February 26, 2008

39 Candles

Today I turn 39!
My mom turned 39 like 8 times when I was growing up.
I told someone today that I am 25 again.
But I am kind of okay with 39. It has taken these months prior to prepare for the way it would fit me.
And it fits just fine, I must say.

What a strange sensation to feel like I am 18 and nothing has changed in my life or my personality while at the same time feeling wiser and sexier than ever.

An even stranger sensation is to tear into the Death-by-chocolate cake someone made me and have frosting all over my face like a 5 year old.

Stranger, I am sure for those who have to look at me and wonder if I am a retarded genius.

Stranger even still for me that I wrote the words "retarded genius" instead of idiot savant.

Which is what I meant.
But the former sounded funnier.

"I am gonna drink Retardy like it's my birthday"

I think I may be the only one that finds that to be hilarious.
Just like fart machines.
I love me some fart machines.

I realized at Mads's bridal shower this weekend that I may be the only one who does.
But don't worry, I didn't actually BRING a fart machine to Mads's bridal shower.
It got discussed is all.
And I found out that I have the kind of humor that straddles the boundaries from brilliant to banal.
Witty to Juvenile
Smart to stoopid

It's what keeps me young at heart.
That and 3-Omega Fish oil.
And Botox.
And my deal with the devil.
Where do you think I got the fart machine from?

Posted by Kirsten at 11:16 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 21, 2008

Back to Life

As I left my apartment this morning, I realized that my place looks like a depressed person lives there.
A depressed old person.
Like our neighbor growing up who lived next door. She was a widow and had a little yappy dog named Trinket. She always watched game shows and had her front door open so you could hear it through the screen. And there were tissues everywhere. And it smelled weird in there.
But she always bought girl scout cookies from us so I liked her for the most part.

Anyway, my place had that same sort of sadness about it.

And I thought, I am almost at the place where I feel like cleaning it.


I am still recovering from the flu that kicked my ass or as I like to call it...Being dead for a week.

I started to show signs of life later last weekend.

On Sunday, I had plans to attend a tea at my friend Christy's with our mutual friend Christine.
I wasn't sure I would have the energy since the attempt the day before to walk down to the bank had proved to be a flawed adventure to say the least.
It took all the energy I had to walk back home (and we are talking maybe a few blocks) without crumbling into a heap next to the gutter.
So I wasn't sure I would be in any shape to drive out to Encino.

Turns out that it was just what I needed.

I picked up Christine and off we went to Christy's home where she had a beautiful tea table waiting for us with yummy sandwiches and treats.
We were there from noon - 6pm.
We laughed a lot and had a great time telling stories about life in the comedy trenches.

The next day, Mads and I went shopping. And by shopping, I mean, Mads helped me find sale items while she bought nothing. And everything fit me.
Of course I did my usual crack myself up routine in the dressing room when certain outfits were less than flattering.
Mads laughed. And then I laughed harder, leading to that post-illness cough extravaganza that can only be likened to coughing up an unborn child.

As for the rest of the week, I am not sure where it went.
Which is why when I surveyed my apartment this morning, I wondered what I have been doing with my time now that I am entering the land of the living.

All I know is that I had better start to get a fire under my butt soon.
My life is in full throttle at the moment: Mads's bridal shower, Mads's bachelorette party, my birthday, storytelling night, Sarah's possible visit to LA, and then....the topper of 'em all...I am going to Europe at the end of March!

So yeah, if you can help me find the matches to light said fire under my butt, I would appreciate it. I think they may be under that pile of laundry next to the trash can full of tissues.

At least they are finally IN the trash can.

Posted by Kirsten at 10:04 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 16, 2008


Jazzy had tickets to see Eels play the first show of their tour at the Galaxy in Orange County on Valentine's Day. She invited me to go.

I have been sick all week so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to go in the midst of feeling like poop. But I don't regret the choice.

Jazzy picked me up and we made a sluggish commute down to Costa Mesa.

The Galaxy is a venue that also gives you the option to eat dinner while watching the show.

