Unwitting Homewrecker

Picture it…

Full moon, in the middle of the Mexican sea. Somewhere between Puerto Vallarta and Mazatlan. Cute girl stands at the rail overlooking the adult pool and stalking watching the adorable waiter that has come to know her quite well. Vodka tonic with a twist of lime. No card is needed. He knows her by name and automatically knows who to bill. With a wink and a nod, the order has been placed.

Across the deck, a good looking guy stands also looking over at the same pool.

Eye contact is made. Another wink and nod and it’s been determined that vodka isn’t the only thing coming that night.

Good looking guy walks over to cute girl and makes idle chit chat. They exchange pleasantries and he tells her how great her ass looks in “those pants”. He asks if they can go to her room and if she has condoms. And with the subtlety of a true gentleman, his intentions are made known. Who said romance was dead?

With that, CG and GLG head to the casino. A few shots and a Dos Equis later, GLG and CG are feeling quite chummy. Brief kisses and promises of what’s to come later while at the slot machine ensue.

Then these lovely words are spoken over CG’s left shoulder:

“Would you kindly take your lips off my husband? We are on our honeymoon.”

With a brief explanation and apology, CG grabs her beer and with head hung in shame leaves the casino and the now fighting couple, sure to need security intervention shortly and heads back to her room. Alone.

By the way, in case you all hadn’t guessed yet, cute girl was me. That was me being seduced by a married man. A man that was not wearing a wedding ring. He hadn't even been married long enough to get a wedding band tan.  A man that said he was there with friends. That was me being accosted by a pissed off wife. And that was me becoming the punch line for every argument they ever have until their almost certain divorce papers are signed. I will forever be THAT girl that GLG tried to cheat with on his honeymoon.

Born with a guilty conscience, I’ve replayed the evening’s events in my head countless times wondering where I went wrong. This hasn’t been the first time my need for penis has gotten me into trouble.

On my walk of shame I felt sorry for the newlywed bride. If that night was any indication of their future together, she may as well be looking for her next husband and I should have thrown his ass overboard when I had the chance and done the poor lady a favor.

After the feelings of sorrow and guilt subsided, I was filled with anger and resentment. How dare GLG interrupt my flirtation with the cute little Indonesian waiter with perfect teeth to bring such unneeded drama? It was MY vacation too and now I would be spending the remaining 3 days trapped on a ship looking over my shoulder and not standing too close to the edge. Just in case.

The next day, while in the hot tub playing a game I like to call “how long can I keep my hands all over your six pack” with my new friend, Hot Coco, Married guy decided to join us. Great.

Not particularly in the mood make the wife’s acquaintance once again, I firmly insisted that married guy go visit the other hot tub as he was not welcome in mine. After explaining myself to other inhabitants as to why I had just told this man to get the fuck out leave I was given high fives and a few “nicely handled”s. Mostly from the women.

I’ve often joked that I’m catnip for married men, however, I would never knowingly fuck around with one. That’s just plain bad karma and I’ve got my hands full with that little bitch already.

For the record, the next evening, I went back down to the casino alone. I sat down at the very same slot machine and I won $40. I'll be damned if I had auctioned off a kidney to pay for my first vacation in almost two years just to go into hiding, when for once, I hadn’t done anything wrong but try to get a little cruise ship tail.

But, next time I meet a man, I will be insisting on a background check.

With the exception of that little *cough cough* debaucle, the rest of my time on board lived up to everything you all have to come to expect from me. I drank too much, I smoked too much, I ate too much and I tried to seduce every man I could find that had 36” biceps. I don’t even know the meaning of the word “moderation” and I’m in no mood to learn about it now.

Everything a Man Hates

See that title? Yeah, that’s about me. Or more specifically, that is what was written about me on my very own Facebook page:

“The more I read from you, the more I do not like you. You’re everything a man hates in a life partner and even a friend. See ya.”

Whoa, Nelly! EVERYTHING a man hates? Even in a friend? Wow. That’s a pretty strong statement there, Mister. Apparently, not only did I fuck his mom and not call her the next day but I also kicked his puppy. Of course, I beg to differ. By saying everything implies that man doesn’t care for my exquisite set of breasticles and derriere. Nor does man care for my sharp wit and ability to do the reverse cowgirl.

Also, earlier this week, on Twitter I was on a list titled “Lick My Ass: For people that can lick my ass all they want and I’ll still think they’re crap”.

