Archive for the ‘Hesscapades’ Category

The Key to a Great Weekend

For Memorial Day Weekend, a group of us (8 to be exact: 4 girls, 4 guys) decided to go to Liza’s lake house (yes, that Liza…from Scoutmob).

Correction: I decided we should go to Liza’s lake house and sent her this note via email on May 13 with Natalie and Kate CC’d:
Liza, are you in town memorial day weekend? Should we go to the lake!??!!?

She was nice enough to allow it. Which is why we’ll forgive her for what happened.

Picture it: an excited group of 20- and 30-somethings caravaning up to Lake Oconee on Saturday morning, ready for a weekend of fun in the sun (and maybe other stuff like, you know, skinny dipping). We hit the grocery and liquor stores when we got into town and stocked up on major goods: eggs and sausage for breakfast, all the necessities for Kate’s Saturday night jambalaya, chicken and steak for Mike’s Sunday night dinner, cold cuts for sandwiches, ice cream, salsa, cold beer, bourbon, vodka, Sinless Margarita, you name it.

We arrived at the lake house, got all the groceries out of the car (I remember being weighed down with a bag or six), ready to put everything away, get into our suits and hit the dock when Liza realized she didn’t have the key. We laughed it off, throwing out “Oh, Liza, you would!” and “Typical Liza!” comments, figuring there was a spare somewhere. Calls were made to her parents to try to locate the spare and after a few unsuccessful searches of the grill and its surrounding area, reality started to set in and all of us went on a search mission around the house mumbling various degrees of “If I were a spare key, where would I be?”

30 minutes later: no key.

Photo by Nick Tapp

At least we had semi-cold beer. And melted ice cream.

We thought an upstairs door might be open, so Mike “The Spider Monkey” Dean decided to scale the back of the house.

Photo by Andy Carlyle

Unsuccessful. But still fun to watch.

Liza’s dad finally tracked down a neighbor who had a spare. Let it be known that said neighbor didn’t have a cell phone, so her dad had to try him at three different country clubs before locating him. Must be nice to only be reachable by country club concierge. We were told he’d come by after his golf game and bring us a key, so we grabbed the beers and the Cheez-Its and headed down to the dock.

Mr. Country Club showed up a tad later than expected, but we did finally get in the house, about 1.5 hours after we had arrived. And as far as we know, all that meat and cold food was still good. Well, at least no one has gotten sick…yet.

Regardless of this minor snafu at the onset, it turned out to be an epic weekend, complete with skinny dipping (I wasn’t joking), boating, beer pong, Kate tumbling down the stairs with a full glass of bourbon, and stories that will remain in the Memorial Day Weekend 2K11 vault.

As if it need to be said, Kate and I have already approached Liza (read: invited ourselves) for 4th of July Weekend.

Someone else will be in charge of the key.

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HANGOUT OR BUST!

Whooopsiiiiieeee. Sorry about that long-ass hiatus, you guys. I just got so caught up preparing for Hangout Fest and then it WAS Hangout Fest and then this whole week I had to RECOVER from Hangout Fest, so you know how it goes.

Okay, majorly lame excuses. I actually got back together with my pro wrestler ex-boyfriend and he knocked me up a couple weeks ago and we’ve been trying to figure out how to deal with that.

Just kidding. The Hangout Fest excuse was way closer to the truth.

So anyway. Hangout Fest in Gulf Shores, Alabama last weekend = the best 3.5 days of my life. Bands/artists like the Foo Fighters, Cee Lo, The Black Keys, Avett Brothers, Amos Lee, Girl Talk, etc., etc. on the mother-freaking beach. It was awesome. And we stayed in a beachfront condo instead of in a tent or some shit like I heard they do at Bonnaroo. No offense to Bonnaroo, but I think Hangout is way more my speed.

Aaaaannndddd…..we got to road trip, so you know what THAT MEANS!

Time to act like high schoolers.

I was totally on board with this. Literally. But when we stopped at Subway and a member of the other car we were caravaning with got a hold of the paint marker when we weren’t looking, THIS happened.

