Inside the Drinker's Studio - A special Q & drunk A with Ti

Waz asks Ti the tough questions. Read at your own risk...

Waz: Would you rather poop lava or Antarctic crushed ice? 

Ti: Easy, poop Lava. My body has become accustomed to Taco Bell. 

Waz: What is the meanest thing you have ever said to a family member? 

Ti: I am constantly asking my great grandma to take out her teeth for my enjoyment.

Waz: What is your favorite sex position and why? 

Ti: Reverse cowgirl. Because I am bossy and I love country. 

Waz: What is the most "mean girl" thing you did in high school? 

Ti: Made a girl drink a beer bottle full of hot piss. You should know, it was your idea.

Waz: Thanks man. Next question. When was the last time you cried and why? 

Ti: Last Sunday because they cut me off at the local tavern. DRUNK - CLICK HERE.

 Waz: If you had to do a three-way would you rather it be with another girl and a guy or 2 guys? Please explain. 

Ti: A girl and a guy. But she has to be Eva Mendes. Also I would get jealous if they started tea-bagging one another without asking me to spot.

Waz: What is the most embarrassing drunk text you've ever sent? 

Ti: When I told someone I loved them and they responded “Who is this?”

Waz: What is the most embarrassing way a guy has ever rejected you? 

Ti: When I gave an ex an ultimatum and he chose Porky the Pig over me. She was barely legal and speaks like the mother in the movie ‘Precious’. 

Waz: What is the best lie you've ever told to get out of a date/hook up/"relationship"? 

Ti: I lied and said I had the flu to get out of a date and the guy surprised me by showing up to my house with a care package. I wasn't really sick but choked down the mediocre soup and sent him on his way - I actually was just really tired/hungover from the night before because had been horizontal with a co-worker all night long. Ooops.

Waz: You're mean. Now name a hidden talent. 

Ti: Cat’s Cradle

Waz: You're on deathrow - what's your meal of choice? 

Ti: The chopped salad from Wildfire, Cheese fries from Portillos, the Filet Mignon trio cooked BLUE, additional side salad drenched in ginger dressing from Kyoto, and a dish called Sal Pancho that my Aunt makes. Is that what you meant by meal? 

Waz: Where do you see yourself at 30? 

Ti: Eating a grilled cheese with God, but if I do make it to see 30 then hopefully something of mine will have been published. 

Waz: Would you rather ride Batman for 24 hours straight while wearing a crushed velvet onesie OR sit in a 98 degree hot tub for 24 hours, wading in your own human soup? 

Ti: Steam clean my crushed velvet onesie baby. Either one would kill me, but I think I would last longer if I were hittin’ the streets of Gotham City at 60 mph upside down.

Waz: Most regrettable hook up story? 

Ti: No fucking way am I answering this question honestly. I will tell ONE of my most regrettable stories but not the grande mucho: I hooked up with a guy and then kicked him out of my apartment one fine evening. I woke up the next morning to pots and pans being re-organized in my kitchen cabinets. I have never jumped up so fast in my life. When I ran into the kitchen and asked him what the fuck he was doing in my apartment and how the hell he got in he responded, “Hey babe, I just wanted to surprise you with a hearty breakfast. I rode my bicycle over with a backpack full of your favorite foods”. The stranger proceeded to make me burnt scrambled eggs and put them on a flour tortilla shell with a side of furry blackberries. He handed me the plate and with a look of disgust I choked it down then politely asked him to leave. This time I made sure that I dead bolted the door behind him. What was he thinking breaking and entering for the shittiest breakfast I’d ever had? Whenever my friends tell me “breakfast” is at the bar, I choose to stay in. 

Waz: How many kids do you want? 

Ti: I would like 4 little assholes: 3 boys and a girl.

Waz: Would you rather go down on Rosie O'Donnel after she's been on a 9 mile jog wearing Hanes his way sweatpants OR go down on Oprah after she's scissored Gale on a humid afternoon in Florida? 

Ti: I just had to wipe my dinner off of my keyboard thank you very much, but I choose Oprah. She is so rich I would probably find a 6 carat diamond up in her chocolate. And since I would already be down on one knee, I would probably pop the question. 

Waz: How would you spend your last day on earth? 

Ti: I would host my own funeral: Gather all of my loved ones together and throw a huge bash in remembrance of ME. Then my surprise guest would be Beiber and I’d make him take a shot of tequila out of my belly button.