We got pretty good seats even without a reservation.

But what we didn't know was that our seats guaranteed us the strangest waiter I have ever had wait on me.

He was quite thin, with long, stringy hair that he was very proud of. He had a little wispy mustache and had big brown eyes. Like he had probably been an adorable baby but was a very creepy man. When he took our order, he kept making a certain face like Zoolander, whenever he thought he told us something important.

I asked for rice with my dish since this was day one of not being on the diet. I was going to have carbs.

"And for the salad dressing...ranch?" he said
"Do you have Italian?" I asked
"Um no...just ranch and oil and vinegar." [Zoolander face]
"I will have oil and vinegar on the side"
"You got it" [Zoolander face and thumbs up]
As he is taking Jazzy's order, I notice his outfit has little metal studs all over the black shirt. He also wears a black band around his arm that he has shoved 10 pens or so under the band.

Jazzy: "What is the special like"
Him: "It's good. Hearty. Good"
Jazzy: "And it comes with cous cous?"
Him: "Yeah, so you want rice with that?"
Jazzy: "Well, maybe a baked potato since cous cous is kind of like rice."
Him: "Right on...so rice?"
Jazzy: "baked potato."
Him: "And no cous cous?"
Jazzy: "It comes with cous cous, right?"
Him: "Totally" [Zoolander face]
Jazzy: "cous cous and baked potato"
Him: "Right on"

He forgot the oil and vinegar.
Then when he brought it, realized it was out of oil.

Jazzy to me: "I think they need to invest in more than one salad dressing. I guess the people of Costa Mesa are okay with just ranch"
Me: "Well they have oil and vinegar"
Jazzy: "well," she looks at the empty bottle of oil, "that is debatable"

He then would walk by us and literally bounce off the wall. Like he held onto a railing and thrust himself so that his feet bounced off the wall way up high.

I whispered to Jazzy, "our waiter is a ninja"

He pretended like he always did this and looks at the security guard and said, "Why walk down the stairs when you can do that. Walking is so boring."
The sercurity guard looked at us and said, "he is trying to impress you."

My order came with a baked potato and no rice.
We finally got it all sorted out.

After a film about lead singer Mark's father, a world reknown scientist, Eels finally came out. They played a great show. Jazzy and I decided it was in our top 5 shows we have ever seen.

After the show, I heard people grumbling about it saying things that were less than kind like how the film was too long and how the songs were depressing for Valentine's day. My feeling is that those who were negative about it were people that may have been SRO.

When the show started, I looked at the SRO crowd and noticed a boy of about 14 standing there with his dad. He kept looking at us. I told Jazzy that this kid was looking to sit down. He kept wistfully longing for a chair.

By the end of the show, Jazzy cocked her head to show me that the boy had indeed found a seat at the empty table behind us. I can't wait to see how he will be when he is an adult. I hope his endurance gets better. He will be terrible waiting in lines at theme parks with his family if this is how he will be.

There was also a drunk couple who kept heckling the band. At one point, someone yelled at them to "GO HOME!" right when there was a pause in the music which almost made it seem like the person was yelling at the band. The drunk couple FINALLY left before the show was over by stating, "this show sucked". They were idiots. I am surprised no one clapped when they left.

Whenever the band would play a louder song, our waiter would come by and head bang next to the stage. Jazzy and I would exchange glances.

It was a strange crowd for an indie band. Some of the people seemed like I would picture the fans but others seemed pretty old. And there were a lot of kids.

When the show was almost over, I went to the restroom. When I came back, Jazzy told me that our waiter came up to her and said, "You look familiar"
"well I grew up in Costa Mesa," she said
"So did I", he said, "What is your name?"
"No, that's not it. Wanna do a shot?"
"Um, no thanks"
And then he walked away.

He was such a trip.

For not having a Valentine, it was the perfect Valentine's day.
Except for being sick.
Which I still am.

But I will get better.

I wish I could say the same for our poor retarded waiter friend. [Zoolander face]

Posted by Kirsten at 01:03 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 13, 2008

Hot Box

I feel like poop.
But I am back at work because the dreams I have while napping at home while I am sick don't give me the rest I desire.

