As you may have noticed from the number of Facebook Check-ins on Saturday and Sunday between the hours of 11am and 2pm, brunch is a weekend must. However, it is not the breakfast sliders at Marengo, the carnitas benedict at Liverpool Lil’s, the pancakes at Fred’s, the scramble bar at Republic, the bottomless margaritas/burger combo at ESW or even the club sandwich at Hillstone’s…But rather, it is the morning after recap that makes this meal my most favorite of the day.
Below is a collection of inappropriate quotations gathered during any given Saturday or Sunday brunch. These are direct and indirect one-liners, unrelated to one another and paraphrased from strangers, friends, family, lovers and my own filthy mouth alike. Happy reading…
The gentlemen sitting next to us picked up $150 towards our happy hour tab because we were “entertaining.” The downside? The four of us still owed $180. Not including tip.
He couldn’t have been a day over 50 years old.
We asked the couple eating dinner on the restaurant side of La Barca if we can use their knife to cut open her Santa costume, so she could hook up with him in the bathroom with greater ease.
Turn around. I had sex with the man sitting in the backseat. Say hi.
Sorry for waking all of you up at 3am last night. We really thought there was a tsunami coming. I guess liquor and the Emergency Broadcast System aren’t a great mix.
His penis was pierced. I think I’m going to need a tetanus shot.
Turns out I broke my ankle on the wine bus yesterday. No surprise it’s pretty swollen since I didn’t realize the severity of the injury and stayed out dancing until 3am.
He lives with his girlfriend?! Well that would explain why he didn’t stay the night…But it doesn’t explain why he asked me out on a date for next Monday.
I came home from running errands this morning and the guys from the Australian bachelor party who came home with me last night were dressed up in my costumes and had just gotten off the phone with my mom. That’s weird, right?
I think I did crack last night. Can someone google crack?
Just called (insert the name of any Marina or North Beach bar). They have my credit card.*
So the last thing you remember is taking a nap in a bush and the next was waking up in a hospital?*
I took 8 UberCabs this weekend. Is that excessive?*
Thank gawd I wore two shirts. I just threw up on myself in the bathroom.
The next thing I knew all of you had left, I was alone and behind the bar DJing with that bartender who we call “Taint.”
We both randomly woke up at the same time and ran into one another in the hallway. Since neither of us knew where we were, we went through the mail so we could find out a name and address before the guys woke up. Genius.
Nope. You were kicked out of their last night. You did not leave of your own accord.*
Even though he was Mormon I got to third base.
He showed up at the after party to hook up with her, but he ended up in bed with me.
Did you perform a choreographed striptease last night in front of all of us, or was that a horrifying figment of my imagination?*
How did we get home last night?*
*Quotes that have been stated on more than one occasion.
Unfortunately for me this is not a euphemism for experiencing financial hardship, but rather a descriptor for my recently broken tailbone and, well, I don’t feel a need to explain the “ho.”
Yes two, what seem like very long, weeks ago I slipped walking down our back steps and fractured my tailbone in the fall. Admittedly over the course of the day my consumption of liquor prohibited me from experiencing the excruciating pain, but come Monday I realized the severity of the situation and I have been sitting on a donut ever since.
The following are the puns my friends have shared as they have laughed directly in face, mocking my absolute stupidity in regards to this injury:
You really made an ass of yourself.
We’ll put it behind you soon enough.
I just got back.
This is ass-onine.
You’re probably rearin’ to get off that cushion.
I’m sorry…I’m being cheeky aren’t I?
This guy is totally tailing me right now. Butt I guess I shouldn’t worry about it.
Dude I had the best sticky buns this morning.
I’m on the edge of my seat.
PS I bought a whole bunch of Pirate’s Booty for this weekend.
As you’ve read, I have recently moved, and with a new home comes many new beginnings. A new roommate. New furnishings. And most exciting, new neighbors. At my Filbert apartment I was lucky enough to have amazing people in my building over the years…People like…
Man in Unit #2 Who was officially the tiniest asian stoner I’d ever met. I never witnessed him in a sober state. Never.
