sandwich.

so as you've probably noticed (thank you loyal blog reader, jacqueline) i haven't been posting lately. I've been traveling a lot for work and i don't really tote my laptop around. but i am looking into being able to blog off my blackberry.

on a recent trip to new york i was was approached with quite possibly the strangest simple question ever.

as i'm getting onto the plane and into the main aisle, i find my row and the elderly woman in the aisle seat kindly moves so that i can settle into my inviting window seat. people keep boarding but this woman remains standing. she turns to me only to say "i hope nobody sits here," to which i smile kindly and agree. her response? "i don't really like people... i mean you're fine but i don't like sitting by people." umm... ok well thank god you didn't get the middle seat. lucky for friendly fran nobody joins us in our row.

as you know, meals are no longer served on airlines. if you look around the cabin, you notice some people may bring a sandwich, some chips or cookies, etc. my new friend visited her local subway prior to this flight. her sandwich is nestled into the middle seat. "i brought a sandwich... i don't mind sharing if you're hungry." right... "oh, thank you but i'm ok." i decided to take out my book, nintendo ds, and ipod all at the same time in an effort to keep her from talking to me again.

as soon as the cabin begins to pressurize, she puts down her tray table and grabs her sandwich. it seems she asked for each component of her sandwich to be packed separately, including the very potent dressing. so she starts piecing together her sandwich making sure to touch the bread, cheese, turkey, lettuce, tomato, etc with her creepy, wrinkly, old lady hands. and of course she tops it off with some kind of italian vinaigrette. this smell explodes in the cabin. its in my nose, my eyes, my hair, its probably burning into my clothes. she looks very proud of herself and her new sandwich. she takes a bite... and then out of nowhere thrusts the sandwich with spittle bubbles about 2 and a half inches from my face and says "you want some??"

oh.
my.
god.

spirit.

i just came back from a mini vacation in chicago. it was great. the airline i flew on, however, was not.

spirit is the worst airline known to man. and i say this after having experienced the other worst airline known to man - air india. seriously, i don't understand how any company can be as horrific as either of these two.

spirit's $9 flights are a load of crap. you have to join some kind of spirit membership group that has a fee. thank god i didn't do that. who would fly on this shitty airline more than once? i almost don't want to submit this post as i am ashamed to ever have even flown on spirit (sorry boca).

so let's see... i am booking my ticket. flat fee, taxes... ok fair. 15 bucks for a bag? each way?? ok well its winter so i have to take a bag so i can pack sweaters. ok seat assignment... wtf? you want me to pay to pick a seat? what the hell is my ticket price for then? do i have to pay for a seatbelt too?

after i manage to go through with booking my flight they emailed me to let me know that they rescheduled my 4 pm return flight. really? how is that ok? if i wanted to leave chicago at 640 pm i would have picked the 640 pm departure. but oh wait... you only have 2 flights to ft lauderdale a day. when i call to complain about the time change i am told they can put me on the other flight (6 am) free of charge... oh wow, how generous.

but fine - i get to chicago safely-ish. i have a great 4 days and now i'm heading home. i get to the airport at 615 for a 720 flight that was delayed from 640. but i am told my bag "may not make it home with me" because i missed the luggage cut off for the flight's original departure time. after pleading with the moron at the desk i'm told that they will "try to get my bag on but it is not likely". and when i get to the gate the plane hasn't even arrived so how am i LATE for luggage?! assholes. when we do finally board i am sitting in the filthiest seat of my life. crumbled butterfingers in my chair, on the ground, in the aisle... weird 1970's child molester to my left and thumper in front of me. this guy banged his chair into my knee for the entire flight. oh and my favorite part was the very annoying man writing me notes on the vomit bag. now that's how you pick up a girl for real!

my luggage made it. my sanity did not. eff you spirit.

inspiration.

so i recently read a book called "bitter is the new black" by jen lancaster. it's bitchy and it takes place in chicago. now i know there is a god.

