Tag Archives: skanks

bitches saltin’ my game

posted by:  audra

i meant to post something earlier, but i was busy making out with david sedaris…that’s an entirely other post for another day.  get excited.

behold, my pretties — these little dicks are back this season to ruin my life yet again:

you’d think what with the lack of greenery on our third story balcony, that this would not be an ideal dwelling place for little asshole tree frogs.  but! they find their way back every year.  i hate them.  yes, they eat insects.  but, they also eat the pretty ladybugs that i love, and sometimes even buy.  one year, in an effort to exterminate some aphids on my roses organically, i purchased some ladybugs…only to find them being consumed at warp speed by these fucking wicked creatures of skank.

they jump on me.  they mock me whilst i’m sitting on my patio.  they scoff at my attempts to chase them off by tapping my gardening spade on the railing.  they think it’s hilarious!  they do!  they stare me down & i have nightmares about them invading my living space.  true story!  believe it!  my most feared death is that scene in magnolia where all the frogs are falling from the sky.  sweet jesus, that shit is scary:

the other day — sunday i believe — i went out to do some much needed planting on the patio.  i had several basil plants, grasses & such that needed some potting.  so, i put on my hot pink gardening gloves & my sequined patio flats & went to town.

i picked up the crate the basil plants were in.  resting underneath like a sneaky snake was a smug tree frog, just sitting there, waiting for me to piss my knickers upon uncovering it.  it was dark green.  i gasped & shouted at sam to come investigate.  i was pissed because of course this was the vessel i was to use for my basil & i wasn’t about to touch this thing.  sam & i tapped the spade at it.  i flicked dirt on it.  it laughed & jumped a few inches.  i told it to get the fuck off my patio.  i glared at it.  it glared at me.

hours later, i found it hovering in the corner on the railing.  then it moved.  jumped. moved again.  then finally jumped to its death off the balcony.

thank god that was over with, & i wasn’t (entirely) responsible for it.

but!  just when i think it’s safe…?  another one shows up tonight!  its cuter, younger, smaller, hipper version of the one that was here before!  unbelievable.  every year!  i fucking hate it & i hate frogs!  they do not need to be on a third floor balcony when we have acres of green space & wetlands beneath us!  it’s bullshit!   selfish fucks.

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queers, five years & saturday’s mistake: part two

posted by:  audra

…because apparently, the “cash thing” is “an asshole”…at least according to the girl behind the bar.  finally, the “cash thing” spits out a receipt disguised as an error code, which prompts bar girl to call her manager, who is not on site…but maybe we can “wait around until he shows…?”  she then asks sam to write down his debit card number on a piece of paper so that they can “charge it later”.  you can imagine my frustration at this point.  instead of complying with her sketchy request, sam finds an atm & opts to get $20 out.  for 2 drinks, our tab came to $11, which is not unreasonable.  we pay with the 20, & she hands him back $12.  so, not only can she not use a modern p.o.s program properly, she can’t do basic math!  we conclude that this is alright with us considering our experience thus far & take the extra couple of bucks.  shut up!  you would totally do the same thing!  this place was sick!  not dive-bar-sick in the least…just icky.

in desperate need to take a rape-shower but nowhere to take it, we head back upstairs for our table.  lip gloss will have to suffice.  still, more waiting.  at least 20 minutes worth.  all the while listening to a frizzy-haired ‘actress’ from l.a., wearing a stretchy american apparel frump dress with cowboy boots & a denim jacket go on & on about her next role, opposite brittany murphy: do you know who she is you guys, and ohmygod, & how on both sides of my family there is a long history of suicide, isn’tthatweirdyouguys i was like whoa! really?  jesus!

okay.  things are getting better.  we’re now seated.  deep breath.  wait, where’s our server?  are they like, seriously under-staffed?  please tell me that 4 servers called in sick or something?  i realize saturday nights are busy…but they have a good reputation & should be prepared for this type of thing, wouldn’t you think?  it took at least 10 minutes just to order a glass of wine!  but thanks, baby jeebus, for having the elk cove rosé.  that was lovely to start with & was perfect with our cheese plate.  even though i can’t remember the names of any of the cheeses besides gorgonzola, triple crème & white, that was still really very nice of you.  it almost canceled out the time i asked you for a tranny for christmas & you didn’t deliver.  almost.

then something went awry, just when they were looking up.  some dick photographer decides to set up shop right.  next.  to us.   literally like 6 inches away from our table.  god, i was so pissed!  total disregard.  had he whispered a “pardon me you guys but you two are so incredibly delicious & i just want a photograph of you to masturbate to later, and this will just take a second…sorry for the disruption.” i would have been cool with it.  it was fine at first, but he just stayed there snapping pictures in my face for like 10 minutes, breathing on our four cheeses.  finally he moved & went to bother someone else, only to return moments later…

…to be continued tomorrow, my pets.


Filed under food, potpourri

queers, five years & saturday’s mistake: part one

posted by:  audra

good evening, my little tartlettes!  i do hope you all had a swell weekend.  and since you’ve been biting your nails down to the quick in anticipation of what we did over our weekend, i’ll tell you — but this will have to be done in segments because gossip girl is on tonight & we all want to see what happens!

friday night was lame.  it was supposed to be part two of this, just for the lush list, & that didn’t happen.  but she hasn’t been blogging lately (shame!) so i don’t think she’ll notice anyway, right?  sigh!  no, friday night was for drinking & i can honestly say i have no recollection of what we even did for dinner that night.  it’s completely gone.  i do however, remember scanning in a whole bunch of pictures from like 9 years ago, uploading them onto facebook & then promptly deleting them out of embarrassment.  i did put that polaroid up for you, though (you’re welcome).  that night was the night of one of the best parties ever, and happened to be my marc jacobs shoe debut.  2003.  yes.  sigh…so young, so young.  and just so you know, i do have totally normal hands…even though my left one in the photograph looks like a paw.  it was just bad posing on my part.  at least i kept my legs together!  holla!

