There are a few things that have been on my mind lately.
The quote I used for the title is apparently an Italian proverb that I saw written on the wall at a highschool where I attended a meeting the other day. I was inspired, so I texted it to myself so I'd remember it. I think it's applicable for this blog entry, so here it is!
Last Saturday, a week ago today, I did a promo.... As a model, sometimes I am paid to do ridiculous things like go to fairs and try to get people to go to the booth and get samples, or play games, or things of that nature. This past Saturday, I was working in a grocery store promoting cheese. I was supposed to pretend to be a cheese aficionado. I was paired with someone who does grocery store sampling all the time. She was to prepare grilled cheese sandwiches with the new cheese we were promoting, and I was to explain the cheeses, and what made them special, and give them coupons and little promotional gifts (hot pads, jar openers, cooking dvds, recipe guides).
I was expecting to be paired with a little white-haired old lady. You know hair net, the whole deal.... You've gotten samples at the supermarket before.
I was paired up with a recent highschool graduate, planning to go to college in the Fall and making extra money in the meantime to save up for it.
I remember those days. I remember getting ready to go off to school, and knowing that I wasn't going to get a job right away because I wanted to focus on school. I remember working like crazy the summer before to try to save up for it. I knew where this girl was coming from.
I also knew, because her mom (who also did supermarket demonstrations) told me, how much she was going to be making per hour.
It was less than half of what I was being paid. It was still well over minimum wage, and definitely a pay rate I'd have been happy to have at that point in my life.
The second I heard her mom tell her pay rate, I felt awful. Here I was, standing around, looking pretty, and sharing what I learned in a two-hour training about cheese, making over double what the girl who was standing there in a hair net and cooking was making. I felt terrible and guilty. I was praying the whole time that she would not ask me how much I was making.
My prayer was not answered. She did not know that I knew how much she was making, and I did not ask her. My tail was SO between my legs.
What sense does this make? I know that I went through a training, but does two hours of learning about a cheese (and let me tell you, this was not intensive in any way). But seriously, should that double my rate?
If it was intellectuals with cheese knowledge they wanted, or educators with the ability to inform people about said cheese, why would they go through a modeling agency?
I guess the argument could be made that we are models, so we might be good at talking to people. And yes, there was an audition with some acting involved. Was it because they wanted a pretty person? Why should I be paid so much? When the king on down all go into the same box?
OK.... That's just part one.
Part two.
Shaq.
Everyone knows I am the biggest Shaq fan ever.
Lately, I had been struggling. Some Madam in Vegas dropped his name as one of her brothel's clients. It's been breaking my heart. I like to live in a world where my hero is faithful to his wife and would never do such things.
My faith in my hero, though, has been restored, in the name of Shaq's Big Challenge.
It's his TV show where he helps 6 morbidly obese children to learn how to use diet and exercise to essentially change and save their lives.
It's a touching show. I love every second of it. I think it's simply amazing. The kids have been so cute, and it it's been sad to hear their stories.
Shaq has been awesome. He's hilarious. I cracked up so much at almost everything he says. His facial expressions are hysterical. The way he interacts with children, both the participants in the show, and his own, is wonderful to watch.
At one point, a member of his team (the team of professionals and experts he's assembled to help the children, not the Miami Heat) said "It's going to be a rough road."
Shaq's response was "Well lets pull out the all-terrain vehicles then, baby!"
Perfect.
Love it.
Anyway, you should watch the show. You'll see why I love Shaq. I think I've converted Danielle into a Shaq-lover! It's on Tuesday nights on ABC. Do it.
I was going to have a part three to this post, but I think I better start getting ready to go out and meet Curti and Rob.... Plus, I am just not 100% at my best mentally to be blogging, I don't think- my creative game is off.
You can expect soon a blog about Danielle's birthday celebration, which was yesterday, and included a trip to Summerfest to see Def Leppard, Foreigner, and Styx. That was the recipe for some hilarious people-watching. Also, hopefully soon I will be blogging about a couple Racine-area weddings. Oh man. Hilarious.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Devin Harris + Denim Night = One Helluva Weekend!
Oy. The time was Memorial Day weekend. Friday, to be exact. I had been having quite the terrible week, and was ready to go to bed. Way crabby. I was having some issues with the part-time job I had taken, and their scheduling. So I came home from school, and went to bed.
After a couple hours of napping, I was ready to rally. I went tanning and worked out and showered. When I was coming home from tanning, I ran into Nathan, one of the more normal people that lives in our building, in the elevator. He was with a friend who had a site for sore eyes in his hand - a guitar from the game guitar hero. I didn't even see that Nathan was with him, and made a comment about how I love guitar hero, and then Nathan invited us up later.
So after I got ready and such, I informed Danielle of our plan - first up to Nathan's to play Guitar Hero, then off to Can's, then finishing up at Murphy's (at least that was the plan).
Danielle was a little leery of going up and hanging out with these people that she didn't know. She's a little on the shy side. While getting ready, though, we shared a bottle of champagne, which I drank most of. Brut.
Once we were ready, we went upstairs to Nathan's. Oh boy, was that interesting! Nathan was pretty intense.
We played some guitar hero, and I have got to say.... Danielle is quite the phenom! She played lead on Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the name of" and it was most excellent (can you tell that I am watching Wayne's World while typing this?). So good. I was impressed.
Nathan gave Danielle a beer (if memory serves me correctly), and made me what was formerly the strongest Captain and Diet in the History of the United States (that record was beaten this past weekend at Del's wedding - blog soon to follow), and then the four of us (Nathan, Danielle, Nathan's friend who brought over the Guitar Hero - I believe his name was Mike) did shots of Jack Daniel's. That was obviously just what the doctor ordered.... We hung out a little bit.... Then we decided to call a cab and move on.
Now one thing I've learned is that I attract absurdity. Even the cab ride was no exception.
The cab driver was from Africa - some French-speaking country. Since this was about a month ago, I can't remember which. Also in the car was an infant, obviously. Anyway, I spoke French with the cab driver the whole ride to Can's. Wahoo! That's always a good time.
We get to Can's, and the normal absurdity is in place. Matty, one of Danielle's "old friends" is there, and he is one of the most ridiculous people life has to offer. Danielle was immediately approached as well by some weird farmer guy who was hitting on her, which was definitely amusing!
Then we are approached by some lame guys, and then some other lame guys.... This one lame guy informs me that he's an athlete. Call me a douche (although I'd rather you didn't) but ever since Ous came into the picture, I've had a little bit of a higher standard when people say they are athletes. I mean, it's one thing to say "I play this sport..." But to say that you're an athlete is another story.... While it may be true, I think it just seems pretentious to say.
Anyway, this kid is telling me he's a boxer or something, and his name is Dustin. Then all of the sudden, I see a couple familiar faces....
Buddha, who works at Murphy's and was in a fashion show with me, and Devin Harris.
Devin Harris, for those of you who don't know, is a Badger Alumni, and current member of the Dallas Maverick's. He's a mutual friend of Sharif Chambliss, Freddie Owens (obviously, since those two were also Badger Basketball players, and Freddie and Devin were childhood friends), and apparently Buddha.
So I stroll up to these individuals, and Buddha and I hug our hellos. He introduces me to Devin, and I immediately tell him that I used to hate him, because he would always get to skip to the front of the line in bars in Madison, and I 'd still have to wait. He apologized, and we kept talking.
I obviously needed to get a picture with him. I think he looks kinda creepy in it, like some sort of peeping tom. When I told him about it later, he asked what he's peeping at. I have no idea. You got any ideas?
At some point, which I don't remember, numbers were exchanged. On some sort of bizarre mass level - I ended up with both Devin's number and Buddha's, and them with mine, and somehow that Dustin the boxer ended up with my number as well. That ended up being quite the confusing scenario.
Anyway, apparently Buddha and Devin were having some sort of A-bar and we were invited. Sounds good, we thought. BUT, I had one priority over hanging out with these lovely gents, and that was a grilled cheese sandwich or two.
So D and I go to the George Webb by our house, and get some food. That was absurd as well. We are sitting there forever and don't get waters. Danielle spies some attractive young pups behind me and so I ask them if they are leaving if we can have their waters. We are very thirsty ladies. They let us have their waters, and they move on.
Meanwhile, I am texting Devin Harris, and he's being interesting. I told him that I was focused on food, and he told me to let him know when I am ready to focus on him. Then someone calls, and I somehow get to be under the impression that it is Devin, but from a different phone. Turns out no, but I won't learn that for awhile. At some point, too, I was on the phone with probably Devin (although I now have doubts), and I made fun of his jeans, because they had rhinestones on them - and he said something about how his watch matched, and asked me if I had seen it. I had. It was approximately the sparkliest watch in the United States. Another phone call comes in, and I thought it was Devin from a second cell phone. He was looking for Dustin the boxer... Hmmm.... Anyway....
Moments later, the gentlemen who had just left who had given us the waters returned. They wanted to talk to us. Thought we were cute or something, which was exciting, since Danielle thought the one kid was cute.
When I say "kid," I am not kidding. (ha!)
Turns out, these boys are 19, and had fake ids and were visiting friends.
As we're standing around talking after our meal, the one that Danielle had found attractive just starts giggling and covers his mouth. I ask him what he's laughing at, and he basically says, "I just can't believe you guys are 25."
Brut.
I didn't bother to correct him about the fact that Danielle would soon (Friday) be 25, and that I am only a stone's throw away from 26 (brut).
So then Danielle and I decide to walk home. What, do we think we're in Madison or something? I know it's only a couple blocks, but poor choice!
We also decide that it is too late to go to Devin and Buddha's a-bar party, so we go home and go to bed.
Next morning, I wake up, and feel like complete ass. Brut.
I go in the living room, and my shoes are strewn about. Living room was already a bit of a struggle, because I had been playing 8-bit Nintendo there recently.... Check it out.
