Avoiding Attacks

I have a theory. I believe in this theory like I believe in the magic of Christmas. Like I believe that if I still had baby teeth and if one of those baby teeth one fell out, tomorrow there would be a crisp George Washington under my pillow. Like I believe that Sister Act II: Back in the Habit is one of the best movies ever made...

I live in beautiful San Francisco. I haven't felt unsafe in this city since I found myself alone on Broadway at 2am the weekend I moved here. But even amongst the strip clubs, street walkers, and homeless sprinkled all over the street...I felt...ok.

I've been here for three years, and I like to think of myself as pretty safe, pretty savvy. But, much to my mothers chagrin I do walk alone. I like walking home after work, I like walking around on the weekends, and mostly I don't like spending money on cabs or muni. (yes, I risk my life to save $2 bus fare)

Every once in a while someone knows someone who knows someone that got beat up, robbed, or bitch slapped on the streets of SF. And when they do, I inevitably get an email about it. I appreciate everyone looking out for me, but hello...if I wanted to be scared to leave my apartment, I'd watch the NEWS! In every one of these emails I am reminded to NEVER walk alone. Not at night, not at high noon. If you do find yourself walking around at high noon, you better not have my earbuds in and never text or talk on the phone because it makes you all the more vulnerable. Well, you know what gangsters...I LIKE walking alone and I LIKE listening to music while I do it. Now, the theory I am about to put forth is NOT fool proof. It is more like birth control...99.8% accurate.

THEORY: If you're listening to Christmas music while walking alone at night the chances of an attack dramatically decrease.

Now, I know what you're thinking. HARK! Garbanzo! That's it! That's the key to safety! And yes, I am toying with the idea of publishing this theory in a science magazine. You know, there is a chance I'll get the Nobel Peace Prize. I mean, helping people walk safer...doesn't get more fucking peaceful than that! RIGHT!?

After thinking long and hard and talking at length to Morris about the theory, I have realized there are some loop holes...

The First Noel - you're safe

Mary Did You Know - nevah been safah

I'll be Home for Christmas - you bet your grandmothers pecan pie, you're fine!

However, there are some songs that are just too slutty. They're like your best friend from high school, you want to love and respect her but you can't, because she's just too slutty. Please use these songs as a guideline:

Santa Baby - UNSAFE. Why you ask?

1. Because Santa, he ain't a baby. I know for a FACT that Santa existed when my great grandma was a kid, and she's 93, science would suggest that Santa ain't a baby.

2. CYNTHIA BASINET needs to shut her whorish mouth about Santa because Santa is a MARRIED MAN

Jingle Bell Rock - Might as well be Regular Rock

a. Jingle Bells are meant to be "rang", or "jingled", not rocked. You know what should be rocked? Baby Jesus. And when sweet, sweet Baby Jesus needs to be rocked, it will not be to this song.

b. I said BABY JESUS

Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer - I love my grandma

uno. If grandma did get run over by a reindeer, you shouldn't be singing about it you should be taking her ass to the hospital.

dos. Someone needs to take that reindeer out before any other elderly women get hurt

tres. Because with my luck, I won't get mugged on the walk home...I'll get run over by a reindeer, and frankly that scares me.

Remember: If you can't find your sleigh, walk safely and sweet sweet Baby Jesus will protect you.

xoxo,

Garbanzo

morrisina - you leave so much out...

***picture it***


Morris is so intrigued by this ep of gossip girl that she just cannot give bullets 4 and 5 the attention that they deserve. Morris pretends not to like GG but, it's clear from her post that that is nothing if not a lie. The pure lack of factual information says that her crush on Chuck Bass is even more intense than mine...which is VERY hard to believe. (Chuck, I'll see you in 45 minutes in my dreams)


Lobster Sunday:


San Francisco is NEVER sunny...like never. So when we get a forecast of 75 degrees, we're stoked. We start planning the beach barbeque's on Tuesday, start shopping for our sundresses on Wednesday, plan the menu on Thursday, grab the booze and someone (not me!) gets up early to steal a picnic table from the 1 year old bday party on Saturday. It's something to look forward to, BBQs at Ocean/Stinson/Baker Beach are awesome when the weather is right. Saturday it was right!


