, only the wrappers. Of course, you realize I'm using the word "luckily" pretty loosely at this point. I'm also using the word "good" very loosely when referring to the working stall, as the toilet seat was only attached by one precarious screw and you had to try hard to not fall into your own pee as you sat there, trying to hold the door closed because surprise! the door doesn't lock.

(deep breath)

Don't fucking go to Opera. If I can save one person from being tricked into going there, I may avoid going to hell. And now that I have experienced what hell would feel like, I really really (oh god please) really want to avoid the fuck out of that!