February 28th 11:23pm - Unemployed

As my company laid off me and multiple others in my Development Team a month and a half ago, to collect the exquisite and heavenly unemployment, The Government insists I apply for five jobs a week in attempts to obtain a position. Unemployment is like an ejaculation of elation in check form. I positively don't desire any real job for the next couple of months, thus I apply to positions with this response rubric:

Job Posting:
Title: Administrative Rockstar
Do you like good food, working with smart people and participating with world class organizations? Do you like to accomplish tasks at a high level and make the world a happier tastier place? Do have great attention to detail, a fantastic memory and the ability to get along with most people? If so, Dave's Gourmet has a career for you. 
Etc. Etc.

To Mr. Dave Gourmet,

Attached please find my resume. I am an Admin SUPERSTAR. 
My Super-Hero Admin qualities: 
* Ability to commence and complete ten thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight tasks within 6  seconds
* The faculty to form a feast from anything, including paper and other like office supplies
* The memory capacity of God
* Ghandi's social skills

Thank you for your consideration in this position! I look forward to hearing from you soon... unless, of course, the God of All Administrative Assistants applies, in which case if I were you I'd most likely bestow the position on him/her... presumably Her.


Admin Superstar

February 27th 11:57pm - Your Life Loathes You When...

You Know Your Life Loathes You When...

You meet a girl and convince her to break up with her boyfriend so you can fly her to Ireland with you for vacation. The first night inebriation transforms you to Hellishly Handsome Ladies Lord of the Dance, you flirt fantastically with another female(s), and Original seizes the first return flight to the U.S., leaving you in the Emerald Isle.

Ladies Lord: college friend
Fatality: flight fare

February 26th 8:54pm - New Orleans You Know You're Drunk When...

Mardi Gras
New Orleans 2009

You Know You're Drunk When...

* You convince a cab driver to let fifteen people in one cab... and then endeavor to make him dance with you. While he's driving. He refuses.

* You strive to convince your friend to pee in a sink in a convenience store's two foot by two foot janitor's closet. You argue with the manager in the store while your friend is in the closet.

* You later attempt to pee in a parking garage until you get chased out.

* You awake the next morning to find one side of your ass containing one large bruise, seven small bruises, and no explanation.

* You kick a friend of a friend in the balls at a bar because he asks for your number. He hobbles outside only to return fifteen seconds later.

* You kiss a guy, walk away because he tastes like cigarettes, realize he was a good kisser despite the ashtray taste assaulting your tongue, return, kiss him again, and walk away. Again.

* You propose to a girl you just met through another friend (you are residing at her house), and twirl her around swing-dance status, dipping her, twisting her, curling her... your Mardi Gras beads entangle with hers and choke her. The more you endeavor to disentangle yourselves, the more you choke each other.

* You kiss a guy and continue to inform him (loudly), "I'm clean!"

* You get kicked out of a store for peeing in the employee's break room. There was no toilet in the break room.

* You determine the rubber chicken you caught off a parade's float is a superior container for your daiquiri, as opposed to a plastic cup. You proceed to request the bartenders to re-fill daiquiri into said rubber chicken.

* You steal cotton candy from an unattended homeless man's cart. Twice.

** Unrelated Addition: favorite NOLA sign I witnessed:
"Child Abuse: $2."
For those concerned, distressed types: Child Abuse is a drink.

February 24th 2:53pm - New Orleans Mardi Gras 2009 Quotebook

K: "You can see all the titties you want. During Mardi Gras they flow like wine."

F: "I'm really confused about my feelings inside."

K: "I want to cut off both my legs right now. Just for a little bit. So I can't feel them."

M: "Their mac and cheese sucks. I'll probably get it anyway."

B: "I knew I didn't belong in Arkansas when I saw a six-year-old in overalls standing on a truck aiming a gun at me."

F: "I want to get a tattoo. Either skull and crossbones on my neck, a kiss mark on my ass, or a face that's half my boyfriend's face and half Lil Wayne's." 