Woman in Unit #3 Who sold drugs and sex…Not literally of course. She was in pharmaceutical sales and sold sex toys to housewives on the side, but doesn’t it sound more fun to say drugs and sex?!
Woman in Unit #5 Who partied with the likes of Steven Tyler and consistently passed out in our hallway because she couldn’t make it up the next two flights of stairs.
Men & Women in Unit #6 Who still to this day prove to be the most awesome wastes of life a friend can have. Well at least two of them are.
On Filbert I felt comfortable and at home, and was admittedly nervous about what crazies would be living next to us in Fort Mason. That was until I met the following: Shaggin’ Wagon, D-Pain, El Presidente, Vin-Tatum, Alaska, Australia and Texas Hold ‘Em. (Oh and yes. These are their code names. I promised to respect their privacy and protect their identities.)
In the last three weeks these folks have proven to be everything I could ever ask for in a neighbor. They’ve supported us during a trash bust, shared a laugh over family dinner, provided wingman support at the bar, dance partied in our living room, rolled through the hills of Fort Mason, played king’s cup for hours at a time, flip cupped in the rain, and raged through the wee hours of the night, even on a Sunday.
And if all of the above wasn’t enough to know it was fate that we were all to live together, I most certainly knew when during a week night family dinner, D-Pain showed us this:
Yes. This is an incredibly inappropriate photo of two people incredibly drunk hooking up on D-Pain’s brand new bed set. But instead of stopping them to let them know that no window treatments had been installed and that all of the party attendees could see their dirty deed or just to say get the hell off my bed, he snapped this picture and shared it with all of us over a good hardy laugh.
(And no, the two hooking up are not anyone that I know. And yes, they do still have their shoes on.)
As you may or may not know on December 31 of 2011, I left the confines of my Filbert Street apartment and embarked on an all new adventure with my dear friend Merry. Although incredibly sad to leave my two roomies, Shanny, the time had come for a homebase upgrade.
So on Sunday, January 1, hungover as all hell, I packed up my shiza and moved the five blocks to a new humble abode. Within approximately 48 hours Merry and I had settled in, thanks to our bribed friends and family, and were ready to embark on what we knew would be an absolute shit show of a time.
In the seventeen days we’ve lived here we’ve come to discover the following: Living in Fort Mason is exactly like going to summer sleep-away camp, but with booze and discretionary funds at your disposal.
Our situation is unique in that the group of houses on our block have been recently renovated and upon their completion, all of the neighbors moved in simultaneously. Being part of the Golden Gate National Park, each tenant was screened and selected based on a very prescriptive set of criteria. This has resulted in a group of financially sound adults, open to living in a community-oriented environment, i.e. people ready and willing to rage.
My only concern moving to Fort Mason has been that of our personal safety. Not to say I couldn’t hold my own, but stumbling home from the bars at 2am and walking through a pitch black forest would make any lady nervous. Despite purchasing matching headlamps to avert rapists and crazies, Merry and I still felt uneasy about the situation…That was until we met the Fort Mason “Camp Counselors” or more commonly known as members of the National Park Federal Police (NPFP) and San Francisco Fire Department (SFFD).
This past weekend marked our first to opportunity to play at our new place and in the 72 hours celebrating the civil rights preached by MLK, we had six visits from the NPFP and three visits from the SFFD. I will note only one of the instances actually involved any illegal activity (i.e. accidentally dumping trash in the wrong trash. not kidding), the eight other visits gave us quite the reputation amongst the two groups of officials, as well as our neighbors.
All in all month one of thirty-six has started off with a bang (read into that how you please) and between the men in uniform and, of I forgot to mention, the bevy of single dude neighbors, we’re sure to have a safe, pleasant and happy tomorrow.
