Pants, pants, PANTS!

Last night after watching the vomitus kiss, I went home to discover my key was no longer working. After fighting with it for some time, I paid the apartment manager a visit.

I told him the lock was broken and needed to be replaced. He acted as if I was a stupid girl and said he would bring his keys, completely disregarding what I had said. He is what one might call a crotchety old man. Halfway to my place he started bitching about how far it was. Mmmm-kay.

He tried to open the lock for about twenty minutes himself. Surprise, surprise, it did not work! Then he said rather than charge me to bring a locksmith out he would walk back to his place and bring back some tools. (Say what?! That’s why I live in an apartment, not responsible for this shit.)

Well he came back, about twenty minutes later. As he walked up with his little cordless drill, he said “Sorry it took me so long, I had to go to the bathroom.” Jesus fucking Christ, wasn’t it enough to see the vomit woman kiss her husband? Now I have the visual burned into my mind of crotchety old man dropping kids off at the pool. Talk about over share!

Long story short: he broke his drill. Downstairs neighbor is a contractor, brought out his drill. Forty-five minutes later, still no luck. Contractor ended up climbing up scaffolding and in through my bedroom window. Still couldn’t get the damn lock open, he was stuck inside my apartment for another twenty minutes trying to pry the lock out from the inside (or smelling my panties, I’m not really sure).

I hope today is better.

While waiting for takeout food tonight I saw a lady smoking a cigarette out of the window in her car. Then she threw up out the window and wiped her hand across her mouth just before a man hopped into the passenger seat.

And then she KISSED HIM.

We stopped nine times on the drive to Vegas.

I wore a homemade T-shirt that said “I GAVE MY WORD, TO STOP AT THIRD, 1988 Mormon Youth, Teen Abstinence Campaign.”

I took naps both days.

Monte Carlo has the most comfortable beds, ever.

Almost nothing hurts as badly as getting stepped on by a girl wearing stilettos.

After wearing high heels out the first night, I nearly didn’t make it out the second night. Next time I go to Vegas I’m bringing orthopedic clubbin’ shoes. One of my friends thinks there may be a market for clear heeled geriatric shoes.

I drank A LOT of vodka.

I was not one of the two friends who got sick. However, I did take silly pictures of the two that did.

Our taxi cab driver the second night was terminally grouchy and scared the shit out of us. He complained that every fare that night, including ours, was a short ride. What the fuck did he expect, a fare to Hoover Dam?

I ate way too much fast food this weekend.

I smoked too many cigarettes.

My three friends make nonstop fun in Vegas.

Acting inappropriately, in front of strangers, in an elevator never gets old. Never.

I laughed so much this weekend my stomach hurts.

It amazes me how many people bring children to the ultimate bad behavior city.

Yesterday on our drive home we saw a lot of people who were using pillowcases rolled up into car windows as sunshades. Toward the end of our drive we passed a guy in a truck who had a pair of black boxer briefs rolled up into the window of his truck. This produced the expected amount of laughter from me and my girlfriends.

After we drove past him I took off my bra, rolled it up into my window and asked my girlfriend to slow down so Mr. Boxer Briefs would have to pass us. We were hysterical even before he pulled up next to us. Then he made a weird attempt at bumper tag foreplay and blew me a kiss, which produced more giggles.

He motioned for me to show him my tits, which I didn’t do. We drove off and then he pulled up next to us, again. And started to, eh, um, “do things” to the boxer briefs hanging from his window. There were some very strange imaginary cupping and stroking going on.

Five years from now “stroking the air” at one of my girlfriends is sure to supply endless giggles, especially since we got a picture of him.

Summer school is over and done! I received 10/10 on my last paper with “Excellent!” written across the top. I’m suspicious about my teacher’s grading technique. He “graded” THIRTY-FIVE, single spaced, three page essays during the forty-five minutes’ we were taking our final.

Now I’m off for the weekend. If this trip is anything like previous, I’ll have plenty of obnoxious stories on Monday.

Have a great weekend!