F (reaction to King Cake): "I'm going to start putting babies everywhere.
Oh, you found a baby? You have to do my laundry."

K: "She has earrings with baby Jesus on them.
Maggie, I'm going to get you tittie tassels with baby Jesus on them. 
MN: "But you're a girl. Your sweat smells like sugar and tears. I have man sweat. Man sweat smells like wood and steel."

S: "I fell in love with two girls walking down the street. She's gorgeous and my wife."

K: "His friend is less fun than AIDS. She brought nothing but her vagina and she only shared it with one stranger. What a prude."

Stranger in the park approached a group of us, announcing: "You can suck my dick. My sperm everywhere!"

SR: "I can't take you seriously. You have huge balls and a feather boa."

February 23rd 5:54pm - Airline Affair

I expended last night on an airplane. The masses swarming around the waiting area to board the plane contained multitudes of handsome young men, and visions of flirtatious, fine conversation regaled my brain. Once I finally seized my seat, I sorrowfully realized King and Kong flanked me. Lack of legroom compelled me to consign my backpack to above, while my oversized purse and I pinched between limitless limbs. Displeased by my non-idyllic circumstances, Kong instantly assaulted me with questions and life inquiries. He pestered me with countless queries: where are you from, do you like it there, what do you do, how long have you been unemployed, what was your family life like growing up, as the oldest did you beat up your siblings, where did you go to college, etc. etc. Kong boasted Erckle glasses, shocks of white side-hair, and a coffee toupee. As life-customary, I was exhausted, and my head hastily bent back, eyes simultaneously shut, and mouth elegantly expanded into oblivion before the plane progressed movement. My coma-condition resembled sedation. I was drug-delighted. Until Kong continually poked and prodded me out of my reverie. Eyes revolving, head rotating, I mumbled, "What what what?" Kong explained he couldn't sleep, and I should concentrate on the imminent safety proceedings. The remainder of the five-hour flight formed me feigning Snow-White-trance, and Kong attempting to awake me by various methods of jabbing, screeching, and pulling. His parting words of wisdom as I blearily exited the plane at four in the morning: he had the sleeping capacity of a giraffe.

February 21st 3:48pm - Texts Currently in My Phone

Me: "Today I somehow won two hundred dollars... I don't know how. I'm drunk."
M: "I hate you! Today I got punched in the face by one of the four-year-olds I teach."

* "I think that people who can't sing naturally gravitate towards country where it's just loud talking with an accent."

* "One middle-aged person to another, 'Cheer up, ten years from now you'll never believe you were this young. Either I'm getting drunk or that's funny.'"

Me: "I certainly hope you got some good use out of Boondock Saints."
SP: "By 'good use' I assume you mean try to learn Gaelic and the most dramatic way to kill people... which sounds like an awesome idea to me!"

* (Vegas Result): "The x-rays were positive... and negative. There's a fracture but the doctor says it looks like it's old because it's more smooth than usual. But I can't recall when I might have fractured it before. I feel like I should remember such a thing."

* "Me to myself: 'Since my knee was cut up I wonder if there is any blood on the inside of my pants... Oh dear God what animal got slaughtered in my pants.' HUGE blood stain."

* "She's going to play Varsity soccer so I will be coaching her which should be interesting. Also, she's the vacuum that gave my brother the big-ass hickey that dominated his neck."

* "New use for Blackberry: grocery list."

* "My parent's house is childproof and it is making my life very difficult!"

* (Concerning Mardi Gras in New Orleans): "First parade tonight was insane... I got 23 beads without flashing... I can't wait for you to come!"

February 20th 3:48pm - Halloween Happenings

You Know Your Life Loathes You When...

Your coaches and other administrators in the Athletic Department witness you plastered, pitching down a city street wearing Drinking Team shirts and what can only be described as lingerie.

A few years ago appropriate Halloween costume apparel baffled me and my friends. Until we prepared a plan. We would ornament ourselves in Drinking Team attire. What originated as beer boxers and tank tops with "Drinking Team" across the front, our nicknames and numbers on the back, metamorphosed into tank tops, underwear, and, in a few instances, tights. Collaboration with Mister Jack and The Captain equated gratification with our whorish ensembles. 

