Sunday, February 27, 2011

Say hello to the shrinking in your head.

That is how I sometimes feel about the other secretary in my office. N is a lovely woman. I enjoy her company (it's pretty much just the two of us in the office every day). I like chatting with her. I actually think she's my favourite out of all the other people with whom I've ever worked. But pretty much every day N comes back from her lunch break with a bag of fast food. I sit there on the other side of the room at my desk, trying to nibble on my lettuce and hummus, all the while smelling the intoxicating fumes from her Wendy's chicken sandwiches and fries. 

So remember that psychotic My Little Pony post from a while back? If not, go now and familiarize yourself with my psychosis. On the same page now? Good. 

Guess what. 










She is now Officially the most valuable pony in my collection. She arrived on Friday, all the way from Brazil. 

Although  at the same time I feel kind of deflated now. I've found my holy grail (well, Holy Grail #2--this was the first Holy Grail [the last one on the right, though she was not nearly as expensive]). Now I must find a new pony to hunt down and acquire. I'm thinking maybe Ice Crystal. Or Mint Dreams (last one in that list)--I've been looking for her for a while. There's a bunch I really want, but not so desperately that I will spend spend spend because if I get one pony, I'll get loads and be bankrupt in very little time. Perhaps instead I shall work on purchasing a nice curio cabinet for all the ponies. At the moment they're all stuffed into boxes under my bed.

Went to see my niece in a fashion show Friday night--some kind of brownies/girl scouts fundraiser. It was cute, if not a little frightening to be surrounded by that much estrogen (very very few men or boys in the room...). The worst part was the snack table. 
I couldn't get a better photo without looking like a freak, but HOLY CRAP there were so many delicious goodies!! And of course we were sat at the table right next to it. 

But I did not touch a single thing on that snack table. Not one bite. Which left me at 180 cals for the whole day. I couldn't have any more because I didn't get to work out. 

But then I had a scare later on that night, around 10.30. As I was getting ready for bed, I began feeling the unmistakable signs of Serious Collapse: couldn't catch my breath, stomach started hurting and I felt super nauseous, and then everything started to get very dark. 

And I was like oh crap--what do I do? I had no emergency food in my bedroom, which was obviously the thing that would save me. All I had was the last dregs of a bottle of Wawa diet lemon iced tea and some beef jerky. So I crawled into the loo with both of those and sat down on the toilet, head between my knees because I think I remember someone telling me to that once before, trying to take deep breaths. It wasn't working. I haven't been that freaked out in a while. 

Eventually, I managed to get downstairs. I had to be super stealth, because it was essential that Mum not see me in that state. I managed to eat an ice cream sandwich and some honey nut cheerios and felt better. 

And did any of this deter me from my starvation? Not a chance. Now you skeptics try and tell me I don't have something wrong with my head. 

Sorry I suck at commenting. I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off because I overbook myself. I'll get around to everyone's blogs tonight--I promise! Hope you're all having a good weekend. Stay conscious, my loves. <3

Friday, February 25, 2011

Deep breaths...

Aunt, Uncle and cousins. All ok.

::commence weepy giddy relief::

Aunt and Uncle are without water and apparently have sand erupting out of their front garden, but all are fine.

Keeping the rest of NZ in our thoughts and prayers. Peri put up some great links on how to help, in her last post!


Thursday, February 24, 2011

Chained to the pillars, a three day party, I break the walls, and kill us all with holy fingers.

So it's almost the 1 year anniversary of this blog. And it is now the 8 month anniversary of my ovaries drying up and rendering me barren and without my womanlies.

Normal, healthy people's ovaries:


No, I still have not gone to the doctor about this. I know I should, but I am terrified and distrustful of all medical professionals. I'll most likely wait until 'tis time for my annual check-up with the lady-doctor in June, and then just casually tell her, "oh yeah, I haven't gotten my period in a year."
Actually, most likely I'll just lie and make up the date of my last period when they ask. If something's wrong, I'm sure they'll find it when I am examined and blood-tested. 

But I digress. I was talking about anniversaries. 

This time last year, I was in the depths of morphine abuse and over-exercising on an injured Achilles tendon (which is now permanently damaged). I don't know what would have become of me if I had not found Blogger and this community, and most importantly, all of you. In many ways, I feel closer to you gals than I do to my friends in real life. This community helps keep me from slipping too far over the edge, sanity-wise. So thanks. <3

Ok I'm done being mushy. 

