Preview to Trip to Vermont

As some of you may know, there is a trip planned for me in the very near future--okay, 6:45 a.m. tomorrow. Like the last major trip, T and I will be heading far across the country to see Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. New Year's Even show = epic set list + unannounced 80s soundtrack performance. Some may call our habits obsessive bordering stalker status, we like to call it AFD, or avid fan disease. We are totally consumed by it, so it's a disease. Really. So since T is plane hopping all day, we're chatting about the wonderfulness that will be the next few days. To warm you up for what's to come, here's some dialogue:

(Talking about almost forgetting tickets to the show)
T: I know, I'm super paranoid that mine have moved themselves from my desk...I would be sick if I lost those

H: Yeah like you would misplaced that. I wouldn't be surprised if you kept it under your pillow.

T: Hey now...that's not true. Maybe tonight I will though. Haha

H: Haha yeah it might be susceptible to drool under the pillow if you left it there all this time

T: Ahh. Now that is just MEAN! Lol I just washed my pillow case b4 I left actually. Jerk.

H: Sorry. I would worry about drooling on my ticket if it makes you feel better.

T: Haha no worries. I know I've got a problem lol

H: No it just means when you finally do sleep, you sleep hard. Drool = determination

T: Good to know. I rock even when I sleep.

Just you wait, fans. I'm doing this one journal style and it will be bitchin'.

Dear Weather or Love Notes to a Big Skank #2

December 10, 2009

Dear Weather,
Please get over the rejection you feel after yesterday’s angry blow orgy. There’s no need to take your bitter cold mood out on us. Vindictive whore.

Dear Weather or Love Notes to a Big Skank

This series is really just filler until I get some really good (pertinent) material up here. It's in good fun. These will be actaul posts from my facebook/myspace/twitter updates.

December 9, 2009

Dear Weather,
Thanks for tainting my hair with your angry sex wind this morning. I'm sure you'll blow everyone you see today. Whore.

N’awlins pt.1 or How I Admitted That I Am a Stalker

Drunken Diaries Flashback #1
I didn't have a computer handy through all this stuff so you'll just have to accept the flashback episode.

I’m pretty convinced that New Orleans is a magical city. Where else is it okay to bring in your own booze to an IHOP? Where else can you walk up to a cop piss-drunk and ask, “So what exactly can you get arrested for here?” And where else is it entirely normal to see men walking around in bubble-wrap dresses? Exactly. But for this trip, it wasn’t the waterfalls of liquor or scantily clad men that drew me to the city—well, not entirely. For this trip it really was the music. A friend, who I’ll refer to simply as “T” from this point on, and I have such a serious obsession with Grace Potter and the Nocturnals that we decided to make the 8.5 hour drive from Kentucky to watch the band play at a festival for maybe an hour. But let’s back up to where I admit that I’m a stalker.

Day/Night #2 in N’awlins: The night after we arrived and walked past a girl making out with a tree (and refused to go with her friends and even acknowledged that she was making out with a tree), we scouted the town looking for the Blue Nile. It’s a cute little place just off the French Quarter with live shows and, more importantly, where we expected to find Grace and the boys that night. Via the wonderful tracking tool, Twitter and the instant text to phone feature, I received by personal message that we could expect band to appear at the bar that night. So after we walked to 2 miles to the bar to find that they didn’t open until 9 (it was 3), we traveled back to a little hole in the wall that they call Coyote Ugly. Six hours later after bar dancing, body shots, and an adjusted $100 tab, we staggered to the Blue Nile with a coyote. After a few off-key choruses off Cheap Trick’s “I Want You to Want Me,” we made it to bar around 10. Scanning and lapping through the crowd a couple times told us that the band wasn’t there yet. So we camped out at the seats closest to the door. Too bad that our companion wasn’t as determined to catch Grace as we were. Like all coyotes, she was hungry for a sandwich at the most inconvenient time. Thus begins the great sandwich search. First of all, with the amount of alcohol consumed in this city, you would think sandwiches would be everywhere. Not the case.

So after the great sandwich journey where I failed but T triumphed, the cosmos must have been aligned because the band arrived shortly after. T catches them first, and after a short panting attack she tells me. I vaguely remember tracking them down to snap some pictures, but I do remember this quite clearly: we’re chatting with the drumming Nocturnal, Matt. I’m almost playing it cool until my shining moment when I casually slur, “Yeah, we’re following you.” WTF. I’m notorious for leaving the main details out when telling a story. In this case, it was that we got their Twitter update and decided to come out to the bar. Instead, I have a complete restraining order moment and say that shit. I must say that he took it very well, and may possibly be the coolest guy ever because he still bought me a beer after my inner uber-creep came out to play. And it didn’t stop there. Cat (AKA Catherine Popper, bassist extraordinaire) was a victim of my all day binge. “Hey, Cat, slappy da bass!” Jesus, won’t someone slap some duct tape over my mouth already?!