Alcohol in hand, spirits steep, we swung down San Francisco's Castro street. Careening through what was closely three hundred thousand people (according to the news the following day), and haranguing loudly about the most desirable alcohol, we passed our coach, trainer, and some others central to our soccer program. We awkwardly conversed, struggled to appear sober, and then circuited away, cringing that we had practice the following morning and were in a supposedly dry season, not supposed to be accompanied by Jack or The Captain.

February 19th 10:45pm - Amazing Race Application

I assisted two of my friends in composing a three-minute video of themselves as well as answering the thirteen-page written application for The Amazing Race.
A friend and I ambled to Costco to sample the ample selection. He called his Race companion (our other friend), who promptly arrived at Costco complete with two cowboy hats and a video camera. I filmed them before shrubbery. My expert camera's viewpoint propagated the impression they were in a backyard in front of trees. Their team name: the Cali Cowboys. Their reasons for desiring to be on The Amazing Race: spreading American pride, being exposed to new people and places, and the ability to sample beer around the world. They wore their cowboy hats and incorporated some deviating dance that included hip thrusting. 
Once finished talking after two and a half minutes, they strolled away. The camera trailed them to reveal they were in a Costco warehouse. One of them pointed and mentioned something about curtains before I killed the camera.
In discussing the written portion, we desired to answer the questions below in the following ways. We ultimately refrained and responded in appropriate approaches. But this is what we ruminated: 
* What is the biggest disappointment you have experienced from your teammate?
- He's an alcoholic and won't admit it like I will. I feel inferior.
* What type of activities do you like to do with your teammate?
- Wrestling.
* What most scares you about traveling?
- Midgets and gnomes.
- Ghosts and aliens.
- Sober people.
* What is your opinion of foreigners? 
- They're no Americans.
* Are you currently taking any medications? If yes, which ones, and why are you taking them?
- Marijuana because I'm diagnosed bipolar.
* Please list any allergies you have:
- Sober people. Babies.
* What is the accomplishment you are most proud of?
- My teammate and I went on a ten-day binge. We may have blacked out nine of the ten days. Maybe ten of ten. I don't remember... I just checked. Neither of us remember.
* Describe your perfect day:
- Morning sex. Breakfast. Sex with breakfast. Sex while fishing. Sex while driving. Sex while listening to country music. Lunch. Sex with lunch foods. Sex while working out. Sex. Dinner. Dessert with sex. Sex under the stars on a perfect night. The ability to maintain sex throughout the day and night. 
* Do you belong to any affiliations or organizations?
- National Gun Control. Shoot all aliens.
* What are your phobias?
- Sober people. Priests. 

February 17th 11:53pm - My Car Repels My Efforts to Sell

Excluding a sporadic, successive clicking noise, a collapsed CD player, a crippled cigarette lighter, several scratches on the rear of the car, and an abundance of accessory ailments, my Jetta was perfect. And I was selling her.

I did what any proper person would do: I paid an excessive amount to attain a spare key, I replaced the CD player, and arranged an appointment with an auto repair shop to mend the cigarette lighter and excessive clicking the next day.

Then, I jubilantly displayed the car to three parties.

One: a thirty-something man with tattoos snaking around his arms and neck with lengthy black hair that claimed he coveted the car as a commuter vehicle. He ultimately offered me fifteen hundred dollars less than I listed it for.

Two: an early-twenty-something goofy-smile girl who arrived with her brooding boyfriend. I estimate she had forcibly dragged him to view/test-drive thirty-six cars. At least. Her first question: “No heated seats?” Her boyfriend’s last comment, “Jesus, Dorothy, you’re going to kill us. Slow the fuck down.” This was precisely before she sped over a speed bump and the car crashed into the pavement emitting a perceptible protest manifested in multiple moans, one being the car’s.

