In Memoriam: Gene Frenkle 1950-2000

Two blogs two days in a row?! Wowsers.

I am kinda in a rush to catch up, because there are potentially blog-worthy things in the near future, such as a Badger game, Halloween, and my mom coming up to Milwaukee to go out.

Anyway, there were, first of all, a couple things in last night's blog that I left out.

One is that I have a shoot coming up on Sunday, and am curious as to if anyone has any amazing ideas for me. Send me some links or pictures or ideas, please!

Second is that I don't really know what to be for Halloween. Hook a sista up with one of those ideas, too!

Thirdly... In yesterday's blog, I put an asterisk by a couple comments.
Well, I absent-mindedly forgot to explain the asterisks. Asteri? How in hell does one pluralize such a word?

Anyway, what I said was that my hand was cold, or that my hand was freezing.

Lemme splain.

So we were out one night in Madison with this chick we know. She is a friend to some of us. I think she's tolerable, but probably wouldn't elect to spend too much time with her.

Anyway, we all got our first drinks at the same time, and were standing in the bar, holding them, and talking.

Well, all ol' girl could think of to say was to complain about how cold her hand was.
Excuse me?
We have all been holding the same drink for the same amount of time. Switch f'ing hands or something! No one cares how cold your hand is! Shut up, or you'll be complaining about how much your face hurts when I break it because you're being so lame!

Anyway, we later were discussing how absurd the whole situation was. In time, it became something to say when we just didn't really have anything else to say, and wanted to laugh (at someone else's expense).

THEN it became a way to complain or express discontent in general. An example being in yesterday's blog when I said that my lack of a successful cheeseburger search made my hand cold.

LL and I frequently ask eachother how our days are by asking about the temperature of eachother's hand.

Also, we've begun to refer to some people (and things) as gloves. Gloves are things that make our hands warm. People that make us happy. There are a few people that come to my mind that are always making my hand warm.

To the gloves in my life (and you know who you are, or at least I hope you do!): I love you, and thank you!

By the way, I think I would kill a man (and then bury him in the desert, haha) for an Orv's supreme pizza right now. Just sayin'!

So.... Today's blog should've been out months ago.

Sometime this summer, (I believe that it was the weekend before the Racine Wedding that was about the Hampton's of the Midwest), I was informed that Del was going to be getting married, and that my presence would be honored at the reception.

Del. Del went to highschool with my mom. He was a paratrooper, and now he's an enforcer for the Highriders.

The High Riders are a "motorcycle club." An enforcer basically beats the shit out of people, I think.

I used to babysit for Del and his first wife's child, Jake.

It was time for Jake and I to have a reunion. I'm pretty sure that he's 18 now.

I decided that Danielle would be the perfect date to such an event. Don't you agree? Of all people, who would feel the least comfortable in this environment?

D and I arrive at the reception, which, of course, is at a biker bar outside of Racine. As we roll up, we see HUNDREDS of Harleys in lines. Think of the scene from PeeWee's big adventure where he goes to the biker bar, and multiply that by about 20.

Now, I have some weird disorder. I'm sure it's in the DSM. I've seen that thing, and it is about as thick as ever.

Anyway, here's my issue. I think that every biker on the planet is somehow friends with or affiliated with my mom and stepdad. As it turns out, this is not the case.

As we walked up, some biker dude approached us and started talking. Basically hitting on us. I asked him if he could help me find Vanessa and Marv, assuming he knew them, and he said he didn't know them, but that he'd help us find them. No thanks, kind sir with the fingerless leather gloves and bandana. I'll be able to find them just fine.

So I was able to find a few people we knew, and then came upon Marv, who gave me a hug (hope this doesn't ruin his tough guy street cred - haha). Shortly thereafter, my mom showed up. Apparently, she was off taking jello shots. This was due to the fact that someone had made sure that there were hundreds (yes, that's right, hundreds) of these treats available at the reception.

Shortly after my greeting with my mother, she offered to buy me a drink. You see, tap beer was free, but mixed drinks you had to pay for.

I ordered a Captain and diet. As I watched the bartender pour my drink, I pretty much handed my keys over to Danielle. It was just about the strongest drink I had ever seen in my life. And, in true Racine county fashion, it cost my mom about fourteen cents. Gotta love that!

