7 posts tagged “fun”
Last week I had a special little visitor. She brought me Turkish coffee and bought me about 1,000 caramel macchiatos from Starbucks, and in turn, I let her sleep on my king size Aero Bed and touch my left boob.
(It was a fair deal. Both are soft and lovely.)
The special guest would be a certain Secret Agent's BFF4L, Nadia, and all I can say is that I love her to infinity. Nadia is a fancy schmancy Anthropologist and is about 1000x smarter than I am - but I am proud to say that she is not above fart jokes, and forgave Iain when he pushed her down a flight of stairs. (Just kidding! She fell! And it wasn't a flight! It was like 4! Really, our house is safe, come visit!)
Anyway, she was in London because Very Important People wanted to meet with her about Very Important Things and I was thrilled because not only would someone FINALLY be coming to stay with us, but I would have a friend to play with for three whole days.
We giggled and swapped sex secrets and learned all about 3-ways (according to Company Magazine). We drank copious amounts of coffee and oooooo-ed and aahhhhhhh-ed over random light installations in London, and the stencil art on Leake Street that's still up from the Cans Festival.
All in all, it was a kick ass three days and I am very thankful that I had another American to be loud and crass with in small, quiet, British public places.
And who am I planning on
Yes. That's right. Scotchie poo. Where I imagine she will be waiting for me like this.
Aloha...
"Be Mine!"
"Be My Valentine!"
"Kiss Me!"
"I Got You Babe!"
Just as the thought of a white, pouffy, wedding made me want to throw myself into a pit of 100,000 burning copies of Martha Stewart: Martha's Wedding Ideas...I'm guessing you can take a wild stab at my feelings toward Valentine's Day.
I was all set to write a "All of My Hilariously Disappointing Valentine's Day Experiences" post, straight Bridget Jones style, yo...
But then I came across this tit of an article, entitled: "Why I Hate Valentine's Day: 6 ways the holiday wreaks havoc".
Before reading, I was like, "Oh awesome, this should be interesting!"...
And by about half way through, I had already broken out into hives, and was desperately searching the flat for a paper bag to breathe in.
According to this article, the "6 Reasons" that Valentine's Day is so horrible are:
1) Valentine’s Day makes people afraid to start dating someone
2) Valentine’s Day can wreak havoc for those who date around
3) Valentine’s Day can bring a couple to make-or-break status
4) Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long
5) Valentine’s Day ratchets up the pressure to have a perfect night
6) Valentine’s Day forces you to play Kreskin on the gift front
Some of these are just obvious, and very "OMG. Waaah. I'm single. My life is miserable." But JEEZUS, some of the things that were written in this article made me want to hunt down the writer and interviewees, beat them over the head with a copy of He's Just Not That In To You, and raid their homes for whatever "You Must Be In A Couple To Be Worthy Of Living & How To Make Your Crappy Relationship Work At Any Cost!" book that they're clutching to their bosom every night whilst they cry them self to sleep.
The article is just filled with the contradictions and the gaping holes that are in women's "logic" of what Valentine's Day and romance should be, and is just further proof that when it comes to VDay, MEN CAN'T FUCKING WIN.
One of the women interviewed, Heather, said:
“I hate seeing girls carrying home flowers that their boyfriends sent them, because I know that’s never me, even when I have a boyfriend—that’s just not how I am in a relationship. All of the expressions have just become formulaic—why bother if you know what’s coming?"
The writer (whom I'm so stoked to rip on I'm practically foaming with
anticipation) went on to talk about Heather's idea of Valentine' Day
and said,
"She says she’d rather her boyfriend did something nice for her unprompted than something “romantic,” just because it’s a day when he’s “supposed” to. So much focus on one little day can actually make people start to second-guess the hearts and candy they do get—is he really that into you, or did he just pick up the generic be-a-good-boyfriend package on his way home? "
Well, what I take away from this, is that maybe women don't want the typical romantic Valentine's Day bullshit gifts, but still want effort and romance. Maybe their boyfriend can tell that, and think that he'll get her something thoughtful that she'll actually use! Ya know, not just flowers that will die, chocolate that will get eaten (probably by himself), or a necklace that will get worn once every 7 months...
