Accomodations available at Motel Where the Fuck Are We

I am in yet another wedding this weekend. That may have been a bit overdramatic, as this summer has actually been very wedding friendly for me, relatively speaking. In any given year since my junior year of college, I’ve receive somewhere between three and twelve wedding invitations a year and, on average, for every three I am invited to, I am in at least one. (With the exception of summer 2001, when I had the glory of spending my weekends in county lock-up; sometime, I’ll tell you all about it.) This year’s invitation count is at four thus far, with two on the way later in the year, totaling six. In accordance with the law of averages, I am in two of them.

I have bitched in the past about the financial drain of attending weddings (and the mass amounts of drugs and alcohol it takes to get through the nuptials) but even I will admit, I don’t mind them all that much. They are my friends and it is truly an honor to be recognized as an important part of their new life together. HOWEVER, for the love of Christ, can’t these weddings be in a moderately desirable locale?! At first, the hokey local scene of the rural Midwest was fun but now, it’s really getting on my nerves. In a way, it’s a lot like genital warts, at first it’s a badge of courage, but then it starts to puss and burn when you pee and c’mon, no one likes that. I just don’t understand why my intimate circle of friends can’t allow me the pleasure of a vacation destination and get married on some amazing beach or better yet, Vegas. At the very least they could make travel a little easier on me and work out something in a metropolitan area? But fuck no, not them, the selfish bastards. I mean, sure it’s ThEiR wedding, but it’s all about me. So, what amazing wedding venue has set me off - Warroad, MN. Also known as Hockeytown, USA; you know how I know that? - In a strange coincidence, a college roommate of mine was from Warroad. To reach ass-raping Canada, ooohhh… lucky me, I’m driving to Minneapolis, flying to International Falls, renting a car, and driving another 100 miles. Are you kidding me?!? Seriously.


Oh, and for the record:
Gas to/from Mpls: $200
Flight to I-Falls (as the locals call it) = $400
Car Rental = $100
Hotel = $120
Mpls Airport Parking = $60
Dress and shoes = $300
Total: $1180… not including the gift!!!

Lester? No, I'm Lesley now.

Two of us decided to go out after work on Friday. Seven hours and a dozen people later, I was finishing my last Corona in some shit-hole Tijuana hip-hop bar, gazing at the tranny’s filing into and out of the women's restroom. Seriously, what the fuck?!?

Even after a night like that, it wasn’t too much of a struggle to get out of bed the next morning because I was looking forward to the day ahead because a combination of six lakes, four people, one boat, 3 bottles of liquor, and a case of beer equals a recipe for fun. We hit the water around 11:30, took our first pull of Jaggermeister at 11:31, and cracked the first beer at 11:32. When we stopped for a bit to eat later that afternoon, I was completely tore up… all of us were. IT just kinda happened. Being at the breaking point, I decided to back off and drank modestly for the next few hours until I finally could drink no more. What a mistake. I stopped drinking which spiraled my system into complete hangover mode. By midnight, I was so hungover and dizzy, I could barely stand up without falling. When I finally crawled into bed around 1:30, it was sweet relief.

Wow, what a boring post. You would think a post starting with me being the only white person and among a sea of small-town trannies would have more zest. Oh well.

AFI: Girls Not Grey

This weekend, a friend was running his fingers through my hair when all of the sudden he just stopped and gasped. He then called over my friends; no, it wasn’t head lice – it was a grey mutherfucking hair. Ok, ok, I know it’s just one hair – one little, coarse, straggly fucking grey hair, but still. Of course, I coolly played it off like it was no big deal, but it most certainly was a big deal and I most certainly am pissed off about it. All week I have been looking in the magnified mirror and last night, while shopping for jeans at Saks, I caught myself in the cosmetics department, looking for eye cream. Eye cream - like some middle-aged woman trying to smooth away years of exposure, drinking, drugs, and shooting needles in her arm… oh wait a minute – shit. But unlike that woman, I am not middle-aged and far enough from 30 to not be looking for wrinkle cream. Did I buy some, anyway, you ask? Fuck yes, I bought some – I refuse not grow old gracefully and if I can put a couple hundred bucks into something now that will save me thousands later in peels, lasers, and cosmetic surgery, consider it done.

El Fin.

CORRECTION to the comeback post: Ok, so I was reminded of those times in college and once while overseas… ok, twice while overseas, and that other time last year… so, I must recant my statement in the last post – I said I was not a whore when, in fact, I am kinda a whore, ok a lot a whore. Whatev, at least I’m a gittin mine.

Now, where were we....
Oh yeah - two weekends ago - I, Tys, and Matt had just left the first house party.

I’m going to skip the boring details of the next two bars and fast-forward past the next 84 or so text messages because all that amounted to was me trying to pick up a couple guys Tys knew, kissing some random chick, stabbing some tipsy fat guy (the ass stepped on my foot and worse, my new shoes), and finally agreeing to go with the boys to some party over in Lincoln Park. I was assured it would be worth it… and Tys promised me drugs.

Unless you count the ‘roids he did in college, Tys is not a drug guy, doesn’t hang in drug circles, and certainly wouldn’t recognize a drug party, so when he promises drugs, I heed caution. Well, holy shit, there were drugs, lots of them. The whole scene was way abnormal, even for me. Have you ever seen that movie with a very farfetched drug scene, the one where everybody’s on something and super chic? Yeah, this was it. I’ve been to a few coke-head parties in my day, but this was indescribable, well nearly indescribable, anyway. There were chicks making out, people pretending not to notice, kids doing lines on the kitchen counter, and us looking as lost as my boyfriend at an Ani Difranco concert.