I mean, sure it’s hilarious and we embraced it, but do you guys KNOW what happens when dudes think there is a car full of single ladies riding around in redneck Alabama? Of course you do. And when we were stopped in traffic around the festival grounds with our windows down, it was even more interesting.

Also, I’m a little scarred from seeing THREE guys pleasuring themselves in their cars over the years (two in traffic, one sitting in his parked car right outside of Twisted Taco) so I don’t like to be involved in anything that could provoke such a thing.

Go ahead, call me a prude.

But would a prude insist we stop at this place on the way down? (I may have even asked for a job application.)

More to cum, er, come.

You guys are sick.

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Balls at the Mall

On the drive down to Miami from Tampa with my cousin and his wife, I was informed that we would be stopping at the outlets so my cousin could pick up some Brooks Brothers shirts for work. To be honest, I just wanted to get to Miami and really didn’t have any desire to get out of the car and mosey around an outdoor mall. I think a slightly bitchy, “Are you serious?” even slipped out.

They were serious.

But, as usual, I ended up finding plenty of entertainment in the short half hour we were there and regretted my previous negative ‘tude. When we walked into Brooks Brothers, I immediately started pointing and laughing at all the ridiculous outfits they put on display for men in that place. For the record, I like a guy in a pink shirt, but head-to-toe pastels are a whole different story.

Yellow pants + pink collared shirt + purple argyle sweater vest equals a HALLOWEEN COSTUME in my book. Or an Easter Sunday outfit for the Jolie-Pitt daughter that always dresses like a dude. Not a sexy ensemble for a full-grown man. And, don’t even get me started on anything that has little embroidered animals all over it.

The fratastic clothing was so intense, I could almost smell the hot Beam & Coke breath and hear the sounds of a cover band singing “Sweet Home Alabama.” It was time to get out of there. I exited the building and went on a search for bottled water.  And, stumbled upon THIS:

Yep, that’s right. Children. In hamster balls. This was something I could get on board with. If I ever decide to have children, you better believe I’m going to put them out in the backyard in giant hamster balls in an above-ground pool and let them occupy themselves all day long. I know from experience that hamsters can stay in those things for hours on end, so I’m sure children are no different. I felt a wave of relief that maybe, just maybe, I could have kids one day.

As for dating a guy that prefers pastel pants over jeans? Still not going there.

And a trip to the outlets can never change that.

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Why I Hate Cab Drivers

Let it be known that I have major issues with cab drivers. Not ALL cab drivers, but about 75% of them, especially when they’re rude, try to charge me $12 to go less than a mile, and throw tantrums when I try to pay with a credit card even though I can SEE their credit card swiper sitting right on the passenger seat. I’ve had some very shady-slash-hilarious incidences with cabbies in my life (especially one involving the Brookhaven Kroger), but Saturday night in Miami trumped them all.

I was staying with my cousin and his wife in Tampa this past weekend, and Saturday, we drove down to Miami to stay with my aunt and uncle. My BFF Cory and some other friends from Delaware/Philly were coincidentally in South Beach, so, of course I had to meet them out. My cousin dropped me off at Barton G and I planned on cabbing it back to the house that night or the next morning. Around 2 a.m., I got totally lame and decided to take my not-drunk ass back to my aunt and uncle’s, so, I hopped in a cab. I was prepared to shell out some cash to get back, but I was thinking around $40. $50 max.

The douche of a driver “took the long way” back and was not friendly at all. Shocker. And, of course he didn’t take credit cards (when is everyone going to GET WITH IT?!), so I had to be taken to an ATM, which is always a great place to get mugged or knifed in a metro area at 2:30 a.m., so I was excited about that. When we finally pulled up to the house, the meter read something around $53. I handed him all my cash (almost exact) and he gladly took it and counted it with no mention of me owing him any more. ALSO, keep in mind, he was playing the “me speak very little English” card. Even though he was an a-hole, I still wanted to tip him because he had driven me all the way out there, so I told him I was going to run in the house and see if I had any extra cash.  He still didn’t seem to be comprehending, so I figured we were all set.