So soon after, I was reunited with little Jake. I decided that it would only be appropriate for us to do a shot together, and everyone else around was in. Tequila, of course!



On the far left, we have Jake, the kid I used to babysit. Yeah, he looks like someone I could keep in line, right? Next up, in the purple shirt and black leather vest, is Marv. Then you see a hand holding a shot, with a leather jacket on. Then me, then my mom.

That hand... That's Joey Marcott. He's one of those people who always goes by his first and last name, at least as long as my mom (which translated quickly to my mom, Danielle, and I) are concerned.

He took a serious liking to Danielle. He talked her up quite a bit, and even picked her up numerous times. Boy oh boy, Danielle hates being picked up!

But goodness gracious, don't they look cute together? Match made in heaven!

Danielle looks incredibly comfortable, doesn't she?

Anyway, after hanging out with Joey Marcott for awhile, we decided to adjourn outdoors for awhile. It was outside that we encountered a man who claimed to go by the name Napoleon. Once again, my little biker connaissance disorder was in full effect. I thought this absurd man, who claimed to be studying gynecology, was a friend of my mom's. I was just talkin' away, and letting him get away with some heinous ass comments, thinking that if he is my mom's friend, that gives him a little license to get so familiar with us. I also thought that, being my mom's friend, I should've been nice to him.

Turns out, once again, no. This man was not one of my mom's friends. He was just a man who stepped across the line, habitually. He was a habitual line-stepper.

He also claimed to be some kind of photographer. He had a very cheesey camera, and thought he was some kind of professional. Bru-tal.

So we freed ourselves of Napoleon and went back inside.

One thing that was amazing about this particular reception was the live music. It was performed by one of my mom and Marv's favorite groups (and coincidentally, the winner of the Best of Racine award given by the Journal Times), Mean Jake. They are a blues band. In hanging out and doing Jello Shots earlier, I happened to notice that the lead singer (whose name is not Jake, but rather Doug or something like that) was playing the cowbell from time to time. It was at this point that I expressed interest to my mom in playing the cowbell. I am sure that most of you know that my inspiration came from the Saturday Night Live video. I'll try to embed the video into the blog, but in the even that that doesn't work, try THIS LINK!

Will'>http://myspacetv.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=7811298">Will Ferrel-SNL Blue Oyster Cult and more cowbell
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Anyway, of course my mom has the hookup on making this dream come true. So she tells Doug, or Roger, or whatever about my desire to play cowbell. And of course, for whatever reason, he is ready for me to join the band.

Here's a picture of the lead singer of Mean Jake and I, discussing our future collaboration!

And here it's going down....

Look at how amazing we look? Clearly, I am a natural. And let me tell you, I was a hit!

Now it may look like Marv is just some tough guy that walks around scaring people or something, but in a strange turn of events, Marv is a dancing machine.

He has a dance move that he has invented himself called "the Merv."

This involves putting your arms to your sides with them bent at right angles and moving them up and down with your forearms parallel to your body.

It's hard to resist doing the Merv, especailly when Merv itself is doing the dance of his namesake.

Here's a family Merv performance for your viewing pleasure....
Don't we look like we're having fun? It's because we are. ;-)

You can only do the Merv for so long before you get a little parched.

While Bruce Dickinson (the cock of the walk!) has a fever, and the only cure is more cowbell,

we had a thirst, and the only cure was more jello shots.

As you can see, my BFF from Mean Jake had to join us. And the guy with the froggy shirt? He is Greg Mastos. And he was more dedicated to the Jello Shot cause than can be described in mere words. And this man showed his dedication by bringing ONE OF the coolers full of Jello Shots over to the table at which we were seated, so that we might be able to indulge in said shots without having to move very far. Saweet!
I apparently decided at this point that it was time to take a picture of one of the cutest couples ever, my mom and marv. These two are awesome together. Best friends. Hard to believe that such "rough and tumble" individuals can be so cute, but it's true. Damn. I'm ruining Marv's tough guy image and street cred again, aren't I?

