Confessions of A Naughty Girl

A C+ Day...And Some Buffet Withdrawal

Trust - I was looking forward to posting a nice, hearty Thanksgiving wrap-up as much as you three devoted readers of this site were, but alas, no energy. It's been a 16 hour day, I still have work to do from home, and I am going through withdrawal - being that this is the first buffet-free day since Thursday. Oh yes - while some of you were eating turkey around a doily-adorned, wood-whittled, family heirloom table, I was eating turkey with congealed cranberry sauce (or "cranberry food") at the Golden Corral, surrounded by grandmas who smelled faintly of Camembert cheese and dominated the soft foods aisle by blocking the rest of us off with their canes.

I'll leave you to ponder that, and hopefully, by the time you're finished, I will have had enough time to compose a decent post. Thanks for your patience.

posted by KA @ 10:24 PM 0 comments

Happy Thanksgiving, Bitches

Everyone deserves a nice Thanksgiving break - myself included.

Happy Thanksgiving. And to anyone heading out of town, safe travels.

posted by KA @ 7:18 PM 1 comments

Can I Put Trojans On A Registry?

Help!

It just occurred to me, six days prior to my friends' wedding to one another, that people actually buy gifts and shit for weddings, and that apparently, I cannot be an exception to this rule.

Whoops.

It's hard to believe that open bar comes with a price tag, no?

After racking the various wedding websites, and realizing that the only thing left was a hand towel or a f*cking ice cream scoop, I am running out of ideas, and running out of them quickly.

I can't very well get them the silly shit that is left on the registry due to my strong belief in wedding karma. I have a friend who once bought a sole garbage can off of a registry for his friend's wedding because he claimed that if it was on the registry, it must be acceptable. I swore then and there - if for no other reason - that I would never marry this friend. The married couple in question was bound to remember him for that "garbage" gift...payback's a bitch. And I ain't gonna be happy with no spatula for a wedding gift.

With that in mind, I had the following emergency conversation with my friend Paul, via instant messenger:

PWils133: you selfish whore
kadler4: hey one-nut
kadler4: i need your help asap
kadler4: you've been to weddings and shit, right
kadler4: what is an acceptable amount to spend
PWils133: on a gift?
kadler4: no, on a f*cking hooker
kadler4: come on, doofus
PWils133: hookers I go up to 200-250
kadler4: are gift cards acceptable?
kadler4: or anything off the registry? all that's left is bad shit
PWils133: yeah
PWils133: registry shit is what they want
kadler4: how about a gift card to a place they registered
PWils133: yep
PWils133: bingo

Phew, crisis averted. Thanks, Paul. You're good for something.

While I'd like to believe that most people marry for love (as opposed to dowry or shotgun), engagement is totally incentivized, especially for women. Once it happens, you get a giant rock, a lot of attention, and license to go apeshit on a wedding registry. And until you pick the right guy, you're f*cked. No fair.

Carrie Bradshaw once set up a registry for Manolo Blahnik shoes to celebrate her single status. I wish I could do the same, but not really because I'm single, but because I love gifts. If I could set up a registry for my quarter-century birthday coming up, I really would. Here's my running list of requests so far:

• giant bottle of Jose Cuervo 1800 (last depleted by Halloween party pre-drinking with Matt...it's amazing how much damage two kids can cause with a bottle of Jose)
• spatula, for scraping my ass off the floor on Saturday and Sunday mornings after I go out
• box of Oreo cookies
• cute underwear - it's my registry, I can sign up for whatever the hell I want
• back massager from The Sharper Image
• silver 2006 Acura TSX
• George Foreman for one
• a box of Trojans
• DVR (essential for the busy single person - and although I already have one, I could use the extra savings I've already paid for being returned to me as a gift)

I am registered at SuperTarget on N. Druid Hills, The Sharper Image, Comcast, and the local Acura dealer.

posted by KA @ 8:01 PM 0 comments

Are Nipple Clamps Requred Of All Attendees? If So...Well, Still Count Me Out

I am a nice girl most of the time, but not necessarily very "cool". "Cool" things don't really happen to me, aside from the one time this past summer when I won four box tickets to the Braves game...except for said game fell on Thursday at 1 pm and I had to work.

