My Goodies My Goodies

When is it appropriate for a lady to use the restroom outside? Well, there were at least two occasions in 2006 where I felt it was completely appropriate:

1) After meeting my BFF during the last leg of a bachelorette party, where in order to catch up with the crew, I was fed drinks like it was going out of style (always a good idea), my BFF and I decide to head over to a house party at Dr. Ken’s. We had no clue what the exact address was and kept telling the cabbie over and over again that we weren’t at the right place (which actually was right across the street from us). After getting out of the cab, we began to walk in the completely wrong direction wandering aimlessly up and down the block. At this point the liquor pain on the bladder train began a rollin’ and since I didn’t know when we would see anything that would resemble facilities, I went with the best option out there for me, the alley. I ran over next to the dumpster and by golly felt some sweet relief.

During this time BFF was still trying to find the party. I ran out of the alley refreshed and immediately tell her that I just peed in the alley. I felt as if it was a great accomplishment that must be shared with the world.

2)It was by sheer luck that I came across who would soon become one of my favorite DJs, DJ Major Taylor, one night at the weekly dance party at The Hideout. It was love at first note. I danced the night away and shut down the joint. For some reason I didn’t have the presence of mind to actually use the bathroom before I left, and by the time we ventured out to the car I was ready to unleash a significant amount of Miller Lite on my pointy hipster shoes. There were no alleys to be found for The Hideout is on a pretty solitary industrial road, hence the name. My only option? A planter with a weird steel sculpture in it. The squat was upon me and I can remember telling my friends, “You better not be looking at my business!” I said this at least three times to them, mind you, and this was a pretty quick expulsion experience.

So, my friends, there goes some of Classy’s classiest outdoor urination moments! I am so pleased I could share them with you!

I Don't Want This Day to End!

It was an unbelievable game. I am afraid if I go to sleep I will wake up and find out it didn't happen. I laughed. I cried. I almost broke the bench at the bar. I gave out a lot of high fives. I danced to "Whoomp There It Is" and "Miami" by Will Smith. I sent a response text to my friend from New Orleans that said I was going to punch her in her baby maker. I told everyone that I want to marry the NFL on Fox robot.

I'm Not Here To Start No Trouble

Update Trois: I am pissed at Dr. Ken. Well, okay, not pissed, just jealous. I didn't get any takers on my offer. Oh well, my kid is going to be damn cute. You'll be sorry.

Update Deux: I will give up my first born hermaphrodite for tickets for this Sunday's NFC Championship Game against the New Orleans Saints.

Update!!!!! CHICAGO BEARS win 27-24 in Overtime!
Classy is there to see it & almost has seven heart attacks!


How psyched am I that the first Chicago Bears game I will ever go to is this Sunday's playoff game against the Seattle Seahawks! Yesterday, I received a phone call late in the afternoon from one of my friends who told me that they had just released a block of tickets on Ticketmaster. I frantically went on the website, put in many permuations of Zs or 2s or Ls or Is, so many so that my head was spinning, but I couldn't stop typing and reloading the page. I NEEDED a ticket. I finally achieved success and am the owner of a pretty decent ticket near the goal line two sections up. I have to sit by myself, but it ain't no thang. I am going to have one hell of a frozen ass super fantastic super duper fan time. I am going to wear my orange rain boots and am going to start tailgaiting at 8am, so maybe you'll see me on tv. Wait, you will definitely see me on tv.

C'mon Party People

This is the place to be: The Liars Club

Through collaboration with some of my blogger buds, 5of9er, Cherry Ride, & The Gancer, we welcome you into our warped minds. We rule. Read on and deal with it.

Sincerely,

Hit 'Em Up Style

I don't have the energy to complete my post,
so friends I leave you with this teaser . . .

Wanting to Give Wendy O. Williams a Run for Her Money

Well, if she was still alive . . .

The Raconteurs show did not start out well and maybe it was a sign of the overall tone of the evening to come. My BFF was told she had to check in her camera at the door. This is a total insano idea and on top of that she would have had to pay ten dollars to do it. So, she had to go home to drop off her camera and come back.

Part I of the debacle:
There’s a secret bathroom on the first floor of the concert venue the Riviera. It is very convenient and not nasty at all. Very spacious. I could take a nap in there. But, I don’t because I am a quick bathroom user. Keep this in mind as I proceed. The Raconteurs show is over and we are hanging out with one of our buddies who is a security guard named Godzilla. Can I just tell you how much I love nicknames? I wish I had one. It is because of Godzilla that I can use the secret bathroom because he has my back. So I am using the bathroom for a total of less than two minutes and my BFF is waiting outside of the door. I am washing my hands when I hear someone say the following:

Mystery Woman: Is that your friend in there?
BFF: Yes
Mystery Woman: Well, is she handicap because if she isn’t she is gonna be when she gets out of there.
BFF: Well, she’s only been in there for two minutes and you’ve been standing here for 30 seconds.

I open up the door, storm out and say, “So you are gonna make me handicap?” and walk away. I was pissed. I walk over to Godzilla and recount the happenings. He tells me, “Well, just because someone has a problem with eating too many Whoppers doesn’t make them handicapped.”

Part II of the debacle:
We head over to a local lounge with the hope that a good DJ is there. Well, the DJ was all right so we decided to not tear up the dance floor but sit down and watch the NFL network (which is awesome by the way). A little while later I hear one of the best songs of the 80s “I Can’t Wait” by Nu Shooz playing and hop up from my seat to go dance. There is no one dancing which is completely uncalled for given the excellent tunes, but that didn’t upset me. What upset me was that I saw an almost elderly lady wearing a pleather coat goofing on our dancing! Why? She was old, had no fashion sense, and was jealous of our sheer awesomeness. I was angry again. I was ready to unleash a whole world of pain onto her.

Part III of the debacle:
At another local joint we sit down after ordering some brews. We’re chatting and I am trying to decompress. My BFF and I are trying to swear off shots and have been pretty successful as of late, with the exception of a roofie incident earlier in the week. A dude comes up to our table and asks us if we like SoCo and lime, umm, well, twist our arms because SoCo and lime is a delicious intoxicating delicacy. Before he goes to order the shots, he asks if we could guard his Coors Light. Well, I suppose so even though it was a Coors Light. For some reason I thought it would be hilarious to place his beer on the seat next to mine as if it was one of our privileged guests. When he came back with the shots I told him that we had been taking really good care of his Coors Light. We did the shots and then he called us weirdos and walked away! Which really was fine because he was wearing this crazy European style button up shirt, but yet again I get feisty and leave myself my second voice memo of the evening. Weirdos, seriously. If he wanted to see weird I would have shown him weird in the form of a swift punching right to the gullet.

I don’t know why I had been so angry that evening, overall it ended up being a good night. As BFF said to me on NYE after I told a joker in a Rex Grossman jersey that he lost the game for us, “We really are too small to get into fights.” I have to remember that so I am not writing checks that I can’t cash.