Wednesday, June 27, 2012

I'm on the A-list...of jackholes

Last weekend I was out with my friends Shanel and Katie. Katie saw a guy that she found attractive. "He looks like Josh Henderson from the new Dallas show," she said. I barely heard her, and continued dancing. "Look, he's going to the bar. Let's go get a drink." I walked up with her and Shanel. As it turns out, I ended up standing right next to him. And because my friends are just as obnoxious as me, they pushed me into him. Three times. It was then I finally opened my mouth. The conversation went something like this: Josh Henderson look alike: (glaring) Me: I'm really sorry. My friends have no manners. JH: It's ok. Me: Wow, that is some jacket. (he's wearing a grey leather jacket. It's hot as balls). JH: Yeah. Me: Did you...ride your motorcycle here? JH: I didn't know it was going to be so hot in Chicago. Me: God. You must be sweating like crazy. JH: It's actually not that bad. Me: So you're not from here? JH: No, California. Me: You look like you're from California. Me: So you want a shot or something? JH: No thanks, I don't like shots. Me: What are you going to order? An avocado salad? JH: (orders two shots) Me: Prick. I went back to my friends and Katie was looking at me quizzically. I asked her what was up. "You do realize that WAS Josh Henderson right?" "Who?" "JOSH HENDERSON. The guy from Dallas. WHO I TOLD YOU ABOUT LIKE 10 MINUTES AGO." "Oh. No. But can you believe he was wearing that jacket?" And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I should never talk to 'celebrities.'

Monday, June 11, 2012

Paging Doogie Howser

The dream I had the other night was so random and amazing I have to write about it. It was winter, and I was snow tubing with a friend of mine from high school. Her name was Sarah, and people used to call us the twins because we both have curly hair. Anyway, I'm coming down the hill and whose arms do I run into but those of Neil Patrick Harris. He was just chillin' at the bottom of the hill like he was waiting for me. So we start flirting because he's CLEARLY NOT GAY in this dream, and he says "everyone's been talking about you and your friend." "Oh yeah?" I ask. "What's the word on the street?" "Well, we've been trying to figure out who's more attractive." I nod. "And I was definitely going to say you but there's something a little, I don't know, ghetto about you." Fast forward to us in a HOT TUB and I'm squeezing his arm thinking, wow, I thought he'd be much skinnier. Except it's Neil Patrick Harris, but as his character in How I Met Your Mother so he's super smooth and knows all the right things to say. We start to make out and then...I wake up. Definitely beats the one where I sat on an AIDS needle.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Ball buster

So it's warm out and I've been boozing pretty hard. Over the past couple of weeks I've been hitting the bars with my friends and in doing so, busting the tiny little balls of pretty much every guy that I meet. How has it become so damn easy? Where have all the witty men gone? I've heard I'm abrasive, intimidating and scary more times than I can count. A 5'3 cherub like myself. The only thing that can be considered scary is that I relish in this shit. It's like ammunition and I've got SO MANY GUNS. Case in point: I'm sitting at a bar, clearly inebriated, when I see a super hot, tall guy. I wave and smile. We make eye contact. Finally he comes over and with his sour breath tells me I look like I have my guard up. I ask him if he knows the capital of Poland. He does not. He asks me why I didn't come over to him and say hello. I tell him I'm paralyzed from the waist down. He stares at me. I move my legs. I find him amusing enough to have late night food with, and as our unfriendly Russian waitress tossed a menu at me, I felt the need to search within the deep confines of this guy's innards to see if he had a soul. Because how ELSE can you find out if you're having breakfast with a zombie or not? "That waitress hates me," I said as I buttered an entire loaf of bread. "Oh yeah? Why?" he asked. "Well I was in here last week and she forgot to bring me my nachos, so I kind of went off." "What do you mean she forgot your nachos?" "I mean I ordered nachos and she brought me my two entrees WITHOUT THE NACHOS." "Wow, you really eat a lot, huh?" "I mean, do you understand the severity of this? I ask for extra cheese and sour cream, but instead I'm met with a bacon lettuce club and cheeseburger and fries. I NEEDED those nachos to prepare me for my meal." (crickets) "See, that's why this is never going to work." (look of confusion/beginnings of a scowl). "You didn't order me nachos after hearing that story. You fucking men today." And yes, I know this is why I'm still single.