Morris, Stewgs (the roomie) and I got ready, we snagged the twelver grab bag of beer - 3 long hammers, 2 red stripes (thanks lil), 6 PBR bottles, and 1 coors light CAN and start walking. We all brought sweaters, because its never as hot as the weather men, weather woman?, weather person? weatherites???? say...but we're DYING of a heat stroke, and Stewgs says "Garbanzo!! MY DOGS ARE BARKIN'" which apparently means she's got blisters from the Kate Spade boots she wore last night. Soooo, we head on down to the Safeway and call a cab.


Cab driver picks us up and we're like "Oh HI!! Can you please take us to Crissy Field" - Chrissy field, literally 1.5 miles away. I am SURE the cabby was thinking, "great thanks..you can just leave that $4.50 on the seat." So we're screeching and cackling in the back seat when we realize we have passed the part of Crissy where we normally have BBQs. So we say, and I admit with a snide undertone, "um, you've passed Crissy Field!" to which the driver replies "Crissy Field spans this whole stretch, I though you were going to tell me but you didn't" which totally enrages us, and we just say "THIS IS FINE" and we get out maybe .2 miles from the CF we know and love. We walk down to where we think our friends are...and CANNOT FIND THEM. So I call the organizer and he informs me...they are ON THE OTHER END OF CF. The fucking driver was RIGHT and KARMA makes us walk .2 plus 2 miles down the other direction for a total of 2.2 miles to the party. (woof woof)


We arrive, approximately 2 1/2 hours after we left the house. I am instantly more hungover than I have been in a while. It must be a combination of the heat and the actual hangover...but I had to lay down immediately when I got there. I was totally out of it...which is why these things happened:


1. I immediately out Stewgs who, I might add, has NOT known these people for very long for not coming home last night. Sure I was hungover, but I think (secretly) mostly I was jealies because I was home in my clean sheets and she was knockin' boots on the town. Unfair...I looked cute last night TOO God Damn it!!!! :( :( :(
2. (And this is when you realize I really must have had it out for Stewgs) I totally steal her joke!!! In a time when a great joke can seal her fate in a relatively new group of friends...I take that joke and pass it off as my own. Yes, bitch move..sure, sure. You remember when I mentioned we had the 1 Coors light...mile 1 of 2 Stewgs noticed that lone ranger and pointed out that "only one person could tap the Rockies." Luckily, Morris was there to blow up my spot and gave the street cred to Stewgs.
3. One of the dudes in the group had run from SOMA (South of Market - for locals) to Crissy Field, this is SERIOUSLY like 7 miles. That's a lotta miles before a day of drinking beer and eating hot dogs. In fact, the thought of it makes me want to yammy. Anyway, he arrives...and I immediately notice his hair is ORANGE. It's orange and I decide to yell it out to the group "**** YOUR HAIR IS ORANGE!" Stewgs and Morris were dying of embarrassment and my non-filter..................standard.


This day ended at 9pm, me and Morris leaving a roof deck wandering around...trying to find my apartment. Lost in the Marina...never Safe!

SEVEN DIMES:

Very few people know about 7 dimes. 7 dimes is an age old bet (actually 7D started in the early months of 2008). Now is not the time to unveil the true 7D bet, but maybe someday just maybe. What is notable about 7D1 is that nobody won...EVERYONE lost. It was a time sensitive bet and nobody won. Who gets the money? I mean, that is AT LEAST $4.90 just hanging out in my wine rack. That is where we usually keep the dimes - mid bet. Anywhoodle, bullet point 5. Morris came over for a little stir fry tonight and after we watched Jeopardy, we decided to throw down a little wager on Wheel of Fortune. 7 dimes. Me, Stewgs, and Morris - that is 21 dimes/210 pennies/2 dollars and ten cents of pure bet. This is embarrassing even before I mention we were drinking sparkling rose. Yes. Three girls, one bottle of sparkling rose, and Pat Sajak. Could you really ask for more? I think not!

A Decoupage of Awk

hi everyone. it's been a while. i'd like to say that a lot has changed but, unfortunately, the decoupage of awk that is my life has just continued down the same twisting, uncomfortably awkward path. here are the highlights:

• i ran into the store manager at my work coming out of the bathroom. he questioned when we were getting some items in, i responded, then headed into the bathroom. it wasn't until i was sitting on the toilet, and i had a moment to think, that i realized that HE had been coming out of the bathroom meant for SHES.
• i ran into tubular at a mutual friend's bday party. between "i've been really busy" excuses and asking me 5 times how i am, the convo was so awk that i decided it would be far better to sneak out the back entrance and leave my credit card in order to avoid facing him again. good news, i got my card back today after work and met a smokin' hot bartender who works there. shaaaa-wing.
• i got tag-teamed. by a lemon drop and a beer. lemon drop was accidently dropped from tray onto my chair (and all over my a$$) at above party. full beer was accidently dropped onto my lap at silver cloud. accidently... im just going to keep telling myself that.
• i suffered an unfortunate sunburn this weekend. while it has allowed me to excuse my absence at the gym tonight (sports bra + burn = major payne), it has made me question the length of my hair as i have a white stripe down my back from my ponytail.
• I just lost seven dimes in a competitive viewing of wheel of fortune.

