Skanktacular Spectacle and Mr. Waspy

Last night, Spliff and I met up with some friends for the Rock of Love/Flavor of Love casting call. No, we weren't auditioning but we did want to have front row seats for the skanktacular event. (Yes, I said skanktacular.) To our dismay, however, there weren't as many skanks as I had hoped. Just the normal amount for a Thursday night but there were cocktails. And you can't go wrong with cocktails. The highlights of the night included A Psycho Rasta encounter, a bunch of guys whose pants were entirely too tight/short or with highlighted hair, a really cute singer who played Jeff Buckley, and a lady with a sash and a tiara who was recruiting people to sign up for the show. They were doing the interviews in a different room so we didn't get to watch them, which was really disappointing, but we got to see Jerms and his band play and I got a free martini, so it wasn't a total loss.

I was a little irritated that the VH1 people wouldn't even tell us who was going to be in the next Rock of Love. I guess they can't, you know, because the show isn't over yet...(Even though Poison was just here a couple of weeks ago and Bret was seen with Lacey and that hoebag Brandi (the one who looks like a Barbie on crack, not the one who just went home)) but what was really weird was that they were interviewing for all of the shows at the same time and the interviewees didn't really get to pick what they were trying out for. That's sort of messed up...I can't imaging auditioning to be the love of Bret's life and showing up only to find out that I have to compete for the love of a human-sized turd. (Not that Bret Michaels is any better.) I'm just saying.

Either way, we were there on skank-watch and it was fairly uneventful.

Today was super eventful, however. I spent the majority of today fighting off a mob of wasps that have somehow infested my bathroom with various sprayable cleaning agents. This morning I walked into the bathroom and heard a buzzing and looked at the window and saw the silhouette of the bastard and (for the third time this week) and of course ran, screaming out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. It happens like this every time. I usually find the wasps right about the time that I finish my POT OF COFFEE and by that time, I have to pee so badly that I am already considering peeing in the yard. At this point, I close the door and pretend that I don't have to pee until it becomes so unbearable that I have to arm myself with a shoe and a bottle of Clorox Cleanup (I wish I had a beekeeper suit) and spray the fucker until he falls down. At that point, I leave the bathroom again and close the door. I usually go back in right before my bladder explodes and then I smack him with my shoe until I am satisfied that he is actually dead and not just pretending. Because I don't want him coming back to life and stinging me in some part of my anatomy that would only be exposed while I am peeing.

Today all of that happened and I avoided the bathroom until I could no longer hold it. I made sure the fucker was dead, did my peeing and left. Later, right about the time I was deciding to take a shower (at FIVE), I went back in to find ANOTHER FUCKING WASP. This time I put a cup over him, sprayed bleach on the floor and placed the cup over it, forcing Mr. Waspy to fall into the bleach to his death. Take THAT, wasp!

That's about the entirety of MY day...How was YOURS, internet?


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Now playing: Old Crow Medicine Show - I Hear Them All
via FoxyTunes

Dread Locks and Night Swimming

This weekend sort of slipped by when I wasn't paying attention. Friday started entirely too early with a trip to the airport and then to bring my grandpa to the doctor and by the time "Intervention" was over, Spliff and I were being hauled off to see the hot bartenders. Seriously, people, Spliff hadn't met the new hot bartender/neighbor yet and I couldn't let her wait another minute. Too many martinis later, I was spilling an entire container of fries on the floor and trying to pick them up and get them to the trash can without dropping any of them. Let me tell you...this is not easy. They may as well have physically run away from me. It took forever. And I wanted to EAT them, not DROP them.

Saturday started out pretty normal with Spliff's little head popping into my room at 11 to say, "Herrrrro?" I spent the afternoon procrastinating and not accomplishing any actual homework at all and then checked my myspace and found out that, TA-DA! There was a reggae festival in two hours! A reggae fest will always mean an encounter with The Psycho Rasta and other assorted hot guys with dread locks, but the whole experience usually turns out well. Psycho Rasta manages to stay about an arm's length away from me and aside from the irritating glare thing that he does, I barely notice him. Or I pretend I don't until it is impossible. Jerms' band played a really fun and energetic set and Spliff and I danced around while Jennagiraffe tried to talk to a boy. The whole thing was like a reunion. There was so much beautiful hair in one place I felt like I might burst into flames and I didn't even blink an eye at Z when he tried to lead me away from Jenn. That's right, folks, even with weak knees and flushed cheeks, I stayed by Jenn's side. What the hell is WRONG with me? Eventually, he is going to get tired of hitting on me mercilessly and THEN what will I do? I will kick myself in the ass, that's what.

Anyway, after dancing around in the still, 90 degree heat for several hours, we decided to head back to the house and go swimming in the ocean. Because there is nothing better than night swimming. I managed to drag JM AND Mr. Johnson in against their will and we walked home at 3 am with stringy hair and smeared mascara (Mr. Johnson has neither hair nor mascara to worry about)...My bed is full of sand and my hair feels like straw but holy crap, I love the effing ocean.

It was a good day, internet. A good day, indeed.