Three: a sincere Scotsman. His midget-height, massive smile, ample-accent fifty-something self immediately engrossed me. The car’s clicking clamor, normally erratic, never ceased. Scotsman’s decree: I fix the click, he’d purchase the car. My response: I have an appointment tomorrow morning.

That night I drove to my friend’s house for dinner. On my return drive I noticed the Check Engine light illuminated for the first time during ownership of the car. The following morning, upon presenting the Jetta at the shop for the clicking and lighter, they informed me the car needed a new catalytic converter. As I’m a girl and have no concept what that means, I simply know it’s bad. I advised the mechanics to accomplish whatever was necessary. Upon my reappearance hours later, the owner of the shop enlightened me that my airbag light was on. I have never seen this light in my life. I was not aware of its existence. Yet, in twelve hours prior to selling it, the check engine and airbag lights illuminated, neither of which I have seen in my three and a half years of Jetta possession. My car is protesting the sale!

February 16th 11:26pm -Goodwill

In preparation for Mardi Gras in New Orleans, I visited Goodwill to purchase the usual peculiar collections of clothing that at one time in ancient history were actually considered fashion but now construct costumes. Apparently Mardi Gras comprises a series of depraved parades, all of which necessitate costumes.
I was meeting a friend at the store. Instantly upon entering Goodwill a very rotund antique man whose body (and head) resembled enlarged grapes sparkled a smile at me. My immediate reaction, and I hope I'm not alone in this, was to smile back. His toupee roosting on his otherwise bald head jiggled with joviality, his beaver eyebrows jigged, and his grape-belly bounced. His chubby pallid paws motioned from his lips to me. I elevated my own eyebrows, rotated, and treaded in the opposite direction. I text messaged my friend: "Get your ass over here. Crazy round man just propelled air kisses in my direction." She wrote back, "I'm looking for parking. Stop exaggerating." I fled to the opposite side of the store and was browsing through a hideous collection of neon shirts and sweat-suits when another man, this one with white hair jungles breeding from his ears, eyebrows, nose, chin, and all other sustainable surfaces approached me, announcing I looked like Brooke Shields. But better. I appraised myself and adjudicated between my puke-green army jacket, ill-fitting jeans, and oversized black tee-shirt, these maniacal old men were delusional. I texted my friend again, "Seriously. Get here now. Please. Another crazy just told me I look like Brooke Shields." Her response, "Shut the fuck up. You're exaggerating. I'll be there in a second." 
She sauntered through the door minutes later to witness my flaming face and Toupee-Grape-Man kissing my hand and grasping it before releasing his vice. 

February 15th 11:48pm - Curse an Officer

A few years ago, while returning from a soccer game, one of my friends and teammates organized a birthday party for herself. A.K.A. she contacted every friend, informing all to come to her on-campus apartment at a juvenile time to commence the celebration. Hours later, amid fifty-something college students, abundant alcohol, and intoxicated iniquity, the campus cops came.
As my friend resided in student housing, Public Safety had jurisdiction. They pierced the party and demanded everyone’s identification. When they charged me for mine, I extracted my school ID from my back pocket and stood, stationary, identification in hand. I gawked at the cop, grasping the probable catastrophic conclusion of surrendering my identity. Visions of coaches shrieking and storming harassed my mind. I resolved refusal of relinquishing the ID and scrutinized my surroundings. 
As the Public Safety Officer reached for my identification, I spun and sprinted for the open front window. I dove out that open front window, landing headfirst in a heap on the concrete. I raised myself and ran away, ID still in hand, officer bellowing at the window.
The following day, my teammates enlightened me as to the events that emerged after I departed through the window. A few buried themselves in the bathtub, and one in the closet, thus eluding Public Safety. Aside from my liberating lunge, and a few fanatical flees, someone from every student housing building on campus had been written up for underage alcohol use. Several people from every Division-1 sports team through the university had been written up. The administration was not amused. As one of our teammates fled, an officer attempted to obstruct the escape. Teammate’s verbal response to Public Safety: “Fuck you, Bitch!”
The Issue: she accidentally absconded without her student identification. As Teammate dashed down the street, Birthday Girl screamed Teammate’s name out the window, declaring she forgot her ID. Public Safety Officer heard, remembered the name, and discovered Teammate’s identity. Our coach received a call at 7am announcing one of the girls on her team had a raucous party the night before, and another girl on the team screeched, “Fuck you, Bitch!” to the officer. Our coach had never been a morning person.