So imagine my surprise when I received this email in my work inbox today, courtesy of my friends at Penthouse who continue - mercilessly - to seek my endorsement and business on behalf of clients (names and email addresses have been abbreviated for privacy):


A L
11/21/2005 05:34 PM GMT
To
"ka@w.com"
cc
bcc
Subject: Information about next weeks Pet of the Year party

Karen:

It has come to my attention that many of you have not received your invite for next Tuesday's Annual Pet of the Year party. There are many reasons why you would want to attend what is sure to be one of the more memorable events of the 2006 holiday season. Among them are:

10) 16 beautiful Penthouse Pets will be present and will be mingling with the crowd
9) Open bar and hors-d'oeuvres for all
8) An opportunity to attend an exclusive party in NYC's premiere gentlemen's club
7) Meet the owners and editorial staff of Penthouse Magazine
6) Bill Burr, from Dave Chappelles Show, will be the evening's MC
5) Great networking opportunity
4) See us crown our 2006 Pet of the Year and 2006 Runner Up
3) Hear our exciting plans for Penthouse in 2006 and beyond
2) Make all your friends jealous that you attended and they didn't (and take pictures with the Pets to prove you were there)
1) No better way to kick off the holiday season!!!

The party will be held: Tuesday, November 29th
Penthouse Executive Club
603 West 45th Street 11th Ave.
New York, NY 10036
Doors open: 5pm
Festivities begin at 6pm

To RSVP either respond to this email or reply to the invitation link you should've received last week: If you are interested in bringining a guest, please email me with thier full contact information (Name, Company, Address, Email, Phone). We look forward to seeing you at what is sure to be the event of the year.

Wow. Pretty cool. I'm not really into girls, but I heard from a friend who has attended that this party is a sausage-fest. Too bad I don't live in New York, and too bad I can't transfer these tickets to friends who don't work in the industry. (Although I suspect that any non-Pet that attends pales in comparison to fake tits and Botox regardless, so I'm not sure that I would even get spat on at this event.) I do have a theory about Pets though - they are rejected Bunnies who are, as my friend Chris always says, "Good from far, but far from good."

Anyway, I think I will save this email and cherish it and feel cool.

posted by KA @ 9:18 PM 1 comments

All My Time Goes To Naked Tenders

Naked tenders. They're my life now. Well, as of two days ago.

Sometimes, just when you've adjusted, life throws you a curve ball. Or a curve wing, in my case.

I have four days to wrap up and transfer the three accounts' worth of workload that I currently work on in order to transition to another, much larger account full-time. The majority of my weekend - and my upcoming week, is going to be about wings and things. So apologies in advance for the lack of posting.

That said, everyone please eat some wings so everyone can say I am doing my job, and doing it well.

posted by KA @ 4:30 PM 2 comments

I'm Worth $1566.84! Where Do I Cash In?

Much thanks going out to an ex-fling-turned-good-friend-slash-devoted-blog-reader for this:

Apparently, there is a website out there called Blogshares, that assesses the worth and value of various blogs, much like a speculative stock assessment (shares are calculated via votes from "investors", aka registered bloggers worldwide). After a fun little search, it turns out that this very blog is worth $1566.84! Neato. (And this doesn't include the $208.36 added value of my outgoing links.) For more detailed info on this, try clicking on this link. (If it's broken, use the search to look the name up.)

After some further checks and balances, I took a peek at some of my compatriots' blogs....

Gish-A-Go-Go ($436.12)
Southport Squealer ($100.00)
Keeler Report ($1,208.36)
The Chief Source ($4,632.10)
ModishMeN (Song of the Week) ($1,000.00)
Couscousit ($1,000.00)
What Willis Was Talkin 'Bout ($1,156.02)

There were some others I couldn't find, but hey, it doesn't mean they're worthless. It just means that they're not worth anything.