Did you see her huge plate? Her taco looked delicious.

All right! Going down, that’s what I like to do.

I went into the bank because my dire laundry situation requires quarters. The barely legal, emo boy, bank employee has this way of flirting with me that completely throws me off. He makes me feel like Mrs. Robinson.

He helped me once before when I needed a cashiers check. I stopped by the bank en route to a work luncheon. I was so shocked by the way he was flirting with me I high tailed my ass out of the bank, leaving a large post it on the counter.

Back in my car, I looked over my shoulder to reverse out of the parking space. Emo boy tapped on my window, post it in hand.

The post it was for the “Two Truths and a Lie” icebreaker game we were to play at the luncheon. In big bold writing, the following were written:

1. Bird pooped in my pseudo claw bangs during lunch in 7th grade.

2. Jumped from a moving train with crazy uncle summer before 8th grade.

3. Lit dining room tablecloth on fire Christmas Eve in 4th grade

As he passed me the note he called me ma’am, securing my Mrs. Robinson status.

I just finished a nine-hour stretch of studying. I don’t drink caffeinated beverages daily but today I had a large coffee, 40 oz. Diet Coke and extra large chai latte. Surprise, surprise I have the shakes. I am paying the price for my Procrastinating Pants ways. Buzz, buzz, BUZZ!

If I hadn’t just spent four hours studying in a public place, I might have considered doing a line of coffee grounds. But now my paper and excessive last minute studying are done, I wish I could take the quiz right now.

Other than excessive urination, the highlight of my evening was hearing two girls in the bookstore bathroom . . .

“Oh shit, there’s pee all over the seat.”

Then, she proceeded to SIT down (yuck!) and talk to her friend,

“Oh fuck, would you pass me some toilet paper? I’m in the same stall without toilet paper, AGAIN.”

Not only was she sitting in piss, she’d done it twice? Ga-ross.

Her friend finally said,

“God, you’re fucking dumb.”

“At least I get good grades.”

I’d rather be stupid than book smart & piss dumb.

On the upside, less than two days before my girls’ weekend in Vegas, WOOT!

I have the last page of a paper to write for class tomorrow….and more notes to take for an open note quiz than I care to admit. I’m a life long procrastinator. I keep telling myself I’ll change my ways…If I wasn’t so busy procrastinating I could write a fucking book about procrastinating.

I set aside time Sunday to take care of school work. I did some, but not enough. Before getting down to business I did stupid stuff around the house. Nothing productive, like dishes, balancing my check book or laundry.

Lord knows I should have…I was down to what my girlfriend Gina calls my “I surrender” panties. Not in a “Top Gun” take me to bed and lose me forever way, either. They’re so enormous and white I could wave them around like a white flag if I ever find myself on a sinking pirate ship mid battle.

Where was I? Oh yeah, things I do rather than help myself by planning ahead. If I weren’t pressed for time I’d write about when my dad and I pulled an all nighter for my fifth grade science project. There were all sorts of madness; building a wooden maze, mirrors and rats…but I feel like a pathetic tard so I’m gonna stop. Gotta knock this off and go get some shit done.

I helped a good friend pack her precious valuables this weekend, as I’ll be out of town during her actual move.

We’ve helped each other through numerous moves during our ten year friendship. I’m not sure how it started but half the fun in moving is now labeling the other persons belongings incorrectly.

My father came from Utah to help me with my last move. I’ll never forget returning with the Uhaul to hear him comment how heavy my “Red hot Porn!” box was. Luckily dad has a great sense of humor so I didn’t have to explain the boxes labeled “Girl on Dwarf” or “XXX, Hardcore Gnome on Gnome Action!”

My friends’ step children were there while we packed this weekend. I had to carefully choose my labels. This is about as wild as it got: “ENTERTAINMENT CENTER; ‘Adult Movies’ & Family Bible.”

Speaking of kids, they can be bloody irritating. Saturday prompted me to investigate tubal ligation. $1,200 to $6,000, depending on where you live.