Waz: What is the sexiest song to get groovy to? The Least sexy song to get groovy to? 

Ti: SEXIEST-Slow Motion by Juvenile featuring Soulja Slim   Sex Please - CLICK HERE.   

LEAST SEXY- Uncle Kracker- Follow Me Keep Your Sex to Yourself-CLICK HERE.

Waz: Are you better with your hands or mouth? 

Ti: Mouth 

Waz: If you landed in prison for life would you become a lesbian or celibate? 

Ti: Lezzy, I’m sure I could find myself a saucy little Latina.

Waz: What is the cutest thing a guy has ever done for you? 

Ti: The first time a certain someone told me that he loved me he went out in a blizzard and wrote “I LOVE YOU” across an entire pond. He ended up falling through the ice and his dog had to help him out. When he came inside he was covered in blood from cutting his hand and stood there in his soaking wet frozen clothes. I fixed up his hand as he told me to look out the window at his love snow poem. Clearly he got lucky that night and then he made me a nice steak dinner. Ahhh young love.

Waz: Sucker. Next. Scariest near death experience? 

Ti: Every time I drink with you. Waz and Ti Drink - CLICK HERE.

Waz: What is a herd of unicorn called? 

Ti: A God Damn Blessing. And a one humped camel is called a dromedary. I can do this all day long baby. 

Waz: Dream wedding? 

Ti: See the Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn-Part One 

Waz: If you could quit one vice what would it be? 

Ti: Turning into a T-Rex when I’m drunk 

Waz: Would you rather have chronic BO or chronic bad breath? 

Ti: Both are terrifying, but I pick chronic BO. Crossing my fingers showers, deodorant, and perfume will still help me get laid. 

This concludes our talk with Ti. All questions, comments and judgments can be directed to your nearest landfill.

WAZ

My CPA that I refer to as "Clogged Pulmonary Artery"

And then there's this guy...

‘Tis the season to file our taxes kids. Now the only reason to be poppin’ bottles is if you're sure you have a beefy check coming back from the government. For the people that owe oodles of money you should probably just get it over with and jump before someone talks you out of it. I'm half kidding. But seriously, you should probably schedule the appointment with Dr. Coleman sooner than later.

To my surprise, I will be poppin’ bottles this year. My doll of a Mother recommended that I go to her CPA to get my taxes done not long ago. He’s good, he’s cheap, and most importantly he’s so fast you’ll freak, she says. I wasn't sure if she was talking about Jimmy Johns or tax refunds, but I just nodded my head and pretended to listen. I told her to make me an appointment and also asked if she could order me up a Beach Club with extra avocado and a pickle cut into fourths and have it delivered to my place. She said no and hung up. When it came time to leave for my appointment she insisted on warning me about a few things. Oh my God Mom, what the hell is wrong with him? I demanded that she spit it out before I walk into his office and am blind-sided by a wandering eye or a hook for a hand. She said, OH NO it is way worse! As I am sitting in the parking lot waiting for her to tell me, and debating whether I should go in or not, she finally gets to the point:

The building is really old so beware of the rank smell and the place looks like an episode of hoarders. Still cracking up and struggling to get her words out, she continues, he is also a little hard on the eyes but try not to stare. He is REALLY nice Ti, and our entire family goes to him to get our taxes done so please be kind! Uggggh FINE.

I was instructed to park in the back and to walk through the side door of the house. (The place was built in the early 1800’s and had been turned into his office space. I am 101% sure it was haunted.) After walking through a graveyard that was made specifically for lawn mowers, I had made it to the back door and walked right on in. I knew I was in the right place when I heaved open the door and was punched in the face with a stench so foul, even a skunk would have been offended. The hallway to get to his office was just wide enough that if I turned my body sideways, I could wobble to an open area. There were documents that had been stacked to the ceiling 132 years ago and had started closing in on me. My claustrophobia was now in full force while trying to avoid any paper-cuts that could possibly make me bleed out. 

