Thursday, March 4, 2010

girls gone mild.

once upon a time in a land far far away, three gorgeous and naughty little princesses decided to have a girls' night out on the town. they donned their pretty party frocks and glass slippers, polished their glittering crowns, and took their horse-drawn coach out for a spin, ready to scoop up any handsome princes who happened to darken their path. little did the princesses know that the troll lurking under the bridge had a TERRIBLE surprise in store for them...(cue ominous soundtrack)


I LOVE HOTELS. i really do. of any variety. maybe not shitty motels that you can rent by the hour, although i have most certainly been in that kind..., but to me there is nothing better than sitting in a giant bed that i don't have to make when i get out of it, watching cable and soaking up air conditioning that someone else is paying for. i get rooms for myself as often as i can afford it, and my fabulous ass and i get room service and watch all the hbo we can cram into a 24 hour period. or, because i don't want to get suckered into drinking the 12 dollar bottles of voss still (really?!) on the bedside table, i arrive armed with water, diet coke, and the kind of portable food that could survive a nuclear attack.

last april (holy fuck, it's been almost a year?!) my love nina got married and i flew out to san diego and wedged myself into a very chic tea length bridesmaid's dress and before i talk about how much i lurved the hotel, can i just say that i was literally EXPLODING out of the top of that dress? hot, i know, but that dress was total tits on toast and sitting through a catholic mass with pretty much everything but my nipples exposed was a little, um, breezy for my tastes. not to mention that i had this ravaged, hacking cough at the time that i could scarcely control and everyone reading this knows what your boobs do when you're coughing your brains out. they dislodge themselves and threaten to blacken both your eyes. ugh. dudes who love huge tits should try wearing some for a week, then talk about how great they are. as soon as i'm rich i'm getting a fucking reduction.

anyfourclaspbra, i stayed at this hotel that wasn't super fabulous or fancy or whatever, but my room had TWO BEDS and a view of gorgeous palm trees whenever i opened the curtains. plus it was a few steps away from this little mexican spot that had the most delicious rolled tacos you could ever imagine. i alternated which bed i slept in; once i even switched in the middle of the night. what a rebel. san diego is totally my jam. i should live there. i already talk like a fucking valley girl. i mean totally dude! and my SD beezys all have fun, summery names that make you think of coachella and beach volleyball and glass bowls and the white girls in snoop dogg videos: nina, izzy, lindsey, killer katlyn, and carlee. tell me you don't want a cerveza and some hot carrots right now.


but i can't move because i can't go back to a job where i don't get to boss somebody around 100% of the time, and that's presicely what happens when you start a new job in a new city for which you checked "some college" on the application. i haven't spent eight years destroying my allergies and ruling with an iron fist to start over flipping in and out burgers. eff that. (those bitches ARE delicious, though.) so i'll just have to keep saving my pocket change and flying out to get drunk in the sunshine with bitches who swear that only they have the best carne asada in the country. seriously. karen made me take a carne asada burrito home, and it was so flame i ate that shit in the airport. that must have been a sight for sore eyes. totally gross. because i had this gnarly cough and it was right as swine flu was wiping out every third mexican, so people were giving me the "cough one more time and i'll punch you in the face" eye, and i'm coughing and trying to eat this messy ass burrito which was totally worth the death stares. they weren't kidding. california ain't fucking around, mang.

so akilah called me a couple weeks before my birthday and was like, "what are you doing saturday? i got us a room at the W downtown. let's have girls' night."
i feel it warrants repeating every single time it comes up, and fuck you if you don't like it, but female friendships are serrrriously THE MOST important thing to me. and they should be just as important to every vagina reading this, if for no other reason than your boyfriend is NEVER going to sit around dissecting and analyzing last week's episode of gossip girl with you. unless he's a homo. which is AWESOME, but you might want to find a new BOYFRIEND. one who won't notice that you're trying to grow out your layers or that your tory burch shoes are FAKES.

so i was like, "yeah, bitch! let's DO this!" and we got the party ball(s) rolling. she, angie, and i were going to meet at the W, get drunk, get dinner, get more drunk, and cruise for hot asses. well that was MY plan. maybe i shouldn't speak for them.

