The party... wow... what can one say about the party? Well, it was pretty damn epic. And when I say epic I'm not talking about the sort of party that wins awards or is talked about on fashionable websites and blogs. I'm talking about:
ep·ic
–adjectiveAlso, ep·i·cal.
1. noting or pertaining to a long poetic composition, usually centered upon a hero, in which a series of great achievements or events is narrated in elevated style: Homer's Iliad is an epic poem.
2. resembling or suggesting such poetry: an epic novel on the founding of the country.
3. heroic; majestic; impressively great: the epic events of the war.
4. of unusually great size or extent: a crime wave of epic proportions.
5. a style of debauchery that has only been witnessed a) at a frat/sorority house during hell week b) at a ritual sacrifice c) before the fall of Rome d) any other place that is most certainly NOT in Cedar Park (...until now)
Yeah, it was crazy... but crazy fun. I think Poptart put it best:
Poptart: "I may be a little embarrassed, but I am not ashamed. I will hold my head high!"
After a recovery bowl of Pho for lunch on monday (and let me tell you we were all still a little uneasy/maybe hungover from the 4 -- let me say that again F-O-U-R liters of liquor consumed) where we could still look each other in the eyes, we realized that the party really just brought us all closer together.... in more ways that one. Tequila is the devil's drink and my house may just be built over an indian burial ground.
So, yeah, that's all I'm going to say about that party.
.
..
...
....
Okay, I lied, one more thing. Pandora (the online music player) has been insisting on playing a song by Hotspur called Chandalier over and over and over and over again, regardless of station (I shit you not, it was on my tejano station -- I can't make this stuff up!). So, I made it a joke to poke people in aim every time it came on because, let's be honest, did these guys really not have anything better to say about their signficant others?
You've made it crystal clear
You are the chandelier
I am the floor beneath you
So low i cannot reach you
See? ARGH - it makes me want to scream, you god damn emo kids. When I was in high school we had goths, now get off my fucking lawn as I do not understand your Lady Gaga!!
ahem.
So, Q turned into my comfy couch, Raul is that table by the entry way that I sometimes throw my mail on (but in a nice way!), Elevant became the fancy table that I only eat on for big parties and maybe thanksgiving time, and Poptart is the pot rack that I should buy and hang over the island in my kitchen, but I still haven't yet. Turns out I'm Elevant's coffeemaker, so well played me!
Well, I can now safely say, after this weekend's debauchery that each of you bitches... you are all the limes I picked up off the floor... and out of my couch.... and out from under the table... and in the bathroom (THE BATHROOM!!) ... and on the stairs and in the hole I punched in the wall.
each... and every... one of you.
Now - now, I am done. My house, it's a little like Vegas. What happens there, stays there. Everyone knows that, except Q as she never gets drunk at my house, and more's the pity. My amoral compass is just going to have to put a lampshade on her head next time and earn her title. ("Oh noes, was that gin and not sprite? The bottles look so similar... silly me).
NOW, ONTO THE TOPIC AT HAND which is really just another drunken story.
We girls like to go out dancing a lot. I often joke that 28 is the new 21 because I have done more shaking this year than I think ever before. The last time we went dancing was just as epic as it usually is mainly because Renee drove us all in my little clown car so we could all get toe up... and toe up we were! The night had all of the usual fun: There were pictures of very proportional people (for those of you know what I'm talking about... aawww yeah. For those that don't, well, sucks to be you!), there was a little groping, there were pretty boys in very skimpy clothes teaching us a thing or two, and, of course, there was a devil hat. Again, business as usual. :)
On the way home, Renee is driving my piece of crap car. The inspection is out. The back right blinker is out. It's just generally a mess. So, of course, just as she's 5 miles from the house, this happens --
Renee: Shit.
Me: What?
Renee: I think the cop just caught me speeding.
Raul: Shit!
Renee: Yep, there he goes.
Me: Um, you have to go over the right. My blinker is out!
Renee: I got this. Do you have your insurance card, 'cause I don't.
Me: fuck, no! No no no I don't.
Raul: Shit!
Renee: *pulls over* just shush, I got this.
Me: *freaking out*
Raul: *freaking out*
Renee: I - GOT - THIS. Shut up.
Officer: Hi there ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?
At this point, he starts to move his flashlight towards the out of date inspection sticker. I start to freak out a little. Renee squeezes my leg to get me to shut the hell up.
Renee: I thought I was going 40, this isn't my car, so I'm not used to it.