I went in, searched through my bags and found no cash, so I got into pajamas and prepared to hit the sack. I figured the dude was long gone.

Then the doorbell rang.

Nope, it wasn’t the cab driver.

It was a cop.

Let it be known that I ALSO have had issues with cops, so when I see one, I immediately think I’m getting cuffed and taken to jail. It didn’t help my anxiety that the doorbell had woken up my aunt and cousin’s wife and they came rushing to the door, and I also was wearing a thin tank top with no bra. Arrested for indecent exposure in my own home? It would only happen to me.

The cop explained that the cab driver had called him because I hadn’t paid him in full.

You. Have. Got. To be. Kidding me.

And that “non-English speaking” mother F’er was sitting right outside the house, running his meter the entire time.

My cousin’s wife, Ashli, sprung into action and took over because truth be told, I was stunned. And inappropriately dressed. And did not want to face this jackass cabbie for fear of getting arrested for battery.

His meter now read $73 and we had to pay him to settle the dispute. For real. Ashli and my aunt took care of the cash and got his personal and company information, which apparently scared him a bit. And just for the record, when he spoke to Ashli, he was speaking perfectly clear English. Of course he was.

I’d say the cab driver won this one. He got an extra $20 while I got all shook up and my family had to ensue police-involved drama at 3 a.m.

But, he’ll get what’s coming to him.

It’s called car-ma.

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Girls Lie About Their Weight

The following is a real conversation. My friend’s name has been changed because…she’d probably want me to.

Me: my health insurance broker called me skinny today.

Serena: nice!

Me: but it was over the phone. and I lied about my weight. soooo……

Serena: omg. that is really funny. I mean….they asked me my weight and height before they gave me my IV. and I lied about my weight.

Me: oh good.

Serena: but, then I was like NO I LIED because I didn’t want them to not give me enough and it wouldn’t work!

Me: how much did you lie about?

Serena: 5 lbs. it was embarrassing

Me: I lied by 7.

Me: ok  I just lied again.  it was 9

Serena: that’s a lot

The Mall on a Saturday Night

Because I “work well under pressure” (read: do everything last minute), I always stop to get gifts while on the way to a party. My friend Christina’s engagement shower was Saturday evening, so of course, I stopped by Pottery Barn at Lenox on the way there to pick up some goods. What….a disaster. I had forgotten what a CLUSTERF*CK the mall is on a weekend night. Every teen and their mothers (ok, so probably not their mothers) were there, the girls in hooched out sloutfits (that’s my new word for slutty outfits) and the guys looking like they came straight off the set of a Lil’ Wayne video…

…except they had shirts on.

One fella that was actually “of age” (or so he looked) hit on me while we were on the escalator so I couldn’t escape. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I have escalator anxiety because of an injury from 2005 so that took it up about 10 notches.

Anyway, I was wearing a romper that I have officially deemed my new favorite outfit (NOT a sloutfit, but maybe with a couple buttons undone, it could qualify). Since I purchased the romper at a store in the mall, I decided to pop in and see if I could snag one in another color; that’s how much I love it.  Have you ever gone into a store to purchase the exact same thing you’re wearing? I felt like a total douche. And, then I had to ask a salesgirl to check my tag to make sure I was getting the right size. Another douche move. But, I found one in a different color and my size, so mission accomplished.

On the way to Pottery Barn, I noticed “Coming Soon” signs outside a storefront for…wait for it…a Microsoft store. Ummmm, can’t wait to see the lines outside of that store. SIKE.

Can you picture it? A line wrapped around the mall when Microsoft Office 2012 edition comes out? I don’t think so. Microsoft, I love you and all, but leave the whole “storefront” thing to Apple. It’s embarrassing.

Then, I got to Pottery Barn. I wanted to get Christina a cocktail shaker and a sack of fake lemons right off her registry. Why you would register for fake fruit, I don’t know, but Christina has great taste, so I’m sure she has big plans for those lemons. Well, she better, because it took about 3 hours for the Pottery Barn staff to find a sack of those f*ckers. Ok, so it was only about 10 minutes, but come on! I was about to grab 6 of the lemons on display, put them in a bag and call it a day.

