booze, beads, and a broken toe... SPRING BREAK 2011

Throughout college I always heard of friends who went on various spring break adventures from coastline to coastline, but I never actually went on a spring break of my own.  Regardless of the reasons, my friend Elle convinced me to take the spring break I never had.  Destination--Key West, FL.  So a few weeks ago we packed up, filled a cooler with an assortment of deli meats, danish, and junk food, made sure we had an endless supply of 5-Hour Energy drinks, and set off on our road trip down the east coast.  We drove from MA to NJ and spent the night at her aunt's house, then from NJ to Ft. Lauderdale, FL, and met up with my other friend at 3am in the sketchiest Days Inn I've ever experienced, and then from Ft. Lauderdale to Key West.  The drive seemed to fly by as I kept myself busy "checking in"on Facebook every time we entered a new state, and towards the end, a new key.

The island was gorgeous!  I kept wanting to tuck-and-roll out of the CRV because we were surrounded by beautiful turquoise water and an excess of sunshine.  We went to Key West because there was a band down there that we knew and we were pumped to see them; but after we couldn't get through to them right away when we got there, we decided to check in early.  No sooner did we unpack the car, when we were changed into bathing suits and making drinks.  Then we decided it'd be a brilliant idea to rent bikes for the week to get around the island...   word of advice: rent the mopeds, not the bikes.  We were trying to be safe thinking that if we drank, we wouldn't be able to drive the mopeds.  But our bruised asses beg to differ.  Regardless, we rode around the maze of streets trying to find Duval St. where we'd be seeing the band, and people down there are really friendly, willing to help...

Me: (bike stopped at the corner of somewhere and somewhere) "Where the hell is Duval?!  It's 1 o'clock and I'm not drinking yet!!!"

Bystander: "You girls need some help?"

Me: "Yes!  Point me to the bars!!"

Elle: "...We're looking for Duval..."

Bystander 2: "Just go all the way down here, take a right, and you'll see it!"

Me: "Yayyyy booze!!  Thank you!!!"  

Still, took us an additional 20 minutes to find the place, but eventually we made our way to Cowboy Bill's, where we quenched our thirst and then some.  This is where we found ourselves most days & nights, as we made friends with several bartenders on a first-name basis.  This benefited us greatly, as I was able to request whatever concoction I wanted.  Gin, Tequila, Rum, Vodka, strawberry & pineapple all in one?  No problem.  Have 5.  

St. Patty's Day?  Have as much green beer as you want.

Each day was more or less like this:

Scuba divers.  In our pool.
In case you didn't believe me.

• Wake up, put bathing suit on, go out to pool, lay in sun for an hour.  (except for one time when there was a group of scuba divers in our pool...I was a little awked out by that)
• Change, get lunch, head down to Duval, drink heavily.
• Wander Duval, angrily wondering why everyone has mardi gras beads, or St. Patty's Day beads, but you.  (seriously, a billion t-shirt shops but not one place that sold beads! I NEEDED BEADS!)
• Dinner, shower, channel your inner Snooki or J-Woww, and head out to Cowboy Bill's for dancing, more booze, and the occasional "sexy mechanical bull ride competition" (absolutely under no circumstances did any of us participate!! C'mon, we have to have some class.  Still, it was entertaining to watch skanks & ho's fall on their faces topless!)
• Avoid chickens and roosters wherever we wandered.  They're as common down there as squirrels and chipmunks are up here.

If I had to pick one night to describe in detail though, it'd have to be the last night we were there, which is what the title of this post was named after.  =)

On this particular morning, we all got up with the intention of going to the beach, but my friend Heather and I were the only ones that eventually made it over.  While Elle was out doing her thing, we got some sun, and then decided to have lunch at Margaritaville.  I learned in the last few days that if I started drinking early in the day and stopped, I always got tired, and it took much, much more alcohol to even feel anything later on in the night.  So when I started sipping my green margaritas over lunch, I made the decision that I wasn't going to stop, plain and simple.  

After a couple margaritas and a sandwich later, we headed over to meet up with Elle at Cowboy Bill's.  I was very excited to see Elle, who immediately accused me of "already being drunk."  Too bad Sally, one of our bartenders we made friends with, blew Elle's cover by letting us know she had already fed Elle like 5 drinks or so.  Don't you love silly drunk friends who project their inebriation onto others?  Anyway, I ordered my toxic drink mixture and we sat in as the band we went to see played their acoustic set before their show that night.  