seriously if this is a true story i don't know how it couldn't also happen to me. this girl gets laid off (ok i can skip over that part) and is unemployed for 2 years (ill skip this too) and then gets a book deal eventually because she's a blogging genius. umm... hello out there... i am a blogging genius too! sure i haven't blogged in a few months but i am back. in fact, i might even blog a little tonight. or i might goto sleep - i'm not sure yet.

abs.

let me fill you in on a lil bit of whats happened in the past month and a half. during one of my trips to nyc, i fell. on the stairs. at the airport. (pause for laughter) 9000 people stop to watch. you know how many offer to help you up? no one but your damn self. i hobbled around nyc for a week. came back to florida to find out i had bruised bones and sprained tendons. the next 3 weeks were spent in and out of physical therapy for electro shock treatment.

today was my 2nd day back in the gym since the injury. yay me! i was able to walk/run on the treadmill for 30 minutes. yes, jamie, i did run. i am amazed too. from there i went to the mat to catch up on ab work. as im laying there a socially awkward guy also approaches the mat. he does not sit down. he begins stretching in a very overly exaggerated manner. i think he thought he was training for dodgeball in the special olympics. ok, fine. good for him.

weirdo: "so... you doing abs?" (umm... actually these are tricep excercises.)
weirdo: "you do abs every day huh?" (huh? are you still talking to me?)

to which i respond "well i am trying to get back into it, yeah." you would think he would stop talking now as he can see im short of breath.

weirdo: "so, what are you? brazilian?" (wtf buddy.)
me: "actually im from india."
weirdo: "ohhh... is that in pakistan?"
me: "umm no. india is a country."
weirdo: "right. right. yeah."
weirdo: "so... maybe we can get a drink tomorrow night?"
me: "very flattering. if i didnt already have plans with my boyfriend, id be there."
weirdo: "is he brazilian?" (dude are you a total dipshit?)

at this point i turned around. i think he walked away.

thank you, imaginary boyfriend, thank you.

beach.

i decided to go to the beach this past weekend. please dont ask me why. i have no legit answer for you and i will be forced to trout-slap you if you pester me further. first of all, it took me 45 minutes to find a parking spot. do you know i live less than 1 mile from the beach? when i finally find a goddamn spot its in a lot thats being patrolled by pigs to make sure the 1 hr limit is strictly enforced. fine. thats all i need anyway.

i manage to find a relatively empty spot. as soon as i get there i remember why i hate the beach. i spend about 20 minutes per side before i start getting dizzy. i sip some water. at this point i feel like im going to begin to dry heave. i dont understand white people. this was one of the worst beach experiences of my life.

i got home, took off my bikini and looked in the mirror. i virtually switched ethinicities. it was just too much. i hopped in the shower and slathered on exfoliator. ha! take that uv rays!

thank god i was born brown colored.

caution.

i just purchased a t3 flat iron. ooh. aah. i also just purchased about $200 worth of ojon. really, it's been a great few days of retail therapy. so last night after i tore open the box to my new pink flat iron i decided i had to straighten my hair right away. normally i would do this in my own bathroom. but, no, not last night. i decided i needed to spend over an hour in the powder room so that i could have the tv playing in the background so i could hear the mets give away a 5-2 lead in the 9th inning.

lets picture a bathroom with a glass countertop. (for those with no ability to do this, i am providing a photograph.)

about 47 minutes into the straightening process, with about 4 sections left to straighten, i place the striaghtener ever so gently on the counter. and thats when i heard it. "clink". i picked up the iron only to reveal a crack 2 inches in length.

oh. my. god.

i thought if i cleaned up the bathroom really nicely and then ran off to bed nobody would notice. i even washed my hair right away to get it back to its curly fro-like state. (as if this would somehow release me from the crime i had just commited... out damn spot...) an hour with an iron to my head... down the drain.