My advice for the week:

"If you're robbing a bank and your pants fall down, make sure you laugh and let the hostages laugh too because, come on, life is funny."

xoxo (FML),

Morris

the battle of the G squared

i love gossip girl AND i love gilmore girls...am i the only person that sees the parallels? i mean, seriously...sure, Rory and Laine read books and listen to records in Laine's mothers antique shop while Serena and Blaire are out getting all hopped up on cocaine, killin people, and jet setting around the world. sure, Rory and Lorelei live in a quaint little house in Starshollow and Serena and Lily live in the pent house of a high rise in Manhattan. but there ARE similarities people, there just are:

They both have really REALLY hot involved mother with name that starts with L

Lorelei vs. Lily



They both have the extremely thin, grounded yet always in the midst of some turmoil daughter that goes to private school and has a trust fund the likes of which a lowly ol' Garbanzo bean like me can dream about, and incidentally both starred in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and SOTP2:

The Preppy Bitch:

Eclectic Bestie:

Good Guy/on-and-off boyfriend of daughter, whoeven though everyone knows it should work out between them it won't - due to the lack of drama. (If that's your life story can I get a "WHAT WHAT" *pause* "WHAT WHAT"):

Bad guy, who although I am sure in reality these bad boys are all of 5'4'' I still want to sleep with them....real bad:

And last but not least the dynamic duo, the rugged father/father-figure, the men from the other side of the tracks that ARE the glue that hold their worlds together all while wearing shirts that are too tight for them:

And there you have it folks! I'm glad you're with me on this one. If anyone wants to write to the WB with me, or sign my petition to do some sort of cross over ep between GG and GG please don't hesitate to contact me.

xoxo,

Garbanzo

Farmer John

The day has come, my friends. I am turning into my parents. I didn't even need to BECOME a parent to become MY parents. Its a sad sad day.

***picture it***

I am sitting in my cube minding my own business (read: eves dropping on M "training" someone on my team...who's been with the company now for errr 6 months), just doing my thing in excel, when suddenly this thought goes through my head:

"stop saying 'OK,' 'uh huh,' 'yeah' just do it"

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

flash back to Big John, "Garbanzo, don't say OK just DO IT!" Wow was that one of my least favorite lines. I mean, mainly because the obvious response to that phrase is "OK." To which the reply is "don't say OK just DO IT!" And it just goes on and on and eventually ends in a spanking.

But now, I get it. I am sorry dad. I'm sorry for just saying OK, I know, Yes, OK because the fact is, if I knew I would not have done the thing that you're mad about in the first place. The same is true, today in my office.

You would not be getting this training, sir, if you KNEW WHAT THE HELL YOU WERE DOING. So stop saying OK, just shut up and listen to what she is trying to tell you. She is trying to save your job, because although you are a sweet boy...you better believe that your ass would be out the door in a hot second if we weren't in this "trying economic environment" (hiring freeze) and we need someone to do the brainless work you (and I) were hired to do.

The good thing about this transition from Garbanzo the easy-going, cheerful, lovely young woman to Garbanzo the old wretch that knows it all is that IT'S ST. PATRICKS DAY and I'll probably have the opportunity to say "I'll give you a reason to cry" later on at the bars...and that was another Garbanzo family gem!!!!

Leprechauns and rainbows,
Garbz

take that sheriff kurt...

last weekend on the hity...