What I meant to say is that he is NOT a teddy bear. He is more like a ravenous scary bear. Yeah. I am scared of Marv. Yep. Sca-ry.
Anyway, if you thought that my disorder of thinking that my mom and Marv are friends to all bikers was not healed yet. We'll see if that biz-nass ever goes away.

So at some point during the night, we met Shawn, another man that I thought was friends with my mom, but actually did not know her. Yet. Don't worry, I'll introduce ya.

When you picture a biker, just randomly, off the top of your head, Shawn is exactly who pops in your mind, I'll bet.

I've met more bikers than an average person has met, I'd bet (ha, that rhymes!), and when I picture a generic biker, Shawn is what comes to mind.

I mean "generic" in the nicest way possible.

I believe that what I told Shawn was "quintessential." And when I say that, I mean it.

Of course, for the blog, I had to take a picture with the quintessential biker. Here we are! Pretty much looks like a picture of me and most of the guys I am attracted to, except for he's pretty much the opposite. Haha.

Another part of the reason that I posed with Shawn on his bike was to make Danielle feel more comfortable doing the same. I figured she could send this picture home and tell her parents she had a new boyfriend or something.

What's funny about that is that my mom would be pumped to see me with such a man, whilst Danielle's parents would probably have several heart attacks between the two of them. Holla!

Here's the cute couple! Man, Danielle was just some sort of Biker Playette that night!

Also notable about Shawn is that he had one of the coolest necklaces I had ever seen. It had a bunch of skulls on it. I tried to get him to give me such a necklace, but he wouldn't he said that he'd give a different one, that was a little too small, to my Mom and Marv the next day, as he was planning on coming to look at Baby, which is Marv's old bike (I am pretty sure it's a 1977 Shovelhead, whatever that means), which Marv is looking to perhaps sell. I still lack a necklace. Now Shawn, if you're out there, I am still waiting for my necklace, damn it!

One thing about my mom and Marv is that they are not really night owls. I am pretty sure that we were hitting the 9 or 10 o'clock hour, which pretty much meant it was time to turn into a pumpkin. AND! I was already hammered.

On the drive back to the Mil, whilst Danielle was propped up on blankets so she could see over the steering wheel (LL, you are probably familiar with this move, as you have to do it daily), my cousin called. She was out in Milwaukee for Summer Soulstice with her husband and college roommate.
So we decided to meet up with them at Mo's Irish Pub on Wisconsin Ave. after an attempt at hitting up the North Ave bars (before we were even serious regulars!).
Christine's husband, Adam, was a delight, as usual.

One special thing about both Mo's Irish pub locations, as I learned only this past Friday, is that they are complete with a library. You know, just in case you feel the need to do some leisurely reading. I can't count the number of times I've been out and really just sat there wishing I had a wide selection of books to read. Adam must've felt this way, too, and he was in luck!

Then we ladies decided to take a group shot. Aren't we lovely? Look at our earth tones. So coordinated. I can't wait to hang out with Christine again! It has been far too long. Remember when I lost my purse? Left it in Jo-Cat's? I blogged that. That was the last time. Damn!

Christine, by the way, is the one in the picture that is right next to me, who is not Danielle. Gorgeous! Danielle, too, but you are used to her. And Christine's roommate is also very pretty.... Oh man. Haha.

Then, of course, we had to get a group pic of all five of us. I have no idea why Adam felt the need to be the shortest person in the picture, but I am ok with it, as it adds interest to the picture - haha. Lovely!

As for the rest of the night, I wish I could say more. I am pretty sure that I drunk dialed and texted a lot of people. I seem to remember Broseph being one of them. Wouldn't be shocked if Ous was on that list, too. Poor Ous!

Another great night. And two blogs in two days. Maybe it'll be a streak! How many days does one have to blog in a row to make a streak?

Ok, time to finish this glass of Cabernet Sauvignon (my favorite kind of wine) and hit the hey.

Hope you enjoyed!

Drunk Diary 8-12-06

2006 is almost over. Almost time for 2007! To ring it in, I am going to post one of my favorite memories of 2006... I remember most of it, anyway!