So...where do I cash in for this bitch?

posted by KA @ 12:34 PM 4 comments

And Now, A Public Service Announcement Regarding Taking Swings

People think arguments are bad. Why? I would argue that a meaningful, intelligently-argued debate is essential to progressive growth. To evolution. Everything we see in this life has stemmed from a good debate. Our political structure, our family structure...hell, the f*cking highway infrastructure would cease to exist as we know it without any sort of discussion. I'm sure that somewhere along the line, your parents argued whether or not they'd do it in the bedroom or the gas station. I'm sure Lewis and Clark bitched back and forth about who got to hold the compass. It's a natural thing, and it's not always bad.

Recently, my earlier "No One Likes Getting Smacked With A Dick" post was critiqued on the ModishMeN blog. The post was dated November 14th and titled, "It Takes Balls To Defend A Dick". (Yes, we should all get points for the clever post titles.) I would highly encourage anyone who is interested and hasn't read it to check it out - both in post and in comments. The debate was sparked by a mutual reader, and, to the ModishMeN's credit, they took the challenge and ran with it. And of course I was a little defensive. Who wouldn't be? When you write about something that you are passionate about - no matter how foolish the vernacular, or silly the metaphors - you're bound to feel a little territorial when someone does their best to rip it to shreds. No one likes to believe that their arguments are unfounded, or worse, wrong altogether. So obviously, in defense of my writing (and because I just can't keep my f*cking mouth shut), I responded. And then the wheels really fell off the bus.

Now, because I happen to know the ModishMeN personally, it became pretty difficult at a certain point not to bring the personal into the argument. Naturally, if someone says something in a way that you feel may be reflective of something you feel may pertain to them personally, your first inclination is to attack. But the key to a healthy argument is to stick to the issues and not to stray - not only because I would bet that most people don't want to intentionally hurt other people's feelings - but also because resorting to personal attacks makes your argument that much weaker. I don't think that anyone should ever be scared or intimidated to say what they mean, and mean what they say. People may not always agree with you, but in speaking up for yourself, you will earn their respect. And respect matters, it really does.

So with a few slipups aside, I feel that there were some great perspectives in that post - from all sides. I mean, it's 11 pm on a Tuesday, and I'm spent.

To conclude, I would encourage anyone who reads this or any other blog to question what's being written. Think about what someone's posted. Challenge it. Take a f*cking swing. I would recommend against personal swings, because not only could that get ugly, but it also reflects rather poorly on your discourse. Speak intelligently, and with conviction. It's a good habit to get into. Because if you don't stand up for your ass, no one else will.

posted by KA @ 10:03 PM 0 comments

Happy Anniversary...To Myself

Well, as of today, this blog is 1 year old. Unbelievable.

In order to celebrate my year anniversary, I went out on Friday night and proceeded to drink so much that I woke up on Cindy and Andrew's couch yesterday morning. Well, okay, I admit that this was just a regular Friday night, but it makes me sound like less of a drunk to have linked this to a celebration of some sort, as opposed to regular entertainment.

I would have posted yesterday, but I was recovering from aforementioned incident (not to mention that I woke up at 4 am on Saturday morning to the two of them taking vulgar pictures of themselves with me while I was passed out...none of which - I can assure you with certainty - will ever make The Portal. I am pretty sure there is too much naked in there to happen.)

Funny that I have managed to chronicle my life this past year, and that I can actually track my life via the World Wide Web...the blog was originally intentioned to be an outlet for frustration, happiness, humor, and anything else I could think of, and it really has been incredibly fun to write. Over the course of the past year, I have heard from many people that it is also fun to read. So whether you are visiting because you like reading, or because you like having fodder with which to pick on me, or because you're bored, or because you're afraid I'm going to post something personal about you - hey, whatever works - I thank you. It has been a pleasure.