********picture it********

friday night. north beach. the streets are absolutely packed with d-bags and slutas who traveled through the tunnel for a night of fun. garbanzo, c-money, myself, and a handful of other legit sf homies make the trek through the crowds to savoy...

several memorable things happened over the course of this night. thankfully, the biggest moment of all is documented on camera but for purposes of remaining anonymous, i will not be posting the photo. some key moments:

1) c-money finally learned how to use an atm after 500 attempts.
2) m-dizzle confronted the boy who viewed her facebook profile at work and announced to everyone that they had hooked up. "fucked her, fucked her, sweet bj junior year, fucked her..."
3) i was hit on by an attractive looking young man by being passed a note on a napkin that said "you're pretty. i have a crush on you. do you have a crush on me? check yes or no." being the creative beast i am, i created my own box that read "maybe. curve ball". don't worry folks. he didn't graduate from college, has no job (but is creating his own website), and lives at home with his parents in marin. i wish i could take the napkin back and check no. STRIKE ONE.
4) i called the bartender out who once asked me why i was staring at his crotch. he then asked for my name by saying "how am i supposed to ask you out if i don't know your name". garbanzo happily told him my name. i ran into him on the street yesterday. he fumbled with his phone explaining that it was dead but he wanted my number. i told him that he better hurry home to charge it. that was good and awk. STRIKE TWO.

and just when i think strike three and an out are inevitable, it happens. a homerun. i was crowned SFPD JUNIOR COP!!!

that's right. after nearly being arrested for drinking my beer outside of the bar so i could enjoy it while i smoked my cig, i asked officer jim if i could try on his hat. OJ was so excited that he walked right into the bar, put the hat on my head and stuck an SFPD sticker on me. no, this sticker did not come from a full roll that he had in his pocket to give out to drunk girls. i was obvi the ONLY junior cop of the night.

soon after, we leave the bar, and being the polite, bar-goer that i am, i went up an introduced myself to OJ and his friends:

"good evening officers. my name is junior cop morris. it's a pleasure to make your acquiantance. i'm new to the team and it's always nice meeting new work colleagues. have a lovely evening."

what i should've said is "the next time you see me acting like a hot mess, please remember that i am one of you. would you throw your mother in the drunk tank?"

that being said, the weekend continued in hot mess fashion. while i, thankfully, did not end up in the drunk tank, i definitely deserved to. i have officially decided that i am going to follow through with one new year's resolution and am taking a much needed break from the social circuit for at least a week. please stay tuned for next week's posting about my crackin' sat night at home with my mom which will be spent drinking chardonnay and watching foreign films.

xoxo,
(future) lady morris

FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE

***Picture it***

20 kids (kids = people ages 21-37) dressed in Lacoste polos, argyle, tall socks, pearls, visors walking around the city blacked out during the G rated hours of the day.

Last weekend on the hity:

I don't know what recent college grad came up with pub golf, but God bless him. He is no doubt an ex - SAE, probably in finance (says it like fah-nance), lives in a big city but not NYC where he'd actually BE in the office on Saturday, misses dress up parties almost as much as he misses blacked out sorority girls. One might wonder, who would fall for this deliciously mapped out trap? Well, Garbanzo for one.

Being the upstanding mature woman that I am, I told "Shooter McGavin" (the man with the score cards, whistle, and timer), I don't want to subject myself to a game in which I have to be known as "the caddy" - yes boys were "players" and girls were "caddies." I told him, that I would attend the pub crawl, but I had a couple other obligations later in the day so I wouldn't be able to participate in the game. You know, I only want to have 5-6 drinks during the day not 10-12. You can't say I don't have good intentions, you also can't say I don't lie to myself everyday about my ability (or lack thereof) to control myself. Within 4 minutes of arrival at bar 1, I have a partner on my arm and a tequila shot in my hand.

...quiet please... tee off

Long blog entries are kind of my thing, but I am going to go ahead and try to bullet the events to save time. The formatting of this blog is entirely for your convenience and not at all because I only remember flashes of the day...