Tys’s friend’s sister quickly greeted us and to spite being a totally spoiled trust fund kid, she seemed pretty cool but it could’ve been paint talking (yes, this is a drug reference, try to keep up). Like any good host, she asked us if we wanted anything. The boys took a beer and me, well, let’s just say I had a “cocktail” and leave it at that. When I am arrested and on trial for the seventh drug related horse theft incident in more that four months, I wouldn't want you to have to lie for me under oath... and you would becuase you know that I know people, people who know bad people.

After an hour or so, or three for all I know, the fellas were ready to roll out. Naturally, when informed of their intent to leave and take me with them, I went into hysterics and began throwing beer bottles, reminding them that they were not my real Dad and I never liked kissing them that way. Fortunately for them (and everyone else, I'm sure), I was struck by a ricocheting bottle, allowing them just enough leverage to drag my ass out.

Leaving is one thing, actually getting home is another. After I forcibly made them stop at two different Vienna Beef stands for cheese fries, some bar for a sixer of Heineken Light, and three corner shops in search of one pack Orbit Sweet Mint gum, we made it home. Needless to say, I slept on the couch and by “on the couch”, I mean “with Tys’s roommate.”

I know, hardly worth the long wait, but it was only meant to be a next day continuation, not a next week thing, so back off, you vicious ingrates!!

See you soon! Love, Nicole

don't call it a comeback

If I weren't a tease, I would be a whore, and I'm a lot of things, but I ain't no whore... what I am trying to say is, "Shit, y'all, I am so sorry." I left you hanging like my boyfriend's dick on prom night. I promise not to neglect this week... and my promise is worth the phat laptop it's typed on.

Did anyone watch the Cup game last night? (And I'm talking hockey here, folks, not that faggadacio FIFA soccer crap.)

See you spoon!!

And then...

Well, well, well… quite the weekend for ‘ol Nicoley. The training/facility operation meetings last week were brutal. It’s a good think I was able to muster up the energy to get completely plastered on Thursday, Friday… and not to be outdone, Saturday.

Friday and Saturday were givens but I have to admit, Thursday was a bit of a fluke. I had forgotten it was my friend’s birthday and, until he called on the way to dinner, had no intention of going out, let alone drinking heavily. But what good are friends for if you can’t let them talk you into a night of free booze, big titties, and shuffleboard (that's right, shuffleboard, it's super gangsta right now - so hot). One drink turned into six and one shot into eight. The night was not without a price though. I bet your thinking the price was my dignity - please, I lost that the summer I did the "special" movies. I am refering to the $3 I tossed in front of some bar hooker and told her “go buy the rest of your shirt, skank.” Yeah, that spontaneous moment of genius went over really super well. Luckily (for her, mostly), I was past the verbal or physical aggressive drunk phase and well into the “just walk away laughing and let my friends cool the fire” phase. And you thought the only reason I’m single is because I’m fat.

After sporting a solid two hours of sleep (did I mention my friend lives like 4800 suburbs away) and taking in a long day at work, you would think I would be too wiped to go out that night. Call it the hair of the dog that bit you, call it gluttony, call it a drinking problem, call it penis envy, but from about 1:30 PM on, I could think of nothing better than downing a few tall glasses of beer. A work pal, my only work pal, and I went out for a few beers after work and although I managed to have a modicum of self-control, relatively speaking, I still ended up wetting myself before I got to my front door. Needless to say, the cabbie was super-pissed and to make matters worse, it ended up not being my house. Fucking cabbies.

I caught up on my sleep on Saturday and went downtown for a party I had been invited to. I didn’t really know who was all going to be there, so I called up a couple of arm candies to escort me. If I was going to be the stranger in the room, I didn’t want to be the desperate and lonely stranger. The party was a good time, but we bailed pretty early anyway and that is when you can say the night really started...

More tomorrow. I know, lame... but I do have a fucking job, people.

Czeching In

No, I haven’t finally fallen prey to my poor diet, lazy lifestyle, and irresponsible decisions…. It’s much worse that that, I’ve been in training/meetings. My company has been moving in towards a new productivity initiative and this week is a big jamboree to move us to the next level. It’s good training and great discussion, but very time consuming. Unfortunately, life doesn’t stop and I have to continue to work at catch up after a full day of training. Needless to say, this blog has not been the priority (not that it ever is, it just happens to get done). I do have some fun stories from the weekend, though, so stay with me, I’ll get there. Have a safe day!!

Daughter of the Year

I am exhausted. To my great displeasure, I have not been able to sleep the past two nights, finally coming to rest around 4:00am and 3:30am, respectively. Knocking off a solid 5 hours sleep in two days hardly makes for a productive employee, let alone a vision of happiness. Surprisingly, I haven’t really been too far on edge and crabby with others. Granted, I’m pretty much a bitch most of the time, so the variances are pretty insignificant.

Tonight, I have tentative plans for dinner and a movie (with a real live boy!) and as tired as I am, the opportunity for sex trumps the opportunity to sleep. Even if I don’t suck his dick, (and you know I will), I think the time away to let my mind de-stress will be a good thing. I know what you’re thinking – you just came off a three-day weekend… at home… with like, the greatest parents ever. But, fuck dude, remodeling that damn house of my parents has been a real bear. I actually made my Mom cry today (twice) while discussing the fucking guest bathroom. Talk about a woman who is really on edge. So, I get to add that to the 4, 812 things already racing through my mind. Sure, 4,665 of those are related to food or sex, but still.