I definitely made a rule that night to not drink that much when I plan on talking with my favorite band members. I already say the dumbest shit when sober. And I know they’re just people--people I worship. However, I definitely broke that rule the next night when we weaseled our way into backstage VIP passes. Well, hell. What can you do?

80s Bars = Best Friend to Bad Dancers

Finally! I can cross one thing off on my list of ridiculous things that I doubt I’ll ever accomplish, but would increase the personal badass meter if I actually did. During a weekend of celebrating college graduation, a year-and-a-half late I might add, the crew hit some of the bars in downtown Evansville, IN (I add the entire city, state description thinking that maybe one day I’ll have readers picking this up in the entire book form from a bargain aisle at Barnes and Noble). One of my favorite bars features an all night 80s dance party in the basement. So what was so badass? We managed to gather a small crowd of supporters and mostly laughers during an interpretive dance routine—that’s right. Try this out: dig into your music collection, find Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” and try really hard not to add literal movement to the lyrics. If you don’t find yourself mimicking prayer or forming “OOohh, OOohh” fists in choir salvation then there is something wrong with you. Now try this with any other song, and note that the 80s provide a great selection for interpretation. Imagine a whole night of this debauchery. Fan-freakin’-tastic!

Drunken Diaries, Entry #4: Alcoholic's Fad Diet

Entry #4: October 1-October 2

Why the fuck am I eating sensibly after a night of drinking? Why? I really wanted the frozen mini pizza in my fridge but opted for a banana instead. What is that all about?
Maybe this is the newest fad diet. Get smashed, come home and eat your fruits and veggies. Make sure to drink 100% cranberry or whatever fruit juice with all alcohol. That way any drinking for the night at least considers the 5 servings of fruits and veggies a day. That must be why people opt for bloody marys in the mornings. Packed with V8 juice and there’s at least a serving of veggies right there. Besides, who wants to drink that shit straight? Eww. Might as well get a decent buzz out of it. I think I should propose this healthy drinking plan to alcoholics around the globe. Not the ones that go to the meetings though. I have a feeling they would disapprove, even if I’m encouraging proper eating habits in one way or another.
That banana was good. I wonder how it would taste on a combination pizza though.
I went out with a friend tonight that had just gotten out of a lengthy relationship—4 years, and I think one of the years was an engagement. Our purpose for tonight was to get her laid. I’m not sure whether we accomplished that goal, as I’m sitting here writing at 1:36 a.m. and she did not ride back with me and the DD that picked me up. I’ll be waiting for the phone call this morning. Anyway, any man who thinks that girls do not talk about sex as much as dudes can think again. I ended up hanging with 4 other girls and all I heard about was how all they really miss was Mr. Happy. Granted, these girls had just ended relationships within the past month or so, but damn. I mean, I’m pretty sure I overheard guys talking about fat jeans and shirts on sale at the mall while we chatted about stamina and girth. Seriously, dudes. Get a grip.
Okay, I can hardly stand to hear the intro music to the Pushing Daisies season 2 dvd anymore. I need to take the old contacts out, hit play on the dvd, and rest the body—with my by myself. And that’s totally cool because I’m ready to flop all around that bed in pursuit of a good night’s sleep with no work in the morning. Yes. Oh, and it’s raining and should rain the majority of the morning. Sleeping in is best when you can hear the rain.

Getting Ahead of Myself Again

As I spent the majority of my time in New Orleans completely blitzed over the Labor Day holiday, I had an epiphany. I love Flying a Kite and the directions it's taken lately, most notably the Drunk Diaries and Hung-over Highlights. They're so much fun to write that I feel that I could do a book in itself of just these types of entries. For my liver's sake, it would need to be a relatively short book. Seriously though, New Orleans provided a plethora of material for the two series. Why not expand on the Drunk Diaries and Hung-over Highlights by upping the game and chronicling these experiences as they happen as I travel. This means, I'd visit big cities, small towns, other countries, whatever, to drink all night and then write. Think of it as a travel guide/liquor promotion/self-help book. Shit, now I'd need to think of how they'd classify it at B&N...

Hung-over Highlights Entry #2

Entry #2: Sunday, August 23

I sat in church this morning making a mental note of the exact thoughts I was having at the moment: I’m sitting here with girls that I coached over the summer hoping that I don’t reek of sweat and alcohol as I sway to the organ music. My body is caught somewhere between the end of the last minutes of sleep and the bottom of a wine bottle. I left a boy at my place, and I just realized that I have no idea what his last name is. Hillary, you are AWESOME.