While I can fully appreciate a good tossed salad and his ability to distinguish the difference between “there”, “their” and “they’re”, that’s not exactly what I would consider a good time. I don’t kiss ass and I most certainly don’t lick it. Especially the ass of an avatar with 97 followers. Save your lube for somebody else as you won’t be needing it with me.

And a year ago, a whole blog post was dedicated to what a cunt I was. The post was so well written that I was even quoted. I couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that homeboy had definitely done his homework. By the time I was finished reading War and Peace I was left speechless and defeated. But I need to thank the little asswipe for doubling my page hits and readership so in the end I was the victor.

Normally, I wouldn’t even respond to such nonsense on this blog but for some reason I feel compelled to do so now. Knowing that this may indeed open me up to even more unwanted scrutiny, I’m choosing to go forward with this post anyway. I’m outspoken on everything else so why not when it comes to somebody attacking my character?

These certainly haven’t been the only times since the inception of this blog that I’ve had to dodge hate mail and death threats and I’m positive it won’t be the last. I’m crass, I’m abrasive and I have an unfounded sense of self confidence. So fucking what?

I talk a lot of shit. I mean a LOT of shit. There’s certainly no denying that. I do not, however, turn around and send it to the people that I’ve written about. Unless I become notably famous, I seriously doubt that any of the men I have brazenly bashed and mocked for the benefit of humor will ever see or know that my amusement was at their expense. I would consider the above mentioned dickwads full of bravado if it weren’t for them hiding behind a computer screen under the shadow of anonymity.

The first time I received a negative reaction to my writing I almost quit. The thought that I had angered somebody so much as to turn their blog and my Twitter page into a battlefield was almost too much to bear. Having spent days fielding comments and DM’s from people asking why I was even alive definitely took the wind out of my sail and made me question if I was doing the right thing by putting myself and my inner most thoughts in such a public forum. I know I can be abrasive but wishing me death? Now that’s a bit extreme, doncha think?

So, to all those that feel the need to shit on my parade and try to make themselves feel better because they don’t agree with me and the way I relate to things I have this to say:

Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

Now, I’d really rather prefer that this be the last time I need to address this issue. I’m much more a fan of talking about sex and dick then I am of defending my actions and sharp tongue. To think my words and this little blog about sex and dating have garnered such animosity is really fascinating to me but as a wise friend once told me: “If people aren’t talking about you then you are doing something wrong.” If this is any indication of things to come then I’m headed in the right direction.

And one last thing, don’t bother leaving negative comments. I will delete them. Why? Because I can. That’s why.

The Proposal

Before I begin, let me apologize for this post being so disjointed.  It was difficult for me to figure out how to cram so much bullshit into one entry ;-)


How It All Began

A year ago I received an email from Loverboy through Plentyoffish. He thought I was cute and I wholeheartedly agreed. Loverboy was supposedly a wannabe Hip Hop artist. Meaning he was unemployed. Our first phone conversation was nothing short of boring and blasé. After that I pretty much wrote him off as I wasn't particularly interested in getting to know a starving artist with the personality of a stop sign, regardless of his amazing abs. He called back a few times but I never felt the undying need to answer and continue our conversation about paint drying and grass growing.

BUT, when I get bored I tend to look for something to amuse me. In other words, that's when I get myself into trouble. I know the signs and I know the results and when I hear the little voice in my head that says "read a book", "take a bubble bath" or "go for a walk around the park" I usually tell it to fuck off because I'm a big girl now and can do whatever I want.

So, against my better judgment, I called Loverboy back and said I could be over in an hour. My first thought when seeing him was YUM! I smirked and told the little bitch inside my head that I was right, she was wrong and neener neener. She'd be thanking me later when we played naked Twister. Without the mat.

The evening went far better than expected. We talked, we made out and he asked me to come back the following evening. I was smitten.

But my gut told me something wasn’t quite right. It was that stupid little bitch in my head again saying "run", "get out" and "don't look back!" To which I replied, "Shut up! He has a 9" dick! I'm not going anywhere!"

The Beginning of the End

Driving out to eat one night in Loverboy’s Tokyo Drift Mercury Cougar, he had the volume of his radio set to approximately 43,000 decibels (which is about 307 times louder than a shotgun blast. I checked). As dogs howled and car alarms went off, I shouted above the song regaling me with tales of slapping bitches and Hennessey reigning supreme, to ask if he could turn the music down. Loverboy gave me a look that said “Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch?” and reluctantly turned the radio down just as we pulled into the Pick Up Stix parking lot.

