**I recommend reading Days 1 and 2 – right below this -  before Day 3 so you are fully debriefed (and by “debrief,” I don’t mean taking off your underwear, but feel free to do so).

*

Saturday morning, I woke up in the hotel room I was sharing with 3 other girls (for the record: 1 Single lady and 2 “Teeterers”) and a recap session from the previous night automatically ensued.

“Sorry for waking you guys up last night,” commented Teeterer #1  from the other bed.

I felt a story coming on.

“You did?” I asked, totally not remembering and fully prepared to hear what I missed.

Turns out the other Single in the room and Teeterer #1 had brought home the 2 hotties from Coco Deville that they were dancing with when I left, and the foursome came up to the room where I was in one bed and Teeterer #2 was in the other.  They asked me to please move into bed with Teeterer #2 (I remember none of this) and I happily obliged, got up and walked around the room talking nonsense for a good 5 minutes.  Sleepwalking or drunken stupor?  You be the judge.   I also failed to notice (read: remember) the 2 pro football players that were with them.  That’s right.  The guys they brought home were Miami Dolphins players.  And 22-year-old new recruits at that.  You go…girls (or should I say “cougars”?).

The best part?  The 4 of them (yes, the 2 Dolphins, the Single and Teeterer #1) all slept in the same bed.  Luckily the whole situation stayed PG-13 (Or so they say).  The Dolphins DID give it the ol’ college try (literally), but the girls kept it classy.  It’s impolite to engage in anything more than a make-out sesh when you’re in bed with another couple.  Rules to live by, folks.

The day was off to a good start.  And to top if off, we remembered that we were supposed to be switching rooms since our shower stopped working whilst getting ready the night before.  The other Single (clearly still on a confidence high from her 22-year-old conquest) called the front desk and asked that we be upgraded to a suite.  Done. And Done.

It was pool time.  We slipped into our bikinis, grabbed our beach bags and what was left of our dignity, and headed up to the rooftop.  For the record, Plunge is THE place to be in South Beach on a Saturday – all the beautiful people are there, trying to look and act their sexiest, the DJ is playing trendy house music, and the vibe is far from College Spring Break.  Until we showed up.

If chicken fighting at the Gansevoort on a Saturday afternoon is wrong, then we didn’t want to be right.  Oh, and the bottom half of those chicken fighting towers ARE Canadian.  They showed up, after all.  Team Canada was definitely leading the battle of the Bachelor Parties.

After all the strenuous exercise, we headed up to the bride-to-be’s room to take a breather (read: make cocktails), yet somehow the said “rest period” turned into a Crossfit workout.  Just do yourself a favor and watch this video.  At the very least, you’ll get a laugh at my expense.  Which I fully welcome.

What…a gymnast.

We trekked back down to the pool, more debauchery (including a little game we called “Spin the Straw”) ensued, and then it was time to set up for the lingerie shower…IN OUR SUITE!  We couldn’t have planned it better if we tried.  And, we told Andrea we had been DOWNGRADED to a smaller room, so she was totally surprised when she walked into our large-and-in-charge suite complete with a cheese and crackers spread from the Walgreen’s across the street and more penis balloons than Party City on a good day.

We popped a few bottles of champagne, surprised Andrea with a video of her fiance (more on that later and NO, not that kind of video), gave her all her lingerie, made her try it on, etc, etc, etc, and then we heard a knock on the door.  Could it be? Oh, yes; it was the stripper.  Not a professional.  In fact, he was a member of the Team America bachelor party.

Did we plan this?  Well…I tried.  But, I didn’t think it would actually come to fruition.  Must have been the magic of the Magic City.

Post-striptease, the rest of Team America came up to our suite and it turned into a full-on hotel party.  You know, like the kind you see in rap videos (minus the Hypnotiq and girls in thongs) – loud music, popping bottles, and a total of THREE warnings (and threat of being kicked out) from the hotel staff.  Team America was really gaining on Team Canada for their party skills.   But, we WERE planning to meet up with Team Canada at “da club” for our last night in SoBe so we had a feeling they would secure the lead.

We hopped in a cab and headed over to Mynt Lounge, where we saw throngs of people waiting to get in, per usual SoBe fashion.  I took a deep breath and prepared to work my magic (or rather, beginners luck).  But, then the unthinkable happened.  We got out of our 2 cabs across the street from the club, I caught the bouncer’s eye while I crossed the street with the other girls in tow, he gave me a nod, and the velvet rope…was lifted.  We had no idea what was happening but we went with it.  We were in.  (I later read this on Mynt’s web site: If there’s one club on Miami Beach synonymous with exclusivity, it is Mynt Lounge.  During its seven-year reign the definitive Über lounge on the 2100 block of Collins has earned a reputation for the tightest door policy and most fabulous crowd in the Magic City.) Seriously, WTF?

Mynt was much more our speed than LIV – it was smaller, played better music and had a more laid-back atmosphere while still keeping the “club scene.” Team Canada had a table and bottle service so we partied with them all night and someone snapped a pic I like to call “The 9 Faces of Alcohol.”