in the morning i went to look at the crack. it grew from 2 inches to about 12. great. how about instead of a stupid caca warning on the iron like "do not use on or near eyes"...umm, thank god for that warning, i was planning on straightening my eyelashes later... how about instead of that stupidity they put a warning like "do not place on glass" or "must be used with heat resistant mat". or better yet, why dont the asswipes at t3 provide you with a heat resistant mat when you spend between 125-250 dollars on one of their irons. how about that, huh?

stupid warning label.

park.

so its sunday... and that means that scooter gets to go to the dog park. what retard started the rumor that single people can meet other fantastic looking single people at a dog park? are you dumb? its a bunch of dogs sniffing butts and humping legs and pooing. how can you possibly find someone attractive while they are cleaning up after spike?

so as soon as i get to the park and sit down on a bench this weird guy says "hey i know you from that store"

umm... this is boca - i visit 117 stores a week. shopping is my drug and my therapy, how can you approach me with such a vague comment. so it turns out we bumped into each other at the three dog bakery when i was getting some yum yums for scooter. we talk for a bit and as soon as he finds out im 25 (he is 40) he is totally into me. eww. listen combover carl you are weirding me out - stop asking me so many personal questions. cant you tell im making the answers up? do i look like a historian? do you know i got a c in american history? i might as well have said i was a paleontologist.

as im leaving, this random "come to my van" looking guy decides to tell me im beautiful. umm, thanks buddy. i keep walking. he then tells me he likes my hair. ok. thanks. and my eyes. alright i get it. clearly you have never seen a girl before.

the dog park. its like match.com except its free.

jager.

on july 3 i was at a lovely lil place in nyc called the boat basin. aside from the table of 9 moms, 9 dads, and 9 ugly babies it was a great time. at some point in the evening chelsea and i decided to venture to the bar for some shots. we thought to start the evening out safely with soco and lime. we chased this with jameson (bad bad idea) and then onto some vodka shots and some crap called samantha jones. now i know youre probably wondering how i could be anywhere without having jager... it turns out, our bartender ebony... i would go back to this place just to be served by her - she was awesome... well ebony ruined the evening and my weekend by informing me that "jager is really bad for you girl! its like drinking gasoline and its damaging to your intestinal area or something!"

aww man!

well after some other shots that a GIRL bought me... i was def. done for the night... well the weekend. and now that i have had about 3 weeks to recover i think its time i research this whole jager situation.

after extensive research on google i have found nothing about jager and intestines. i did find a string of comments on a message board where someone said they would rather sip warm piss. thats sad. it seems the only negative aspect i could find on jager was the calorie count. 1 oz of jager has about 103 calories. goddamn. this worries me greatly. but then i remember that i have a gym membership.

viva jagermeister!

pyrotechnics.

the 4th of july is my favorite holiday. im not sure if its because i never forget the date or if its because i enjoy fireworks. it may be a combination of both. im really not sure. ill tell you what I do know though. i know i severely detest those people who encourage fireworks with cheering. this is not a sporting event, there is no cheering necessary. somebody please arrest these people. they are ruining the show. and frankly, its pissing me off.

the fireworks will not do better or score any game winning points because of a few “woooo’s” or “oh yeah’s”. you cannot sit around with some beers reminiscing about that time back in ’96 when the fireworks really lit up the sky and you really feel like your support made all the difference. the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, and March Madness i can see how a person may feel that they made an impact on how the guys performed. but fireworks? at least cheer on the poor schmo who has to light that stuff on fire. if anything, he deserves some credit.

and even if they have to cheer, why is it always that person im embarrassed to share my air with? maybe if we deprive him of some good clean air, that son of a bitch will shut the fuck up. but perhaps i am too harsh. sure he deserves air, but cant we filter it so that he only gets secondhand air? that would make me happy. im not asking for much, really.