This Friday night started like every other…The girls and I had a couple starter cocktails at my apartment, then headed over to North Beach for some grub and an evening on the town.
As we exited the cab our first sign that the evening would not be one soon forgotten came strolling before us. We had spotted Jason Jeffrey, who only one week prior I had ravaged post The California Wine Merchant. We got a good laugh as he awkwardly walked five feet in front of us the entire route to dinner.
The girls and I were in the mood for Italian, but weren’t looking for one of our regular hot spots. A local gent, assuming we were tourists, ensured us that North Beach Restaurant was the best food in Little Italy. He was most certainly incorrect, but the experience was worth it. The wait staff was very old school, with at least five servers to every table and dressed in black tuxedos complete with cummerbunds and bow ties. The second sign of a great evening ahead…the staff staches’.
We sped through dinner with the intention to mosey onto the bar scene but didn’t even make it to the maitre d before we realized there was a more than pleasant bartender right inside the restaurant. We stopped in for a limoncello-freeze and a chat.
As the scene settled at North Beach Restaurant we headed over to Amantes where the scene was just heating up! That evening they had launched their partnership with Don Pisco’s chef and were serving their new Chubby Noodle menu.
I was certain the tasty grub was bringing in the plethora of hot men, but as it turned out there were multiple bachelor parties celebrating there that night. Weird, right? It was a cock fest and I’m not talking about the Organic Fried Chicken. So, what could possibly top mutliple bachelor parties in one bar? Only the third sign that it was a great night: One of the bachelor parties was a group of 12 traveling dudes visiting from AUSTRALIA!
Immediately we purchased the groom aka “the buck” a blow job shot. He took it like a champ.
I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but the three of us became jolly good friends with the buck’s party, including the his father, brother and all of his friends.
Fast forward several cocktails, including a mind eraser…we were about done for the night.
The next thing I knew the buck, his brother and his best man were in a limo en route back to my apartment…Don’t you worry. we didn’t ruin a marriage…
The next morning everyone woke up a bit confused, but after piecing the evening together, we all got a good laugh and spent the morning just hanging out. Christie had to be at work pretty early so I left the boys at my apartment while I dropped her off at the hotel. I came back to this. They had rummaged through all of my belongings, including my costumes.
As it turns out it was only the first night of their two week long bachelor party and I’m proud to have made it memorable for them. Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty certain the buck said “He would never be able to top a story like this one.” You’re welcome.
Yes…another one is soon to be off the market, so of course, it was time for a bachelorette party. Only one week past, friends and family of my eldest female cousin, Megs, joined together in South Shore Tahoe to say good bye to her single days! Although I don’t consider myself a connoisseur of the south shore, I do consider myself a professional planner of good times no matter the destination.
With food and beverage in tow we headed up Friday afternoon for check in at the cabin. A quaint little home for ten, it was the perfect place to celebrate. We quickly settled in, decorated the house and prepared for our night on the town. Megs had selected this place called Fire & Ice near Heavenly (no offense Megs), but I was not terribly impressed. Quite honestly I was happy to walk out of there without food poisoning. The drinks, however, were perfectly strong and everyone was definitely ready to party and dance by our last trip to the buffet. From dinner we walked through the casinos, heading to our ultimate destination of Mont Bleu.
On our way there we ran into a couple friends from Folsom, as well as some new friends made during a random dance off. Distracted there we imbibed a couple shots while Megs downed her xth glass of Chardonnay. So classy. Finally, after the bride to be had tossed her last set of beads, we made our way to the club, Opal Lounge. Lucky for us, it was Ladies Night, which meant $10 cover and free unlimited cocktails. (Winning!) We danced our faces off until our feet were so soar I could barely make it to the cab line.
Saturday afternoon was filled with a whole lot of nothing. Sun bathing, a jacuzzi and movie classics from the 80′s and 90′s helped to pass the time. I was glad to see the girls resting up because despite the fact that we were staying in, I had a surprise named “Timothy” coming their way.