I noticed girls starting to trickle out as the night wore on, and by the time I actually looked at my phone for a time check…it was 4:45 a.m.  Whooopsiiiiie.  Where…did the time go? I took a break from the “intimate conversation” I was having with a Team Canada player and looked around, hoping to see at least 1 girl from our group.  I saw 2:  Teeterer #1 and another Single.  Phew. As the 3 of us girls and the 3 Team Canadians we were hanging with departed the club, the Single had a genius idea:  “Let’s go skinny dipping!”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

So, we did.  And, the rest of the details will remain in the SoBe Bachelorette vault.  I will say, that somehow, out of the 3 of us, I was the only one that seemed to notice the sun coming up and hotel employees coming out on the beach to set up beach chairs for the day.  It was time to go.  I ran out of the water, dressed at record speed at the very break of dawn and walk-of-shamed it back to the Gansevoort.  The other 2 girls did not.

As Teeterer #1 came into our room at 8:30 a.m. straight from the beach, I gave her a proud slow clap.  She deserved it.  The fact that 2 of the girls had to get out of the ocean wearing nothing but their birthday suits, gather their things and get dressed while old couples took their morning strolls on the beach and dog owners ran with their pooches made the weekend complete.

The bachelorette was epic.  I can’t imagine another weekend that could top it.  Oh, wait…the wedding.  This weekend. In Atlanta.

Good thing we’re very far from a beach.

We woke up the next morning (my ass slightly bruised from my fall the night before), I put my tray of late night room service scraps ($25 chicken quesadilla to be exact) outside the door and we prepared to hit the beach.  The beach boys (from the Gansevoort, NOT the band) set up our chairs and towels on the sand and we soaked up the sun for a few hours before we got rained out…for the second day in a row.  Considering 2 hours in the hot Miami sun is equivalent to 4 hours in more Northern locales, we felt good about our sun exposure and were ready for cocktails.  We headed to Nikki Beach (a Miami institution) for lunch and convinced them to seat us at a table outside even though the chairs were slightly wet and the waitstaff was CONVINCED it was going to start raining again.   You can’t come to Nikki Beach and sit INSIDE.  That’s just depressing.

We were enjoying our meals and beverages when a couple of guys approached our table.  I don’t remember exactly which party addressed the other first, but let me just explain that bachelor and bachelorette parties have a 6th sense for each other.  When you’re on a bachelor/bachelorette party, you can immediately sniff out a member of the opposite sex in the same boat.  So, our groups were immediately drawn to each other and started up a convo.  Turns out there were 15 of them (good odds for our 12) and they were from Canada.  They asked how many single ladies (put your hands up!) we had and we explained that we had 4 singles and 2 “teeterers” (I think you can decipher the meaning of that one).  We realized we needed to discuss this in more detail, so we set up a meeting time and place for each group’s spokespersons to meet.  The meeting would be in approximately 15 minutes at a table about 10 yards away.  I was the appointed spokesperson (obviously) and forced Fran (remember, the crazy married one?) to accompany me.  The guys’ 2 spokespersons were also a single and a married.  This was really panning out.

The Leadership Conference:

During the Conference, we had each of our singles come by the table and strut their stuff.  We didn’t whore out our girls they way the guys did, making them shake their butts and smile on command.  I wanted to, though.  It started to rain again (those damn servers knew what they were talking about) and we all reconvened under an awning.  Aaaaand a video was made.  Please pay attention to every detail, including the “pantsing” (boys will ALWAYS be boys) and at the end, when we realize something VERY special that our bride and their groom had in common (girls will ALWAYS be girls).

We bid adieu to the fellas who we will now refer to as “Team Canada” and made plans to meet up with them the following day at our pool (their night was booked as was ours).

Back at the hotel, we surprised Andrea with her veil, penis straws and outfits:  all of us wore black because we knew she planned to wear white. She was seriously surprised at the attire coordination.  Taverna Opa was our dining destination and we had heard it was a crazy place that involved lots of dancing on the tables.  Sold.  Upon walking in, we didn’t detect any craziness, but sat down and hoped for the best.  We ordered a family style dinner, so food would just keep coming out and we would all share.  Right around our second course (which was enough food to be the main course), the lights dimmed and a belly dancer entered the room.  She got up on a few tables and I tried to gauge the situation.  When was it appropriate for US to start dancing on the tables? We didn’t have to wait long to find out.  Enter:  bottle of sparkling champagne sent to our table.  And by sparkling, I mean, there were lit fireworks coming out the top.  Time to start table dancing.

I spotted a group of guys 2 tables over and my 6th sense kicked in.  I approached them, confirmed they were a bachelor party of 15 guys (obviously our lucky number), and walked Andrea over to get up on their table and box out the 2 skanks that were already up there dancing.

This was officially the craziest restaurant I had EVER been in.  Glasses were breaking (OPA!), napkins were being thrown in the air every 5 seconds (clearly, this restaurant wasn’t “green”) and we were dancing and sweating up a storm like we were in the club and it was last call. Our main courses had arrived and no one even took a bite because by now, (9 pm) it was time to take shots, not eat lamb.

But, we WERE cautious to dance around the plates.  Notice the strappy sandal.

After dinner, it was time to hit the club scene, which most of us don’t usually prefer, but hey, when in Rome.  We made a pit stop at the hotel first to drop off the meat.  Why even bother?, you ask.  Because it was $200 worth of meat, per our bill.  We were at least going to drunkenly enjoy it later.  We ended up at LIV Nightclub in the Fontainebleu Hotel (supposedly the hottest spot in town) where Bachelorette Party #2 (who we will now refer to as “Team America”) claimed they had a table and bottle service and had enticed us to come.  We walked into what was apparently the hotel lobby and entrance to LIV and it was like nothing I’d ever seen.  THRONGS of people waiting to get in.  You would have thought it was the line outside of Wal-Mart at 4 am when Tickle Me Elmo came out.

