happy belated father's day.

I pulled into the Grab-a-Java parking lot at five in the morning, just like every other morning, put the car in park and just sat. "I feel so hot," I thought. Sweat was pouring down my face as I entered the building. I couldn't even remember the code for the alarm. Before I knew it I was uncontrollably vomiting in the tiny little bathroom. My face was so far in the toilet that I could see everything that was living in there. Not pretty. I'm 25 years old and I'm about to call my dad to pick me up from work. . .

I spit out the last of the bile in my mouth and get in my dad's car. He decides to take me back to his house since he had the day off and I could use the constant monitoring. This was his first mistake. The events that unfolded after we made it home were completely beyond my control.

My dad's second mistake was telling me to go upstairs and sleep in his bed. We worked out a system. I had my phone by my bedside and instead of having a little bell to ring, whenever I needed something I would just call my dad, let it ring once and he would come to check my status. Status: puking every hour on the hour. Cause: food poisoning (Even though I swear I had the Black Plague. Can you get that from old Arby's mozzarella sticks? Yes, I went to Arby's. Yes, I ate the sticks after I let them sit for hours unrefrigerated. Judge not lest he be judged.)

In ten hours it was 10-0 and vomit was winning. Where is it all coming from? It was as though it took the bile in my stomach exactly one hour to reproduce and become the perfect amount for my gag reflexes to react. I couldn't even drink water without puking instantly. Puking water is the worse too. It mimics putting your thumb over the end of a waterspout that is on full blast except instead of the clean refreshing feel and taste of water it was the repulsive stickiness and taste of bile water. Back to bed.

Two hours had gone by and I hadn't puked yet. I must be in recovery mode; I'm going to call my dad. He comes up the stairs and I tell him that I no longer think I'm going to die but I feel this extreme pressure on my stomach. Maybe if I just fart it would relieve the pressure and I could sleep. Big mistake. With my dad still in the room, I squint my eyes, and then all of a sudden shit my pants. Did I push too hard?! My plan had totally backfired! I mean, I felt a little better but did I seriously just shit my pants, in my dad's bed, with him in the room, at age 25? Yes. And this is where unconditional love comes to play. Even though it smelled like something died, my dad just drew a bath and proceeded to carry me and my shit pants to the bathroom. I cleaned up and went back to bed until the next day. Every now and then I'll remind my dad that I shit his bed and wait for him to blush. These exact situations are what families are really for.

buckethead.

"What are you supposed to be?" "I am Snow White." Oh right, how did I not figure that out? . You are clearly wearing a striped skirt with your ass checks hanging out, a corset, and thigh highs. How did the red bow in your bleached out hair not give it all away? (I really can't hate on the bleachies. I was once a bleached head too. Moving on) How come men never wear sexy Disney costumes? I am dying to see a sexy Jafar or a sexy Mufasa? Where are all the little "sexy" dwarfs in cut off jean shorts and mesh belly shirts with tiny caps? I live for the day. Live for it.

*I try to avoid the sexy girl Halloween costumes that consumes the majority of the women that I know. I try to be something that I think really represents my personality. One year, I was bubbles from Powerpuff Girls. The next, Patsy from Absolutely Fabulous. "Acting" like a drunk comes naturally to me. Sometimes I like to keep it sweet. A doll. Pink cheeks, dress to the knees, white tights. It was almost too easy. Well, not as easy as Josh and Lisa's costumes. They showed up from Florida on Halloween night to surprise everyone. They had brought custom made costumes.....sheets.....with eyeholes cut out. Classic. I think Josh might have cut out a hole by his mouth so that he could smoke but other than that, pure simplicity. I was the only person at the whole bar who even knew it was them. Truly a disguise.


We leave the bar and go to a party at my friend Jay's house. There are all sorts of crazy costumes there! There was a duck, zombies, doctors, an entire lumberjack team, the occasional Disney skank and then there was "Buckethead." I am not exactly sure what Buckethead's costume was. A robot? The tinman? He literally just had an upside down bucket on his head. It is still a mystery to me. Buckethead proceeds to talk to me, hands me a balloon and follows it with a big grin. "Thanks for the balloon?" I tie it at the end and hold it like I am at the Illinois State Fair completely unaware why he even gave it to me. But I am drunk and when I am drunk I just accept gifts without question. He starts to laugh and says "you're supposed to hit it." Hit it? What does that mean? In my head I picture my self lightly spanking this balloon. Then it comes to me. Ohhhhhhh.......it's like helium. So I poke a hole in the balloon and suck out a little bit of the air. Buckethead is clearly annoyed. "I cannot believe you just wasted it. It was a whip-it." A WHIP-IT? I am a fucking adult! I never do drugs but come on, at least offer me some cocaine or maybe a little heroine. Make me feel like a grown-up. But a whip-it? Does this mean I have to move back in with my parents and start working at the mall again? Great.


To make a long story short(er): I end up leaving Buckethead, getting completely trashed (whip-it free), wondering away from the party and waking up the next day in a doll costume laying next to a lumberjack in a bed that is ten feet from the the ground. How the hell did this happen? More importantly, how the hell do I get down from this bed without a ladder and without waking the sleeping giant? So I jumped onto a bucket that was placed on the counter that was next to the excessively tall bed. I was free. All I had to do was walk home, passed all the yard sales, dressed like a doll. But in the end I was saved by a bucket.........*

My friend is from Brazil and he told me that if America had Carnival then maybe the girls here wouldn't dress so skanky around Halloween. I told him, "America doesn't have Carnaval but we definitely have carnivals." Tweety t-shirts, gravatrons, turkey legs, airbrushed hats and maybe the Beach Boys playing at the Grandstand. Talk about sexy. I think I am going to play safe next Halloween. Garth Algar. Imagine waking up with that in your bed. Aerosmith shirt on the floor and fried blond hair all over your pillow. "I like to play." Party on.

in the begining. . .

I would love to start my blog by officially stating that all people, places and "things" will remain true to each story. I will change no names nor respect anyone's privacy, including my own. I have this amazing ability to not be embarrassed. Oh, and apparently I decided I would use caps. Jokes on me.

preview.

this is just a test run of the new blog. don't expect to see many uppercase letters. in fact, it's never going to happen so lets just get over it.