See, the thing is, I was supposed to work. I agreed to pick up this girl's patio shift, and wasn't sure what to do. I was already fed up - this place had messed up my schedule and availability like four times in two days, and I was quite annoyed. 
I should've known, though. This was not my first time meeting any of these gentlemen. 
How hot and irresistable is that? Apparently too much for Rob to be able to stay away.... But who could blame him, really?
Rob has no ass. Anyway, I get into my getup and we hang out a bit.... It is hilarious to watch these fellows moving around in their clothes. Whenever they drop something, it is a huge struggle to bend over and get it, due to the tightness of their ensembles. I, too, am at a disadvantage of how much I can move because of my outfit. 
Yes, I am wearing a one-piece denim halter that zips up the back. And yes, I have my hands in my pockets to pull the outfit down a bit, to avoid the aforementioned cameltoe issue. I am by no means a tall individual, but I found that this "onesie," as it would be called, really rode up like nobody's business. (And it wasn't anybody's business, either!). 
In the meantime, we do not fail to notice a man who himself is dressed in head-to-toe denim, and not part of the group, staring creepily in my direction. Brut. 
With no surprise to anyone, the homoerotic posing continues. Thank goodness! And this time, Petey's involved.... Amen!
We then discovered that the new cocktail waitress at Brother's is only slightly taller than Rob when he's on his knees. She's so little, even smaller than Danielle, by a lot! How cute?!
Next, it was apparently completely necessary for me to put Rob on like a backpack, wrapping his suspenders around me. And, as usual when I take a picture with Rob, we had to "melt the camera" with our sexiest faces. This always makes me look as ridiculous as possible. Thanks, Rob.
Man I look good.... And sober.... Or something.
And, of course, the obligatory picture with the girls.... Except Danielle is missing. :-(
If you look closely at the picture above, you can see some writing on my bosom. That is because I had noticed a couple things that were upsetting to me. First of all, Curti was signing EVERYONE's chests.... Men and women alike! And he was writing things such as "These belong to me" and "property of Curti." And to make matters worse, people were writing similar things on him! My denim husband! 
By sheer coincidence alone, LL and Curti's friend Abby were wearing nearly matching fuscia shirts. They became my bridesmaids.
You know that saying "It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt?" 
On the right in the above picture is Dustin, the Wing Master. He is the man who cooks the wings at Brothers on Wednesdays. Apparently, he is similar to Curti in that he has no game whatsoever (Curti's words, not mine), except apparently even worse and more shy? I don't know. 
It was at this point that it was decided that I was not going to be the only person who got to enjoy the onesie. Rob, who is 6'4", decided he needed to try it on. So I put on my PJs and passed the glorious suit along. As you can see, Rob put me to shame.
Oh man, that's..... attractive. But wait! If you can handle more hotness.... Look at this one!
Yum yum!
And fortunately, Rob was so comfortable in the denim onesie that he could play pool.... He wasn't limited to just.... *cough* posing sexily *cough*.
And if you think that the sexiness stops with Rob, you are so wrong.... Ben definitely needed to get in on it (with Rob's help of course, since Rob is now experienced in these matters).
Teamwork! Stella helped, too.
There was an effort made to zip the garment up, but the zipper somehow got split. I have no idea how, though! ;-P
Of course, the back shot was necessary. Looks like it fits him well, though, right? Like it was custom made, just for him? I agree.
Hmmmm....
Apparently, Ben's girlfriend Kat loved it. She even told me that she will take me to lunch because I afforded her the opportunity to see Ben in such attire. Yes, to be honest, I find that bizarre. I had always made an effort to keep the guys I've dated OUT of girl's clothes. Kat did, however, get more than a handful of Ben in the onesie, as you can see.
Not only that, but she also got the opportunity to try on the onesie for herself. In this next photograph, you can see her in the midst of putting this glorious piece of clothing on her body. You can also see where we duct taped the top because of the high-quality thread that was scratching my sensitive skin on my tatas!
Now look at her. She has the most dignified look on her face! And who wouldn't, in a denim halter one-piece jumpsuit?
And, as I am sure that you expected, the fun didn't stop with Kat. Remember the tiny little cute cocktail waitress? The one who is only slightly taller than Rob when he's kneeling? Oh yes. She tried it on as well!
After a couple hours of napping, I was ready to rally. I went tanning and worked out and showered. When I was coming home from tanning, I ran into Nathan, one of the more normal people that lives in our building, in the elevator. He was with a friend who had a site for sore eyes in his hand - a guitar from the game guitar hero. I didn't even see that Nathan was with him, and made a comment about how I love guitar hero, and then Nathan invited us up later.
So after I got ready and such, I informed Danielle of our plan - first up to Nathan's to play Guitar Hero, then off to Can's, then finishing up at Murphy's (at least that was the plan).
Danielle was a little leery of going up and hanging out with these people that she didn't know. She's a little on the shy side. While getting ready, though, we shared a bottle of champagne, which I drank most of. Brut.
Once we were ready, we went upstairs to Nathan's. Oh boy, was that interesting! Nathan was pretty intense.
We played some guitar hero, and I have got to say.... Danielle is quite the phenom! She played lead on Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the name of" and it was most excellent (can you tell that I am watching Wayne's World while typing this?). So good. I was impressed.
Nathan gave Danielle a beer (if memory serves me correctly), and made me what was formerly the strongest Captain and Diet in the History of the United States (that record was beaten this past weekend at Del's wedding - blog soon to follow), and then the four of us (Nathan, Danielle, Nathan's friend who brought over the Guitar Hero - I believe his name was Mike) did shots of Jack Daniel's. That was obviously just what the doctor ordered.... We hung out a little bit.... Then we decided to call a cab and move on.
Now one thing I've learned is that I attract absurdity. Even the cab ride was no exception.
The cab driver was from Africa - some French-speaking country. Since this was about a month ago, I can't remember which. Also in the car was an infant, obviously. Anyway, I spoke French with the cab driver the whole ride to Can's. Wahoo! That's always a good time.
We get to Can's, and the normal absurdity is in place. Matty, one of Danielle's "old friends" is there, and he is one of the most ridiculous people life has to offer. Danielle was immediately approached as well by some weird farmer guy who was hitting on her, which was definitely amusing!
Then we are approached by some lame guys, and then some other lame guys.... This one lame guy informs me that he's an athlete. Call me a douche (although I'd rather you didn't) but ever since Ous came into the picture, I've had a little bit of a higher standard when people say they are athletes. I mean, it's one thing to say "I play this sport..." But to say that you're an athlete is another story.... While it may be true, I think it just seems pretentious to say.
Anyway, this kid is telling me he's a boxer or something, and his name is Dustin. Then all of the sudden, I see a couple familiar faces....
Buddha, who works at Murphy's and was in a fashion show with me, and Devin Harris.
Devin Harris, for those of you who don't know, is a Badger Alumni, and current member of the Dallas Maverick's. He's a mutual friend of Sharif Chambliss, Freddie Owens (obviously, since those two were also Badger Basketball players, and Freddie and Devin were childhood friends), and apparently Buddha.
So I stroll up to these individuals, and Buddha and I hug our hellos. He introduces me to Devin, and I immediately tell him that I used to hate him, because he would always get to skip to the front of the line in bars in Madison, and I 'd still have to wait. He apologized, and we kept talking.
I obviously needed to get a picture with him. I think he looks kinda creepy in it, like some sort of peeping tom. When I told him about it later, he asked what he's peeping at. I have no idea. You got any ideas?
At some point, which I don't remember, numbers were exchanged. On some sort of bizarre mass level - I ended up with both Devin's number and Buddha's, and them with mine, and somehow that Dustin the boxer ended up with my number as well. That ended up being quite the confusing scenario.
Anyway, apparently Buddha and Devin were having some sort of A-bar and we were invited. Sounds good, we thought. BUT, I had one priority over hanging out with these lovely gents, and that was a grilled cheese sandwich or two.
So D and I go to the George Webb by our house, and get some food. That was absurd as well. We are sitting there forever and don't get waters. Danielle spies some attractive young pups behind me and so I ask them if they are leaving if we can have their waters. We are very thirsty ladies. They let us have their waters, and they move on.
Meanwhile, I am texting Devin Harris, and he's being interesting. I told him that I was focused on food, and he told me to let him know when I am ready to focus on him. Then someone calls, and I somehow get to be under the impression that it is Devin, but from a different phone. Turns out no, but I won't learn that for awhile. At some point, too, I was on the phone with probably Devin (although I now have doubts), and I made fun of his jeans, because they had rhinestones on them - and he said something about how his watch matched, and asked me if I had seen it. I had. It was approximately the sparkliest watch in the United States. Another phone call comes in, and I thought it was Devin from a second cell phone. He was looking for Dustin the boxer... Hmmm.... Anyway....
Moments later, the gentlemen who had just left who had given us the waters returned. They wanted to talk to us. Thought we were cute or something, which was exciting, since Danielle thought the one kid was cute.
When I say "kid," I am not kidding. (ha!)
Turns out, these boys are 19, and had fake ids and were visiting friends.
As we're standing around talking after our meal, the one that Danielle had found attractive just starts giggling and covers his mouth. I ask him what he's laughing at, and he basically says, "I just can't believe you guys are 25."
Brut.
I didn't bother to correct him about the fact that Danielle would soon (Friday) be 25, and that I am only a stone's throw away from 26 (brut).
So then Danielle and I decide to walk home. What, do we think we're in Madison or something? I know it's only a couple blocks, but poor choice!
We also decide that it is too late to go to Devin and Buddha's a-bar party, so we go home and go to bed.
Next morning, I wake up, and feel like complete ass. Brut.