Not since being dropped off for school in my step dads ’73 Ford pickup truck with a Hound dog tied to the bed have I been so mortified. I’m sure we made quite the pair. He in head to toe FuBu and me decked out in Old Navy getting out of a racing car arguing over why or why not it’s for the best to turn the radio down when I’ve heard the word cunt one too many times. He barely spoke to me the rest of the evening.

The relationship took a steady downward spiral after that and it wasn't long before I had to finally concede to that voice inside my head and admit she was right. Loverboy and I were both hard headed and stubborn. I should have known we were doomed from the start. The fact that I later found out he had two baby mamas and a record didn’t help matters either.

The End

I never did find out what he did for a living other than pursuing his dream of being the next Tupac. The one song he actually did play for me was awesomely stupid. It was quite difficult to keep a straight face while listening to it. Even though he claimed to have written it for me I was far from flattered. He couldn’t understand why his early declarations of love were falling on deaf ears and I couldn’t understand why a 36 year old man had a drifting car.

When my fascination with the dick wore off, I split. That was nine months ago.

The Proposal

Every few weeks since I went Houdini on him, he would call. He never left a message and I never answered. I had no desire to go hang with him and his buddies crying over MJ’s death and smoking weed. But, as happens every time I get bored and horny, I do something incredibly stupid and this time was no exception.

I returned Loverboy’s call.

In the time apart, we had both moved locations and gotten new jobs. And when I say “we got new jobs” I really mean “I got a new job”. He seemed almost giddy to hear from me. I decided to stop by and see him after work. He said he missed me like crazy and apologized for not “being the man he should have been” when we were together before. He said things were different now, blah, blah, blah.

I went back and spent Sunday, the 4th of July with him. We basically did nothing but watch bad TV and fuck. It was pretty much how I prefer to spend all my Sundays. Again, he started in with how things were different now and how much he felt he’d been given a second chance and didn’t want to screw it up.

Then, out of nowhere he asked me marry him. He said I was so amazing that I “should be somebody’s wife”.

Did anybody else just pee a little because I sure as hell did. What does that mean anyway? Does he even know me? I sport fuck for fun. I laugh at people that trip and I think that most babies are assholes. What part of that says “Wife” to you?

Shell-shocked and thinking of no less than 49 ways to reject his proposal, I simply told him I didn’t want to get married right now. At all. To anyone.

It was also explained that I needed to take him up on his offer before I got too old and wrinkled and he became famous. Hell, when he puts it that way it’s almost poetic.

The shit I put up with for a decent lay. I’ve clearly gone off my meds.

Happy Anniversary to ME!

Exactly one year ago today, I sat with a friend of mine plotting world domination. Due to a somewhat shady history chalk full of questionable and unwise decisions, we quickly realized running for office may not be the way to go. Marrying well was also not an option as I’m way too opinionated to be anybody’s bitch. It was determined, however, that I’m a narcissistic, sarcastic, sexually liberated and somewhat decent writer (did I mention narcissistic?). Hence, Miss Melisa Mae was born.

Never in a million years would I imagine that even a single person would give two shits about what I had to say. Let alone comment and become loyal followers of my abrasive, somewhat offensive and crazy antics. I’m humbled and flattered by those that take the time to read my bullshit and over usage of the words fuck and penis.

So, in a moment of introspection I’ve decided to list some of the things I have learned in the past year from having this blog. Enjoy…

1. I am an animal. I hunt, I prey and I devour men. I am, in a sense, a predator of the male population as a whole. No man is safe and every once in a while no woman is either.

2. I am not a dating advice blogger. I date, I screw, I write. End of story. Anyone daring enough to ask my advice will probably be lead astray. But it will at least be amusing. For me, anyway.

3. I look really good when holding a camera 38 feet above my head and to the left. If anything can be learned from my 16 year old cousins, it’s that.

4. I have way more sex than I originally thought.

5. I am not the only nutty, sex crazed, 30-something obsessed with biceps and peni.

6. Despite making periodic breaks in my stream of conscious writing, I still have no idea where and when to end a paragraph.

7. Not everybody is going to love me or my writing and those people should be shipped off to the island of misfit toys that's okay.

8. Despite my initial reservations about putting my love life on record and in writing, it has been among the best and most cathartic things I’ve ever done.

