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.