I go in the living room, and my shoes are strewn about. Living room was already a bit of a struggle, because I had been playing 8-bit Nintendo there recently.... Check it out.
How my shoes ended up like that shall remain forever a mystery.
Now there is one way that I can always just tell that I had a ridiculous night the night before.
The biggest clue is my clothes. If I have it at least somewhat mentally together, they will be in my room. This is whether I have it in me to take a shower or not.
If, however, the night is ridiculous, my clothes will be anywhere but my bedroom.
In the picture above, you see my clothes outside my bedroom door, in the kitchen, like shoes outside a Japanese teahouse. And no, the denim jacket on the left was not worn with the dark jeans in the foreground.... What kind of ridiculous person wears head-to-toe denim????
Anyway, Danielle emerges from her room moments later. Why we are awake at like 9am is a mystery. We are kinda recapping the previous night's events when my phone rings. The caller id says, "Devin Harris." I answer, and a voice says, "Hello Mandie." We talk a couple seconds, and he asks if I know who he is. I tell him "of course I do" and that he's Devin Harris. He suddenly has to go, and is going to call back later.
So I commence to talking to Danielle and we wonder why he is calling me so early in the morning, and why he doesn't have anything better to do.
Then Danielle decides that she has to get to work, and I go back to bed.
Curti texts me, and we discuss the possibility of me going to Madison that day.
See, the thing is, I was supposed to work. I agreed to pick up this girl's patio shift, and wasn't sure what to do. I was already fed up - this place had messed up my schedule and availability like four times in two days, and I was quite annoyed.
So I talked to Curti. Curti and friends had been doing some theme nights.... Like when they printed their own tshirts with ridiculous phrases on them and such. I told him that I would come up, and thus quit my job, if we could do a theme night.
I saw this shit coming a mile away. Last summer, Lers had a job at Applebee's. She worked a few shifts. Then, I had a week off of nannying, and decided that it would be glorious to spend it with Lers and Meams in Milwaukee, especially since it was during the week of Summerfest.
Lers and I were very accustomed to seeing eachother for a couple hours a day every day, and me moving to Madison was a difficult adjustment.
Anyway, first day in Milwaukee, we decide to go to the beach with several friends.... Lers is supposed to work that evening, which was fine - I was just going to meet up with Troy (ha, we actually tried to do that!), or hang out with Meams or Zak and AY and Kenny or something...
Well, the fun started getting better and better, and the next thing we knew, we were in the bathroom at the f'ing beach, and she was calling in to work.
Next day, she's supposed to work again, but she ends up getting drunk at breakfast and dropping her new Razr into a Jagerbomb, so that doesn't occur either, and she can't even call in.
Next thing we know, Lers is a jobless bum for the summer. I think I will actually devote an entire blog to that ridiculous week.
Anyway, I'm talking to Curti, and he decides that we will have a theme night. B'bye, job at Hi-Hat. I don't know who I was kidding with that one.
Theme night discussions continue, and we decide it will be denim night. The people involved are Curti and I (obviously), as well as Pet, Ben, and Rob. I am the only girl, as well as the only person who does not work at Brothers. Ah well.
I set out to acquire my outfit.... I will leave its description a surprise, and you can just see it later, but I will tell you that I bought it at a store "Rainbow" that my students frequent, and that it was purchased at Grand Avenue Mall, which closes at 7pm daily because of crime. Holla.
I pull my life together and shower, and set out on my way to Madtown, excited for the night ahead which is sure to be fun.
On my way, I talk to Lindsay, who is Andy's sister. Love her. I had tons of fun with her in LA when I visited. She was in town visiting, and we made plans to meet up later. We had a bad connection, so I had some difficiulty explaining denim night. Oh well.
I get to Curti, Pet and Ben's house, and let myself in. I used to knock, but got yelled at for that. Apparently, I'm part of the family. I feel so special!
Anyway, no one is upstairs, so I make my way downstairs. The boys were ready for me. They knew that by now I just let myself in, and evidently could hear my arrival. I walked down the stairs, and this is EXACTLY the first thing I saw. They were posed and ready for me!
I don't think anything could've prepared me for that sight. I knew they would be wearing head-to-toe denim, as that was the plan. I did not know, however, that they were going to buy the tightest pants in the United States. I also did not know that there would be suspenders involved, that they'd have their shirts buttoned to the sky, and that Pet and Rob would have their pants rolled in such a "fashion." Oy! Glorious.
I should've known, though. This was not my first time meeting any of these gentlemen.
Honestly, I don't know how I could've expected any less. These are habitual line-steppers we're dealing with.
Actually, I wouldn't have been surprised if Ben had been wearing an outfit similar to mine, or a mini skirt or something.
I doubt that it's evident from the pictures I've shown so far (which are, like many others from this entry, courtesy of Curti - thanks, Curti!), but Ben is actually wearing women's boot cut jeans. As you can see below, they fit him quite well....
How hot and irresistable is that? Apparently too much for Rob to be able to stay away.... But who could blame him, really?
Rob has no ass. Anyway, I get into my getup and we hang out a bit.... It is hilarious to watch these fellows moving around in their clothes. Whenever they drop something, it is a huge struggle to bend over and get it, due to the tightness of their ensembles. I, too, am at a disadvantage of how much I can move because of my outfit.
Then we get in cars and start heading to the Brodeo, which is the most appropriate name for Brother's ever, especially on this particular evening.
In the car, the discussion turns again to our clothing, and I say something that gets me immortalized on Curti's facebook quote section....
"I was worried about cameltoe, until I saw you guys!"
But it was true! It was a struggle for me, but then when I saw these four characters, I decided that no one was really going to be looking at me anyway!
We also, on the way, concocted a story. We decided that we were going to tell people that Curti and I had just gotten married, and that we wore wedding in the ceremony and were having our reception at Brother's.
Here's our first wedding photo, complete with Rob and Ben showing the shocker!
Yes, I am wearing a one-piece denim halter that zips up the back. And yes, I have my hands in my pockets to pull the outfit down a bit, to avoid the aforementioned cameltoe issue. I am by no means a tall individual, but I found that this "onesie," as it would be called, really rode up like nobody's business. (And it wasn't anybody's business, either!).
Now obviously, like anyone who goes out to the bars as a fivesome wedding party dressed in head-to-toe denim, our mission was to project a serious amount of class and distinction.
So we thought it'd be classy to take a "wedding photo" with all of the "groomsmen" pretending to look at my tatas, unbeknownst to the poor groom.
Here's the result of that!
The next picture is Mara's idea. She, by the way, was stunned by our appearance. Who wouldn't be? We ARE quite the stunners, even if you ignore the outfits. Let's be honest.
The next picture is Mara's idea. She, by the way, was stunned by our appearance. Who wouldn't be? We ARE quite the stunners, even if you ignore the outfits. Let's be honest.
In the meantime, we do not fail to notice a man who himself is dressed in head-to-toe denim, and not part of the group, staring creepily in my direction. Brut.
We do a group shot, aquire drinks, and decide to head upstairs.
It is there, that Ben and Rob decide to flaunt their asses (or lack thereof) for the camera. Thanks, boys! HAWT!
With no surprise to anyone, the homoerotic posing continues. Thank goodness! And this time, Petey's involved.... Amen!
We then discovered that the new cocktail waitress at Brother's is only slightly taller than Rob when he's on his knees. She's so little, even smaller than Danielle, by a lot! How cute?!
Then Linds arrived. She's so beautiful, don't you agree? We only saw eachother for a couple minutes, but it was apparently long enough for me to leave the impression in her mind that I looked quite ghetto, which is what she told her brother. JACKPOT!
Next, it was apparently completely necessary for me to put Rob on like a backpack, wrapping his suspenders around me. And, as usual when I take a picture with Rob, we had to "melt the camera" with our sexiest faces. This always makes me look as ridiculous as possible. Thanks, Rob.
Man I look good.... And sober.... Or something.
And, of course, the obligatory picture with the girls.... Except Danielle is missing. :-(
If you look closely at the picture above, you can see some writing on my bosom. That is because I had noticed a couple things that were upsetting to me. First of all, Curti was signing EVERYONE's chests.... Men and women alike! And he was writing things such as "These belong to me" and "property of Curti." And to make matters worse, people were writing similar things on him! My denim husband!
Retallation was necessary, so I went to Ben and Rob. They obliged and wrote on my chest.
Here's a shot of them proudly admiring their handiwork.
I would also later get Pet to sign my chest in a bright red marker, very heavily. His work would melt in my sleep and in the morning, my chest would look like I had a serious and unfortunate allergic reaction to something.
By sheer coincidence alone, LL and Curti's friend Abby were wearing nearly matching fuscia shirts. They became my bridesmaids.
You know that saying "It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt?"
Well, on Denim Night, it's all fun and games until someone cries.... Or at least almost cries.
Apparently, Curti has a friend/aquaintence named Kari. We had her completely convinced by our wedding story. Yes, I am serious.
She was so convinced that she almost started crying!
She was gushing, and kept saying things like "I am so happy for you guys, and you are such a beautiful bride, and I knew that Curti had a friend Mandie who was a model, and..." and so on.
First of all, beautiful bride? In denim? Yikes.
Second of all, how cute is she for thinking all of those nice things and being that genuinely happy for Curti and me, some chick she doesn't know??? So sweet!
Second of all, how cute is she for thinking all of those nice things and being that genuinely happy for Curti and me, some chick she doesn't know??? So sweet!
So we started to feel bad and told her we were just joking. Here's a picture of her....
On the right in the above picture is Dustin, the Wing Master. He is the man who cooks the wings at Brothers on Wednesdays. Apparently, he is similar to Curti in that he has no game whatsoever (Curti's words, not mine), except apparently even worse and more shy? I don't know.