In honor of the yearlong anniversary, I'd like to leave you with a Top Ten Favorite Posts for you to enjoy --

And don't worry, the best is yet to come.

Top Ten Most Gratifying Posts (and like myself, in no particular order whatsoever):

Birds, Bees, and Reverse Cowgirls

Top Ten Things I Am Grateful For

The Law of Diminishing Ass

The Art of F*cking, Or A Pocket Guide to Sexual Vernacular

I Was Sort of On Hiatus, But I Did Buy A Toy From A Tranny Redhead

I Am Really Bad With Balls

Ice, By The Numbers

The Universal Scale of Attractiveness (USA)

Congratulations Hoes, We've Killed Chivalry

The Running List of Dealbreakers, Vol. I

posted by KA @ 7:30 PM 3 comments

Who Talks More Shit?

There used to be a quiet time in my life where no one talked shit.

That was 1980.

Since then, my social surroundings and interactions have consisted of almost 25 years of gossip, speculation, rumors, stories, and whispers in the ladies restroom (which is really - 9 times out of 10 - why we tend to flock there in groups).

Why are we so obsessed with gossip? I mean, what is it about juicy details that we're not supposed to know that is so captivating and addictive?

Wherever I go lately, people seem to be all up in the gossip. Gossip about work - who left where, who was coming in, who fought, who is sleeping together. Gossip about friends - who f*cked who over, who likes who, who is annoyed with who. And of course, gossip about relationships - for girls, this would be who's endowed, who was selfish in the bedroom, who's a Dick, who is on his way to being whipped enough by his girlfriend's "trick pelvis" to buy an engagement ring at Tiffany's.

And although the female stereotype seems to be known for being the petty, catty sex, I've noticed that men seem to be just as bad, if not worse. If I had a quarter for every time I busted male friends discussing girls - whether assessing hotness, sexual prowess, rack - I wouldn't need a 401k. Men seem to be just as good at the rumor initiating and spreading as anyone else. And, in fact, I think they're worse than women. In fact, I commend them. Because not only do they tend to do it more powerfully - they're better at it.

Seriously?

Seriously. The reason for this is simple - the stereotype of women being petty and dramatic. People expect women to gossip. We, as women, expect ourselves to gossip. In fact, if a group of women are standing in a group, and someone starts discussing a rumor, if one woman declares that she is not getting involved -- and then walks away and doesn't come back (as opposed to proper gossip etiquette, which is to declare that you are not getting involved, turn around, and then walk right back and interject with something particularly nasty) -- every other woman in the group will stare at her like she has three heads, and then proceed to make her the next topic of conversation. Thus, the expectations of women gossiping and spreading rumors is pretty low.

Men are a bit trickier. The stereotype of men is that they tend to be more stoic, less dramatic, more simple, and more focused creatures. If given the choice on a Monday night between football and sitting in a circle talking about how fat Michael Vick's thighs are, I am fairly confident that 9 out of 10 would opt for football. Why? Because there are two types of guys in this world - those who like football, and liars. Yet men still talk shit, and quite a bit of it. But it's different - for men, it's not the focal point of the conversation. It's more of an ad hominem, a trivia question, a fun fact for everyone to know. I know how it's done - I have been around groups of dudes before who are watching some game, and then a girl will call someone's cell phone. And then someone says, "Who was that?" And the guy whose cell phone rang says, "That bitch from the other night." And some jackass third guy, probably a Dick, will say, "I heard she gave Jim bad head in the bathroom at the bar last weekend."

You see? That is gossip done right, if such a thing exists.

In that one line, the guy is just as destructive and just as powerful as a woman's 15 minute soliloquy on how she heard that Jen's boyfriend won't do the swirly when they're hooking up - maybe even more so, simply because it's dropped as the dingleberry (pardon the word) in the toilet of bullshit, as opposed to the main event.