All throughout the house there were old paintings of dead presidents hanging on the walls, and they had eyes that did not miss a beat. They were definitely watching my every move, so I had to be cautious with my facial expressions. When I passed the spare bedroom my curiosity got the best of me - if I was left with the unknown I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Peeking in I saw close to 1,500 empty paint cans that were stacked from one end of the room to the other, all the way up to the leaky ceiling tiles. Okay, there are way too many cans for painting to be any sort of hobby and he sure as hell wasn't about to recycle all of these. Definitely weird - but I wasn't running for the hills just yet. When I came around the corner I caught a glimpse of a figure sitting in his office with another client. I didn't really get a good look at him, as he murmured for me to go to the front room and wait for him there.

I walked into the “waiting room” and was sure I had just taken a seat at The Addams Family dining room table. The drapes reeked of moth balls and white musk perfume and when I sat in a chair, a mushroom cloud of dust and debris blew out from under my ass. There was an old TV with a rusty antenna that was rolled in for my entertainment. I sat at the elongated wooden table long enough to get in three full episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians. I found it incredibly difficult to see what sort of trouble Lord Disick was getting into with framed Woodrow Wilson giving me the stink eye. While I was in mid-text trying to tell my mom this shit had better be pro-bono the accountant had called me into his office.

 

Unclear of the odor that was seeping out of the walls, I immediately cracked the case when I took a seat at his desk. There was an entire seasoned rotisserie chicken rotting on a paper plate that had been chewed down to the bone, parked on the floor next to the overflowing garbage can. The chicken must have been there for a few days due to how dry the remnants of meat looked. I counted FIVE biggie sized McDonald's bags sitting next to the copy machine due to the lack of space left in the garbage can. It seemed the 2 for $5 Big Mac deal was a fan favorite. To the left of his feet were two large empty cartons of orange juice lying on their side without the caps. No cups needed I suppose. I was sitting in his dumpster of an office doing everything humanly possibly to try and stay alive for the next 30 minutes. I held my breath until I was blue in the face and right before I felt like I would pass out, I would take in minimal oxygen through my scarf. I could feel the disease in the air and my body was about to become the next host.

My friend was wearing a black button up dress shirt with a classy tie and what were clear to be black swishy pants below. Now I am all about a great pair of sweats, don’t get me wrong, but swishy’s? They had better be Nike, sir. I don’t think I am asking for much? I wanted to compliment his argyle tie, but thought it would be best to keep my Muslim appearance and continue to hide behind my scarf. Being a hefty man, he smelled of gangrene and used dental floss every time he opened his mouth to speak. With one glance anyone would have diagnosed him with type 2 diabetes, even if the carcass between his cankles didn't already give it away. I would say he had the world’s shiniest head but that would be putting it nicely - it looked like it had been slathered in bacon grease. 

With a George Costanza up-do he had two strands of hair that were long enough to technically call it a comb over. Popping through those guitar strings was something that I know I will have a hard time forgetting until my end of days. Through the two wet pieces appeared to be some sort of growth that he had picked and turned into a giant scab. Mom was right about two things: he was indeed difficult to look at, but was also the biggest sweetheart imaginable. I sat in the chair and watched his porky paws while they were hard at work trying to get me my money. As he finished filing my taxes, and with my foot half way out the door he called me back into his office. You dropped this, he said as he tried handing me my pen that I watched fall out of my purse 10 minutes earlier. One glance at his fingernails, and I said no worries, you can keep it! Thanks again for the salmonella! I mean SERVICES!

Cheers to Dead Presidents and Unintentional Taxidermy

Ti-Bag

25 Things You Wouldn't Want to Know About Me

Sorry Mom...

1. I've been to 1 orgy in my life. I did not participate but I did take photos.

2. I don’t like Madonna. There, I said it. I think she sucks at singing and sucks even more at dancing and I don’t understand how she gets all these hot young guys. Her face looks like a soggy piece of shredded wheat.

3. I hate girls with super short hair. You are a girl. One of the best things about being a girl is having long luscious locks. The only excuse for helmet hair is if you've been terminally ill. And even then it just ain't right.

4. When I need a pick me up at work I google Jon Hamm’s penis. You’re welcome. Yes please.

5. I've had sex with one republican. We all make mistakes.

6. The carpet matches the drapes.

7. I think I would make a great second wife. I would also make a great basketball, football, and hockey wife. I would not be a good stay at home wife. Or a faithful wife.

8. I once helped Lindsey Lohan move from one Hollywood apartment to the other. Over the course of the evening she ashed her cig several times on my foot, offered me a meal of vodka and Sudafed and walked around topless trying on clothes from her ex-boyfriend Sam Ronson. 