Fast forward many drinks and a few hours later...we're back at the hotel where Heather and I are to shower and get ready, and Elle & the guitarist of the band were going out for dinner.  They peace out, and I decide it's the best idea in the world to go swimming one last time in the pool because it'll "feel awesome being drunk!"  Ladies... I never thought I'd understand why girls go wild during spring break, but in the midst of taking a dip, some douche-bag was chilling outside of his hotel room and I thought it was appropriate to flash him at that very moment.  Warning: this wasn't the last time I pulled a stunt like this.

Walking back into the hotel room after swimming, I entered our dark room and immediately whacked my foot into the side of a guitar case that I didn't know was there.  Hurt. Like. A. Bitch.  But I've stubbed my toe before, didn't think much of it. Plus I was still drunk, and determined to take a shower.  Hair and makeup done perfectly an hour later, my foot still hurt.  I looked down to see this:

Broken toe.  Holler.

Bad Decision: Drinking so much that you blindly walk into your hotel room and break your toe.

Better Bad Decision: Continuing to drink so much that you hardly feel it, thereby guaranteeing a good night of dancing.

Yeah....ouch.  Whatever-- it was t-shirt time and I had a shirt that screamed J-Woww.  Elle arrived and changed, I downed a 5-Hour Energy, and we were off to the bar!  

Making friends with the bartenders is a highly recommended thing.  I felt like the whole night we were VIP.  Mandy, the other bartender, who by the way, I ended up texting all week, was fantastic at making sure our glasses were never empty and continually sent the shooter girl over to us for red lobsters and washington apples.  I line-danced, and a few men showed me how to actually two-step.  It was bizarre to dance with people where the guy actually knew what he was doing and led you, instead of grinding up on your ass with his bulge.  The whole night was going awesome, we were all feeling great, and then Heather slammed down her cup in an angry fashion.  We knew the night was taking a twist.

Guess the alcohol hit poor Heather all at once, and she was having an episode of beer tears and indecisiveness as to whether she wanted to leave or stay.  It took a while trying to get through to her, but I got her to agree to let me get her back to the hotel.  I gave Elle my card in case I wasn't back to pay for the tab, and we hailed a pink taxi down to bring us back.  My plan was to get Heather into bed and take a taxi back to the bar, but things rarely go according to plan...

As soon as we got in the cab, Mr. Cabbie informed us that he could only take cash, no cards, as his machine had "just broken".  Yeah whatever.  So Heather had $13 cash, I figured it'd be enough to get us the 12 minute drive back to our hotel.  As we're driving, Mr. Cabbie is a bit of a chatty Kathy, and I discuss with him how he was apparently in the navy the last 10 years...and now drives a cab.  Simultaneously, I'm trying to keep up a conversation so he doesn't notice what I do--that Heather is spitting...which always leads to vomming.  And before you know it.... 

Mr. Cabbie: "Hey, is she throwing up back there?"

Me: "Um, no...don't worry about her."

Mr. Cabbie: "No, she's definitely throwing up."

Me: "Yeah, well it's not in your cab, so you don't need to worry about it!"

Yeah, she was throwing up... into her $500 purse to avoid a mess.  

So we got to the hotel and realized we didn't have enough cash to pay.  But I was drunk and on a mission, so I had the brilliant idea...

Me: "So we are short money for the fare... how about I give you a kiss and the money we have and you call it even?!"

Mr. Cabbie: "Are you serious?"

Me: "Yes!"

Mr. Cabbie: "Hah...okay!"

Little did I realize though that in our conversation, I had told the driver about my flashing episode earlier in the night.  He thought it'd be funny to ask for a replay of that.  I thought about it, and convinced myself that if I didn't, he'd be crazy and lock us in his cab and kidnap us. So I gave him a replay.  Bitches be running wild.

Got Heather up to our room and went into nursing mode.  Plopped Heather in front of the toilet and demanded she stayed there till I could clean her up.  I went after her purse trying to figure out what to do, and all I really could do was stand over the toilet, in front of Heather, hold said $500 purse to shower head, and pray it would magically be cleaned up.  She did manage to puke on only one side of the purse, whereas the contents of her purse were on the opposite side, so I was able to save her phone, wallet, etc.  

Bad Decision: Puking into $500 purse.

Better Bad Decision: Strategically aiming for an unoccupied section of the purse to puke in.