9. I now have one year’s worth of blog posts outlining exactly why I’m still single.

10. Not only am I dating to find love, I now also embrace those awkward and disappointing first dates because they make for awesome stories.

11. I still have a great rack.

12. I’m kind of a bitch. But that’s ok. I own it.

And there you have it, kids. I need to run, I have a post to write about an engaged dickwad with huge teeth and a pecker the size of a walnut.

Ciao, babies!

Mr. Perfect

This is going to be a long post. Only because Mr. Perfect is a long winded asshole that can’t seem to stop talking about himself. Initially, I was only going to quote the interesting lines in his profile but after having read through it a few times I decided to post it as is. I implore you to take the time to read through it in its entirety.

His email to me:

Hey,
 I'm normally in N.Holly; an educated, athletic white male dark hair/eyes broad shouldered few tasteful tats residing in the Tarzana/Woodland Hills area. I have a stable career, work in law enforcement, maintain a business and I've returned to school to receive my 2nd Degree. I have a wide variety of interests listed here on my profile, and would love to chat if you feel we'd click as I do.

*Yawn*

His Profile:

UPDATED: To those of you saying that's a cute dog posing with you; thank you for the compliment he was actually my partner who had passed away June 27th, 2008! I thank you for the best-wishes to those of you who have told me already. NOTE: The other photos I've posted are the only one's I have of myself mostly with friends or former clients! I've been called a "Good Samaritan" the one whose stopped at accident scenes; to direct traffic, call 911 or assist anyway I can. I've been called a Protector, some have even used the term; "knight in shinning armor" however, I just believe I'm "Me" A Chivalrous (having been raised by 4 ladies and grandpa), Poetic, Athletic, Educated, Sarcastic, Compassionate, Articulate, Faithful white male who has an Extremely Open-mind, has previously worked in the Hospitality Industry, Taught, Trained, Educated, Mentored, Apprehended and Protected. I went into Law Enforcement "to protect those that couldn't fight for themselves and to stand up/protect the vulnerable" I'm tall, standing just under six feet weighing approx. two hundred thirteen fit lbs with broad shoulders, dark hair and hazel-brown eyes. I have a muscular/fit build, big arms/calves "not a meat-head though" and several tasteful pieces of ink/holes where piercings use to lay! I've led a great career; (to which I utilize my law enforcement background to), Maintain a business in the Entertainment Industry, Promote a Women's Wrestling Division, Volunteer at a Private Animal Rescue, act as a Respite Giver for an Autistic Boy and I've returned to school to complete my 2nd Degree {where I'll be hopefully working in the medical field as a Dr. (DVM) by 2013}. ATTIRE: I'm pretty much a T-shirts/collard polo & shorts type of a guy, (wearing my sunglasses as much as I can/those damn sun's rays lol!), yet I can dress the part; and told pretty dapper in a suit & tie when the occasion calls for it!

 ABOUT YOURSELF: local, fun, attractive, faithful, open minded and believes in the idea of *COMPROMISING* A lady who enjoys spending time w/me as much as I enjoy spending with them. Someone who wants to be w/me for me, not for whom I may know or what I may do for a living. I consider Tattoos and Piercings sexy (yet it's not a requirment, just a like). A girl in shorts/jeans and a t-shirts, someone who can dress "girly" in a dress/skirt/gown for an appropriate function works as well. Perhaps, you're a lady who is open to grabbing her bikini and being spontaneous enough to head off to the beach, daisy dukes and "Brains" are sexy as well. Are you my "Megan Fox?" the answer should be NO, you are you an individual who has her own mind makes her own choices but, believes in compromise and may be open to DRESSING in a POLICE OFFICER UNIFORM as a Halloween Costume this year :) INTERESTS: I have a wide variety of interests and an eclectic taste in music. I enjoy walking along the Venice Boardwalk, Annual 80's Rock concerts, the County Fair, Knott's Scary Farm's Annual Halloween Haunt, Hiking, Shooting, Karaoke, Museums (big into the Baroque & Goth Eras thanks to Art History), Indy Wrestling, the Theater and I'm open to Shooting pool. A couple times a month I can be found traveling up north or down south for the day for work purposes; where there's always an extra seat for a navigator (wink wink).

