Well This is Some Bullshit

You know what sucks? My timing. Always, always sucks.

I was out on the town in Boston last night at John Harvard's in Cambridge, where a conference I attended this weekend was sponsoring an open bar. Had a GREAT time and many free shots and drinks, and watched the Red Sox kick some Rockies ass. Why couldn't THAT have been Game 4?

They're six outs away from shutting the door on the World Series, and what am I doing?

Sitting on my ass in my pajamas. Because I've been working/on-the-run all weekend and am fracking exhausted. I don't even have any friends over. I just texted a friend saying maybe I should go get some champagne and bring it over for the last two innings just in case they win, and she was for it, but I'm tired...and I don't really feel like it. This is so embarassing.

Three years ago the Sox pulled off the most amazing comeback in baseball history, vanquishing the evil NY Yankees in seven. Where was I for game seven? The cursebreaker? The most important game in the history of the Red Sox?

With my ex-boyfriend and our dog. Pacing around his living room and having three heart attacks. I was not out at a bar, like Murphy's perhaps, a very boston-themed bar (this was in Virginia) RIGHT DOWN THE ROAD FROM HIS HOUSE where there would have been plenty of Sox fans. I don't know why we didn't go....I don't remember. But we didn't.

Game four of that year's World Series, when we won? Was I out at a bar then? No. I was sitting on my booty AGAIN, bc I was moving out of my apartment the next day, so I was packing. And had like 2 friends over to have pizza and beers and watch.

I am one of the biggest Sox/Pats fan I know, and yet every time either team wins a championship I can't get my shit together to get out and watch. I was IN BOSTON earlier today! I could have STAYED and talked one of my Bostonian friends into putting me up, and we could have GONE OUT and watched in BOSTON and I could have had that awesome experience where your home team wins a game in a fun sports bar with everyone freaking out and hugging strangers!

I suck!

So, it has been decided from on high, heard now: should the Sox lose tonight (highly unlikely but the Rockies do have two innings to remember they used to be good) I will be going OUT tomorrow night to watch game 5.

Should they win, I will raise a beer cheer to the home team and play a celebratory "Tessie" for the cats, who have no idea why I'll be jumping up and down and shit.

BUT...

....I will also raise my right hand (right after I put down the frosty cold one) and swear on a stack of Us Weeklys that I WILL be out somewhere FUN when the Pats hit the playoffs this year, up to and including any Superbowl action. Because in 2002 I was at my friend's house for a low-key night, and I don't even remember where I was in 2004, and in 2005 I was at a friend's party. That was fun, but it was also in Virginia. I need to get off my sports fan ass and do something seriously awesome for the next New England championship.

Like, seriously. Because right now I'm actually DEPRESSED that the Red Sox are winning the World Fucking Series tonight. How messed up is that!?

Cruise Ship Lollipop

So now that it’s been a healthy 10 days since I returned from my cruise, and now that my tan has faded from a “goldenly awesomely brown” to “the color of poop when you have one of those weird ones that’s kind of pale instead of normal”, I feel it’s time for a little cruise re-cap, eh?

(My sister likes to claim I have a fecal fixation disorder, but she’s the one that wrote on the walls of my nursery in poo after she broke into my diaper bin when she was two, and she’s the one who called me into the bathroom when I was around 3 to check out her poop and then picked it up.)

(Sorry sister, but you’ve told the story about me drawing the picture of the horse with the poop coming out of its butt for the last time, it’s payback!)

(And don’t you dare deny picking up your poop, I vividly remember this, it’s actually one of my earliest childhood memories, sadly.)

So the cruise! Great times were had by all, there was, believe it or not, utterly no drama. 8 girls trapped on a boat together for 7 days and no one had it out! There may have been a bit of bickering now and then, but not anything major. No one went flying off the end of the ship into the shark-infested waters below. Truly an October miracle.

The best day was probably in the Bahamas, where we rented a private cabana with its own stretch of beach, and a waiter running up and down the beach every half hour bringing us new buckets of beer. We sat in the water all day, which was as warm as bathwater, and got totally tanked, if a bit pruny.

Also fun from that day was my very special sunburn. It wasn’t too intense, it was just oddly patterned. I love that spray on sunscreen, but then it drips down your back and chest, and if you’re not vigilant (or sober) enough to rub it in well, you end up with funky white “drip marks” all down yourself. It’s almost awesome, like those people who put stickers on their skin to make little white tattoos when they tan. (My sister also once did this, with a playboy bunny sticker. Ha!) (I’m just throwing her under the bus today, eh?)

Other highlights:

• Almost getting into a fistfight with a dude who was being a lunatic at my friend. He felt she did not spend enough time talking to him after buying her a drink. Guys, seriously: if you buy us a drink, you don’t get to expect ANYTHING out of it. Yes, there’s the expectation of a little friendly chat to size each other up, see if anything’s there, but if a girl decides she’s not into you after a couple minutes, you can’t expect her to sit there and listen to you talk about your iguana farm. Sorry. So yeah, he starts ranting and raving about how she’s “just like every other bitch” or some shit, and oh yeah Fu was NOT having that bullcrap. So I gots up in his bidness, and he called me a “rude bitch,” it was awesome.

• Winning a karaoke contest , the reward of which was maybe not even a reward at all. If I said the words “dressing up like Britney and performing a song and routine with a group of backup dancers in front of the whole boat and accompanied by the ship’s orchestra, WITHOUT a monitor with all the words on it,” would that be something you’d be interested in? And no, I will not be posting the photos. Just picture Britney, then picture Britney if she ATE one of her backup dancers and was twice her normal size.