Which brings me to what I think will be my finest realization in this book: Everyone needs to have a one night stand.

Allow me to expand on this. Note that all this finer thinking happened while I slouched over the pews trying my hardest not to think the word “vomit” for the mere word may induce action.

When I say one night stand, please don’t throw your purity ring at me just yet. (Wait. I’m sorry, let’s face it, if you’re reading this and you have a purity ring, I completely missed my target demographic or you are totally lying. Oh no, or you’re a parent who picked this and about 1239 other college prep related books up because you’re freaking out about your baby going away to college. If this is your situation, I suggest you throw out the other books because if you made it this far, then you know this is by far the most interesting and pertinent one.)

Anyway, when I say one night stand, I don’t mean everyone needs to have just one random night with a relative stranger where all that happens is no strings attached sex. This is just what most people think about when “one night stand” is brought up. Get your minds out of the gutter already. Okay, so maybe that’s how I originally derived this hypothesis—note that it is not a theory as I have not conducted multiple experiments to deem this as such, although that would by far be the least boring science project ever. Whatever, don’t judge. See, my thinking here is that everyone needs just a one night connection of sorts where each party’s ego is boosted considerably. It’s got the feeling of a junkie’s quick fix but without the withdrawal—that is if your brain tends it properly. What I mean is that both parties have to go into the night with zero expectations and be able to mentally withstand the idea that any ego boosting is to be a one-night only event. Note here that there is no room for immaturity or whiny bitches in my kind of one night stand. So really what this means is that two completely sober intelligent people could have a one night stand without even touching. Granted, that if you’re down for it, that is totally a bonus. Seriously though, just a really good conversation with someone you will never see again can fit into this kind of one night stand.

Really, it’s just something that you look back on and say, “Wow. That was actually pretty strange, but I feel completely awesome about it.” So go on my friends. Off to your one night stands! Tell me about them later.

E-how's article about Texting

As I'm working on a new Hung-over Highlights entry (and this one is juicy let me tell you!), I'm also working on adding quotes in front of every entry. These a lyric that explains the writing, actual quotes from our "quote of the day calendar" (I sheet of paper where we put most of our memorable quotes from freshman year. It was supposed to become a calendar eventually), or just something interesting enough to put in front of the post. So I was looking through for something to put in front of "In Another World Wherever You Go." Flat out, this touches on the frustration you feel whenever someone you're trying to have a conversation with is in their own little world, and this person is so oblivious to how rude it really is. I mostly mean the annoyance of the constant texters. Give it a rest! So I was looking for a study or anything about texting and I came across the eHow directions of "Breaking Your Texting Addiction." It's hilarious. Go check it out. I would love to include this in my book.
http://www.ehow.com/how_5111618_break-texting-obsession.html

Drunken Diaries, Entry #3: Live Streaming

Apparently, I had completely forgotten about this one until I rediscovered it this evening. It's not so much a lesson I learned, and there's no real observance of any kind. Really, it's just a stream of (un)consciousness. I think it might be closer to most drunken thought than the others. Who knows if this will eventually end up in the book. Whether it does or not, I think it's got at least a tiny bit of entertainment value for the moment:

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Oh no I’m drunk. I’ve got to go to Chattanooga tomorrow for work. My boss is taking a bottle of wine so I guess it can’t be the worst thing ever.
I am the coolest shit ever. I’m looking at awful senior pictures from my high school yearbook. P.S. I’m the cutest baby ever and Aaron is making fun of it. My new name is Mojo. Shut up my senior picture is awful. What? I look 40? There’s no way. Ouch. This is shitty. Now I’m getting quizzed on my high school superlatives. Fuck that. I would have won most sarcastic but it got cut in favor of easiest to take home to mom. Shut up Aaron, my teacher signed it. Suck it. Don’t make me read that again. I have a twin. “that’s a good picture of you and Annie and you” Totally. Mars Attacks rocks.
We spent 1.5 hours playing Grey’s Anatomy for the Wii. It’s awful but I want to finish it.
The fact that my exhaust fan is the first button of the two on my bathroom is annoying. Duh. I want to turn on the light every time I use the facility, and I only want to use the fan every handful of times. Whoever designed this is dumb.
I didn’t sleep worth a shit last night so I hope to pass right out tonight. I already got Friends on and it’s fantastic.
Oh wait, I saw my old boss and my assistant coach this evening at the bar. Not that that is especially note worthy, but I didn’t really get hit on much tonight. There was the older (like 40 year-old) guy that asked to buy my drink when we were leaving but that was it. This is getting ridiculous! I’m damn cute and I spent a decent amount of time grooming myself tonight.
I’m hungry. It’s awful to eat at 2:00 a.m. but I don’t care. What the fuck am I going to eat though? McDondad’s sounds great but I can’t drive anywhere. God—cheeseburger.
Damn I want to watch True Blood. I want to watch True Blood in bed with my double cheeseburger that I got for a dollar.
I would totally settle for a grilled cheese, but I don’t want to make it. Ugh I guess I will drink water and go to bed hungry. Oh no, have to pee. End of diary.