This time of year also marks the two-year anniversary of my full blown Food Problem. I had issues with food and disordered eating long before this--starting when I was about 15 or 16, I think (when Mum and Granny told me I was fat). I would go through brief spells of starving, but these were usually countered by an overinflated sense of self-worth, and confidence in my own good looks and charm. It got slightly worse in college, when I moved back home from Philadelphia and put on weight. I was starving and over-exercising then, but it never occurred to me that I was doing anything wrong or abnormal. And as time wore on, I became a bit happier in myself and so didn't really dedicate enough time or effort into starving to make me dangerously underweight or unhealthy. 

So what made me suddenly go from that to consciously counting calories, restricting, and over-exercising? I was thinking about this the other day, and the answer hit me like a slap in the face. 

Two years ago, Paul#1 and I ceased all communication. 

It's difficult for me to talk about this, because I'm not so good with the emotion thing. Anything outside my 2 comfort zones of Zen-Like-Calm and Irritable causes me anxiety. 
that's my teaspoon-sized emotional range
 P1 and I met in college. He was a senior when I was a freshman. Former roommate Damo introduced us, and we hit it off immediately, although for the first few years we were just bff's and nothing more. P1 is a giant hippie. He looks like a pirate. Just thinking about him and talking about him this much in one sitting makes me want to throw things, break things, run someone over with my car (him or me--I can't decide). 
::deep breaths::

After I left Philly, we stayed in contact, seeing each other maybe once every months and talking on the phone every so often. I'm not sure when friendship morphed into something else, but eventually it did. I'm not good in relationships. I have trouble remaining faithful to one person, and even more trouble getting emotionally close to someone, or just being comfortable with someone both physically and mentally. But with P1 I had a level of comfort I had never experienced since Brad. 

But this could only be a long-distance relationship, because P1 lives in Philly and I live 2 hours away in Northern New Jersey. I made the trek down to Philly 1 or 2 times a month. I called him multiple times a week (and I HATE the phone). I adored him. Even with the long (and constantly growing) list of things I hated about him, I adored him so much it made me giddy. After a while though, it became clear to me that I was making all the effort in our relationship.

I drove 2+ hours to go and see him. He never once made an attempt to come and visit me. That was the biggest issue. 

We bounced between "just friends" and something more, both of us sporadically dating other people. Something dark had begun to fester in my psyche. I wasn't used to being emotionally close with anyone, and it upset me a great deal that I was putting so much effort into P1 and yet he didn't seem to think I was worth any effort on his part. So this time, two years ago, I got drunk and angry and belligerent, and slept with his friend. 

And so P1 cut me off. Like a gangrenous limb. No more contact. Nothing. 

I'm presuming that whatever had started festering in my head grew into a huge psychological infection. Obviously I was worth nothing. Less than nothing. So I wanted to disappear into nothing. I began consciously counting every calorie, weighing myself and measuring myself obsessively like I had never done before. 

And here I am. 

Things are better with P1 now. Kind of. The friend I slept with (J--hands down the most talented gentleman I have ever met when it comes to his knowledge of a woman's anatomy) hadn't realized at the time what our little fling had caused. I continued to see him as a sort of friends-with-benefits and one day (like last May) I told J about how P1 had cut me off. J was still pretty good friends with P1, so this news both surprised and upset him, as P1 never had mentioned any of it. 

So then like a week after I told J all of that, I get a phone call from P1. I'm pretty sure that's the closest I've ever come to a full blown heart attack. 

Apparently J was so upset by the whole situation that he cornered P1 and told him to stop being an a-hole (or something along those lines--neither one of them ever gave me details of that conversation). J convinced P1 that he had reacted too harshly, and so P1 called me and we spoke for 2 hours, he eventually admitting that he missed me and he thought we should try and be friends again. I made the journey down to Philly like a week later and had a brief visit with him, which more or less tripled how much I missed him when I got home. 

Because of various factors (living situations, job, etc.), I haven't seen him since. I also haven't spoken to him on the phone in a really long time. A lot of sh*t happened last year that kept me either busy or upset at other things, and I just didn't have the emotional energy to spare him. He's my friend on Facebook now, and every time I log on to FB, I check out his profile (to check his relationship status) and consider sending him a message. I feel like a facebook message is too ...... I dunno, too something. But I'm not ready to call him--it's been too long since we last spoke. So to counter this, I just don't really go on facebook anymore. I actually haven't logged in for like 3 or 4 days. 

I can't stop thinking about him. All the effing time. If I develop a brain tumor, I'm sending him the medical bills. 
And I don't know what to do. 

