In it to Win it.

This past weekend Erin was working out of town and left me to my own devices.

Saturday night I ended up at a bachelorette party where the person I knew the least, was the bride. Regardless, I had a great time and when I left I managed to drag my rum laden self eight blocks away just in time for a round of kamikazes! After about an hour of dancing, we were all tuckered out and some of us needed a cigarette break, so we went outside. While outside I spotted a Kevin Federline look-alike wearing the most obnoxious necklace I had ever seen. Two Corona bottles criss-crossed over a blinking light, dangling off of hammered out Mardi-Gras beads that read “Corona.”  Instinctively I shout to him “WHERE DID YOU JUST COME FROM? A RAVE!?” All of a sudden I’m engaging this Kenso in jorts (read: jean shorts). What am I doing?! I don’t want to talk to this person.  I realized I was already in too deep  to quit. I was going to get that necklace. I don’t even want the necklace, I just like winning, and I needed something to do while everyone else was smoking. He told me he had won it, on the radio, which is no big deal because he wins a lot of radio contests.” I hope that’s under ‘Special Skills’ on his resume and that it’s written “$pecial $kills” because three dollar signs is way too many. His name is Jerry, and I don’t care. I tell him, I’ll win it off him. I inform him that he can ask me any 5 trivia questions and if I get them right I get the necklace. Lucky for me he never recognized the fact that I have no right to be so demanding about his glorious radio contest winnings. His genius questions are as follows:

1. What’s the capital of Vermont? A. Montpelier which is correct, but I’m fairly confident I could’ve said Fleurgenville and he would’ve still given me the point. +1

2. What’s the capital of Pennsylvania? Really? The state we’re in what kind of idiot wouldn’t know the capital of the state they live in!  A. Harrisburg (to this he looked at his friend and said
“Is that right? I really don’t know”…his equally dumb friend shrugged.) +1

3. He couldn’t think of a third so Torey (Erin and My roommate) stepped in and asked me Who was the fourth President of the United States? A. James Madison. +1 Go.

4. When’s your birthday? THAT’S RIGHT. He asked me, when my own birthday is. This question  is neither trivial (it’s scheduled to be printed on all calendars in 2012), or in his bank of knowledge. At first I thought, maybe he’s trying to hit on me. But if that were the case, wouldn’t “What’s your phone number?” be far more successful? Also, that is something that can be proven. But, I also think at this point he had mentioned that he was a “graduate of the 7th grade.” Aka: dumb. I think I gave him my actual birthday, too. which is not something I would repeat if I had a do over of that moment. Not because I worry what he would do with priceless information like that, but because I’m a generally very honest person, so lying to strangers about facts they cannot disprove makes me feel sneaky and dangerous; like I’m taking a real walk on the wild side. +1

5. What’s the last el stop? A. Frankford Terminal. +1

I WON!  Now, I’m going to call Michael Phelps and trade victory stories.

Advertisements

It’s nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Clark

…I guess I just wasn’t anticipating meeting you, until after our 2nd or 3rd date.

We’d Never Date a Dude Who Still Lives with his Mom

MOVE OUT. I get it. You’re “trying to save money”, which is totally understandable–we are in a recession. If money is the issue, though, how do you have enough money to go out four nights a week, without me? And why is it that when we do go out together, I, the one who does pay rent, gets stuck with the bill constantly because you “only have eight dollars on my card.” UM! Where is all of this money going, and if you only have eight dollars, maybe you shouldn’t have ordered twenty five dollars worth of beer and food. That’s a pretty firm grip on responsibility you have, there.  Also, I get that your mom is “totally cool” with you having girls in your room but it’s still very weird to sneak past her room in the middle of the night, and then politely decline her offer to make me pancakes in the morning. It’s awkward that I’m forced to meet your family the first time I come over. But, it’s even more awkward that no one else in this situation thinks this seriously deviates from normal social standards. It does. At first I thought it was sweet that you still lived at home, until it progressively became clearer and clearer that you had no intent on leaving. Yeah, it is “totally rad” that your family is going down the shore for the week, so you’ll have the house all to yourself. You know, if you didn’t live with them still, you could always have the house to yourself. Oh your mom left you a hundred dollars for pizza? You can’t buy a week’s worth of groceries for yourself? You’re going to eat pizza all week? Yeah, that does sound like a really awesome time, maybe you’ll even be able to find out where they hide the key to the liquor cabinet.

They Call Me “Cool Ethan”

No. they. don’t.

