Eh, I got nothin'.

Last night, a bunch of us went out to dinner for three of our friends that have birthdays in June. One of those friends (and I use the term loosely for this fuck because he's married to one of my best girlfriends) is Barney The Big Giant Fucking Stupid Ass. I have written in the past (too lazy to look those entries up and link them, just take my word for it) about what an ordeal it is to be in public places with this guy, because if he's not acting like a petulant child, he is acting like a disgusting pig. I keep meaning to write about our first camping trip with him in the mountains, but I always forget. That was when I realized what an uncouth, disgusting ass he really is. I have not been fond of him since.

So Kay, DMX, RAM, our other friend Briton, and I arrive and order drinks. Martinis for the girls (yeah, we're sophisticated like that) and beer for the guys. My Dad leans in and says that he and my Mom and going to pop for the drinks and appetizers, so we should get some more since The Fucking Pig ate the entire appetizer they ordered already.

So we all have a few drinks a piece, and ordered four or five appetizers. When the bill came, my Dad says that for their birthdays, he and my Mom are going to pay the bill. The $200 bill.(I am not bragging, but this comes into play later for when I have a fit). They couldn't stay for dinner.

We were all sitting around, and after the three birthday people opened their gifts (as a group, we usually always pitch in and get one good gift), Barney looked over his card and said to Angela, "Did Mike and Becky sign this?" Mike and Becky are my parents.

"Well, do you see their name?"

"No."

"Well, then I guess they didn't."

Then he leans in to Angela, and says to her that he and Angela gave my Mom and Dad a $50 gift certificate to some restaurant for Christmas, they could have at least pitched in twenty bucks for his gift. I don't exactly know what he leaned in for, since he said in a volume that everyone could still hear, including me.

"Hey, dumbass. Did you notice they paid the goddamned $200 bar bill? That's their gift, you stupid fuck." I probably shouldn't have said it like that, but I did. And I was not about to apologize to him for it, either. He is a fucking dumbass.

And I was cranky because I didn't feel good.

Even though I only ate about 1/3 of my chicken, and 1/3 of my ice cream, it was too much. About five minutes after my last bite, the urge to throw up all over myself came upon me. I hate hate hate throwing up. It is not anywhere near comfortable for me (not that is for anyone, but I just don't handle it well).

Angela flipped out when I called her husband a stupid fuck, so Kay decided we should probably go home. Which is just as well, since I really just wanted to die.

Kay stopped at her office on the way home, and took RAM in with her. DMX and I had a chat.

“Jesus, I am going to puke. I can’t believe how shitty I feel right now.”

“Stick your finger down your throat. It’s not like you’re not used to having something that far down your throat. At least not from what I heard.”

“Haha. Asshole.”

“Want some water? That might help.”

“No, I can’t eat or drink one more thing.”

“So, I guess you won’t be getting any action later, then.” Yeah, as if that was even an option, sick or otherwise.

“Well, I could. I just can’t swallow.”

Sometimes it occurs to me that I don’t have to say every single thing that comes to mind all the time.

But I can’t help it.

---

My sister Jackie came over this morning, and we were having a sex chat. She told me that her asshat boyfriend hasn’t been delivering the goods lately, and that she was frustrated.

So, I did my sisterly duty of informing her that she needed to get a vibrator toute de suite. She told me she could never go into a store and buy one, so I volunteered to do it for her (plus, I’ll find any excuse to go the porn store). I have no shame in such circumstances.

She was a bit traumatized by the all the different kinds of toys there are. She was looking at some items in particular, and looked at me, perplexed.

“Dude. What are these?”

“Butt plugs.”

“Huh? What do they…huh?”

“I think the name’s pretty self-explanatory. BUTT PLUG. Think about it.”

“Oh my god… how? What..? I don’t get it. Do you have one of these?”

“No.”

“Have you ever used one before?”

“Um…uh…no?”

“You’re a freak.”

---

I was reminded of a story today in which I made a complete ass out of myself in front of hundreds of people.

I know. It’s hard to believe.

A few years ago, we were in Vegas (my personal Disneyland). We always hang out downtown, because we’re hipsters like that. That, and the strip is more expensive and full of 21 year-olds. Some hotels have these massive 64 oz. plastic footballs that you can fill with beer or mixed drinks for like, ten bucks. For a lush like me, this is the deal of the century.

I was on my second football of Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. To say I was drunk would be putting it mildly. We were walking, and in what can only be attributed to my drunken stupid clumsiness, I ate shit. As in, I was fully erect (hehe…erect) and vertical one second, and then completely horizontal the next. And, what’s even better, my shirt flew up over my head when I landed.

So, there I was, in the middle of Fremont Street, on the ground, with my girls (luckily I had a cute bra on that day) on display for everyone. And, because I am a good drunk, I didn’t spill a drop of my drink. I jumped up as fast as I could, but there was this group of retard frat guys across the street, and they were all yelling crap at me.

It might have embarrassed me, but they told me I had nice boobs.

I have no idea how many people got home from their Vegas trips and went to pop in their videos and saw some drunk redhead eat shit in the background.

It’s so good to be me.

Not.