I'm sorry. That was long and kind of pointless and no doubt you've all been bored out of your trees by my rambling. 

Imma keep rambling for another while though, because now I need something to take my mind off of P1. 

It really sucks being addicted to something you hate. By that I mean it REALLY EFFING SUCKS to be so addicted to exercising that just the possibility of not exercising for 2 days in a row has me popping clonazepam-lorazepam cocktails like a mofo. 

Tonight, we're going out to dinner with Cousin, because she's leaving for Florida (again) in a couple of weeks. (We tried going out last week, but Cousin cancelled at the last second). And then tomorrow (Friday), I'm going to see my 5-year-old niece in her school fashion show. So I will not be able to go to the gym today or tomorrow, and the treadmill at home is broken. 


I'm also having issues breaking in my new sneakers. My feet go completely numb after the first 30 mins on the elliptical. Does this happen to anyone else? Am I walking wrong? Am I just retarded? 


Monday, February 21, 2011

Blow me to Bermuda.

One of Those Days. You know the one. Get up tired because you couldn't sleep properly (I'll tackle that in a sec), covered in a clammy sweaty sheen, head still filled with nightmare-funk,  you're bloated and puffy from over-consumption, and the Millennium theme is stuck in your head because the dvd player's been stuck at the main menu since 3.30 AM.
Yeah. It's Monday.

Friend and I had a discussion last night. He's the one that just had the lap band surgery done, and it seems to have brought back some of his old mental processes. Like freaking out and wanting to kill yourself because you ate something Forbidden. So we discussed that for a bit, and Friend came up with one of the greatest terms I've ever heard. 

The Gateway Food. 

So you know how parents and teachers and the DARE Program all tried to drill it into us kiddies that marijuana is NOT ok because it's a "gateway drug?" Because it will apparently ensure that you go from weed to ecstacy and then eventually to heroin and crack. 

Well that's a load of bollocks, but I believe that this rule DOES apply to food. 

I think we've all got a couple gateway foods. I know I do. Cereal and peanut butter are probably the best examples. With other junky and even binge-trigger foods, I can usually have a little and then stop before I do any serious damage. But not so with cereal or PB. 'Tis the same pattern over and over and over again. 

1 tsp peanut butter--> 1 more tsp peanut butter--> whole tub of peanut butter, melted, with ice cream--> add cookies, crushed--> use bowl to consume entire box of Cocoa Pebbles --> more cookies--> fiber bars--> everything else, I don't even know at that point-->ex-lax--> cry.

It's bullsh*t.


Sleep is evil. Being a chronic insomniac, sleep is also very hard to come by. Proper sleep, I mean; not the rubbish-half-sleep from sleeping pills or alcohol. 

For the first time in I don't even know how long, I managed to get the point of Proper Sleep this past Friday night. Did I get a good night's sleep?


It's these incredibly rare occasions of Proper Sleep that remind me why I have shied away from Proper Sleep since the age of 2. I don't like where Sleep takes me. I don't like the fact that Sleep also seems so bring other things to me. I don't really give an eff if this makes me sound completely out of my mind either, because whether or not it is all in my head, whatever It is Exists and makes my sleeping hours hell. 

Friday (or rather, early Saturday morning at that point) was bad. 

First, I had to deal with my deceased Grandmother sitting on my desk chair, berating me for allowing her children to destroy her house and throw away all of her things. She has done this three times now, since she died in May. At least this time she was interrupted, at about 4.02 AM, by something outside my window. 

Something SCREAMING. 

For some reason, all the nocturnal animals like to congregate outside my bedroom window and make a whole lot of racket in the middle of the night (And never outside anyone else's window, JUST MINE). This time, 'twas the raccoons. So between the insane wildlife and the Dead, I would really rather just not sleep at all. 
Schizophrenia? Psychic vibrations? Full moon? Dairy? All of the above, plus general madness? I don't know, but it's been this way as long as I can remember, all the way back to f*cking kindergaden when I was terrified to go to sleep every night because of what might find me in the dark. 

And don't even get me started on haunted houses. I've no problem with those kinds of ghosts when I'm awake, but I will not sleep in a haunted house and you can't make me. I've gone incredibly long stretches with no sleep (medicated or otherwise) because of such houses. Granny's house has forced me to stay awake for up to 6 days before I caved and went next door to sleep at my cousin's. Sure I have loads of fond memories of that house, but there is something incredibly old and cranky in it. Something older than the house itself. And it f*cks with my head. Even Mum admits that it exists, though only when she's drunk. 