We’d Never Date Dudes Who Give Themselves Nicknames

No. No. I’m not calling you that. No. That’s dumb. Are you for real about this? This should go without saying. The whole idea of a nickname is that it says a lot about you—because everyone else came up with it. Just because your name sucks, doesn’t mean you get to pick a new one. You have no authority over this. None. If people could just decide what everyone should call them, I would’ve put an end to the unfortunate nickname “Ho-bags” years ago. THANKS FRIENDS!

I had a nickname for you! You wanna know what it was? I'm not going to tell you. All right, it was "Laser."

I had a nickname for you! You wanna know what it was? I'm not going to tell you. All right, it was "Laser."

My name is Kelly, and lots of people call me Kell, with two Ls. Is that the way I would spell it? Of course not. But it’s not under my jurisdiction to make such a change. Sure, I could have a sit down with everyone and lay down the law “Guys, listen, its Kel with one L. I get it that you guys are into the extra L, but I really feel like I don’t really need it. Not trying to be a dick, but get it right.” And I’m sure people would actually stop calling me Kell. They would stop calling me, period. Because that’s just as bad as when I introduce you to people as “Christopher,” and you tell them “It’s Toph.” No. It really isn’t.

Hindsight is 20/20

During our recent sabbatical, Erin and I had extensive time to reflect on the serious errors in judgment we have experienced over the years.  Everyone makes mistakes! But, after a recent realization of personal idiocy, we decided that we would not let history repeat itself. So, we did what every red-blooded American woman would do–listened to Beyonce! And, eventually made a list of, not necessarily “Deal Breakers” but, definite Red Flags that we wish we had been more clear headed to recognize earlier. We’re calling it We’d Never Date These Dudes…again. You can look forward to a daily post until we’ve deduced the perfect man out of this…or until we get bored of this. Also, we have not abandoned our stories of lame and creepy pick-up attempts, they’ll be up here, too. Less frequently, though, because, we have jobs, people! We can’t just be going to bars all willy nilly all the time!

I am going to ease you in with a quick one:

We’d Never Date Dudes who cannot spell “definitely”

I don’t expect him to be a genius. Is it asking too much that he be literate?
No, I mean, good. I’m glad you’re defiantly down to hang out this weekend. Do you and your roommates get in a lot of arguments about your rebellious nature? It’s bad enough that you’re always writing “Congrads!” like you’re the head of the Pun-y Graduation Card Division at Hallmark, but to actually routinely change the word in its entirety and think “they get what I mean” instead of “how is that word actually spelled,” is not ok.
Cannot spell “definitely”
Good. I’m glad you’re defiantly down to hang out this weekend. Do you and your roommates get in a lot of arguments about your rebellious nature?

Here we are!!

WERE BACK! With a bang… after all it is the 4th of July, get it? (well, it was when I started this) WOW, SO… we apologize for the long absence. Over the past few months, Kelly and I have been falling in unknowing love, finishing school, drinking beer, eating nachos, going to raves, and dating dudes we actually wanted to date; its been a long four months but don’t worry, stories are to follow. Being that this weekend is a celebration of our country’s history (it was, so were gonna pretend this still applies), we thought it would be appropriate to have our first comeback entry be a commemoration of past rendezvous.

Ok. So one particular night a while ago, Kelly and I were looking to get very, very drunk..sloppy drunk, if you will. And what better place to get sloppy drunk, than Bob and Barbara’s? It seemed like a good idea. So we went with Kelly’s friend Andy, who ran into his friend and his friend’s roommate. So let’s go over introductions around the bar: me, Kelly, Andy, his friend, his friend’s roommate. After a few fast and gross specials, Kelly succeeded and won the race to become the drunkest person alive. I on the other hand sat next to her with her back facing me while she laughed it up with Andy, leaving me to stare at no one with boredom written all over my face, not yet drunk. Andy’s friend had left, and because Kelly was hogging up Andy, his friend’s roommate decided to come over and talk to me. Cue the “shiiiiiiit! Here we go….” sound clip…. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name earlier.” That’s because I don’t want you to know it. “I’m Erin……” “I’m Eduardo” OOOOOH Eduardo… please go away. This man had very few teeth and many layers of clothing, along with a smell……… Thankfully, those were pretty much the only words that we said to each other until he started RUBBING MY BACK. Um, what??!? Why–what?!? I quickly straightened up and said “UM, no thank you.” No thank you.. good one Er. Boys listen to manners. I know this, because he said sorry, but then thought it would be a good idea to RUB MY INNER THIGH. A stranger rubbed my inner thigh. Jesus, it’s hard for me to get boys I like to rub my inner thigh, although this was not a rub I wanted. It was a very unwelcomed rub because it was from a stranger, who was gross, and was very gross. I grabbed his hand, threw it off me and said “that’s enough”, like I’m fucking J Lo. This is when Eduardo said, “oh sorry” like he had no idea what he was doing, no control over his limbs, weird huh? what a gentleman. He then grabbed his backpack and left. What is great about this whole story is that Kelly saw none of this, had no idea what was happening, what a good lookout. Andy was gentlemen enough to stare at the disaster happening next to him with a watchful eye and as soon as Eduardo left, all he could say was, “He’s not our friend!! We met him off of craigslist! We met him off of CRAIGSLIST!!!”