February 14th 5:02pm - Married

You Know Your Life Loathes You When...

In Vegas you marry an unknown on a flip, she intensely pursues an actual relationship with you after you're married, and you acquire an annulment.

Last night I met a law school student who had voyaged to Vegas six months prior for a kickball tournament. After the kickball competitions, the contests between teams developed into drinking rivalries. A female (previously unknown to Law Student) on another kickball team challenged him to Flip Cup. For those of you who have been living under a rock and two hundred feet of mundane life, Flip Cup is the finest game known to alcoholics and college students. My Flip Cup skills are astounding. In college my friends and I dominated so frequently we felt entitled to re-name the game: Flippy Cup. Easier for chanting.
Anyway, if Kickball Female won, she and Law Student would get married. Though the kickball tournament comprised their first encounter, he absolutely agreed. His intoxicated condition during this occurrence doesn’t recall the stipulations if he won, but they are irrelevant, as Kickball Female won on the first flip.
They joined in matrimony at a chic wedding chapel in a casino, applauded by inebriated kickball masterminds. Their post-nuptial jubilation: gliding down a water slide into a pool. The Bride was implausibly clad in a bathing suit under her clothes. The Groom descended the drop in his attire.
The Bride (aka Barmy) later proposed they move in together, as they were legally married.
After money, lawyers, and effort, the muddled Flip Cup marriage of two strangers assumed annulment. 

February 13th 10:37pm - Desperately Disoriented in L.A.

Driving to Vegas a few weeks ago, my friends and I unintentionally discovered once the empty gas light loomed, my Jetta could continue for seventy miles on continually flat road. Evidently gas stations feel it sufficient to supply gas incredibly infrequently while driving to Vegas.
This influencing my usual logic, when the gaslight materialized in driving from Long Beach to Los Angeles, I reasoned I could get to USC and back without any difficulties. My belated arrival in visiting my brother solidified my resolution of gas-delay.
One-thirty in the morning located my brother informing me I was welcome to sleep at his house of eight males, but there were no blankets, no heat, and no insulation. I ruled to return to Long Beach that night.
It wasn’t until I was lost in a shifty section of L.A. (a wrong turn from USC) that I recalled the gas deficiency. As the area was wrought with hoodlums, hooligans, and hobos, doubtless all equipped with semi-automatic weaponry and foot-long knives, I opted to remain in the car in attempts to recover the correct direction. Fifteen still-astray minutes later, the Jetta dashed down a boundless bridge, rapidly jolted forward, and stopped. Complete. Absolute halt.
I plundered my purse, pinpointed my AAA card, and phoned. The clock now read two-fifteen. The operator informed me of the hour and a half wait. After describing myself as a solitary young female in dire L.A., Operator consigned me as an Emergency pick-up. This kindly cut the wait to forty-five minutes. Her inspiring closing words: “When your life is threatened, call 9-1-1 immediately.” Wonderful. Forty-five minutes.
Twenty minutes elapsed with no hoodlums, hooligans, or hobos accosting the bridge. However, 2:35am: a cop car came. He pulled behind and notified me I was parked illegally and he was going to bestow me with a ticket. I notified him the car died, I was waiting for AAA, and, believe me, would move if feasible. I cast the car in neutral and he, alone, pushed the car three blocks off the bridge and around the corner so I wouldn’t obstruct the street. He didn’t issue me a ticket.
2:58am: AAA called. I wasn’t in the location I had said. They had sent the would-be savior to another location. Forty-five minute wait from now. My solitary young female status acquired a twenty-five minute wait.
3:23am: AAA arrived.
3:38am: Full tank of gas and I, with directions, drove towards the freeway.
4:06am: Long Beach.