Thus, I would make the argument that men arguably gossip more - and do so more effectively - than women. But I'm interested in opening this up to the floor: which sex tends to talk more shit?

posted by KA @ 10:23 PM 1 comments

Every Woman Needs A Good (Gay) Man

I am a pretty confident girl. I don't think I'm the hottest, nicest, most intelligent thing on the planet, but self-confidence has never really been lacking. I would even venture to guess that if anything, I might be even a little overconfident. No one scares me. I am not easily intimidated. And if I ever come off that way, it's usually not because I am scared to say or do something, but more because I just don't think it's worth the bother.

Even so, I have my days. Like anyone else on the planet, I worry about being incompetent in my career. I worry about not having enough time for my family, or my friends. Hell, I think about gravity taking its toll on my mammaries quite a bit. I am rounding the quarter century mark, and the perk is bound to lose its elasticity sooner or later.

Every two years or so I go through a superficial flip out. I usually do something sort of drastic, and usually to my hair. With my two-year marker around the bend (I got a flat iron and bangs in '03) and a wedding in three weeks, I decided it was time for a much-needed ego stroke. (This decision was made more time-sensitive when I found out that a couple of flings from my Chicago past planned to be in attendance. As soon as I heard, I did what any girl would do, which was vow to starve myself for three weeks and remind aforementioned flings of what they've been missing out on since we parted ways.)

So I went to see my gay colorist. And hairstylist.

No, you are not to confuse the two, as I initially did. One does the color, and one does the cut. And each one of them contributes about $100 worth of attention to my head per stylist, which adds up to an unjustifiable $200 salon tab, some blonde highlights, and a personal ego skyrocket up by approximately 5 notches.

I was lucky enough to find a great salon a few months ago, with two gay men who really understand me. Do I trust them? Fully. Do I love them? Not yet. But I definitely do appreciate them. What's not to love about two good-looking men who understand how hard it is to find a good pair of jeans and who continually tell you how fabulous you are?

Last time I was in, I promised Ken and Ric, who are always trying to get me to do crazy shit with my hair, that I would let them play and do something dramatic next time. And dramatic it was! I traded in a mop full of reddish brown hair that was almost halfway down my back when straight for a more-blonde-than-I've-ever-been, just-past-the-shoulders hair cut with long layers. I look like a maxi pad with wings. I look like the 4th member of Hanson. But in a totally good way. If anything, this haircut is entirely too cool for me. I feel like there's no way I can live up to what's up on the top of my head. I should be getting high as a kite on my tour bus, on the way to my next gig. I should be doing it with a roadie in my dressing room during sound check. I should absolutely not, under any circumstances, be pairing my rock star haircut with a white Oxford shirt, and tucking my hair back behind my ear while I try to figure out why my flowchart is off by $3500, which is precisely what I am doing. (And I would post a picture on The Portal - also see the new link on the sidebar - but I haven't taken any pictures out since last weekend, so posting a headshot of myself would be pretty gay - no pun intended. Nevertheless, I will try to post something with the new hair as soon as possible.)

I spent three and a half hours in the salon getting primped. When I said I wanted to go a little blonde, Ken showed me a picture of some bitch in Vogue with blonde hair and dark stripes interwoven. After I asked him to go "a little less skunk, and a little more skank", he gave me a beach-kissed look, which is great, aside from the fact that it's the middle of November and metro Atlanta is landlocked. But hey, it was "fabulous". It "really brought out my gorgeous eyes". Ka-ching! You just earned $100, baby. Good job.

But it was Ric who was truly responsible for this very new, "fabulous" version of me. After cutting what he claimed was only 2 inches off the ends of my hair but was seriously at least 4, he then pulled half of my hair towards my face and started whacking at it with a razor blade. A razor blade?! Yes, to give it "edge" and "depth" and "imperfection". By the way, does anyone else find it odd that I am striving for "imperfection" so I can look like perfection? But I digress.