Drunken Diaries, Entry #2: WTF

Entry #2: August 1-August 2

Wtfwtf. All the guys that hit on me tonight have been to jail, or so I’m told by the birthday buddy that went bar hopping with us tonight. He’s from the town we’re at the bars in so he knows the dirt. Do I look like jail bait?—wait, don’t answer that. I mean really. Here’s the thing: do not ask me to buy your beer and then say I have pretty eyes. It’s the other way around if you even want to have a chance. Also, shouldn’t it be the other way around. I’m not necessarily old fashioned, but damn. Buy me a drink, you asshole. Then, wtf. Dude comes up to ask me to dance and then some girl comes to talk to him as he sits at the table. And not just to say hi, no, no. This girl has a few minute conversation with him and I’m just sipping away on my cocktail. WTF, girl? I know the routine—come around to explain some emergency or make me jealous—but doesn’t that happen when the guy is the one who doesn’t initiate the dance? You don’t need to save him, he asked me you ass-hat. Naturally, I want to know what the fuck that is so I say, “What the hell was that?” Seriously, the dude buries his head in his hands after finishing his Corona (with no lime might I add. That should have been a sign!). he says he can’t shake her. I think it’s weird. Coincidentally, the lights came up for last call while she was talking to him. Apparently that cleared up the any blurriness from my booze goggles and I realized I probably didn’t want to dance with him in the first place. I’m then informed as we’re leaving that he’s loaded, but he’s been to jail only once. OMG, do we have a winner? No. Shit. I guess I got to go back and try again. Damn, and I actually took the time to do my hair and put on makeup—and I fucking hate makeup. Am I in desperate for a man? By all means, no! Am I wanting to get laid? Well, that wouldn’t be terrible. Do I like to get asked to dance or have a drink bought for me? Well, hell yes I do. The way to my heart is through vodka and just a little bit of hip swinging. Shit, I usually don’t do dancing, but something about the liquor makes my ass move like a cyclone… or a psycho. I guess it depends on how much I’ve had.
Oh no. In all this, I’ve nearly forgotten that I have to work tomorrow—tomorrow is a Sunday. Fuck me! Not that I use that day to stop and contemplate the presence of the Lord or whatever. But no, I use that day as a day of rest. I make myself a good breakfast and chill out. I don’t even work out or clean on Sunday mornings. That’s saying something from the neat-freak workout junkie. I make pancakes and sit on my ass in bed. Hell, I guess I could still do that tomorrow. I don’t have to be at the water park until noon or so. Yeah, what a job, huh? Go to a water park to tan and swim while pausing for about 10 minutes to play a duck in a puppet show. That doesn’t mean that I like working on Sundays. I hope there are cute boys there. And when I say boys, I mean the ones my age. I don’t need any more of this 16 year-old lifeguard bull shit. You still have baby fat and the girls that played on my softball team this year want you. I can’t compete with that. I’m like the ultimate 15 year-old with tattoos and piercings you can’t get until you’re at least 18. show me the 20 somethings please! And no radio personalities. Apparently they don’t know how to charm someone via text message. P.S. doing so by asking for suggestions on how to get rid of an erection before bed is not the way to score a date. Loser.
Oh, want to know what sound a catfish makes? Wait, of course you do. What a stupid question. Meow-gurgle.
Goodnight!

Addition to Hung-over Highlights Entry #1

I have no idea how I forgot to include this in the first entry!

Here's the deal. Naturally, there are some minor details of a night a drunk may forget until a visual aid presents itself the next day. So what was it that made me laugh so hard that I was late for work this next day? It was the sight of bath towels half-assedly taped over my porch lights. As if my neighbors already didn't think I'm a tiny bit strange. I find that this would have been much funnier if I had the option of turning off the lights instead of resorting to the rough method, but I don't. One annoying feature of my odd apartment. Porch drinking is fun and the overwhelming light just kills it, alright. Towels are the natural solution. Although, I do remember stumbling over a tool box at some point that morning, too...