I should become a traveling sideshow like John Edward. I could make a fortune. 

Hope all your Mondays are better than mine! I'm not as strung out as I sound--I promise. Just irritable. 


Sunday, February 20, 2011

For your Sunday entertainment....

...because I can't think of anything to write:


Catch you gals later--Friend and I are going on an adventure to hang with wolves. Photos will be posted at some point...


Friday, February 18, 2011

Them belly full, but we hungry.

My head is a noisy mess. 

I've been bouncing back and forth between starving, attempting to eat like a normal person, and pigging out, interspersed with my usual frantic exercising and occasional ex-lax-attack. Like a pinball, only with food and no fun lights or sound effects.

Today, for example, I had a small bowl of Special K cereal for breakfast, a snack of a fiber bar and a small bag of Cheerios at work, and then for lunch I had turkey and lettuce and low-fat mayo on a whole wheat wrap, and I felt okay about it. Until like half an hour after lunch, when I was like OMFG I'M A WHALE. So I went to the gym for an hour and a half and I still have abnormal circulation in my feet (new sneakers). And I haven't eaten anything since lunch. I don't plan on eating anything until breakfast tomorrow. 

I need to go visit my father this weekend. We haven't spoken in several weeks--not since I called to see if the Little Bros could come adventuring with my friends and me. My bff's Christmas present is still at Dad's house, and I really need to get it (because for some asinine reason, you can't ship alcohol to New Jersey). Calling him up is such an emotional hassle. 

Despite now being an adult, I still find myself in the same mental state I was in at the age of five, as far as fathers are concerned. Like many children with absent fathers, I collected father figures. Mostly I collected them off the television. 

Gene Autry was my first father. 
The original singing cowboy. I loved him with all my heart. My nanny recorded episodes off Nick at Nite, or whatever channel it was on, so I could watch the Gene Autry Show over and over and over. I invented a whole world in which I lived with Gene Autry out in the Wild West, and was his only child, and he doted on me and treated me like a princess.

Then there was Bob Ross
He nurtured my artistic spirit. I would set my paper and watercolour sets up on the floor and paint with him nearly every day. And he of course loved my artwork, as a father should, and no doubt he hung it all up on our imaginary refrigerator.

Around age 6, the Undertaker became my father.
Because no one would dare f*ck with the Undertaker's daughter.

And then when Law & Order first came on TV, Detective Lenny Briscoe was my new dad.
When he died a few years ago, I mourned for weeks. I think that was when I first realized that perhaps I had a problem, because it really felt as though I had lost someone very dear to me. 

I think I started having the Willie Nelson Dad Fantasies around the same time Law & Order started, like age 8 or 9.
Who wouldn't want Willie Nelson for a dad? You'd be the coolest kid on the block. 

And then when I was like 11 years old, I saw both Pumpkinhead and Powder for the first time. The show Millennium aired its pilot episode that same year. And thus Lance Henriksen came into my life.
He is my favourite dad. I am still in the process of obsessively collecting all of his movies. I just bought Dead Man (Lance, Michael Wincott, and Johnny Depp, AND it's a Western--you really can't go wrong). 

It's pretty bad. I know I talk about Millennium a fair bit, but seriously I am OBSESSED with that show. I could probably recite all three seasons. I watch at least one episode a day. It's like a security blanket. I watch it at night right before bed, so Lance Henriksen/Dad can tuck me into bed and tell me stories while I go to sleep. 

I think I need a therapist. 

[...on a side note--for all of you in Australia, Lance is going to be at the Armageddon Expo in Sydney next weekend. I will sell my soul to anyone who goes and gets him to a sign a photo for me.]

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Only two options left: suicide or become a television weatherman.

Since the television doesn't feel it is necessary to include the good music, I shall announce the Grammy winners here. 

Best Classical Album - Riccardo Muti and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra playing Verdi's Requiem.  They also won Best Choral Performance. Well deserved.

Best Orchestral Performance - Daugherty: Metropolis Symphony; Deus Ex Machina - Giancarlo Guerrero with the Nashville Symphony

Best Instrumental Soloist - Mitsuko Uchida - Mozart's Piano Concertos 23 and 24 (with the Cleveland Orchestra)
Best Instrumental Soloist without orchestra - Paul Jacobs - Messiaen: Livre Du Saint-Sacrement

Best Chamber Music - The Parker Quintet playing Ligeti's String Quartets 1 & 2
Those were the good ones, anyway. 