Well, some of the vom came out, but mostly the blue dye of the purse just went everywhere, and the tub clogged up with I don't even know (blue, vommity soup).  So I ignored that, got Heather cleaned up with a nice makeshift sponge bath, and put her to bed.  I cleaned up the whole bathroom except for the tub, because even after failed attempts of turning the ice bucket into a plunger and unclogging the drain, I couldn't do anything further.  I called Elle to let her know, because drunk me took back over and I was freaking out at the thought that she & Josh (guitarist) were going to come back to any kind of mess.  I felt like a failure for not handling the situation 100% and left her a voice mail full of sniffles.  

I had passed out on Elle's bed when they opened the door, and I immediately popped up and started bawling because I felt so bad that I couldn't take care of the tub, and I didn't want to ruin the night for anyone, and my mind was going a mile a minute.  Elle jumped on top of me, told me if I said "sorry" one more time she was going to bite my nipple off (no joke), and proceeded to squish me into a love sandwich with Josh on the other side.  She left me with Josh as she took care of the bathroom...I was trying so hard not to cry anymore that any word out of my mouth was an insanely high-pitched squeak, and then out of nowhere Josh throws 6 pairs of mardi gras beads (which I had been looking all around for ALL WEEK) around my neck!!

Me: "Josh I'm *squeak* SO SORRY ITRIEDTOCLEANEVERYTHINGUPIDIDN'TWANTTORUINTHISLASTNIGHT" *sniffle*

Josh: "Mander, it's okay!  Don't be sad..."

Me: *squeak* "ANDIHAVEMARDIGRASBEADS!!! MAN I LOVE YOU!  YOU'RETHEBEST!" *sniffle*

(minutes later)

Me: "Okay guys, I think I'm ok.  Thanks for calming me down, I'm going to go to bed."

But as soon as I jumped in bed in the dark, I noticed our guy friend was still wearing his hat, and I immediately had to remedy the situation by running over, telling him he still had his hat on, that I could see it, and took it off of his head.  I also thought it was important to help him take his pants off before going to bed.  

Josh: "Just remember to pull both pant legs at the same time!"

Me: "Yeah yeah....1...2...3!!! (as I almost flung back onto the ground)"

Thus concluded our last night.  I kept bragging about how the entire week I never woke up with a hangover, that it was "the magic of Key West"... funny how the magic wore off the last day.  We got up, packed, said our goodbyes, and drove on our merry way all the way back up to Mass.  

BTW there's a BP gas station in Jacksonville I highly recommend staying away from.  It was in the middle of nowhere, and as Elle was pumping gas, I went inside to use the ATM. As I was getting to it, a car of sketchies following me wanting to know my name, and what seemed to be a woman severely cracked out was standing next to the door.  The ATM was out of order.  We left very quickly.  (Remember to always avoid sketchies and rando's.)

Life Lesson: Normal rules of society need not apply when on spring break, but try to stay clear of blindly walking into things.  That way, your bones will stay intact, even if your dignity doesn't.

Life Lesson #2: Just because you flash people does not mean you'll get Mardi Gras beads.  (They come when you least expect them.)

Life Lesson #3: Next time, take an airplane.

I went to Key West and all I got was a lousy 

Spring Break 2011 Key West, FL t-shirt.

And some cool beads.

And a slight tan.

And a broken toe.

And a hangover.

And a whole new outlook on Girls Gone Wild.

LSLP, Amanda xo

you've been demoted.

There are a specific set of problems that come along with the single life:
     
          1) A lack of constant spooning.
          2) An overabundance of leftovers.
          3) Very few (ok, none at all) massages.
          4) Juggling women.


Now some of you may be going, "Wait, that last one is not a problem. That last one is baller status." But while not necessarily always a problem, it is something that must be dealt with occasionally. Dating is kind of like one of those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books.
If you'd like to pursue a serious relationship with Sally, go to page 37.
If you'd like to stop dating Sally and become her friend, go to page 14.
If you'd like to start some drama, go to page 4.
If you'd like to either ignore Sally until she goes away or publicly bitch her out, close the book and burn it.

Ultimately when you are dating multiple people, at some point, you are going to have to demote someone. The best way to initially go about this is to say something along the lines of, "If we continue to date I think we might drive each other a little crazy, but let me tell you...I make one hell of a wingman." And then laugh it off. Puts a little of the crazy blame on yourself, and promises a future of acquiring new women together. Most people will just accept this one and life can go on. There are, however, the more dense of our species who just..don't...quite..get it.
If that's your case, these are your options:


Scenario 1
The demotee has become so beyond annoying and pestering that the idea of maintaining a friendship makes hanging out with your dentist seem like a good time.
          Solution 1 -  IGNORE. For as long as it takes. This will either work quickly or you'll receive a
          barrage of entertaining and increasingly desperate texts. A win either way, really.
          Solution 2 - Tell them you have a new boyfriend/girlfriend who you are madly in love with. 