Introducing Another New Inconsequential Series: Hung-over Highlights

Okay, I was in the perfect mood to write an entry for Drunken Diaries last night, but it’s not very nice to refuse to hold a trashcan for a vomiting friend in favor of perching at my computer. So in my loyalty to both my friend and fans, I’m starting the sister series: Hung-over Highlights. Like Diaries, I’ll feature actual events from a drunken escapade, only 8 hours later and with lower BAC.

Updating my Facebook status is funny at the time, but it truly becomes hilarious the next day. I got a cold chill when I had 3 people comment on my status this morning and here’s why: I’m pretty good about not getting on the phone or computer and saying/typing/texting something stupid, and I especially don’t forget about it. Well, not exactly the case this morning. What did I update my status to say that elicited the response? This: “Quote of the night: ‘I want to tweet her twat.’ Hahahahahahha what? Totally.” Shit.

Another one of my favorite things about the next morning is the view of the night upon first walking into the kitchen. Here’s the scene: 1 extra large bottle of Sangria Arbor Mist (completely drained of course), 2 empty bottles of Beringer White Zin, 1 cork shredded to pieces, one corkscrew poking out of one shard of cork, last night’s turkey spaghetti splashed all over the stove, one bottle of mint Baily’s polished off, Kaluha next to peach schnapps, puddle of V8 juice on the floor, some unrecognizable crumbs on the last available knife which is also stained with some pinkish liquid, three boxes of crackers: club, saltines, ritz, advil bottle, wet washrag, and a partially emptied bottle of water. It just reminds me that great ideas after 3 bottles of wine (baily’s mint followed by a pineapple rum/v8 splash/peach schnapps concoction anyone?) don’t appear nearly as genius the next morning. Oh, and did I mention the pillow in the bathroom?

Reminiscing the previous night’s events is miles funnier than any Will Ferrell movie: I mentioned a friend with quite the upset stomach due to a few of our great ideas. Vomit is not fun for anyone, but it happens sometimes. Like the great person that I am, I won’t allow a friend to sleep at the brim of my toilet. So after the wave has appeared to pass, I help drag said friend to bed and place a trashcan at the edge. Everything seems cool so I go to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. Well, coming back into my room is a different picture as I see this friend half rolling off the bed while clutching the trash can. But this morning is where the really funny part comes into play. We recall this point of the night and what I said at that moment: “Oh guess I moved you a bit too early, eh?” Ah, witty logic even in stupor. Laughing our asses off.

That’s it for this first entry. I have to say that Drunken Diaries are more fun for me, but this is a humorous experience all the same.

On a side note, I believe I’ll be the only sober one hanging out amongst a gaggle of drunks this evening. I may be inspired to create yet another series. Something along the lines of Sober Smash should do it. P.S. apparently I think all these diaries dealing with alcohol sound better with alliteration. Hmpf. Oh well, it’s catchy.

Etiquette Series: Driver Etiquette

So as drivers, we all have certain rules that we think our passengers should abide by e.g. don’t smoke in my car, hands off my stereo, no licking the windows, etc. Well, this part of the etiquette series isn’t about how we should act as a driver. Oh no, that would be way too easy. This is about how to act as the driver when I’m your passenger. That’s right. Now, you may say I could just as easily hop in my car and drive myself, right? Well, college days when you don’t have your own car on campus or you must ride with someone who insists on driving every time, whether to Wal-Mart or road trippin’, sometimes I just couldn’t avoid it. And of course, this all stems from personal experience. It’s not that I hate you as a person, it’s just that I hate the way you drive.

1. There is a reason that the pedals are positioned the way they are on a car. Do not attempt to cross your legs to drive. You’re not wearing a skirt, and even if you were, I can assure you that not one of the seven dwarfs nor any stars from that TLC show are down there. Your junk is just not that important.

2. I already don’t like it that you text other people nonstop while I’m around. Don’t take that shit on the road. Remember, you still have to concentrate on balancing the cigarette and soda in one hand while you repeat the same song’s chorus—for the 14th time.

3. Don’t get mad at me when I change the song on your iPod; it’s not my fault that your music taste is awful. Let’s just say that when I plug in my tunes, I’m just trying to expand your horizons.

4. I’m pretty sure that the 83 year –old lady in the Buick does not want to race you.

5. Listen, I am your passenger. My life is in your hands. If you would wreck only to kill me and survive, know that I will come back to haunt you and your ass would be mine!

6. Unless you are driving a trash truck (in which case I will not be riding along), your vehicle’s purpose is to carry passengers from one place to the next. It is not reserved for litter and dirty messes. And trust me, the air freshener in the vents does not help make it look or smell prettier.

7. I pretty much suck with directions already. If the heinous witch of a lady inside the GPS tells you to turn the wrong way onto a one-way street, do not automatically assume that I reprogrammed her to ruin your life. But if she calls you a foolass for listening to her anyway, I might have had something to do with that.

