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