As many of you know, I have a kind of love-love relationship with alcohol. If it weren’t considered an addictive disease, I’d be drinking right now. Because I mean, like, who wouldn’t want to be doing work with a little happy buzz instead of being cold as shit and feeling half asleep? This girl, that’s who. However, I’m going to have to cut back a little on the happiness, because this is just not good for my waistline. To give you more of an idea of how damaging my practices are, let me outline a typical night on the town–

Step 1: Attempt to get ready as quickly as possible, but take 2 hours due to multiple fashion crises involving outfit, shoes and accessories.

Step 2: Preparty for the bar with the crew, usually with some Jack D or vodka of some sort (I know, right? Who does that?). Hilarity ensues as we watch MTV Jams.

Step 3: Arrive at bar already feeling a little buzzed (i.e. half retarded), forget to count all the drinks I have previously had and act like I’m just starting. Take a shot for luck and obtain a vodka soda with lime.

Step 4: After consuming 2 more drinks, mosey on down to the dance floor, where I saunter up to the DJ and request 5 songs in order of preference–currently starting with “Damaged” by Danity Kane and ending with “Bossy” by Kelis.

Step 5: Obtain an unsuspecting lad to perform my Jezebel dance, which involves a lot of “dropping it like it’s hot” and Carmen Electra booty shakes while “Love in This Club” plays, while continuing to retrieve numerous drinks. He is smitten. When “Don’t Stop Believin’” comes on, attempt a Circle of Friendship dance with my homies; fist pumps and mosh hops ensue.

Step 6: Smile sweetly when unsuspecting lad asks for my phone number, coming up with a “cute” excuse about me hating phones/dating/boys, but tell him he’s nice. However, if a shot of Patron is bought, he may have a chance. Extra boy scout points if he buys shots for my friends too. We toast and everyone is giddy. It is now time to switch to beer for last call.

Step 7: Leave the bar, feeling ravenous and ready to eat whatever is put in front of me. Food choices usually consist of Taco Bell/McDonald’s/7-11/diner food, and most recently, cheesesteaks! Eat 100% of my recommended daily caloric intake, again, adding about 30 extra grams of fat and 2,000 mg of sodium.

Step 8: “Fall asleep” on someone’s couch/floor/aerobed with half a burrito or some other gross food in my hand. Often, I fall asleep with gum in my mouth, which is totally safe for an intoxicated person…**crickets**

Step 9: Wake up the next day, weigh myself, cry. Realize I am still a little drunk, so I have beer for breakfast. Ah, that’s better.

Step 10: Either attempt to gym or just give up for the day since I have a hangover and need greasy food to live. I mean, have you ever gotten over a hangover eating spinach? Didn’t think so.

Step 11: Check in with the crew to make sure everyone is alive and ask where all the bruises on my legs came from. Hear extremely hilarious stories about someone throwing up, passing out or making out at the bar. Giggle and express the true love I hold in my heart for my silly friends.

Step 12: If it’s now Saturday, start over at Step 1.

Yea, that sounds about right. Please feel free to lecture me as necessary.

Lately, I’ve been getting a little fed up with people being “thrown under the bus” for no good reason. In the past two weeks, I’ve seen it many times personally and in the news. The latest spectacle with Reverend Wright is the most blatant and utter display of hating and childish revenge I have ever seen. Although I write a little crazy sometimes, I do not feel as if it would be enough to simply type, “Wright, I’m comin’ for that ass.” Because am I, really? Of course not, but I sure do want to. However, I don’t even think that Wright is worth me going to jail for, because he’s a piece of crap human.

Look, Wright, I don’t know what c**t Hillary is paying you or offered you, but this shit has got to stop. You are about to ruin the campaign of the person that is most likely the most influential and inspiring presidential candidate of my lifetime, either out of spite, for financial gain/fame or because you feel like he didn’t have your back. But really, should he? Initially, I understood your comments and what you were trying to say, sort of. But now, it’d be a great time for you to STFU. I don’t appreciate this shit. What are you, a closet Republican? Because I’ll tell you one thing–if you ruin this for Obama, I WILL NOT VOTE FOR CLINTON. Will not. So, if you’d like to get your rocks off by keeping our troops in Iraq and screwing everyone over, whatever. Just know, that no matter how holy a person you think you are, I’m pretty sure this little stunt will land you in Hell. You definitely have no morals and I am glad that Obama now sees the person his “uncle” truly is. Nothing but a lying piece of crap trying to screw the country and person you want revenge on for petty gain. Do not like. Do not want.