And, like Obi Wan saying "these are not the droids you were looking for", he moves away and points at the speedometer in my car.
Renee: This is her car, and I'm driving them home from downtown.
Officer: I see ma'am. Can you step out of the car for a moment? There is a strong smell of alcohol in there.
Renee: Sure.
At which point she turns and glares at me for a moment then goes. Now, I may have been inebriated, but I was also proud. So I roll my head behind me and stare at Raul.
Me: Raul - I thinksh he just said we stink!
Raul: Bastard! He must pay.
And then the giggles broke out. After what felt like an hour, Renee gets back into the car (with not even a warning) and we're off again. To which there was really only one thing to say:
Me: "Man, Raul. We stink, Renee is a fucking Jedi, and I could really go for some Taco Bell."
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Episode 4 in which someone's in a molestation mood
Sat night I'm having a party. It's not just any party either, oh no. It's a murder mystery party. This means for one night, it's okay to larp. Well, not larp so much as role play because there will be no swords, or boots of swiftness or wizards involved. And no furres.... definitely no furres.
*shiver*
Anyways!
So, yeah, party at Redgy's. We did this one time before, and not only did I have to act like 3 characters, but I was both the murderer AND the victim. Despite the fact that I apparently killed myself (and was a little bit of a slut... IN CHARACTER. In character people) it was a really good time, and I'm excited to do it again. I just hope I'm not the victim because if so -- I suspect you'll find a drunken Redgy over in the corner hunkering down with the tres leches cake singing CULO while everyone else plays! Yeah, it could be that kind of party. I've sort of been on a roll.
I'll talk about the party once it happens. This story.... this story is about molestation. And the L Word. Well... sort of.
Our story today, children, starts with our dear Renee Hatch
*puts on sunglasses*
porn star!
*hair flip*
Renee and I do far too much together. This is partly because she pretty much lives across the street and partly because everything's better with a buddy.... and I am a very persuasive buddy.
Me: "Costco/Fiesta run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Post Office run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Hiding in an ice machine at HEB for awhile, wanna come?" (true story)
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Gym time, wanna come?"
Renee: "uh... no"
Me: "You are dead to me."
So maybe not persuasive as much as persistent. Either way, there isn't really an errand I do without her and Zhan is very VERY happy about that fact.
To get back to the story, one day, while talking about various errands revolving around the party (“Hey, I need a Hawaiian shirt. Want to go to a thrift store? SURE!”), Renee asked if she could invite a relative to the party who happens to be a minor. Now, wait a minute, you may be saying to yourself. Molestation is in this title… and now minors… I thought this was a family blog? First of all, if you think this is a family blog, I’m flattered, but fuck no. Secondly, fret naught, as I said, hell to the no. If momma's going to be drunk, she doesn't want to be worrying about contributing to the delinquency of a minor... or of going off about stuff that makes it painfully clear that she's almost 30. Yeah, I'll be honest, it's mostly that I don't want to start a conversation that ends in "get off my lawn". None-the-less, Renee was great about it, so when she asked me to come with her to drop off said cousin and head to Wally World, I didn't think twice. Why would that be awkward?
Now, I should have known better than to bring up anything regarding the party with him around, but that would be classy and make sense... and that's just not me. So I tell a story (as I do) about poptart. I summarized it in the car, but I saved this little nugget from aim just for you guys:
Redgy: what do you think?
Redgy: Izzie Islander—Island native. Raised on the island, Izzie is a natural beauty and has a way of capturing everyone’s heart. Female.
Redgy: you're hot momma
Poptart: my only concern is not having the clothes to dress up for it is all
Poptart: but I’m game :D
Redgy: just wrap a towel around your waist
Redgy: wear a tank top and I'll lay you
Redgy: .... hello double entendre!
Poptart: bwahahaha
We laughed. Now, that should be that. I told a story it was funny. The end. Oh no... not for Renee.
Renee: "Are 17 people still coming to the party?"
Me: "Yeppers!"
Renee: "What about the other 5?"
Me: *puzzled look* "um, what... other... 5?"
Renee: "I don't know where I got that other 5 from.. you know, the other 5."
Now, at this point, I should have known something was up. I should have gone oh, I don't know what's up with the other 5 or changed the subject. It was as if Renee was trying to help me dock my plane at a terminal, and was waving these huge air traffic control flares directing me to go to the left (THE LEFT DAMMIT) and yet I, squeezed into the back seat of her truck (and to call it a back seat is being crazy generous... it was a fucking stool) aching like mad from my run, started to run her over, oblivious to everything. I opened my mouth:
Me: "nope, there aren't another 5. We bought a game for 15 - 20, then 17 said they were coming and so we have 3 le...hey heyheywhatareyoudoingwhyareyoudoingthat!!!!???!!!"