          Describe the sex a bit. That pretty much nails the lid on.

Scenario 2

You want to maintain a friendship with the demotee, because they are fun and you genuinely like them as a human.

           Solution - Sit them down. Hold their shoulders like you're at a middle school dance. And say

          straight up, in your most serious voice, "We are friends. This has got to stop. Under absolutely no

          circumstances will we EVER be sleeping together again. Please back off my shit, or I will have to

          cut you."

If they respect you, that one will work. And if they don't...well then you're back at Scenario 1.

Perhaps practice this on a friend, or pet...

"What do you mean we can't hold hands anymore?"

"I said, I will cut you."

Bad Decision: Dating a bunch of people that probably know each other in the first place.

Better Bad Decision: Demoting some of them to friend, so you can still make out when you're drunk.

Life Lesson: You can never have too many friends.

...as long as you're not sleeping with all of them.

-LSLP, Ash.

nyc is a rad mess

I spent the entirety of last weekend in New York City. A place that has, in the past, evoked a response in me similar to when a squirrel sees a car coming and is all, "WHICH WAY TO GO?!?! Left?Right?LEFT?RIGHT? Ijustdon'tknowwwww..." And then they get flattened. That's pretty much me in NYC the last few times. Although, to be fair, I have never really left Time's Square and even the locals feel a little overwhelmed there.

This time, when I started plotting my journey to NY a month ago, I was supposed to stay with my gay friend Tom, who was going to take me out to some fabulous gay bar with probably the most intense techno music of my life. But instead I ended up staying with my friend from college, Jessica, whom I lovingly refer to as 'Mess', since when I met her that's what we both pretty much were. This was a good decision for 2 reasons:
        
          1) Tom lost his phone in a day-drinking stupor and I never did hear from or see him while I was in NYC.
          2) Mess is not a gay man.
 

Bad Decision: Getting only 6 hours cumulative sleep over 2.5 days by choice.
Better Bad Decision: Getting at least 6 hours cumulative sleep over 2.5 days by choice.

And now, a series of short NYC Adventure stories....

Who Took My Drink?

Mess and I are sitting in some low chairs, enjoying cocktails, listening to music in a lounge when we are approached by a gentleman who looks pretty much like LL Cool J. Kangol style hat and everything.
          LL:  Would you ladies watch my drink for me?
          ME:  Sure, no problem.
          LL:  Don't let anyone steal it now!
          Mess and I resume our conversation. Someone comes by and removes the drink. We don't flinch.
          LL:  Returns. Where's my drink?!
          Mess and I look at each other in confusion. We look at him. We look around for potential drink stealers.
          MESS: Um...someone took it...
Then, out of the shadows, LL's friend comes up with the offending drink in hand, passes it to his buddy, and they have a good smirk about how clever they were and give us looks like "did you see what we just did there? yeahhhh." Mess gets it right away- the drink-stealing-scenario was an elaborate ice breaker. It takes me another 45 minutes (Ok fine, hour and 45) before I understand what happened.
Oh, and when they point out to us that LL is in fact of African decent, while his buddy who "stole" the drink is Casper-white, Mess's response: "We don't see color."
Nice. Saved it.

Nice Ride
We had to transport ourselves from bar#1 to bar#2, and the logical choice was, of course, a taxi. We made our way to the curb, and I Carrie Bradshaw'ed my arm out there to hail one down. Perhaps Mess and I should have classed it down a little that night, because those yellow ones didn't want to stop for us...but a slick looking Lincoln towncar was all about it. The red flag probably should have been when Mess said "I never usually get into these things." But I've been ignoring red flags for years, so hey, what the hell. In we climbed.

Approximately 7 seconds into our journey we realized we were going to get our money's worth in entertainment value. Or be enjoying a new home in an alleyway with half our clothing. It really could have gone either way. Toni Macaloni was our driver, and he was both foreign and phenomenal.
        
          TONI MACALONI: What you smoking pretty girl? You got a little something good there, huh?
          ME: Smoking a clove cigarette Um, just a clove cig. Not sure if that's what you consider good.
          TONI MACALONI:  Oh yeah, baby. That sounds like a good thing, baby. Yeah, baby.
          Muffled laughter from the back seat as Mess and I try to contain ourselves.
          TONI MACALONI:  You like this car, yeah? It's pretty smooth ride, yeah?
          ME: Um, sure is.
         TONI MACALONI:  Say you like it. Say you like it, baby.
         Awkward silence....
          MESS: ...I like it.  