The author of this column wrote about friend's boyfriend who "had a knack for giving her exactly what she needed" like, for example "a toaster, a rolling pin, a hot-glue gun". That seems thoughtful isn't it? Maybe those are things she always says she wants, but will never go buy. However, apparently these gifts had "so little romantic quotient" that her friend quite frequently ended up spending VDay night "in the bathroom sobbing". Her friend's reasoning?
“I mean really, how could I not take those gifts as a sure sign that he thought of me as a pal he happens to sleep with rather than the sexy woman who rocks his world?”
For fuck sake! Seriously? Would you rather lingerie? Oh no, I imagine that would make him out to be only interested in sex, in your body, or that he wished you looked more like the girls in FHM.
What does a boyfriend/husband get the lady of his life to make her feel like she's "the sexy woman who rocks his world" without having her in the bathroom crying over a gift.
While a toaster or a hot glue gun isn't typically romantic, I can see the thought behind it. It shows that he was listening to her when she said she wanted on. That he remembered. That he wanted to her to have something she could really use! I could understand if he bought her a useful gift that she didn't actually need, but fuck! What do you women want?!!?
I loved how the writer also used women's own blind fantasies of Valentine's Day as "proof" that this holiday is bad because it "causes" couples to "make-or-break" their status. Her proof? Sophie, a lawyer in Putnam County, New York's sad little Valentine's tale.
"'I did the whole bed and breakfast suite in the country thing—very storybook,'she says. When her honey got there, he took one look at the overwhelmingly romantic (some might say stifling) set-up and decided that he really wasn’t ready to move in with her, as they had been discussing. Everything was seeming too couple-y, too fast for him. 'Lovely timing, right by the fireplace,' she recalls."
That poor girl! Just look at what that evil St.Valentine caused her boyfriend to do! Never mind that she clearly wouldn't be able to identify a red flag if it beat her over the fucking head, or that she obviously hadn't clearly gauged her boyfriend's readiness to move in correctly, OR that they obviously had communication problems...It's that Stupid Cupid's fault. This holiday is pure evil.
Just as most weddings and engagements that are fuelled purely by the Bride/Fiancée's psychotic plans and expectations
efforts; a Valentine's Day that is planned and organized only by the
female half of the relationship is, clearly, not a good sign. Take more
of the "proof" that Valentine's Day is evil, this time from another
interviewee, Suzanne, a copy editor from Boston:
Can we all pause for a moment to reflect on the aroma of bullshit that is seeping from this quote? Who the fuck spends all day to "treat" their boyfriend by making fucking HEART-SHAPED LOBSTER RAVIOLI and MOTHER FUCKING CHOCOLATE SOUFFLÉ if they're "not into" all the Valentine's Day bullshit? Are you serious? And then to go on to say that you "didn't expect anything" is fucking bullshit! She clearly didn't get flowers to TEST her boyfriend to see if he "knew or cared" about her "at all"!"One year, I decided to treat my guy, and I made a really fancy dinner—red, heart-shaped lobster ravioli, champagne, chocolate soufflé,” she says. For all her hard work, the one thing she skipped buying was flowers, assuming that her guy would at least pick those up out of instinct. “Nothing, nada,” she says. “Here I thought I really didn’t expect anything, because I’m not into that as a holiday, but I was still wondering if this guy even knew me or cared about me at all."
I can just picture her earlier that day, on the phone with him while she delicately cuts ravioli shells into little hearts telling him,
"No, really sweets, I don't want anything for Valentine's Day. I hate that stuff. Seriously, don't you worry! You know me, babe...Me? Oh, I'm not doing anything. I'm just reading a magazine!" ...Really babe, I'm not preparing Chocolate Soufflé or anything! And I'm definitely not secretly hoping you'll propose tonight or nothin'!