In retrospect, I’m abundantly appreciative the cop didn’t run my plates. He would have seen my warrant for arrest (though I didn’t know about it at the time) and presumably promptly escorted me to jail.

February 12th 6:48pm - Warrant for Arrest?

You Know Your Life Loathes You When...

Today I shuffled through mail compiling at my parent's house over the past few months. What do I stumble across, but a warrant for my arrest, notice date: January 20, 2009. I have no idea what the warrant pertains to. SFPD was so generous as to include a citation number, warrant number, and the date of the violation (August 19, 2008), but not the
cause of the violation.
The notice kindly informs me, "Failure to give this notice immediate attention will necessitate compliance with state law, making it mandatory that you be taken into custody."
The only infraction I remember occurring in August was when a cop pulled me over and cited me for a broken side mirror. I repaired it (well, paid professionals to repair it), and sent a letter. 
Is it possible I have a warrant for my arrest for a fix-it ticket?

February 11th 11am - Graduate?

You Know Your Life Loathes You When...

You realize after the Add/Drop due date for class alterations that you are two units shy of graduating. 

USC's administration informed my brother he's two units away from graduating because the sailing class he's enrolled in is worthless unit-wise. He had thought it was two units. The class modification interlude has concluded, and instead of graduating in May as planned, he's being told he'll have to wait. After four years and $160k, he'll have to wait. 

February 9th 2:35pm - Streaking

My first two years playing college soccer, my team consisted of crazies, comics, and carousals. When contacting high school club coaches for potential players, our college coach specifically requested contact information for that team’s “personality players.”
End result: crazies, comics, and carousals. One night some of the team convened and booze-bonded. We concluded the night’s depravity by ascending the soccer field’s fence and streaking.
Recently released from knee surgery, an inebriated teammate’s capabilities did not constitute climbing over a fence. Drunkenly distressed, she called our team trainer around two in the morning to criticize the rehab process because her teammates had climbed the fence and were streaking across the field, while her mending knee did not allow her to participate in such debauchery.
We saw the trainer the following morning.
Her remark: "I'm happy to see you girls found your clothes."

February 6th 4:15pm - Potential Shirts

I have resolved I'm going to sell shirts through this site. Shirts adorned with writing.
The following are the ones I contemplated before settling on four:

* I reply with, "That's what she said," whenever possible.

* I drink. What's your hobby?

* My liver hates me. My life thinks I'm fantastic.

* I love being unemployed, I have so much more time to think.

* When I met them they were quasi-attractive.
Then I got drunk, they were models, and I was God.

* You can never get enough motorboats.

* Good news, bad news.
Good news: you look hot.
Bad news: I'm drunk.

* I love my Blackberry. I write memos every time I have thoughts.

* All women are crazy.

* My favorite part about dancing is making girls uncomfortable with my raging boner.

* It wasn't me.

February 5th 11:52pm - Grandpa

During my childhood, my grandpa lived with my immediate family for an instant. Back in ancient times before cell phones, he babysat us one night. I informed Grandpa I was going to spend the night at a friend’s house and, as customary, he smiled and nodded. I repeated myself to ensure he comprehended (sometimes his hearing aid wasn’t turned on). Again, smile and nod. When my friend and her dad arrived at the door, I notified Grandpa I was leaving to spend the night at my friend’s house. Grandpa shuffled towards the door as I exited. My parents returned hours later and questioned Grandpa when only two of three children were in their beds. Grandpa’s reply: the third kid got kidnapped. My friend’s dad was the nicest, most intimidating, oversized tattooed Mexican. Grandpa sincerely believed I had been kidnapped.