 So, I ask you this; if you'd like to meet a Chivalrous, attractive, respectful, open minded happy guy feel free to take a glance @ my profile and see what similar interests we share and let's get to know one another. Many have asked for more then 1 photo, so I've placed several photos for you to scroll through. Just remember, I'm not too photogenic. Give me the opportunity to prove that to you.
 -----///\\-----
----///-\\\----Put This
---|||---|||---On Your
---|||---|||---account If
---|||---|||---You Know
----\\\-///----Someone
-----\\///-----Who Died
------///\-----Of
----///\\\----Cancer

Cheese and rice, where do I begin? Is there anything this Chuck Norris wannabe doesn’t do?

1. His definition of “Muscular/Fit” and “Broad shouldered” differ immensely from mine. By the looks of his beer belly pictures, nobody is going to accuse this guy of being a “meat head”. Not that I mind if he’s packing a few extra lbs but don’t claim to be in shape when you clearly are not. I myself am no swimsuit model but I also don’t claim to be in my profile while showing you a picture of a Chippendale’s stripper grabbing my size 16 ass.

2. He has such pictures posted as “Walking out of Olive Garden” and “Just me”. Shall I send him the pictures of me playing on my computer? Watching TV? Sleeping?

3. He claims to be an educated man yet does not quite have the best grasp of spelling, punctuation and grammar. Neither do I, but again, I don’t claim to as he does right off the bat.

4. Did he just write “I've been called a Protector, some have even used the term; "knight in shinning armor" however, I just believe I'm Me”?  Give me a fucking break. I suppose this egomaniac also has doorways built in his house specifically to accommodate the size of his ginormous head.

5. He went into Law Enforcement "to protect those that couldn't fight for themselves and to stand up/protect the vulnerable"???  Bite me. He went into Law Enforcement because he needed a hook to get laid.

6. He’s looking for “Someone who wants to be w/me for me, not for whom I may know or what I may do for a living.”  Oh really? Who the fuck do you know? Ricki Rocket? What the fuck do you do? Promote women’s wrestling? Don’t do me any favors, lamesauce.

7. “Are you my "Megan Fox?" the answer should be NO, you are you an individual who has her own mind makes her own choices but, believes in compromise and may be open to DRESSING in a POLICE OFFICER UNIFORM as a Halloween Costume this year :)”  What the fuck is wrong with this guy???

8. “Just remember, I'm not too photogenic.” <-------Truth!

9. While myself and a great majority of those on the planet Earth have probably lost somebody they love to cancer I’m not a fan of seeing these typed ribbons on anyone’s profile. I get it, somebody you knew is dead. Same here, bucko but I just choose not to broadcast it on a site looking for love. Save that shit for your diary.

In all honesty, I’m not so sure why this guy pissed me off so much. Oh wait, it’s because he had Barbara Streisand’s nose, John Goodman’s physique and Ray J’s ego.

Hot Bicep Guy

If you are a guy and we haven’t slept together yet I’m still talking to you AND I dedicate an entire post to you, you can bet that I am going to fuck the ever loving shit out of you you are pretty darn special.

Case in point, Hot Bicep Guy.

In case any of you have missed it, not only has HBG been occupying my (wet) dreams but also my Facebook and Twitter pages:

Tuesday, June 1st:

11:53am - Once again, just confirmed that I am completely incapable of having a coherent conversation with someone sporting amazing biceps and buns.

Friday, June 4th:

2:58pm - Just learned that since I left work early I missed hot bicep guy coming by to cut rock. Yes, I said cut rock. Who cares why?

Today, Thursday, June 10th:

9:30am - Dear Sex Gods, Please let hot bicep guy come by the office to cut rock BEFORE I leave the office today instead of after like the last two times. Kthxbye.

**The Sex Gods answered my prayers. Water was turned on (as was I), power tools were brought out and rock was cut**

12:00pm - Oh God...boss just ran out to arm wrestle hot bicep guy. Best. Job. Ever.

2:00pm - Ok, for those keeping tabs...hot bicep guy asked for my Facebook. Is that the 2010 version of asking for one's phone number? Either way, he will end up disrobed. Just sayin...

So, if I do the math, I’ve invested 10 days into this relationship. Assuming that’s the equivalent of approximately 3 dates, it’s time we did the horizontal mambo. He owes me. And he’s going to pay me. In penis.

I spent a full hour today in what can only be described as the most fun one can have with their clothes on. As if the Gods above had read my mind and answered my prayers, along came the construction truck with 185 lbs of pure muscle and 6% body fat tucked neatly inside its cab.

