The past couple years have been interesting to say the least. After Gram took off for AZ, leaving me in the filth and squalor we know as Philly. I immediately bonded with Danielle, and took my Sunday funday to entirely new levels. She turned me into a new fan of tailgating Eagles games, helped me give up my previous rotation of men for an entirely new set of undesirable guys, encouraged my passive aggressive self to say "fuck you" to practically anyone who posed the slightest threat of ruining my good mood, and helped me realize it's totally ok to do vodka redbulls non-stop from 2pm - 2 am... as long as you're with the people you love and who will certainly bail you out of jail when you get arrested for protesting against your citation for public urination and misconduct. Under different circumstances, I would typically hate this too pretty - sorority type, but she's grown to be one of my best friends and has helped me realize what a loveable wingman I can be.
I do believe things happen for a reason.
And gram...in that abso-fkn-lute vulnerable stage I went through where you had to pick my lifeless body from the carpet, clean up the bottles of vodka off the floor, and turn down the volume on the Staind cd I set on repeat....I'll never forget and will always keep in my heart. For you to do that, and not gossip about it the next morning means everything to me. The fact that you could simultaneously do the running man in the middle of the dining room with me (as if nothing ever happened) while putting away groceries the very next day means even more. I can honestly say while I watched my own mother almost bleed to death...twice...you were the only person that kept me sane....and I will forever love you for that.
I have countless stories with my grams. Everything from night-vision sex tapes which ended up in Iraq to catching an obese paraplegic watching us drunkenly make eggs in our underwear at 4 am from his makeshift bed in the neighbor's kitchen, to pregnant redneck women smoking cigarettes on our stoop and accusing us of "purshing us down them stairs!" wtf? No wonder we were so confused and lost in our early 20's. Not to digress, but I so wonder how baby Brailynn is doing with her baby cigarette lungs. It's the parents names combined. Brian and Lynn. Very original. She'll probably be knocked up by the age of 12. I know I'm going to burn in hell for saying that but honestly...she never stood a chance with those parents. The had a fucking couch and lamp set on their outdoor porch for chrissake!!! I suppose these type of stories will come out in future posts, with Gram's permission, of course.
Also, to everyone's surprise, I have finally have found a guy that I can somewhat tolerate, and who surprisingly can somewhat tolerate me as well. Probably because we share the same twisted mind where we visualize running over people who take their good old time walking at a crosswalk. You know you felt that way at one point, and if you say you haven't, you're a liar. More on that later...maybe...I prefer blogging about guys I don't give a shit about...
Anyway, times with D....
what am I allowed to say?
that I randomly hooked up with a NBC news anchor
yeah...I said it. Shame on me, shame on you, asshole.
or that a boyfriend, who chastises us for smoking weed, got so drunk that he bear hugged a cop with a severe inferiority complex, and almost got arrested just so he could speak into the cop's walkie talkie?
that I pulled a Richard Pryor and lit my fucking head on fire on super bowl sunday?
that we were flagged for drinking at a STADIUM?!?!
that she tried setting me up with some loser in nyc that danced like the Botuabi brothers @ Night at the Roxbury, had a severe Asian fetish, and would actually pin terrified, random Asian girls against the wall while bobbing his head to the left?
that in order to tolerate such behavior I drank myself into oblivion and remember puking on the floor of the skybar as I looked upon a beautiful view of Times Square at night?
or that we almost punched each other the week she was moving away and she planned to steal my car and run off to Atlantic City?
which story would you like you to hear?
I love her too. Like a sister who's closet I want to raid.
Who knew that two girls who are the exact opposite of myself and each other would help me grow up?
The introvert therapist who would kick doors and throw beer cans at Vespa shops with me... who bit her tongue as I dated short 37 yr old mafiosos...and all the while telling me the body worker/motivational speaker I was infatuated with was full of shit. And the extrovert event planner, who would throw hot sauce at random guys at Citizens Bank Park and sausages at South Philly mafiosos all while telling me the body worker/motivational speaker I was infatuated with was full of shit.
You're both now on the west coast and I still am closer to the two of you than anyone else here.
and Russell.....apparently you're full of shit. I don't care what the newspapers say. And I hate your stupid haircut. Seriously, it's ugly. But you don't care because I am not enlightened and have issues with authority which is why my left shoulder is out of place....BLAH BLAH!!
Why am I a cougar-in-training you ask? Probably because in the past five years I had a good time with your boss, busboy...and/or your little brother, and I'm not ashamed to say it, because I have now calmed the hell down. If, however, things don't work out with my relationship and I end up alone with your boss/busboy/little brother/son 20 years down the road....don't say I didn't warn you.
Actually, scratch that, I am ashamed of some of the guys I've been with.
ie: Mr. Pussy, the frat boy I met at O' Brians on Christmas 2002, who kept a live alligator in his bathroom and a constant mound of coke on his coffee table.
...that was weird, and definitely one for the books...but only Shemi knows about it .
Shemi...That's a whole new story of a 19 yr Philly girl moving to a southern city and finding herself with the help of her favorite puertorriqueno, who shares a love for Guinness and stiff drinks. And that's fresh off the boat rican, not them harlem puerto ricans we find here up north....
I guess I'm writing this because I'm drunk and my mom is back in the hospital riding it out like the tough chick that she is....as tough as you can be with an Indian accent...and I realize those who mean anything to me are scattered across the country. We'll always have our memories, and this blog to put em on blast.
I do the same things as a lot of you readers, I just have the courage to post those skeletons up on the internet for the world to see. And I apologize to anyone who finds me offensive. I know people will judge, but that;s on them. Shit, I'm not a celebrity...my agent won't care....
especially my exes new girlfriend's who like to stalk me on the internet....you know who you are...
stay tuned....and/or check out www.cougardiaries.blogspot.com
and I'll see ya on the flipside
-a
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