But I did have one appointment yesterday that I needed to be alert for.

My therapy appointment.

One thing she mentioned is that I am finally being "seen".

Seen by my peers, by my friends, co-workers, the world.

And it reminded me of a thing that happened so long ago in Portland.

The improv troupe that I was in was rehearsing in a tiny little theater space in SE Portland.
It was hot out and there was no a/c in the place so that means it was hot in as well.

A guy in our group whom I shall call Char, suggested we take our rehearsal outside somewhere.

We all nodded and agreed. So quickly, we started to pack up our belongings and head out to the ancient church-like van that hauled us to gigs.
But this time it hauled us to a park.

About hour 2 into the outdoor rehearsal, one castmate whom I shall call Toby because that is his name, whispered to me..."Where is Char?"

I thought for a moment that maybe Char was in the bathroom. Toby said, "I noticed that for the past 20 minutes, he hasn't been in one single game."

We told the artistic director.

And after a few minutes of scrambling around looking for him, we realized, we had locked him in the theater space. He, who had suggested we go outside, was locked inside. He had a phone at his disposal. But we never got any calls.

In the van on the way back, our artistic director said, "I am just glad we didn't lock Kirsten in the space, or we would have never heard the end of it."

Ouch. What? Why me? There are at least 10 people in our troupe and I am pretty sure none of them would have taken lightly to having been locked in a theater on a hot day. Especially a group of entitled performers.

But she picked me out of the group.
And I was pissed.

When we got to the theater, Char looked pissed too.
There wasn't enough apologizing to assuage our guilt and to ease his trauma, but that didn't mean we didn't try.
He finally forgave us after a few hours.
And he seemed to put it behind him and not carry a grudge about it.
Which was really cool on his part.

But then I got to thinking about it. Char's easy going nature about forgiving us is exactly the kind of nature of a guy you WOULD accidentally lock in a theater and then take 2 more hours realizing is gone.
He is quiet, doesn't fog a mirror and quite frankly, blends into his surroundings, which makes him good at traveling the world unnoticed. But not good at standing out in a crowd.

I am completely the opposite. I make noise. I demand to be heard. And I think, although I am not too sure, but I think that had I been locked in the theater, someone would have noticed I was missing pretty soon into the outdoor rehearsal, simply due to a decrease in noise level. Plus, you can bet that I would have been using that phone to call everyone I knew to get me out of there.

When my therapist suggested that I am at a point where I am finally being seen, I realized that maybe I always have been seen. Which is why even in the artistic director's pissy way of picking on me was a way to show that I am not one you might forget (for better or worse).

But I guess the difference between then and now is...
I was fighting to be heard back then.
Even though I didn't need to be.
And now...
the fighting doesn't feel so necessary.

Unless I get accidentally locked into a theater, a meat locker or a trunk of a car.
Then I would find it most necessary. You can bet your hats on that.

Posted by Kirsten at 10:34 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 12, 2008

tickle tickle in my throat

"I never get sick!"
That used to be something I always said.
But in the past 5 years, after having several sick days that were NOT used for mental health days but were in fact actual days I thought I was going to die from some kind of crud or another, I realized...that statment probably was starting to come out as a boldfaced lie.

But when I started this diet on Jan 1, I started getting more sleep and taking my vitamins...you know...being a model citizen. I was living like a health magazine version of myself. And while those around me fell to this ailment and that "thing that is going around"...I did not. I was immune.

My stress level at work has been lessened and I am constantly laughing and feeling generally great.

I was just about to start saying, "I haven't been getting sick lately"

But then today, I came back from lunch and felt a little familiar horrid tickle in my throat.
And my head felt like lead.

Uh oh.

So I left work early.
And am hoping that I don't have to change that newer statement into something more like..."yeah, I got sick"

Fingers crossed.
I will sleep this puppy off and will be back to my bubbly self tomorrow.

And if not tomorrow...then the day after tomorrow...but not later.