I made a vlog in which I brought the camera up into the attic, and there was nice music (Marin Marais), machetes, and horror-film worthy shots of the attic door. But for some reason my camera decided to eat most of it, leaving me with only the first 10 seconds. 

This is why I prefer film. If you screw up your 16mm movie, at least you know it was probably something YOU did wrong, rather than the camera being possessed by evil technology demons that can think for themselves. 

I'm not so good with technology. The fact that I can operate a computer without anything catching fire or exploding is a pretty epic achievement. I'm still trying to wrap my head around itunes and the fact that I can carry 14 days worth of music around in my pocket. (Actually 13 days and 8 hours, if you played all the music in my itunes.)

I am both frightened by and in awe of electricity. Perhaps this is why electronic things tend to malfunction around me?
Electrical outlets seem to have a particular hatred for me. 

Even radios stop working when i get too close.

The effing radio in the car even goes funny sometimes. And I swear to god, half the street lights on the road go out right when I drive past them. 

This is nerve-wracking when your only job qualifications are for office positions. I am not exaggerating--EVERY SINGLE OFFICE COMPUTER I have ever used has had something go wrong with it within a week of me touching it. And the other people in the office will all swear that the computer was totally fine before. In my current job, I have definitive proof.  

2 weeks after I started working for the Boss, my computer began to act weird. Word would just quit for no reason. The program we use to keep track of cases would spazz and freeze the computer. And the accounting program was on technological crack. 

So we got a new computer for Boss, and he gave me his old (but still relatively new) computer. That one went nuts as well. Then 2 weeks ago, I got a whole new computer. Brand new. 

Guess what. 

It's not working. 

And they can't fix it. The regular tech guy, and the tech guy for the fancy program we use have been trying non-stop since last Wednesday. The Boss is getting suspicious, but he can't admit it because that's like admitting I have supernatural powers. It's the same with Mum. She knows things inexplicably break around me, but she will still verbally insist that it's all in my head. Even when I killed her Blackberry. 

This problem is most fun in winter. I seem to attract an abnormal amount of static electricity. It doesn't bother me so much personally, with the exception of my bed. I had to get rid of my fleece blankets because they more or less electrocuted me every time I moved.
But other than that, I don't get shocked too much. Instead, I become a living breathing Tesla coil.
I will zap you right out of existence.

Little Sis's cat, Daisy will not go anywhere near me unless she's standing on a surface that is not a conductor. 

I'm still deflating from the weekend binge, so I'm not conducting as much electricity as I usually would. Which is a good thing, because I plan on going to the gym for at least an hour on the elliptical. Electronic gym equipment malfunctions around me as well. At least at Planet Fitness, everything is on a hard floor. 

But at home, with the treadmill on a carpet, I tend to zap anything within a 6-foot radius. And if I run fast enough, I can short out the whole basement. 

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Who buys so many copies of the same issue of the same nudie mag? A pervert with an obsessive-compulsive disorder, that’s who.

F*ck dairy. 

Seriously. Just FECK IT. Right in the arse. Because that's how it makes my arse feel.

The unthinkable has happened. 

Mum is still recovering from my reaction to this piece of mail. (She has shaky nerves--I think this is largely my doing). I opened it, looked at the "JUROR" card, and said:

And I thought I was doing such a good job of staying off the grid. I'm just going to tell them I'm a white supremacist. That got my friend out of jury duty...

Today, I cannot bring myself to get out of my pajamas. I was a PIG last night. And I had done so well on Friday, and all day yesterday. I thought I could handle allowing myself a small snack before bed, but y'all know how it is when feck-it-mode kicks in. And then today I made pancakes for the fam for breakfast. (I make the best pancakes--anyone who tells you different is a LIAR. I always make them from scratch and never from a box). 

So of course now I feel like a fat bloated mess. My stomach is all like "grblsuhgivbskjhfkdngdfbvkjxfngkxngdjubjxfhtgkbleehhh." And I'm all like nah…..

'Twas destined to be one of those weekends. On Friday I had a Wardrobe Malfunction. 

We have all done this, at times. I took out nearly every piece of clothing I own, tried everything on, had mini meltdowns every time I looked in the mirror, and eventually settled with the same outfit I always wear and left all my clothes strewn about my bedroom. 

My own fault really. I made the mistake of trying on my smallest pair of trousers just so I could assess how fat I am. 

