Good! Unnng, excellent, just like that...

So recently my friend and I were at our usual Wednesday joke class. It's a college class in my program that's designed to give teachers the resources needed to pass our big evaluations. We like to call it 'storytime' because basically, the professor reads us the outline of our evaluation. Girlface and I stay until we can sign in to mark that we were there, then we bounce like a bed spring.

We also entertain ourselves with completely irrelevant tasks during our 20 minutes of attendance. Last time I was writing sheet music for Hallelujah and Girlface was grading quizzes; this time, I was playing on my space phone (translation: iPhone, bought to fuel my internet addiction). It was a momentous occasion that has since ruined my life.

Girlface: Man, I wish I had a space phone...
Me: You can play some games for a bit, but I'll need it back to check my email.
Girlface: Do you have Bejeweled?
Me: ...GIVE ME TWENTY SECONDS

The good thing about my addictions to shiny things is that it denotes a short attention span and a bad recall, so I could hardly remember a game like Bejeweled existed for the time it would take to get out my phone, check to see if it was an app, and download it. The bad thing is that if a friend mentions it and I'm already searching for games, I have to buy it.

Bejeweled is a terribly addictive game in and of itself. Huge time consumer for me... while I'm waiting for a page to load on my computer, while I'm chatting with people on my phone, while I'm waiting for prep period to be over so I can teach, while I'm pooping in the faculty bathroom and resting my heels while another teacher walks in so I can continue when she's safely out of ear shot of my butt... I estimate it takes up a good 10% of my day. Considering I used to spend that time sleeping, well.

The worst thing is, other Bejeweled people totally know this. They just don't care.

Me: So. Recently downloaded Bejeweled.
Fluffy, who I tease about looking like a hobo, or Sasquatch, who is inherently a hobo: OH. Oh. I'm sorry. On your phone? So you have it everywhere?
Me: I haven't slept in three days, I think my eyelashes are turning to sugar.
Fluffy: ...what's your high score?*

There's something so cathartic about lining up shiny gems and watching them disappear. Sometimes you line up 4 and they become shiny. The shiny ones explode. In case you didn't hear that, SHINY. EXPLOSIONS. This is pretty much like getting addicted to crack, especially the part where I neglect friends and family, except I don't have to have the nosebleed and I only paid once and nobody famous is on it.

One thing that bothers me. One, tiny, little, thing. If I get a cascade... for you non-Bejeweleders, that means the disappearing gems go on for a while and get me combo points... well, there's a man's voice that comes on and tells me I'm doing good, or excellent, or incredible. But it's just so very slightly strangled. Not in a painful way. Just. Reminiscent of me giving him a handy in the back of his mom's van while he tells me it's so good, excellent, incredible, unnnnnnnhhhhh. I don't know if this is unique to iPhone but I'm just terrified that if I get any more combo's past 'incredible' I'll have to charge him fifty dollars and call it a night.

Sound: off. Forever.

...of course, it would definitely make those ladies in the bathroom hurry out of there that much faster.

*86,851. I don't know if that's bad, or good, but I've already shared it with one person so I figured might as well continue spreading it around like VD.

hey it's kinda like a birthday

Two posts, one day? Wtshit?

I just wanted to say, I started writing in this a year ago. Not that many posts but I am being kept moderately amused.

Gotta commemorate the occasion.

LEMME GET MY CLOTHES OFF.

what ABOUT drinking?

So lots of partying and clubbing... that's what Thanksgiving is all about! For my birthday weekend, one of us got kicked out of the club for wearing shorts (which was lame, because the club wasn't THAT gucci) and when I finally got out, I made friends with random guys who offered me weed and checked out my boobs. Then last weekend was gay clubbing and I once again made friends with random (gay) guys who distinctly did not check out my boobs but did accidentally make me drop a cigarette down my shirt. And then offer me nachos while stealing drags as we ate tacos. I ordered in Spanish and pretty much made the guy's night.

This is what happens when I either don't have adult supervision OR my adult supervision is meekly standing by while I wander off to hang out with people who look interesting. Or they're just not paying attention while I go to the next table to hang out with THAT group because I grabbed the wrong chair (see: tacos).

In any case, I might have a problem, because I was linked to this: What About Drinking? And at the end, the guy says, "What do you think? What about drinking?"

My first thought? "Turn this video into a drinking game!"

It's okay if I have a problem because I'm adorable.

Back to the grindstone!

hullo, my name is Drunkie McSparkles

Oh gosh but it was an awesome weekend. Who loves Halloween? This bitch loves Halloween.

I ended up in the gay district of the gayest city in this nation, known for the gay and the awesome, and I was STILL the most glittery person there. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. I was the fairyest fairy ever. Just to give you some sort of guestimate:



That flash picked up about a quarter of the glitz that was on my body. The wings were kind of a bitch to move around with in the club but it all worked out in the end with no permanent damage to anybody. I was with a few friends, who were dressed as a Musketeer, a Goth, and a Double Rainbow. We tasted that rainbow. IT WAS DELICIOUS.



I kind of dressed up as the alcohol fairy. No, that's not my real hair; I have several wigs. I know you love it. Here's a better shot of it:



I don't even want to mention how many drinks I had, but I was definitely the Alcohol Fairy. I made a few friends and loved on random strangers and tipped ridiculously at the bars because costumes cloud my judgment. I threw up with my friend in the bushes as a bonding moment and woke up in a bathtub at one point. My own bathtub, no worries. I did smoke outside and my friend who has previously threatened me with extreme bodily harm if I ever smoked did not bodily harm me.