No bachelorette would be complete without a stripper, however this is my second experience booking a performer and both times I’ve been jipped! (See Sharon Says Shalom to Singledom).
See I ordered this 28-year old guy…
But instead, I got this 40-year old guy…(and yes, that’s tiger print with fringe.)
Despite the mix-up, the night was hilarious-fun and a great closeout to our weekend… Oh and in case you hate reading (lazyass) and just want to skip to the good stuff, here’s a quick video recap. Enjoy.
Let’s face it. I needed to get away…Off to Chicago & Vegas for a 10-day whirlwind vacation…Our trip to Chicago was to visit Jen, who had recently moved home while she attended nursing school and celebrate St Patrick’s Day. And our trip to Vegas was to celebrate Crispin’s birthday and, well, to go to Vegas…here’s how it went down…
Christie and I had originally slated a Saturday afternoon arrival to Chicago, however once we learned that the St Patrick’s Day celebrations were underway for Saturday and not Thursday, March 17th, we promptly changed our flights Friday afternoon and paid an additional fee to fly the red eye and arrive by 5am Saturday morning.
After a very long and VERY freezing cold flight, we were greeted by Jen and her adorable mother, Susan, at the airport. We immediately set the tone of the trip by stopping at Dunkin Donuts, shoveling our faces full of tiny little mounds of delicious deep fried dough. We headed back to their palatial home in the Chicago suburb of Kenilworth and napped in prep for the big day ahead.
While we accidentally slept through the St Patrick’s Day parade at noon, we still managed to make it to Wrigleyville, where we partied for the entire day…and night.
Around 4pm we lost Christie to Chris, but Jen and I powered through. We met up with Kellan’s brother, Patrick, and concluded our evening with a couple slices of pizza as big as my head. The details of the events in between are hazy to say the least. There was a lot of Jameson, new friends, green beer, dancing, gingers, and best of all Malort aka Chicago’s Fernet.
Flash forward to Sunday morning where we awoke dazed and confused in Patrick’s guest bedroom. Luckily his sweet ass apartment was only a short walk to the L where we met Christie around 10am, so we could get back to Jen’s parents place. About 30 minutes into our train ride, I had a sudden urge for the restroom, which required us to immediately exit in a not so great neighborhood. However, what started out as a bad idea, turned into a great idea, when we landed ourselves at Act One, for several hours. And yes, we were still in the same clothes.
Sunday night through Tuesday evening we rested up at Jen’s parent’s home in preparation for our week downtown and our weekend in Las Vegas. We lunched at The Bagel, shopped at the mall, learned at the Museum of Science & Industry and enjoyed the company of Susan, Randy, Jake and Luke. (Those are Jen’s parents and her golden retrievers and they’re all adorable.)
On Tuesday evening we finally headed downtown to the Michigan Avenue Westin to stay for the duration of the week. Tuesday night we ended up back in Wrigleyville and stayed out until around 4am. After a round of strip pool, we finally called it a night and headed to The Golden Apple Diner for some deliciousness.
Around 8am Wednesday morning, our hotel room door came flying open and entered Miss Lauren, who had just arrived from San Fran. After a long power nap, the four of us, Christie, Jen, Lauren and I, hit downtown for some brunch and Chicago-themed good times. After chowing down some b-fast at Yolk, we headed to Pippins Tavern for a couple cocktails.
SIDE NOTE: One of my most favorite parts of the bars in Chicago? That you can pay to play whatever music you want to hear! We owned every bar’s jams to say the least.
At Pippin’s we met a group of men, the founders of Vitamin Water, who we ended up partying with all afternoon. We sang, danced, played games, took shots of Jameson, played more games…The guys also happened to also be staying at our hotel and one of them claimed to have an extra room next to his suite. He provided us a key and offered it as a place to stay in case we needed the extra space. Sort of creepy, but a kind gesture nevertheless.