I made the observation that Team America was nowhere even close to getting into this club, so I took matters into my own hands.  Now, I’m not going to say that I’m hot (at least not on this blog), but the 11 girls I was with are all certifiably hot.  And, I feel that I carry an air of importance (read: bitchiness) and confidence in situations like this, so I felt like we couldn’t lose.  I pushed through the crowd and somehow made it up to the velvet rope and doorman who literally had lines of girls and guys 10 deep clawing at him to get in.  I made my move.

“Hey,” I said as I lightly grabbed his elbow.  He looked at me like I was crazy….but maybe just crazy enough to listen to.  “I have 11 hot girls with me.  We’re ready to go.”

The rope lifted, I waved my arms (just a little frantically) to all the girls to get their asses up to the velvet rope ASAP and we marched in.  And that, ladies and gentlemen…is how it’s done.  Although I’m still not sure how the hell it happened.

We partied in LIV for a while, got some VIPers to let us dance on their tables, and overall had a good time, but mega-clubs like that just aren’t my style and I think the other girls felt the same.  Once I start drinking, I can barely keep track of myself, let alone 11 other girls.  I need small spaces with good music so I can drink, dance, and not get lost wandering around, wondering where the hell everyone went.  That has happened…a lot.  So, we all agreed to head back to the club in our hotel, Coco Deville, where we had been ASSURED by our hotel manager friends we would not have to wait in line.

I pushed my way up to the front of the line through another crowd of waiting people, but this time, it wasn’t so easy.  Whether the bouncer wanted to teach me a lesson or just didn’t think I had “the look,” he wasn’t so quick to let my posse and me in.  So, we had some choice words, he gave me the “step away before I call the cops” look I recognized so well, and I was about to turn on my heel and break the news to the girls we weren’t getting in, when BAM! He changed his  mind.

“How many girls?” he asked.

“We have 11 in black and ONE in white,” piped up little Kelsey from somewhere behind me.  Clearly, that would become a quote for the weekend.

“And there are NO guys with you?” he inquired skeptically.

“Nope,” I answered.  Sorry fellas, but it’s a sad truth in the South Beach club scene.    Either be a girl, whip out the big bucks, or wait in line to get in (AKA another reason why Miami is great to visit, but I couldn’t live there).

The velvet rope lifted and we were in.  Try as you might, bouncer boy, but you can’t turn down hotel guests in their own hotel.

This scene was much more our speed.  Hip hop music as opposed to house.  A much cozier space.  Hotter guys.  It felt like home.  We danced it up until our feet couldn’t hold us up any longer and started heading back to the rooms one by one.  I was the third to last girl to go up.  There were 2 girls left (1 single and 1 teeterer), both dancing with guys that could only be professional athletes or buff actors (picture Kellan Lutz in the Twilight Series).  Maybe I left because I realized I was too drunk.  Maybe I left because I couldn’t pick up a Kellan Lutz of my own.  I don’t really remember.  But either way, we were to wake up with QUITE a story from the last 2 girls left in the club.

TO BE CONTINUED…

I didn’t know quite what to expect for Andrea’s Bachelorette Party.  I knew it would be a good time because we had 12 awesome, low-drama, hot girls in one of the most fun destinations in the country: South Beach.  But, I could never have anticipated the amazingness level that would be achieved during those 3.5 short days in the city of sexy.  Let me begin.

I took an earlier flight on Thursday morning than the rest of the Atlanta girls, so I  arrived in MIA an hour before them.  Upon retrieving my bag (note: I was the ONLY girl in the group that checked a bag) I proceeded straight to the airport Chili’s (all class, all the time), downed two vodka sodas, contemplated ordering nachos before realizing I would be in a bikini in T-minus one hour, and updated my Facebook status accordingly before meeting up with them.  I was proud to see that some of the girls had been drinking heavily on the flight, but I was already aware that would happen per Fran’s (the crazy married friend) email earlier that week:

Clearly, the DJ was playing “All I Do Is Win” when this picture was taken.   “And they hands go up, and they stay therrrre!” It was one of theme songs of the weekend.

When our OTHER theme came song – “OMG” by Usher – I got a little excited and starting dancing without regard for my surroundings.  Shocker.  I was standing behind a chair at our table, started to get low, got halfway down, and then….

BOOM.

I hit the floor….

…and was sitting in a puddle (rain, vodka, who knows).  I started laughing so hard I couldn’t get up.  Then, before I knew it, two men grabbed me under my armpits and pulled me up, someone rushed over to mop up the puddle and the girls frantically tried to find and turn on my FLIP cam to at least get some coverage of the aftermath.  I just want to clarify that this wasn’t in some secluded corner.  It was right in the middle of a crowd.  The DJ even said to Fran: “your girl in pink just fell.”

The worst part: I was trying to dance all sexy when this happened.  Lesson. Learned.  I continued to dance after that, but I didn’t dare get low again…until the next night.

The party was JUST beginning.

The Key West vacay was a month ago, but I’m just now getting around to posting this video.  What…a shocker.  But, better late than never, right?  Right.  I’m posting this mainly in hopes that MTV will see it and give me my own Cribs-meets-Room Raiders-type show, but maybe you’ll get a giggle out of it as well.

Basically, my cousin Lindsay and I (who grew up rooming together on beach vacays every summer when we were kids) checked into the Lighthouse Court and we were super excited to scope out our digs.  Upon walking in, we were ecstatic to see the fab TWO-STORY pad we would be living in for a week, complete with walk-in closet, which Lindsay deemed large enough “for a small child to stay in.”  I took that comment a step further, of course.  Listen carefully.