The entire point of this post was to really say that I'm going to miss this. Objectively I'm way more mature and responsible than this. I do know my alcohol limit. I do know how to dress appropriately in public and how to party conservatively with close friends and maybe a game of Pictionary. But I'm 22, goddammit. Being dumb and drunk with my ass EVERYWHERE, that is something that I CAN do right now, and for some reason it gives me a thrill because I can do it and not look like a tool. Heavy drinking is not alcoholism, it's being young. When I get older and attempt to do the same, I will look dicriculous and people will ridicule me. Or that's what I fear.

So I'm living it up while I still have the right, nay, the EXPECTATION to be irresponsible.

Plus I look awesome after a night of you hard drinking:

no seriously, ALL of them

My Monday nights:

Me: I don't think [roommate] realized that when I asked 'so when are you getting back?' I was really asking 'so when should I be putting the pants back on again?'
Me: and when i text her 'we have ALL the hotdogs!' she doesn't know I mean that we have fucking ALL THE HOTDOGS
Innocent Friend: ... did you really just tell me you're not wearing pants and give an all-caps exclaimation about hotdogs in consecutive IMs?
Me: did one of those not go through? cuz uh you could just go back and read, lady.
Innocent Friend: waaaaaaaaay to take away the challenge of making something dirty out of your comments away from me

You're welcome.

there are innocent bystanders EVERYWHERE

So tomorrow I'm going to a convention. Like, an important one. Where people will probably show up in slacks. The last time I went to a con people showed up in their underwear and body paint and posed for pictures and I was kind of belligerent for, um, the entire thing. I sort of wanted to step it up for this one... you know, leave the rum at home and wear pants. Little things.

I was even going to wear slacks until I realized that I had to do laundry to do that, since I wear slacks for my something-like-work. I'd had a shit day that day, in the sense that in the middle of a lecture I was giving I started cramping up so hard if I were a lesser person (and I am NEVER a lesser person) I would have had to cry. So I figured I still had clean capris, and that meant I wouldn't be wandering around in my panties, and that's about as good as it's going to get for these people anyway.

But I knew I still had things to do, which involved shopping. My only painkiller available to me right now is a little prescription for 'Percocet,' a bottle of close to 200 pills that I got as a gifty when I had a sunburn so severe I kept throwing up and couldn't get up to do so into the toilet. I figured my cramps, while not on that level, were still pretty bad. Blinded by pain, I took two.

Vicodin is a painkiller that just sort of makes me sleepy and does nothing to actually kill the pain. Percocet, on the other hand, not only makes the pain STFU and GTFO but I then feel the urge to giggle for about two hours and feel the carpet.

I believe the kids nowadays are calling that 'blitzed out of their mind.'

Remember, I still had things to do. This involved driving approximately five minutes, pulling into a parking lot, and the full effect of the pills hitting me while pulling into a spot.

I started frantically IMing with my friend on my space phone, having a mild panic attack as I remembered how to blink. I knew I was there to buy a shirt for my Halloween costume but I wasn't quite sure how to go about doing that. I still have no idea how potheads function if this is their life:

Me: I think I can make it into Ross.
Her: Alright, be safe...
Me: Fuck. I'm here. There are so many goddamn shirts.
Her: Take it one step at a time.
Her: How high ARE you?
Me: I can talk with you. And I can recognize the color blue. That is the level of my functioning atm.
Her: ...this is so very entertaining.
Me: Shit, where am I? Please tell me you know. There are shoes everywhere. I don't think I wanted shoes.

I did manage to find shirts of a sort. I also found gloves, pillows, the roof, and random strangers who spoke French. I think. At one point I sat down on a pillow and just stared, hoping a kind stranger would help me out. No such luck, I mean, I was in a discount store.

I did make it home. Driving through a parking lot while high? Jesus H. Christ there are at least five times more people around when you're high. And also it was 'drive like an asshole' day. Nobody told me, and it really sucks to be confused and trippin' balls. But I'm alive.

And sometimes it's the little victories you have to focus on.

stop looking at me with that tone of voice!

Man, sometimes I hate the apartment complex I'm in. The individuals are predominantly older, with families, respectable jobs, things to get up for in the morning. AND THEY ALL JUDGE ME.

I mean, come on, group of Indian moms. A girl coming out of her car at 9 am with clubbing clothes on (this face, brought to you by yesterday's makeup!) might just be coming home after crashing at a friend's because the DD got 'slizzard,' as it were. No need to stand there with critical expressions. I thought women were supposed to just KNOW when a bitch got laid, which is NEVER my life.

This morning, when I was in my PJ's (a very large shirt, and if my roommate's lucky, panties), eating brownies straight out of the pan while waiting for my garlic noodles (thank you PF Changs!) to heat up, what do I see when I look up? A middle-aged man standing there, looking into the window.

JUDGING ME.

...or jerking it. I'm not entirely sure. The angle was a little off. Hey, that could be in SOMEONE'S bucket.

Later, when wearing PJ's again (plus bottoms, this time) and going to do my laundry with my hair messy and my shirt that used to fit me when I was in the 8th grade?

Old mother lady standing there, folding clothes.

JUDGED.

Seriously, guys. My life is not as exciting/lame as you think it is. Stop it with the eyes and the staring. Just live vicariously through what you think is going down and leave me out of it.