At this point, Renee decided that in order to get her point across, she was going to reach back behind her seat and touch me to send a hint my way without her relative knowing. This is where our views on the subject differ because she claims that she touched me. I claim that she groped me. Which is when I plowed head first into the terminal with my 747 killing hundreds... unless, of course, her relative is a moron.
Okay, let's be honest. Unless he needs to stop playing football for anyone other than the Special Olympics.
It was bad.
Halfway through my third "hey" that I realized Renee was not commenting on how much better my ass is looking these days. Nor did she want to break a piece of that off. Rather, she wanted me to shut...the hell... up. So we drop off her relative and try to bring up some new topics, but, try as we may, nothing could shake the awkwardness of what had just happened. So he gets out, I climb up into the front seat, shut the door, and, once he's out of ear shot, I get an ear full.
Renee: "Okay, what the hell?!? It is NOT an episode of the L Word up in here."
Me: "I know that now. I didn't know it when you were grabbing my ass."
Renee: "It's called trying to get you to change the subject!"
Me: "You are doing it wrong. A slap" *I slap her* "is change the subject. A poke" *I poke her* is change the subject. A fondling..... that is not change the subject. That's get over here, NOW!"
Renee: "It's dark and hard to reach! I did the best I could. You try doing it sometime and see what you do."
Me: "I sure as hell wouldn't fondle you!"
Renee: "You couldn't handle me!"
Me: Well don't try to handle me then!"
Renee: "TWO SHEETS!!!"
*giggles all around*
So now, anytime I am in Renee's truck, I'm going to think of the L Word. Maybe one day I will open the truck door to find Jennifer Beals naked trying to jump me. Until then, I will just laugh.
You may now be saying to yourself, sure Redgy, that was funny, but what the hell is two sheets? Well, this is something I just learned myself. Apparently Zhan and Renee were friends with perverts growing up, so they informed me that there is a practice at sleepovers to prevent... accidental molestation? Again, I'm convinced they are either delusional or just friends with crazy people, but the general idea is that when you need to share a bed with someone, one person is under the sheet and the other person is above the sheet. This way, you each have your own space and will not suddenly turn gay or something. (Quick! Someone tell the southern Baptist convention... we have a cure! Who knew?!?)
What made it worse is that when these two were saying this, they were looking at me like *I* was the crazy one for not knowing the rule. Which really only means one thing: I guess... out of the three of them... I am the perverted friend.
Good times.
You have all been warned!
*shiver*
Anyways!
So, yeah, party at Redgy's. We did this one time before, and not only did I have to act like 3 characters, but I was both the murderer AND the victim. Despite the fact that I apparently killed myself (and was a little bit of a slut... IN CHARACTER. In character people) it was a really good time, and I'm excited to do it again. I just hope I'm not the victim because if so -- I suspect you'll find a drunken Redgy over in the corner hunkering down with the tres leches cake singing CULO while everyone else plays! Yeah, it could be that kind of party. I've sort of been on a roll.
I'll talk about the party once it happens. This story.... this story is about molestation. And the L Word. Well... sort of.
Our story today, children, starts with our dear Renee Hatch
*puts on sunglasses*
porn star!
*hair flip*
Renee and I do far too much together. This is partly because she pretty much lives across the street and partly because everything's better with a buddy.... and I am a very persuasive buddy.
Me: "Costco/Fiesta run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Post Office run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Hiding in an ice machine at HEB for awhile, wanna come?" (true story)
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Gym time, wanna come?"
Renee: "uh... no"
Me: "You are dead to me."
So maybe not persuasive as much as persistent. Either way, there isn't really an errand I do without her and Zhan is very VERY happy about that fact.
To get back to the story, one day, while talking about various errands revolving around the party (“Hey, I need a Hawaiian shirt. Want to go to a thrift store? SURE!”), Renee asked if she could invite a relative to the party who happens to be a minor. Now, wait a minute, you may be saying to yourself. Molestation is in this title… and now minors… I thought this was a family blog? First of all, if you think this is a family blog, I’m flattered, but fuck no. Secondly, fret naught, as I said, hell to the no. If momma's going to be drunk, she doesn't want to be worrying about contributing to the delinquency of a minor... or of going off about stuff that makes it painfully clear that she's almost 30. Yeah, I'll be honest, it's mostly that I don't want to start a conversation that ends in "get off my lawn". None-the-less, Renee was great about it, so when she asked me to come with her to drop off said cousin and head to Wally World, I didn't think twice. Why would that be awkward?