After a $600+ tab (the drinks weren’t even $5 a piece), we closed down the house around 5pm in prep for our All You Can Eat Sushi feast planned for the evening. On our way back to the hotel, things got a bit out of hand. It was commuter hour and while the professionals of the world exited the high rises of Michigan Avenue, we ran like maniacs through the streets. Lo event proceeded to slam her body up against the window of Giorgio Armani, until security came after her. Whoops.
By some miracle of the lord, I’m proud (possibly ashamed) to say we made it out until 3am in Lincoln Park. On our way back to the hotel we stopped at the 17th floor to check out “Vitamin Water’s” extra room, but heard voices when we opened the door and chickened out of saying hello…but made note to try again the next night.
SIDE NOTE: Jen did end up being sick all night. Shockingly I don’t think it was from the mass amount of liquor, but instead the terrible sushi we ate…Karma’s a biatch Jen!
Thursday, the actual St Patrick’s Day, was sort of a bust. At this point we weren’t getting out of bed until after 1pm, so breakfast turned out to be some appetizers and a drink at the top of the Hancock Tower. That night we got all spiffed up and headed to the Viagra Triangle, which is just like the Marina triangle, but instead of cougars, it’s old men! There we dined at an amazing steakhouse, Gibson’s, and met the VERY Italian manager and owner. Food? Fabulous. Service? Amazing. Cocktails? Strong.
After 50+ ounces of beef combined, we hit up the local bar and ended up partying with, what we thought were cubs players, but turned out to be cops (slight misunderstanding between us and the waitress). Aside, at the end of the night one of the officers, Rick, gave us his business card to K.I.T. Apparently not only is Rick an officer of the law, but he is also skilled in computer repair, tatooing and masonry. Yes, his card actually stated this information. WTF CPD? (That’s Jen and Rick.)
Oh and around 3am, on the way back to the hotel room, Christie and Jen stopped by “Vitamin Water’s” suite for a second look…Turns out it was not a spare room, but instead his actual hotel room! As they opened the door, he popped his head out of the bathroom, saying “Hold on a sec. I’m just brushing my teeth.” Before he could even spit out the toothpaste, the girls ran, hopped in the elevator and we never saw him again. So gross!
Friday, we yet again slept in past 1pm and finally awoke to have lunch with Lo’s old co-worker Jen in Wicker Park. Surprise, surprise…only a couple hours later, as we were departing Northside Cafe, Lo’s co-worker tripped and fell, knocking over several fake trees, tables and chairs. We received several dirty looks on our way out. Whoopsie…We made a scene.
That night we attempted a show at Second City, however, we didn’t exactly receive the warmest welcome (Thanks Lo) and decided it probably wasn’t the best idea to stay…Instead I left the girls and met up with Nugget at a hole in the wall dive bar in the heart of the Ukrainian Village. I got home around 3am, only to get up at 5am to catch our flight to Vegas.
Yes. Vegas. On Saturday morning we arrived at 9:30am to begin our Vegas extravaganza! Annie and Crispin greeted us at the airport, but we had sadly left Jen behind in Chi Town. The first day was filled with rest and relaxation at the spa. The single day of detox. We dined at Postrio, one of Wolfgang Puck’s restaurants at the Venetian for lunch and Johnny Smalls at the Hard Rock for dinner.
We ended up getting a table with some San Diego friends at Vanity, which was perfect for us. Easy access to seating, cocktails and most importantly, the dance floor. My one horrific memory of the night? One of the girls (not a friend) at our table was wearing this teeny-tiny white dress, so short, you could literally see her tampon string. Abso-frickin-lutely disgusting. (And yes, of course we captured this in pictures.)
Sunday was again a lazy day, mostly because we were saving ourselves for the greatest experience ever aka Thunder From Down Under! We had front row seats, plenty of jell-o shots and screams to deafen a small child. My favorite part? When the 91 year old woman (not kidding), hobbled onto the stage and aggressively put her hands down the strippers boxer briefs. She is my idol.