That is the statement I feel confident standing behind.

Standing, that is...unless you see me collapsed on the floor in the fetal position.

Oh my...let's hope not.

Here's to my health!

Posted by Kirsten at 12:15 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 09, 2008

Vince Vaughn's long titled movie

Nat asked me earlier in the week if I wanted to go with her to a screening of the new Vince Vaughn film where he travels for 30 days across the country with comics to put on live shows.

I really liked it.

I met Nat at the theater at the Westside Pavillion. I hadn't been to the new theater which is pretty swanky.
I walked up to meet her in line and she was on the phone. The older asian guy next to her looked up at me and asked if I was a comic. I told him yeah.
He asked where I perform. I told him I don't do stand-up anymore but I do comedic monologues.
I asked if he asked because he thought he recognized me or if he thought I looked like a person who would be funny. That question cracked me up.
I didn't really trust his question. It seemed more like a pick-up line but I thought...oh kirsten don't be so cynical...maybe he HAS seen you perform.

He, himself, is a comic and has been one for 18 years and has his name up at the Comedy Store and the Improv.

I asked his name and he told me. Didn't ring a bell. But neither did his cowboy boots or mullet. He was a strange one all the way around.

Nat got off the phone and we started talking.
Apparently, before I got there, he asked her if SHE was a comic.

Aha...it WAS a line.

Once we were in the theater, we passed him sitting next to a woman who was behind us in line.
He asked her "Are you a writer?"
It's good to mix it up a bit. Don't be predictable. Nat and I started laughing as we overheard that.

Back to the film though...I really liked it. The comics were funny and I love documentaries anyway, so it was a fun ride. It was a little long. By the end, I wondered if perhaps, I hadn't been on the road with them for 30 days.

Nat and I parted after the film and I was left with that warm feeling you have when you see a film that brings a little levity to your mood.

And even though the Asian,cowboy-boot-toting, mullet hairdid comic did not bring that levity to my mood.

The film totally did.

Posted by Kirsten at 02:47 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

In Lieu of Chilling

After a kind of stressful week at work, I quickly started drawing mental lines through the mental lists I was keeping in my head of things I wanted to do after work on Friday. I was feeling a little worn down and the only thing that stayed on the list was go to the store and then chill at home.

On the way home from Target, I get a call from Mads.

She too had had a hard week and a particularly hard day and wondered what I was doing.

Out of the blue, knowing she could use this kind of thing, I suggested going to a party at MOCA for MOCA members. Shepard Fairy was among the djs and they were opening up their collection for members with the likes of Warhol and Pollock among others.

She said yes and came and picked me up.

We both were still dressed with the clothing that had been our armor throughout the day. We definitely weren't dressed to go out and party. But with a positive attitude as your best accessory, anything is possible.

Mads and I have a history of doing things on the fly that end up being awesome. I knew that this would be one of those nights. And anyway, having lived in LA long enough, you dress in such a way that works from morning to night because truth is...you really never know what opportunities can present themselves to you in a day. And you want to be ready. Which, for the most part, we were.

We went to El Compadre on Sunset. After getting into it with the valet who I think was totally off his meds or part of an asshole-work program, we went inside for dinner.

The vodka was strong and our conversation was lively. The party at MOCA was going until 11pm. It was now 10pm.

After a brief debate of whether it was too late to try and go, we decided to risk it.

Driving into downtown, the clear weather made the lights on the buildings twinkle. It was a superb evening. Not too cold, not too warm. I told Mads it would be 80 degrees this weekend. She looked at me and said, "I don't even know what to do with 80 degrees. It has been sooo cold".

It definitely requires a shift in thinking with these kind of weather changes.

Mads found a place on the street (she has strong good parking karma).
The party at MOCA was still going strong.

We saw Adrian Grenier from Entourage. You couldn't miss those eyes. But he looked sort of homeless. He was wearing a shirt with intentional holes all over it. Mads said, "I think he is on something. He looked us very strangely...like we each had two heads or something". He definitely was on something. He was very mellow and manic at the same time.

