Happy Birthday Hayley

So a few weeks ago, on a Sunday, Nathan came over so he and I could go out and have a drink because I was in sore need of liquor after my drunken nap that consumed most of my evening. We went over to Nathan and Hayley's apartment, in the ghetto no less, so he could change clothes and get an herbal refreshment. I immediately beeline it to Hayley's bedroom where I find her bundled up in bed watching bravo and a fresh US Weekly to boot. We have tons of laughs on account of my delirium and whatever shit-show Bravo is showcasing at that given moment, whether it be hordes of famewhore housewives, a Dr. Phil lookalike matchmaker or even a smart ass haircutting lesbian alien named Tabatha.

Scissor me timbers

"Have yous seen my aquanet Joe?"

Patty, from Millionaire Matchmaker

All joking aside, we came to the conclusion that one star in particular was not shining to it's full potential. I'm not talking about that culinary snooze-fest host Padma or that over accessorized elderly chipmunk Rachel Zoe. Of course, I am talking about Sweetie from the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Sweetie is Kim's assistant/friend/slave. Clearly, I have the wrong job because Sweetie seems to be living the high life, fancy polyester weaves and Kim's palatial duplex at her disposal. Hayley and I decided that someone needed to start her a fan page on facebook. Following an extensive image search I came up short on photos I had to nix the endeavor. So in honor of Hayley's day of birth, I decided to post some pictures of Sweetie and Kim working.

Sweetie getting her sweat on.

All in a hard day's work. Who says that GEDs aren't the way to go?

Stars and Stripes Forever

I think, it is pretty safe to say, that as Americans we are raised to think that we are better than the rest of the world. We are the best and the brightest but with our recent economic woes, we are coming off more like Randy Quaid to the rest of the world's Dennis Quaid. Frank Stallone to their Sylvester. Damn it, we're Screech and everyone else is Bayside. Ugh.

When the hell did we become this?

So we aren't part of the "cool kids" group anymore because we're poor, so what! Who wanted to hang out with China and Russia anyways? Not us, they reek of bad teeth. That's right, I went there. We still look better than most of them. Sure, we aren't the Argentina's or the Sweden's of the world in terms of looks but we hold our own. Now, we know that there ain't nothing more American than having good teeth. Ask any Miss America judge and they'd agree.

--Here are some prime examples of patriotic teeth:

America's Dream Team from right to left: the ravishing Glenn Beck, the smoldering Ann Coulter and America's sweetheart Dick Cheney

--Now here are some prime examples on un-American types:

Romanian Gypsy teeth, although fancy looking, are probably turning the inside of her upper lip green.

Say "herro" to my to my toothy Thai friend.

All of India always remembered Gandhi's half brother for his quick wit and charm.

The winner of Cambodia's Next Top Model has done a lot to combat childhood obesity.

Don't be hatin' on this Haitian, y'all

Thanksgiving Fountain

After having a stressful two weeks after my return to Charleston, I was ready for some holiday excitement. For the most part, Thanksgiving has always been a day of turkey, mashed potatoes and alcohol. I just can't wrap my head around why southerners don't have mashed potatoes on the damn dinner table every Thanksgiving. Who the hell wants sweet potato casserole? So I was happy that this year I was able to have all three. God surely was shining down on me.

Even the Hoff has a few glasses of wine with dinner.

The night before Thanksgiving is truly a magical occasion. It's called Drink, Drank, Drunk! After closing the restaurant early on account of it being slow and the impending holiday, I called my landlord John Payne to see what shenanigans we were to get into that night. So, the plan was a solid one that consisted of going out downtown and getting tanked. And so it was to be. Here we are in our late 20s and early 30s and still bingeing. Oh , the sweet stench of youth!

After an after hours warehouse party and more alcohol in the man shed, John and I had to creep back into the house as to not wake the lady of the castle, Claire a.k.a. Barf Slover. It was truly out of a children's story where the poor defenseless billy goats try to get passed the evil (fat) troll under the bridge. Sure enough, the moment we walk in, it is on like Donkey Kong. This bitch was furious with us. All just because we came rolling in at 4am. What a bitch! All I knew was that I needed to get to my room quickly and lay down with my iPod in as not to hear the beast devour the biggest billy goat. Before I knew it, John Payne is laying next to me in bed to avoid the troll diva.

the evil troll Barf Slover.