i came home from work that afternoon and had a couple campari and sodas, because i like to get the party started EARLY. the problem with getting drunk at two in the afternoon is that it's hard not to be sleepy and useless afterward. needless to say my disco nap ran long, but those lovely ladies were sweet enough to drive all the way up to siberia to get me. i really do live far, huh? oh, i know. i did it on purpose, just to piss you off. but here's the thing about the ropa: have you ever looked at the RENTS up here? oh, i know. it's not as hip as logan or wicker or ukrainian or roscoe. no, it for sure isn't hyde p or bucktown or river east. and it's no lp or andersonville or lakeview or wrigley, either. (ew. if wrigleyville is your ideal living area get the fuck off this blog.)

but where else could one find a sprawling three bedroom apartment-estate for 900 bucks?! and i want those of you lucky enough to have gotten a glimpse of my perfect little slice of heaven to remember that my rent is less than your car note. and it's AWESOME. i'm just sayin'. and maya and sarah and julia live up here, too, which just further substantiates my argument. move up here and party with the hippies like we do. come on! come explore the (really fucking far) north side! we'll take you to grupo di amici and then the glenwood, and we'll finish up the evening at the morseland or something. OR we can get dinner at uncommon ground then go to the pumping company (best.bar.name.EVER.) and get underaged loyola dudes to pay for our drinks with their student loan money or textbook stipend or whatever.

i have a good friend with a part-time barista job who lives in an apartment the size of a shoebox on the gold coast WITH A ROOMMATE and her HALF of the rent is higher than mine ENTIRELY. sure, she can walk right out of her door and into all the hot douchelord bars and hipster restaurants, but she can't afford to eat in any of them. she just sits at the bar looking cute with her stomach growling until some pinkshirt (barf) takes pity on her sorry ass and puts a pinot grigio on his tab. so i may have to pay twenty bucks for a cab home, snotbag, but at least i don't have to jump it at a red light two blocks away from my place because paying  my exorbitant rent left me with just enough money to do the laundry and buy a 7 day.

so the three of us get to the hotel and, after a little valet confusion, walk inside and check in. so the W is supposed to be hot shit, right? all young, sleek, cool modernity? mm hmm. granted, the lobby was certainly a little more awesome than that of your average holiday inn, but it definitely didn't knock my balls off. the hotel intercontinental in milwaukee where i stayed when i was up there hanging with my tara was more dope. now, there was no trashy euro-house pulsing through invisible speakers like the W, but i'm pretty sure that's some shit i could live without. there were a few nicely-appointed people tapping away on laptops, looking all busy, but you know they were just checking their facebooks.

maybe i should stop watching tv and listening to random conversations on the bus, but i was expecting to feel like i'd been transported to fabulosity, usa the second we got there. not so. it felt like any other hotel, all insulated and soundproof-y. but with cuter purple striped carpets. our room wasn't anything to shit about either. two full beds, a flatscreen, and other hotel-y stuff. WITH ONE NOTABLE EXCEPTION. the bathroom was, for lack of a better adjective, OPEN. like, it had a cutout window OPEN. no door OPEN. there were wood shutters that you could close over the window, and what was essentially a scrim that was meant to be pulled over the door, but there was basically ZERO way to separate oneself from the pee. or the puke. or the DUMP.

someone please tell me who the fuck this was meant for?! first of all, it was a DOUBLE ROOM. and bed #1 was maybe twelve inches from the "window." what if we had been coworkers on a business trip?! would you really want stan from two cubicles over to listen to you fart? is there anyone you'd want to listen to you fart?! maybe if you're 18 and you never eat and therefore never poo that's some hot business, but NOT SO for any normal adult. you might as well drag a potty into the middle of the room and be all, "sorry to interrupt this episode of cheaters, but i thought you guys might like to witness my grunt face. hey, look! there's a piece of corn in there!"


the only thing i could think of was that maybe one person would be lying bed watching the other in the shower, but i immediately dismissed that because the thought of how awkward and weird that would be grossed me out. and again, if that IS the purpose, why in a room with two beds? just to be "different" and "strange" and "cutting-edge," that's why. because if you're a moron you think that kind of shit is cool. whereas if you are practical yet glam (ahem), you understand that at SOME point in the evening that is going to be a potential point of crushing embarassment.

i am freakishly obsessed with aziz ansari's new stand up dvd (i luh him), and there's one tiny part where he's talking about how awful it is the first time you bring someone back to su casa and you have to crap, and how you turn on the stereo and the sink and the tub and anything else you can find so your new squeeze won't know (they ALWAYS KNOW), and then you hope they don't have to pee or wash their hands or whatever so they won't smell your shit. that was all i could think about for the first FIVE MINUTES we were there, how horrific it would be if your unsuspecting ass got this room with some smoking hot piece and then had baby guts and not only did he hear it, but it was AMPLIFIED. and a foot away from his bed! tragic.

