they were the best of times, the worst of times..

i feel like i should write something, it being the last day of 2006. but i really, as usual, don't have anything to say. i could do some bests and worsts or something... mkay..

best dressed:












worst dressed: WHAT'S YOUR POISON? on the pop up. really..? i bet he didn't even know his own answer to that question.










best signature move:










worst surprise: walking to cans and getting a paintball shot to the ass! hoodlum teen-f*ers!










longest fun days: tie between -
Oktoberfest



















and LSU game



















best wedding: incidents with stairwells, uncles, & voyeurism come to mind.. and it was still a flawless wedding.










worst travesty: getting cut in line at the state fair












best counteraction:
tap, tap.

best drive:












worst drive:
last of LSU game - LSU makes a 1st down on 4th & 7 to subsequently score in the end zone directly beneath me to win the game. vomit.

best compliment received:
hey. wow, you're, like, the prettiest chick i've seen in, like, a year.

worst pick up line:
so, what are you?

best worst beer pyramid:










worst once-done idea: tequila-filled water guns?










worst twice-done, shame-on-me idea: playing in cemeteries










best head gear - pink hoodie?













worst head gear - napkin? (but v.good bday)










and.. best dance pictures.. there are more, but this is a good sample:























































ha, it was a good year.. here's to another.

dialing for dollars

As the year winds down and the holiday season is upon us, I find the need to reflect upon something that has to do with neither… the drunk dial.

I mean, this is no small matter – even Wikipedia has an entry for it. go ahead, look it up. you know you want to.

the question lies with intention. It’s a full out epidemic – peaceful reveries everywhere are being interrupted at ungodly hours – but why? My friends and I have long debated whether a drunk dial from a boy means, (1) that the boy has no balls and can only get the balls to call you (his one true love, of course) when he’s drunk, or (2) that the boy’s balls are constantly tangoing with his dick, and the boy doesn’t really want to call you at all but for the fact that it can mean a direct connection with your vagina.

I’m inclined to think that, for the most part, the intention can be either of the two or some mix or neither. So it’s one of those ‘it depends’ answers, which is an all-around shitty answer anyway, because it’s not the kind of answer Americans like – hard and fast, yea or nay – but it’s the answer we always get… are we winning the war in Iraq? well, it depends (on the day, on whom you ask, on the time of day)… can I come over and make sweet, sweet love to you? well, it depends… wait, who is this again?

I’ve received many a good drunk dials, which reminds me of a rule that should be enacted – if you’re going to drunk dial someone, and they do not answer, for god’s sake leave a message. It makes for such good sat/sun morning entertainment. If you took the effort to dial while drunk, at least slur a few words into the phone, heck, tell me what your drunk dial’s intention is… or that you’re jacking off thinking about me (by the way, should that be taken as some sort of weird compliment or as just gross??) or something. Be a sport.

Drunk texts are also fun. One boy's drunk text even asked – is drunk texting as bad as drunk dialing? to which I think the answer is no… it’s worse. Dialing – the effort involves finding the contact and pressing the big green Send button. Texting – involves choosing Messages, finding the contact, typing what you want to say – some cleverly disguised variation of “I want to be on you” – making sure the phone is typing what you want to say (doubtful – “Dixies” comes out as fixidr on my phone… so if I’m ever at fixidr, you know where to find me), and finally pressing the big green Send button.

Much more effort for texts – much more intention, whether good or bad … I guess, well, it depends.

to be sure, I’ve definitely done my fair share of drunk dialing, and what was my intention? They’re many times to boys who don’t even live in Charlotte, so I really have no clue. maybe I just want some late night confirmation that someone out there wants to be on me. and no inhibitions get in my way of confirming my altogether goddess-like sex appeal.

then again maybe it’s just drunk dialing. Nothing more. Just another thing that happens when all good decision making gets washed away with ___. ah, is it cocktail hour yet? maybe I’ll call you later. I’ve been known to try to get my dog to sing to you when drunk at the homestead.