Time stopped. I watched as HBG jumped out of the truck and went over to inspect the slabs of rock waiting to be cut.

Wait, did he just look back at the office window? Oh yeah…it’s on like Donkey Kong!

Never mind that I was smiling like a Cheshire Cat. So? I was hungry and he was lunch.

I’m sorry, did my boss just ask me to do something? Not possible as there are only two people in this daydream. Me and HBG.

Shit, boss is talking to me but I can’t understand a word he’s saying. He may as well be speaking in Greek because at the moment I can’t even remember my own name, let alone how to type up a letter.

Still staring, I watch as HBG and his helper turn on the hose and saw. Things are getting wet (I love puns). His back is to me and all I see are muscles contracting and heavy equipment being used. He’s cutting then lifting the heavy slabs of rock into the back of his truck. The only thing missing is me, straddling the rock slabs in a white t-shirt.

Am I dead? Because this MUST be what heaven is like.

Uh oh, I’m drooling. Boss saw it and looked out the window.

Boss: What? You lookin’ at HBG?

Me: bholysoudtoaopshhdfgjslhg?

Boss: You know, I’m stronger than him. I can beat him at arm wrestling *heading for the door*

Me: bholysoudtoaopshhdfgjslhg…*following close behind*

I’m not about to miss two guys playing “who’s got the bigger penis” for my benefit.

They wrestle, I giggle and the boss concedes to a bad wrist. I now know who has the bigger penis.

Oops, time’s up. Time to leave work and head to job #2.

Boss: Can you stay for a few more minutes?

Me: Nope

Like a cougar stalking her prey I hightail it out of the office to go attack my unwitting victim.

With a grin and a wave HBG asks if I’m leaving. That’s my que. I got this. I just hope I didn’t leave claw marks when I pounced.

Some small talk and a Facebook invite later, the door has been opened.

Stay tuned…

...and how was YOUR weekend?

Warning: Melisa + Vodka = Crazy shit going down

I’m not sure what it is about this particular clear liquid that makes it so dangerous but once imbibed by yours truly, it’s pretty much guaranteed that:

a) I’m going to end up naked
b) I will probably cry
c) I will tell somebody that I love them (usually via text message)
d) Good odds that I will scare the shit out of some poor schmuck therefore insuring that any chances of getting another date are slim (please refer back to “C”)

Date/Time: Friday/6 pm             Location: Hollywood Blvd., The Chad Pad

Me: Mmmm…beer.

Chad: There’s also vodka in the freezer.

Me: Fuck!

Chad: Two bottles…

Me: Double Fuck. You do that on purpose, don’t you?

Chad: Do what?

Me: You know my track record with Vodka. You are definitely flirting with danger.

Chad: The shot glasses are in the cupboard.

And so it began.

By the end of the evening, I had been to LAX to pick up a friend, gone to Saddle Ranch on Sunset with a guy wearing a cow tipping T-shirt, met and became BFF’s with some girl there for her birthday because I liked her pretty blue cocktail, got hit on by her arrogant, pushy, abusive-type, overweight boyfriend, ate cotton candy, borrowed some glasses from Saddle Ranch (my purse is much bigger than I realized), ended up at a strip club that was clearly a front from something else, cried because I thought I was going to be sold into sexual slavery, somehow managed to change my Blackberry settings from English to Spanish, took a muscle relaxer and lost my purse. The weekend can best be summed up in this Facebook status I posted:

“Woke up with my bra on inside out. Pretty happy to have Monday off. I'm gonna need it.”

I also may or may not have made out with a 25 year old virgin from Kansas. He also may or may not still be a virgin.

Luckily, I was able to get my purse back from the human traffickers at the strip club the next night, so all was not lost. Feeling a little uncomfortable knowing that they probably went through my stuff and now know where I live. For once, I’m grateful that I’m too old to be kidnapped and sold.

By the end of my binge on Sunday, my liver had cried “Uncle” more than once.

Things I learned from this weekend’s debauchery:

1) Never trust a cab driver that refers you to The 7th Veil
2) Beer is not part of a balanced breakfast for a reason
3) My panties have a mind of their own and will end up on the living room table
4) Taking a muscle relaxer while still drinking is probably not one of my better ideas
5) Next time I go out, it’s probably for the best, to leave my cell phone at home

…and how was YOUR weekend???