We got our drinks and enjoyed the music and looked at the skyscrapers above us.

At 10:30, we decided to try and see the exhibit.

It was a blast. Some of it I loved loved loved. Other stuff I totally made fun of (metal on the ground isn't art). In fact, at one point I pointed to a metal cover of an outlet on the ground and yelled "Art!". Mads laughed. No one else did. Feh! Mads said, "as my parents like to call it..the emperor's new clothes". I laughed and said as I pointed to a "painting" of half blue and half yellow, "or as I like to call it...part of the primary colors I learned about in Kindergarten".
If it sounds like we don't appreciate art, I want to clarify. I love modern art. Not all of it. But a lot of it. That's why I am a member of MOCA. But because I truly am moved by some art, makes it clear to me how other art feels so serious about itself. And with the time constraint upon us an the vodka in me, I didn't have time to waste ohhing and ahhhing about something that looks like an empty frame that needed a picture.

At 11:00 pm, it was almost like the guards had been camouflaging themselves in the art, because they came out of nowhere to announce it was time to leave. And they weren't messing around.

Mads and I still tried to look at other art and ignore this one guy. The guard yelled, "MA'AM! This way to the exit! MAAAAAAA'AAAAAAAAM!"
Mads and I giggled as we turned away.
"I wonder if he would have shot at us had I continued towards the painting" I snickered.

The party was still going on outside. We started to see the inside guards making their way to the patio to do another angry sweep of the grounds. No one wanted to leave.

Could have been the beautiful evening, or the good music being played.

Imagining the guards starting to form an arm chain to physically sweep us out, Mads and I headed out.

As she dropped me off at home, I mentally crossed off a new item on my mental list...Have spontaneous fun.

I must remember to plan that for the next list.

Posted by Kirsten at 02:30 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 07, 2008

To Laugh and Die in LA

I love stuff that is funny.
I like to think I am funny.
And I have funny friends.
Because I love to laugh.
Laugh hard.
I laugh loudly. And pretty often.
But the laugh that truly lives within me is something much bigger than that.
What I am talking about is that kind of laugh the rumbles the tables.

So I keep it contained.

Until Monday night.

I went with Penny to Largo to see Tig perform comedy with some of her funny friends.

Tig Notaro is funny. I have never actually caught her act before.
I have seen her interviewed, seen her read a personal essay, heard her on the radio, seen her acting, so I already knew she was hilarious.

But I had never really caught her act before Monday.
And no surprise there...her act is hilarious.
Because she is.

As is Matt Walsh (from Upright Citizens Brigade) who was up there on stage with her doing a kind of new format/interview style stand up comedy show.

I held in the guffaw that wanted to come out. Do you know how hard it is to laugh loudly and STILL STILL be attempting to hold in more?
If the laugh had come out, it would have been loud enough for ships to come into port. Yes, as loud as that. No lie.

The show opened with the comic musical stylings of Don't Stop Or We'll Die.
Funny...but more surprising to me was that I really really liked the music.

Tig and Matt's riffing with other comics brought out the need to guffaw again. But this time...I honestly thought I was going to have a heart attack.
That would so put a damper on the evening.
What's a girl to do?
Laugh like a crazy loud horn and risk being shunned from the fellow audience members?
I rode out the potential heart ailment and tried to let the laughter fly as much as I could within the bounds of social propriety.

Whew...disaster averted.

Dave Hill came next. He is awesome! I can't really put into words what he is about or how much of what we are seeing is his own personality or his stage persona but I truly enjoyed myself while he read a diary entry about an elephant in some town in India (I think) called Osama Bin Laden.

The last group was Nick Kroll and John Mulaney doing their "OH Hello" guy characters. My cheeks were in so much pain from being in a perma-smile all evening.
The laughter had found its groove and I was no longer in danger of needing medical attention.

Excellent show. For $5.00, you can't beat that in LA.
I think Tig might perform at Largo every month. You should check it out.
And if you hear a laugh that seems very uncomfortable to human ears...
just stop by my table and say hello.