Alright, I don't know how Cari decided that I am the storyteller of the two of us, but apparently it is my responsibility to impart the absurdity that was Saturday... I have a feeling that a lot of this is going to be "you had to be there" kind of humor, but even if it makes one person smile, it's worth it...

Night begins with a decision as to where we are going to go. Cari mentions a desire to hear Billy Ocean's masterpiece "Get Outta My Dreams," and the decision is made. We're going to Brother's, since as Andrew pointed out, they play that song nightly.

Since Danielle has other biznass to attend to (good girl!), the sweetheart and angel she is drops us off, because let's be realistic... Neither Cari nor I are going to be safe to drive at the end of this night. So, we pop "Mike D's Old School Mix" (which, for the record, is an f'ing phenomenal cd) into the car stereo and get moving on our way. We sing a little BBD (Yes, "Do Me" is one of the highlights of Mike's masterpiece) and some other awesome hits until we get there.... But when we roll up in the Acura with the curbside service (thanks again, DeFran), it's all about "If It Isn't Love" by New Edition. Hell yes, we were bumping it. And I can't say with certainty, because I was only wearing my left contact lens at the time, but I am pretty sure that Gerard, who was at the door, looked at us like "Who do you think you are?"

You know who we are, Gerard.

And yes, he did, because he just let us in... Although he was a little iffy about it. What a snot!
Anyway, first order of business was to get a drink. We were hoping for Curti, who was working, but were served by a much more serious man. So we drank drink #1 for the night.

(This seems like it is going to be really long. It might be. But let me ease your mind with the fact that the details get more and more hazy and the events get more and more interesting as the night rolls on.)

Drink #1 is done, so we go for #2. Yay! Curti! It should be noted, that right after saying hello to me, Curti says "Your hair's funky tonight!" with that big smile of his. Thank you for noticing, Curti! I explain that I was in a funky mood. Curti gives us our drink, then takes a picture of us for us...

When he hands back the camera, Curti says "Wow, you actually physically made love to the camera in that picture. I don't know how you did that!" Haha, Curti. You're too funny!

Shortly into drink #2, Cari and I are approached by a big meathead. He looks like he is 35 years old, but I am scared to tell him this, because he might go into a 'roid rage. After a little bit of talking (during which he keeps moving closer and closer to us... Such that we started out at the corner of the bar, and by the end of our drink were by the f'ing stairs from backing away from this man so much), he introduces himself.

Meathead: "My name's Kiev."
Me: "Kiev? Like Chicken Kiev?"
Kiev: "Well, I usually say 'like the city in Russia,' but I suppose chicken kiev works, too."

Turns out, my age estimation was dead on. Chicken Kiev is 35 years old.

The meathead judgement was dead on as well. One of Kiev's most entertaining stories was about how he takes long lunches to go work out at the Princeton Club, and that there is a Puerto Rican guy he is friends with from working out, and they yell "Hey, Cabron" at eachother across the gym. Let's also not ignore the fact that was pointed out to me - Kiev is actually not even in Russia. If you're going to liken yourself to a city, you should at least know where it is!

If that story is what this man uses to try to bring home girls, maybe it is a good thing that performance and muscle enhancing drugs have likely caused his testicles to shrivel. He won't be needing them anyway.

Another interesting tidbit about Kiev, who we talked to for way too long (so long, in fact, that we considered switching bars to get away from him... Worry not, we were saved by my overactive bladder that night... I don't know what was up with that.), and too many times... He was in Madison that night with his "body guard" who was just this enormous ass individual that looked like a wall. He definitely could have been a professional football player if he had any skills... I am guessing that he didn't have any, though. Or if he did, none of them were "speaking English" because he didn't say a word all night. Maybe that was better, although I can scarely imagine a scenario in which letting your friend Chicken Kiev do all the talking is the best P of A.
So after this admission of having a big body guard, and lengthy explanations of why no one would consider jumping him if his friend was with him (sure would have been nice if there was a knight in shining armour or two to save us at this point), Cari strokes his ego a bit and tells him that she is pretty sure that he (Chicken Kiev) can hold his own in a fight.