-bar 1: find a great partner and take a tequila shot
-bar 2: make the owner give me a t-shirt for free, which (after I finish my Long Island Ice Tea) I throw on over my yellow BrooksBrothers polo
-bar 3: say no to the bartender who offers up a free t-shirt if I remove both other shirts (LUCKILY) I tastefully decline. I take my car bomb, juggle three golf balls, and head to the bar 4 - without my credit card. This is not a good sign
-bar 4: order my gin martini (yep, we're going for holes in 1 EVERY time) go to pay for it, realize I forgot my card and head back to bar 3
-bar 3 revisited: i pay for my drinks, (not as tastefully) tell the bar tender, I'll be back after a couple more holes (read: drinks) to "earn my shirt," leave (LUCKILY)
-bar 4 revisited: this is one of the holes where you can lower your score by taking your drink *gin martini and also doing a body shot. BUT OF COURSE. walk up to a complete stranger, take my body shot, tell Shooter "LETS GO!" he reminds me...my gin martini is still waiting for me. SHIT. Double SHIT because I decide to be "badass" and I take it like its a shot and roll out.
-bar 5: partner and I walk into bar before everyone else, basically we run there. we go into the bar, sit on the stools, and i say to the bartender "I will PAY you to give us two empty shot glasses with lime" and hand him a ten spot. Some call this cheating, I call it genius. my last encounter with soco didn't end so well...it ended pretty well for my friend steve though.
-bar 6: friend carries me over his shoulder to the bar next door, where I must have had something to drink but have NO idea what.
-bar 7: shon theee wahy two that bhar i whhent store buy cigarettes. needs them. NOT COHERENT. TOTALLY INSANE. text my partner "are you still at x-bar?" time stamp 6:05pm. i know because i just checked my outgoing texts. stumble there, there are pictures of same friend from before carrying me around the bar...apparently i took my shot.
-bar 8: this one i remember. ONLY because it was another body shot. Yeppers. I took a BODY SHOT of tequila off some rando-dude in addition to my mai thai. I feel like I did something really embarrassing at this bar..but whatever it was escapes me now. Surprisingly.
-BAR 9: This is the last bar. Where my partner and I take the final shot to win the tournament. The photos show partner and me, laying down on the ground and on tables accepting our trophies (yes TROPHIES...i told you SAE). WINNERS - don't tell anyone about the genius idea from bar 5. thanks.

What to do, WHAT TO DO? I know, lets go to another bar...across town. I had the good sense to walk into the next bar and walk directly out without saying goodbye to anyone, and heading to taco bell.

Let me tell you, Taco Bell circa 9pm, blacked out, alone...dark, DARK place.

xoxo.
Garbanzo - detoxing

McDeuce

um, alarm? is that you? already?

i could cry.

Its 7:45am, Thursday morning. I am unsure exactly what happened last night, but I don't think it involved licking an ashtray - although the taste in my mouth would suggest otherwise. My head is POUNDING. I reek of vodka. Why am I so pathetic? WHY, I ask? Let me dive in...

So last night was the SF Magazine Vera Wang bridal runway show. Although the dresses were fantastic, the venue was beautiful, the drinks were flowing, and the goodie bag was well worth the hangover...discussing the A Mid Summer Nights Dream theme to the show and the garlands each model wore in their hair really wouldn't be that fun to read. Although, there was a mint green number with a lavender sash that I could talk about for days (and not in a good way).

After the seven of us (none engaged/married) left the show, feeling just a little bit more depressed and a lot more wasted than we were just hours before...we decide, WHY stop there? So, we grab a couple packs of smokes and hit the bar scene. At one point, i think, we were sitting on the outdoor patio IN THE RAIN because we didn't want to waste the cigarettes. PATHETIC.

What is more pathetic than 7 single gals crashing a bridal runway show, then drinking and smoking away our sorrows, you ask? This morning. This morning is the answer to that question.

Stewgs (my roommate) is normally on the road well before I wake up for work...commuter. Today, I jump in the shower hoping, praying, I can wash away my sins from the night before when I hear her stumble out of her room. When I get out of the shower she is just standing in the living room mumbling about how she was 10 minutes late to work when she WOKE UP. She was also surveying the scene. We (she) had strung all of the fliers, eye creams, perfume samples, and cosabella undies from the goodie bag ALL OVER THE LIVING room before passing out on the couch last night.

I tell her, "hurry up and get ready so you can drop me off on your way to work. You're ALREADY late, I have a chance to be on time." Being the fab roomie that she is, she agrees, and we're both showered and ready in approximately 20 minutes. If our eyes weren't as blood shot as if we had just escaped a burning building, we may have gotten away with it. She probably could have even used the "sorry I am late, I went to the gym before work today" line...well, maybe not.

We're driving in The Toaster (1999 Hyundai Accent, opal) also known as TO, Terrell Owens, and the roller skate. And I feel sick. I mean, SICK. I turn to her, and I confess...I could DIE if I don't get McDonald's breakfast, STAT. She agrees, but not without a good 3.5 minutes of debate because she wants to bag the whole thing, skip work, and hit up McDeuce at 11 when they're serving the "real food."