February 4th 7:30pm - Recruit

As a Division-1 soccer player, every year countless high school players would visit our college on recruiting trips. Throughout the weekend, us current players’ responsibilities comprised touring the students around campus, supervising their activities, and providing them with a sense of a student-athlete’s life. We habitually played games Fridays and Sundays with Mondays off. Consequently, we would drink Sunday nights.
One weekend we were so fortunate as to only have a game Friday night. My roommate and I had an exceptionally privileged recruit, as she was able to experience our always-amusing-raucous-nighttime-activities on a Friday night. She had to return home the following day. We won the game, my parents were exceedingly exultant and proud, and treated us (recruit included) to dinner, afterwards procuring alcohol for our underage selves.

That night, one of our older teammates had people to her house to celebrate. Those people consisted of the entire team and some extended friends. Recruit got drunk. I hadn’t overseen her alcohol consumption. After mumbling she might regurgitate dinner, I assisted Recruit outside. I had no desire to witness Mexican food vomit. Yet, I did witness it, as she promptly collapsed on the sidewalk and retched into the street.
With some baseball team support, I transported her home, and trailed behind as three baseball players hoisted her over their shoulders and carried her to my dorm room. As she was non-responsive, I checked throughout the night to ensure she was breathing.
The following morning, I awoke Recruit to attend breakfast with the coach, who would then drive her to the airport for her flight home.
Coach called a team meeting that evening. Recruit had thrown up in Coach’s car on the way to the airport. Twice. Coach verbally scathed us, iterating recruits do drink on recruiting trips, but never should they get so drunk they’re hung over the next day. She then declared she knew someone on the team bought Recruit the alcohol, as she was still in high school. Of course, a teammate wasn’t to blame for the alcohol purchase. It was my dad.

February 3rd 7:45pm - Darker Skin = Win

When her children were young, my grandma emerged from her house to find her oldest son, my dad, in line for a running competition, his skin enveloped in black. When she inquired why he had covered his skin, his response was that he wanted to win.
He sincerely believed that if his skin were darker than his opponents, he would win the race.