When they finally tracked down the 2 items, the cashier lady asked if I wanted them gift wrapped. Uh, duh. Then, she passed the gift off to another lady who asked me if I wanted to wait for the gift wrapping or come back. Excuse me? Since when is gift wrapping a lengthy procedure? I know those people gift wrap items all damn day especially now that it’s wedding season and they should be able to do it in under 5 minutes flat while I stand there and watch.

“Uh, yeah I’ll wait. I’m on my way to the party. How long is this going to take?”

“About 15 minutes.”

I bit my tongue. I have a baaaad tendency to snap in situations like this. And, I bit my tongue again when she took my present into the BACK. What…was going on here? Now I felt panicky. I had no idea how long they were going to take and I couldn’t even stare at them impatiently to speed up the process.

So, I waited.

And waited.

And tweeted.

A couple came in and did their entire registry while I waited.

Ok, that didn’t happen, but it could have. I started lingering around the back of the store as if that would help. I saw the door open and expected it to be Gift Wrap Lady, but it was NOT. It was Cashier Lady, with her bag over her shoulder, ready to go home. That’s right. Cashier Lady had completed her shift in the time it was taking to wrap my one damn present.

Gift Wrap Lady finally resurfaced but she couldn’t find an envelope to put the card in.

“It’s fine. I’ll just slip the card under the ribbon.”

She looked at me like I had just spit in her face. “But, we always put the card in an envelope with the gift receipt!”

WELL THEN FIND ME A DAMN ENVELOPE, LADY!  I felt like screaming that. But, I didn’t. I waited patiently AGAIN while she searched and finally retrieved what was probably the last tiny envelope in the store. Last envelope. Last sack of fake lemons. I was really cleaning them out. And, they deserved it.

Never again will I go to the mall on a weekend night…even if it means shopping in advance.

The Weekend’s Top 5

In case the title isn’t self-explanatory enough, I’m sharing my top 5 moments of the past weekend, because I don’t think I have one incident worthy enough of a whole blog entry.  I know.  How sad.  If only my neighbor would have broken in and puked on my couch or something….

1: Male Porn
One of my girlfriends (who will remain nameless, I guess) and I caught an episode of Real World: Las Vegas last weekend and the hottest male cast member admitted that he had been involved with a “male webcam-based site” in the past.  Obviously we had to check it out immediately, so we went straight to Frat Pad Dot Com and took the “free tour.”  I freaked out a little bit at first because I wasn’t expecting to see a big, flaccid you-know-what flopping around right off the bat, but I got over it.  Fast forward to this Friday night during a girls night in and 3 of us decided to pay $2 for a 2-day trial, because….well, why not.  I’m not going to talk about what we witnessed because this isn’t that kind of blog, you guys.  But, I had to watch with one eye closed.  Talk about…a one-eyed monster.  Go ahead and check it out for yourself…if you dare.

2: Pillow Fiiiiight!
Saturday was International Pillow Fight Day (yeah, I know – WTF, right?), which means about a hundred people got together in Freedom Park and had an all-out pillow brawl.  I had to go shoot the event for AOL and it was actually very entertaining.  This guy, however, doesn’t look so entertained….

Seriously, what’s his problem?

On the other hand, I think this is the cutest picture I’ve ever taken and/or seen.

3:  Dinner Conversation
Bakeshop does after-hours BYOB dinners that are amazing and delicious (3 courses, $40 a person, check out byobdinners.com for more info).  I went on Saturday night and about halfway through the first course, my friend Lauren (author of my favorite Atl blog besides my own), leaned across the table and said, “I know this may not be dinner talk, but…did your neighbor really pee on your couch?”  I think we all know the answer to that question, Lauren.

4.  KEVIN!!
If you’ve ever seen The Proposal, you may know about “Kevin,” the cutest dog in the universe (clip HERE).  Sunday, while we were laying out on the rooftop deck of Kate’s new house, we heard a puppy bark and peered over to the neighbor’s rooftop, only to catch catch a glimpse of a real-life Kevin!  And, his owner just lifted him right up so we could freak out over him.  And, we did.