We're somewhere between our apartment and hell, when we're stopped at a light and these two homies, and actually, maybe HOMIE isn't the right word...I'm not talking baggy pants, $ chains, and sideways caps. I am talking somewhere between 40-45, white, certainly unemployed (which I am sure was the case BEFORE "these challenging economic times"), dirty jeans, tattoos...are you there? are you with me? OK. Well anyway, they're moseying along, you know, because they don't have anywhere to be, and I say to Stewgs "DUDE, we have got to hurry, those homies are definitely heading to Mickey D's." Well, we make the louise, head down the street, and get prime parking RIGHT IN FRONT. We struggle with the meter (do we pay? do we not pay? what time is it?) finally, we walk through the golden arches, and I'll admit, I do sometimes tell white lies for comedic affect, but the two men were SERIOUSLY IN LINE! THEY WERE IN MC DONALDS. Obviously, we couldn't stop laughing about it, mainly because we're still drunk...needless to say we needed to get the hell out of there. We just leave. PATHETIC.

What is more pathetic than going to McDonalds at 8am on a Thursday morning, you ask? Going to McDonalds at 8am on a Thursday morning and failing to get any food. No hashbrown. No Egg Mc Muffin. NOTHING. We just could NOT TAKE IT in there. So we head over to BK.

You will be surprised to hear that we get a PRIME parking spot in front of the Burger King as well!!! Must be because everyone getting breaky at these fast food joints on Thursday mornings probably don't drive much. Anyway, luckily we had already figured out the parking meters because (and I don't know how this is possible because literally the BK is 1 block from the McD's) the air is FILLED with the fishiest fish smell. It was like God spraying us with rotten fish for our rotten lifestyle. Instead of taking it as a sign of our disgust, we RUN into the BK and grab our breakfast.

My office is about a 6 minute drive from the BK, so I am just shoveling the sausage biscuit into my mouth before I have to get out of the car. Once we arrived, I looked at Stewgs with those big brown puppy dog eyes and said, "thank you so much for the ride, but I am going to have to leave the BK evidence in the car with you." I realized she was going to be in the car with the bags of grease and lard for another 50 minutes, but I just couldn't risk running into someone with a BK bag and a large diet coke at 8:45am.

Pathetic.

xoxo,

Garbanzo

a lady you are not, my friend...

********picture it********

tahoe. last weekend. morris, garbanzo, an excellent group of friends, cranium, fireplace, harry potter bunk beds.

first of all, thank you garbanzo for the inspiring quote. without you, this post would have no title. yes, i've been told a handful of times that i am not a lady. specifically by my father when i burp and let me point out that when i burp, it is not a normal burp. some may view it as a spiritual awakening, others may think they've witnessed the breaking of the sound barrier. regardless, it's loud.

that being said, some occurences in tahoe only fueled the fire behind my dad's continual lecture:

1) an actual burp that immediately silenced a rowdy group of cranium players. crickets.
2) a group of snowboarding hooligans questioning if i, 26 year-old morris, was 16.
3) a mouth kissing session with a northstar village bartender we all like to call dan from missouri.
4) the breakup of a gas station fight which ended with me saying "oh no, don't worry, i can buy my own meat stick". (in my defense, garbanzo started the fight. i was an innocent bystander trying to buy a slim jim.)
5) the purchasing of a slim jim at a gas station.
6) a night ending with a good ole scaling of the cabin in snowshoes.

i guess i should just be thankful that sheriff kurt didn't drag me to the slammer...

in the words of fergie:

"my daddy told me so, he let his daughter know".

xoxo (FML),
morris

ps - shouts out to MKG. have an amazing weekend. YOWZA!
pps - thanks to c-money for securing the cabin.

are you there A-Rod? it's me, morris.

********picture it********

in case you need help, it's tuesday am (midnight to be exact), and i am wearing the same thing i was wearing during the first ever post of the hity.

while i've thought for a while that A-Rod and i have a lot in common ("cherish" is one of my favorite songs and i used to want to be a baseball player for about 3 months of my life in kindergaten), i finally understand now why this is. we have both spent some intimate time using "boli". while his "boli" is some sort of weird steroid substance (weird bc i don't know how this steroid couldn't be some awful virus with a nickname like boli), mine is the original Creep Allstar. In the words of A-Rod:

"At the time, I had no regrets. To what degree it helped, I'm not sure."

from now on, whenever i decide to do idiotic things (ex - using Boli as a rebound from Tubular), i will respond exactly like professional baseball players do when questioned about their steroid use:

"Young and Curious".

xoxo (FML),
morris

makin it happen. or not...

last weekend on the hity...

