One Weekend at a Time

Editor's note: this is an email to an old co-worker giving her an idea of what my life has been like since I've moved to San Diego.  It seems fitting to share...in its entirety because I'm too lazy to edit it.)

I’m hoping not ALL of my weekends continue to go like this, but here’s an average look at a Thursday-Saturday for Karsen:

I met two of my ball kickin' friends at their house Thursday afternoon.  We made our drinks and reapplied make up.  Yes.  We wear make up to kick ball.  

Our drinks are adult Arnold Palmers… which basically means we mix sweet tea and lemonade vodka with a splash of soda water.  On ice.  We usually get to the park about 20-30 minutes before the game starts…and within 10 minutes the 40 or so jell-o shots we bring are gone.  And usually between the three of us because no one else gets there that early.  Needless to say, by the time the game starts we’re feeling pretty good.  After the game (during which we kept drinking) we all head to the bar to share a couple of pitchers. And then we go to another bar to get more pitchers. And the best part is, we’re home by 11 and I still get a solid nights’ rest. 

Friday I wasn’t going to do anything.  That was my plan.  And then I got bored. 

So, Sofia and I went to Tall Seth Rogan's house to do a “tour of OB” with him. Which basically just is a fancy way of saying we’re going bar hopping. 

We get to their house and Jimbo makes us his Jimbo lattes.  (Coffee, creamer, vodka, Kahlua.) Mine had a splash of coffee in it.  I was buzzing hard after the first one.  And then we made a second one to go.  (Jimbo didn’t go to the bar with us.  Tall Seth Rogan's friend Adam came instead) By the time we got to the first bar… I was drinking water.  And seeing double.  Luckily we were only at that bar for about 20 minutes…and by the time we got to the second bar, I was ready to go again.  So I bought my first drink… and every drink after that Seth bought… J heh.

My friends Steve and Oz came and met us out…and I don’t remember much after that.  I do remember playing pool at the last bar with Seth… and at one point in time he said to Sofia “What do I have to do to get her to come home with me?”  And I know this happened because not only was Seth SUPER loud when he asked her… but she was standing right next to me.  He was maybe four feet away from me.  Screaming this question at her.  I just started laughing and walked away.  (Oh, and she told him that I was going home with her because she wasn’t staying with Jimbo.  Heh)

We got back to Sofia’s at about 4am.  The last time I remember looking at the clock it was 4:30.  I woke up at 7:30 to go home, got there by 8, and was asleep by 8:10.  And up by 9:15 and at the casino by 10.  (This is my life every Saturday, btw) Luckily, grams wasn’t feeling well, so we left the casino by 2 and I got to lounge around for a few hours before going out again.

Charlii and I met Sofia at her house at 8.  Before hopping in a taxi an hour later I had:

1 – vodka tonic

2 – adult Arnold palmers

1 – shot of Jameson

We get to the bar that we’re going dancing at and head down to the basement where the dj is.  There’s a raised platform near the back and the security guard that’s standing up there pulls us up there with him.  Naturally, we took it over.  I gave Sofia money and she got both of us drinks… that was all I paid for all night long.  There were these Navy boys next to us and they LOVED us.  They kept buying us rounds and shots… Things I vaguely remember:

1.       Being a “pole” and having all the guys dance on me.

2.       Getting a lap dance from said boys.

3.       Standing on the speakers and dancing

4.       Drawing on the bathroom stalls (they were chalkboards! Best idea ever!)

There are so many pictures that I DON’T remember taking. …and the sad thing is they were all taken early in the night because my hair was still down, and I never last more than a couple of hours with it down. 

I spent all day yesterday recovering.  And I feel like I’m still in recovery mode today.  BLEH.

But hopefully it kept you entertained! 

Kickin' Balls

I joined a motha fuckin kickball team, bitches!! (I said that like a drag queen in my head.)
These people have pretty much consumed my life since we've been thrown together... and soon I'll throw together some of the stories.

But first:
I went to a wet underwear contest at a gay bar last night.  (Hence the queen voice in the first place.)

I watched a fellow ball kicker hook up with a legit butter face...in the women's bathroom of the gay bar.  (We also applauded them as they walked back up to the table.)

• Funny side story: after receiving their praise, she said, "whatever we were thinking was a bad idea.  That was a bad idea." She then looked at him and said, "I'm sorry." He put his arm over her shoulder and said, "it's ok."  WHAT could have happened to warrant a "sorry" on her end?!

Bathroom Boner was supposed to do the contest as well, but ultimately chickened out and then ducked out when we were getting food.  (Dick head.) Sofia and I stayed.  And boy am I happy we did.


Not only did I get to see an extremely intoxicated gay grandfather get into the shower and dance around all hot and bothered while eye fucking his boyfriend across the room... I got to watch an angry MMA fighter cup and gyrate his dripping balls (luckily still covered...the grandpa almost let his shit out) and a dorky country boy do the splits.  THRICE.

And then, I got to watch the sexiest STRAIGHT man I have ever seen in my life get up there and shake his wet, mostly naked thang on the stage.

HOLY.  HELL.

I also got asked the most terrifying would you rather question of my entire life:
Would you rather watch your parents have sex everyday for a year
or
Join in on them just once to make it stop.

Don't Hate... Medicate!

Deliman is married.  I mean, we're not COMPLETELY sure that he's married... but it's the only logical thing that makes sense (up to and including her coming home from deployment, moving in with him to the point where he had her FULL HEAD O' HAIR hanging inside his closet.) I haven't heard from him since I told him I wouldn't have sex with him... so then I had to start getting creative...and stop smoking so many sandwiches. 

Duff was stop one.  (I moved him to the absolute bottom of the go-to list after that time.)

I revisited Brazil for the second pick up, and luckily, Broham McGee was down here the third time and we picked up together from a guy he and Brosef sold to when I first moved to Sandy Eggo.

Then I met the Giant Seth Rogan.  (Skinny Seth... but with the jew fro and facial hair of fat Seth.)
I thought I had stumbled across something good here... Sofia has a long running night time relationship with his roommate and we all could go out together.  And then he asked me to hang out with him once alone, and he hasn't returned my texts since.  I fell asleep on his bed, and the only (semi) logical explanation I can come up with was that I was farting or talking in my sleep.  Though, I guess it's possible I did both. 

So in a moment of complete and utter frustration, when I was so tired of having my hook ups disappear (and they're dying off like fruit flies lately) I decided to start doing research about getting legal.  You know what I found out? I'm fucking retarded for not doing it earlier. 

I went Tuesday after work.  I spent 30 minutes trying to find the place (Siri was so confused!), filled out paperwork for three minutes, sat around for seven minutes, talked to a doctor for five minutes, and left completely legal.  It took me less time to get legal than it took for me to find the place...and it was all done within the first hour of getting off work. 

And as a little reminder that some things will never change: the first time I went to the dispensary...I got hit on. 

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...