9. Confession: I, Waz Ma-Taz, admit in the 4^th grade to sticking a tack through a library book. I know I lied to all my teachers, and my friends and the librarian, but it was in fact me who did it. I disgraced my entire school and the Boxcar Children.

10. When I was young I slammed my sister’s finger in the door and she nearly lost it. Luckily it was saved and reattached at the hospital but it now resembles the gnarled mandrake root Pan kept under her bed. It is her engagement finger. 

11. I would rather have 3-cheese meaty lasagna for my birthday than a cake.

12. I hate surprises.

13. I've never seen a full episode of the Simpson’s, Homeland or the Sopranos. Get over it. 

14. I don’t believe in god, ghosts, angels, or dairy.

15. I think the Taco Bell Volcano taco is one of the greatest taste explosions ever to be created. Even with all these “horse meat” rumors swirling about, I am still a devoted fan.

16. I have total Latin fever. I am so devoted to their people I once spent three days in a wooden shack in the middle of the jungle perfecting my salsa moves with a gentleman who spoke parrot, howler monkey and Spanish. 

17. I think Casey Anthony is innocent.

18. I went to school to be a journalist, ended up working in reality television and secretly just want to be a back-up dancer in late night rap vids. Drop it Low

19. I once went home with an amateur UFC fighter. My hips sockets have never been the same.

                                                                20. I love children. And puppies.

 

21. In college I got a fat lip from a week long bender of partying. I made my friend stop off at a gas station to purchase a pocket sized sewing kit to pop the blister on my swollen upper lip before returning home to face my roommates – she’s called me Ducky ever since. 

22. I once stole from Claire's. And JC Penny’s. Sorry PIC. You know who you are. 

23. One time when I was riding home from gymnastics practice my Dad turned to me and told me he wished I would become a professional singer someday. I told him I would love to but that I wasn't very good at singing. He said he’d noticed.  

24. I once got so drunk in Santa Monica I had to take an $80 taxi ride home. Neither me nor my friends had any money so I had to strike a deal with the driver: One friend made out with the smooth criminal, the other gave him an aromatherapy neck rub, and I sang a Vanessa Carlton song to keep everyone focused. Sang it.

25. When I was 5 I found a baby kitten in a cornfield. I hid it in my room and fed it Kraft singles. Once when I was scolding it for pooping under my bed it bit my finger and drew blood – I got so mad I put the kitten in the street at the end of our cul-de-sac and never told my parents.  

Cheers and Sorry,

WAZ

25 Things You Shouldn't Know About Me

1. I have a severe issue with specific textures. If something has bumps, clumps, or holes in it I can not be around it. Example: Pomegranate fruit, cradle cap, or any of the water-logged shipmates from Pirates of the Caribbean. (Soggy Ship Mates)

2. My biggest fear in life is also my biggest obsession: Sharks. Watching a Great White shred a surfer’s sunbathed bod  is better than sex.

3. I am no longer welcome at the Chicago White Sox Stadium because I once smoked a cigarette too close to the players. I was then thrown in the drunk tank to have my photo taken and then escorted out of the park by 3 policemen.

4. I want to have a baby girl with Jason Bateman. And after I saw Never Say Never 3D in theaters I realized I want to have a son with Justin Bieber.


 5. I sold Xanax to the lead singer of “The Lumineers”. Apparently he has a hard time sleeping on the road. 

6. I once dropped my black laced thong on the side walk in front of my friends’ Dad who was trying to drive my drunk ass home from a work party. When he told me to pick them up I told him they were his.


7. They say “Once You Go Black, You Never Go Back”. They lied.  (HUHHHHHH?!?!?!?!)

8. I would drink a TRENTA filled with ginger dressing if no one was looking.

9. I rewound the scene where Zac Efron gets out of his car in the movie 17 AGAIN approximately 47 times. (Delic)

10. I sing “WIDE OPEN SPACES” by the Dixie Chicks in the shower when my roommate isn't home. Who doesn't know what I’m talking about? (Pun definitely intended)

11. I once hopped the fence to a random house and got naked in a hot tub with my landlord and his wife. My utilities were half off that month.    

12. My first French kiss was in a McDonald’s parking lot and I choked on the guys tongue. He was a senior in high school and could have passed for my Dad. My Mom was in the drive-thru ordering a Diet Coke.