I am having none of this. I praise his idea of having the body guard, and explain to him that I am actually Cari's body guard, and when people see us in an alley and think about jumping Cari, and then they see me, they think "There is no way in hell I am going to fuck with her." And from this point forward, with Chicken Kiev, I basically repeat back everything he says, but make it so that it is the exact statement but about Cari or I. Meathead Chicken Kiev has no idea we are making fun of him directly to his face.

Drink #2 = finished. Bathroom trip #2 = in progress. Who do we see, but Lance and Miguel, the erotic photo hunt legends of Madison, WI. Cari has a little bit of a sour taste in her mouth from the last time she met Lance, when he was the drunkest person in the world, smelled like a lawn mower, and said many beligerant and dirty things to her. I assured her that he wasn't so bad the other time when he was soberer, and she agreed to give him a second chance. We say hi briefly, go get the bathroom thing taken care of, and then go back to Lance and Miguel.

I immediately called Lance out on his vulturesque behavior the last time we saw him, as well as the fact that he smelled like a lawn mower, and he appologized profusely and explained that he had been golfing and drinking all day, and didn't even remember everything that he said. Bravo, Lance, Bravo! We had some friendly conversation, several laughs, and then took this cute little picture...

In the meantime, I have set up a tab with Curti. For drink number three, I get his attention, and he holds up two fingers, while raising his eyebrows. I nod, to confirm that both Cari and I will be imbibing a new drink at that point. Amazing. By the time that I get to the bar, the drinks are ready, and he takes my card. Just beautiful. Thank you, Curti.

We bid LanceNMiguel ado, with a sad farewell, since I will not likely see them again since I am moving to Milwaukee, and me threatening to kill them if they come to my Photo Hunt turf.

A little bit of time passes, and Cari and I decide that once we finish our drinks and go to the bathroom (again... sorry, Cari), that we should do shots. On the way back from the bathroom, I spot Curti and smile, he puts his two up, I nod, drinks are on the way. We get to the bar, and there are our drinks... He notices that we are not lined up correctly, and switches them, handing them to us individually, and saying "I believe you are the Captain" when he gives me mine.

Damn right, I am the Captain, Curti!!! That's what I liked to hear. Anyway, the three of us do a shot (one of Curti's creations), and we step away from the bar to drink our drinks and finally debrief about both Kiev and Lance N Miguel. We also, at this point, had the chance to rock out to "Get Outta My Dreams," by Billy Ocean. It was beautiful.

We are not standing there long when I am hit by a blast from the past. Alex M! He was a couple years younger than me and went to my highschool... I was good friends with his brother, John M, who is a year older than me. How funny! In my mind, Alex was still highschool aged, despite the fact that I had knowledge that he was at Madison. We quickly took a picture together, caught up really quick, and parted ways...

Shortly after Alex steps aside, we look up at the bar to see a girl we had been making fun of all night (She had the most absurd blonde dye-job and was dressed like a street walker. "Is that girl serious???") and a few of her hoe-ass friends dancing atop the bar. That was ridiculous. And, to top it off, they all sucked at dancing. I resisted the temptation to show them up, and waited patiently for them to get off the bar. Once they did, Curti and I used our signals to procure more drinks... And shots, for Cari and I.

Then we decide that I need a picture with Gerard. So, we obviously make that happen... Notice the face on Gerard's shoulder... That's Jay-Bob. He comes into play later. I don't know the other broseph's name, but he is always there. (Turns out, he's Ben. I would befriend him later in the summer/Fall).

Such begins the ridiculous picture fest.

Now, Cari decides that what she really needs in life is to have a picture of me kissing her on the cheek. Alright, sounds good. Gerard was the chosen one as photographer, since he wasn't doing anything immediately after posing with me anyway.

(Sidenote: Cari, aren't you proud of us for keeping it 100% G-rated?? YES!)

Anyway, at this point I believe that we got more drinks with the Curti thing. I mean, he just made it way too easy. I don't know exactly how many times I got drinks in this easy fashion, but I can tell you that it was convenient as hell, and spelled trouble.

Then Kiev, who is still f'ing there, comes and talks to us for a second. Just a second, though...

Thank God! But worry not, for another vulture is prepared to swoop... This guy walks up and says "I gotta ask you girls a question, and I have been wondering this all night. How in the fuck do you two know Kiev?"