akilah is my kind of whore, and she pulled out a bag not only full of liquor, but ALSO containing a blender with which to mix it all up. WHAT?! that's so next level partying i can't even handle it. take that, amateurs! within minutes of returning from the ice room she'd whipped up some electric orange concoction that got me drunk after two sips. bang up job, sister. DYNAMITE.

i had my party pants on up to my chin, and we finished our cocktails and left to get a cab for dinner. now i'm a champion drinker. really, i have a belt knocking around somewhere in my closet. despite alcohol's depressive effect, getting tanked just makes me stronger. so i was ready to GO. we went to ben pao and were informed that there was a seven month wait (not really, but i felt like i could gestate a puppy in the time it took for us to get a goddamned table) so we sat at the bar. i had THREE super strong "shanghai coladas" (isn't that cute?!) in the time it would take a large man to finish a heineken, and i was starting to feel pretty good. i love that liquor magic. angie and kilah were drinking some martini shit that had big leaves or fruit or something in it (but i might be wrong, i was trashed), and we ordered a ton of appetizers.

it was so african sex and the second city! without all the plate lips and nose bones. it was like an episode of girlfriends with two mayas and a toni. (joan is fucking ANNOYING, and i HATE that bohemian one who slept with common. yuck to her.) you couldn't tell me we weren't fucking fabulous, darling. #1: i was wearing SLACKS. #2: i was also wearing MAKEUP. #3: my eyebrow game was MURDEROUS. scroll back up and look at that fucking picture if you don't believe me. that's my sweet ass in the middle. and you could shave roast beef with my motherfucking eyebrows, bitch! KILLER. these things are worth honorably mentioning because i'm a slovenly sack of horseshit who routinely wears pajamas out of the house disguised as real clothing. so give it up. regular eyebrow maintenance is harder than my JOB. i'm exhausted just writing about it.

finally our buzzer buzzzzzed and angie paid our tab and we were shown to our table, a circular booth inside a glass coffin. for reals, we were behind this gigantic sheet of glass. and if you can't picture the physics of it, stop trying. all you need to know is: HOT AS BALLS. burned the fuck ALIVE. three minutes in and i was ready to faint. because drinking and heatstroke are a potent combination. goddamn it was sweltering. but we were having fun, right? so who cares?! but it was so hot that i just picked at my dinner (SO not my style) and drank three glasses of water. water with no alcohol in it. but that's okay, right? it's STILL a party! well. halfway through the meal i notice that akilah is, well..., ASLEEP. at the TABLE. because she is HAMMERED. uh oh.

sensing the severity of the situation, angie flagged down our terribly inattentive waitress and, feeling the perspiration beading on my lip and forehead, i handed her my card to pay for our dinner. angie roused sleeping beauty, who just kept murmuring how hot she was and how ill she felt. like i said. UH and OH.

in addition to my drankin' prowess, i'm a master cab hailer. and here is why: i walk right into the middle of traffic with my hand in the air, daring these assholes not to stop. i mean, i cut an imposing figure. the cab would fall apart on impact. i don't give a shit about horns. honk that shit! i don't give an ignorant DAMN. when i have to go somewhere, i have to GO. so angie gets akilah into her coat and i charge out of the restaurant and directly into downtown traffic, hand raised. this terrified cab driver slammed on his brakes and i turned around to tell my lovers that our chariot awaited (and had his meter running so let's hurry it the eff up already) just in time to witness akilah VOMITING INTO A RAISED PLANTER on the curb while angie held her hair. oh snap.

i think it crystallized for me at that exact moment that our version of girls' night out! was about to end up more like golden girls' night out. your grandmother parties harder than we did that night. i was expecting this huge rager from which i might never recover. um...FOR SURE. to her credit, those drinks akilah made were strong as balls, as were the ones we'd pounded at ben pao. i waved the cab along and stood there watching her and thinking about how much fucking seafood we'd just eaten, and how raunchy that shit probably tasted coming up. it was the most insane puke to watch, though. despite her fragile condition, she was really smooth about it! i'd be on my hands and knees yakking into the gutter with tears and mascara running down my face and those nasty saliva strings connecting my mouth and the sewer grate. not this bitch! she was just like, BARF BARF mini-barf DONE. color me impressed.