Somehow, though, he and I got pushed into the women's bathroom, and folks were holding the door shut. How 8th grade is that business? So we stood in there and talked a little until we realized that we could get out. He was apologizing profusely about his friends' behavior of pushing him in there. I was fine with it - they were my friends, too, and I was accustomed to their shenanigans. I am pretty sure that it was at that point, when we were still locked in, that I was gushing about how his wings were amazing, and that I would drive 90 miles for them, and that his wings were better than those at Brother's in Milwaukee. These were all true statements.
True statements that he would not remember - when I was back at Brother's for Wingding Wednesday last week, I told him that I had driven 90 miles for his wings. I had also said hi using his name.
He responded "You don't know how much that means to me. What's 90 miles away?"
He didn't remember. I explained that Milwaukee was, and asked if he remembered denim night.
He said, "Denim night?"
I told him I'd talk to him about it later, but never got around to that. Perhaps next time.
Anyway, when we figured out that we could leave, I suggested leaving in style, so I went to his side, wrapped my arms around his neck and jumped up so that I was on his hip with my legs wrapped around him. His friends were amused, so he kinda laid me on the pool table and pretended to make out with me.
Then it was time to go. So we did.
We got back to the boys' house, and ordered pokey sticks, because I had been craving them. Yummy!
We were all kinda worn out, as it had been quite the night!
Look at Ben, all tuckered out, and look at how Kat is so attracted to him in his denim! That attraction is only going to increase, and that's a promise!
Look at Ben, all tuckered out, and look at how Kat is so attracted to him in his denim! That attraction is only going to increase, and that's a promise!
It was at this point that it was decided that I was not going to be the only person who got to enjoy the onesie. Rob, who is 6'4", decided he needed to try it on. So I put on my PJs and passed the glorious suit along. As you can see, Rob put me to shame.
Oh man, that's..... attractive. But wait! If you can handle more hotness.... Look at this one!
Yum yum!
And fortunately, Rob was so comfortable in the denim onesie that he could play pool.... He wasn't limited to just.... *cough* posing sexily *cough*.
And if you think that the sexiness stops with Rob, you are so wrong.... Ben definitely needed to get in on it (with Rob's help of course, since Rob is now experienced in these matters).
Teamwork! Stella helped, too.
There was an effort made to zip the garment up, but the zipper somehow got split. I have no idea how, though! ;-P
Of course, the back shot was necessary. Looks like it fits him well, though, right? Like it was custom made, just for him? I agree.
Hmmmm....
Apparently, Ben's girlfriend Kat loved it. She even told me that she will take me to lunch because I afforded her the opportunity to see Ben in such attire. Yes, to be honest, I find that bizarre. I had always made an effort to keep the guys I've dated OUT of girl's clothes. Kat did, however, get more than a handful of Ben in the onesie, as you can see.
Not only that, but she also got the opportunity to try on the onesie for herself. In this next photograph, you can see her in the midst of putting this glorious piece of clothing on her body. You can also see where we duct taped the top because of the high-quality thread that was scratching my sensitive skin on my tatas!
Now look at her. She has the most dignified look on her face! And who wouldn't, in a denim halter one-piece jumpsuit?
And, as I am sure that you expected, the fun didn't stop with Kat. Remember the tiny little cute cocktail waitress? The one who is only slightly taller than Rob when he's kneeling? Oh yes. She tried it on as well!
Curti tried to put it on, but it stopped at his hulking calves.
We tried to talk the Gumby's delivery man to try it on, but in a strange turn of events, he was a douchebag. I offered him 39 cents to wear it, and he declined. Said he'd do it for $10, but at that point we were sick of him and just wanted him to leave. Why would we pay him a ton of money to put it on when Ben and Rob were there to do it for free?
That was pretty much the end of that night, but it is not where the story ends.
The next morning, I left my onesie with the gentlemen. I figured they'd have more use for it now than me, and I didn't think it was that flattering to my figure anyway - haha.
A couple days later, my phone rang again. Caller ID said "Devin Harris." I answered, and he asked if I knew who he was again. I asked him if he planned on asking me that every time we talked, and if he just liked hearing his name or something.
Well, it turns out, he had a good reason to ask if I knew who he was.
He was Dustin the boxer!
He explained to me that Devin had his phone for a little while, which is why I thought that it was Devin's second cell phone. He told me that if I wanted, he would tell Devin to call me, but he thought that Devin was busy at that moment. I told him not to worry about it, all I wanted to tell Devin was that he looked creepy in the picture we had taken. He then invited me to some cookout, that Devin apparently also was going to be attending.
After I got off the phone, I texted the other number I had for Devin, and said "Apparently I've been texting your friend Dustin for the last couple days. I just wanted to tell you that you look creepy in the picture we took."
He wrote back, "Who is Dustin?"
I explained that I had texted his friend Dustin, the boxer whose phone he had on Friday night.
Turns out, Devin doesn't know anyone named Dustin. Had no idea who it was. He told me tha the had only talked to me and texted me on the number that we had been using at that time.
Brut.
I explained to him what Dustin had told me, about spreading the message along to him and such, and about the cookout.
We came up with a plan. When Dustin was to call me back later that night, I was going to tell him that I'd go to the cookout, but that I'd just go with Devin, because I am bad at directions. I was then to tell him that he should just call Devin and give him the address and directions to the place.
We thought it was a brilliant plan, because it would force this guy to either continue to lie to me, which could prove entertaining, or he would have to confess that he didn't actually know Devin, and that he was lying.
So I go to BW3's with Nicole and her brother, and Dustin calls.... I had explained the plan to Nicole, and she thought it was great.
I answered the phone, and as luck would have it, Dustin was actually outside of BW3s. So I hid when he came in, and he left. Brut. Talk about a backfire!
Anyway, he left, and I just stopped answering his calls. I don't want to deal with someone who lies to me, especially not about being friends with Devin Harris. I was never impressed that Freddie and Sharif were friends with Devin, so why would I be that this guy was? I do admit, though, that if it had been Shaq that was in question, I would've been impressed (no offense to Devin - haha).
So now I am thinking that when the guy was talking about his watch, that I was actually talking to Dustin, or one of Dustin's friends.
Oh boy. What an absurd weekend! And yes, it was totally worth giving up my job in the style of Lers!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
From "Dying-of-Starvation Diva" to a Living Blonde Version of Rodin's "the Thinker" in a matter of hours, plus today's absurdity....
***Warning. This is going to be long as a mo-fo, but probably worth the read.... Maybe you should break it up into sessions?****
Really life? Why do you play such games? I mean, seriously. The last 36ish hours have been completely absurd.
We'll start out with a bit of awesomeness. My good friend LL surprised me by telling me that she was going to pick me up yesterday (Monday) at 7, and that I should wear my new dress. I had no idea what to expect, apart from amazingness.
So I get ready, and LL comes and picks up D and I. There is a "Happy Graduation" balloon in the car that actually says "ConGRADulations" on it. LL was right. This did piss me off, as it did her. She and I share a love for correct grammar, and have similar pet peeves of the grammatical nature. It was still funny, though. In addition to my adorable and wonderful roommate, there was a cake in the backseat for the occasion as well, and a couple awesome presents, too!
So we're celebrating my graduation, (yes, I graduated in 2005), and she informs me that she is taking me to Coquette Cafe, which is a nice French restaurant in the third ward. Awesome.
We pull up to the curb, and I open the door. As "luck" would have it, we are parked next to a large sewer grate. My new dress is made of silk (fake silk, I think, actually). I start to move to stand, and of course, my keys sliiiiiiiiiiiiiide right off my dress, and onto the sewer grate, where they hesitate momentarily and then fall to their death in the sewer of Milwaukee.
Brut.
This is especially brut since I have electronic keys to my apartment building which I had to pay a deposit of something like three hundred and seventy nine thousand dollars to secure. Fan-flipping-tastic.
It's cool though.... I am trying not to be too upset, although I was halfway into panic mode, since I do not have a real, steady job this summer.... Did I already ask y'all if you have any odd side jobs for me to do? Haha. Anyway, it's not too hard to keep happy, though, because I am just basking in the glory of thinking how awesome LL and Danielle are for doing such things for me with the celebration and what-not. Plus, I am usually pretty laid back and hard to upset, and I didn't think the situation was over.
We get inside and the server came over and introduced herself.
So I says to her, I says (haha, that's a ridiculous way to tell a story, but I like it!) "Let's just say, hypothetically, that you knew someone who dropped her keys into the sewer. What would you do? And do you think this friend would get her keys back?"
She answered without cracking a smile that she would call the department of public works, but that she would guess that her keys were probably "toast."
Brut.
Anyway, we get our meals..... Mmmm.... I am enjoying a nice glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, which (for the record) is my favorite type of wine, and eating some delicious Coq au Vin. Yummy!
There was a group of really adorable old people at the table next to us, including (but not limited to) a man wearing a blue and white striped (think tiny stripes, like a railroad conductor's uniform, only a lighter blue) sport coat and red bowtie. I don't really know why I am including the detail about the old people, but I enjoyed them and listening to the parts of their conversations when they weren't talking about who's all recently died.
Another fun detail is that in the beginning of dinner, I looked out the window to see a freaking woman dressed as a bumble bee standing on the street.... It made more sense, although only a little more sense, when we noted that the Fred Astaire Dance Studio was right there, and that she was with them.... There were all types of characters dancing around in there, such as supergirl, pippy longstocking, and a man with a turtle shell. I have no idea why they were dressed in such a "fashion," but they seemed like they were having a lot of fun. They also seemed like they were doing completely different dances to completely different songs all in one large room, but hey, you do what you gotta do, I guess!