Perhaps the worst of all this, was when the author uses the excuse of "Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long" as one of her 6 reasons VDay sucks a big fat one.
Her proof? She once stayed with a guy who "didn’t even have a TV, for starters" but was "nice enough" and "that all my friends
thought he was way hot" because she DID NOT WANT TO BE SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY.
She said she knew their relationship was over earlier that winter, but
"obviously I wasn’t going to break things off during the holidays" and
then stayed with him until after Valentine's day.
"It would have been easier to call the relationship DOA earlier rather than stretch it out unhappily in the hopes of being coupled-up on Cupid’s special day. In my case, it seems, St. Valentine's was the patron saint of emotional inertia."
However, things start to make more sense after reading the small print at the bottom of the column. The writer of the article?
Laura Gilbert.
Laura Gilbert who was once the Senior Editor for Maxim magazine. I have no idea why she left the magazine, however, all I really found was a collection of articles she wrote for Maxim while being the Senior Editor.
Articles like: "
Take Her Home…Guaranteed!" where Gilbert gives advice to Maxim Men about how to trick a woman into having a one night stand,
Her "we" meaning just women in general. Obviously, her insight into the female psyche is uncanny."Whether or not we’ll admit it, a night of anonymous debauchery is often exactly what we want!"
Or perhaps you'll enjoy her "Sexy Coeds Confess" article where she let's Maxim readers in on how "university hotties really get down".
She's like, the nerdy looking "GV behind the curtain" who's the Queen of Female Chauvinist Pigs . Okay, maybe not the Queen...but definitely a Duchess.
So, what's my own personal take on Valentine's Day?
I used to be a Valentine's Day whore.
Prior to being with ye old idiot (aka Spencer) I had only been on one Valentine-esque date with the elf-like lead singer of my second favorite punk band at my high school.
He gave me a mixed tape, and a card, and I was like, soooo totally excited when I got home. I actually had a Valentine!
Cut to 20 minutes later when my phone rings, and it's The Punk Elf, letting me know that he got back together with his ex girlfriend, and advised me to not listen to the tape he gave me...as he had recorded San Dimas High School Footbal Rules for me, and had -so romantically- replaced the name Whitney with my name.
Awesome.
Somehow, over the years, I would manage to morph into a "bitter, single girl" every February 14th, even while I had a boyfriend. I would spend so much time fantasizing about the gifts I could receive, or what my boyfriend might have planned, that by the time the damn day actually came, anything other than a pair of glass slippers and a horse-drawn carriage would caused me to end up sobbing in the bathroom.
There is nothing wrong with wanting to be wooed, swept off your feet, or be so drunk on romance that it's a struggle to not puke on your lover.
I just think that too many women are so starved for any form of romance or happiness in love, that they use this holiday as a "sign". Like, if he can't get his shit together and be romantic enough on VALENTINE'S DAY, then he really doesn't love me.
In some cases, he won't because -you're right- he doesn't really love you.
But there's also the fact that he may really love you, and you just have your head shoved so far up Lifetime and Hallmark's ass, that you wouldn't appreciate his gifts, no matter how heartfelt or thoughtful they were.
I'm not saying that you need to settle in order to be happy...
But, at least for me, I've found that once you have the "Omg this is so great I think I'm seriously going to throw up on your shoes" love...you won't be secretly longing for gifts and heart-shaped lobster raviolis.
Iain and I are staying in. We're cooking curry, using the £14 that's left on a HMV gift card from Christmas to buy a new DVD, gettin' drunk, and maybe we'll go all the way, but we'll just leave that to drunken chance, no?
The thought of roses, or flowers, chocolate, and a candlelight table for 2 doesn't gross me out.
It's the thought of doing that stuff while every other couple in the world is, and for the same reason every one else is, just seems a bit weird.
Plus, anything that is elaborately planned out and arranged simply because of a random date on a calendar isn't nearly as romantic as going to celebrate something simply because you want to...not because it's expected.
Romance is what you make it.