here's the thing. some girls like tall blonde guys that have finance jobs and love themselves. some like hot brunettes with green eyes that are super sensi and watch lipstick jungle with them. i envy those girls. i like guys that appear to be normal on the outside but end up being kind of crazy. mentally.

it used to be creep allstars. i'm sure this term will be better defined when i start dating one again but basically they are the crazies that like to creep in and out of your life. actually, mostly just creep back in. they peace out when they're "done" then slooooooooowly creep back in. mostly bc you let them and unfortunately, my track record with letting them isn't that great. recently, i've moved onto freaks. when garbanzo and i were seri considering creating our blog (this discussion happened weekly during our weds book clubs which consisted of drinking wine and reading self-help books outloud so we could solve our problems/watching LSJ - lipstick jungle and learning from their mistakes, stupid joe bennett leaving victory and wowzers get me a kirby, but only if he's mentally unstable, thanks), she was going to be named freak lover flambe and i was creep lover casserole. i think bc gar has decided to go on hiatus and warm the bench bc her three is off, i have decided to pick up the freaks.

this week i decided that i would give someone a second chance. not bc he was creeping back in but bc i actually liked him, saw potential, and thought why not? my horoscope has been telling me since september 2008 to wait until 2009 bc this is the year that i will be the celestial fave (i am an aquarius and this is absolutely true) so i figured that i have absolutely nothing to lose. this is sort of true.

we had a great date. it was honestly a blast. he explained why he was a spazz the last time we saw each other, i ate those words up and i patted myself on the back for "makin it happen" (shout out to MKG - mary katherine gallagher for making my bday dinner with that quote which i now use on a daily basis bc ladies, we are).

********picture it********

vday brunch at 2pm at polkers. chicken club with curlies and a side of cole slaw for morris, bacon cheese burger with REGULAR fries (this should've been a sign something was wrong) and a side of biscuits and gravy for Tubular.

Tubular: i need to talk to you about something.

Morris: um okay, what's up?

Tubular: i farted in your room three times this morning.

Morris: WHEN YOU MADE ME BE THE MAN PART OF THE SPOON AND I FELL ASLEEP?!?!?!?

Tubular: oh no! when you were getting ready. i farted three, well four times.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? really, this is not normal. granted everyone laughs at farts or any topic of conversation that has farts in it. a smart person once told me that farts brings joy to everyones' lives. the person that hears it and the person the deals it. this is true. but this is not the convo that i should be having even if i am extremely hungover and have about 10 working braincells.

and now i will cut this story short and just say that once again, i dated someone who decided to fall off the face of the earth for a day and not call me back (even though i was kind enough to give someone a second chance) and i ended my sunday like any normal person would. at rex, drinking two bottles of wine with two besties and getting healed by this really weird witch woman who was sitting at the bar and said she studied healing and could suck my bad energy out. i think that she reverse vacuumed someone elses bad energy in which explains why i pirate-eye wrote an email completely hammied at 12:30 am telling Tubular (in a very nice way) that i do not want to see him again. the email subject was "FYI - sausage and biscuits". who does that?

long story short, this is what most of my postings will be about bc i like boys. a lot. and i really like awk situations and i usually put myself in them. this week will be better though bc my sfgate horoscope told me it is supposed to be amazing and i read that every morning before i start in on the work emails.

xoxo (FML),
morris

I think it might be too late...

Last week, on The Hity:

Garbanzo travels hundreds of miles to Washington, DC for a raging good time...or is it?

My parents and 15-20 of their closest friends were going to be in DC for a cotton convention. (that's right, cotton convention) Since two of my closest girlfriends from growing up had recently bought a house there, I decided to tag along.

Amidst the lobster tail/oyster/crab/jumbo shrimp appetizers, the 14oz. Filet Mignon, 7/10 of the desserts on the menu...a few really terrible things happened.

I'll start with the story of "Gruly Mershman". Names have been changed to protect the innocent(and guilty). Gruly is a very good family friend, her husband and my father were best friends in high school. Needless to say, I have spent A LOT of time with Gruly, let's call her Grules.

The Mershman family was comprised of a loving mother (Grules), a father, and three sons. Because the Lord our God never blessed the Mershmans with a daughter, they always thought of me and my sister as their daughters...or so they said. It has taken me 25 years and a recipe to realize that was my sister they truly loved. Let me explain...