13. I once went to a wedding and woke up with my history teacher passed out in bed next to me.

14. At the same moment 9/11 was happening I was discussing my friend’s penis size with him in speech class.

15. I have broken all 10 of my toes, mostly while drinking.

16. I physically wasn't able to swallow a pill until I was in 8th grade. My parents would make me sit at the kitchen table until I swallowed them. I would let them dissolve on my tongue and didn't care how long it took.

17. I rode a short bus to school for several years in junior high because a regular sized school bus wasn't able to make the turn around on my street.

18. I have a birthmark on my inner thigh that looks like a skidmark.

19. I started getting gray hair when I was 23.

20. I once made out with my cab driver in an Ulta parking lot. I got my high heel stuck in the meter.

21. When I was 9, my Dad took the family dog and I to work with him outside at a client’s house. I told him I had to go to the bathroom and he told me to go behind the bushes. I pooped and the dog ate it. My Dad was not impressed.

22. I have astigmatism in both of my eyes and I still don’t know what that means.

23. I worked at IHOP.


24. On New Years Eve, I dropped a glass of wine and it shattered on Brian Urlacher’s bouncer’s foot. I was trying to high five Bri but the bouncer told me to get away from him. 

25. I lost my virginity the day after my Mom asked me if I was a virgin. 

Cheers,

Ti-Bag

Should I Give Up, Or Should I Just Keep Chasing Pavement

And then there was this Night...

One would think at a certain age no matter the trouble and chaos we create in our teens and early twenties, by the time 30 is knocking we all sort of fall into this place of maturity whether we realize it or not. Our credit cards get paid off and our cars become nicer and faster and our jobs suddenly seem secure and locked. We look now to finding a mate and having a family instead of chasing after one night stands and filling our closets full of shoes we can’t afford. We attend work meetings and have someone do our taxes and use Groupon as a smart way to financially dine on Friday nights. But, some of us aren't quite there yet. Or more, we are still the same 18 year old binge drinking and drunk sexting pervert, just in designer jeans and with a higher credit card limit: Regardless, this “group” finds themselves in limbo, a constant struggle between adult yin and party time yang. 

 

And in limbo is exactly how I felt as I lay on the cold hard pavement, fully sprawled out, head resting on my purse, tears streaming down my face. I continued weeping like a child and cried even harder when I realized I had to pee. It was a Thursday night and I was drunk and alone and stuck on the other side of town. I had literally hit sidewalk rock bottom.

Let’s start from the beginning: I have a good job. And I work with super smart people. That being said I have a ridiculous amount of responsibility and stress placed on me each and every day. So, when my bosses proposed a small raise with the opportunity to do 2 jobs at once I immediately began googling the proper way one cuts oneself to make it seem like a suicide, yet keep the body alive long enough for a co-worker to find them writhing under their desk. But, being the pussy I am, I put the razor blade down and accepted the challenge AND swallowed my new 3 hour round trip commute to our satellite offices located in Hawaii.

Luckily my new work load made the time fly by but after 4 weeks of 18 hour days, 7 days a week, plus the long hours spent chain smoking in my car, I was fucking exhausted and looking to blow off some steam. The night of wrap everyone propositioned going next door for a celebratory drink. Now, I don’t know where you come from, but I have never in my life ever celebrated with just the one toast – even when I was in a high chair enjoying my first birthday you can bet your ass I was washing down my mini sheet cake with a liter of yoohoo. Homie don’t play. 

However, having not done well at my last 2 or 13 work functions I decided to class it up and show these people I was a working adult who could handle a night of slow sipping with the bosses. I enjoyed a casual glass of bubbles in the office and planned to walk over to the bar with everyone for one quick celebratory drink. 1 chard, 2 sips, finito. But, before I knew what was happening an older colleague of mine ushered me into a dark corner of the office to have a shot to us! Oh great, just what a crack head needs, a barrel full of crack. I tried declining the half glass of patron that was being offered up in the shadows but gave in as he talked of his deceased granddaughter and how much I reminded him of her. He had never been prouder of a young woman and her work and dedication to a project. FUCK. The next thing I knew I was on guilty glass number 3 and my lips were officially numb. I licked the rest of the salt off the rim as we both wiped our eyes, swallowed my lime wedge whole and told him I’d see him Monday. I had had enough to drink and the last thing I needed to do now was take my worm sucking ass to a bar.

