Social interaction is dangerous

Have I ever told the Internet about my last night out in the only place in Kansas to vote for the democrats in the last TWO, count em, TWO elections (so don’t blame me for this W. debacle)? Well, as tonight I am heading back to Lawrence, Kansas to visit some lady friends, I figure, it’s time, Internet.

I went to Lawrence to visit my friend The Mara who is one of three people that post regularly on this site. Usually, she posts about the food she ate that day, how much she studied, what she drank the night before…basically nothing having to do with my posts. I should create a new category on this site called “The Mara Comments.” The Mara is the next big Internet Celebrity. I can feel it!

So The Mara and I sat around on our butts with two other girlfriends and did what any young, reckless, crazy girls would do. We watched Gerard Depardeux in “My Father the Hero.” Classic. We are SO FUCKING AWSOME.

After that excitment, the other two girls were too “tired” to go out (with us). They did manage to stay out until 6 a.m. with some random boys…but that’s beside the point. The Mara and I decided to venture out into the night where social people interact with other social people and actually leave their homes/computers/TVs behind. Scary. Seriously frightening. Going out that night taught me why I don’t like to go out with the people who leave their houses.

There was the drunk group of guys just back from their friend’s wedding who seemed to think that our scowls of discontent were invitations to sit way too close to us and feel up The Mara’s thigh. Then, when they got kicked out of the bar, felt the need to return with their pants around their ankles and lay down on the table right next to us.

There was the other group of guys who were extremely irritated that The Mara and I were “spinning” the little men inside the foosball game. They would yell. Then leave the room. Then we would start spinning again. Then they’d walk back in and yell again. It was a never-ending cycle.

Then there was the bartender who I thought was my new best friend. He, for some unexplainable reason, did not feel the same about me.

Then I decided I liked the world with the social people where there were all the pretty lights and colors and I could see four of each person and all the sidewalks seemed to lean to the right. So I went to explore the apartment complex of The Mara.

Then,

I fell asleep.

On the ground.

By a tree.

I dreamed that The Mara found me the next morning by the tree and pointed and laughed and made a fool of me. So I quickly awoke from my slumber, picked some the grass clippings of my shirt, and went back to The Mara’s.

Hopefully tonight I won’t fall asleep on the ground, but damnit, I will spin on the foosball table. Just try and stop me. Bastards.

Floatapaolooza 2005

After a long week of overtime, broken servers, flooded office buildings, lost volleyball games and all-around meltdowns, the crew is heading off to the Elk River in good ole’ Noel, Missouri, for a floating good time. Though I was in a…brace yourself…gulp…sorority in college, I never actually went on the ceremonial float trip. So, to make up for lost time (and to get the FUCK out of this workaholic town) Trent decided to organize a trip full of beers and boats for us and 10 of our closest friends. After a few [most] of them backed out, it’s going to be a couples trip with us, Heath and Mikayla and Amber and Jake.

The scary thing is we’re all bringing our dogs and camping. Outside. With no air conditioning. I predict bitchiness!

I’ll be back in action on Monday to fill you in on who drowned, which dog was lost, and who was attacked by wild animals on Monday. Wish us luck!

Another One Bites the Dust

Another camrade is taking the plunge. While Trent and I are fighting over him wanting a prenup (My left tit! There is no FUCKING way! How else will I make my millions?), my friends are marrying themselves off left and right. Last weekend I received an early morning text message saying, “call me as soon as you get up!” The exclamation point had me worried. Either someone had died, she had an inoperable brain tumor, or she was getting engaged. What’s in door number 3?

You guessed it.

So in order to truly fulfill her life as a singleton, I will now post embarrassing pictures of her during her carefree college days, when she could never even IMAGINE the big M-word.

Don’t worry, I wouldn’t be THAT big of a bitch to just embarrass my own personal Christina. Check out me in the hideous wig and lovely Sharpie tatoo. I was also wearing some sexy thigh-highs under my horrific skirt. And don’t forget the platforms covered in sparkly glue. I know. You never knew sexy until this moment. You’re welcome.

I love you, Woman. And I’m glad you’re gitten hitched. Please have an open bar. And do not allow me to don a wig. No matter how much I beg.

Weekend Update

We’re back from Camp Spooner and, surprisingly, no one lost a limb or any brain functions that are essential for human existance. This weekend was one of those strange weekends where although fun was had by all, there was a certain amount of uncomfortable squirming.

After a good Friday night out, Trent and I drug our hungover, slightly stanky behinds out of bed and hopped in the car for a trip to good ole’ Council Grove, Kansas, population 7. My parents run their global empire of home shopping networks and space station experiments from their cabin at Council Grove city lake. Because of our affinity for drinking HEAVILY, we were a wee bit late, but damnit, we had to go on a beer run BEFORE SURRENDURING TO THE HORROR OF THE PARENTS. Just to keep everyone up to speed, Trent & I drank a total of 20 Bud Lites, 12 Boulevard Wheats and 4 fruity Segrams drinks during our 23 hours at the lake. But to be fair, my dad drank at least 4 of our drinks (I would’ve said beers, but I definetly saw him drinking a Segrams), so it’s really not as bad as it sounds.

Other than the fact that my parents think we’re raging alcoholics now, the trip was mostly a success. Trent narrowly dodged the dreaded “marriage question” from my dad, and my mother was, very much to our amazement, funny and nice to both of us. Seriously. We even got her to watch 2 episodes of Penn & Tellers Bullshit. Granted, she talked through most of it and winced in extreme pain everytime the word FUCK was uttered, but that is to be expected. We made it through the ENTIRE WEEKEND without a mention of how much they want to disown me. Incredibly. Of course, my brother’s antics as of late probably have convinced them their daughter “living in sin” isn’t that big of a deal. Hey, at least I have a job, right? And, as of this moment, I have yet to be arrested. Reach for the stars, kids.

Now we are returned home, to jobs and a mountain of laundry that I’ve been putting off for about 10 weeks. So instead of catching up on housework while Trent (who has been Mr. Wonderful lately, doing all sorts of chores while I lay on my ass watching Friends reruns) is out getting groceries, going to the hardware store, and basically being an all-around bad-ass, I’m drinking a vodka and OJ (70% to 30%) while I update my blog. Do you see what I do for YOU PEOPLE?!

I have to go. Nanny 911 is on.

Amber’s worst fear.

“Ummmm, Jake? Hi. There is a hairy man trying to lick me. Yes. Yes, I know it’s weird. Well, what do you want me to do?! I feel very uncomfortable here. I think I may have to use my taser gun.”

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