At one point, I saw so much of my hair on the floor of the salon that I was thinking about turning my head really quickly and offering up my jugular to the magic of his blade, but I remembered that I had plans to go out that night and that if the haircut turned out really badly, I could always just pull it back, get really drunk, and put off the internal bleeding for one more day. But he proclaimed that it would turn out "just peachy", and that it would really frame my "exotic-looking face" (aka interesting, mismatched features), so ka-ching! He earned $100. Well actually, more like $90. I shaved a tenner off for calling me "exotic". It didn't sit well.

But behold the power of Ken and Ric - I have received more compliments over this new 'do in the last three days than I've gotten in the last three months. It's pretty amazing.
And I feel super. A little freaked out still, but super. Which just goes to show you that even thought it cost me $200 and almost four hours out of my Saturday afternoon, a little gay goes a long way.

posted by KA @ 9:50 PM 0 comments

No One Likes Getting Smacked With A Dick

Picture it: you're at a bar, and you meet a nice guy. He buys you a drink (as he should), gives you a little attention - maybe attempts the white-man's overbite if there's a dance floor - and you're excited. Why not? The anticipation of maybe having met someone who's not just your average full-of-shit guy has you excited.

You politely excuse yourself to use the ladies' room, be it for seal-breaking or lip gloss re-application or whatnot, and you return to the bar. The guy is talking to some fake bitch that is totally out of his league and rolling her eyes at him every time he turns around to order another beer. He is no longer even remotely attentive to you, either because he's drunk, or he thinks this new girl is hotter than you, or because we live in a capitalistic society, and he believes that he is Trump Tower.

What would you call this scenario? I would call it, "Congratulations, you've just been smacked with a Dick."

Hold up. What?!

We have all been smacked with a Dick or two in our lifetime. Hell, I would argue that a good part of my past involves a succession of Dicks. And I am not an exception to the rule. Chances are, a girl has encountered a Dick at least once in her lifetime.

A Dick is a total jerk, in case you weren't picking up on that. There are a lot of them out there. To make sure we're clear on who a Dick is or isn't, let's do a little FAQ:

Q: Who is a Dick?
A: A Dick is a seemingly average guy, often typified by a cocky attitude and some version of a smirk. More often than not, a Dick is good looking, but occasionally, you're bound to come across one who has absolutely nothing going for him, yet still exemplifies Dick behavior. That one's a mystery to me, and why such a Dick would exist is really a million-dollar question. Seriously, I'll pony up a million dollars to anyone who can explain why worthless guys can still be Dicks.

Q: How can I spot a Dick?
A: A Dick is quite tricky - some are easily recognizable right off the bat, but many are very good at hiding their spots. Characteristics of Dicks can include (but are not limited to) any of the following: repeated unsolicited drunk phone calls; plan breakers who bail with no legitimate reason (and no, "I had shit to do" is not a legitimate reason); unemployed moochers; guys who hide their relationship with you from co-workers, family, or friends; talking a fast game and then never speaking to you again; guys who have economy-sized bottles of Jergens on their nightstand in plain view (such guys do exist); and liars.

Q: Is there anywhere I can avoid Dicks?
A: Sadly, there isn't. This particularly evil brand of male has infiltrated our everyday surroundings and can be found anywhere from within your very own workplace, to the neighborhood pub, to the gas station on the corner of Ponce and Piedmont. I even met one yesterday at the salon when I was getting my hair cut. He was gay and totally uninterested in me, but still definitely a Dick.

Q: Are all men Dicks?
A: No, absolutely not. The point of this post is not to turn you into a man-hating lesbian if you are a man-loving straight chick, it's simply to raise your awareness level of men who are just itching to mess with you, and to prevent you from getting into cahoots with such men. There are plenty of guys out there who are perfectly nice, respectful, and kind to the elderly. But there are also just as many - if not more - who are not. I have dated a significant portion of this population, so if you're truly concerned, or have specific suspicions, please email me and I'd be more than happy to provide a list of names.

