Tranny Fierce

I don’t know where the weekend went, Internet. I know that there is sand in my ears and I look like a crack head (crackidad, if you’re nasty) but outside of that, I have no idea what happened this weekend. I can tell you that “Sex and the City” was worth every second and that Spliff and I smuggled a half pint of Captain Morgan into the theater with us and then we went home and exchanged boyfriend horror stories (which are always fun because we like to make fun of the morons that we’ve dated and then each other for dating them in the first place.) Turns out, we both dated guys who refused to take their shirts off during sex (WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! If you are going to do to me what you are doing, then you can take your fucking shirt off, you pansy.) After our girl-fest, we met up with Anthony and The Kid for some debauchery. Because, honestly, it wouldn’t be a Friday without getting hit on by 50-year-old men at the dive bar down the street from our apartment. Anthony ended up on our couch until I, in true Criz spirit, woke him up by screaming about breakfast and fishing.

By the time the four of us were done with our breakfast, it was time to head out. We traded Anthony in for Rackamonie and drove out to The Jetties for some fishing and it was a great idea until I saw how much climbing was involved. Then I thought I might die. It took Spliff and me each about ten minutes just to get close enough to the water where fishing was possible because we winced every time we took a step. Rack and The Kid went easy on us though, they barely even laughed at us while we were picturing our own bloody deaths. In fact, they held our hands and pulled us up onto the rocks where we could sit down. And I will be the first to tell you that I planted my happy ass down on a rock and I didn’t move until it was time to change locations. Of course I had the cooler with the beer in it within reach because, seriously, there was no way that I was going to risk falling and breaking my face in the name of beer.

Rack caught the ugliest fish known to man and it wasn’t even something edible so he threw it back after I took a bunch of pictures (which will be posted soon) but that was really the only success. Well, that isn’t entirely true. Spliff and I managed to get hammered, thrown into the ocean and thoroughly annoy Rack and The Kid by repeating “Fierce, fierce, hot mess, fierce” over and over again. (If you haven’t seen that Amy Poehler sketch where she is making fun of Christian from Project Runway, you really should, it is totally tranny fierce.”) Either way, we had a lot of fun. We swam in the ocean, drank a lot of beer (between me and Spliff, we managed to polish off an 18-pack) in the sun (probably not the best idea) and then had dinner on a deck overlooking the intracoastal (where we drank more beer). After dinner, we stumbled out to Rack’s new jeep and took the ferry back home where I spent 20 minutes trying to get rid of the giant dreadlock that was once my very straight, very long hair. (I tried to get Rack or The Kid to just cut it off, but they are bitches and they never do what I tell them.)

Yesterday we dragged our sunburned asses out for more booze and debauchery with D, Ad Rock, Clifftopher, and Anthony. I’d like to say that I don’t know how my house got into the state of disarray that it is in right now, but I would be a liar. I know exactly what happened. Booze for breakfast and too much testosterone. We spent a few hours playing Kings and everything after that is sort of a mystery. Spliff fell asleep before 6pm and I was left with the boys. Strangely enough, they kept multiplying. Before I knew it, Rack was gone and there were two guys named Larry in his place. The last of the beers ended up at the beach in plastic cups while I played drunken Frisbee with The Larrys and Clifftopher and The Kid went swimming. Then there was a lot of dancing to The Eagles (don’t ask. “I can’t tell you why”.) and guitar playing in my room and then, all of a sudden, it was morning and I had to come to work.

I learned a few things this weekend.

1. I suck at fishing and am way better at drinking beer and getting sunburned.
2. I have to start doing brunch on Saturday when it is more acceptable to stay up really late acting like an idiot with your friends.
3. I might be too old to do any of this in the first place because more and more, after a weekend like this, I feel like I was run over by a train.

That’s all I got. I just want to thank all of you who were involved in the debaucherous, sloppy mess that was my weekend. I couldn’t do it without you. (Well, I could, but I don’t think it would be nearly as much fun!)