Full Moon Party #3

As most journeys in Thailand begin, mine started with getting robbed for $150 on our way from Chiang Rai to Bangkok. Our bus got into Bangkok at 6:00am. They woke us up, rushed us off, and only after the bus left I realized I was missing 3,000Baht and my iPhone. Well, if that's not a reason to go drinking I don't know what is. The girls and I headed straight to a bar and ordered a beer tower while we watched the sunrise over Khao San Road.

An hour later Becca and our friend Jemma went to check into a hotel while I stayed to keep an eye on our second beer tower and chatted up the table full of men behind us. Turns out one of them was from Oakland, California and had come to Bangkok 3 weeks before and never left Khao San!How absolutely pointless right? Luckily, though this man was a complete waste of time, he happened to be sitting with about 5 lads from various countries no where near America. One in particular was Welsh.

Unfortunately, my memory of the rest of this day is a bit hazy. I'm sure Becca would be able to give a more detailed report on the events that followed or how I came to end up on the island of Koh Samui the next morning (which is a 12 hour bus and 2 hour boat trip from Bangkok).  What I do remember is a lot more drinking, swimming in a pool, the Welshman telling me to come to the Full Moon party with him and his two friends, and waking up sitting on his lap because apparently the bus didn't have any more seats available. When we got to the port there was a discussion of why I had bought a ticket to the wrong island. I guess I missed the part where they told me we were spending two days on Koh Samui first. No worries, that could be fun right?
Turns out I walked into amateur hour. One of these guys got drunk at the lady boy bar, started running in circles at full speed, ran right into a cement bench, broke it completely in half and then proceeded to throw up all over himself. We started calling him Forrest Gump because the minute he had a drink in him he just kept running. The other guy just complained about how backwards and dirty everything was, and when he got drunk he would scream for us to find him a hooker. I'm pretty sure I saw him making out with a lady boy at some point, though he was adamant it was a girl. Don't get me wrong they were all really nice, but had it not been for my week of drunken romance with Wales I would have bailed when we got off the boat.

After a couple days we ended up on Koh Pha Ngan for the Full Moon party. The first night we were there I wandered off on my own and inevitably found myself chatting up 5 Irishmen. Big shocker I know! Once again I don't remember how exactly the conversation went, but something about going to Bali with them was brought up, and then 2 days later I'm booking Becca and I flights from Burma to Bali. Turns out I'm very easily persuaded.

One week of constant drinking, very little sleep, and even less food, done and I'm on my way back to Bangkok to meet Becca and sleep on the floor in the airport. The next morning we flew to Burma. [Side Note: This hangover comes in a close 2nd behind that time in Bangkok when we were trying to get to the Vietnam Consulate and I threw up all over the door of the cab. I could barely keep both eyes open at immigration.] After Burma we had to go back to Bangkok for a few days and I ended up running into 2 of the Irish guys. We never actually met up with them in Bali, but regardless it ended up being the highlight of our 8 months in SE Asia, and had those dirty fuckers on the bus to Bangkok not robbed me we may never have seen it.

Love, Paige

Questions To Ask Before Booking a Bus in SE Asia...

1. May I have a seat in the middle or front? I prefer to stay in my seat when we hit a bump.
2. How many stops will the bus make? If over 10, reconsider.
3. Will the fluorescent light panel above my seat be red, orange or yellow? If so, may I be moved under blue, green, or purple? Preferably black.
4. What time does the bus get in?
5. What time does the bus really get in? 
6.  Will people be smoking on the bus? If so, are there working windows or escape exits?
7. Will the bus drop me off at my intended destination or shall I just pay that hidden fee now?
8. Will the employees on said bus be searching my bags and taking what they please?

Enjoy your trip!

Love, Paige

Made It To KL. May 12th 2011

Our flight to Kaula Lumpar, Malaysia from Barcelona was at 5am on the 4th.  The only logical thing to do was sleep in the airport.  This is not the best airport to sleep in because it didn't have many stores before security, and most importantly and disturbingly, no bar. We got kicked out of the only bench we found that we could lay down in.  I ended up finding a nice padded desk chair in one of the corners to have a good rest.  Yet I couldn't sleep because this lady kept walking by and I am almost positive she was a gypsy after our bags... or our souls. Look I'm clearly not a Nazi or anything... but I hate gypsies.

After our flight we had a few hours to kill before we could check in so we went to the Central Market.  There, we stuck our feet in a pool of fishes who swarmed them and ate our flesh.  We paid for this service.  The room we got in China Town was in a hostel and had NO windows.  I have been after a three day bender with a total of 4 hours of sleep and still not slept in as late without even a slight stir to check the time or go to the bathroom.  Actually I usually wake up early for water because I'm beyond dehydrated due to massive amount of vodka sevens and shots of tequila.  That's besides the point.  We slept in till 5 pm on the 3rd or 4th day we were there with out a drop of alcohol in our system. I always thought a black-out room would be perfect for the weekends or a hangover, but they are not conducive to curing jet lag.  Our time in KL was spent laying awake for hours in the middle of the night, sleeping during the day, going to the mega malls for air con, and walking around seemingly endless outdoor markets in the evenings. One day we did manage to wake up early to go to a sacred Hindu site, the Batu Caves. Overall beautiful, infested with monkeys, ornate shrines, and one hundred and forty two steps to the top.