The other side of this is that, when asked, "What are you doing for Valentine's Day!?!!?" you're either supposed to sob and chug wine because MY GAWD you're SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY, or squeal in delight if you have a boyfriend because your man has something super duper special and neat-o planned.
BUT, if you're one of those couples who could give a heart-shaped, organic chocolate-dipped fuck about Valentine's Day...No one believes you!
Valentine's Day isn't supposed to be evil, but over the years, I think our own romance-starved relationships have fueled the wide-spread epidemic of unrealistic expectations of what Valentine's Dya is supposed to be about.
I'm not going to let it drive me nuts or wear black and I'll even try to resist the urge to pelt every couple I see that's pretending to like one another and trying not bicker for a full 24 hours with those "Fuck You" candy hearts...
It's just a damn day.
Sure everyone is being more disgusting, and fake than usual...and it can,
understandably, rub your own unpleasant romantic situation in your
face..
.
But why not just take some personal responsibility for your life, and stop
placing blame on half naked,arrow slinging cherubs, or on clueless
boyfriends who can't read your mind and magically know that that YES YOU WOULD like him to buy you some flowers.
PLEASE do not end up crying in the bathroom tomorrow over an electric shaver your boyfriend bought you, or pointlessly slaving away over heart-shaped lobster raviolis hoping it will beguile your boyfriend into being a grateful lover, when really, romantically shaped pasta cannot, and will not ever change a miserable twat into the loving, appreciative man of your dreams.
Just say NO! to heart-shaped ravioli, this Valentine's Day....
...And just say YES! to alcohol and the possibility of going all the way.
I'm not usually such a photo whore, but some things just need sharing, posting, and voxing.
The other morning I received a lovely gift from my fabulous online lover pal LeendaDLL, who not only created this wonderful Tshirt, but was gracious enough to send a couple across the pond for me!
Thank you Leeeeeenda, and MelMega for the suggesting this brilliant idea!
Iain and my Mom teamed up to find me the glorious cupcake slippers from Old Navy. They're perfect for sliding around on hardwood floors to "Sexyback".
I have yet to take them off. I even wear them in the bath.
My sister completely spoiled me, and sent me what I like to call "Carrie Bradshaw Ruby Slippers". I would actually never spend the money or have the balls to buy these for myself, so hats off to my sister for getting me out of my cowboy boots.
These will actually match my wedding dress -which YES I will post a picture of soon- so I guess they'll my "Something New" or perhaps my "Something Shiny".
As far as my "Something Old" goes; if the gigantic zit that I begged Iain to photo shop out of the above pictures festers on my face for a couple more weeks, I suppose that will suffice...
And for the final installment of my photo whore excursion, behold the Anne Taintor-esque masterpiece that the ever handsome Iain concocted.
Once upon a time, I watched WAY too much television.
I was a big fan of Ms.Oprah Winfrey....Especially the "Real Life Horror!" shows, where some 15 year old girl gets kidnapped and lives to tell the story how she escaped.
I'd even write down the tips they'd give.
("Throw your kidnapper's car keys in a bush, then RUN!")
I've watched Rescue 911, America's Most Wanted, CSI, Law and Order: Criminal Intent and SVU. BoomTown, Alias, and The 6'clock News.
I read the "My Boyfriend Tried to Kill Me!" true life stories in Cosmopolitan and Glamor....
And when I'm walking in a dark parking lot, I even have my keys positioned in a prime stabbing position, just in case.
Self Defense? Check. Carry around Pepper Spray? Check. Saved and Forwarded "What Rapists Look For!" emails? CHECK! CHECK!
Seriously, I'm not a paranoid psychotic or anything. Just, very aware of my surroundings.
(aka: Making descriptions of everyone around me, just in case I end up being a key witness in a murder trial.)
I'm not ashamed of this because, well, I'm alive aren't I?
However, after today's events, I'm starting to think that I perhaps need to
A) Chill the fuck out.
B) Start drinking heavily. (er...CHECK!)
At Noon today someone buzzed the apartment,
"Hello?"