a fever you can't sweat out

So… I’m sick and “working from home” this morning, but with a high fever, it’s hard to get motivated/started. So my computer prompted me to download internet explorer 7 when I turned it on just now, and it was taking forever, so I was clicking on random things that didn’t involve the internet and got to a folder called “emails.” Well, looks like I was a lot better at archiving things back in college than I am now, because there were various documents: “Dad’s emails”, “personal emails”, etc. along with a few saved IM conversations (no making fun.. you know as well as I do that relationships have started, lived, and ended by those things. I wouldn’t be surprised if religions have been founded, wars been waged through THE instant messenger). Anyway, then there’s one titled “[insert ex’s name here]’s emails”. So I’m thinking, wow, I saved those? and open it up.

And… well, damn. All I can say is that I have no right to complain about any unfavorable treatment I get from guys nowadays. I had a guy who really cared about me, and, though it didn’t work out, I do know that all men are not, in fact, assholes. And while I know our going separate ways was for the best, I just regret that I may have hurt him, and, in mine and my ex’s case, I know I was the asshole, not him. I never cheated on him or even thought to do so, but in some way I think I cheated him out of something…. what? I really couldn’t express it in words, but something. And, the thing is, I might be getting cheated out of something now, too, but I deserve it, and he didn’t. I hope he knows that i did and still do care about him, that I’m sorry, and that he deserves better. he’s a good guy… a better person than I will ever be. no shit.

so, I have no right to complain and will not anymore. life’s been pretty good to me, and karma’s a bitch, yo.

ugh, i've been up for half an hour now and i think i need a nap. night night.

why i wish i had been born with a penis instead

‘tis the season to be jolly, right? right-i-o, then.

now, I may expose more about myself than I should, but I’m feeling really impelled to spread some holiday cheer, so I’m about to make you feel a lot better about your current situation, whatever it may be, and here’s warm wishes that it’s cheery and bright.

2 weekends ago, a guy who I thought was a halfway decent person (why am I such a stupid, stupid girl), turned out to be not, as my friend overheard him saying some not very nice things about me, all the while trying to get me to go home with him - after sending his girlfriend home crying. it made me feel like complete and utter shit. he also complained all night about how he’s too young, at 25, to be dating someone seriously. I hope he dies alone. no, no, not really. I do not wish that upon anyone. what I mean is…. I hope he marries a supermodel, who gains 167 lbs. after birthing their first child, who ends up being a gay version of ricky martin. yes. that will do.

This past Friday night, i cabbed it home by myself and got molested by my cab driver (not completely violated, but he reached around the seat the whole time and kept grabbing my hand and touching me and telling me how pretty he thought I was and asked me to get in the front seat and to lean forward so he could rub my back, and I am, thus, traumatized for life). Luckily he did bring me home (after asking for my phone #... NO, you CREEPY, OLD GROSS ogre gross), but I still felt sorry for myself, and fell asleep with my head underneath my Christmas tree (happy place).

Saturday I spent all night ignoring a guy who followed me up to my apartment on Halloween night (yes, a red sweatshirt & sweatpants & a blue pom-pom wig did constitute the majority of my costume) and fell asleep on top of me (also should mention that he was dressed as a vampire and therefore had FANGS); he called me 3 days later; I never called back; his friend informed him of how creepy his unrequited behavior was; I purposely avoided him all night Saturday, along with his hideous friends, one of whom we aptly nicknamed Jaws.

The kicker – tonight, the horrible fang boy called me asking me out on a date.

OH
MY
GOD.

I will never understand it. Dating does not go, 1) be completely ignored by girl, 2) ask girl out on date. Classic. my life. is. classic.

meanwhile, my phone remains void of normal boys’ numbers, the Colts lose, the Giants lose, florida wins, and I can’t get anything constructive done b/c i spend my small amount of free time writing about my misery to try to make myself feel better.

Merry Christmas and a Happy Hannukah/New Year/ Hope For Some Semblance of Validation for Living!

(also, thank god for my girls, who have been there to console me. I might be dead without you. seriously.)