This went on for most of the ride, at the end of which we were offered weed, given his phone number, and spared our lives. We paid Toni Macaloni with ten dollars, a clove cigarette, two singles, and a little piece of our hearts.

The Fashion Bieber
I swear I can't go anywhere anymore without having to call out some poor 20-something male on having a Beiber haircut. They don't, however, usually respond with "But he just got his hair cut! I haven't caught up yet." They also don't usually ask, "Do you guys work in fashion?" with as much hope as a 12 year old girl on Christmas looking for her pony. The Fashion Bieber also tried to impress us in interesting ways...
        
          BIEBER'S FRIEND:  This kid knows all the designers. He just throws out names of bags chicks are carrying as we walk down the street.
          ME: Holds up bag OK, What's this one?
          FASHION BIEBER: Longchamp.

No hesitation. At all.
Fashion Bieber, you entertained me so much with your happy oblivion to your own homosexuality that I retained your number in my phone. And the next time I am in NYC, I will call you. And I will quiz you on my bag.

I'll Go Get My Limo
Cue the seedy lesbian bar. My friend Julia, Mess, and I are enjoying a leisurely cocktail when Julia's friend stumbles in. Her first words?
          "ALRIGHT. What shots are we taking?"
She then did proceed to purchase 2 rounds of shots for everyone in the remote vicinity. In every group of friends, there is one who is always a hott mess. If you're not sure who it is, it's probably you.

When it comes time to leave the bar (after a few moments confusion about day light savings time and how we got screwed out of an hour of drinking) Stumbly comes purposefully up to us and goes, "I'm going to go outside and get my limo. You guys come on out when you're ready." And wanders off again.
There was no limo.

She also stumbled around in the street for a good 15 minutes alternating between accosting cabs and yelling "Where's my car...   WHERE IS MY CAR?!" And one of us would run out at 5 minute intervals and save her life from an oncoming moving vehicle.

When we did finally get back to this girl's apartment, she went to her kitchen to get us drinks and returned with...frozen daiquiris in bags. Bags. That's what I said. Bags.

Wedding poses make everything classy.

At a certain point (read: level of drunkness) drinking out of a bag without a straw becomes a challenge you are just not prepared to face. That's when this happens:

Literally spooning alcohol into my mouth.

New low.

In summary, NYC thrilled me and killed me. It was the most amazing weekend with the most amazing people and the fact that I remember this much of it is proof of that since I never remember anything. Now how many weeks do I have to wait before it is socially acceptable to return?

Life Lesson: If it doesn't say "TAXI" and isn't yellow, don't get into it.

You've been warned. ...on so many levels.
-LSLP, Ash

"avoid sketchies and rando's."

It's been a while since I've written, so bare with me...I'm warning you, this one is on the longer side.

This past Saturday I had the privilege of being able to perform at a local gig surrounded by friends, family, and strangers alike.  Yes, in my spare time, I'm a pianist/coming-out-of-hiding-singer in Special Ed, or as some people call it, The Special Ed Band....but you can just call me a rockstar.  What?  That's what my friends call me.  :)

Newfound confidence aside, Saturday morning I woke up to a day that would inevitably be an emotional rollercoaster.  I've been in Special Ed (the band, not the class) since last June, when I was in the middle of picking up the pieces of my life, between ending a relationship with a high school sweetheart, having a condo deal fall through 3 days before closing, and having to uproot my small city life for an even smaller, simpler life of moving back in with Mom in a tiny, one-traffic-light town.  Ed, the founder of the band, is my aunt's boyfriend, who my mother decided to move next door to.  (Refer back to Edville, or "the compound" in previous entries by Ash)

Anyway, I hadn't known Ed for too long, but he's just one of those people that I know was supposed to be in my life, pushing me into learning who I really was.  In fact he pushed me--and by pushed, I mean consistently, relentlessly harassed me--into joining his band once he found out I played piano.  And one not-so-particular night, I caved.  How did he convince me, you ask?  Was it the fame I'd one day have?  The money?  It was much simpler than that, folks...

Ed had a fantastic wing-man.

He buttered me up with a few drinks...incessant drinks with a potency most would turn their noses to, and that I didn't think twice about.  He cued up the music, a few tracks they played, after I was feeling all warm and fuzzy and most importantly, confident I could get the job done.  

ED: So, see?  This stuff is WICKED EASY.  And you're WICKED SMAHT, I know you could pick up on this stuff!

ME: Alright!  Why the hell not?!  No harm in trying, right?  Hey--can you make me another rum&coke?