i can see him now. actually the sneaky little bastard comes in various versions. there is the fat one. i mean, overweight, sorry. its all the same really. if your belly hangs over your jeans, you’re a fat ass. just go buy a bigger size. at least then people would say “aww, well at least he knows how to make the best of what hes got” or “at least she knows how to dress for her body type”. these are the people who can never seem to get a tan, only a sunburn. they drink natural light and actually enjoy eating barbeque. and lucky for me, they always find themselves a nice spot in front of me every bloody 4th of july. and accompanying them is usually a pair of the dirtiest little kids you have ever seen. The boy can be found stepping on lizards and the girl will most likely have some kind of a lollipop stuck in her hair. strawberry.

and just when you would think thats bad enough theres always some cocky bastard whistling and cheering with his frat buddies. these are the guys who show up with some pretty girls who all think they are entirely too fat when we all know that they have a nonexistent profile view. this type of “american” will come to the festivities in a designer t-shirt that is most likely plain white, blue jeans, and red lipstick on his cheek from one of the drunk chicks whose name he probably doesnt even care to know.

the list goes on.

this year i decided i would like to celebrate my independence day with my friends in new york city. funny how the one city that is a complete hodge podge of cultures is what many people think of as the ultimate american city. so we went to watch the yankees lose to the red sox. i even had a hot dog. oh and i was wasted. perhaps it was the liquid blinders but i am incedibly relieved to have fully avoided the aforementioned idiots this 4th of july. well except for that one guy that was cheering from the rooftop party we went to after the game... what a douche.

*sigh* god bless america...

blog.

i have not updated this blog. it seems the people are having issues with my lack of time to write on this thing. shut the hell up. write your own damn blog. i have been traveling, falling down stairs, going on shitty dates, and doing lots of random shots. so relax - i should have something posted here soon.

dots.

you know what i hate? cheaters. not the relationship kind. they are too easy to hate. i hate people who cheat at games. crosswords, video games, football – you name it.

so this one day my kid brother and i are home during the afternoon with nothing but reruns of jerry and maury when he announces we should play “dots”. you know, that game where you draw a grid of dots and then take turns connecting them to create little boxes. when you finish a box, you claim it as you own by placing your initial in it. don’t roll your eyes just yet.

my little brother... my eighteen-year-old (now almost 21) little brother... cheated at dots. who the hell cheats at dots?! and no, im not just saying it. he cheated. honestly he did. sure he claims to be skilled in the game because he used to play with his coworkers at club monaco but i figured out how he does it. what a little jerk.

he watches you. he watches how you play. where do you draw a line? whats your pattern? he is confident that there is a strategy involved in order to win this game. keep in mind we are still talking about dots.

then when he sees you struggling, he’ll offer to let you skip a turn and take two turns next time. seems innocent enough. so you stop, smile, and stupidly say “aww thanks man.” and the whole time this little freakshow has figured out some mathematical way to screw you out of boxes that belong to you. i think statistics come into play – i really dont know.

meanwhile you are grinning like a fool because you think the two turns you’re gonna get will cause you to go on a line striking frenzy. he knows this when he offers it to you. in reality your second line was meant to be his death sentence. but not anymore. all of a sudden, he’s got a hand cramp from finishing boxes. see every time you finish a box, you get to draw an additional line. if that line finishes a box, you go again. its like dominoes.

in the end he’s got more boxes than effing UPS.

stupid cheater.

chicago.

chicago... chicago... that toddling town!

i adore chicago. i lived downtown in river north. just across from the merchandise mart. down the street from the house of blues. just a few blocks from pops for champagne, water tower, and whole foods. 3 blocks from michigan. a hop, skip, and jump from nordstrom. a quick cab ride to lincoln park. a train ride from wrigley.

this town is incredible. its clean, friendly, and so much fun. its a bulls, bears, and cubs kinda town. beer gardens, alfresco brunching, and summer street fairs. its the taste of chicago, lollapalooza, and sheffield garden walk. its the frozen chicago river, the green chicago river, and the sparkley chicago river during an architecture tour. its the first snow on the el tracks in winter, the blankets of tulips in spring, north ave beach in summer, and evening strolls in fall. its the wrigley building, tribune tower, johnny hancock, and the ole sears tower too.