Posted by Kirsten at 04:33 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 06, 2008

Peter, give it back to her

I have written before about strange calls I get.
Wrong numbers that are particularly aggro.
In Portland, I had some girl call me all the time and tell me that even though she had the wrong number, that she hated hearing my voice.
Um...stop calling me then.
She called me Hoochie Mama and would end every vm with, "Bye Bitch"

Since I have been in LA, I have had the same number for the past 7 years.
I still get women calling in the middle of the night asking to speak to the man I stole. Really? I stole a man? Can you tell me where I put him? I need some shelves put up.

And sometimes an old lady calls waiting for a ride from someone named Kevin.

But last night at 1:48am, I got another 2 voice mails from a woman with an African accent. Maybe Ugandan. I am not sure. But she sounded like people in movies who have Ugandan accents. Maybe Tanzanian. For sure, it isn't Kenyan. You just know these things.

"Hey Peter...yes you...I need my cell phone" [click, hang up]

2nd call immediately after first call [still 1:48am]

"yes you are trying to hide
you are trying to do whatever you want to
Peter, I am not warning you
I need my cell phone because you beg and say you are going to program it
Please, give me my cell phone

Peter....[and then she goes into a 2 minute rant in some Ugandan] I need it...please...[click]"

Why does she need it so badly? The phone she was using was working fine. Fine enough to call me in the middle of the flippin night.
But maybe, had she had her cell phone...she would have had the correct number for Peter.

That Peter...he is always doing things like hiding cell phones from Ugandan/Tanzanian women.
You can't change him.
Accept it and move on.
But more important...stop calling me at 1:48am!

Posted by Kirsten at 05:32 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 03, 2008

3 is a magic number

The most used line of the evening last night was, "This is sooo going in the blog".
Except so many wonderful things happened, funny things were said, and moments I thought I would remember all become a vague memory in the blur of a rainy sunday morning.

Whenever I go to the Otheroom in Venice, I always have a good time.

January was my stay-in month. I slept, worked out, dieted and saved money.

February is my month to come out of my cocoon a bit.

I met up with Zappy and Jazzy around 9pm.
We all had various levels of pain from our various individual trips to the gym Saturday.
I was just happy to have been up and about yesterday prior to 3pm as has been the case for the past month on the weekends.

We first went to a sushi place on Abbott Kinney where the conversation went something like this:
Me: [something about Leap Year babies]
Zappy: "That has to suck."
Me: "I am celebrating my birthday on a different day than my actual birthday. I think that is what Leap Year babies do. It's fine."
Zappy: "That is just what they tell themselves to make it seem okay. Just like when people get bird shit all over them, they say it's good luck."
Jazzy: [laughing]
Me: "I don't think Leap Year babies are the same as people who get pooped on.
Zappy: "Yes. They are. Okay, fine. They are like people with Christmas birthdays. Those are the worst."
Me: "I think having a 9/11 birthday is probably the worst."
Zappy: "In 40 years a 9/11 birthday will be like a Pearl Harbor birthday. People won't think it's that bad. Christmas birthdays and Leap Year birthdays will always be bad."
Jazzy: "Oh THAT should go in the blog"

Our waitress was at first curious of our plans as to what we were doing afterwards since we continued to ask just how much garlic was in everything. She was like, what ARE you guys planning to do after this?
She said she was going to live vicariously through us as we headed over to the Otheroom.

There was a line to get in. We almost copped a kind of entitled attitude. Not the kind where you think you should already be in. But more the kind of attitude where you think, "I don't need to be in a place where there is a line to get in." Like, it's not that great inside.
But Jazzy tried to make light of it by saying, "I swear, the people inside look happier."

I focused on the people in line with us. Some were wearing glow sticks around their necks.

Zappy: "What crowd is this?"
Me: "Yeah, I know...it's very Knott's Berry Farm."
All of us: [acknowledged laughter at my spot-on assessment]
Me: [in my head] I am so funny...AND perceptive!