Then….we went around the corner to check out my parent’s room.

Here’s the vid.  Excuse my sans-makeup face.  Oh, and I may look like I’m naked in the first 20 seconds.  But, this isn’t that kind of video.

So, there you have it. It’s tough being the perfect daughter sometimes, but I enjoy every minute when I get to give back to my parents.  Linds and I spent the week in that sketchy room, but we had such a great vacay that at the end of the trip, we knew we would miss that round-screen TV, framed picture of the rooster (did you hear a real rooster crow in the vid RIGHT after we showed the picture?), and the sheets that felt like scratchy toilet paper.

And, yes, I did hit my head on the ceiling while checking out the second-floor bedroom.

Mom and Dad – hope you enjoyed YOUR amazing suite.  And knowing you two, I’m sure you enjoyed it a little too much.

Ok, that was gross.

*

More Key West highlights (or lowlights – you decide), can be found HERE.

Well, Spwing Bweak 2K10 was a success.  Wean Back and Wewax was one seriously bad-ass beach house – the mother effer sat on TWO lots, had so many decks I could barely count and even had a “birds nest” 3rd story that Chesley claimed as her room upon arrival.  Which means that after she got the worst sunburn of all of us, it would take her an hour to get down the stairs.  And I may or may not have giggled listening to that process every morning.

The thing about Spwing Bweak was that we had tons of girl bonding and boozing time, but most of it A) I don’t remember and B) is not appropriate for this blog.  We kept track of our best quotes, but if I posted them here, then this blog might get blocked at your place of employment.  Seriously.

We DID however make a music video, but I am very hesitant to let it out because of what it might do to my public profile.  Oh, Ashley, get over yourself, you’re thinking.  Well, bitch, I don’t mean I’m worried about it AFFECTING my public profile;  I’m worried about it CREATING one for me…and not a good one.  So, I’m just going to keep that private for now and let it out next time I’m on the computer and have had one too many glasses of wine. Which, I think we all know will be very soon.

In the meantime, here are some choice tidbits and photos.  I’ll post more when I can find a damn camera cord that fits my mom’s camera that I’m currently borrowing.  Don’t ask.

We woke up Friday morning, relatively hungover and there was no food in the house.  I repeat: NO. FOOD.  We immediately piled in the car to head to Publix to shop for the weekend, when we spotted it.  The World Famous Pickles.  7 girls immediately started screaming out the words on the marquis menu:  “CHEESEBURGERS!”  “FRIES!” ” BREAKFAST SANDWICHES!”  And then simultaneously:  “PULL OVER!!”  So, The Wild Card pulled over her Tahoe (read: clown car), and we made a pit stop for breakfast. We stumbled in like we hadn’t eaten in days and walked to the window where a middle-aged lady stood ready to take our orders.  But, first things first.

“Are you serving the full menu yet?”  one of us asked.

“Gotta ask the chef,” replied lady, as she motioned to the guy behind her.

I’m sorry…chef?, I thought.  The kid was 16 at the most and operated a fryer.

The “chef” was obviously happy to serve 7 pretty girls, especially with menacing “feed me” looks in their eyes.  So, it was settled then.  Burgers and fries all around…..at 9:30 a.m.

What…a balanced breakfast.

We did make it to Publix, where we noticed this postcard upon walking in:

How….appropriate.

Ok, so we didn’t eat our faces off the WHOLE vacation.  For example, this was our lunch spread:

And, that was just for one meal.

If you’re familiar with Seaside, you know it’s a super family-friendly bubble of a town.  All the kids ride bikes around town and of course, they don’t lock them up.  Well, kids….apparently, you didn’t know The Intimidator was in town.  All those unlocked bikes turned her into kid in a candy shop.  She picked one up and drove it home on Saturday night and halfway through the 2-block commute, it started to creak…badly.  Of course, she was pissed that she stole a lemon.  Talk about an ungrateful bitch.

Ok, ok, you think it’s mean to steal a kid’s bike, but honestly, the kid was probably happy his shitty bike got stolen so his parents could buy him a new one.  You know it’s true.  But, we still made her return it the next day.  And, watching The Intimidator ride on a creaky stolen bike while hungover on Sunday morning was QUITE a treat:

Now, that’s intimidation.  Sorta.

In conclusion, I do have to say that after a long, cold winter, the best part of the vacay was definitely waking up every morning, throwing on a bikini and heading out to the beach.

To be continued…..

*

I got into a conversation the other day about whether or not I want to have kids.  The jury is still out on that one.  Yup, that’s right:  you may find this hard to believe, but I’m not really a kid person.  I think one day I MIGHT be, but for now, it’s just not really my thing.  I think a lot of kids are cute and funny, but I just don’t feel the need to babysit (as if anyone would ask me anyway) or approach strangers’ kids at the park, kneel down and talk baby talk to them.  Someone said this will all change when I meet the man that I want to have kids with.  I think we all know that is very far in the future….if in the future at all.

But, there is ONE kid that I am obsessed with: my mom’s best friend Jen’s kid, Hayden.  Keep in mind that Jen is in her thirties, but their friendship works because my mom is 57 going on 28.

I love this kid.  Every time Jen posts new pictures of Hayden on Facebook, I get so excited and show everyone around me.  Whenever I’m home for holidays, I make sure Hayden comes over so he can entertain me.  That’s right; Hayden doesn’t need entertaining.  He IS the entertainment.  He’s super smart, unbelievably adorable and he has great taste in Halloween costumes.