So, I wake a few hours later to Claire still on her tirade about something when I walk passed the bathroom to see her on her hands and knees cleaning around the toilet. She turns around and looks at me and yells "get the fuck out of this house" and "you better not think of showing your fucking face for Thanksgiving dinner". At first, I was completely thrown off guard and had no clue why she was being a bigger bitch than usual. Then, she let me know that I had pissed all over the bathroom as she watched and all the while my headphones were still in my ears. Talk about an epic fail.

Who really wants to say that they have pissed all over their friend's stuff. Sadly, this wasn't the first time this had happened to me. The most eventful time though, happened on Lemon Street when Brad and I called #211 home. Brad, Heidi and I were sleeping in bed when I got up in a drunken stupor, turned around and began pissing all over Heidi. But I digress.

So, Thanksgiving wasn't a complete wash because eventually we were able to hang with some friends around a fire in the yard and rage late night. It was an extremely fun night. One of the last things I remember before bed was a lovely bottle of prosecco that tasted damn good. I pass out, wake up and go about my day happy that nothing crazy had went down. Champagne usually does a number on my memory but I seemed in the clear on this one. Or so I thought until I received a text from John that read THANKS FOR PEEING IN MY DRAWER. Oops. So much for God's shining light.

Forest Gump, the musical

I'm just making an observation y'all but if my memory serves me correct Jenny, Forrest's pea to his carrot, dies of AIDS. And according to my memory, I am correct. She does in fact die of AIDS at the end. So, now that we have that clarified, I have to touch on another pressing issue from that award winning tour de force. I'm just saying that if she got pregnant by Forrest then they mustn't have used a condom! With that said, wouldn't Forrest have AIDS too?

and this little girl died of AIDS

Forrest Gump overcame metal leg braces. He ran that dern football like a machine, he did. He went to Nam. He's a world class ping ponger! And he's a shrimpin' millionaire, for crying out loud!! He manages all these feats despite being classified a retard and we're supposed to believe he possesses an invincible anti-AIDS penis? Implausible! I forgave the parts where he claimed he inspired the SHIT HAPPENS bumper sticker and the HAVE A NICE DAY t-shirt but I have to call bullshit on this one.

Flirting at the Bar...

With nearly two months gone by and no new post to self promote on Facebook, I figured I had to get back at it and get the juices a flowin'. I recently returned home to my beloved Arizona, where the political landscape is as red as a Sarah Palin's power suit and the Crypt Keeper's big sister, Jan Brewer, reigns as queen. Much to my surprise, the same state that elected Maleficent, also decided to legalize medical marijuana. So, Arizona is now a Christmas State of both red and green. On that note, ho ho ho, to you and yours.

Governor-elect, Jan Brewer

Anywho, minus this country's shift to the right and Arizona's shocking ability to stay set in it's republican ways, I was excited to be back in Arizona for the first time in nearly a year. Seeing downtown Phoenix was exciting with its new restaurants and businesses sprinkled everywhere. It felt like a real city and have to admit that I was impressed with the amount of people riding the train system. See, the train isn't as ghetto as the city bus because you don't have to wait a grillion hours while the driver attempts to unwedge his or her self from out of the snug four feet of space between the steering wheel and the back of the driver's seat, to flip the switch that unfolds the handicap ramp for someone who will inevitably take my seat. But I digress.

I can honestly say, that I haven't walked around and taken public transit as much as I did while in PHX as compared to the past year. Get up, walk to Z Pizza for beer and a cashier who was easy on the eyes. Get up, walk and buy $4 6-packs of Drifter. Walk to the Arizona Center for horrible mojitos at 1130 the Restaurant (don't go there). Light rail it to Tempe or up to Frances on Camelback. Get up and walk to the little corner store on 7th Avenue to purchase fake marijuana called Spice. Stagger Stagger Stagger. It was truly a pedestrian paradise which saw me walking to get $4 6-packs of Drifter on a pretty good frequency.