I had quite a walk back to my car and began in hot pursuit - Steamy tequila smoke tendrils curled out of my nostrils and the fresh air made me feel clear as I entered the elevator bank excited to make my 2 hour trek home. Once in I ran straight into yet another co-worker. Hey! Where the hell are you going? Oh, I'm going home to let me dog out. Home? Home is for quitters! Before I had time to protest he punched the elevator back down to the first floor and looped his arm through mine – Upon entering the bar, I scanned the room and saw the entire team throwing back drinks and getting rowdy. Ce la vie. When party fate comes aknockin’ you gotta fucking answer the call. Plus, I had the company credit card in my back pocket.

Rounds of chardonnays and kettles and soda were ordered at my discretion, as I became court jester to my work kingdom. I made sure everyone in the room had 3 more drinks than I as I sipped water in an attempt to be a lady – I was already feeling quite groovy from my tequila shit storm from earlier so needed them to catch up and fast. After I saw at least 75% of staff take down the hard stuff I began my fun. Chardonnay after chardonnay, pool was played, and ping pong was executed and then ass grab was on the menu. Bosses were on assistants and managers were on interns. Everyone was feeling loose and I held the plastic keeping it all together. After feeling like I’d had one-teen drinks too many, I appreciate me in moments like this: 1 more drink Waz, and well, you are either going to be crying, puking, or breaking up a marriage. Put the drink down, chug 20 waters and go home to bed. You may pass McDonalds but do not pass go and do not collect that drink at the end of the bar.

 

Luckily being the boss I am I had worn my six inch Michael Kors boots to work that day to really show the people not only my camel toe but that I too could work in heels and still kick ass. As I paid the enormous tab and filled out the tip portion in Mandarin and the signature in Swedish, I Pirate-walked out the door without saying good-bye to anyone. (Note: The Pirate walk is done by one who exits an establishment dragging ones foot behind oneself, heaving their shoulders forward in an effort to gain momentum to move or rather walk, while drooling slightly from whichever way the neck is slightly cocked. I usually lean left. This is because my left boob is bigger.)

Out the bar I go hobbling and heaving my heavy work bag and lap top case behind me, suddenly looking out and staring at 4 parking garages. Logistically there are only 2, Pirate Wazzy sees 4. As I moved on in my enormous wooden boots each step felt harder and more Danish than the next as the tequila and bubbles and bottle of chardonnay kicked in. Dammit, I knew I should have had those spicy wings to soak up this bullshit. Finally after a half blacked out amount of time I made it to the elevator banks - Next task, find my car. I fell into the elevator cab sweating and sunk down to a seated position as it rose to the top. Crawling out on my hands and knees lugging my bags behind me, I hoped a car wouldn't fly by with his lights off and behead me like the bad wench I was. Finally making it to my feet I two-stepped across the dark top floor garage and Dougied into my car. I immediately jammed the keys into the ignition and fired her up. Nothing. Maybe I did it wrong. I pinched my nipples and focused my Asian looking baby blues and tried once more. Key in ignition. Foot on brake. Twist key right. Fail. FUCK!! I only had 1 hour and 12 minutes to get home and order a Papa before they closed (Papa as in John, not as in someone I sometimes meet up with on the weekends from Sugardaddy.com to collect an allowance – Oh and ladies, you’re welcome. It’s a real thing).

I decided to take a step back and re-examine my situation. In doing so I suddenly realized how light my keys felt. Removing the key from the ignition, to my horror I saw the battery had fallen out making it USELESS! Without the battery I could not properly unlock the car meaning I could not properly start the car and drive it into the ocean. Somewhere in between me walking the plank and leaning like a Cholo I had busted them. Before I had time to panic my car began doing the screaming for me – the alarm kicked off ringing and wailing. So, I handled this like any single white female: I cried, and screamed, and beat my steering wheel and eventually lay my body on the horn in defeat Rihanna style. After realizing no one was coming to my rescue and I was all out of cigarettes I switched to my next option: Call my girlfriends from work and make it their problem. Dial. Ring. Voice Mail. No one was picking up. They must be pirating too. Finally one of the girls answered - I began choking on my spit and inhaling my tears as I tried to explain my situation, starting with the tequila and dead granddaughters. I got 15 seconds into my story and blurted out one dead girl ghost moan when there was silence on the other end – my phone had died. At this point I actually felt worse than Rihanna and waited for the cops to come.   