Hayden’s Halloween picture from 2007 is hands-down my favorite picture that I’ve ever seen in my life.

You ready for it?

Ok….

RAAAWRRRR!!!!

Please tell me you just laughed.  And laughed hard.  Look at that perfect bowl cut!  The expression on his face is absolutely priceless!  And don’t even get me started on his paws up in the air!

After this picture surfaced, it got to a point where I was so obsessed that I had it as my phone background, on my desktop at work, on my fridge, AND my brother’s friend photo-shopped MY head into the picture and put it on Facebook.  Jen and Hayden even gave me a Christmas ornament with the picture on it (although I think Hayden was a little embarassed when he had to hand it to me).

The only people that I’m pretty sure DON’T think the picture is funny are the guys from Netherworld Haunted House (ie: one of the most intense, scariest haunts in the country).  When I got them as a client in 2008, I toured the haunt and later sent them an email saying how awesome and scary I thought it was.  And, since I felt like I could joke with them, I said something along the lines of, “if you need any more scary monsters this season, I have one for you” and inserted the picture of Hayden.

Cue:  cricket sound.

They did write me back…but didn’t even address the pic.  Which might even be worse than a non-response.  I guess they just hold their monsters to a much higher standard.

As Halloween 2008 started approaching, my friends and I were anxiously waiting to hear what Hayden would want to dress up as.  And then, Jen broke the news.  Hayden wanted to be a ghost.  Just a plain white sheet with 2 holes cut out for his eyes.

What the F*CK!?  We waited all year for Hayden’s ‘stume and it was a freakin’ ghost?!  I couldn’t even believe it.  I was pissed.  I told Jen that he better redeem himself in 2K9 or that was it: I was off Team Hayden.

Luckily, he did redeem himself.  While the photos aren’t as hilarious as Monsters, Inc. above, the thought of him going to his mom and saying “this is what I want to be for Halloween” is pretty funny.  Hayden wanted to be…

…a Nascar driver.

Why?, you ask.  Well, I think he does like the sport, but he also likes to make fun of rednecks.  No, seriously.  He has an impression of them and everything.  This Christmas, Jen sent me a video of him singing “All I want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth,” in his redneck voice.  Coincidence that he chose to sing a song about missing teeth for his redneck impression?  I don’t think so.  I told you he was smart.

The only kid I think gives Hayden a run for his money is his little brother, Heath, but he’s still a baby, so I won’t know how much I like him until he starts to talk.  However, he already has his brother’s taste in Halloween ‘stumes….

What…a tadpole.

Wondering what Hayden is going to be this year?  Jen and I have discussed pitching him the idea to go as  a Jersey Shore cast member.  We just can’t decide between The Situation or DJ Pauly D and we only have 246 days to figure it out.  Let the countdown begin.

I recently dug this story out of my Sketchy Guy Archives to tell a friend the other day, and it made me laugh AND still feel as confused as it ever did.

You know what, eff that.  I’ll be honest.  I just typed that first sentence trying to make it sound as though I “casually” remembered this story 2 years later and decided to tell it, but there’s a little more to it than that.  In all truthfulness, a couple weeks ago, Louisa and I were sitting on my couch, coming up with fake names that we could use at the bar the next time we went out.  Sadly, she moved and we didn’t get to use them, but that’s beside the point.  I decided on a name which I cannot reveal, but for the sake of this blog, let’s just say it was  “Audrey Arden.”

“Oooh, I love the last name Arden,” Louisa said.

“I know, me too!” I said.  And that’s when it hit me.  The first time I had really decided I liked the last name Arden.

*Josh Arden.  Spring of 2008.

Let me begin.

It was March of 2008 and I had gone out with just the boys – Foley, Thad (Andrea’s current fiance), and a couple others.  I had just gotten my hair done and it was a warm enough day to break out my shorts, so I was on the prowl.  We went to Park Tavern for some patio drinking, then headed to Six Feet Under on the Westside for dinner.  While we were waiting for a table at the bar, I spotted a HOT guy sitting at the bar with an older man.  Just my type (the guy, not the older man).  So, my new haircut and I sidled up right next to him.  We introduced ourselves (his name was Josh, obvi), started chatting and really hit it offf.  I met his dad (read: aforementioned older man) who was in town visiting and we even had a convo while Josh went to the bathroom.

However, while Josh was breaking the seal, Foley grabbed the dude’s Blackberry and attempted to put my number in before he came back.  I mean, I appreciate the wingman attempt, but this was just plain awkward…especially when Josh came back and Foley still had his phone in hand.  It was obvious what was going on and my hair and I were caught right in the middle.  But, we laughed it off and continued to flirt it up, me secretly high-fiving Foley for getting my digits in this hottie’s hands.

When we got seated, Josh said he’d like me to come across the street to Northside Tavern after dinner for a blues show.  I tried to play it cool and said I would see what the guys wanted to do, then we parted ways.  During dinner I obviously forced the guys to agree to go with me.  Josh even called while we were finishing up dinner to make sure I was coming over.  Apparently…we were dating.

So, the boys and I headed over and Josh met me outside with a wristband so I wouldn’t have to pay to get in.  Could this guy GET any better?  For the next couple hours, my new boyfriend and I stuck by each other’s sides, got to know each other better, shared our hopes and dreams, etc.