"Hiya...O'm from <Inaudible British Mumbo Jumbo that I couldn't understand>"
"What? Who?"
"O'm from ah <No idea what the hell he's saying>"
"WHO?"
"GAS METER!"
"Oh.."'
So I buzzed him up. The flat downstairs is for sale, I figured he had to fix something with their gas.
Then there's a knock at the door.
I panicked. I had no idea what he wanted. Who is he? What does he want? What is he here for? Why me?
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK....KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK....
"HELLO? Miss? HELLO?"
I froze. What if he was a serial killer? Murderer? Rapist? Assassin disguised as a Gas Meter Repair Man!
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK...KNOCK KNOCK
"HELLLLLO????...<Siigh>...HELLO!!!"
I didn't' know what to do? So I opened the door.
(No makeup. Bad hair. Bad breath...yeah, it's noon. What? I'm unemployed!)
"OH! Sorry. I, uh, I thought the knocking was for next door..."
"Right. I need to change the gas meter? You should have got a letter."
He's standing there in dirty, beat-up work clothes, but he has equipment with him.
Could still be a ploy...
"So you say. I didn't' get this letter supposed letter." I crossed my arms over my chest.
I can see right through you, you rapist!!!
"That's weird. You should have got a letter. .We're changing all the one's in this neighborhood. Safety issues."
He then shows me paper work, it looks legitimate, and then I notice the company's name: National Grid Reading.
The same company that sent us that UNOPENED letter that's sitting just barely of his line of sight.
"Oh. Right... Ok. Um. Come on in. I'll, uh, go look for that letter you sent...."
I rushed up the stairs trying to hide the letter, which I'm more than positive he saw.
He starts looking around the apartment for this apparent "gas meter" and I quickly slid my cell phone in my pocket (which I'm sure he saw as well.)
I watched him like a hawk. He swiftly walked past me to go into the kitchen.
You bastard. I have my eye on you. One false move and I'll fucking cut your throat. 'Gas Meter' my ass.
"Do you know if it's upstairs, or down in the basement?"
I spot a knife on the counter, and there's a frying pan on the stove still. Perfect!
"Erm, probably downstairs. I've never seen it, so I'm guessing it's down stairs."
"Okay, I'll go check it. Thanks."
Then he leaves, goes downstairs for about 10 minutes, comes back and says,
"Okay. All done. It was down in the basement. Thanks!"
And leaves.
No kidnapping, no rape, no murder.
Yeah sure I panicked and was a smidge more dramatic than I needed to..
But at least I didn't squish myself between the radiator and the couch like the cat did.
My nerves are shot though, looks like it's Vodka and Coke for lunch a bubble bath and positive thoughts for me!
Last night, I'm pretty sure I ate India.
I stuffed myself with so much korma, onion bhaji, and rice, that I think my intestines are now shaped like a Curry Take-Away sign.
I managed to waddle into bed about 1am, and we lay there like beached whales with our limbs draped over each other.
Call me crazy, or blame the red wine, but I suddenly thought it would be the perfect moment to try to teach Iain how to "Speak American".
Iain has a very lovely accent that gets me all hot and bothered no matter what he's talking about.
He could be explaining how to set up an Internet router and would just sit there flushed and panting.
However, the way I speak has become frighteningly country. I don't understand what has happened.
When I scream at strangers, I sound like I'm from Brooklyn. And when I'm just talking normal, there are distinct moments where I sound like I'm from the fucking boondocks of Tennessee.
I even consulted this test and it turns out that my accent is 67% DIXIE. Pretty sure up until now I've only ever lived in California...
Perhaps it was all that Garth Brooks and Little House on the Prairie that I was raised on. (Thanks Mom.)
But anyway.
So, I thought It'd be a fun trick if he could talk like me, and I could learn to talk like him.
So, we started out by having him repeat after me.
The "Hello"s went okay, as did the "Hi Y'all"s.
However, we ran into a bit of a problem with the letter R.
Me: "Hello. Hooow. Arrrrrre. You?"
Iain: "Hello. HoooOOooooW! Aaaaah you?"