chicago is late night burgers at the weiner circle. its tacos at TBP2, its sangria at iberico. its specialty cupcake shops, trendy hair salons, and relaxing day spas.

its my kind of town.

laundry.

so i moved back to florida almost a year ago. but i still tell people that i "just moved back". if you don't already know, i lived in chicago for the past 2 years. really, it was only a year and a half but this is my blog and i can say what i want.

about 8 months ago i began working for a company in ft lauderdale. big girl job here i come. the problem with this whole job thing is this... when the hell do normal working people have time to get anything done? i get to work between 830 and 9 am and then i hit the gym after work til about 8 pm. home to shower and eat and check some email and then bed. if i can, i squeeze in a walk for scooter.

in the past 8 months i think my wardrobe has doubled. if not, tripled. i have no time to do any goddamn laundry so i just buy new clothes. sounds great doesnt it? its not. this just adds to the laundry that i am not doing. argh! seriously, in the movies they make dropping off and picking up your dry cleaning look so easy. i still have not figured out how people do this. what about groceries? the bank? post office?

petrol.

ive been riding on fumes for a few days now. every time i hit the the gas light i pull into a gas station and throw about 15 bucks at them. take my 4-5 gallons and get going. that holds me another day. until yesterday. do you know i paid 4.20 a gallon for gas? what a bunch of crooks. are these people on drugs? 4.20? really?

the other day i heard on y-100 that gas may reach 10 bucks in the next 2 years. no thanks. throw an extra 100 g's in my bank account and we are good to go. until then... i hope they set me up to work from home cause thats gonna be ridiculous. either that or set up a nice extra deep pillow top in my office.

whats sad is i think it will get to 5 bucks a gallon (premium of course) by 2009. i mean i think some people will be choosing between gas and food. unless this is some kind of a diet being implemented by the government i think it needs to be over and done with already.

at least there wont be as many people on the road during rush hour.

cover.

so last night was my good friend vanessa's wedding. she looked so beautiful. and her new husband, richard, just adores her. their wedding was so pretty. small and laid back with lots of jack johnson and really cute eats.

jamie was my date. surprise. i love that girl. so we goto the wedding and of course i cry. because, well, thats what i do. and after the wedding there is the reception right on the water - think wedding crashers. seriously it was so pretty. of course, we were fashionably late. and i say fashionably because jamie decided she needed different shoes for the reception. (i knew i liked her for a reason) so we pull into city place in west palm, manage to find ONE meter. we get out after my amazing 9 point turn into the spot only to find that the meter is 15 minutes only. wtf? 15 minutes? what the hell is the point of that? we hit macy's and get back to the car with 5 minutes to spare on the meter. can you believe it? this guy near the meter though waves an orange envelope my way and all im thinking is "goddamn cop bastards"... yeah - this loser had his number written on the inside. nice pick up method... stress the crap out of me with a fake ticket. that's really gonna make me want to call you.

after the reception it was only right to show jamie around palm beach so we could play "not my town". this is one of my most favorite games. doesnt matter what you do, how much you drink, who you insult, or how ridiculous you behave... cause after all - its not my town! so we goto resort, which is now called hotel bar or something. did you know that jamie is a magician when it comes to the cover charge at a lounge/bar/club? ill tell you her secret... they take your id, and then try and charge cover. this is when jamie says "oh, hmm. ok well i guess we have to go then. maybe there is an atm or something." upon hearing this, doormen at any given venue just smile and say "dont worry ladies, i got this". yeah no shit youve got this. did you really think we were going to pay 10 bucks to get into this place? this technique also worked at the blue martini. i love it. why didnt i ever think of this?

