Always good to know who your audience is....

This past weekend I had a FABULOUS girls night with college friends. In trying to decide what to do for the evening we settled on dancing............in the gayborhood (no one knows how to break it down like the gays).  Gay clubs are just the absolute best. Everyone dances, music videos are played, drinks are cheap (and strong), and best of all no men hit on you. When we arrived there was a line, we figured "oh we're cute girls we'll go right to the head of it!".....Fuck. Totally forgot boobs and vah-jay-jay get you no one where in this hood. So in the line we went.

As soon as we got in I heard Rihanna's "We Found Love" pumping through the walls. I nearly peed myself with excitement. When we get in I spot the dance floor, strob lights, men in cages wearing tiny leather g-strings, and men with no shirts - - - the mothership. I am home. (How come straight people don't have "shirt optional" clubs?)

We went to a drag show..I saw a man with better boobs than mine.  A man tells me "honey, he paid a lot of money to look like you".  I get what he was going for, it's almost sweet, but time to leave..... Time to get my dance on.

We make our way to the dance floor, they're playing music videos of  pop culture songs - remixed of course, complete with the trifecta: Britney, Gaga, and Madonna. It. Was. Awesome.

As we're jumping, hands in the air, shaking it I am approached by a woman who goes "Are you straight?". I hesistate, it's not that I'm unsure, more that I've never been asked this question before and am pondering what it feels like. Tip: Do. Not. Hesitate. She asks again, this time more firmly, followed quickly by "You must be straight, you're SO HOT. You're just SO hot." A few minutes later another girl approaches and I am asked the same thing. No more hesitation. She asks if she can dance with me and I tell her "thank you, but I'm with my friends". No problem. She just gets in the middle of us and starts dancing. I gotta hand it to her, girls got balls. Maybe she was hoping once I saw her moves I'd discover my inner lesbian.

It seems I'm a big hit with the ladies.......And here I always thought my audience was the gays....I'm really glad to discover I have a broader appeal.

Holding out hope

As if I'm not devastated enough over the demise of Heidi and Seal (fingers crossed for a reconciliation) VH1 decided to air a special on famous celebrity breakups. They reminded me of the breakup of Nick and Jessica.

               

Like pouring salt in a wound.

Look how happy they are.....and how thin she is.

KKTNY

Last night I watched the season finale of Kourtney and Kim Take New York. I'm pretty much disgusted with myself for even watching it. I swore off Kim K after she forced me into a 2 part 4 hour "Makings of a Circus" documentary, only to call off said circus 72 days later. However, my DVR picked it up and (obviously) I couldn't erase. So I got sucked in...to. the. entire. season. Gross I know, I am by no means proud. 

The finale focused on Kim's "gut wrenching" decision to want to end her marriage. Umm I'm pretty positive Kim and Kris didn't like each other - at all.  He likes working out and she likes fame. He likes Minnesota and she likes anywhere BUT Minnesota. He likes t-shirts and basketball shorts.  She likes skin tight Saudi Princess clothes. Oh and Kim is one ugly crier.  Hasn't this girl ever heard of waterproof mascara?

My favorite person on the whole show is Scott (trust me, I'm just as shocked as everyone else given how the Miami season went - yes I watched that too - did I mention I'm disgusted with myself?). He's funny, honest, and makes fun of himself.  I appreciate that fact. Especially when Kourtney is strolling NYC in 6 inch Louby's (NO ONE strolls NYC in 6 inch heels, not even Sarah Jessica Parker) and Kim is dressed up like she's Jasmine from Aladdin.

In an interview with Barbara Walters Kim said she used to think she'd have a lot of kids, but now she's thinking "maybe I'll just be an aunt". Given how she is a control freak, hates things out of order, loves cleanliness, hates clutter, needs to be the center of attention, and her 2+ hour morning makeup routine,  I'd say perhaps this is a good idea.

Bible.