Dinner's over, and we go back to our apartment. We decide we are going to go out, and the place to apparently go on Monday's in Milwaukee is Rain. Rain is a club, which I've been to once with Troy (who is going to get his own special blog entry sometime soon, because he is absurd and has caused some absurdity in my life), and it was ridiculous. It opens at nine, which was about what time we were done with dinner, but we didn't exactly want to be the first people in the place, because that is just awkward in a nightclub. We decide to play a game called "What the Fuck?" which Danielle got me for a birthday present or some other present, and that entertained us for quite some time. Meanwhile, a torrential downpour commences outside, and I keep imagining the sewers filling higher and higher with rainwater, and my keys floating down to Chicago or something heinous like that.
We decide once we've grown tired of "What the Fuck?" that we are going to just call it a night, because there is a Biblical rainstorm taking place outside, Danielle has a lot of work to do, LL has summer school in the morning, and well.... We are just not that hardcore or pumped about Rain.
So I wrote last night's blog, and went to bed.
Got up in the morning at the crack of ten am, and called the department of public works. They told me that some sewer magicians would meet me at the sewer to see about getting my keys out of the drain. Wow! I didn't think that such a thing was even a possibility.
So Danielle gives me my extra key to my car and the remote for our parking gate, and I venture back to the scene of the incident. The men come, and determine that I will be considered an extremely lucky woman if my keys are there after the rainstorm last night, but that we'll give it a whirl. They remove the grate and get a big, apparently powerful, magnet on a rope and swing it around down in the drain....
We make small talk for a bit whilst they "fish" for my keys. They are incredibly nice gentlemen. Then, all of the sudden..... Something comes up.
The man says "Did you happen to also lose altoids?"
Damn. Nope! And if I did, and they were in the sewer, I don't think I'd really like them!
More small talk.
JACKPOT! My keys! The men basically tell me that I am the luckiest person in the United States. We'll see.... If I am truly the the luckiest person in the United States, the electronic keys will work. I'm not quite ready to try them yet, due to the fact that my keys are now wrapped in a napkin, and sitting inside my cup from my McDonald's that I ordered the other day.
But when I get home, I discover that all of my keys work, and I feel awesome. Exceptionally amazing.
So then I work out and eat, and post workout and meal, my phone rings. It's an "847" number, which means Chicago. I secretly hope it is my agent at Ford calling with work for me, but when I google the number, I get nothing. I wait a bit, and there is a message.
The message is to the effect of the caller being some dude named Alfredo, who got my number from one of our "mutual friends" at the WAC (Meams used to work there, and many of my friends do work out there, so it could be several different people, but none of whom I would expect to give my number out to randoms). He apparently also does some modeling on the side, and said that our "mutual friend" sent me a picture of him (I had not received any pictures of anyone). I was very confused. I mulled it over for a bit, called Meams, and went off to donate blood.
Now, this is always an ordeal for various reasons, but nothing big (unless you're talking height). Today was no exception. The last time I tried to donate, at the blood drive, they didn't accept me because my iron was too low. This time, it was higher than it had ever been, which I considered a personal success, because I had obviously been working to raise it by eating foods high in iron, so that I could successfully "give life" again. Go me!
So the technician is talking about how I have wonderful veins, and all of the sudden she's like, wow, they're really good, you just sprayed me!
I look, and sure enough (or sho' 'nuff, if you'd rather), there is blood all over the arm of the chair, and her glove. Brut.
The rest of the donation goes off without issue, and she informs me that it's brat day (only in Wisconsin, I am sure) and that all people who donate blood on Tuesdays get brats. She asks if I would like one, and I decline, since I had eaten just before I arrived, and because the blood center always has Pain Chocolat, which was one of my favorite things about Paris and Toulouse. I get over to the food area, and there is no pain chocolat, so I tell her I will have a brat instead. And then she asks if I want any chips, and she gives me cheetos, and a diet coke.
I asked her if she could give me information on how to volunteer there. I figure that since I don't have a summer job, maybe I could save a few lives by going to the blood center and calling people who haven't been there in awhile and asking them to donate blood or something. May as well do something good, I figure!
She's looking around for the business card of the volunteer coordinator, when I start to feel a little iffy.
She comes back with some info for me, and once she looks at me, she says "Are you feeling ok?"
I respond, "Well, I am feeling a little iffy."
She is like "Just sit tight, I'll be right back."
She goes away for a second and comes back with a wheelchair.
I'm thinking to myself, "Really lady? Are you kidding me? That seems like a little much." But I just get into the chair. I figured that laying down sounded glorious, and if she wanted to push me over to the recliney things (yeah, I made up that word, deal with it), that's fine. I am sure I could walk, but oh well.
Then I start feeling REALLY iffy, once I've been in the chair about five minutes (which is probably really only thirty seconds, because I can't think of a logical reason why they'd keep me in the chair and not moving for that long instead of getting me into the recliney thingy). They push me over to the bed, and the proverbial shit really starts to hit the equally proverbial fan. The nices ladies tell me to put my head down, and I bend at the neck to do so.... They tell me to bend it further down, and I comply.
Then they tell me to get into the recliney thing, and I do. I am feeling better already. They ask me if I am hot or cold, and I tell them hot. I am pretty much sweating profusely. (note: I just accidentally typed "swearing profusely" instead of "sweating profusely." Isn't it amazing how one little letter can change the ENTIRE tone of the story? Haha). They give me a couple ice packs, and I close my eyes, which they tell me not to do. We just chill out (ha) and I continue to feel better, and drink my soda.
Turns out, that I did not go from bending down and then straight into the recliney thing. I was passed out for about a minute and a half, they told me. News to me. There's one minute and a half of my life I'll never get back - haha. I was also informed that I turned some bizarre shade of green that matched my shirt (which was some mix of olive and lime, kinda like split pea baby food, or that stuff that Linda Blair vomits in the Exorcist). I pretty much just sat around until I felt better, and went and ate my brat (after I assured them that I had eaten several full meals before I even came in) and a pain chocolat they found for me (in talking about my job, we got to talking about Paris, and of course then I started in on food), and I went home.
I then texted all of my friends who I know work out at the WAC and ask if the name "Alfredo" means anything to them. Apparently, to them, it means white sauce. Meams calls, and we discuss. I tell her that I knew a Fredo in highschool, but he wouldn't have said all those shenanigans in the message about mutual friends and so on. I text this guy, and ask who our mutual friend is. He writes back apologizing for his boldness in calling me and so on, and at the end of the message says "Yes Al." I figured he was signing the text, and that he went by "Al" for short (which would be lame). I was getting pretty annoyed at this point, and Zak Attack (who works out at the WAC and assures me that he would never give my phone number to a random) tells me that he thinks he sounds like "a weirdo pervboy." I tell him that I agree, and send Alfredo another text to ask him again who our mutual friend is.
He writes back "Milwaukee Al" and also asks if he can call me to explain. Well, yes. Please fricking do. I need to know what in hell is going on!
Remember back a couple months when I went to the Info Launch party, and met that guy who promised me modeling work, but ended up really creeping me out?
Milwaukee Al.
So Alfredo and I end up talking awhile, and he actually seems like a decent character. We also agree that this Al character is not right (in the head, and in the principal) for doing this, and just based upon having met him. Bam!
So today in a nutshell involved me retrieving my keys, which still work, from the sewer, then going to a Math Assessment Coordinator's meeting, then hearing from Alfredo - who is an unidentified random, then I spray blood all over the blood center (a bit of a stretch - I guess that's me using artistic license), and then I pass out, and then I spend an inordinate amount of time on the phone with this Alfredo stranger.
That's just me. That is just my life. Just L-I-V-I-N'.
And that's not even what I had intended to blog about. How absurd is that?!
Ok.... The part that I was intending to blog about begins at a shoot.... But before we get to that, I want to throw in a couple pictures.
The first one is by Norris Carden. I am in a wedding dress in a lake! How cool is that? That was a crazy shoot. It felt so weird to wear that into the lake! And when I got out, the dress weighed probably approximately the same amount as I do. But we got a great shot of the sunset, don't you think?
Ok, the next five are what I am pretty sure are going to be my new Ford comp card. Thefirst one will likely be my front/main image, and the other four will be on the back. Whatcha think?
We finally wrap up the shoot at about 1030 or 11pm, and sit around a little bit and talk, unwind. 
Emily then did her body shot off of Paulie, and he did his off of me. I was not happy. That picture will remain far from everyone's eyes! Gross. 
....but I don't think he looks too devastated, either. 
Really life? Why do you play such games? I mean, seriously. The last 36ish hours have been completely absurd.
We'll start out with a bit of awesomeness. My good friend LL surprised me by telling me that she was going to pick me up yesterday (Monday) at 7, and that I should wear my new dress. I had no idea what to expect, apart from amazingness.
So I get ready, and LL comes and picks up D and I. There is a "Happy Graduation" balloon in the car that actually says "ConGRADulations" on it. LL was right. This did piss me off, as it did her. She and I share a love for correct grammar, and have similar pet peeves of the grammatical nature. It was still funny, though. In addition to my adorable and wonderful roommate, there was a cake in the backseat for the occasion as well, and a couple awesome presents, too!
So we're celebrating my graduation, (yes, I graduated in 2005), and she informs me that she is taking me to Coquette Cafe, which is a nice French restaurant in the third ward. Awesome.
We pull up to the curb, and I open the door. As "luck" would have it, we are parked next to a large sewer grate. My new dress is made of silk (fake silk, I think, actually). I start to move to stand, and of course, my keys sliiiiiiiiiiiiiide right off my dress, and onto the sewer grate, where they hesitate momentarily and then fall to their death in the sewer of Milwaukee.
Brut.
This is especially brut since I have electronic keys to my apartment building which I had to pay a deposit of something like three hundred and seventy nine thousand dollars to secure. Fan-flipping-tastic.