Later that night, after an uneventful evening at The Bank, the Armenian Duo, aka Lo and Annie, and myself ended up lost inside the Bellagio. The next morning I found the below photo on my camera. Lauren had body slammed herself up against the same Giorgio Armani window display in Vegas as she had in Chicago. Weird, right? (Note to self: Apparently window displays are effective.)
Monday, 90% of our day was spent at the Lago Buffet in Caesar’s. Since we had to check out of our hotel, but weren’t leaving until 9pm, we stayed for both lunch and dinner. Class. Class. Class.
Although I was absolutely exhausted coming back from my vacation it was most definitely worth it. Chicago & Vegas, I’m sorry…but not really.
Oh and in case you’re lazy. Here this story is in film…
In celebration of our african american 44th president, my friends and I decided to make the most of the weekend. This was due particularly to the fact that the majority of people, excluding myself, had no work on Monday, but more of the fact that it was an amazing reason to celebrate.
On Friday we celebrated Barb’s 27th birthday in epic flashback style. Unfortunately due to one too many yager shots a couple people were down for the count for the rest of the weekend. For Mary, Christie, Stina and I, however, our agenda was full.
While we woke up at approximately 1pm Saturday afternoon, we still managed to make the most it. We headed over to Oakland to enjoy a taste of the East Bay (and I’m not just talking about the good eats). Our first stop was Homeroom, a brand spankin’ new restaurant in an up-and-coming Oakland neighborhood.
SIDE NOTE: We quickly discovered this little neighborhood happens to be where everyone from the Haight in San Francisco moves to have their babies. There were SO many pierced and tattoo’d hipsters with infants.
Aside, the restaurant features a very limited menu, but with a diverse array one clutch item: mac’n cheese. In addition to cheesy noodle goodness, they also do fresh veggies and homemade desserts. They also do a wine or beer pairing with every main dish!
The service at the restaurant was absolutely outstanding and at the end of our meal our server couldn’t help but make a little fun of us…We had submitted our four credit cards and as she passed them back out, she read off each one of our names…Christie, Denise, Christina…Preferred Customer?? Oh Mary!
From there we headed over to the family-famous ice cream parlor, Fenton’s. Distracted by excitement we really didn’t pay much attention to the size of other’s sundaes and ordered one for each of us. Big mistake! Not one of us even came close to finishing our treat! (Notice my chocolate banana split…)
Bellies full we headed back to the city ready for a nap. We picked up supplies for the evening and headed home to prepare. I don’t know if it was spending a good amount of time in Oakland or not, but I had the thought of a hot black man on the mind and knew it was going to make for something strange.
The usual met up at our place for dinner. We ended up hanging around our kitchen table until about 10:30pm. At that point we headed over to the Brickyard to meet up with Sean and Greg. Unfortunately for us, they were a little too far gone to be much fun. After only a single cocktail and potty break, we headed over to the much classier (insert sarcasm here) Mauna Loa.
It was here things got strange, yes strange.
I met The Project, shall we call him after Mary met his hawt friend. The Project, however, was not hawt, but he did have beautiful dark skin, so I was in!
Fast forward to the next morning…I receive a text message from Mary at approximately 6:45am demanding a pick up service immediately. So I offer The Project a ride home, but request we pick up Mary first. He offers, like a gentleman to get into the back seat. When I pick Mary up she fails to realize he’s in the car and begins recapping the night, until I have to cut her off and point out the situation. If I could have captured her facial expression I would have…
When we asked The Project where he lived he said “Head towards Geary…” Along the way Mary made sure the situation was extraordinarily awkward by asking questions like, “So, Do you think this is some sort of a love connection?” or “Have you guys exchanged numbers?” or (my favorite) “Do you guys know one another’s name?” (PS He did not know my name.)