After KL we headed over to the east coast to a small beach town called Cherating.  Chilling out by the beach and cutting back on the spendage was certainly in order. Yes, I said "spendage". I also have taken up saying "stoked" a bit more than usual, but I think that is expected with the life I'm living. Wait, I have re-read that, and I also said "chilling out". The moment I start wearing those ubiquitous bracelets that all hippie backpackers hoard all over their wrists someone stop me. Just send a mercenary to Asia to cut off my hands. I'm already wearing a bright pink watch and feather earrings. I'm really close to going downhill.

 

Eww.

Love, Rebecca 

Spain, France, and Flashers

We met Claire in Figueres, Spain. Her parents moved to Spain from Armagh when they retired and I can only hope my parents will do the same so I can have an awesome place to crash when I need to save a bit of money. For Easter Sunday we stayed at her friend’s holiday home in the South of France. Twelve hours we sat in the living room and out on the patio eating, drinking, and talking. I have never been so entertained while doing nothing.

After about 4 days we figured we had overstayed our welcome and decided to head to Barcelona. We arrived at 10pm with no map or plans of a place to stay.  Only with a memory of a hostel in a plaza we had stayed in once before. Two hours later we booked a hostel and came to the realization we could not afford to spend the next week in Barcelona.  The next day we headed out to Callela. Luckily, this turned out to be quite the little discovery. Callela is a perfect little beach town  North of Barcelona with bars on the sand, strips of shops, and it’s not over run with tourists like us. We found the ApartHotel Safari on LateBookings.com for about 145 Euro for 5 nights. The room had a sitting area, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. A perfect little home!

On Saturday we headed into Barcelona to meet Claire for dinner and drinks. After getting ripped off by an all you can eat tapas dinner (we should have known better than to eat on Las Ramblas), we realized that we had missed the last train back to Callela. No worries, we’ll just stay out till 6am when the train starts running. Four hours down, four over priced Vodka 7’s later we tried to get into the strip club next door; not for entertainment purposes but for somewhere to sit. At the door they told us it was 20 Euro per person but we could not get in without a man. Apparently a lesbian couple (not that we are one) cannot enjoy naked ladies without a man to escort us in. Ridiculous! The next day was dedicated to sleeping.  

Monday morning we headed out for a nice pleasant jog by the beach. Halfway down the trail we headed down some stairs to a little cove. After about 15 minutes we headed back towards the stairs.

Scene: Early 30’s Spanish man heading down stairs. Man gets to bottom of stairs, slowly unbuttons pants. Pulls pants down with boxers, lifts shirt up, stands with hands on hip and smug look of accomplishment.

Becca: “We’ve got a flasher on our hands.” Quick turn right and head down beach until he leaves.

End Scene.

One of Becca’s biggest fears is flashers. I have never been overly concerned with them until now. This is odd considering I’ve encountered my fair share of exhibitionists. I have walked past a man in the movie theatre hall pleasuring himself, driven up next to a man having his way with himself in his car, and a flasher stood next to Becca for a fair amount of time at Bay to Breakers before any of us noticed his dick was out. Not to mention we live in San Francisco and any festival or street fair you go to you are pretty much guaranteed to see a penis. This time however has scared me for life. Every time I see a man even adjust his belt now I am preparing for him to show me his junk. I just wish I had thought quick enough to laugh and say “Uno pequeno” and walk right past him up the stairs.

Love, Paige

Things I Miss About Ireland

Four months in Ireland can seem like an eternity. I had an amazing time there, don't get me wrong. I just understand now why there are more Irish living outside of the country rather than in it. This is partly my own fault. Instead of getting a job to fill my time I partied in every village/town I could get to and spent the rest of my time shopping, cooking, and staying in out of the cold. The following is a list Becca and I have composed of what we miss and don't miss about living on the Emerald Isle.

     I do NOT miss the weather. When it's sunny it's gorgeous but those days are few and far between. I do however miss always having a conversation topic. Especially after this past winter. Every conversation started with "It's never been this cold, we just aren't prepared." or "Enjoying the sun today are we? Soak it up, it won't last forever.".

     I do miss Irish butts. I don't know what it is but Irish men have the most perfect butt's. They fit those ridiculous jeans with the weird pockets so well. I do not miss however, the smell that comes out of them. It's gotta be all the Guinness and meat consumption, but that smell is fowl.

     I do miss Irish Mothers. They let you sleep in, don't mind if you were out drinking all night, and have a warmed plate of food just out of the oven and a cup of tea when you wake up. A few of them even folded and laid out our clothes to dry while we were out. There is nothing here I will not miss. Those women are lovely!

     I will miss being "the Yank". To be honest I find my accent to be lazy and boring, but the lads love it. It gets me everywhere. I will not miss having to use the line "Hi, I'm American" in order to start up a conversation with a lad. Someone please explain to me why Irish men will sit, stare, and wink from across the bar but not make a move until they are stumbling drunk?

     I do not miss the effort it takes to get ready at night. I'm from California. I've literally worn my pajamas into a bar before. I wear flip flops and sun dresses. On the occasion I do get all dolled up it's on a Saturday night and that's it. It took two weeks after I left the country to get back to normal and not feel like I needed to have full make up, big curly hair, and six inch heels on a Tuesday night just to keep up with the girls.

     I will miss rashers, dairy milk bars, and breakfast rolls. I will not miss black pudding. That shit is gross.

     I WILL miss my housemates and all the friends I've made there. You were all lovely and I felt more comfortable in your country than my own home town.

Luckily, though we will miss more things than not, whenever we go back to San Francisco we will have our perfect little blend of Irish, California. Until then we will do our best to make our own craic and keep ourselves entertained.