P.S. Get a tan, you asshole.

Alright, so as most of you know, I have a bit of a late night fetish with Taco Bell. And so what?!?!? It’s delicious. Anyway, I mosey on over across the border while I’m on the phone with my friend and am trying to figure out what I want. Wait–what’s that??? Some blinking lights behind me!? Why…so I initially ignore and and continue to contemplate my order. Oh–blinking lights again?! So I lean out my window to the car behind me and I’m like, “What’s the problem?”

At this point, I become introduced to the HONGRY fat chick behind me, who starts yelling about how the order speaker is the next stop. I’m like, “Uhh…I don’t know what I want yet.” To which she responds, “HURRY THE FUCK UP!!! GET OFF THE PHONE AND ORDER!” Now, this would be a REASONABLE request if being on the phone with my friend was actually holding up my order, but it was not. I had STOPPED talking to him so I could order fatty, sodium filled food. At this moment, something inside me snaps. So I’m like, “Bitch, why don’t you get out your car and MAKE ME ORDER?!” Fat ass bitch. I told her ass she didn’t need any fucking Taco Bell anyway. Fuck her. She starts honking at me, I ignore her bacon-laden human and decide what I want to eat. After 2 minutes I decide what I want (omg 2 min is so long for a fucking obese idiot, didn’t you know?!?! YOU NEED BOOTCAMP), and when the dude asks me if I want anything else, I simply reply, “You can tell the fat ass bitch behind me to shut the fuck up and let me order because her ass doesn’t need any Taco Bell anyway.”

BY THE WAY–I ordered my burrito fresco style (w/o all the cheese and fatty sauce) and my Mexican pizza w/o meat, because really, what the fuck is that meat made of!?!?!? My fave part of the whole situation–he replies, “Ma’am, uh, I can’t do that.” while cracking the fuck up. Because NO ONE FEELS SORRY FOR FAT PEOPLE AT TACO BELL. NO ONE. Trust me on that shit. I hear her making her order behind me, so I yell, “Get a fucking salad, bitch!!! You do NOT need Taco Bell!!!!” What a stupid, fat fuck. I hate fat people. Seriously. Get your chubby ass in the gym or get the FUCK out of my face. I have no sympathy or time for you. This is all while fatty mcfatterson is still honking at me.

I leave the Bell and fatty mcfat is still behind me honking. At this point, I am cracking up because at the end of the day, she is still fat and probably HONGRY and I am the shit. Will I stop my car mid-motion to fight a fat chick? ABSOLUTELY NOT. I’m not trying to go to jail. I’m just trying to help people make healthier decisions in life. And with that, I am going to bed. Because did you know that sleep helps with weight loss too? I’m sure that bijiggity fat ho didn’t know. Let this be a lesson–do not get fat around me. I will only clown you and make innumerable jokes about Richard Simmons and Star Jones. Fitness rules.

So, I really haven’t had anything to write about, but I’m really looking forward to kickball tomorrow, so I’m gonna write a damn haiku. I’m so poetic.

My kickball game’s tomorrow

We go balls deep on that ass

Fucking do work, kid.

**Beatnik snaps all around**

Hey guys, so something happened to my friend today that I found so utterly ridiculous I just had to write something pertaining to it. We can call this my 7 year update on the Friend Zone. Who knows, maybe in another 7 years I’ll be writing the marriage zone. Umm…gross, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Anyway, here is goes, 8 tips for the Hook-Up Zone. Unlike the Friend Zone, these are mostly for women, but I guess they apply to both.