Now, I should have known better than to bring up anything regarding the party with him around, but that would be classy and make sense... and that's just not me. So I tell a story (as I do) about poptart. I summarized it in the car, but I saved this little nugget from aim just for you guys:
Redgy: what do you think?
Redgy: Izzie Islander—Island native. Raised on the island, Izzie is a natural beauty and has a way of capturing everyone’s heart. Female.
Redgy: you're hot momma
Poptart: my only concern is not having the clothes to dress up for it is all
Poptart: but I’m game :D
Redgy: just wrap a towel around your waist
Redgy: wear a tank top and I'll lay you
Redgy: .... hello double entendre!
Poptart: bwahahaha
We laughed. Now, that should be that. I told a story it was funny. The end. Oh no... not for Renee.
Renee: "Are 17 people still coming to the party?"
Me: "Yeppers!"
Renee: "What about the other 5?"
Me: *puzzled look* "um, what... other... 5?"
Renee: "I don't know where I got that other 5 from.. you know, the other 5."
Now, at this point, I should have known something was up. I should have gone oh, I don't know what's up with the other 5 or changed the subject. It was as if Renee was trying to help me dock my plane at a terminal, and was waving these huge air traffic control flares directing me to go to the left (THE LEFT DAMMIT) and yet I, squeezed into the back seat of her truck (and to call it a back seat is being crazy generous... it was a fucking stool) aching like mad from my run, started to run her over, oblivious to everything. I opened my mouth:
Me: "nope, there aren't another 5. We bought a game for 15 - 20, then 17 said they were coming and so we have 3 le...hey heyheywhatareyoudoingwhyareyoudoingthat!!!!???!!!"
At this point, Renee decided that in order to get her point across, she was going to reach back behind her seat and touch me to send a hint my way without her relative knowing. This is where our views on the subject differ because she claims that she touched me. I claim that she groped me. Which is when I plowed head first into the terminal with my 747 killing hundreds... unless, of course, her relative is a moron.
Okay, let's be honest. Unless he needs to stop playing football for anyone other than the Special Olympics.
It was bad.
Halfway through my third "hey" that I realized Renee was not commenting on how much better my ass is looking these days. Nor did she want to break a piece of that off. Rather, she wanted me to shut...the hell... up. So we drop off her relative and try to bring up some new topics, but, try as we may, nothing could shake the awkwardness of what had just happened. So he gets out, I climb up into the front seat, shut the door, and, once he's out of ear shot, I get an ear full.
Renee: "Okay, what the hell?!? It is NOT an episode of the L Word up in here."
Me: "I know that now. I didn't know it when you were grabbing my ass."
Renee: "It's called trying to get you to change the subject!"
Me: "You are doing it wrong. A slap" *I slap her* "is change the subject. A poke" *I poke her* is change the subject. A fondling..... that is not change the subject. That's get over here, NOW!"
Renee: "It's dark and hard to reach! I did the best I could. You try doing it sometime and see what you do."
Me: "I sure as hell wouldn't fondle you!"
Renee: "You couldn't handle me!"
Me: Well don't try to handle me then!"
Renee: "TWO SHEETS!!!"
*giggles all around*
So now, anytime I am in Renee's truck, I'm going to think of the L Word. Maybe one day I will open the truck door to find Jennifer Beals naked trying to jump me. Until then, I will just laugh.
You may now be saying to yourself, sure Redgy, that was funny, but what the hell is two sheets? Well, this is something I just learned myself. Apparently Zhan and Renee were friends with perverts growing up, so they informed me that there is a practice at sleepovers to prevent... accidental molestation? Again, I'm convinced they are either delusional or just friends with crazy people, but the general idea is that when you need to share a bed with someone, one person is under the sheet and the other person is above the sheet. This way, you each have your own space and will not suddenly turn gay or something. (Quick! Someone tell the southern Baptist convention... we have a cure! Who knew?!?)
What made it worse is that when these two were saying this, they were looking at me like *I* was the crazy one for not knowing the rule. Which really only means one thing: I guess... out of the three of them... I am the perverted friend.
Good times.
You have all been warned!
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