so we eventually end up at cucina. you have your fair share of sugar daddies, yuppies, and trumpettes. (a trumpette is an affluent girl or woman who doesnt need a man to pay for her things cause shes loaded but still has guys falling over themselves to pay for her drinks etc) ahh palm beach. jamie meets a cute boy. he was funny and everything too. again - we can leave him unnamed. but it starts with k and rhymes with lyle. anyway i guess by the end of the night his friends have left him (nice friends) and he needs a ride to delray. umm... i drive an audi tt. there is no room for a 3rd person, let alone a 6'3 guy. so were driving him home and he has a random outburst half way through and im not gonna lie i think he even called me a bitch. umm excuse me? we are helping you asshole! are you even kidding me right now? then the retard even left his crackberry in my car. so we went back to return it. dammit i wish i was a bigger asshole. i would have kept it and just replaced the sim card. after all the crap he was dishing out i think i kind of deserved the blackberry.

humble.

so im sifting through my messages on match and today i get this from someone who shall remain unnamed because even i am not THAT mean. sorry to disappoint.

he ends his message with the following:

PS- You are the first person who writes "I'm quite humble" and "i stand out in a crowd and am one of a kind" in the same paragraph.

its called sarcasm retard.

match.

so im new to this whole blog thing and ive been asking around for some topics. i need material people! and thats when it hit me. idea! i joined match.com the other day and in the past 4 days i have amassed 3492 views. wait - 3493. goddamn people. and do you know what these characters have to say when they send you a message?

"great eyebrows!" - umm, thanks?

"can i interest you in an older man with a private jet, secluded island, and passion for buying shiny things?" - yeah...no.

"im looking for the love of my life. i really think it could be you and this is why..." - are you kidding me right now?

umm. wow. look people, dont message me. im a jerk. im only on this thing to gather fodder for my blog. so youd think maybe the weirdo factor would shy me away from some of these people. nope. anyway tonight i went out for a mini drink with someone. oh god. here we go...

i meet this one particular wack job at mizner park in boca. first of all - you do not look like your pictures. i mean, he did but maybe a lil heavier and more forehead. please kill me. anyway the first thing i say is "umm are you ok? why are you all bugged out?" and he simply says "i didnt take my adderall today" isnt that stuff for 10 yr olds that cant sit still? this guy was wigging out. his eyes were darting all over the place and then he has the cojones to tell me that he thinks im more of a friend. babe, are you kidding right now? i have been wanting to leave since i parked my car. so we painfully sit through some small talk and the worst mojito ive ever had when i think my brain is finally falling into a coma i say "alrighty i think its time to go" to which he replies... "so i dont think ill see you again". umm no shit.

at least he paid for the drinks.

i can tell this month will be full of entertaining situations.

vino.

i was out buying some boozing supplies today (read: wine for my dad). as im walking up to the door i notice a few guys standing outside. ok whatever. i go in, find what i need, and head to the register. ps this is like the biggest liquor store i have ever seen (outside of binny's in chicago). all i could think while i was in this place is how cool it would have been in gainesville. as im paying i notice 2 of the guys from outside. they have just finished paying and are slowly getting ready to leave. we leave together.

"hey mami!"

excuse me? you are buying cheap beer, you have corn rows or corn rolls or whatever, you are chewing on a toothpick and your pants are falling off. why in gods name would you think i want to talk to you? and why would you yell at me in spanish. listen ese... we are not in mexico or cuba or someplace that serves chalupas. i am not your mami, nor will i ever be.

lightspeed.

i hate spin class. up. down. up. down. make up your goddamn mind. that class makes my knees hurt so bad i wish someone would just kick the instructor in the face so we could get out early. the instructor, by the way, looks exactly like britney spears pre-fat ugly babies. wow. sorry, but her kids are not cute. and shes always talking about keeping up your lightspeed. what the hell does that even mean? if i could travel at lightspeed i sure as shit wouldn't be in this class.