Idk about the rest of you, but I have different levels of fat that I measure with different pairs of trousers. I own far too many pairs of jeans. If the Express size 0's are feeling snug, I am a WHALE. 

If I can't fit in the size 0's at all, chances are I will not get dressed or leave my bedroom.

If I can fit into the Express 00 Stellas, I am Acceptable. 

And then there's that tiny pair of trousers that measures your self worth and your ability to function. For me, that's the Mudd jeans, in children's size 10. 

I haven't even attempted to try them on since before Christmas, when I was still safely in the 90's. But for some reason, on Friday, I decided to try them on.

It wasn't pretty.

I did, however, manage to zip them up.

I finally got the photos from my last mini road trips developed and up on the website. Check them out--they're pretty awesome if I do say so myself. 

I'm getting depressed, because spring is coming. I don't mind spring, but that means summer is right around the corner, and I HATE THE EFFING SUMMER WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING. 

Spring will arrive early this year in the NY/NJ/PA region of the US. Like really soon. And I have never been wrong about the arrival of the seasons. (knockonwood).

Hope y'all are having a nice Sunday. Imma try and motivate myself to get to the gym. 

...any minute now...


Wednesday, February 9, 2011

We have such sights to show you...

Sorry I've been so slow with commenting. I'm reading, I promise. <3 Boss just got back to the office Tuesday after a week off for shoulder surgery, so of course I've been ridiculously busy at work while he tries to catch up. And I'm doing my best to catch up with everyone here...

I need to just not go on eBay. I was doing so well with avoiding overspending! I have not purchased clothing in MONTHS. Like around Thanksgiving, I think was the last time I bought any clothes. This is some kind of record. 

I just got this from eBay:
'Tis now hanging on my wall.
The lengths I go for my various obsessions...

They just had an ad for the 11:00 news--big topic is Manorexia.

My weight will not budge. I need to boost my metabolism. That means I need to eat more. 

Excuse me while I go cower in a dark corner. 

If I can calm down long enough to ingest more calories every day, I might try it. More HEALTHY calories--veggies and lean meat. This does not mean I can eat more crap, like cookies and cereal and fiber bars and ice cream. I may have 2 or 3 of those snacks daily, not to exceed 300 calories. And at the gym, I must burn off all of the calories from those snacks (plus a few hundred more...).

If it helps with not bingeing on the weekends, it should be worth it. 

I spoke to my old college roommate recently, and we reminisced about the insane year we had living together. The school year of 2003/2004, I lived with him (Damo), my ex-boyfriend (Aa.; we parted on good terms, obvs), our friend the Dancer, and her boyfriend, B. All of us art students, all of us partiers.  I don't think I was sober that whole year. And I got all A's and B's in school (I was a film major that year). At any given time, you could find one of us smoking or drinking us just being insane in the living room. And at any given time, we had some random dude living on our couch. 

Ben was the best couch-dweller. While we were in class, he cleaned the apartment, made our beds, cleaned the bathrooms, and cooked for us. It was friggin awesome. We kept him there for like 3 months. 

So I was on the phone with Damo laughing about all the madness, and he brought up the Time We Ruined His Life. 

Damo went through a dry spell. For months he had no dates and no flings. He had gone through a long line of awful girlfriends before that. He started to get depressed. And then he met a really nice, sweet girl and one Friday they went out on a date. They had a lovely time; and unlike his last bunch of girlfriends, she did not seem like a psycho, a bitch, a drug addict, or a slut. Damo really liked her, and thought he would invite her back to the apartment after their date, so she could meet us and hang out for a while. 

I don't know what got into the rest of us that night (Myself, Aa, Dancer, and B). Perhaps we just drank too much, Perhaps we were just smoking some really potent stuff. Or perhaps there was a full moon. Whatever the cause, we all got pretty retarded. And at some point, the other three decided it would be a good idea to strip me down to my undies, tie me to the futon with the cables from the TV, and do shots of Grey Goose out of my belly button and cleavage. 

And then Damo and his date walk in. 

I tried doing an MS Paint picture of this scene, but I have failed miserably. I cannot capture it well enough to do it justice. 

But OMG you should have seen the look on that poor girl's face. Turns out she had been raised very very strict Christian, with limited exposure to the real world, never mind the world of Sodom and Gomorra that existed in our apartment. 

She never spoke to Damo again. 

At least Damo can laugh about it now. 

From one of my fav movies: Drop Dead Gorgeous. Denise Richards' quote in the middle of the clip makes me lol every time...