And so began many new relationships...between friends, between bandmates, and between a sailor and her captain.  :)

Alright so fast forward to this Saturday.  The last gig I covered many songs, but also covered 2 in terms of singing.  This time, I was up to 6 that I was singing, so I was freaking out, because in my past, the only venues I've sang my heart out in have been:

and, when on tour...

So the entire day I kept battling between excitement and nervousness.  I kept myself busy, did some laundry, cleaned my room, went to Ed's to practice, and headed over to the horse barn where Ash, her friend Julia, and my aunt Meg all were. Hanging around the barn, the owner was questioning everyone of some random, sketchy looking bald guy walking around that she didn't immediately recognize.  None of us knew who he was, and he seemed to disappear, but I praised her for being so aware of her surrounding equestrian community.

ME: "At all times, you must we aware and avoid sketchies, Kathy."

JULIA: "And rando's!"

ME: "Yes, and rando's.  Avoid sketchies and rando's.  A rule to live by."

KATHY (owner): "HAHA!  I LOVE IT! Alright, let's go out for drinks."

...Didn't take long before we decided it was, at 4pm, of great importance and absolute necessity to go grab drinks with the barn owner, when she needed to be back by 4:30.  (Now by this time, I'm not even going to make excuses.  You've read our posts, you should know by now that we're all Olympians when it comes to inappropriate drinking situations.) 

So we pulled up in my aunt's pimpin' Cadillac to pick up the owner up front (you had to be there), and we were off.  We had our margaritas & cosmos in record time, after Ash, who forgot her ID, managed to look old enough to not get ID'd. You can thank her friend and I for looking like the youngins at the end of the bar.  (Side note: Must order new ID.  I'm no longer blonde or tan like my photo shows, thereby raising many eyebrows and general skepticism.)  Racing home, I showered, attempted to make myself look hot, and before I knew it, we were at the Rose Garden setting up.

Overwhelmed by the crowd that was already forming before we had gotten there, we scrambled to hook ourselves up, plugging in, and getting mics to where they needed to be.  And with my mom sitting up front like a VIP, without me getting the chance to re-think, we started.  I'm still so beside myself at how many friends came out to support us, and surprised by some of the people who showed up.  I had an amazing front row crew consisting of all my hot, young, female friends that screamed their asses off whenever I finished singing a song.  Talk about your confidence booster!  I felt like I was on top of my game, and they went ape-shit when a costume change left me a little more gangsta for our rendition of Love the Way You Lie...  

Sound quality isn't that great, but you get the idea...HOLLA!

I think one of the biggest challenges was maintaining my composure while a bunch of drunk sketchies and rando's (on the much older side) took center stage dancing their asses off and grinding in ways reminiscent of prom or a fraternity basement mixer.  But regardless, the crowd went wild in the second half, dancing and singing to songs like "Raise Ur Glass" and "Don't Stop Believing."  And although watching my closest friends take turns getting their grind on with my mom was unbelievable, the icing on the cake was seeing my girls, aunt included, form a grinding train as Ivan and I gave the audience a "Crazy Bitch" encore.

I had men and women I had never met coming up to me, shaking my hand, saying how we all had done a great job.  One particular forty-something sketchy who had spoken to me several times that night, according to my friends, had been eyeing me all night.  He was nice enough, complementing me, asking about if our music was online, and wanted to know whether I had thought about pursuing this further, or if it was all fun.  (Fun, definitely a fun hobby to keep me sane.) Well at the end of the night, as I was packing up, drunk off of the energy of the crowd,  Sketchy McSketch came over for a final word...

SKETCH: "So, I have a tip for you!"

ME: *wondering what performance advice I'm about to be given* "Oh yeah?  What's that?"

SKETCH: "No, really, I have a TIP for you!" *looks down at his hand, holding money*

ME: "What???!"

SKETCH: "Like a $50 dollar tip!"

ME: *wondering what I've gotten myself into* "Oh!  No, no, no!  Really, I can't accept that, but thank you so much!" *continuing to try to push it back to him*

SKETCH: "No, seriously!  That's just the kind of guy I am, you deserve it!  You did amazing!!!"

ME: *reluctantly accepts* "Aw, thank you, you're so kind!  Thank you for coming, come check us out again!"

SKETCH: "Oh I will!  Thank you!  And...by the way...there's a note in there.  Take care!"

Yeah it's too good to be made up...

"YOU WERE GREAT! I believe in you.  Call John 203-xxx-xxxx to discuss how to take your talent to the next level."