We finally reached his domicile in the actual projects off of Geary. He claimed to have a job, etc, etc and appeared to be a stand up guy, but this quickly went down the drain when we arrived in the projects and he offered a smoke out session and breakfast burrito at his place. Mary and I promptly made up an excuse (I don’t know what we said considering it was only 7:30am) and left him behind…
All in all, I would like to thank our 44th president, Obama, for an all around great weekend!
So last night, a random Thursday, I decided to lay low for a change. I got home from work, put on my PJs and turned on the teley. After watching several hours of nonsenscial episodes of Chelsea Lately, I decided to get up and clean the house a bit. Mid-bathroom deep bleach, a knock at the door. Christie was getting home from work late and wanted to go out for a drink…
After about 20 minutes of convincing and a very sneaky icing, I was in.
SIDE NOTE: Christie was wearing a t-shirt dress. She tells me she’s going up stairs to change, but needs me to help her unzip the dress. I think to myself, what shirt dress has a frickin zipper. Then I realize…ICED! Damn her.
Anyway…I finish up cleaning, tool a quick shower and got dressed. Since Christie and I are ridiculously poor we had only $20 cash between the two of us. (Christie: $20. Me: $0). We decided to keep ourselves in control, we’d just head over to the Black Horse Deli & Pub (See St Patrick’s Day) for a quick couple of beers.
It’s 10:30pm at this point.
As we approach the bar, which as a reminder is a small alley with a roof on it, we hear a ton of noise. It was packed. Ladies on the stools. Dudes slammed up against the wall. And there were just as many people behind the bar as there were being served. We bellied up to a couple seats and ordered two Chimay Whites.
Apparently it was the owner, James’, birthday. They were serving teeny-tiny pies and ice cream cake, and every ten would break into a mumbled rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Everyone was absolutely shitfaced.
Once settled, we realized the entire crowd was involved in an intense dice game of 1-4-24. There was a hug pile of dollar bills right in front of us…Being as poor as we are, we decided gambling was a great way to earn some extra dough. So Christie threw down and tossed the die.
Meanwhile, some random girl walks in with a Safeway bag full of Jell-O shots. WTF? Orange and Lime flavor shots are now being passed around the bar. Everyone took the first in unison, yelling, “CHEERS!” tapping one to the other as if a large glasses of wine around the family table.
At 11:40pm James announces he must close at midnight to avoid getting closed down again.
SIDE NOTE: They were recently shut down for ten days for staying open past the deli license allotted hours.
Back to the game. Christie ties for first place the first three rounds…By the last, however, she lost by only three points…The final game ends right at midnight. We chug our beers.
On our walk home we discuss how random the evening was. We’re a little tipsy. We made some mac n cheese, cuddled up (because apparently Christie can’t walk up the two flights of stairs to her own place) and passed out watching 17 Again. Ridiculous.
I love informercials. Being a night owl I am easily sucked into the latest and greatest cleaning solution, fitness machine and food processor late night advertisements. Since the late Billy Mays is no longer raiding my airways, these ads seemed to have lost their luster.
Until now, that is. For the past couple of weeks I have been haunted with images like these…
Yes, this is a screen shot of my TV.
Their slogan: “Get arms like Michelle Obama.” I’m sorry, but this machine is totally hilarious! And if I were the president’s wife, I would be appauled to see them using my name all over their product. What?! Is she dishing out handy j’s to Barack everynight? Cause this contraption looks like something I used to sell during a Pleasure Party.
SIDE NOTE: When I first moved to San Francisco I sold sex toys to make extra cash. I would come into people’s homes and host “Pleasure Parties.” Get your mind out of the gutter, it wasn’t that bad. I would essentially talk to women of all ages about intimacy, safe sex, lubricants and everyone’s favorite, dildos. Well, maybe it was as offensive as you thought.
Anyway…Who is actually using this machine? You would look ridiculous! How are these women taking themselves seriously? You be the judge. Am I the only one thinking this thing is totally offensive?!