back at the hotel, the lobby action had started to heat up. and by "heat up" i mean "couples that looked like they'd be better served at a daddy-daughter picnic were groping each other and making out all over the place everywhere i turned." then I wanted to throw the fuck up. we got back to our room and both angie AND akilah immediately threw themselves across each of the beds and promptly fell asleep. all i know is that one minute i was trying to figure out how to turn the goddamned tv on and the next minute these hoes were fast asleep. fully clothed. BEFORE TEN PM.

i could tell you about all of the riveting saturday night tv programming i stayed up to watch, but you bitches have seen a lot of SVU, too. so let's skip that shit. i didn't even have my phone, so i couldn't drunk text all the hot dudes whose numbers i keep ferreted away for moments such as these. i just sat in the squishy chair next to akilah's bed and did my achilles stretches and tried not to wake them up. until i had diarrhea seven times and had to run the sink, the shower, turn the television up to full volume, play guitar, and practice birdcalling so they wouldn't hear my runs. which, despite the fact that it sounded like pee, is MORTIFYING. i should avoid anything with colada in the name. remind me next time we're out getting mexican food.

it was reminiscent of that hilarious dave chappelle sketch where he and his homies are all stoked for DUDES NIGHT OUT and they keep screaming and acting like idiots and the night ends with old tranny hookers and ashy larry (what's that dude's real name?!) taking a shit on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant. hysterical.

at 2 am a home emergency forced angie's early departure, and i left with her because for all the provisions we'd lugged up to our room, WATER and CRACKERS and GINGER ALE were not among them. and eff that $6 fiji water on the table. while we waited for the terminably slow valet to bring our pumpkin back from where he'd parked it, i saw this other valet dude who used to stare at me in my religion class last semester! so he stared and stared and stared at me some more (i dropped that class, so maybe he missed me?) until our dude finally arrived and angie drove me to 7-eleven.

fast forward to the next morning, where not only did akilah discover dried jizz on the bedspread (it's cool though, because it was probably fancy-ass W hotel celebrity semen...pshaw) but I realized that all of you assholes who've slept in my bed are either major exaggerators about the severity of my snoring, or i was asleep for several hours WITHOUT FUCKING BREATHING. jerks. because kilah wouldn't lie to me...right?!

we decided that a healthy (when i use that term i mean SIZE, not nutrional value) brunch was in order, and went to get her car and sashay it over to orange. because that place is my JAM. we went to the new one next to buddha lounge and across from red no five, what street is that? grand?, and parked around the corner. i got out to try to figure out how to stick my card in the parking box (how do you fellas manage it? dang, sex must be hard when you're a dude!) and had just gotten it in when i heard a loud THUNK down the street. i whipped my head in kilah's direction and saw her jump out of her car, screaming at a dude in a silver dodge charger who had HIT HER CAR and was trying to RUN. in broad daylight. on some black bitches!

yeah fucking right, homie.
i yanked my card back and ran down the block (did you know i could do that?!) while akilah jumped back into the driver's seat, fired the engine up, and sped to meet me halfway. THE CHASE WAS ON. now shit like this doesn't scare me AT ALL. i live for it. she drove like a certified maniac, chasing this asshole through cabrini green, fueled by her empty stomach and impending hangover, i'm sure. i was shouting the dude's license plate over and over while she got on the phone with the cops. this was some thelma and louise cagney and lacey type shit! danger! intrigue! blood-pumping exhilaration! my only regret is that i didn't have my phone on me, because we could've had this thug motherfucker who owes me a lifetime debt and lives in that area take over for us and make sure that chase ended the right way. and i'm not talking about exchanging insurance information, either.

we lost him in traffic, which was probably better because i don't think akilah had a bat or anything in the car we could have done real damage with, so we turned around and spent an hour at the police station by the river filing a report. what a rush, man. we went from the three lame-igos to the fast and the furious in a matter of hours. it was incredible.

after waiting another 37 hours for a table (why don't people eat breakfast at eight?) we finally got a table upstairs between a p diddy wannabe who actually POPPED BOTTLES in a fucking brunch joint (DOUCHBAG) and a silver fox who paid for a table full of people with a black amex. i got what i always get (that chai toast and fruishi business is out of this world), but i can't remember what akilah got because that's when the hangover really started to take effect. don't believe me?

here is sam, still flush with the thrill of the venomous hunt:

and here is akilah, vomiting plant-ruiner slash nascar driver:




some things even fresh-squeezed orange juice can't cure.
and fairytales are for cunts.

viva la girls' night!