Love, Paige

On the Farm

 I am not sure if this was taken before or after Paige and I were called "lazy Americans" (7x) and instructed by the mother of the house to "get me an Irish woman".  I am also not sure if this picture was taken before or after I was sexually molested by one of her dogs.  I do know this picture was taken on a farm in Ballymac, Co. Kerry.

I know for sure I was not sexually abused by the retriever on the right.  He was a gentleman.  It was one of those cheeky curly haired  Irish bitches. Bending down to get something on the ground resulted in my bare bum peaking out of my jeans. One of these feisty large animals came right up and stuck her tongue, in its entirety, directly down my ass crack. I didn't know what to do.  I had no vodka soda to splash in his face and I wasn't sure if it would bite back if I gave it a slap across the cheek.  Instead we just kind of looked at each other.  I lazily said "no" out loud, knowing it made no difference in teaching a lesson. I only said it because if I stayed silent I would feel like such a whore bag.  Get me an Irish woman, she would have known what to say if some dagg tried to toss her salad...

 

A Wee Town Up North

After London, Paige and I went to Northern Ireland to see a friend.  We stayed in a small town called Hilltown in County Down. That night we went to the hotel bar on Main Street. It may be the only street in Hilltown.

 I have a fascination with small towns. I want to live in one, just for a bit.  I know I could not handle it long, but just enough to get the experience, maybe a month or so.  The reason the hotel bar was open later than normal was because the people who leased out the hotel were having a meeting upstairs with the owners to see if they could keep the place.  This was real deal Andy Griffith shit and I was there for it.  All the wives and mothers were down in the bar waiting to see if the small town folks would get their way with the big wigs.  Someone at the bar actually said I was about to witness one of the biggest historical moments in Hilltown.  The set up was spot on Little House on the Prarie and The Waltons material and I was loving every minute of it.  Well, only if Charles Ingles owned a bar not land and Mr. and Mrs. Walton were getting sauced every night after you heard "Goodnight Johnboy". An hour later the fellas came down.  An hour of waiting to see if the good people of Hilltown can keep their restraunt/bar/hotel where their heart and soul had been invested for years.  This hotel was part of Hilltown and should have been run by the people who live there...  Well fuck if I know any of this but its just what I gathered up from the locals and my imagination while taking back shots of whiskey.  Anyways, they got to keep the place! Fuck the man, up the locals and all that.  The owner had a lock in and a free bar and we all celebrated. Everything all works out, end scene, roll credits, and until next week.... I hear little Johnny falls in a well... but instead of a well it was the back alley of the bar while trying to have a slash.

London Town

We hadn't seen Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Parliament, Notting Hill or anything remotely resembling a museum. I did see the Thames and the London Eye; two days before we left, and it was only because I got off the tube early to smoke a cigarette and call Paige to see if she was still in Clapham. I also thought I would head home but changed my mind and decided to stay out for a bit longer. Yesterday Paige and I had made a decision to not go out. Thursday was St. Patrick’s Day; Friday was SF financial district-esc bars followed by a club. We needed a night off.  We went to meet a friend in the early afternoon only to watch the Ireland Rugby game, have one or two pints and head home. This led to meeting another friend for one drink at a pub. Followed by yet another bar, a few Irish men, a huge three room club with smelly carpet and shots of Jager, then at about 2am to the afterhours club, to the sun rising and people getting their morning coffee and going for jogs past the club as we were stumbling out.

I sat on a bench overlooking the Thames wondering why there are no after hours clubs in San Francisco and then coming to the conclusion that it may be for the best. (Still ordering vodka Redbull at 5 in the morning is a good thing, don't get me wrong, but I am afraid I may look like a chewed up wire by the time I'm 35.)  It's 11am and we are not scheduled to keep drinking till about 12. I sat for about ten minutes taking in the view. That was the end of conventional sightseeing of London. Back on the tube! Feeling productive having at least seen something aesthetically pleasing in London during the day, I head back to Clapham to meet Paige and a few friends. It was Sunday. We had been waiting for this for a good year and it didn’t matter that I still had not slept. The Church was our tourist attraction. We didn’t need to see Westminster Abbey we needed to go to an old theater with the seats removed in Clapham Grand.  Now if you have lived with me in the last two years you already know this. I love to dance early in the morning. It's when I am still a little drunk or hung-over, I usually always have a bit of extra energy the morning after a good session. The happy jumping around kind of dancing that usually works best with bands that use abbreviations or acronyms for some reason, Like MGMT or LMFAO. MIA works brilliantly as well. Another thing I love to do after a good session is dress up.  I find it helps with my hangover depression. However unless it’s Halloween I can’t really go "all out" because I would look like a fucking nut job. So I usually have to be very subtle. I may wear funny dark rimmed glasses for example.  One morning I decided to dress punk rock and wore chucks, black skinny jeans, and my Mars Volta tee shirt.  Or I will go super girly with lots of flower print and pink sandals.  So my point is, The Church sounded like my hangover's wet dream.  Basically it’s a club that's only on Sundays and you can dress up, dance, see a magician and a stripper. Read my Review on Yelp of The Church to get idea of the place. I met up with the team and we headed over.  I don’t remember what the cover charge was and it does not matter. I don’t remember how much drinks were only that you have to get three tall cans at a time. It was pretty brilliant and I would suggest it to people in London.  Well I would suggest it if you like places like Coppers in Dublin, Reirdans in Cork, Kells in San Francisco, and pretty much most of the bars on the upper east side.

Sadly The Church closes at four so we moved on.  Paige would have to get her fix of Aussie men making out for her ammusement elsewhere.  Until next time, maybe we will bring costumes. Afterwards we went to a few bars.  The thing to do apparently was go to a bar, The Walkabout, after the Church.  The lad we were with was absolutely adamant about showing us yanks the walkabout.  If I had a drink for every time he said the name of this bar I would almost have as many drinks as I had consumed over the past two days. And that was too much to make any kind of effort to go to the Walkabout. Although now that I think back.... aye forget it... the way we are living there should be no reason to regret anything.  After the bars was it now time to go home? Nope. It was back to one of the lad’s house in Clapham.  We got back to the house more exhausted than drunk.  We had now been out for over 24 hours and we had surpassed that point of being totally pissed. We had officially drunk ourselves sober.  We showered (not together) when we got there.  There is always a method to our madness.  We may be able to drink for long periods of time, but we're not taking massive amounts of shots.  We may be able to stay out for 36 hours but we are still showering and helping ourselves to mouthwash in the bathroom whether we know the owners or not.  After freshening up, Paige and I along with four other Irish lads kept drinking there into the night all the while being entertained by the banter. 

Paige and I woke up on the couch in the morning and thought it was a good time to start home.  We walked to the tube station through the neighborhood remembering how two days ago we went out for that one drink. Remembering how when we got to the club I bought a round of 3 Vodka Redbulls and drank them in the time it took me to find everyone. When I repeated this story one of the boys responded with, "I left you ten minutes ago".  An hour and a half later we made it clear across town on the underground.  Epic. The weekend was epic. The rest of the trip would have to be devoted to lying on the couch and having a nice Italian dinner with outdoor seating.  I was telling the person we were staying with in London how we really have not and probably will not do anything touristy during the day.  He figures he can do stuff like that when he is older.  I fully agree.  When I’m older I will probably really get off on seeing Parliament getting some free walking tour of 18th century London.  What else am I going to do when I’m in my 50s?  I will probably take my family to London and I will need a way to entertain myself and torture my kids.  We will walk along the Thames on the way to the Tate right by where I had sat to give myself a break from the weekend long bender and they will have no idea how awesome I was.  Maybe I will give some hint when we walk by; Implying something that would only slightly let wind that I once sat there sometime between drinking enough vodka to kill a small child and watching a man eat a gold fish followed by a nice young woman who took her clothes off for a room full of dancing drunks.

A Recap

Did ya miss us? Well we missed each other. We are going to start to regularly update this thing. In order to properly do so I am going to recap what’s been going on in each of our lives. It will be a long one but it must be done. I will start with Paige.

In December our Paige made the move to Ireland, she stayed in Mayo, met a lot of Irish mothers, ate a lot of meat, drank a LOT of tea, travelled to Belfast, took a tour from a Nationalist who said he was shitting his pants while we drove through Loyalists areas in fear of being recognized, went to the most over crowded cemetery I have ever seen, saw the Giants Causeway, bussed to Tipperary, had more tea, saw some pikey's, hit on a 18 year old at a club, turned around to find all my friends laughing at me, saw Beth, hitched a ride to Connemara, went to a bar where Irish was the spoken language, drove 30 minutes to a club that looked like high school prom, convinced Beth not to go for the guy with missing teeth, narrowly escaped becoming someone's baby mama, went to Kerry, convinced some footballers I was the Rose of San Francisco, went to Galway got banned from a bar for calling the bouncer a cunt, in Dublin went to Copper's with some friends of friends from Roscommon, ditched them for a boy from Limerick, moved to Cork, got a blow up mattress, bought a lot of clothes, made friends with my housemates who like their drink and probably know the local bookie’s birthday and kids name, went to the dog track,  bet on a dag named Yeah Richie and lost 3Euro, definitely a sign, developed a great impersonation of the Cork accent, went to Killarney for a poker tourney which turned into a 5 day bender with nothing but champagne, became a fan of rugby and Liverpool, developed an unhealthy crush on Jonny Sexton, took a road trip to Clare for a going away party in the smallest bar in Ireland, played housewife, made dinner, cleaned house, developed a nickname and is now only referred to as "the Yank", spent a lot of time hung-over and sick on busses, tackled some daytime sessions, and flew to London.

I stayed in SF for a couple months, ate a lot of pub food, made some great new Sunday drinking buddies, got rid of the Richmond house, quit my job, flew to New York, saw my sister, saw my niece, played a lot of hide and seek, took her to day care, did some Bikram, listened to a lot of Hova, picked the kid up, played more hide and seek, walked the dog, saw SJP and Ferris Bueller, Pollack, Matisse, and Van Gogh, smoked some pot, met some hipsters, met a bud light commercial "star" who took me to a dance party, danced till 6am drinking tall cans of bud light, saw our lovely Canadian singer Jess, drank Patron and talked about San Francisco life and music, woke up fully clothed in the right hotel, wrong room,  flew to Israel, hiked the Negev, floated in the Dead Sea, saw a lot of missiles in a town that was last bombed in November of 2010, hiked Masada at 4am, lived off hummus and hard liquor, falafel or shwarma was my biggest decision, got a lot of propaganda, met a lot of soldiers, heard a lecture from a guy that had dinner with Noam Chompsky last month, they didn’t agree, prayed at the Western Wall, drank Goldstar in Jerusalem, had Lebanese food, slept in a Bedouin tent, had the best sing song ever, sorry Kevin, saw more graves of 19 year olds than I would have liked to, stayed in a kabbutz, had Shabbat with my aunt and watched the news from Japan, heard some more guitar, heard a lot of Jesus jokes, rode a camel, did an epic card trick, said some jokes, kissed an Israeli soldier, but everyone in Isreal has been a soldier and knows how to shoot a gun, did some drugs, stayed out in Tel Aviv dancing until the sun was up in this secular city that is filled with art, energy, music, and truly never sleeps, saw a Rabbit at the flea market, laid on the beach, ate a lot cheese, saw a soccer game, heard war stories filled with more emotion I am used to, heard only a bit of dissent, heard some Sinatra from a guy from LA, had more amazing food, drank absinth, took a sharoot to the train station, got in a haggling fight with my cab driver, ended up by hugging him goodbye, and took a 5 hour Easy Jet flight to London.

Love, Rebecca

Ad for Sunday Drinking Buddy...

I'm leaving the country for a while which leaves my wifey without a drinking partner for an extended amount of time. Therefore I am taking applications for my replacement. Please answer questions below to be considered for this position. We are equal opportunity friends and will not discriminate based on gender, race, or sexual preference. All encouraged to apply!

About your new drinking partner:
She is 25, jewish-ish, and petite (easily fits in a suitcase or kitchen sink). She loves to drink on Sunday's but can be persuaded to go out most nights of the week and Saturday's. Well travelled, bilingual, and has the unique ability to never get a hangover. She has a great sense of humor and could possibly be one of the funniest people I've met.

Benefits:
Constant entertainment.

Requirements:
Must be 21 years of age or older. No drug habits, weed is fine as long as you aren't a lazy pot head. Liver in good working condition (you have one). Must have plenty of funny/embarrassing stories. Having a job where you don't work Monday's is a plus!

Questionnaire:
. Do you have a home? No bums please!

. Do you have any upcoming events/trips/kids that may cause you to miss a Sunday?

. On average how many drinks do you have on a typical night out? Keep in mind we are not your doctors, no need to lie.

. Are you able to drink for 10-12 hours without falling asleep on the bar, crying (this does not include any crying leading up to the sentence “I fucking love you man."), ranting about your ex and how not-crazy YOU are?

. Have your friends ever tried to stage an intervention for you?

. What kind of drunk would YOUR FRIEND'S (not you) say you are?
-Happy drunk
-Violent drunk
-Slutty drunk
-Disappearing drunk

. Do you know what the Craic is and how to have it?

. Have you ever or do you often dance on bars, tables, benches, etc...?

. Would you ever pull a robbery on the guy she is talking too?

. What is your annual income? This may be personal but this is an expensive position and we need to make sure you can afford it.

. Has anybody ever told you that you should have your own reality show?

. Have you ever considered applying for The Amazing Race?

. How do you handle hangovers?

. Are you up on the latest happy hours and places that serve bottomless mimosas?

. What is your favorite beer?

. Do you know any good Jewish jokes?

. Please tell us one of your funniest drinking stories.


If you pass the questionnaire portion of this interview we will call you for an audition at Santacon this Saturday, December 4th. Good luck!!


Disclaimer: This position could result in liver failure, premature aging, and death. Please drink responsibly.

Love, Paige

Craigslist Add.... Love Rebecca

Man Wanted to Make - w4m - 26


My mom jealous. Free dinner included; see below!

The hot mom sleeping with her children’s young hot friends is not, I repeat, not something that only happens on teen comedies and Jerry Springer. Its real… real skanky. In this age of plastic surgery, botox, acai berry oil or some shit, and Demi Moore it has become hard for me to bring my guy friends/love interests/crushes around my 53 (!) year old mother. Since when did my apartment become that cougar’s breeding ground? She stops by as if it was some calm pond filled with thirsty, young, off-guard, little deer that she can just attack with her claws of acrylic when their back is turned. And well people, the worst part is it works. Marvelously. She has more game than Kobe. It doesn’t matter if the ball is closer to me, it will be passed to her because she will get wide open and will score 90% of the time. These “friends” that are sleeping with her jump on the band wagon thinking they will never have the opportunity to sleep with a hot older woman again and they don’t want to miss out on some crazy, never before seen, perfected move that this old bag can teach them.

Why don’t you just tell her not to come over to your apartment you ask? I have to baby-sit my EIGHT-year-old little sister and no matter what I do eventually see her. Wait for it… wait for it…. She is my half sister! Bet you could not guess that. “Here is a picture of my daddy”, I over heard her showing a friend while looking at one of my old yearbooks! Convenient: yes. Trash-a-lash: double yes.

Also, I have a hot guy roommate, with even hotter friends. What am I supposed to tell them? Please don’t go outside and smoke between the hours of 5:30 to 6:30 or some hot brod may come by and try sleep with you. They have all been warned of her, they know the record, but apparently “just say no” is not just a failed anti drug slogan, but a failed anti whore slogan as well. And being the Jewish mother that she is, she will call, once a day, and tell me to meet a man and remind me to clean under the stove and to dry clean my curtains. Then it’s always concluded with the flaunting of some young hot guy she banged like she is hotter than me.

Let me make this clear, she is Not… Not hotter than me. So if you’re so hot why don’t you get some equally hot guy in person to do this rather than look on Craigslist?

A. Due to some unmentionable acts in which I haphazardly walked into last week this process of vindication must be speedy. If not, I may have to tell her that we are going to L.A. for some “anti aging yoga/health retreat” but we will end up on stage with Dr. Phil exposing her trash to the world. This is a last resort, but mom if you are reading this, I will do it, don’t temp me. Don’t you dare tempt me.
B. It can’t be a quick “hello mom, this is John, John this is my mom”. It must be a calculated meeting with a two to three hour time block in which she could see that you clearly want me and nothing but me. I can’t possibly take the cutie that I met at the gym last week to meet my mom. That would be stage four psycho alert and our relationship is not the thing I want to blow.

Now to the good stuff. What’s in it for you, you ask?
A. Dinner will be on my mother. It will be on her credit card, and nothing more, I cannot stress that enough. It will not be an Olive Garden or corner sandwich shop either. She may sound trailer but she does not eat trailer. Have you been dying to go to the Slanted Door??? We can go baby, don’t you worry. Always wanted to try the French Laundry but don’t know when that next promotion will come through so you can finally afford it? We can drive out there no problemo. A free dinner of your choice to hang out with my mom and me for a couple hours is not a bad deal…. By any standards. And speaking of standards, you will not be lowering yours, as you will be all over me and not, I repeat, not looking at my mangy mother.
B. You are welcome to take whatever cash she has in her purse when she goes to the bathroom after she pays the bill. She always goes to the bathroom after she pays in order to peek her head in the kitchen to thank the cooks, but really to check out the chefs and/or sous chefs/busers/waiters, being the skank cougar that she is. She will not accuse us because she is extremely skeptical of any and all kinds of help such as “restaurant people” (mexicans), being the bitch that she is. It will most likely be anywhere from 100 to 300 hundred dollars.


YOU:

MUST BE A GOOD LOOKING CONFIDENT MALE between the ages of 21-35. You don’t have to be straight but must be able to pull off straight. When you came out of the closet, no one was like… “Duh”. When I mean I want to make mom jealous I mean I really want her to wish she were me and second guess her own sexual powers.

We will utilize our transit time so I could prep you on my mothers “game” so that you will not get sucked into her whore vortex. By the time we get to the restaurant you will be well versed in the art of “player” so you are welcome to bring a pen and paper to use the tricks later at your own personal discretion. I will give you appropriate responses so you know how to put the attention back on me without being too rude. If you are too rude it will just turn her on more and I wont even be able to leave you two to use the restroom. We will hash out the details of our “personal” relationship via email.

Please send me a recent picture of your self and I will respond with one of me.

Please memorize this line, “I love your sweater Ms. ****. My mother bought one just like it Wednesday at JC Penny’s senior morning sale.”

I guess this turned out to be more of a rant and rave but I’m one hand job away from disowning her and my HALF sister.

NFL

Well today marked the official day of get-shit-faced Sundays. Not that we haven't been doing that all summer, but now that football season has started it's a better excuse than, It's Irish tourist season"It's summer!" I'm pretty sure that only is a decent excuse for a college student, but we really don't care.

It was a ridiculous day for football. The Niners started strong with an interception and then I guess there was no place to go but down. I will say for Paige's sake the next game(s) will all be winners. All of them. Win or loose she will be on the booze but when the latter happens the ghetto might come out of her.

We went to the Greens on Polk street. A pretty brilliant place to watch the game. Really I am only saying that because the men there were gorgeous. There was a guy sitting in front of me with forearms the size of my calf. And not in a Guido juice head kind of way. In an I-used to play-football-but-tore-a-ligament-and-now-have-a-big-office-job-and-do-my-hot-girlfriend-three-times-a-day kinda way.

Is it a coincidence that the first weekend of no J1ers we are not at the 32? Yes. Yes it is. I just want to make it clear, officially, that it is not due to our will that football season started the same weekend that we are sans J1ers. Our absence at the 32 is only because football season started and we go to the Greens. (Feel free to stalk us).

I made an effort to stay at least one drink behind Paige all day, so I didn't get too drunk too soon. I left her at the bar when the game was almost over as I had some business to take care of. She was talking up some Irish lad that was fresh off the boat yesterday so I would imagine she would not mind if I left. She was in good company and by good company, I mean men. I left my card at the bar and the last I heard from her was that she would get it for me. My texts after that got no response, so my only conclusion is that she got bat shit wasted and is passed out in the back of a cab that is hopefully en route to her house as she has work at 8 am. I got home later and texted anyone I thought might have a pint at the 32 with me. I guess even with the Irish season ending football season starting, I still could do a little 32 on a Sunday night. Well, that didn't pan out so here I am. Hopefully Paige retains some memory of today so that we can hear what kind of shit show happened at the Greens.

A Guide to Drinking:

Pirate Killer Needed for Free Trip Around the World!

This is a chance of a lifetime!

My best girlfriend and I are planning to come into some money soon. We plan on living the dream, buying a large sail boat and just traveling around the world. Although quite adventurous we are only two small young girls, thus quite defenseless. Well we could theoretically defend ourselves but we will most likely be drunk most of the time and thus not in the right state to be on the lookout for pirates or rapists. I’m not sure I would be very good shooting a pirate with double vision. I tried going to the gun range hammered to practice but for some reason they would not rent me a gun. I tried explaining my fear of pirates but that just got me physically carried out. Apparently yelling “But how will I fight the Pirates?! They could come at any moment!” caused some sort of distrust between me the gun range man. Personally, I think he must have been on some sort of power trip.

Anyways, all we need is one strong fearless man to kill any pirates we come across. If you have killed a man before that could be a plus. If you have any pirate killing experience you are a definite shoe-in. You may be the luckiest man you know and the envy of all your friends. You will be able to travel the world, lie in the sun all day with two hot girls, and explore a different city every week, without a care in the world (except pirates.) I cannot stress this enough. We may from time to time ask you to help fish or man the sail, but your main concern and number one enemy is Pirates.

Also if you are anything like Kurt Russell in “Captain Ron” we encourage you to apply.

Review of Irelands 32:

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret... I love booze!

Sometimes (as in 3-4 days a week) I really do wanna go where everybody knows my name. Those Cheers people had the right idea. I love Ireland's 32! Food: Good, People: Good, Beer: Gooooooood, Bartenders: Awesome. Location is perfect for me because it's walking distance so I can stumble home after a crazy Sunday night. Yes, I said Sunday (no judgement please). I've spent entire days here, it kinda feels like my second living room.

Better stop myself here; I don't want to talk it up too much because then you might all start going here and that may ruin it for me.

Suffice it to say it's true love, and true love lasts a lifetime.

Review of Suite 181:

Sometimes I like to escape from my privileged life.... and their ain't no place like the TL to do it. It is important and it builds character. I need a little danger in my life. There are times when the girls and I wanna practice our Matrix and Heartbeat moves and walk it out, walk it out, walk it out. . We just wanted to "get down" (read that last part again in a Lil John voice) to some rap music.


Well, more often than not, we like to watch sexy thuggish guys shine their shoes and two step.

So with reviews like these, why not Suite 181?! The two star review would deter most people, but no, not us. It amplified the appeal. The cab pulled up right in front. We didn't get out. "Where is it?" Cab driver pointed right outside. But it just looked like your average crack whore row. "Your joking, right?" We actually thought he was joking with us. Cab driver had a good laugh at us four white girls too scared to get out of the car. Then we all just started laughing. That "excited, scared, what are we doing, omg like we are actually going in here" laugh. He wished us "good luck" and away we went.

I would not pay to come here. Ever. We were on the guest list, and actually got ready at a decent hour, so we made it in time. There were some impressive dancers here, we definitely were not one of them, but we did pick up a few pointers. It is definitely a once a year kind of place. There are some things so special they should only happen once a year. Mind you, I use "special" with a broad interpretation. If I had paid to get in, I may be hating a bit more. Basically I will try anything once, and if it is free, I may even try it twice.

My guess is the people who have fun at this club don't Yelp. Is that bad to say? Am I generalizing? Well don't most of you people live in the Marina and the "inner" mission? Come on, be honest. No, No, I kid, I love you guys!! But really.
I saw a guy here in a full purple suit, gator shoes, and shutter shades, and that is A-ok with me.

Random Review of Tarantino's Restaurant:

Sex with a tourist is said to have (not that I know from experience) the potential to be the best sex there is. It's simple human nature to "hold back" in fear of judgment. BUT if you're never going to see that person again, one may go "balls to the walls" (not sure if I need the quotations) for that one night, and one night only. It may give a person a chance to try the wilder, more passionate, maybe even more hardcore elements that could amount to pleasure. It's like if you knew you only had one more night to live, you would do all the things that would cause you pure Ecstasy but never had the guts to try.

OR.... (not that I know) the guy may just pass out 8 minutes later and your lucky if he will wake up again at all... and your left wondering if you have a dead body on your hands, trying to remember if he was on anything other than booze, wondering if women too get conjugal visits and whether or not his family would ship his body back to his home country or just have him cremated.

Tourist restaurants are like the latter. They are not trying to overly please a single person but themselves. I mean they don't want to go out of business or anything but they are really not trying too hard. They know you will never be back anyway. The hardest part (in both scenarios) is already over once you're hungry (or drunk) and in the door. Unfortunately, just like a man's looks, the view from a restaurant makes other things bearable, if not unnoticeable. A lot of the reviews for this place are tourists raving about the food. I get it but I don't trust it. You would have to be a major bitch to be sitting at a bay side restaurant on the coast of California, miles and miles away from the farm, and be complaining about the place.

So why, having lived in San Francisco for 5 years, would I come to a tourist restaurant knowing the food won't be that great? I'm not really at liberty to say, but I went. I will admit the view was quite enjoyable to look at; this place was definitely not a grenade.

I ordered the "Bay Shrimp and Avocado Salad". The waiter came back informing me they were out of avocado. He did not really offer me anything else, it was just more like a "hey just to let you know, there will not be any". I was a bit disappointed. Let me make it clear that this was not a bay shrimp salad WITH avocado, it clearly said "AND". It implied both equal parts shrimp and avocado. I was looking forward to the avocado. I love avocado. I was still polite.

When he came back I asked, nicely, if since my (16 dollar) bay shrimp and avocado salad does not have the avocado could I get beer? I wasn't asking for a new meal, or a discount on what was surely to be a disappointment, just a beer. The waiter told me and I quote "uhh, hold on let me ask the bartender, he's the boss". I smile politely.

The waiter came back after some time. Substantially longer than what it would take to ask the question during what appeared to be an extremely slow dining hour.

Waiter: Yes. He said that would be fine.... a bottled beer.

hmmm. A bottled beer. Sure. Cheap, but sure. One time my friend was at a bar and a guy asked to buy her a drink. She accepted and he ordered their drinks. Then he turned to her after fumbling with his money and asked her for 2 dollars... and still tried chatting her up. This bottled beer gesture was somehow worse. Maybe not as desperate, but definitely more pathetic.

So, I guess you can try your luck here if you're single and it's tourist season.

Review of 7-Eleven on Geary & 15th:

First let me clarify that this five star review has been graded on a curve in which only 7-elevens have been evaluated. Sure, perhaps they could do some things better, but it is by far my favorite 7-eleven I have ever visited.
There are a few reason they get five stars:

1. Its a convenience store. So I want it to be f*ing Convenient!!!! Open 24 hours and right across the street from my house; that is as convenient as it gets. They have never been out of stock of anything I need, and their Slurpee station is always clean. They give me whole roles of quarters for laundry. When it's busy and there is only one person working, they will jump back and forward from register to register. That is service.

2. The flatmates and I come home at nine in the morning. Dresses, six inch heels, and smeared eyeliner. The walk of shame at it's finest. The cab drops us off and we walk across the street to 7-eleven. The man at the counter greets us with "Life is good! Life is good!" Isn't it such. The last thing we needed was to be judged by the 7-eleven staff. He assured us life is good, thus also assuring us we could come in and buy a six pack at 9am, condoms at 4am, and a pound of nacho cheese at 3am.... if we ever wanted to do any of those things.

3. Customer appreciation Day! A few months back they had customer appreciation day. They gave out free slurpees, soda, chips, hot dogs, energy drinks and donuts. Best of all they were happy to give it away. The staff was loving it!! They really enjoyed putting a smile on all their customers' faces. Also I have secretly been wanting to try a hot dog from here for 13 years, but have not been able to bring myself to buy one. It just, well, seemed gross. But if they are giving them away.... why not. I have said it before and I will say it again, I will try anything that is free. I told people it was "pretty good" as I was too embarrassed to admit that I thought a hot dog from 7-eleven was beyond delicious.

4. The staff is fantastic. They make me feel like I am not at a 7-eleven but at a local bodega. In fact, sometimes when I go across the street here for something, I ask my roommates if they want anything from the bodega (east coast term for convenience store). Sure maybe it would be nice to support some local store. I fully agree, that MAYBE it would. But, the 7-eleven staff here does it up proper making me feel like I already am. Plus they don't sell liquor, so obviously I am pumping some funds into the local liquor store owners' pockets too.

Review of The Hearth:

This place is a disaster. The bartender was rude to me apparently because I was "too drunk"... and I had not even said a word! Really, not a word, and I could walk, so how bad could I have been? I just walked in the door. Honey, if your going to judge a person because they are drunk, you're in the wrong effing business.

Review of The Lusty Lady Lounge:

I have been here twice. One time my friend had "her first lesbian experience" and the other time one of my friends stepped in cum. Need I say more??? Well... maybe I should elaborate on the shenanigans.

Night #1: There are about 6 of us girls doing the north beach bars. We are drunk in its fullest form and are not ready for the party to stop. Being the brilliant and sophisticated women that we are we come up with a genius plan. "Lets go to a strip club!" "YA, lets go!!" "whooo hooo!!" So we walk over to Hustlers. Seeing that it was way too pricey we opt out. Us girls keep it classy and see that next door The Lusty Ladies is FREE to get in. Score.

So we all cram into a booth not knowing what to expect. It took us a second to realize the dollar machine. We put in a dollar and we can now see through the window. Inside is just a big room of lusty ladies, when the window shutter goes up the ladies come over. Then time is up shutter goes down. Another dollar goes in. Needless to say this is a blast for us drunks. These ladies did not spark my interest in women...and I was drunk. But it's a peep show where for a buck you can see it all and to each his own, right?. So in that respect the girls were fab. We were all having a great time when suddenly the door opens and two strange girls just walk in and start making out with my friend and enjoying our party. Let's just say... the lusty ladies were getting a show of their own. This was our cue to leave. So we did...most of us. 20 minutes later my friend runs out yelling, "I just had my first lesbian experience! Those girls just walked right in and started making out with me!! They never even said anything. That was so awesome". That deserves a star even if we all know she lied about it being her first lesbian experience.

Night #2: It began in the same exact manner as night number one but with more people. A few forked up the cash to go to Hustlers. The rest of us went into Lusty Lady. Many of us not being interested in going into a booth set up camp in the lobby instead. Yes, we had a mini party in the lobby of The Lusty Lady Lounge and it was fabulous. No one told us we were loitering or being too loud so that is a plus. One of my friends went straight into a booth. After some amusing Lusty Lady lobby banter I went to the bathroom. The bathroom is right off the lobby at the end of a small hallway. The door to this one bathroom is of saloon fashion. Just two swinging doors that touched neither the ceiling nor the floor. Sure, the whole establishment is filthy, but the bathroom just about sobered me up. No woman wants to use this kind of bathroom while a line of men fresh out of the whacking booth wait just outside while your dressed in a skirt and cleavage friendly shirt. I use the bathroom as quickly and discreetly as possible and go back to my party to suggest perhaps we party PG-13 at my house. Just then my friend comes running out of a booth in the most dramatic fashion imaginable. I don't really hear her because I am trying to figure out why in the world was she barefooted and her shoes are clear across the room. Then I realize what she is yelling repeatedly.... "I JUST STEPPED IN CUM!!"

Once the laughter died down and asked why, WHY, would she take her heals off HERE, she simply and ever so matter-of-factly stated, "My feet hurt".
You get what you pay for here people.

Pros: Free to get in and you can do what you please, if you please, inside the booths.

Cons: Spend 20 minutes in a booth and you could have gone else where and stayed longer. Its a place that requires a jizz cleaner and that explains enough.