Oh hey, cool birthday.

With Erin’s 22nd birthday approaching on Monday (TODAY!) she decided to invite a few friends out for dinner and drinks on Saturday.  Erin, Bobbi, Torey and I all sat down for nachos, calamari and some delicious beer. We sat and drank and laughed without being approached all night, which was very nice (albeit bad for blogs about meeting dudes in bars)  and we had a lot of fun.  But who wouldn’t if they look like this?
erins-birthday

It's my fucking birthday.

Late in the night a drunk Erin hypothesized that no one was talking to us because a table of “four very pretty girls is probably really intimidating.”

Yeah, we're total gems.

She's right, we're total gems.

Um, maybe, er. But, I’d guess that this had something to do with it, too:

FUCK YOU GUYS!

FUCK YOU GUYS!

So, here’s to you Erin! May your twenty second year be filled with even more nachos, beer, and drunk charades than the last!

If You’re This Bad at Math, I Don’t Want You to be My Dentist.

Last night, after a hilarious comedy show, Erin and I met up with her roommate Jess and Jess’s cousin Liz. By the time we got there, they were just finishing some eats and downing my favorite drink, PBR Pounders. So, we ordered a round and discussed Jess’s new hair venture-bangs. It wasn’t long before out of nowhere two clowns named Jack and Tony strolled up to Jess and Liz’s side of the table and said “40’s–nice choice” and pointed to the ladies’ beers. And me–never being one to pass over an opprotunity to point out inaccuracies in one’s lame pick-ups said “UM! You think these are 40‘s?” Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Kelly, they weren’t even talking to you. You could’ve avoided this post all together if you would’ve just minded your own business.” Well, you know what, imaginary conversationalist, I, physically, cannot let something that obviously dumb slide by. Every idiot knows that 40’s come in giant glass bottles, and this guy was pointing at a moderately-larger-than-typical can. COME ON!

His response to my question was “Well, they’re almost 40’s–they’re SO big!” “They’re 16 ounces, which is actually significantly less than 40 ounces.” Then they both said some boring things I wasn’t listening to, and before I knew it, they had both pulled up a chair on either side of us. Funny–I don’t remember any of us inviting them to join us. I know I certainly didn’t, because I had my eye on the cute barback that’s always there and I always wish would write me a missed connection.

Someday my handsome barback will make this a reality.

Someday my handsome barback will make this a reality.

Why these two guys, one wearing a 70’s mobster leather jacket, and the other wearing a hoodie that read “TEMPLE UNIVERSITY SCHOOL OF DENISTRY” (far too much text for a sweatshirt), thought that they could successfully lay game on four girls at once, is beyond me. Jack (the one in the leather jacket) thought he would work on me and Erin while his buddy Tony pretended to be into the UConn vs Syracuse game to impress Jess and Liz (she’s is a Husky herself). I’m pretty sure Tony had never even heard of basketball until that night, and all of a sudden he’s jumping up and down, taking pictures of the score with his phone, whatever. Meanwhile, after I explained that I was an art student, Jack was trying to schmooze me by explaining how many people get into dentistry to use it as a medium for art, you know, with crown moldings and what have you. That’s weird, I know tons of artists, and I don’t know one who feels that teeth are their calling. He was so boring–I went to the bathroom THREE times just to catch a break from this slow talking snooze-fest. I even started to pretend to think basketball is interesting and ask everyone else questions about things and ignore this guy completely. So when he asked for my phone number I was a little blindsided (not to mention pretty buzzed) and decided I wasn’t going to give him my real number.

I know, I know, I’m a bitch–I’m also a terrible liar, which is why the first 8 digits are correct.