Then, he asked me out.  Top Flr the following Wednesday was the plan.  Well, my work here was done.  I grabbed the guys so we could leave while I was still ahead, and Josh and I said our goodbyes.  His dad even hugged me.

For some stupid reason, the guys wanted to go to CosmoLava that night, so we went.  I danced ’til my feet hurt, took shots ’til my head hurt, and then my hair and I were ready to go.  I got home and received an “It was great to meet you tonight” (or something along those lines) text from Josh.  Wow. In my drunken state, I had almost forgotten about him.  We texted a couple times back and forth and I went to bed, excited about a new crush.

The next day, I was packing up to move out of my apartment and I got another text from Josh.  I didn’t save these texts word for word like I did for Sweaty, but I remember the basic gist.  There was something about his dad really liking me, something about me hating packing, blah blah blah.  And, then I received this:  “I’d like to see you today.”

Today?  Hmmmm, I thought.  VERY tempting.  Now, let me go on record and say that if this happened to me now, I probably would politely decline and wait for our date on Wednesday.  But back then, I didn’t know as much as I do now, so I said…..

“I could use a break from packing.  What are you thinking?”

And I waited for the response.

And waited.

And waited.

Aaaaand waited.

Ok, really?  Now, those kind of games I just CAN’T get down with.  There’s a .0001 percent chance his phone fell in the toilet or he got hit by a car right after he sent his last text, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.  I’ll admit – I was confused.  And pissed.  THIS had never happened to me before.  Guys not calling?  Sure, plenty of times.  Bailing on dates?  Happens to the best of us.  But, this?  Uh uh.

Did you hear from him on Monday or Tuesday?, you ask.

Nope.

But, I did find him on MySpace  (which should have been my first clue).  And found this photo:

Yup, that’s right.  A cat in a mother effing guitar case.  I should have RAN the other way.  Not only is he probably a douche that keeps a guitar around that he can’t play just to impress girls, but he also has a CAT…AND he takes photos that he probably thinks are “artsy,” but are just plain stupid looking.

But…I didn’t run the other way.

What I’m about to say next is really embarrassing.  What I’m about to tell you I did is completely inexcusable and I would rip a friend a new one if she pulled this shit today.  But, since I throw myself under a bus as much as possible on this blog, the truth has to come out.  Ok, here it goes….

I texted him.  On Wednesday.  About the date.

AHHHHH, I KNOW!!!!! How could I?!  I just slapped myself across the face thinking about it.

I can’t remember exactly what I said.   Something I thought would sound casual, like, “Hey you…tonight still?”

And, of course, no response.

So, at that moment, I officially forgot I ever met this kid and moved on.  And, for SOME crazy reason, the dating Gods were looking down on me in the next couple weeks and 2 new guys surfaced.  And, I tried to date them both.  But, that’s a blog for another time.  Long story short, Josh Arden was nothing but a distant memory.  I didn’t even care about him enough to erase him from my phone.  And I’m glad I didn’t.

Three weeks went by and I had just gotten off the phone with Boy #1 and was heading out to meet Boy #2.  What…a player.  I stopped by a bar to meet a few friends for a drink before meeting up with #2 when I got a text.  From Josh Arden.  Now, THIS one I can remember word for word.

“Sorry for the delayed response.  Wanna come over?”

I could barely believe my eyes.  SORRY for the DELAYED response?!  THREE weeks later?  This…was…hilarious.  My favorite part was that he even addressed the delay in response.  Some guys might have pulled this move with a “Hey, how’s it going?” or “What are you up to?”  in hopes that the girl had forgotten he had asked her to hang one day, then disappeared.  And, then, to ask me to COME OVER?  Someone…was clearly on drugs.

I debated whether or not to respond.  But, I knew I had to.

I wrote, “Sure, I’ll be right over!”

He wrote back, “Don’t be sarcastic.”

What…a command. I never responded again, except for a couple months later when I told this story to some girlfriends while we were eating at Top Flr (remember? the place we were supposed to go on our date).  They dared me to text him “Sorry for the delayed response.  Wanna come over?”

So I did.

And he immediately wrote back, “I’m sorry, I lost all my numbers – who is this?”  Of course, I didn’t respond.

Maybe if he’s reading this, he’ll finally have his answer.  And, he can write a song about it…with Whiskers in his lap.

-

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

**I couldn’t find the original “cat in a guitar case” photo, which is probably for the best, so I found that one from Google.  Just know that the one on his MySpace page was even better.**

Just when I feel like I’ve created the perfect clique of girlfriends, someone has to move and f*ck it all up.  That’s right; our friend Louisa moved to New York this past weekend to pursue her dreams of becoming a fashion writer (and she also got a job there, so that kinda sealed the deal).  Sadly, Louisa’s and my Atlanta friendship was short-lived because, while we have technically known each other for years, we only started hanging out this past November.  We knew we were destined to be friends when during our first one-on-one hang out session watching The Hills, Louisa asked, “So which do you like better – The Hills or The City? ”

My dead-serious answer:  “I really can’t answer that.  They’re just…so different.”

Our friendship continued to blossom and along the journey, we established one very special ritual.  Let me enlighten you.

The first event Louisa and I attended together was the Gold Room Grand Opening Party.  I drove us there and when I decided it was time for me to leave, I just left….without Louisa.  I headed to Taco Bell (read: there was limited food at this party) and was waiting in the drive-thru line when I got the feeling that I had forgotten something.  I felt like the mom in Home Alone when she realizes she forgot Kevin at home.  Well, maybe not THAT upset.