Needless to say, I was a blackout mess that, within less than two days into my trip, lost my phone in a drunken stupor which involved a gay bar, a cocktail being thrown in my face and journey in a strange car with a faceless stranger. Although, I mustn't give the full credit of my blackouts to the alcohol alone. To give credit, where credit is due, I have to give a shout out to the queen's ransom worth of fake marijuana I smoked. It's a weed-like substitute , mind you, that is legal to smoke but the long term effects or toxicity aren't known yet. So all signs are pointing to a long and healthy life in my future. All these fond memories culminated into a mythical encounter on my final night with homeless wood nymph.

Corner Store Delight

So, right when I began to think I was the most tragic figure in all of greater Phoenix, she had to waltz into my life like Bristol Palin on Dancing With The Stars, lumpy and awkwardly. So, to set the scene, I am downtown at one of the coolest spots I have been to in a really long time with some great friends at a place called Hanny's, a former department store turned trendy restaurant and bar. We were enjoying the general splendor of our surroundings when I realized that I had to call Delta to check-in for my upcoming flight. That's when homegirl burst into my life.

So, as I'm trying to figure out why I can't check in online I had the fattest, craziest thing in all of Phoenix, yell into my ear as I walked passed her. So as I whip around to see who the hell was being such a jerk, I see homeless Carnie Wilson bumpin' and grindin' in her seat at the bar. She then proceeds to make wacky jazz hands when she suddenly looks me dead in the eye and flips my off. She then began to dance up a storm at the bar and grabbed our server, who, would be considered legally a midget, as he walked by and yelled into his ear, HEY, I'M TALLER THAN YOU! as she hysterically laughed and continued to flop around like a bra-less walrus wonder in a camisole. She then moved from the bar to a more intimate corner of the restaurant to practice her craft. It looked like she was making her way down the damn Soul Train line much rather than enjoying a free glass of water. I was sort of glad to see that with downtown reshaping itself that it didn't get rid of all the crazy homeless people that add a certain, je ne sa pas. I had to rest assured that at least I didn't smoke whatever it was she had or at least don't remember doing so.

YOU SHORT, FOOL!

Golden Girls

Earlier today, I heard my favorite Golden Girls quote in a long time. Basically, Dorothy's flunking the star quarterback at the high school she's substituting and people are upset. I figured , since, today marked the day that many a school kid in the lowcountry returned to school so it is an appropriate quote. So, as they sit around the kitchen table, Blanche decides to offer up some sage words about the importance of high school sports.

"As a former cheerleader and ex bad girl in a health film, I can tell you the importance of school sanctioned extracurricular activities"

Daytime Television

After going to yoga yesterday, I committed myself to not spending my next morning watching a solid four hour block of Golden Girls, Price Is Right and the Young and the Restless. I can honestly say that I kept good on that commitment. I managed to squeeze a trip to the bank, household chores, reading, writing and still catch bits and pieces of all of the above mentioned TV shows. A lot of domesticities to pack in before 1:30pm on my day off.

OOPS!

Of my limited TV time today, I did manage to watch some commercials. Daytime television is filled with some incredibly awful stuff like bladder leakage commercials which are always geared towards women because grandpa never leaves a puddle here and there. If it's not that, then it's a home pregnancy test commercial with some confused woman thinking stoically off into nowhere. Baby girl should have been thinking about that before she went off to that kegger. On the plus side, Aunt Flow can take a vacation. My favorite of all these are definitely the douche commercials when the female announcer proclaims You know when your feminine care product isn't working. Yeah, you know your douche isn't working when you can smell your pussy!

IF I KNEW YOU WERE COMING I WOULD'VE FRESHENED UP!

"Me rikey"

But the most shocking thing of all occurred during "I Love Lucy". It was your typical episode, Lucy tries to make something better but somehow messes it up. Like the time she tricked Fred and Ethyl into that Ethiopian sex ring. Anywho, Lucy pretends to be Ricky's agent and tries to get MGM Studios to offer him a better contract but instead they release him from his current one. Whoops. Lucy better have some splainin' to do. So when she tells him, he slaps the shit out of her and the audience goes wild with laughter as she looks dazed and confused while he begins smashing every piece of glassware in sight. Call my a cynic but I'm pretty sure a lot of that was happening when the audience wasn't around. They should have called the show "I Beat Lucy" and then I bet she wouldn't have been begging to be in the show all the time.