IHop - the best form of birth control

This past weekend my dad and I went to the finest breakfast establishment ever built.....IHop.  Now for all you haters out there, knock it off. Quit trying to uphold some hoity toity "image". It's literally impossible not to like IHop. Never ending pancakes? Check. Nutella smeared crepes? Check. 4000 calorie stuffed french toast? Check. Latte served with whipped cream and chocolate chips? Double check.

And where else can you see all walks of life converging for one meal? The guy to my right was studying (ya, fuck you starbucks), the family diagnoal from me had 7 children (tied with the Gosselins, long way to go to the Duggars), and then there was the family where the woman kept putting whipped cream on her nose trying to get her husband to lick it off and instead it kept falling on her boob - which was being held up not by a bra, but by the table.

As I was eating my delectable granola pancakes (yes they have them - I'm sure they're covered in sugar - but I tried) and having an engaging political discussion with my father I look up and see a man holding his son/grandson/kid he kidnapped (who knows) and then it happened. Old faithful blew it's cap. Vomit starting running out of this kids mouth a river. It. Just. Kept. Coming. My face must have contorted into some awful expression because my dad goes "what the hell is wrong with you?". Silence. No words. The dad/grandfather/kidnapper proceeds to take the boy out of the restaurant. Vomit is straight up everywhere. Seat, table, floor. Nothing ruins a meal faster than vomit.

Next time I think I'll keep my eye on the table boob woman and her whipped cream...

True. Story

as they say...shit happens

In my quest for a Marisa Miller body (not in this lifetime) I try new fitness classes every so often. Yesterday it was spin. Now, I've taken 2 spin classes before and I wasn't very good (aka after 15 minutes I was bored/exhausted). However, this is a new studio in a fancy part of town and I figured "hey, why the hell not?".

I was supposed to go with one of my best friends but she sent me a text early on saying she got food poisoning and wasn't going to be able to make it. Ugg....my anxiety started to kick in about a) going some place I'd never been before and b) having no safety net in going with someone I know so thus having to walk in alone...and loserlike (at least in my head). I took some deep breaths, ate something and told myself I'd be OK.

On my way there I started to get more and more anxiety "would everyone stare at me when I walk in?", "what if I'm the last person there?", "what if everyone is way better than me and I look like the fat kid?", "what if I fall off the bike?". My stomach started churning..... and churning...and churning. By the time I got there I was pretty positive I was going to shit my pants. Yep. Positive. I walked in and no one was in the lobby. Shit (almost literally). The woman walks out and I go "where's your restroom?". She replies "oh it's in the very back, but let me get you to sign the waiver first". I sign. No fucking idea what I just signed. For all I know they're going to beat me in there and I won't even be able to walk again. Then she goes "Ok, now Mike (the teacher) will get you all set up on a bike". "I really need to go the bathroom first". She stares at me. Lady this is no joke. So I walk (ok, borderline run..kind of like trot) to the bathroom. It's. Not. Pretty.

I find my way to a bike (feeling severely dehydrated at this point) and just repeat the mantra "it's only an hour, you can do it..at least you look 5 pounds thinner". Mike explains to the class that there will be a giant projector showing where everyone's, but insists "it is not a competition, you're only competing against yourself".

Yah, suck it buddy, I'm racing all these bitches. So the race begins....err I mean the class. I manage to hold the lead for 20 minutes (knowing I can't sustain the pace). I hold 2nd place for a solid half hour. The last 10 minutes though a girl manages to catch up to me, I'm frantically pedaling...she's frantically pedaling....last sprint begins..I see her legs whirling and whirling, I feel dehydration setting in, but I'll be damned if I give up. Just as I feel the effect of my sudden loss of all the inner contents of my body, Mike calls it "DONE!"

I look up....bitch beat me by 8 points.

I ended up in 3rd - bronze medal. No one even remembers who wins bronze....

I blame poomageddon. Next time though...next time gold is mine.

Love. It.