1. This one should totally go without saying, but play “Full Life.” Yes, we all know games are for children, but with this one, you’re really playing for keeps. If you already have plans with friends on Saturday and the guy you’re dating calls you on Friday night to go out on Saturday, DO NOT CANCEL WITH YOUR FRIENDS TO HANG OUT WITH HIM. Do not! First of all, you’ll look like an ass in front of your friends. Sure, they might support you dating this dude, but don’t you have a life too? I’ll bet you $100 he’s not canceling guys’ night out to go see The Notebook with you. If he really likes you, he’ll get over it and learn to ask you out with reasonable notice. Or, he’ll accept that you’ll get up with him later that night (i.e. booty call, if you’re into that).

2. Unless he is your “already had the exclusive talk” boyfriend, do NOT get pissed at him, freak out, or turn into a MySpace stalker if you see that other girls are calling/talking to/IMing him. DO NOT. I know, it’s hard, but this is one you really have to leave to venting with the girls. Wanna know why? Well, first of all, you have no idea where this girl comes from or what their status is. She could be his cousin for all you know. Also, you just look plum crazy and possessive, and he’ll probably let his girl friend in on your little tirade. What if that’s his BFF from 2nd grade who he goes to for advice about everything? Congrats, shitface, she now hates you. Oh, and she’s probably laughing at you right now and calling you a psycho chickenhead bi-atch. Niiice.

3. Do NOT drunk dial with this message or conversation starter: “Oh my god! Hey _____. So me and my friends were at this club and all these guys were trying to talk to me but all I could think about was how much I wanted you and ohmigod I miss you and I think you should come over tonight because I really can’t sleep if you’re not in bed with me and you smell so good and I think I love you you’re so hot!!!” So we’ve all drunk dialed before, and we’ve all looked crazy. I don’t know about you, but looking crazy pisses me off more than anything, especially when it comes to men. And I don’t mean cute goofy crazy, I mean “wow that girl needs someone to talk to” crazy. Save yourself the trouble.

4. Date other guys. Why? Why not, ho-bag?! If you’re as spankin’ hot as you say you are, you should have guys lining up at your door to date you. Why would you put all your eggs in one basket? If he’s so great, I’m sure there are at least 3 other girls who dig him…so do your thing. It’ll keep your mind off of all that loving crap. And no, I’m not telling you to sleep with the entire Ravens’ offensive line. I said date; told you that you were a ho-bag. :oP

5. Don’t call him your boyfriend unless he calls you his girlfriend first. I know, they shouldn’t get to call all the shots, but for some reason, this label freaks out guys waaay more than girls. If a guy calls you his girlfriend, and you’re not, what do you say? “Oh, that’s cute…I didn’t know that’s what you call me when I’m not around…haha” Guys are like, “Oh naw hell no I’m not her boyfriend…what’s her name again? I forget. Oooh that girl over there is hot. Ciao.” Alright, guys don’t say ‘ciao.’ I don’t know, guys are crazy. Everything freaks them out. I’d much rather be freaked out than freak someone out. But that’s just me. By the way, do you like the movie Single White Female?

6. If you are MARRIED, do not try to “hang out” with a single, attractive person of the opposite sex. Don’t tell them that your marriage isn’t going so well (does she know that?), that you just want “have some laughs” and think they are cool (don’t you have friends for that?) or that you aren’t the kind of person to get drunk and hit on someone—but they are super cute (okay so clearly you can hit on them while sober). You just wanted to let them know that. OH, and if they don’t want to hang out anymore once they find out that you had a wedding and took vows and ate cake and shit, don’t act like it’s their fault. What kind of retard are you? You shouldn’t even be TRYING to be in the hook-up zone. Get back in the marriage zone! What is wrong with you?!

7. Don’t expect a guy to call you. Isn’t that sad? I know, I know, it’s extremely pessimistic. But, at least if he doesn’t call you, you won’t be at home listening to Avril Lavigne and singing “So Much for My Happy Ending” or walking around with your cell phone in your hand so you will for sure pick up his call. AND, if he does call you, surprise! What a nice pick me up. Aren’t I just a ray of sunshine?

8. My new philosophy: Don’t waste the pretty. Yes, I totally stole this from a book, but it’s true. Which book? That’s a secret. Or you could just be a huge Sex and the City fan like I am and know about it already. What does it mean? Figure it out. That’s all.