• Mojitos at nine in the morning. WOOOT!

• Posing with parrots and not getting pooped on (there I go with poop again!).

• Suspicious shots at Senor Frogs in San Juan. They were cheap, and tasted, really, like water. I think the bartender actually just put water in two shot glasses and handed them over. Is this possible?

So, yeah. Good times. No hookups, no interest in hookups, just in sun and drinks and sun and fun. Drinks! I didn’t even drink that much! I was wildly toasted only twice the whole week, and here I expected it to be a near-constant alcoholism-fest. Yet I still managed to spend like 600 dollars. Is this possible? Sheesh.

Other updates:

I’ve got something brewing I can’t really talk about yet, will hopefully have updates soon though. (Wow, quite an illuminating update.)

Mr. Canada is still happening (I know, right? It’s been three MONTHS), but there are no updates. I have a feeling I might just be ending up with a pen pal, to be honest. A pen pal who writes dirty emails. Heh.

But who knows. He says he’s still interested in visiting me, and he’s pretty adamant about how much he likes me...He’s allegedly going to let me know “by the end of this week” what weekend works best for him. So naturally I will update on that, but I’m not holding my breath. If there’s no resolution by then, I think I’m going to have to downgrade him to “Mr. Canadian Friend Who Occasionally Writes Dirty Emails.”

Ummmm, what else?

It’s hot as BALLS out right now, and I don’t like it.

I went to a farm this weekend with my whole family to watch a medieval device fling a pumpkin 2,000 feet. I’m not even joking. I was the only adult there, outside of my other family members, not toting a small shrieking child of some kind or holding hands with some husband-type figure. It was highly depressing, yet also a relief. I’m starting to realize I might not want to procreate. Kids annoy the everloving shit out of me.

Oh yeah, and maybe you’ve heard of this thing called the Red Sox GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES!?!?!?

HOLY SHIT!

So yeah. Um, and that’s about that.

This entry was not funny or even all that interesting. What can I say, I live to disappoint!

Ahoy Ahoy!

Yes, I know. Okay? I KNOW.

Here's the thing: If I were a gynecologist, and also a man (or, I suppose, a lesbian), the last thing I'd want to do after a long day spent elbows deep in vajayjays would be to head home and get in one voluntarily. I really don't understand how male gynos do it...Obviously, sex and pelvic exams..NOT the same thing. But when you're prodding at various kitty cats all day, some of which are in a state of...um, distress....are you really going to want to stick your face in another one at the end of the day?

I suppose a better example would be how you knew that friend in high school or whatever that spent the summer working at the ice cream shop, and you were all jealous and "Mmm, free ice cream!" and she was just like "Yeah if I even SEE another scoop of fricking pistaschio I'm gonna pistaschi-hurl."

That's what's up with me.

Part of my job, as I've said before, involves blogging.

And then I get home and I write for my other personal blog (sometimes, though my co-blogger would probably say not nearly enough) (and don't get in a snit, that one is also technically work related...as in, I don't use the word "vajayjay" on it). And then there's a bunch of TV on...and the Red Sox are in the playoffs...and the litter box needs changing...and there are ants in the cats' food...and then I have three Facebook messages to reply to...and wah wah wah.

So I'm sorry, I know I'm like, the awesomest and stuff, but you're going to have to deal with only a few FuUpdates a month. I did 8 in August, 7 in September, if I can bang out a few in October I'll be continuing to set that pace. It's the best I can do! Sniff.

Anyway. Tomorrow (!!!) at 4 a.m. (!!!!!!!!!!!!) I leave for a 7-day Carribean cruise. I'm beside myself. I've even already packed. Normally I'd start at around 340 or so, and just dump the contents of my dresser and hamper into my Jimmy Hoffa suitcase (big enough to hide a body!) and hit the road. But this time I packed last night AND all the stuff I'm bringing is clean. Okay except for the shirt I wore in Boston Saturday night, but it's not like it smells. And I only wore it for a few hours. What? Shut up!

Speaking of vajayjays....One thing I haven't done but wanted to was get a bikini wax. I've never had one, and the cruise seems as good a reason as any. I know this makes me a weirdo amongst women, because apparently at some point in our evolution you all got together without me and decided to save off all your pubes all the time, but I don't go bald in that arena. How do you all do that? Don't get me wrong, I maintain the fairway. Not like this is a "Where the wild things are" situation or anything. But if I take too much off the top my special area starts to resemble all the "before" pictures in the Proactiv ads, know what I mean? So it's like, I can either have some shrubbery, or I can have a nasty case of vaj Rosacea. Which would YOU pick!!?

But. I hear that doesn't necessarily happen when you wax. So I'm sad I didn't get the chance. What is the point of this story? I have no idea. I should go. After all, I need to be awake in 6 hours and it's only 830. Christ!!

Man, fricking vacations. Every time I go anywhere I have to have the "common sense" talk with the FuManchDad, and he's so ridiculous.

Me: Hello?
Dad: Listen, you'd better be safe on this cruise.
Me: Does that mean I can't act out the Titanic scene after 4 margaritas?
Dad: Yeah, don't do that.
Me: What about buying questionable weed off an island man with equally questionable hygiene?
Dad: Questionable as in potentially fake, or questionable as in laced?
Me: Laced.
Dad: In that case, no.
Me: Great, now I won't have any fun.
Dad: You can always read. In your stateroom. With your cash in your underwear so no one will steal it.
Me: I didn't have time to get that wax, so there's really no room in my underwear.
Dad: Now that's just over the line.
Me: What?!?

I promise I'll update when I get back. Maybe. Ahem.