What makes you think we know him? Because he is being a stalkin'-ass vulture?

We explain that we had just met him that night, and did not know him. Then this friend explains that Kiev is actually a cokehead, which confuses the shit out of Cari (I gotta say that I am a little baffled as well), because Kiev is such a big dude...

Cari: "I thought that cokeheads were supposed to be all EMANCIPATED?"

Emaciated? Yeah. Anyway, the friend goes on and on about how Kiev's eyes were all dilated and blah blah blah boring vulture blah.

OK, last call! We had better get more drinks, since it is our last chance.

Now keep in mind, that we had a couple drinks BEFORE going out, since Danielle was driving.

We paid in cash for two rounds... And we went up there twice at this point to get both drinks AND shots, as well as 1-3 other times for JUST drinks. Also, keep in mind that we started drinking while we were getting ready at approximately 9:30, and that we got to the bar shortly after 11. It is now 2am. Three hours of fun after arriving at Brother's.

What do we say to Curti when we get to the bar to get our drinks, which were, of course, sitting and waiting for us???

"Curti, we're not drunk yet, so we're gonna need shots, too."

We're not drunk yet???? WHAAAAAT??? Obviously.

Anyway, so we do a shot with Curti, and then step aside to drink our drinks...

Then I close my tab ($40 - sweetness!), and get Curti's number, which he hands back to me on a slip... Curti and I had previously (a couple weeks before) discussed how we each loved making up stories about who we were, and thought it would be fun if he ever came to Milwaukee to make an absurd backstory and lie to people all night... And I should probably give a little background on how Curti and I became acquainted... The time prior to this one that Cari was in town, when I was the drunkest person in the United States and stole Zak that mojitos poster, I apparently told Curti that he should remember my face and name for the next time I was in there, because I am a good tipper and I wanted good service. The next day I went in, and he immediately said "Hi, Mandie!" to me, and I hadn't remembered the previous night's conversation, so I felt like a huge drunk. Ah, well...

Anyway, moments later, I am talking to Curti about how he needs to transfer to the Brother's on Water street in Milwaukee... And I want to confirm that he will call me when he is in Milwaukee... And I dont remember him giving me his number, which was at the time, in my pocket. So he gives me his number again, and I put it in my phone. I was a genius at this point. Thank you, Cari, for your help here.

This part gets a little fuzzy for me... But I know that we were talking a lot to the staff of Brother's about various things... Which is probably how we ended up being the last patron's in there... Our explanation was that we needed pictures with Curti, our favorite bartender in the world, for obvious reasons...

Have you been wondering all along what he looks like? Good... Here we are!

Awww...

And of course we need another, with Cari...

OK, so I have no idea how it happened... But remember Jay-Bob, from the picture above with Gerard? Well, at this point, he must have attacked me with a permanent marker... Because that is the only way I can think of that the words "Jay-Bob ownes me" and a picture of a fish, as well as a blue dot could have gotten drawn on my arm. And yes, he spelled it "ownes." Brutal!

Danielle, notice the "bracelet arm" pose?

So, at this point, Cari and I decide that it is time to continue our trend of all Mexican food all the time, and go to T-Bell for some crunchwraps. Done and done. We were the last people here, too. Yes, the employees (who I probably bonded with as well) were sweeping as we were leaving. Again. Good for us! I am pretty sure it is 3am at this point. Could be later. Who knows?

At some point, either at the end of the night at Brother's (perhaps even by Kiev's friend? Who knows?) or at T-Bell, we are invited to an A-Bar at TKE... Of course we are ready to party. I mean, at this point, are we even ready to admit that we might be drunk? It's anybody's guess. So we walk over to TKE. Thank goodness Cari knows her frats and sororities... Or maybe not. Because when we arrive, no one is there. Or if they are, they are not conscious.

So we decide to go home, and I decide that it is time for some drunk dialing and texting. Do I remember any of the conversations that took place at this time? Nope. I sent a thank-you text to Curti. I sent many other texts, too. Are they grammatically perfect? Yes. Do they make any sense at all when strung together, or even put back and forth with the responses? Not so much, no. Good thing I was communicating with someone else who wasn't so sober!