Now that we've identified who Dicks really are, it's only fair to talk some shit.

Here's the thing: if you want to be with a Dick, I say go for it. At this point, I've reached a personal plateau in that I think I am over the thrill of being involved with this particularly evil breed of male. I mean, why deal with a beer-guzzling, burping, flatulating man who exemplifies asinine behavior when you could be with a beer-guzzling, burping, flatulating man who is nice to you? At the end of the day, there are still enough common denominators to split the difference.

Yet some women insist on getting smacked in the face with a Dick and seem to continually be surprised with the end result, which is usually when you bust him slamming you to his friends, or he goes three weeks without calling until 3 am on a Saturday when he's done unsuccessfully hitting on ugly girls at bars. Those women continue to convince themselves that they can change the Dick, make him a better man.

The truth of the matter is, only the Dick can decide if he wants to be a big man or a small man (no pun intended). The best thing to do once you have been hit with a moment of clarity - the realization that you are involved with a total Dick - is to run. Run fast. Run in your high-heeled boots, or the Roos, or whatever the hell you're wearing. Let him go. Take comfort in karma. Take comfort in payback. Take comfort in the thought that he'll inevitably resort to some brand of circle-jerks. Or that he'll wake up one day when he's eighty and realize he is alone and missing a testicle.

And if you still find the inherent need to mingle with Dicks, at least protect yourself. With a mindset, of course. Use them, have fun with them, enjoy yourself...but don't be expecting a phone call the next day. Don't expect anything beyond what inevitably transpires.

But consider yourself warned.

posted by KA @ 6:54 PM 4 comments

All Hail "The Office"

posted by KA @ 5:24 PM 0 comments

Fergie Has Josh Duhamel, But I Had A Pumpkin Pie And A Dominatrix

Happy Halloween!

Wait, what?! It's November 2nd? Shit.

Okay, so I'm a little late. But I've been tired, and I suspect I'm coming down with influenza, so bear with.

Halloween this year was probably the best one I've had since 1992, when my three of my neighbor's houses gave out full-sized Snickers when I went trick-or-treating.

On Thursday, my office had a "Fall Festival" party. "Fall Festival" is a euphemism for drinking good Oktoberfest-brewed ale all afternoon, occasionally checking emails, and participating in gluttony of the worst kind.

Earlier last week, it was announced that there would be a mini-pumpkin decorating contest. Whoever could best decorate a mini pumpkin would win the a brand-new iPod Nano. From the moment I read that email, I decided the Nano was mine. So I spent two hours gluing broccoli to a shoebox and came up with this creation:




This shit was good. NANO-good. The man in the photograph is my friend and co-worker Peter, and I figured the play on words would be a hit with the judges. (I also added a small disclaimer in the front that read, "No vegetables were harmed in the making of this nativity scene." I think I just wanted to intentionally misuse the phrase "nativity scene".)

Alas, despite my best efforts, I lost to a "Sleepy Hollow" creation with a Bud Light logo. Props to the girl, who spent lots of time on it. It was good. But it was not NANO-good.

The next stop was the "eat-the-apple-suspended-from-the-ceiling-with-no-hands" contest. I was all over it.



Insert vulgar comment here. I know, not my most flattering pose.

Again, despite best efforts, I suffered yet another loss.

At this point, my competitive attitude kicked in and I started entering every contest known to man. My final shot was in the pumpkin-pie eating contest. We had to eat as much of an entire pumpkin pie (covered in whipped cream) in three minutes as possible. I was up against some tough competition.



Humps, to my right, smoked me. She smoked everyone really. I came in close second (and we were up against some big guys, but I've never met a pumpkin pie I didn't like), but Humps beat the odds and took first place. I begrudgingly conceded.

After my three tough defeats, I was so full, so tired, and so confused that I didn't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my ass. Good thing, as it was the weekend, and there was plenty of drinking to do.