February 2nd 11:57pm - Senior Stumble & Cops

Every May, some University of San Francisco senior coordinate a bar stumble to celebrate the conclusion of one hundred and sity thousand dollars and four years of boobs, booze, and SparkNotes. As sophomores, my friends and I stalked our senior friends down the Geary Street Senior Stumble. Our traditional going-out strategy: the more you pre-gamed at home, the less money you spent out. This generally worked, unless you blacked out and forgot the taste of alcohol and the value of money.
My girls KT, Bizzle, and I walked to Geary and added our intoxication to the thousands of college students tinkerbelling down the street. When we asked Einstein what bar we were supposed to be at, he checked his watch and pointed to the back of his shirt.
"It's a little after nine, so check the shirt," Einstein instructed.
A senior stumble map and timetable boomed across the shirt's back. From two in the afternoon until two in the morning stood the names of six bars in two-hour increments. The map comprised a circle with the name of a bar and peak hours of libation. A dotted line marked the direction to the next bar and the following two-hour segment. When we asked who paid to have the shirts made, the answer was, Jesus.
Ten at night, and we needed to be two blocks down the street at Blarney Stone. As we thanked Einstein and turned away, my bladder bitch-slapped my brain and logic. I announced to KT and Bizzle that I couldn't hold it and was going to piss in the planter box in front of us. Geary is a busy street. People walked by, cars passed. Everyone needs to see a little ass every now and then, even id there is a stream of urine in the image. I dropped my jeans and leaned back, my cooter over the box. KT screamed, "Sympathy beer pee," and squatted next to me. Within seconds, Bizzle had joined us. The three of us crouched in a Quasimodo urination line.
A cop car rolled up. Two cops vaulted out like they had just pounded three Red Bulls each. Bizzle whacked her jeans up to her waist and sprinted down the sidewalk. Giant Asian Cop dashed after her. The waist of Bizzle's pants hit her ankles. She waddled three more steps. To avoid tripping on herself, she halted, hands in air, repeating, "I'm sorry Sir, I'm sorry Sir," and shuffled back. She joined KT, Mexican Midget Cop, and me two feet from the planter box with her jeans still around her ankles. The policemen requested our identification. My underage inebriated mind still included functioning faculties, and I handed them my college ID, no birthday. They glanced at it as rapidly as I would a three-inch penis, and handed my ID back. KT and Bizzle surrendered their fake ID's. Looking from KT to her fake ID, Giant Asian asked what her name was. Giant Asian had braces.
"Caroline," KT replied.
"No, it's not."
"Oh. My middle name's Caroline," she replied.
"No, it's not," Giant Asian repeated.
"Oh. My friends call me Caroline."
"No they don't."
Giant Asian looked to me and asked her name. Her fake ID name could be Kramer, for all I know.
"I just call her K," I shrugged and offered the cops my sober eyes. KT later referred to my sober face as my fucktard face.
Mexican Midget glanced at Bizzle.
"When's your birthday?" he asked.
Bizzle paused. "Mumble mumble, nineteen-eighty-two."
"One more time?"
"Mumble mumble nineteen-eighty-two," stress on eighty-two.
Giant Aisan scrutinized Mexican Midget as if he were judging a pygmy contest and Mexican Midget was a contestant.
"So, let's get this straight," Giant Asian said, rocking from his heels to his toes with both thumbs tucked into his fantastic cop belt. "We can ticket you for drunk in public, underage drinking, identity theft, and indecent exposure, among other offenses. We have to write you up for at least one transgression."
Tears rocket launched out of Bizzle's eyes. She prostrated herself on the pavement and crawled towards Giant Asian and Mexican Midget like a drunken hooker on repeat, "Please don't arrest us. Please don't arrest us. Please don't arrest us." She crawled through a urine stream that had leaked from the planter box. When Bizzle's nose collided with cop boots, she pulled herself to a standing position by grasping handful after handful of Giant Asian's pants.
"We play soccer here and our coach would kill kill us kill us," Bizzle continued, talking as coherently as if her tongue was swollen. She didn't play on our soccer team. "We're just going right there to Blarney Stone, just right there."
"We can't just let you off with nothing," Mexican Midget announced.
"You girls are breaking too many laws," Giant Asian affirmed.
Bizzle added moaning and hyperventilating to her exhibition. KT wobbled to Mexican Midget, snatched his shocked body into a hug, and kissed his cheek.
"Please just let us go," KT went for the sexy whisper. What emitted was a shriek. I couldn't tell if Mexican Midget stiffened because of a hard-on or his eardrums.
Giant Asian returned the fake licenses and told us to go to the next bar. KT and I crutched Bizzle to the Blarney. After swaying sitting in a chair against a wall for four minutes, two of our friends escorted her home.
Three hours and legions of drinks later, KT and I drunk munchied ourselves to a grocery store. KT bought seven bags of food on her dad's credit card. "It's for emergencies only. This qualifies as an emergency, right?" she asked. "Yes."
As we exited, KT bolted to a police car and rampaged into the backseat, chips and cookies ricocheting off the windows. I soldier-marched to the door and demanded to know what she was doing.
"The police are going to give us a ride home," she exclaimed and clapped her hands like a three-year-old after seeing someone fall over.
"Um. What. Have you asked them?"
"No, not yet. Officers, can you please give us a ride home?"
The policemen were Giant Asian and Mexican Midget.
The police car halted in front of KT's apartment.
"Is she okay?" Mexican Midget asked, and pointed out the window. Our friend Hunter laid passed-out spread-eagle on the front steps to the apartment, her mouth open and one hand's fingertips on the top step.
"We actually live three houses down," KT said.

February 1st 8:54pm - Uncle = Entrepreneur

In his childhood, in an early entrepreneurial effort, one of my uncles instigated a newspaper business. He roamed the neighborhood, collected and compiled news, employed a dated copier machine as printer, and sold each issue for five to ten cents. His journalistic endeavors ended with a neighbor’s complaint owing to a headline that read, “Is the Stork on the Way?” followed by, “Looks as if Mrs. ??? is having a baby soon, or is she just putting on weight?”
She was just gaining weight.