When they didn't show up I decided to move onto plan B. I grabbed all of my belongings and made the long trek back to the elevator bank. At this point my face was so red and swollen from crying, I looked like the love child of Hitch and The Crow. I took the bank down to the first floor searching for a friendly face and noticed the entire lot was dead – no lights or people but I did see a guard shack off in the distance about 3 miles. I felt like Don Quioxte drunk and schizophrenic as I began yet another long march sans Sancho Pancho. I finally arrived at the shack winded and heaving, doubled over in my heels, face a mess, smelling like the remnants from a Lindsay Lohan bath. The guard looked at me half scared half worried as I begged him to call me a cab. My phone was dead. My car was broke. My $300 heels were grated down to a piece of mozzarella. The kind guard agreed to call me a cab. He also recommended waiting with me so I didn't get arrested or taken to Compton to play rodeo clown to a dog fight.

We walked another mile to a busier intersection and the minutes kept ticking by for this rogue cab. Realizing it was going to take a while I threw my exhausted defeated body down onto the sidewalk, boots in the air, and rested my head on my bags. Arms folded I began to cry again, like a sad, bloated child. No cab and no pizza. This sucks. After 30 more minutes of waiting and no naughty texting as my usual form of drunk entertainment, I’d had enough. Sitting upright I looked desperately over at the guard and asked him where the hell was my cab! Did he even know how to call a cab company? Did he even know how to use a cell phone? (At this point I had also taken off my bra) Sir, I am a WO-MAN sitting on a cold sidewalk waiting for a ride I can’t afford! I am a college graduate!! I HAVE A BACHELORS DEGREE!!! He looked at me hard letting me get out every word and black tear, then responded: Ma’am. If I were you I would be a little nicer. I’m the only friend you have right now and I can turn and leave your ass, out here, in the dark. Understand? I laid back down one vertebra at a time, and silently continued to cry. Another 30 minutes passed and my cab came. I peed a little then jumped in elated. I looked over to thank the guard but he was gone.

I rode all the way home looking out the window and wondering why these things always seemed to happen to me. Another $80 cab ride home alone, another giant receipt to explain to my bosses. I looked over at the clock. 2 AM. Papa was closed.  

The next day I sent my assistant to get my car after explaining a more convenient version of the story. During my lie, another assistant passed by and stopped in to listen. He shamefully admitted he had seen me and heard my alarm go off but due to the enthusiastic rendition of “Push It” I was performing for myself he decided it best to let me be.

Later in the day my bosses came in to congratulate me on a job well done. The room was spinning as I stood to shake their hands, steadying myself on my desk. I gave them my best hangover smile and felt the giant bar receipt in my back pocket as they walked out, thanking god they hadn’t noticed I was in the same clothes from the night before, minus a bra but plus an eye patch.

Cheers to Great Intentions and Crocodile Tears,

WAZ

Pride-A-Palooza

And Let’s Not Forget About This…

Every year I go directly to the back of my closet and dig up the most obnoxiously bright and festive thing I can find, dust off my feather boa, sharpen my eyeliner, and apply more glitter than a girl could dream of. I wake up at the ass crack of dawn and begin the process of binge drinking and morphing into a beautiful drag queen. This time of year is known as Chicago’s very own Gay Pride Festival. It is typically 100 degrees and there are what feels like 2 million people cooking in the narrow streets of Boystown, all trying to catch a glimpse of the dancing queens. For those of you that have been, you know that it’s a whole different world, and once you cross Clark Street there is absolutely no going back. All the streets are shut down and the only way to get across is by having all the gays huddle up to catapult your body across one of the parade floats, hoping to catch some ass mid-flight. Just picture thousands of people grinding in the streets, strangers hugging strangers, and expect to be told how beautiful you are all day long. From a bird’s eye view it looks like a giant glittery rainbow farted on the North side of town.