So, readers, with that happy ending to a night I'll never forget, I leave you with the following...


Life Lesson:  (you guessed it...) Avoid sketchies and rando's.  But when Sketchy McSketch or one of his friends shows up in your life, remember...


Bad Decision: Accepting a $50 bill in an almost hooker-like fashion from an older stranger.
Better Bad Decision: Keeping the money, and deciding that instead of calling the number, turn to Google to search the name/number combo, which eventually brings you to finding out the man's last name, that he's from Connecticut, that he graduated Bentley in '93, what his email address is, and then--because I am a professional Facebook creeper--using the email address to find him, but not friend request him, on Facebook.


Hey, it takes a sketch to know one.


LSLP, Amanda xoxo

I give up NOTHING.

To celebrate the culmination of Mardi Gras yesterday, Amanda and I went out for drinks with a couple friends. On the way there we began discussing lent. Now I'm not religious at all, and while Amanda is Catholic, she doesn't really practice. Point being, neither of us is actually going to give up anything for lent. We just like to talk about things as if we are going to do them. (This may actually explain how a lot of our nights end up the way they do...) Also, to say this post won't end up being totally blasphemous would be misleading you into a false sense of religious security. So, you've been warned.

          AMANDA: So tomorrow is the start of lent. I wonder what I would give up if I was going to do it...
          ME: I think I would give up Diet Coke.
          AMANDA: oooOOOooo, good one.
          ME:  Yeah, Diet Coke is like my crack.
          AMANDA: I think....that I would probably give up, like...Facebook...

  ***Hysterical laughing about what a ridiculous thing that was to say. Who could ever give up Facebook? I mean, really.***

          ME: C'mon. Be serious. What would you really give up?
          AMANDA: Drinking?
          ME: Like...non-alcoholic beverages?
          AMANDA: Um, noooo......

On multiple occasions Amanda and I will say, "Man, we really need a detox week. Let's not drink until day X, Y, or Z",. and then 48 hours later we have a cocktail in hand and are coming up with devious schemes of entertainment. Since we are both generally thinking the same thing, you can imagine it doesn't take much power of suggestion from one of us for both of us to end up at a bar. To be fair, we don't even have a real chance of going any decent length of time without a drink, as we are literally surrounded by booze.

Across the street is this:

Look at all my neon and deals. You need me.

And directly next to our house is this:

  My scorpion bowls eat your soul.

We never had a chance.

Bad Decision: Buying the house at the very edge of the quaint suburban neighborhood...within 20 steps of two sources of adult beverages.

Better Bad Decision: Giving in to the strongest mai tai of your life at least once a week.

We may not make it 7 days in a row without a cocktail. We may not even make it 3. But we aren't your sitting-at-the-bar-with-head-in-hands-crying-over-life-drunks. We aren't the alcoholics trying to drink to forget or pretend that we are happy. We are the ones drinking because we just like the way a good cocktail tastes. We are the ones laughing hysterically in the corner about nothing and having a better time on a Tuesday than most people have on a Friday. And you just can't argue with that.

Life Lesson: It's not "being bad at saying no." It's "being good at saying yes." Get it straight.

-LSLP, Ash.

PS-

                      It's my day, bitches.

Yeah, that just happened.

_____________________
EDIT:(3/9/11) 11:00am --I would just like to point out that although Ash is quite a character on her own, the "Wednesday" sign was MY idea. Actually, the conversation over Lent while celebrating Mardi Gras last night was as such...

          ASH: "Hey! It's MY day tomorrow! Hah!"
          ME: "Ash, you know what you should do tomorrow for Ash Wednesda-----hahahahahahahahehehehahahaha" 
     **tries to contain laughter all by while simultaneously making sure I don't choke, aspirate, or send my margarita through my nose**
          ASH: Wow, Amanda, you uh....you crack yourself up, huh??
     **still trying to contain laughter while taking turns slapping the table and my knee in hysterics**
           REST OF THE TABLE: **giggling uncomfortably and waiting in silence**
          ME: you should....*giggle* take some ashes and instead of a cross put ASH on your forehead!!!! Hahha!!"
          ME: "Wait! No! Get a teeshirt and write WEDNESDAY on it and wear it to work!!"
          ASH: "Um where am I going to find a teeshirt to write on and wear to work? Besides that probably goes against dress code."
           ME: "FINE! Write Wednesday on a piece of paper, tape it to your chest, and you better send me a pic tomorrow!"
           ASH: "Done! Ahahahh"
      **both continue to cackle hysterically while contemplating our next drink of the evening**

...just trying to keep our readers well-informed.