8. Position your seat so you can clearly see optimally at all angles. Do not for any reason lean your seat back so that you can thrust at the air in perfect synchronization with the bass line of your new favorite song.

9. Lastly, I do appreciate the mom arm you sling across my chest whenever a sudden stop becomes necessary; however, I do not appreciate your wandering hands.

Introducing a New Series: Drunken Diaries

So this idea came to me spontaneously a few nights ago. While we all recall drunken memories the next day, we hardly sit down at a computer to write about what's happening at that exact moment. Unless of course we are drunk texting/facebooking, which I highly advise users to avoid. Well, I decided to sit at my computer and just let my consciousness stream all over the page. This is the beginning of the new series. I won't predict how frequently this series will be updated, because that would just make it lose its magic. Here it is:

Entry #1: June, 23-24, 2009
This is the first entry on my drunk diary series. These are just as they sound. I get drunk one night, and then I write something that I’ve learned or experienced this evening.

I’ve unofficially adopted a cat. Her name is Binx. I think it’s a her. I never really checked. All I know is that she is in dire need of mental help. While Hubbs and I sat outside to eat a lovely Italian dinner complete with spaghetti and wine, the cat made several attempts to drink the wine and even made an attempt to cut herself. She kept jumping on the tray that held the bottle and then finally dove for the knife after her several failed attempts. Be careful, kitty, that’s just a butter knife. Hubbs fed her a bit of the turkey from the spaghetti while I threw a large chunk of squishy zucchini out into the road. Damn cat didn’t go after that until an hour later. Like it tastes any good now. Stupid kitty. Nevertheless, the cat kept coming back for our multiple drinks. Sweet tea vodka and some pineapple rum/V8 splash/peach schnapps concoction—which is fucking amazing and I’m still drinking—kept drawing this cat back for more. So anyway, the cat kept coming back and I decided to dub it “Binx.” That was the best fit for the jet black cat because it wouldn’t answer to “fuck off” or “kitty, kitty.” ‘Tis a shame though; if I ever had a stupid cat, its name would be Kitty Kitty. Binx is okay though—we had a conversation about childhood movies and Hocus Pocus came up. Don’t roll your eyes, you know you love that shit.
Which brings me to my next point: I’m not sure what it is, but every time I get a little/lot drunk like this, my contacts always slip and slide on my eyes like it’s a good ol’ time. Wrong. The composition of my eyes does not change when I drink rum or wine. This is unacceptable. I think I may need to write the Acuvue company with complaint. There is nothing about not handling this product while drunk. I know they will not correct my “beer goggle vision” nor my ability to drive a motor vehicle (which is okay because a sober driver or walking is always the best way to go). But damn, you would think at least these bitches could stay in my eye. It’s only 11:52 now and I’m currently looking through my left eye to keep my right eye closed for fear that the contacts will slip out.
Shit. My ability to type in the correct passwords to social networking sites is not up to par at the time. But then again, it’s not like I can see to type very well. Someone get me an eye patch! Shit, now the left contact is slipping so I can’t read the precious status updates. Oh, I have 3 new notifications. Fuck, it’s just telling me that I **might** have relatives on facebook. What a waste of my time. I’m already friends with all my cool relatives. Shit. Now I really can’t see. Time for glasses. Brb.
Damn, I really enjoy urination when drunk. Is that not the best sensation ever? Come on, you know.
Amanda Palmer sounds like a man. New artist Hubbs got me to listen to tonight. It brings about that joke about the name Amanda as the perfect cross-dresser name: A-Man-Duh! Haha I wonder if she thought of that when picking out her name. Or maybe it was just an unfortunate coincidence. Damn that word is difficult to spell.
I really hope that I can recover and make it to the gym tomorrow. Going to work should be cake, but I really want to make it to the gym. Not for rock hard abs or to sweat to death, no, no, I want to see that hella cute swim instructor I finally made contact with today in the steam room. Steam room + cute boy = danger for this girl. It’s on my top ten list of “special places.” Ha, like you don’t have one.
There’s a new nightclub in BG named “Fluid” that officially opens up on Friday. The bar is supposed to be uppity-scale for young professionals (which is right up my alley, I guess), but I can’t get over the name. Exactly what fluid are we talking here, nightclub. That’s dirty. I think I’ll stick with the bar that I bat 1000% at; it’s called Tidballs. That’s right.
Damn. I just typed a password correctly. Does that mean I’m sobering up?
No. Spell check just corrected every other word in this sentence. And there’s still about a ½ of the glass. (that was supposed to be one-third).
Oh no, a song from The Gougers (who are awesome by the way) just came on. It may entice me to get all sentimental or deep. Which may really only be about as deep as this glass that sits beside me. Maybe that’s a deep statement in itself to call such a shallow object the bottom of my depth. I have no idea what that means. I’ll take a sip.
You know, I know that I should stop drinking. Hell, it’s Wednesday and I still have to report for work at 8 a.m. tomorrow. It’s only 12:12 now, so that’s not terrible. I don’t wake up until 7:15 anyway. But still, there’s a small portion of concoction left in my glass and I must finish it. Waste not, want not, right?
Woah, dizzy.
One last sip. Dammit, I can’t get it in one sip. One more.
Yes, I’ve accomplished my final task for the night. Well, now that it’s 12:15 maybe that’s my accomplishment for Thursday. If that’s my accomplishment then maybe I should call in to work. It would go something like this:
Me: “I’m sorry, I won’t make it in today.”
Boss: “Oh, are you sick?”
Me: “No, I’ve accomplished everything I need to accomplish for today.”
Boss: “But you haven’t even come in to the office today.”
Me: “Well, no, but I’m awesome.”
Boss: “No need for explanation. That is common knowledge.”
Ha, right. I’m not that drunk. We all know that wouldn’t ever work. As far as being awesome… Well, that really is common knowledge..