I have had my face painted by a lesbian clown, have earned my body weight in dick-shaped beads, sought out and kissed the one and only straight man in the bunch, and have been groped by the best of ‘em. One year I even ran into an unexpected guest on the train. I was sitting with my 3 best girlfriends and minding my own while taking pulls out of a bottle of Wolfschmidt vodka, when suddenly I was slapped upside the head. Ready to turn around and verbally assault someone’s face, I heard “What the hell are you doing here lady!?”(in a smokers voice so deep that she woke up her own cat 50 miles away.) HOLY SHIT! HEY GRANNY!!! I’m going to Gay Pride, what about you?! She roared back, ME TOO!! We clinked vodka’s and high-fived so fiercely that everyone around us now knew we were pre-gaming family style on the 8 AM train.

With all of that being said, there is still one particular year that stands out above all the rest. I decided to bring my friend who was about to pop her Gay Pride Parade cherry. Not really knowing what she was in for, she had the right attitude going into things: A non-judgmental mind and a liver that was open for business. We drank our way into the homosexual chaos and loved every minute of it. We saw the dykes on bikes, approximately 300 sweaty nut sacks, and a variety of questionable characters. Mission accomplished. When the parade came to and end, there was nothing left but mounds of garbage littering the streets and thousands of drunk people doing somersaults through it. We had seen enough and were ready to take the party back to our hometown dive bar where we felt safe and secure in case one of us decided to nap on a stool  Wiping the glitter out of our tear ducts, we attempted to hail a cab. After 45 minutes of walking in the blistering heat and knowing that we had approximately 20 minutes to catch our train, we clunked our dome pieces together and thought up a brilliant plan.

From a distance we spotted a strapping young Hindu that just so happened to be driving an ice cream truck. At this point it was so hot out that I was running a sweat shop between my boobs and this ice cream truck could have been a mirage. Strutting our boiling bodies towards him we were now in 100% prostitute mode. I was completely over walking and we knew if we had any chances of catching that train, our new friend Gudakeysha was our only hope. Two Dora the Explora’s and a Choco Taco later we had finally convinced our main man Ke$ha to take us for a ride. My friend jumped in the passenger seat and without hesitation I opened the gate to the back and made myself right at home next to all the freezer compartments. It was all of 38 seconds before I had my body hanging out of the little window and was chucking ice cream at anyone’s head that was covered in beads. I felt the need to tell every homosexual how fabulous they looked and that the ice cream cone that was coming 40 mph at their face WAS ON ME! You’re welcome! Guda was begging for me to stop throwing away all of his frozen treats free of charge and to please put things back the way they were. Snoopy’s were mixed in with Incredible Hulks and Ninja Turtles were now sharing a bin with the Sponge Bob’s but I didn't care. His shit was a mess, and it was all thanks to me. I yelled back at him, HEY LISTEN GUDAKEYSHA! DON’T EVER TRUST A DRUNK GIRL WITH YOUR DAIRY BRO!! He agreed with me as we pulled up to our destination. Feeling bad about almost ruining all my fun, we hugged it out and he offered up a snow cone on the house as a peace offering. We politely declined and sprinted up the ramp only to find that he had taken us to the wrong station. Son of a Hindu! We missed our train!

With 2 hours to kill until our next ride rolled through, we decided to hit the streets for a cold brew. On our way we met a nice lesbian couple that we learned had been hitched for over 14 years. It was no secret that they were into us and offered to buy as a drink while we waited for our train. One beer quickly turned into a barrel and the next thing you know we were all dancing to Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits. (Side note: This was right after Michael hit the pavement so we had the entire establishment in tears and up on their feet honoring all of the King of Pop’s best moves -including the bartender). What started out to be an innocent cocktail turned into us unraveling 14 years of marriage simply by smelling of sweet summer corn and knowing all the words to Man In The Mirror. I admit I did notice wife # 1 undressing us with her eyes but thought nothing of it as I continued to raise my arms perfecting the“Thriller” choreography. How sexy could dancing zombies in bloody stitches really be? Well, wife #2 did not appreciate our grace and taught arm movements either and shit got really awkward as she called wife #1 out on all the inappropriate gestures that were directed towards us young fawns. My friend and I found this to be the perfect opportunity to bolt- Well, look at the time!? Ladies, it has been a pleasure and thank you so much for the dance. As the one licked her lips, I grabbed my friends hand, covered her eyes, and sprinted towards the train station. We made it just in the butch of time, and couldn't wait to get back to share our scandalous voyage as homosexuals.

Cheers to Hot Fudge Hitch Hiking  and Butch Break Ups,  

Ti-Bag