It's cool though.... I am trying not to be too upset, although I was halfway into panic mode, since I do not have a real, steady job this summer.... Did I already ask y'all if you have any odd side jobs for me to do? Haha. Anyway, it's not too hard to keep happy, though, because I am just basking in the glory of thinking how awesome LL and Danielle are for doing such things for me with the celebration and what-not. Plus, I am usually pretty laid back and hard to upset, and I didn't think the situation was over.
We get inside and the server came over and introduced herself.
So I says to her, I says (haha, that's a ridiculous way to tell a story, but I like it!) "Let's just say, hypothetically, that you knew someone who dropped her keys into the sewer. What would you do? And do you think this friend would get her keys back?"
She answered without cracking a smile that she would call the department of public works, but that she would guess that her keys were probably "toast."
Brut.
Anyway, we get our meals..... Mmmm.... I am enjoying a nice glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, which (for the record) is my favorite type of wine, and eating some delicious Coq au Vin. Yummy!
There was a group of really adorable old people at the table next to us, including (but not limited to) a man wearing a blue and white striped (think tiny stripes, like a railroad conductor's uniform, only a lighter blue) sport coat and red bowtie. I don't really know why I am including the detail about the old people, but I enjoyed them and listening to the parts of their conversations when they weren't talking about who's all recently died.
Another fun detail is that in the beginning of dinner, I looked out the window to see a freaking woman dressed as a bumble bee standing on the street.... It made more sense, although only a little more sense, when we noted that the Fred Astaire Dance Studio was right there, and that she was with them.... There were all types of characters dancing around in there, such as supergirl, pippy longstocking, and a man with a turtle shell. I have no idea why they were dressed in such a "fashion," but they seemed like they were having a lot of fun. They also seemed like they were doing completely different dances to completely different songs all in one large room, but hey, you do what you gotta do, I guess!
Dinner's over, and we go back to our apartment. We decide we are going to go out, and the place to apparently go on Monday's in Milwaukee is Rain. Rain is a club, which I've been to once with Troy (who is going to get his own special blog entry sometime soon, because he is absurd and has caused some absurdity in my life), and it was ridiculous. It opens at nine, which was about what time we were done with dinner, but we didn't exactly want to be the first people in the place, because that is just awkward in a nightclub. We decide to play a game called "What the Fuck?" which Danielle got me for a birthday present or some other present, and that entertained us for quite some time. Meanwhile, a torrential downpour commences outside, and I keep imagining the sewers filling higher and higher with rainwater, and my keys floating down to Chicago or something heinous like that.
We decide once we've grown tired of "What the Fuck?" that we are going to just call it a night, because there is a Biblical rainstorm taking place outside, Danielle has a lot of work to do, LL has summer school in the morning, and well.... We are just not that hardcore or pumped about Rain.
So I wrote last night's blog, and went to bed.
Got up in the morning at the crack of ten am, and called the department of public works. They told me that some sewer magicians would meet me at the sewer to see about getting my keys out of the drain. Wow! I didn't think that such a thing was even a possibility.
So Danielle gives me my extra key to my car and the remote for our parking gate, and I venture back to the scene of the incident. The men come, and determine that I will be considered an extremely lucky woman if my keys are there after the rainstorm last night, but that we'll give it a whirl. They remove the grate and get a big, apparently powerful, magnet on a rope and swing it around down in the drain....
We make small talk for a bit whilst they "fish" for my keys. They are incredibly nice gentlemen. Then, all of the sudden..... Something comes up.
The man says "Did you happen to also lose altoids?"
Damn. Nope! And if I did, and they were in the sewer, I don't think I'd really like them!
More small talk.
JACKPOT! My keys! The men basically tell me that I am the luckiest person in the United States. We'll see.... If I am truly the the luckiest person in the United States, the electronic keys will work. I'm not quite ready to try them yet, due to the fact that my keys are now wrapped in a napkin, and sitting inside my cup from my McDonald's that I ordered the other day.
But when I get home, I discover that all of my keys work, and I feel awesome. Exceptionally amazing.
So then I work out and eat, and post workout and meal, my phone rings. It's an "847" number, which means Chicago. I secretly hope it is my agent at Ford calling with work for me, but when I google the number, I get nothing. I wait a bit, and there is a message.
The message is to the effect of the caller being some dude named Alfredo, who got my number from one of our "mutual friends" at the WAC (Meams used to work there, and many of my friends do work out there, so it could be several different people, but none of whom I would expect to give my number out to randoms). He apparently also does some modeling on the side, and said that our "mutual friend" sent me a picture of him (I had not received any pictures of anyone). I was very confused. I mulled it over for a bit, called Meams, and went off to donate blood.
Now, this is always an ordeal for various reasons, but nothing big (unless you're talking height). Today was no exception. The last time I tried to donate, at the blood drive, they didn't accept me because my iron was too low. This time, it was higher than it had ever been, which I considered a personal success, because I had obviously been working to raise it by eating foods high in iron, so that I could successfully "give life" again. Go me!
So the technician is talking about how I have wonderful veins, and all of the sudden she's like, wow, they're really good, you just sprayed me!
I look, and sure enough (or sho' 'nuff, if you'd rather), there is blood all over the arm of the chair, and her glove. Brut.
The rest of the donation goes off without issue, and she informs me that it's brat day (only in Wisconsin, I am sure) and that all people who donate blood on Tuesdays get brats. She asks if I would like one, and I decline, since I had eaten just before I arrived, and because the blood center always has Pain Chocolat, which was one of my favorite things about Paris and Toulouse. I get over to the food area, and there is no pain chocolat, so I tell her I will have a brat instead. And then she asks if I want any chips, and she gives me cheetos, and a diet coke.
I asked her if she could give me information on how to volunteer there. I figure that since I don't have a summer job, maybe I could save a few lives by going to the blood center and calling people who haven't been there in awhile and asking them to donate blood or something. May as well do something good, I figure!
She's looking around for the business card of the volunteer coordinator, when I start to feel a little iffy.
She comes back with some info for me, and once she looks at me, she says "Are you feeling ok?"
I respond, "Well, I am feeling a little iffy."
She is like "Just sit tight, I'll be right back."
She goes away for a second and comes back with a wheelchair.
I'm thinking to myself, "Really lady? Are you kidding me? That seems like a little much." But I just get into the chair. I figured that laying down sounded glorious, and if she wanted to push me over to the recliney things (yeah, I made up that word, deal with it), that's fine. I am sure I could walk, but oh well.
Then I start feeling REALLY iffy, once I've been in the chair about five minutes (which is probably really only thirty seconds, because I can't think of a logical reason why they'd keep me in the chair and not moving for that long instead of getting me into the recliney thingy). They push me over to the bed, and the proverbial shit really starts to hit the equally proverbial fan. The nices ladies tell me to put my head down, and I bend at the neck to do so.... They tell me to bend it further down, and I comply.
Then they tell me to get into the recliney thing, and I do. I am feeling better already. They ask me if I am hot or cold, and I tell them hot. I am pretty much sweating profusely. (note: I just accidentally typed "swearing profusely" instead of "sweating profusely." Isn't it amazing how one little letter can change the ENTIRE tone of the story? Haha). They give me a couple ice packs, and I close my eyes, which they tell me not to do. We just chill out (ha) and I continue to feel better, and drink my soda.
Turns out, that I did not go from bending down and then straight into the recliney thing. I was passed out for about a minute and a half, they told me. News to me. There's one minute and a half of my life I'll never get back - haha. I was also informed that I turned some bizarre shade of green that matched my shirt (which was some mix of olive and lime, kinda like split pea baby food, or that stuff that Linda Blair vomits in the Exorcist). I pretty much just sat around until I felt better, and went and ate my brat (after I assured them that I had eaten several full meals before I even came in) and a pain chocolat they found for me (in talking about my job, we got to talking about Paris, and of course then I started in on food), and I went home.
I then texted all of my friends who I know work out at the WAC and ask if the name "Alfredo" means anything to them. Apparently, to them, it means white sauce. Meams calls, and we discuss. I tell her that I knew a Fredo in highschool, but he wouldn't have said all those shenanigans in the message about mutual friends and so on. I text this guy, and ask who our mutual friend is. He writes back apologizing for his boldness in calling me and so on, and at the end of the message says "Yes Al." I figured he was signing the text, and that he went by "Al" for short (which would be lame). I was getting pretty annoyed at this point, and Zak Attack (who works out at the WAC and assures me that he would never give my phone number to a random) tells me that he thinks he sounds like "a weirdo pervboy." I tell him that I agree, and send Alfredo another text to ask him again who our mutual friend is.
He writes back "Milwaukee Al" and also asks if he can call me to explain. Well, yes. Please fricking do. I need to know what in hell is going on!
Remember back a couple months when I went to the Info Launch party, and met that guy who promised me modeling work, but ended up really creeping me out?
Milwaukee Al.
So Alfredo and I end up talking awhile, and he actually seems like a decent character. We also agree that this Al character is not right (in the head, and in the principal) for doing this, and just based upon having met him. Bam!
So today in a nutshell involved me retrieving my keys, which still work, from the sewer, then going to a Math Assessment Coordinator's meeting, then hearing from Alfredo - who is an unidentified random, then I spray blood all over the blood center (a bit of a stretch - I guess that's me using artistic license), and then I pass out, and then I spend an inordinate amount of time on the phone with this Alfredo stranger.
That's just me. That is just my life. Just L-I-V-I-N'.
And that's not even what I had intended to blog about. How absurd is that?!
Ok.... The part that I was intending to blog about begins at a shoot.... But before we get to that, I want to throw in a couple pictures.
The first one is by Norris Carden. I am in a wedding dress in a lake! How cool is that? That was a crazy shoot. It felt so weird to wear that into the lake! And when I got out, the dress weighed probably approximately the same amount as I do. But we got a great shot of the sunset, don't you think?