About a year and a half ago, I went to Gruly's middle son's wedding, we'll call him Dennis. I am two years Dennis' senior (you do the math). The ceremony itself was one of those "the husband is the head of the household and the wife shall do as he says" type of things. You know, when the families of the bride and groom come from either a family of all sons (the Mershmans) or take the Bible just a bit too literally for my taste. Anywho, this is really beside the point. After the wedding, and a couple bottles of chardonnay, I told Grules that "she's always said I am like a daughter to her", and I was confused as to why her new daughter-in-law would get the secret family fudge recipe before me. I had been, for all intents and purposes, except for the actual conception and birthing experience, I was her daughter. Oh, and also the lack of relatives in common, and DNA. The new DIL (daughter-in-law) hadn't even been alive as long as I had been "part of the family." She had had a little to drink as well, and laughed and said "of course you'll get the recipe [Garbanzo]."

Now that I have set the scene, I'd like to point out the fact that today is February 16th. So this all went down over Valentine's Day weekend.

We're out to dinner, I had just finished up my lobster appetizer, and had started in on the Rosemary Foccacia, waiting for my Filet to arrive...and Grules TELLS ME THAT SHE HAS GIVEN THE RECIPE TO MY SISTER. MY SISTER, who hadn't even ATTENDED her sons wedding. Needless to say, I was furious. I say "GRULY, I WAS THE ONE THAT ASKED FOR THE RECIPE IN THE FIRST PLACE." She has the gall to say to me (a single, 24 3/4 year old, young professional, paying her own rent in San Francisco, college graduate) "well, Garbanzo, your sister is married, and they already have a baby.

Um, really? I didn't know that a husband and spawn were requirements to making great fudge. Gruly, how am I supposed to meet the man of my dreams if I can't even make great fudge!?!? HOW, I ASK? I now blame my singlehood on Gruly alone...soooo maybe this is a good thing? I hate blaming things on myself.

Listen, when I started this blog, I didn't really realize that I had so much to say. But, I really hope, if you've gotten this far you keep going because I am about to explain why I hate Virginia.

After creating a "secret single girl fudge recipe" with my girlfriends that night, I was just about ready to forget any of that had happened and go on with my life. I won't lie, it does knock me down a notch when people remind me that I am alone and I can't have good fudge because of it, but I was going to get over it....UNTIL...

I went to Alexandria, Virginia. I should have known, any state that essentially has the word vagina in it, is going to be bad.

***picture it***

I'm shopping around with my girlfriends and after I almost spend my Valentine's Day present (yep, its $100 from my dad) on a really precious handbag...I decide to look in this antique store before I "blow it all in one place." We're walking around, they've got a couple great furs which were out of my price range (not even my dad loves me that much), a really cute little elephant scotch glass, and 1 beautiful vintage ring. The ring was smokey topaz, with a thin gold band. I love it. I ask to try it on. The woman hands it to me, I slide it on my ring finger and ALMOST makes it...(DAMN knuckle cracking)...the woman is very sweet. She tells me, it's a beautiful ring, and it would be very easy to just get it sized up about a half size. Then HE walks up. The old man in a pink sweater. The old man that OWNS the shop. He SAYS TO ME: "you know what a half a ring size could be? MOTIVATION TO LOSE WEIGHT." - silence -

I turn to him and say "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, SIR."

I mean, really!? 1. you're in sales 2. its valentine's day and I didn't have to take off any rings to try that one on 3. you can take that pink sweater and shove it right up your ass.

Now, here I am, red wine, no ring, no fudge recipe, no husband, no child. I think it might be too late.

xoxo,
Garbanzo

this week on the hity...

we'd been thinking about doing this for a while and by "doing this" we mean writing a blog. but when someone told us we weren't as funny as we thought we were, we weren't sure what we wanted.

we decided, since we "weren't trying to put a ring on my finger" (erin; the city) we had PLENTY of time to write a blog...even if only we enjoyed reading it. the blog world is cuuut throooaaat.

cue theme song: Independence Day - Martina McBride
scene: San Francisco, California. "the hilly city" (read: the hity)


morris
maneater

***picture it***
twenty something. black skinny jeans, grey sweater, red wine, perched by window smoking a parli next to faux orange tree topiary and heart-shaped box of sees from parents.

garbanzo
benchwarmer

***picture it***
twenty something, "my first hard rock cafe shirt - cabo san lucas," nike workout shorts (three miles today, thank you very much*), red wine, longchamp handbag, lounging on sofa...it's blue, with flowers.

Grab yourself a tequila shot, and lets get this party started!

*if you run marathons get the smirk off your face