I texted Louisa, “what do you want from Taco Bell?” so it would appear as though I had just left to pick us up a FourthMeal and would be returning to Gold Room to pick her up.  I think she fell for it.  I remember getting a bag stuffed full of food for just $7 and feeling like I had hit the lottery.  I picked Louisa up in front of Gold Room, taco in hand, and we came back to my house to finish plowing through our napsack of Cheesy Gordita Crunches, Crunchwrap Supremes and Chicken Soft Tacos…while catching up on the the latest episode of Jersey Shore on DVR.

And, that’s when the tradition of late-night Taco Bell and Jersey Shore was born. I like to call it:  Guidos & Burritos (or G&B for short).

A few weeks later, the whole crew hit up the BMI holiday party, then Yacht Rock, and it was sheer debauchery.  We even knew it was going to be a crazy night from the second we met up at Chesley’s house for the pre-party with our game faces on.  And by “game faces,” I obviously mean…party dresses.

Still not quite sure why this photo didn’t end up in US Weekly.  But, anyway…

Louisa was actually staying relatively sober so she could cart me around in her Impala all night, so I took the opportunity to get extra toasty.  Now, let me preface this next part by saying that Louisa has perfected the art of giving guys her number in this cute, casual way that 50% of the time, makes them call.  Ok, maybe 33% of the time.  This particular night, she caught me chatting with a tall gentleman at Yacht Rock, and when it was time to leave, she ambushed the both of us to make sure a number exchange had ensued.

“Did you give this guy your number?” she asked me, while the dude and I both stood there, drunk and stunned.  I had NOT given him my number, nor had he asked for it.  Awwwwwkward. But, the dude played along, got my digits and we went on our way.

On this particular night, we ended up driving to 3 different Taco Bells before finding one that was open, which gave me entirely too much time in the passenger seat with free hands.  Let the exting begin.  And by “exting,” I obviously mean, texting an ex.  We finally found a Bell that was open, picked up our knapsack and came back to my place for some G&B action.

I woke up the next morning and couldn’t even look at my phone;  some shit had definitely gone down and I couldn’t face it in my hungover state.  I decided I would wait until I had a few drinks in me later that day to check out the damage.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t that bad.  I only told one guy friend, Foley, that we should make out, “but only for 5 minutes” and texted an ex about how he should come visit so we could go to The Varsity together.  What…a hot date.

That evening rolled around and I got a phone call from a strange number that I let go to voicemail.  Turns out it was the guy from the night before and he wanted to hang.  That’s right: the one Louisa forced to get my number.  What….a surprise.  We texted a bit back and forth, but we actually never did hang out.  I think it was because he was scared I would blog about him.  Why do I think that? Because he sent me a text that said:  “you can’t blog about me.”  Then, when I told him the URL and he actually READ this blog, I never heard from again.  Well, buddy, here I am, blogging about ya.  Suck on that!

But, I digress.  This blog entry is supposed to be a tribute to my short-lived BFFness with Louisa in Atlanta and our Think Outside the Bun/GTL/Fourthmeal/Fist-pumping obsession.

My favorite G&B session happened to be when we invited a special guest to partake in the ritual with us.  I met John* while out at a holiday party one night and we hit it off immediately.  He was in town visiting from Tampa* and Louisa and I ended up chatting with him for most of the night, so when it was time to leave, we just asked him to come back to my place with us.  And no, this story is not going to end in any sort of threesome.  I have standards, folks.  And by standards, I mean I would never write about a threesome on this blog.  On my Facebook page….maybe.

So, we hopped in the Xterra and headed to Taco Bell with John in the backseat.  Please note that John is of Latin American descent, so Taco Bell is probably not his idea of quality Mexican food.  But, we forced it on him anyway.  He told us TWICE he didn’t want anything, but Louisa persisted, and finally got him to order a Crunchwrap Supreme.  Why that menu item? you ask.  Because she wanted to eat it if he didn’t.

We brought John back to my house, all 3 of us squeezed on the couch, and Louisa layed out the spread while I turned on Jersey Shore.  Now, John was one of those rare specimens that wasn’t that familiar with Jersey Shore and had no interest whatsoever in becoming familiar.  But, we made him watch it anyway, asked his opinions on the characters and forced him to react to the drama on screen when he clearly was NOT interested.  “What do you think of her outfit?!” we asked him.  “Can you believe the way they dance!?” Louisa pressed.  “Do YOU own any Ed Hardy or Affliction tees!?” I interrogated. Looking back, I honestly still can’t believe we subjected this poor guy to our disgusting ritual.  Ok, well maybe I can.

To our surprise, he DID eat the Crunchwrap Supreme.  But, I think it was just so he wouldn’t have to talk to us for 5 minutes.

For the record, John and I still keep in touch.  Turns out, the G&B is a real way to impress a man.  Ladies, take note.

That was the last great Guidos & Burritos night that Louisa and I shared.  The weekend before she moved, we decided to get Taco Bell one last time for tradition’s sake, but A) Jersey Shore is over, and B) the amount of food we ate made us both sick in the morning.  I guess all good things really do come to an end.

I hope to visit Louisa sometime soon in NY and hopefully create a new tradition with a new fast food establishment.  There will be no more late-night Taco Bell for us…until, of course, Jersey Shore Season 2.