Until next entry, I am (for now) yours,

Drunk as hell Hillary J H

The Boyfriend Application

The Boyfriend Application:

You know, I find it to be completely normal for a lady such as myself to have a set, or list if you will, of traits and qualities she would like in a mate. Some list entries are quite vague--boys must have one functioning penis. Other entries feature qualities that I doubt even exist--e.g. boys must express no interest in porn (this is not on my personal list just so you know; it is merely an example). See, I used to venture toward the vague side of the trait list. However, what I’ve found as of late is that my vague traits need a certain amount of tailoring so that I don’t leave something out. So I’ve developed this boyfriend application based on my list. Just for you lucky lads--complete with all the strings.

Attention Boys:

Please fill out the following application to the best of your ability. Be honest because if I find that you were untruthful on this application upon meeting you, there will be physical pain. However, the most pain you’ll experience in your truthful application will be caused by a minor paper cut or your own morality (in which I will not take blame for). Good luck!

Section A.
Personal Profile

Name: ________________  __________  ____________(if your last name is Clinton, rip up the paper now—I’ve heard too many Hillary Clinton jokes with my name already.)

Age: _______ (any man over 30 should rip this document up unless you are, in fact, Simon Cowell—shut up, he’s hot and would have no problem calling someone rude or a horrible person on my behalf. Sorry, Brad Pitt, but you have way too many children.)

Sex: ___________ (if you answered “Yes, please” then I like your witticism already—please be sure to circle “Handcuffs” when considering Section D.)

Single or Married: _______________ (Hint: Married is the WRONG answer)

# of Children: ___________________ (Another Hint: 0 is the CORRECT answer)

Section B.
Favorites
(Please provide answers to boring questions that I just need to know. I’ve given tips for each question.)

Color: (Not mauve—I’m not even sure I know what color that is)
Sport: (Competitive burping is not a sport)
Food: (P.S. Atkins followers need not apply)
Movie: (Anything goes from G to X rated)
TV show: (It would be very wise to put Friends)
Game: (Life—I like double entendres)
Song: (Don’t rush this one: it’s important)

Section C.
Personality Continuum
Please place an “X” at the point which you believe you fall on each continuum

Couch Potato                                                            Survivorman   
_________________________________________________________

Broke as a bum                   Able to purchase a small Hawaiian island
_________________________________________________________

Saint in hell                                                              Total asshat
_________________________________________________________

Euchre playing old fart                                                 Man-child
________________________________________________________

Knight in shining whatever                       You always interrupt, rude
__________________________________________________________
(Name both references from the continuum above and win a slutty prize. Seriously.)
___________________  from _____________________ & _____________________ from______________________ 

Section D.
Play and Pleasure
Please circle the following topics that interest you

Cardinals baseball
Video games
Handcuffs
Live music
Travel

Softball
Outdoors
Puppies
Driving
Swimming

Getting your ass up
Yard sales
Wine and spirits
Cooking
Cuddling

If you can’t circle at least 10 of the 15 options then you better be really, really good-looking to make up for your crappy personality. If you are only able to circle 5 and you are really, really good-looking then I’m lead to believe that you are still dull and we will not be compatible. You’re probably a vain bastard to boot. Sorry.

Section E.
Short answer
What? You really thought you could get past a writer without writing at least a few sentences? Ha! Foolass.

I consider myself:
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I wish I could be more:
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On a first date, I like to:
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Section F.
References
Please list 3 single, attractive, male friends that I can contact in the event that your application really sucks.