5.  Face Time
I saw the Face Raper in person.  And, he’s extremely good-looking and tall.  And, that’s all I am authorized to say about that.

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My Favorite April Fool’s Joke of All Time

My mom would wake me up every April Fool’s Day when I was a little girl and tell me that I had lost my front teeth or my hair had turned green in my sleep, before I could even process what day it was.  Then, there was the time she started screaming “There’s a dead body in that trunk!” when we saw one of those fake Halloween arms hanging out of a car in the parking lot of the Blue Hen Mall.  I was too old to believe it, but my brother started crying hysterically.  It was pathetic.  And priceless.  Anyway, my love for messing with people is clearly hereditary.  Which means I’m a damn good April Foolser.  At least I used to be.

Freshman year in college, I had my mom believing that my sketchy back-home ex-boyfriend was coming down to Clemson and planning on proposing.  Senior year in college I convinced both of my parents I had driven into a flooded area on a road trip to Atlanta and my car began filling with water.  Hearing my dad scream, “She just f*cking ruined her car!  Cindy, she just DROWNED her car!!!” in the background while I talked to my mom was priceless.  And just 2 years ago, I had a hell of a lotta’ folks convinced I was engaged just by changing my status and profile pic on Facebook.

But, sophomore year took the cake.

On spring break in Key West that year, I met a local boy named Jay and I was soooo in looooooove.  Can’t you tell?

We kept in touch after that and even made plans for me to come visit again after the school year ended (which I did).  My mom knew I was smitten with this kid, so once April Fool’s rolled around, I knew I had to get her.  I decided to have her believe I had basically quit school, packed my shit up and driven down to Key West to be with Jay.

I ignored my mom’s calls on my cell phone for a couple days in hopes she would call the apartment phone (yes, we had a landline) on April Fool’s.  And, she did.  Stephanie answered and when my mom asked for me, she pretended to cover up the earpiece and whispered to Bridget, “It’s Ashley’s mom; what should we do?!”  They left her hanging on the line like that for a bit, then Bridget took over.

“Cindy, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Ashley went down to Key West to be with Jay.  She came into my room last night at 2 a.m. and said she just needed to be with him.  Her car was filled with clothes and everything else she could fit in there.”

My mom freaked, of course.  Who knows exactly what she said while I was sitting there on the couch, trying to stifle my hysterics.  Bridget continued.

“We don’t know what to do.  She has, like, 3 exams this week, too.”

That did it.  Skipping exams.  We knew it would put Cindy over the edge.  She hung up with Bridget and sprung into action.  Meanwhile, I was getting a play-by-play via Instant Message from my brother who was at home.

“Ashley, mom is freaking out.  She is running around the house.  Ohmygod, wait a minute.  She’s calling Aunt Penny.”

F*ck.  She was calling my aunt in Miami to see if she knew anything.  This….was going too far.  Exactly as it should have.

I let her freak for what I want to say was a couple hours, but it was probably only another 30 minutes.  My aunt called me after my mom called her and I had to tell her the truth (she’s way too sweet to prank), so I figured I may as well give it up before I put my mom in an early grave.

But, honestly, that’s what she gets for all those tricks she played on us as kids.  Justice…was served.

Rim Job

I know this may come as a shock because of my prim-and-proper, squeaky-clean image, but….I kinda’ used to be a thug.  In college, I listened to mostly rap and hip-hop music, owned a powder blue Baby Phat velour jumpsuit, and used to drop it like it was hot at frat parties and at Overtime in Clemson like no other white girl could.  I also interned at Hot 98.1, and they called me A-Dizzle.  Although, that was only one time, and I think it was just a joke.  But, anyway…

You can imagine my excitement when my brother “outgrew” his almost-brand-new Nissan Xterra during my senior year of college and my parents decided to give it to me and get him an SUV that could accommodate his oversized frame.  The best part:  the Xterra was sitting on shiny, 20-inch rims and had 2 12-inch subwoofers in the back.  That’s right: I was rolling back down to Clemson for my last semester in a ride that could compete with the football players’.  In fact, a couple football player friends even stopped by our crib, er, apartment and gave it their seals of approval.  Gangsta.