Me: "No. ARRRRRRR. It's a rough 'r' noise, make it harsh. ARRRRRRRE!"
Iain: "Aaaaaaaaaah"
Me: "No. Harsh. ARRRRRRRRRE!!"
Iain: "Agggggggaaaaah" <spanish-esque tounge rolling>
Me:
"No! It's not Spanish! No rolling the 'r's! ARRRRRRRR!"Iain: "Arrrrrrrrrgh!"
(This then caused me to laugh so hard all that came out was Curry scented "silent laughter".)
Me: "No, not like a pirate! You sound like a british pirate faking a southern accent!!"
Iain: "Staaarrrrrrrrrrgh-bucks...Like that? How was that?"
And then we tried to work on the 'r' sound so it was less Piratey.
However, the word "Girl" ended up sounding like "Goil"....
So I gave up. (Naturally.)
Then we thought we'd try a Southern Accent because I thought it would be easier (since it comes so easily to me..).
But, it ended up with more laughter because he sounded like a gangster from Alabama.
Me: "Okay, Okay....How about New York? Like, eh....'Oi'm takin' moy DWOG for ah Wolk ta git some Cwafee!'"
Iain: "My doity doawg!"
Me: "Your DIRTY DOG? OH MY GOD! You sound like your from Chicago!!!"
I was rolling with laughter but Iain sat straight up in bed and looked at me,
"Hey! Don't tell me that I sound like I'm from Chicago! How would you feel if I told you that you sounded like you were from somewhere like....eh, like...Some place like ILLINOIS!??"
I laughed so hard I thought I was going to die. First of all, I had to explain to him that Chicago WAS in Illinois. Then I couldn't stop laughing because I didn't know he knew Illinois existed, so hearing him say it totally freaked me out.
Kinda like the time I asked him if in England the sun still set in the West.....
To which he replied, "I am so telling your Sister that you just said that."
But what can I say...We ain't got that good a skoolin' in Californya.
So, it's taken me like 8 days to recap the Great BBQ. But, alas, dear readers. It is here. Grab some popcorn, or yourself, and here we go....
Well. After my not-so-fun day of playing Domestic Wifey, I managed to destroy any traces of cat, throw away mass amounts of useless shit, and even ironed.
It was my day of Stepford, let me tell you. And by the end of it, I was ready to par-tay*.
I'm not going to give you a boring "and then" novella of the night. Just think of this as a literary montage of all the BBQ highlights o' drunken fun...So here we go.
I stood around with my friend (the hostess') friends, drinking sangria, and talking crap about the group of people standing in a private huddle on the opposite side of the lawn. They all know the Host from University, so therefore reverted back to their 20 year old selves, and could only shout things like "DUDE!" and "OI! MATE!" instead of mingling and making polite conversation.
Finally one of these Dudes comes over to get a beer, and I'm, shockingly, right next to the cooler. I stick my hand infront of his face like "hey, notice me" in a polite way and he shakes it, and introduces himself to the rest of the girls around me. He then shouts over to his other Dudes,
"Oi! Ask James 'bout the 'Circle of Trust!'"
Me: "Like Meet the Fockers? Ben Stiller?"
Dude: "Nah, like bunch o' mates stand 'round a circle and wank!"
Me: "Is there a biscuit involved in this, or are you just hanging out with your friends....beating off?"
Dude: "Nah, no biscuit. Just 'avin a wank with yer mates. To see if you trust each other enough to go through wif it."
Me:"...And you guys, " I motion to the other Dudes, "all have participated in this 'Circle of Wank'?"
(Possibly Gay) Dude: "For fuck sake! No!" He takes a swig of his beer, "Just half of us! Christ. You can't have a 'Circle of Trust' that big!"
Me: "Okay. Great. Nice to meet you."
Another one of these Dudes was a lawyer (aka Barrister, aka Solicitor) who was dressed in a plaid shirt, and a pair of brown corduroy pants, and then brown wing tips to match. Very Lawyer-esque. Except for his bright, fuchsia socks. You'd think, that if you wore such an accessory, you'd have a sense of humor to match...