*

*Names and places have been changed to protect the guilty

I talk about sex a lot, and sometimes, I think that makes people assume that I’m some sort of freaky, lapdancin’, stripper-pole-in-the-basement kinda’ girl.  Which I may or may not be.  So, when Fab’rik boutique sent out an email titled “Good Girl’s Guide to a Bad Girl’s Striptease,” about an upcoming in-store striptease lesson and shopping event, I got the email forwarded to me with a “we should do this!” from about 5 girlfriends.  No lie.  Nothing better than your inbox blowing up with a string of emails with “striptease” in the subject line.  Even better if you’re a guy.

“Well, of COURSE we should do it,” I replied.  And, of course we did.  Two different groups of girlfriends came together for the occasion and we were really excited for what was to come.  We were instructed to wear leggings, a men’s dress shirt with tank top underneath, and high heels for the big event.  Sad to say, I didn’t have a men’s dress shirt laying around from an actual man, so I had to wear the same shirt I wore for my “Tom Cruise in Risky Business” Halloween ‘stume from 2K7.  Womp woooomp.

I woke up the morning of the striptease and thought, well I’ll just wear my outfit to work. I mean,  I belted it, of course. I AM a professional, after all.

I got to work expecting Kate to laugh when she saw my outfit…but she was wearing hers, too.  Horny Great minds think alike.

Obviously, Kate was going for the “sexy lumberjack” look.  Which I like to think my ex invented.  But then again…he was a dude.

We headed to Fab’rik after work and out of the 7 of us girls, 4 of us were “stripping” in the 8 p.m. time slot and the other 3 in the 9 p.m. time slot.  They were running a bit behind from the 7 p.m. striptease so we had the opportunity to have a couple drinks before we finally sat down in our chairs to listen to the intro from our “instructors”:  2 average-sized ladies from Pole La Teaz exotic dance studio wearing tank tops and skimpy boy shorts (where were THEIR leggings!?).

They  gave us a quick history of themselves and their love for dirty dancing, but, keep in mind, they’re not ACTUAL strippers.  Talk about a let-down.  Another interesting tidbit from our instructors: they both have children.  Now, I hope I’m not offending anyone by this, but, WHAT….a surprise.  Not that moms aren’t sexy or anything, but WHERE were the Megan Fox lookalikes that we were supposed to aspire to be like?  Definitely not in that room.

They instructed us to move our chairs out of our 4-row set-up and make a circle around them for a demonstration.  Showtiiiime!  The stripper-moms positioned themselves in the middle of our circle, flipped on the music….and I heard it.  The familiar intro to a song I’ve listened to entirely too many times.  Could it be?  Was I hallucinating?

Nope.  It was….Kings. Of. Leon. The song:  “Closer.”  One of my absolute favorites.

What…was going on here?  I was supposed to watch these two ladies roll around on the floor and gyrate to the song that I listen to almost every day on the way to work?  No sir!  I don’t need that mental image.  I want to picture Caleb Followill personally serenading me when I hear “Closer” – not 2 unfamiliar butt cheeks flapping to the chorus.

But, like having any half-naked person(s) dancing in front of you…I couldn’t really look away.  So, I just tried to cover my ears.

Thankfully, the song finally ended and we put our chairs back in their rows and started the lesson.

We really enjoyed it, but there was a LOT to take in! I didn’t know if I could remember it all to share on this blog, but LUCKILY, our instructors emailed us a follow-up after the class so we could remember all of our moves.  Phew.

Here they are, with my comments in parentheses:

Sway & Play (Last I heard, swaying wasn’t sexy…but I guess I just always think of it in the drunk sense)

Peek over right/left  shoulder (eye contact)- right/left  hip roll (Eye contact?  I would prefer for either my partner or me to actually have our eyes CLOSED during this whole routine.)

Walk behind partner (This one was easy – see Kate demonstrate in video below)

Outline Shoulders (Also see Kate)

Caress Lap (More fondling from Kate)

Play around the goods (Stillllll Kate)

Get Up Sexy (ie. Try not to let your partner hear your knees crack)

Sexy walk to front of partner (Cue: Louisa in the video below)

Amazon Stand (Whatever the hell this is)

Outline your legs down (Go Louisa!)

Open his legs ( See Louisa demonstrate with just a quick flick of the wrists)

Wiggle & Jiggle (You may recognize this move from music videos on BET)

Rodeo (See: Natalie in the video below)

Kiss partner on cheek (Phew…something we can all manage)

Smother 3 times (See: me on the video below, attempting this move…and stumbling of course)

Place toes in between his legs & hip rolls (Now, this move is NOT for me.  It would be way too dangerous for me to place my giant foot that close to a guy’s package.  Talk about…ruining the moment)

Strip Teaz out of Over Sized Shirt (This one was tough for me, also.  I have proof below)

Walk away & blow kiss (Read:  Just try not to trip)

*

See, I told you.  A LOT to take in.  But, I have to give our instructors credit – they had these moves mastered and were great teachers.  Talk about…an education.

And, here’s the video.

What…a porno.

You may notice that I didn’t mention that ass-smack earlier.  Strangely enough, it got left off the striptease cheat sheet that they emailed us after the event.  And it’s CLEARLY the best part of the whole dance.  Just remember:  when smacking your own ass, CUP your hands for maximum acoustics.

The night was a blast, but like any other night when I try to do a sexy dance, my outfit pays the price (see:  Halloween pantyhose).

This particular night, it was my Tom Cruise shirt:

Striptease.  Foul.

Clearly, I’m going to have to work on my moves before I go performing this little dance for anyone.  Unless, I want to do it as a stand-up act, in which case, I’m ready to go.

Now, there’s an idea….