First stop - costume party with Matt, Katie, and Schwartz:



Collectively, we were a Gilligan, a Blackeyed Pea, a Hulkomania, and Katie (not pictured) was a Victoria's Secret Angel Gone Evil. A nice variety box of chocolates, if you ask me.

And then, after three rounds of tequila, three beers, and half an hour of passing an $8 bottle of gin around and taking swigs, we discussed ourselves some religion:



The wheels fell off the bus from there. The only thing I can assure you from the next morning is that I did not wake up alone, and there was a sea of McDonald's cheeseburger wrappers strewn on my living room floor. I'll let you figure it out.

After a brief drinking hiatus, I resumed festivities on Monday at Riccardo's Insane Halloween Bonanza. Riccardo, an ex of one of my very good friends, lives in a nice little mansion and owns two restaurants, aka a real failure in life. His Halloween party is among the best in Atlanta every year, and I refused to miss it. With Humps and my friend Wendi in tow, we set off for what we didn't realize was going to be, like, the greatest party ever.



A ladybug, a Blackeyed Pea (again), and Tinkerho.

Okay, so here's the party: there was an anarchy symbol made of sand, a burning baby doll in the middle, tiki torches, and a smoke machine in the front yard. There was homemade shrimp orzo, marinaded vegetables, bruschetta, and stuffed grape leaves in the kitchen. There was a fully-stocked, top-shelf open bar on the patio, complete with hired bartenders. There were two real policemen who were monitoring the legal (and illegal) activity at the party. There was a naked burlesque troop performing in the living room. There was a dance floor, with a DJ spinning music. I have never seen anything like it. It was like the "Can't Hardly Wait" graduation party, but with more pot and alcohol. It was the adult equivalent of going to a bar mitzvah where they give out "I danced my ass off at Abraham's bar mitzvah" boxer shorts. Are you getting my drift?

And then it got even funner.

We made friends with a 41 year old grandma dressed in a dominatrix costume. When Humps asked her where it came from, she replied, "My closet! This is my Thursday outfit for my clients." Oh yes, she was a dominatrix. Like, a real one. Her ex-husband ("that bastard") got her into it. She spanks people's asses for money. Perhaps we should have hired her for the Clermont Lounge outing a few weeks ago. I bet she works wonders with a wooden mixing spoon.

And in case you don't believe me...




We followed her around for a bit, until she asked us if we wanted to go to "Dickville" with her. After a polite decline, she told us she had three Iranian men and a bottle of Viagra waiting for her in Buckhead and took off with some guy dressed as Flava Flav who had a mouthful of gold teeth and also with whom she had "slept with once while we were both rolling". Yeah, let that absorb. I don't feel the need to post any witty comments here. She speaks for herself.

After passing a 91 year old woman dressed as Patsy Cline, an Indian guy with pennies taped to his shirt (he was the "token Indian guy"), and a Playboy bunny, we headed into the living room to watch the burlesque show, aka two buck-naked, painted women dry-humping on the floor to some Black Sabbath-type music. We took pictures with them, which have not been uploaded yet, but boy will that be a treat. Trust.

So, all in all, an A+ Halloween this year. I think I have hit my Halloween peak...between all of the gin-guzzling, ass-slapping, dominatrix-hanging, burlesque-dancing fun -- and the shrimp orzo -- I'm not sure how '06 could top this.

posted by KA @ 10:20 PM 0 comments

Word of the Day: Fellationship

Just as Bill Maher has "New Rules", I have "New Words". And the word of the day, courtesy of my friend D'Abreu:

fellationship (n.) : an interpersonal situation that is not exclusive or meaningful enough to be considered a relationship, but where physical intimacy is still involved.

Example:
Friend: "So KA, are you and XXXX in an exclusive relationship now?"
KA: "No, we're just f*cking around. It's more of a fellationship."

Go forth and use at your discretion.

posted by KA @ 10:17 AM 1 comments