Cut to me, 4 hours later, dancing in the living room yelling,
"Hey! HEY!!! Don't your SOCKS just make you wanna DANCE!?!!?" He gave me a stone cold face and said, "No. Not really." and then left. It was very Colin-Firth-as-Mark-Darcy like.
Later, I spotted a couple that I hadn't met yet. The wife was sitting in a law chair, a cup of coke in one hand,
and an entire bottle of Smirnoff Vodka in the other. I was pleased...Very pleased....
Me: "Hi I'm Cate...Nice Vodka!"
Vodka Wife: "OH CATE! It's soooo nice to meet you!! This is my other -not my better- half!"
She points to this very tall Engish man who extended his hand to me...and then proceeded to do some 1994 style 'we're homies' secret handshake. My hand just kind of stayed limp, and paralyzed. What do you do with that?
Vodka Wife: "Oh, he does that! He thinks he's a HOMEBOY! Anyway! I know, I'm sitting here with this entire thing of Vodka. But the thing is, is that I never drink! Maybe once or twice a year as a treat to my hubby. He usually drinks, and I usually drive, but NO! NOT TONIGHT SISTER!So I'm a BARRISTER!"
And then for the next 10 minutes I was fucking trapped. She rambled on, and on in this gravely, british voice, about how she's a lawyer, and did I know that British Female Lawyers wear the most lingerie out of all the other professions!???
A while later, I'm standing with the Hostess, and HomeBoy, and this very awkward, large man that he was talking to, try to engage us in conversation. Somehow, HomeBoy and Hostess vanish and I'm left talking to this very, creepy guy.
"So.......what's your name?"
And he goes on and on asking me all these questions about myself, and what I'm doing in the UK, and he keeps TOUCHING MY ARM as he talks at me. I'm thoroughly creeped out, and when the Boy shows up, I quicky run away.
Later, talk starts rising about the Big Awkward Man. Who is? Who's friend is he? What's his deal?
We're all trying to figure this out in the Kitchen, and he suddenly comes down the stairs from the bathroom. I scurry out of his way, and he was PLENTY of wide, open space to get by me.
HOWEVER! He still felt the need to put both hands on my hips as he walked by. I FLIP out,
'There's NO NEED FOR YOU TO TOUCH ME LIKE THAT! DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!!'
Then, within the next 10 minutes...He's gone. He was with 2 other people, and they just suddenly slipped out...
And NO ONE knew who they were! They were fucking Party Crashers that crashed a medium sized, BBQ.
It wasn't even like a full fledged party...just a civilized BBQ.
They didn't steal anything, just drank the booze, and used the bathroom.
Very creepy, very weird.
OH! Let's see. Then there was this other, Homer like guy that liked to make inappropriate comments to me, and about me.
One guy got potato salad on his back, so I said,
"Hey, you have some, uh, white stuff on your back!" Ya know, hardy har.
Perv: "So. Do you know a lot about white stuff?" then he made lots of other comments about 'white stuff' and I'll just you imagine what those comments were like.
Best part though, was when the Boy and I decided to go home, and we're saying goodbye to people...and then he asks the boy,
"So. You guys goin' home together?'
Boy: "Um, well yes."
Perv: "Are you gonna have sex with her?"
Boy: "Most likely..."
Perv: "Fuck! Good for you! She has great tits, bro, great tits"
Nevermind that we're CLEARLY a couple. Bless the Boy, he was just like, "Wow, you're really that dumb."
This guy just assumed I was some tart, going home with this guy I just met.
SHANANIGANS, I tell you, SHANANIGANS!
Ya know...Wedding Crashers is a bunch of bullshit. These guys were not fun. They didn't dance, and they sure as hell didn't sing.
What disappointing crashers...
*(Okay, I was actually exhausted, but ignored it. Because if I let myself get tired from housework, and not party hardy...well, let's just say the Early Bird Special would be a knockin, ya know?)