LSLP, Amanda xo

did you feel something?

On Tuesday this week, I met up with my old friend, Irina, whom I haven't seen in maybe 3 years. The last time we were friends, we were living together in a 4 bedroom apartment with 6 lesbians and 1 straight, probably very confused, girl from the middle east. To say this was not the most conducive environment for an actual friendship would be a gross understatement, effective to saying Charlie Sheen is just a little buzzed. We always used to have a ton of fun when we hung out, but it was also always kind of a shit show. So I probably should have had the foresight to not plan our reunion for a Tuesday night when I had work the next day (Bad Decision).

We initially met up for an after-work scorpion bowl and scallion pancakes (dinner of champions), but she somehow conned me into coming into the city with her for an evening out. And by "somehow conned" I mean this:

          Irina: I think you should come.
          Me:   Ok.

I'm a hard sell, what can I say. So we headed into the city, drove around picking up some people I didn't know, and enjoyed another group scorpion bowl while we waited for it to be time to go dancing. Then I drove us to the bar...
Cue ominous music.
In the winter I drive a fairly large SUV that kind of looks like someone zapped a child's toy with a growth ray. I'm probably a little overly confident in my ability to know where the outer extremities of the car end. I'm also a very cocky parallel parker. Do you see where this is going? As we pull up in front of the bar, a prime parking spot opens up (Yessss. I have the best parking luck. Well, maybe not....) and I set myself up next to the front car to parallel my way into there. It is important to note that the driver of the front car is IN the front car. Just sitting there. Waiting to be angry about something probably. Then this happens:

          Irina: Ash...you are really close to that Prius...
          Me:  Oh, I got this.
          *crunch*
          Irina: Ashly! Dude, stop!
          Me:   I got this. What, Irina?

I bumped that Prius so lightly, that within the confines of my tank while looking over my shoulder backing up, I didn't even know it had happened. But you know who definitely did know it had happened? The super angry lesbian lurking in the front seat of the Prius. That chick was on the phone with the cops before I could even remove myself from my vehicle. For a moment I boarded the crazy train and was all "Should we just drive away? I think we should just drive away. Yeah, we should totally just drive away."

Bad Decision: Having an parking ego too big to listen when your friends try to warn you that you are about to eat a Prius.
Better Bad Decision: Not committing a hit and run like a maniac.

So I get out of my truck and somehow get the chick to tell the police they are not needed and hang up the phone. At this point she apparently decides that she IS the police and starts demanding my license and registration. They don't even ask for your registration when you get pulled over anymore (Which I know since that happened to me last week. Sigh.). This is when I attempt a different tactic, and try to flirt my way out of it per Irina's suggestion. I touch her on the shoulder and tell her not to worry, everything will be just fine.
She looks at me with fire-y eyeballs of death and says through her teeth "Don't.Touch.Me." Ooooooookaaaaayyyy.
No touching.
Got it.
Please don't punch me out.

The way this demon woman was acting you would have thought my truck had ripped off the Prius' bumper and taillight with it's toothy grill and shaken it back and forth like a rabid dog. But really, this is what happened:

Oh, THE HORROR.

Turns out it wasn't even her car, and I have yet to hear from either her, or the owner, regarding the chipped piece of plastic. I'm banking on the fact that the owner looked at the taillight, looked at her friend, and said "what damage?" Because honestly, you're driving a Prius. Think of the environmental impact of replacing all that taillight plastic. For shame.

Life Lesson: If you forget your not 21 anymore and go out drinking on a Tuesday, professional-karma will smack you in the face with a fender bender. Or you'll hit a parked car like an idiot. Either way, really.

-LSLP, Ash.

______________________
EDIT: (3/6/11)-- So as Ash was out partying, plowing other cars down, and contemplating running from the law, I was in bed early attempting to defeat a cold that was on the brink of kicking my ass.  I later awoke to what I knew wasn't a burglary, but rather a very drunken Ash coming home.  I mean, I assume burglars aren't THAT noisy.  I couldn't tell if she was just stumbling around half-out-of-it, or if she felt compelled to start remodeling the kitchen. 


When I went to pack a lunch in the morning, however, I did find myself in the middle of a crime scene.  The good news: as I suspected, no burglary occurred.  However, there had been a murder in the kitchen.  The victim?...A box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  Cheesy powder on the counter top and a box that had been torn apart were all that remained of this heinous crime.  Yup, Ash must have been pretty drunk... afterall, she left the murder weapons soaking in the sink.  ;)


~LSLP, Amanda xo