But, let’s back up.  No offense to my brother, but who puts anything larger than a 16-inch rim on a Nissan Xterra?  It’s embarrassing, really.  If you’re going to bling out your truck, get an Escalade.  A Tahoe.  A Durango.  But, not a whip that is made for off-roading instead of blunt cruisin’.

Regardless, I still loved it so I was devastated when, a few months into the car exchange, my brother decided he wanted his shit back!  My dad “just so happened” to be driving through South Carolina for something (don’t even ask) so he decided to casually swing through Clemson and snag the goods.  I came home from school with Bridget and there was my dad.  In the parking lot of my apartment.  Taking off the rims and taking out the subwoofers.  In a one-piece mechanic’s jumpsuit.  Talk about…a car jacking.

I’m sorry, but if that happened in Compton instead of Clemson, he would have gotten arrested.  It just did not look good.

So, I was back to the factory rims and sans speakers.  It just wasn’t the same riding Downtown on Thursday night in a regular ol’ silver Xterra with nothing tricked out except for the tint.

Why am I telling you this?  Because I saw an Xterra sitting on what looked like 22s riding down Piedmont the other day.  Although I realized how ridiculous it looked, I felt a wave of nostalgia.  I wanted my 20s back.  I wanted those speakers back.  So what if I’m bumping Mumford and Sons instead of Yin Yang Twins these days?

I was stopped at a light next to the Xterra (which was HUNTER GREEN, mind you), and slyly (or what I thought was slyly) brought out my phone to snap a mobile upload.

And….BUSTED!  The driver caught me.  And so did his passenger, whose seat was so far back, he was basically looking at me from the backseat window.

“You like dem rims?!” he yelled to me.

Mother. F*ck.  I’m trying to get a picture of this dude’s car because it is just so ridiculous that he has 22s on a hunter green Xterra and now he thinks I’m admiring his ride.

“Yeah!” I yelled back.  And, then, because I couldn’t control myself: “I used to have some myself!”

Oh, yes…I did.

With that, he rode off and I was so flustered, I could barely snap a photo in time.  This is all I got.

Alright, so maybe I do like dem rims just a little bit.

The Big Finish

Warning: this post may not be funny.  There was really nothing funny about running 13.1 miles yesterday, except for the fact that I actually did it in a decent time without any training.  But, not sure “funny” is the right word for that (click here for the background on the race decision).  Oh, but there was a spectator on the route with a poster that said, “The results are on the Internet FOREVER!” so that was kinda’ funny. Would have been better if she’d said “World Wide Web” though.

Anyway, I did it.  In 2 hours, 11 minutes and 52 seconds, which averages out to a little more than 10 minutes per mile.  I don’t know if it was the fact that I had zero expectations for it or just randomly happen to be in shape or what, but it was…ok, I’m just going to say it….pretty easy.  Well, until about mile 11 when my knees just totally broke down and I had to slow it down for the last 2 miles.  If those f*ckers would have stayed pain-free, I would have beaten my time from 2 years ago (2:06), but I digress.

Not to get all inspirational, but if you’re thinking you could never do a half-marathon, or full marathon, or 5K or WHATEVER, I want to say that you can (unless you have physical limitations).  I am still slightly in shock at what I was able to do yesterday, but when the moment comes, you just find the inner strength somehow.

Ew, I just said “inner strength.”  That’s enough inspirational talk outta me.

I celebrated at Rosebud afterward, which was just like any other Sunday.  Except I wore a medal (for a photo op), and maybe consumed just a tad more champagne than usual.  This is what I like to call the “totally-exhausted-slightly-scary-no-makeup-hurry-up-and-take-the-picture-now” look.  Also known as: sexy.

So, until the next race, er, blog post…..CHEERS!