after spin class, jamie and i venture out into the weight area. you've really gotta weave your way through the steroids and fake boobs to even manage a workout. and then right when you think you can peacefully push your way through a workout some socially inept meathead has to make comments about your form and that he likes when you bend over. first of all, you look like you fell asleep in the tanning bed. get a life. none of the girls in here are interested in you. so mind your own business and leave me alone. you have too much gel in your hair for the gym and youre wearing a baby tee. get real. la fitness has more douchebags per square foot than any other gym. i wonder how high the douche factor is at an la fitness in miami. holy moses - i cant even imagine.

props.

if you saw me hopping around south beach last night you'll understand my love for props.

jamie and i arrived and headed straight to sushi samba. after a few free lychee mojitos for me and coconut mojitos for jamie - made by the greatest penelope cruz look alike bartender (merli) - we were in prime prop scouting mode. the drunk prop is always better than the sober prop. it's more random and makes a lot less sense. tonight's prop was the mini lobster claw that came with my sushi. his name is heathrow. yeah, like the airport.

jamie carefully tucked our new friend into her clutch (bad idea) and he would come out later in the night when we were making new friends or getting to know the door men at various places like the delano, cameo, mynt, and some random rooftop party. we were a hit. this was until we got out of a cab at the delano - well i got out, jamie fell out. i laughed. as she fell something popped out of her clutch and fell right into the drainage thing at the curb. holy shit. we were not concerned about it being the car keys, camera, or cell phone. it was heathrow. goddamit - we just acquired that prop. i suddenly broke out my faux british accent as a replacement for the lost lobster claw. but then i had a genius idea... "jamie you gotta put your hand down there and save him! leave no man behind!"

we saved heathrow and walked right into the delano. heathrow began making friends and combined with my accent - we were golden. why do i do this accent? i have no idea. because it makes me laugh. people are so stupid they actually believe it's real. i call it bristralian. yeah cause i'm indian, british, and i lived in australia so "it's become quite a hodge podge of an accent". oh and jamie was promoting my argentinian heritage. i am none of these things - except indian. this is great until someone challenges the authenticity of your fake accent.

affliction.

it's not so much that i'm an asshole. it's more that you're an idiot. now if you are taking that personally instead of realizing that i am referencing the general public - then yes, you are an idiot. and no i don't want to dance with you. i don't even want you to buy me champagne. get lost frodo.

i'm finally getting over this ridiculous case of the plague that i had recently acquired and so i was out last night. surprise. first of all, are you serious right now about the way some of these guys dress? listen, buddy, button up your shirt, wipe down your forehead, and get a real haircut. you wanna leave a button or two open? fine by me. but please don't leave it open to the point where i can see that you pierced your belly button cause it was cool when you went to brazil that one time. and why in god's name is your shirt starched open? cotton is not supposed to lay that way. no really - stop with the starch. and why are you so greasy? it is not 100 degrees in here. wipe your face off cause it's blinding me. you have so much gel in your hair... wait, i mean paste. you have so much paste in your hair you just robbed some poor kid of being able to make a macaroni painting in art class tomorrow. you did not grow up gotti - so seriously about a quarter size of gel in the palm of your hand will do. even the gottis don't look good with the gotti haircut. goddamn, i wish i had my camera last night. i would have had enough pictures to fuel that hot girls with douchebags website straight into 2011.

and one last thing... this new trend of the tattoo art on the designer t-shirts. huh? it was cute on that one hot guy when the trend first started but last night i think i saw every tattoo emotion possible: affliction. desire. devotion. angst. are you kidding me right now? you look like a homo - take that shit off. and you want me to dance with your sweaty ass? are you retarded? i can't stop laughing because you dance like donkey kong. lay off the juice and give your arms a rest at the gym. you probably can't even touch your shoulders. lame. i would never want to take a YMCA picture with you - you would be a shitty M.

off to south beach with jamie tonight. camera is charged and ready. let's see if we can't find some good material.