Hot friend # 1: ____________________________________________________________________

Hot friend # 2:
__________________________________________________________________

Hot friend # 3:
____________________________________________________________________

Final Instructions
Please submit the application with at least one color photo dated within the past 6 months of submission. Failure to do so does not lead me to believe you are cute and mysterious; rather I will just void your application and think you are rather creepy.

Thank you for your time and good luck, boys!

Ragged Company

If this sounds mildly familiar in spots, then congrats on your knowledge of Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. Wine and their music was a huge influence on this one.

Ragged Company

And we’ll drink away our fortunes,
trading twilight for midnight
Wasted bodies wasting time
Waiting while we’re wading,
merely skimming the surface
of love and fear and apologies
Naively approaching daylight
and guessing at what we know--
Are we falling or flying
in and out of this oblivion?
It's okay now
We can smile at lost time
and ragged company

Dead Skin

Yay! I'm back to bum everyone out again. Even though this entry is really short, it's been quite the work in progress. What a pain in the ass.

Dead Skin

I can’t quite contend,
but who would want
dead skin
to grow back in?

Suppose slowly we shed
Watch it all slough off
Bit by bit,
day by day

All in all,
it’s as simple as this:
Together we scratch,
separately we heal

But until we finally learn,
we scratch while we scar
because scars always last
through seasonal skin

Learning from the Bf Application

So I recently made the amendment to my [still in progress] Boyfriend Application entry--this was where I added that I need to make sure that (at this point in time) the cute boys that cross my prowling path do not, in fact, have children. Take last night at the bar: I was dancing around a tiny bit schmammered to some asstastic 80s tunes celebrating my cousin's last unofficial night out as a bachelorette. So the only other single girl in our party and myself agreed to catch boys off-guard by double teaming them for dancing. Hey, it's trashy, but what do you expect when you combine a bachelorette party + sweatin' to the 80s. So we snag one dancing to Black Betty (which I realize isn't an 80s song). He's cool enough to put up with our shenanigans for the song. Bitchin'. So later we're all dancing around to the Isley Bros. Shout! (damn, yet another non-80s tune--this 80s party was way off now that I think about it) Also, when I say dancing, at this point it was more sliding around on the beer/sweat/other drenched concrete floor. Beside the point, so this one comes around to dance with me again. We get to last call and it's time for the bachelorette party to head back to the hotel. I tell dancing fool that we're out and he follows me up to the top level. He questions my age because, well, I look illegal in all 50 states. We exchange the real numbers--turns out this one is 32 and divorced. Uh oh. So what's the first thing out of my mouth?
"Ah, 32 and divorced, have children?"
"Yep, and everything that comes with it."
"Fabulous and that's my cue to run to the exit."

See, I'm learning!

Teaser: Boyfriend Application

Here's a question to ponder as I finish up what I'll call "The Boyfriend Application": Why do all the cute ones have children? What is that?

And Everything In Between

Well, this weekend I looked through some of my older posts as I debated tagging them under one of the three categories of boys, booze, and bitches. As much as I’d love to keep the book into 3 neat sections, it looks like I might have to add one more as the catchall for everything else. This is where the etiquette series and the stages of graduation will fall for sure. So I’ll introduce a tentative title for this other section of the book: Everything In Between. Until then I’ll keep working on the ton of junk that I’ve started and not quite completed. Seriously, my list of uncompleted items is about as long as the completed ones.

Boys, Booze, and Bitches...

So thanks to a wonderful suggestion, I've finally figured out how to break up the book. You see, there was this saying from my freshman year: "Boys, booze, and bitches are the root of all evil." I couldn't say where it sprung from or what provided the inspiration, I just know that is was a saying I held on to for years. Since, this quote has resurfaced as I reminisced with friends from our first year. So I've decided to break my book down into three sections:

Boys
Booze
&
Bitches

From now on, I'll try to tag posts with the word of the section they will fall under.

Trust that there's more planned for this quote. After all, boys, booze, & bitches may be the root of all evil, but they all make for one hell of time.

Introducing a New Blog

Okay, so it's nothing like Flying a Kite. Sorry, I know that's disappointing news. This new blog is called Talking with Our Hands. It's the blog I've created for the nonprofit organization, South Central Kentucky Kids on the Block, Inc. As the development director for the organization, I need to come up with ways for KOB to expand. Enter Talking with Our Hands. It's a small step, but it's only the first of about 9038 ideas that I have.

Since Flying a Kite will be exploring the transition to the working world, this isn't entirely unrelated...right?

Wow, I almost forgot the link! Check it out at:

http://www.kykob.blogspot.com