I suggest we hail a cab. Apparently, I thought that I was in NYC. Did I really think there would be cabs all over State Street at 4am? Yes. Ah well. So Cari is the crabbiest person ever because we feel duped about the TKE party... I don't really care about this. She tells me that I am stupid on the "hail a cab" idea (she's right) and then calls one (thanks, Andy, for the number!). She doesn't know my address, and I am on the phone, so she has to tell the cab operator that we are going "Somewhere on Fish Hatchery Road." The cab operator is like "You don't know where you are going???" (Almost as good as "Ma'am, are you aware that you are at the library?)... The cab comes...

We get in the cab, and that's pretty much a time warp. I don't remember anything other than getting in and out of it.

When we get back to my apartment, I see that a new phone book has been placed inside the main door. This apparently upsets me. I start bitching about how we have like eight fucking phone books (complete lie. At this point in the story, we had one phone book, which is the perfect amount), and why do people keep giving us phone books?

Obviously, the best course of action is for me to take this phone book, which I do.

Cari, the voice of reason here, asks me "If you guys have eight fucking phone books, then why are you taking that one?"

And I say "Because it's a free gift!" in my most cheerful voice.

I take out my contact, brush, floss, wash my face and go to bed.

When I wake up (at 8am - WHAAAT?), my hair looks exactly as it did when I left the apt. I don't know how. And the first thing I had to do was wash off "Jay-Bob ownes me" of my arm.
Thank you so much to everyone involved in the night, whether directly or indirectly, for making it awesome.

And thank you to you, whoever is reading this, for being an f'ing trooper. This shit is long.

Almost took me an hour! Hope you enjoyed!

Hoes, Hoes, Hoes, and more Shoes.

This one is going to be shorter than the others. And it lacks pictures. But I think you will survive. I wrote the bulk of that last one a few days ago and saved it as a draft, and finished it tonight. I apparently haven't gotten enough writing, so I figured I would quickly pop this one off, and then watch a movie before bed. I pretty much have nothing to do these days. Gotta love being a teacher and getting extended vacations! Haha.

So this past Friday was our staff holiday party. It's held every year at the principal's house in downtown Milwaukee. It's catered, and there is wine service, and it's very nice. Very classy.

Well, it WAS classy, until apparently one of the Special Ed teachers stated coming. He's a Badger grad (like me), which means that the man knows how to party. It is because of him that we've begun having JELLO shots at our fancy staff party. Not just a few, but 500. That might not seem like a lot, but we are a small school. There are fewer than 100 staff members, and of course, about half of the staff members attend. Of the ones that do attend, many go home early, and many are not drinkers. So yeah. 500 JELLO shots. Kind of a lot!

Last year (my first year)'s highlight was doing a jello shot with the principal, who has her doctorate, and is just one of the most fly ladies I've ever seen. It was also pretty cool to see a lot of the teachers hammered. I felt like I didn't belong. I am much younger than most of the staff at our school, so I kinda felt like a student, like I shouldn't be there... Like... Look at all these adults acting crazy!

This year, I felt like I fit in better. I didn't get as drunk as I did last year (so I abstained when the Persian rug became a dance floor), but I definitely felt more comfortable.

Highlights of this year? Jello shots with L (one of my favorite co-workers). I swear we did like ten of them, and had huge talks about the flavors and about how we could build a Math, Science, and Social Studies curriculum about Jello Shots.

Another highlight was when one of the teachers (who was tipsy from a half glass of wine) started singing into the lint roller that she had in her purse. Why did she have a lint roller in her purse? Because she's a teacher.

And finally.... One of the teacher's wives was there. She was wearing a teeshirt that said "What's on my holiday list? Shoes, Shoes, Shoes, and more Shoes!" She was also wearing a blazer, though... And to my humorous pleasure, said blazer covered up three of the S's. So when I looked, her shirt said :

What's on my holiday list?
HOES
HOES
HOES
and more shoes!

Oh, too funny. L and I almost died!

Ok, off to watch "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" for the first time and then go to bed, but before then, I leave you with the question...

Would you rather have a written lisp, or fizz up like alka seltzer whenever you were in water?
(Things to consider: Thwimming!)