Ok, the next five are what I am pretty sure are going to be my new Ford comp card. Thefirst one will likely be my front/main image, and the other four will be on the back. Whatcha think?
Ok. Goodness! It's time for the actual frickin' story!
As you know, one of my best friends, Tia, is a lingerie designer, and an amazing one at that. She had recently decided to enter a design contest, the winner of which would get to have a fashion show in Bryant Park in NYC during fashion week. Apparently, she needs two full-length images, one front, and one back, of two different outfits. So she makes a few outfits, and calls me up. Of course I would do anything for Tia, so I'm in. She then calls Lawrence, who is also awesome and one of my best friends (and an amazing photographer to boot). He's in as well. Sweet!
As I mentioned, I am fortunate enough to call each of these amazing people dear friends. I would trust either of them with my life, and feel completely comfortable around them. I mean, we've driven across the country to NYC in a pick-up truck and experienced many many absurdities together. Simply put, we are close friends who make a great team, whether it is for a photoshoot, or something that is supposed to be simpler, like negotiating a sub with an appropriate amount of mustard in a truck stop somewhere in Pennsylvania.
Anyway, due to the caliber of both Tia and Lawrence, both professionally and personally, I know that when I work with either of them, the result will be outstanding. When I work with them both, I know it will photographic platinum (my equivalent of the superlative "comedic gold").
So I am pretty excited, and I drive down to Lawrence's studio on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. I park and he meets me outside, and we sit around and talk for awhile, because Tia ran into a traffic situation and is running a little late. I had eaten before I left, but that had been at about 11 am.
Tia arrives, and there is all kinds of setting up that needs to be done.... Lawrence needs to set up the lighting and backdrop. Tia needs to steam garments. I need to do my hair and makeup in a way that appropriately complements the garments, but does not detract or distract from them.
Simply put, there is much to be done, and it takes awhile.
We finally get all set, and get me dressed, and I am starting to feel quite hungry. I mention this, but try to shoot anyway. It had only been, at this point, about 4 or 5 hours since my last meal, and I should've been fine. I wasn't.
I was feeling.... A little bit "off my game," if you will (and I know you will! If you won't, then don't read my blog! I didn't beg you to come to this site and read it or anything. You could be doing anything else you want to! Wow. That was chapter 54, and it is entitled "Attitude." {if you get that allusion, you get major cool points. And yes, I am using brackets!}). To give an example, for those who know me, of how off my game I was.... I am kinda reknowned for knowing a lot of songs, and a lot of lyrics to such songs. This is not genre or time period specific. It is pretty intense, I am told. Anyway, in the sitting around period, before Tia had even arrived, a song came on the radio, and Lawrence asked me to identify the artist. I couldn't! He said "Wow, I am pretty sure the apocalypse is coming!" Brut.
My posing was a little stiff, to say the least.
I kept mentioning that I was very hungry. I was trying to be polite but not a pain. I was in a situation where I couldn't advocate for myself very well, because I wasn't familiar with the area, and didn't know where I could find food that I would not be afraid to eat (Lawrence had previously told me interesting anecdotes about the nearby Burger King). All I could really do was make my hunger known.
Lawrence is doing routine lighting checks, and making adjustments, and there is another model friend of his, who I had met once and around whom I didn't feel especially comfortable, which also increased my effort to be polite in saying I was hungry.
I kept kinda making jokes, but I was getting more and more on edge. Crabby. I just wanted some food. I was starting to feel a bit weak at this point.
So I made more jokes about being hungry, like saying I'd go on strike soon if they didn't feed the model, or how I'd walk there in the lingerie, and so on.
Food still doesn't seem to be on the horizon. Brut.
So I start to get a little angry. My posing gets even worse, even more stiff. Lawrence and Tia comment on this.
Then I am seriously angry, and suddenly very weak (it's harder than you imagine to stand around under lights and hold poses on an empty stomach), so I just flip out like I never had before.
I say, almost with tears in my eyes, "If it doesn't seem like there is food on the horizon soon, I am going to lay on this set and not move or work until I see some food! I'm shaking!"
Lawrence's and Tia's jaws both just drop open. The other model doesn't even react. They inform me that we will get food right away, and I basically sprint off the set, taking the clothes off as I move, to get to food faster.
We go and get food, and while I'm eating, Lawrence looks at me and says "Wow, you weren't kidding, you really are shaking!"
I could've kicked him in the face. (I love you, Lawrence!)
I informed him, in between bites of cheeseburger that I more or less (more more than less) inhaled while on the phone with John in about two minutes, that I wasn't kidding when I said that.
In their defense, Lawrence and Tia said that they didn't know how hungry I was until my "episode." Apparently, I am better at being polite and hiding my displeasure than I had previously thought. (Yeah, that's right Sarah, I wasn't being amply rude!)
Soon after my little model belly was full, we got back to shooting. The other model left, and so I felt like all was normal with our little modeling family (except Kevin and Jon were missing, but it still felt very cozy!). I was as happy as a bug in a rug (who made that phrase up? How is a bug's happiness measured?), which meant that we were going to get good stuff....
I haven't seen all of them yet, but everything I have seen so far, I more or less have loved. Here's the first one, my favorite....
Now, Lawrence and Tia were talking about how I had gotten in shape (which was mainly to prepare for this shoot, and possibly for a return trip to Austin), and how they could especially tell by looking at my back and legs.... I didn't really understand what they meant by having a fit back. Lawrence was trying to show me on his little viewfinder screen, but it wasn't cutting the mustard (and Lawrence LOVES mustard! :-P). I was "in the land of the clueless" until I saw this picture.... Holla!!!
This is quite the change for me, because usually, I exclusively like pictures that focus on my face, as my body was my biggest point of insecurity. Now, here I am, having all kinds of love for an image that barely has my face in it. Hey-oh! I am proud of how far I've come!
The second one.... Not bad, eh? I am not 100% thrilled with my expression, but I think part of that was because Lawrence kept reminding me to kinda disengage with the camera so that the attention would be on the garment, rather than on me, which was a challenge, but I think I did decently at it!
He did get yelled at, though, by Tia at one point, when she caught him taking beauty shots of me for his own purposes, when she said, "is the garment even in that picture?"
Haha, it wasn't.
Later, Tia and I would wish that he had taken more beauty shots so that I could use them in the good ol' Smashbox contest, but alas, these are great, too!
That is the "inspiration board" she entered into the contest. I just pretty much think it's awesome, and not just because there are little parts of me in the two outfits she made! It's just so cool. We're totally going to NYC for fashion week, because Tia's going to win this. Hey-oh!
We finally wrap up the shoot at about 1030 or 11pm, and sit around a little bit and talk, unwind.
My plan was to meet a friend of mine, Emily, who I worked with at Pedro's in Madison my Senior year, downtown. She was in town visiting from Seattle, and leaving the next day.
Apparently, her brother, Cory, lives down in Wrigleyville, and I was welcome to stay at his place.
After the shoot, I was exhausted, and hadn't heard from Emily. I was considering just going back to Milwaukee. I was secretly hoping that she wouldn't respond to a text, and I could just go home and go to bed, or go home and go out with friends here in the Mil (which is weird, because I am not the biggest fan of this city, as referenced in my last entry!).
No such luck, which actually ended up being lucky (or "Lucke," as it were). She totally responded to my text. Brut. That meant I had to go out.
I asked for directions, and tried to explain where I was on Michigan. This isn't the Magnificent Mile part of Michigan Avenue. It's actually quite the distance away from it!
This was a concept that Cory was having difficulty grasping in his drunkeness. Although he did not give me directions that would work to get me from the studio to the bar, he did succeed in convincing me that he was a moron, which was a conclusion that I jumped to a bit more quickly and easily than I normally would've because I was tired and ready for bed, not so much ready for the bar.
I was incredibly tempted to use the inability to get reasonable directions as an excuse to get out of dodge, but Emily kept telling me that she loved me and how excited she was that I was there, and apparently I am a sucker. So after quite a bit of deliberation, discussion, and asking people for advice, Lawrence mapquests the route from his studio to Cory's apartment. I drive Tia to her car and say goodbye to her, and Lawrence (but in the other order, since that is how it makes sense), and drove to Cory's, parked, and took a cab to John Barleycorn.
My hair is done in the updo you see above. I am wearing a lime green tank, and my ripped up jeans. I swear to goodness that it is entirely coincidential that I wore the jeans in the story from last night, which took place this past Saturday, and in this story, which took place sometime in May or April. I think I only wore them once in between!
I get in line, which is the longest line in the United States, due to the fact that we were in Wrigleyville and the Cubs had played the Socks (or is it Sox? I think it's Sox. I hate baseball.) earlier that evening at Wrigley.
I inform Emily that I had made it safely to the bar and was at the end of the long ass line. She tells me that she is going to see what she can do.
A bit later, I see Emily and who I had to assume was Cory, speaking to a very intense-looking man with a walkie-talkie, and pointing to me. I get the idea from how it's going that this man would like to help out, but couldn't. I just hang out in line and people watch, and try to psych myself out for a night of fun, so that I wouldn't get too sleepy. I was doing a little better, because I had been rocking some good music on my drive from the studio to Lawrence's.
I get kinda into my own little world, when all of the sudden, some guy (who I had seen in the window and had assumed was Cory) appears as if from nowhere, doesn't say a word, grabs my hand and pretty much pulls me into the bar. Holla! I'm in. Awesome. Big hugs from Emily. You know I love hugs! She also warns me that her brother is going to try to rape me, but that I shouldn't worry because he's harmless and has a girlfriend. Whaaaaat? He's going to rape you but don't worry? Oh Emily. Cracks my shit up! I just told her that I am a big girl and that I have been hit on before, so I am sure that I will be ok, as long as he is not ACTUALLY a real rapist, which she says he isn't. She does warn me of these same things a few times, though.