It was a great night of mingling with groups of people (who ended up NOT being Knott's Berry Farm-esque, than god). We were a group of 3 women which in my past has always been a terrible number to go out in. Too intimidating for people to walk up to and too small in case 2 of you start talking...leaving #3 sort of out of the loop.
But last night 3 was a magic number. And by magic, I mean sometimes good magic and sometimes bad magic...like sometimes Houdini and then sometimes Criss Angel or David Blaine.

We heard a ton of lines. A ton of compliments. We dished them out too. Lines and compliments.

At one point, I was talking to a guy who looked like John Denver who was from Idaho. He was visiting his friends one of who on separate occasions grabbed each of our asses.

John Denver (Mark) had started a film program at U of W and had written several screenplays. He reminded me of Farkel...a guy I went out with a few years ago. We had a really cool conversation.

I told Zappy later about it.
Zappy: "You were with the coolest guy all evening"
Me: "John Denver? He was cool. But he was just visiting. Plus, he told me that he can be without the kind of social stimulation for months that we couldn't get by without for a weekend"
Zappy: "But in 30 years, that will be cool when your relationship is still going strong. He was shy and smart and interesting. You should have given him your number."
Me: "I don't know. He is staying with 'grab our asses' guy"
Zappy: "You should have given him your number"
Me: "I don't know...he didn't ask for it and he wasn't really my type. But he was nice. Just a little too laid back for me. His family is really wealthy, so he doesn't have to work."
Zappy: "You should have given him MY number."

That Zappy always cracks me up.

We actually stayed until closing time. The lights came on. I wondered how my make-up was holding up. We all looked pretty good in the harsh light of "get out".
Zappy got a guy's card so that she can email him her food blog when she finally creates it.
Jazzy gave her number to a guy from Mississippi.
In the car, Zappy tried to wow us by spelling out Mississippi.
Then Jazzy and I at the same time sang:
"M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-hump back-hump back-I"

Zappy looked at us with shock, confusion and a little disgust (read: envy).

Jazzy: "That was cool what just happened."
Me: "Totally"

Then we did it again.

Zappy: "You guys are weird. You guys from out here. I just know how to spell it...like normal people do."

Then I wowed them by spelling Connecticut and Czechoslovakia really fast.
Jazzy supported me with a: "wow, very impressive" and Zappy hurumphed.

"I can spell Mississippi" she said again.

It was the kind of "going out" evening that you think will happen when you go out but usually doesn't. Equal attention to all the parties in your group. Lively conversation. Some cute boys, some not cute but interesting. An Asshole, A Gentleman, Those who fall somewhere in between.

A drunk guy came up to us several times. He was alone. He bumped into me at one point and overheard me say, "Jesus...do I have a target on my back?" since it was like the hundreth time I was banged into.

John Denver told him..."Hey man....don't bump her."
Drunk guy didn't even know he had and started a conversation with us. A not inspired conversation that began with "hey"

Later in the evening, he talked to Zappy.
And even later, he talked to Jazzy.

Drunk Guy: "How come you girls haven't hooked up yet?"
Jazzy: "You mean, with each other?" and then she turned and walked away, leaving me to deal with the result of that.
Drunk Guy: "Are you all attracted to each other?"
Me: "Sure...but not in THAT way."

He looked disappointed as drunk men who tell you how big their dicks are (which he did to Jazzy) are wont to do when they see a moment of girl on girl on girl action fantasy slip away as fast as it was suggested.

I am not into threesomes. But last night...3 definitely was the magic number for a good time out with friends starting my social month of fun.

Incidentally, Drunk Guy went home alone.

* Update - Drunk Guy actually left with a woman. He might have even arrived there with her. Both Zappy and Jazzy clued me in. Zappy said that she saw him making out with a woman and was like, "I have got to see the kind of woman that would kiss that thing." She told me there is not enough desperation in the world to kiss a guy like that.

I think there might not be enough soap in the world to burn my eyes with to get that visual out of my head.

So...incidentally, Drunk Guy went home with someone...
THAT is the true shocker of them all.

Posted by Kirsten at 11:25 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack