Weeeeee

I flew home to San Diego last night.  Home.  Last night was officially the first time that I got to say I was going HOME when flying to San Diego. 

I have officially reached the only goal I set for myself two years ago when I left Sacramento: find my way to San Diego.  And here I freaking am!

Yes, I am super behind on all of my posts; apprently that is what happens when all of a sudden you look around you and realize you have a life.  Luckily, it appears I can now post while at work...which means you should be getting caught up pretty quick. 

For now, I shall leave you with the highlight of my weekend: my 4.5 year old niece calling King Jay a "dirty cunt."  In public.  And people hearing.  And also laughing uncontrollably.  Seriously, hilarious. 

Karsen is a HOT MESS.

I'm not a big drinker.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I can throw them back when I'm out dancing after I've eaten... but I'd much rather smoke a bowl.  It also helps with the eating aspect of things.

 

I forgot to eat.  And, because Ali doesn't smoke and since I had time between work and the game, I smoked.
And then I started drinking. 

Ali and I met in Old Town and trolley'd it up to the stadium.  It was a warm day, and the beer (and margaritas!) were cold. 

After the game (Padres won!) we decided we weren't done and headed to the bar by his house. 
I proceeded to beat him in 4 out of 5 games of darts.  Which means I also had 5 whiskey and cokes.  And I still hadn't eaten. 

By the end of five rounds I was seeing doubles (coincidentally, that's how we were ordering the whiskey) and we went back to his house.  Where I got ridiculously stoned with his roommates.

And as we sat there, twenty minutes later, watching Sports Center I realized the three worst things ever: 
I was going to be sick.  I was stuck where I was.  I had to work in the morning. 

I looked Ali in the eye and said, "I'm not ok.  I'm gonna step outside."
And I pulled myself up, off the table, stumbled outside, and collapsed at the edge of his driveway.
Where I sat, puking for two hours. 
During which his (only) female roommate came home.

 

When I finally found enough energy to walk back inside, I went straight to bed. His bed.
And passed the fuck out. 

He was a really good sport about everything... and totally took care of me. 
And even talked to me the next day...even though I was THAT girl. 

My Work Boyfriend

Ahhhh.  The work boyfriend. 
The work boyfriend is in the IT department... and well, since I have a shitty computer that doesn't work half the time, I get to spend a lot of time talking to him.  And of course, by "talking to him" I mean sitting on the phone with him while I watch him work his magic remotely.  Sometimes, when I'm lucky, he'll pop his head into my little cubbie twss and say hi.   

After the first week of work and a some face-to-face flirting, I sent him a friend request on Facebook (after checking with my mom to see if it was acceptable).

I gave him my phone number this weekend during a long night of drinking, we talked all night long, and now we're going on a date on Tuesday.

Blast From the Past

Tito and I have a history.  A very long history.

We met in preschool.

We kissed for the fist time when we were 13.

He surprised me at my high school graduation.

This is the Valentine's Day Card I sent to him when we were 20.
We had sex for the first time on his 22nd birthday.
He got married when we were 23.  He called me the day before to tell me it was happening.  I had no idea he was even seeing someone. 
Everyone in my family told me to fly down and stop him; I didn't listen.
I figured no one meets the love of their life in preschool.  This wasn't a fairytale, it was time to move on.
And move on I did.   

It's been five years since that day.  Six years since I've seen him.  He called me on Friday and said he was coming to town and that we should hang out.

We caught up in the hot tub for a while and then sat around bullshitting until almost 4am.  We basically picked up right where we left off and it was awesome.  I actually enjoyed it way more than I thought I would. 

And, of course, as I'm reeling through all of this information, Cole calls me.  Cole is my exboyfriend.  We lived together for two years, dated for almost three.  He recently purchased a house in Sacramento (we broke up because he couldn't get his shit together- he's done REALLY well for himself since I left) and called to ask me to move back.  Mentioned that he still loved me, wanted to be with me, and again, asked if I could move back to Sacramento. 

For whatever reason, I'm pulling for Cole.  I told him I'd be willing to consider it in a year if he was willing to put in the effort now.  Honestly, though, I don't think I'd leave San Diego in a year... which, is ok because Cole won't put in the effort.  We do this every six months or so and it never goes anywhere because (just like when we were together!) he's not willing to put in the effort.

At least there are others waiting...

The Stuff from Duff

Due to situations out of my control and desperate need, I had to go to someone else for the goods this week.  I felt bad, but I let Deliman know ahead of time, so I felt a little better about it.  And I went to:

This guy.

 

Small recap:  his face is no longer mishapen and hideous.  But he still does have the fair hands.  At least he's making strides in the right direction. 

 

Duff told me to meet him at his house around 9 so we could go pick up together.  Well, in my experience, he's always late so I didn't plan on getting there until closer to 10.  I think we finally met up around 9:45.  Now, let me just paint this picture for you:

• I had a long day at work.  I wanted to smoke.
• I was PMSing.  I wanted to smoke.
• I didn't have anything to smoke.
• I had to drive 40 minutes to meet this guy at his house only to find out he HADN'T EVEN CALLED HIS GUY yet. 

He gets into my car and we head to this guys house.  Now, the reason we had to go so late was because he was "running errands" which, apparently, is Duff speak for getting sloshed. 

 

 



So, not only does he smell like Scope and Whiskey, he also smells like he literally RAN his errands. 

He had the courtesy to rinse his mouth, but not to put on deodarant.  Or, I guess bathing in Axe, which I would expect to be more his style.  As if whiskey breath and BO isn't bad enough, this mother fucker starts farting. 

 

 

 

 



UGGGHHHH.  I got the goods, dropped him off and got the fuck out.  Oh, and he may or may not have rapped to me on the way home.  It was awkward.  I was stoned.  I hope I never have to do that again. 

#latepost

Duff Stuff

While texting beforehand, Duff warned me that his face was swollen from an infection.  An infection from trying to drunkenly dig out an in-grown hair from his ridiculously horrible beard.
 
"So last night I needed a bandage and had to Macgyver one with tp and packing tape but I guess I'm allergic to the packing tape cause that side of my face is hella puffy and swollen now.  I look like a marshmallow and I had to shave my beard off."
"Stop being a girl, I doubt it's that bad."
"If I was in high school, I'd have no friends.  And I'd be eating alone at lunch."
"Eating alone in the cafeteria? Or hiding in a bathroom stall somewhere?"
"Bathroom stall, too ashamed to show my face around any pretty girls and hiding from the wrath of jock bullies."

Fortunately, the beard didn't make it.  Unfortunately, neither did his face. Seriously, his face WAS that bad.  I almost feel bad for calling him a girl.  Almost.

But really, imagine this guy:

But all confined to one side of his face.

Ok, so he looked horrible.  Whatever, I'm not THAT shallow.

He rolls up and I start going into one of my Robin charades where I think I'm hilarious and telling all of my hilarious stories.  In the midst of my story, as he's rolling for a second time, I realize that he's holding the wrapper weird.  And is being very... animated with his movements.

And then I figure out what it is: it's like both of his wrists were just permanently limp.

I completely lose sight of the story I'm telling and just stop talking.
And stare.

Luckily, I obviously wasn't sober, and I realized what I was doing after about seven seconds and just played it off like I completely forgot what I was talking about.  (Which, for the record, was completely true.  I just left out the fact that I couldn't remember because he had a Quasimodo face with gimp hands and I couldn't help but wonder if he rode the short bus to school.)...(Oh, he did inform me that he slept wrong and pinched nerves in his wrists, they should be back to normal in 6-8 weeks.) I recover, finish telling my story, and realize, while staring unabashed at him, that he kept WIPING DRIPPING PUSS from his face. 

And then he starts telling me about this horrible date he went on recently.  Here's what I remember from it:

• The girl lived in a hippie/nudist commune.
• She dug through the garbage at grocery stores to get food for the community.
• Her best friend's name is Toast.  

Ok, yes, it's kind of weird.  But he kept saying things like, "I just couldn't believe what I was hearing/seeing" and "I kept asking myself, is this for real".  True story: I was dying laughing because that was EXACTLY what was going on in my mind.
But about him.
And his four chins.
And the puss dribbling down them.
And him trying to mop it up with his gimp wrists.

 But really, the whole experience was horrible.  Actually, it was quite hilarious.  We'll probably hang out again...in 6-8 weeks.