She's a bit tipsy. She informs me that I need to catch up, and we're going to get me drinks. Cool. We go up to the bar. I am still not really clear on the random dude. I tell her about how absurd the directions were, and the introduction finally takes place. I was right - it was Cory. My assumption did not make an ASS out of U or ME. Wahoo!
A couple seconds later, he asks what I would like to drink. I think for a second, and respond with "Captain and Diet." This is of no surprise to you.... But you are not Cory. He took my hand (again, haha) spun me in a circle pirouette style, and got on one knee to propose marriage to me three seconds after our introduction. Seems about right!
While waiting for the bartender to serve Cory, Em and I decide that it would be a spectacular idea to take a picture before we were too drunk and ridiculous. Good call. Here it is!
While waiting for the bartender to serve Cory, Em and I decide that it would be a spectacular idea to take a picture before we were too drunk and ridiculous. Good call. Here it is!
In taking such a picture, Emily realizes that I apparently have the same camera as Cory, and informs me that it is likely that he is going to want to marry me (really? I don't know what gave her such an idea....) because I drink the drink he has been drinking for years, and we have the same camera. She also mentioned something about me being attractive, but let your eyes look up a little bit. Wanna talk about the pot calling the kettle black? Emily's gorgeous.
We take down some jagerbombs (in an effort to "catch me up" to the group). Talk a little bit. I realize that they are hammered (which explains why Cory seemed like such an idiot on the phone). I am totally sober, but still having lots of fun, which was surprising to me, since I didn't want to go out in the first place!
Then I meet Cory's roommate, Koz, who is apparently some sort of baller (per Emily's statement, as well as future events), and his girlfriend, and this d(o)u"d"(ch)e(bag) (minus the second "d") Paulie, who was kinda creepy and inappropriately wearing white shoes, since it was well before Memorial day. Yes, I try to follow that fashion rule my grandma laid down years ago, especially if it allows me to make fun of somebody. Yes, I am also aware that the amount of time I spend making fun of people might make it impossible for people to call me a nice girl.
Anyway, we decide we want to go upstairs. I had been to that place before, but was completely unaware of how seriously ginormous it was, since the previous time I had been there, I got WAY overserved, and ended up leaving with my shirt being a struggle, and getting in a big fight with my ex, and having Danielle say something about how she didn't have to listen to that shit....
Wow, I am rambling. Anyway, I didn't know there was an upstairs.
Back to the story.
There is a huge line to get upstairs. Brut.
But hey, I said that I was told this guy, Koz, was a baller, right? He went straight to the front of the line, had some words with the man in charge of letting people upstairs, and the next thing I knew, we were single file, on the stairs.
On the way up, I hear a voice (Cory's) behind me, saying, "Oh my God."
I just started cracking up. When we got to the top, he informed me that I shouldn't be showing off the way I was. I told him that I was just walking up the stairs. Apparently, if one does that in the pants I was wearing, that is showing off.
Once we get inside, Koz takes us to the VIP area. And, baller that he is, gets us all in. I think it is actually there where we encounter this Paulie kid. Anyway, here's a picture of all of us. Can you spot the creepy one?
Yep, far left.
Anyway, once we are comfy in VIP, we get more drinks and more shots. I no longer feel sober (most likely because I had once again not eaten in awhile, and didn't eat much as a whole that day). It is at this point that Emily decides that she needs to use the ladies' room.
On the way, I come across a blast from my past, Matt.... He was a good friend of one of my ex's and all of his friends. It was nice to see him, but Em was focused and didn't allow us much time to catch up before we were back on our quest to the bathroom.... She did, however, allow enough time for this picture to be snapped....
So I bid Matt a hurried adieu, and run off to follow Emily, while texting Matt "I'm sorro," which only shows what type of state I was in (besides the obvious, Illinois).
So I bid Matt a hurried adieu, and run off to follow Emily, while texting Matt "I'm sorro," which only shows what type of state I was in (besides the obvious, Illinois).
We get over to the women's bathroom, and, of course, the line is a mile long. We decide that we'll try the men's. After much discussion with the bathroom bouncers (There were two. How weird is that?) we learned that we would not be going into the men's bathroom. We did, however, make a deal that we'd get moved to the front of the line of the women's.
We get back over to the women's, and there was no longer a line. Figures.
Em goes to the bathroom, and I buy a hairtie that matched my shirt and had glitter from the bathroom attendant for the low low price of $1. My hair (as you can see above) was taken out of the updo in the bar, and I thought I'd like to pull it back later.
We decide on our way back to the VIP that we should dance some. So we do. Then "Baby Got Back" came on, which is a special one for Em and I. When we worked at Pedro's, we often worked the Karaoke shifts together, and had sang such a song ourselves only a couple years before.
There were weird hos trying to dance on the stage and looking foolish, so we decided to show them up. I think we were successful the entire time we were up there, which was approximately 14 seconds.
After exiting stage left, we went back to the VIP. Emily decided that body shots were in order.
Cory, however, had left. She didn't want him to. She told me to text him and tell him that I would do a body shot with him, and gave me his number. I did such a thing. We waited a little bit, and he wasn't there, so we proceded without him.
It was Emily, Paulie and I. I desperately wanted to avoid this Paulie character, so I volunteered to do my shot off of Emily. Here's a picture of me taking the lime from her mouth, which she would later think was me offering her the lime, but having it backward. Haha!
Emily then did her body shot off of Paulie, and he did his off of me. I was not happy. That picture will remain far from everyone's eyes! Gross.
Moments after these shenanigans were over, Cory literally hopped the fence into the VIP section. He wasn't the happiest person in the United States when he found out that he had just missed the body shots....
....but I don't think he looks too devastated, either.
Now here is where the night gets a little fuzzy.
Somehow, we get separated from Cory, Koz, the girlfriend whose adorable shoes were hurting her poor feet, and Paulie. I was not shedding any tears over that last one.
Then I remember Em and I going downstairs, and talking to a few randoms.
We took some pictures of some tomfoolery, involving me licking her cheek (which I am known to do.... Because sometimes you just gotta lick your friend's cheek), and her showing a bit of cleavage, and us doing our best to make drunken sexy faces, which are really absurd. In one, I look like I am about to bite her face off (or just her cheek). I had those pictures in here, but I don't know what happened to them....
(I put all of the pictures in the blog first, and then as I tell the story, I put the words around them. Helps me to keep an order, and not forget things that were captured on "film.")
Anyway, Emily and I end up leaving the bar by ourselves, which is brut. We're both hammered, and neither of us really knows the way to Cory's. In fact, at this point, Em can't even correctly pronounce the name of his street. In her defense, he does live on a very bizarrely-named street.
These minor details do not, however, dissuade the two of us from trying to walk "home."
At some point during this trek, Emily decides she has to use the restroom.
In a strange turn of events, there aren't really any public restrooms available at 4am in the residential parts of Wrigleyville. How weird is that? Who would've guessed?
This does not make Emily have to relieve herself any less, though, so she decides to go in the street.
While she makes tinkle, she decides to put her purse on top of a car, so she can focus or balance or do whatever she has to do.
Em's doing her business, and I am texting back and forth with Cory. Good thing I had texted him earlier about the body shot, or we would probably not have made it home!
He asks me where we are.
I had no idea.
One would think that someone who was asked where she was and didn't know would respond with something at least quasi-constructive, like "I don't know."
Well, if you thought that, and you were thinking about, me.... Wrong-o, my friends!
My response?
Oh, it's a good one. You ready?
"Fiff."
Whaaaaat?
I mean, I know I say that frequently, but Cory had to have thought that I was just some type of crackhead, and a hypocritical one at that! Only hours before, I had determined incorrectly that he was a moron because he couldn't give reasonable directions, and he asks me where I am, and all I've got is "Fiff?"
Brut.
Fiff.
Anyway, I think at this point we took a cab to Cory's, with his help reminding me the address and such things as that. When we get there, however, we realize that Emily has left her purse on top of whatever car she urinated near, somewhere unknown to us.
She flips out, and rightfully so. Her plane ticket, ID, credit cards, iPod, camera.... All in her purse. Pretty much everything she needs to exist.
I realized that I was pretty useless in the ordeal, since I never had any idea where we were once we left the bar. So I took a seat on the curb.
You know my style. I evidently decided to go to sleep. Apparently, I was posed like Rodin's "the thinker" statue, with my hand folded under my chin. According to Cory, it was pretty humorous, or at least would've been if Emily wasn't crying hysterically.
Brut.
I guess at this point, a couple officers of the law arrived, and walked up to Cory and said "Do you guys know Emily?"
I guess at this point, a couple officers of the law arrived, and walked up to Cory and said "Do you guys know Emily?"
How Emily got to be on a first name basis with this policeman will likely be a mystery for life.
Anyway, as far as Em's concerned, this man is an angel, because in his hand, he carried her purse.
Actually, it is quite possible that this man IS an angel. I mean, how else would he tie her purse to her brother's house? The address wasn't there. It was more or less (more more than less) amazing. A miracle, if you will.
Next thing I know, I am on a two-foot long (ish) loveseat with a towel covering me, fully clothed,
including my heels.
I've felt better. I pretty much sucked at life.
Cory's on the couch, and starts talking to me, and kinda filling me in on the purse story. Actually, I am pretty sure one of the first things he told me was about me responding "Fiff."
Then Emily calls me from Cory's bedroom, only a stone's throw away.
We all rally, and move on with our day, which included me driving back to Wisconsin and stopping at Sarkis in Evansville where I got four Loretta's (delicious sandwiches) and then pretty much stayed in bed all day.
Ok, time for me to go to bed. Hope you enjoyed the read, and that you didn't miss anything (such as one of your grandchildren's birthdays) during the lengthy duration of reading this!
Oh yeah, and go vote for me.... Only 5 more days!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