saturday was our five year wedding anniversary.  believe it.  don’t worry though — we’re not gross like that!  we did not do the traditional anniversary gift exchange like most couples do (the five-year one = wood.  smirk!), nor did we exchange stupid cards or anything lame like that.  i did not get pissed when sam came home without flowers in his hand.  no.  we’d planned on purchasing tickets to pj & john parish, which is happening very, very soon-ish & i’m asking baby jesus not to sell out of them before we get around to actually making this purchase because we’re lazy & didn’t really get around to it this weekend.

sigh!  anyway!  sam & i slept in a bit, chain-smoked on the patio & after completing an extensive menu for the evening (anthony bordain’s haricot verts & asparagus, seared filet mignon, & lobster with endive & maybe a pavlova – maybe), we decided to go out.  it was sort of warm outside & i wasn’t thrilled about searing bloody meat over high heat indoors.  i get hot.  you understand.  i also wanted to avoid frolicking off to the store as much as possible…so, we agreed upon this place, since embarrassingly enough, neither of us had ever been.  i wasn’t in the mood for stuffiness & definitely not in the mood for assholes, so this seemed perfect.

if we left the house early enough, one would think there would be no need to make reservations, right?  i mean, who eats dinner at 5:30?  but 5:30 turned into 6:30, which turned to 7:00.  i had a major makeup-meltdown in the bathroom when i was about 10 minutes away from being completely ready & almost cried.  i threw makeup brushes at the closed bathroom door.  i had wicked cramps.   blood was gushing out of my vagina & i was thoroughly convinced i was having a quintuplet miscarriage.  and i was out of advil and super-plus tampons.  fuck!  normally, this would be a complete disaster…but after my little tantrum, i pulled it together & managed to leave the house without any real drama.

we arrive at our destination, & it’s.  totally.  packed.  with a wait-list at least 7 parties deep.  jesus christ…really!  it’s after 7pm on a saturday & mama needs a drank.  my general impression of the crowd-corralling wasn’t good.  the owner checked us in & acted like a college student hostess in her first week on the job.  no one really knew what was going on & it was tough to even get a time estimate out of her for which to rest upon.  a youngish boy then checked on us & said it will be 30-40 minutes, so we settled on going someplace else for a drink whilst we wait.

i thought i had been to the worst bar ever, until this place.  i won’t name names, but just know that it’s housed in the space that was formerly the chesterfield.  perhaps it was the three skeezed-out meth heads sitting at the bar, or the really inept barmaid, but the second i stepped in the door, i wanted to leave.  typically i don’t get really creeped out by places, but this one made me feel like something terrible had happened there.  i’m guessing a tall, hairy man with a prosthetic arm ripped off his plastic limb to rape a young, stringy, blonde thing with before he bludgeoned her to death with it.   in the bathroom, probably.  again, just guessing…but i’m usually pretty good at this stuff.  anyway!  moving on…

as soon as we order our drinks, i know it’s trouble.  first i asked for a wine list, as i see the other patrons have wine in front of them.   bartender looks confused.  “uhmm…..” she picks up a menu.  scans it.  turns it over.  more reading, squinting…  “oh!  it says to check the chalkboard.” hmm.  really?  wouldn’t you know that already if you’d been employed here for…i don’t know, an hour?!  i walked to the other end of the bar where the chalk board resides — nowhere near the entrance or where you would normally order  — and i asked for a glass of pinot noir, which turned out to be opened for too long.  i should have had her open another bottle, but i didn’t have the patience for that either.  i really just should have gotten a safe beer like sam did!  sigh!  so, we settle our tab & it takes foreverrrrr

oh my god!  what happens next?!  come back tomorrow for part two, my buttery little lamb chops!  until then, kisses on your sticky bits.

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tit for tat

posted by:  audra

so.  okay.  i have something to get off my chest.  something that  has plagued me ever since i bypassed my ‘training bra’ years.  one day, i’m flat-chested & willing my body to bless me with big,  squishy titties…the next day i’m crying my eyes out, begging my mom to okay breast reduction surgery.  it took me years to get comfortable with my body.  years!  and then you have all the other shit that goes along with bustiness; looking slutty, looking stupid…you know.

so, this last saturday night, we went out to see a friend’s band.  i was all up in arms about what to wear, & finally settled on a black cleavage dress i hadn’t yet worn.  i don’t do much cleavage these days, so i was a little nervous…i don’t want to look tarty, you know.  i’m pushing 30 & i’ve had my fill of push-up bras & smothering boys’ faces with my tits.  anyway! i put on a deep-plunge bra & left the house feeling pretty good.

not two minutes after we park, i’m walking across the street in 4-inch stiletto booties & totally eat it.  hard.  in the middle of the street.  sober!  totally sober!  i’d say it was a miracle from baby jesus that my tights weren’t ripped, i wasn’t gushing blood, & there was no spillage of nars eyeshadow out of my bag….but if it were a miracle, i wouldn’t have fallen in the first place, right?!  god, how horrifying.  i don’t think anyone saw though…despite the massive amounts of men teetering in their own 4-inch heels for the annual red dress party, literally just steps away – NOT falling down.

i collected myself on the sidewalk & did the ‘that did NOT just happen…becoolbecoolbecool…you are a graceful suductress, audra…people love you & you totally did not just fall down!‘ talk with myself.   it worked.  boys were stepping aside, smiling & holding doors for me…  i was like, what the fuck!  why don’t i take the tits out more often!?  this is luxurious!

while i did get expedited drink service & complimented on my figure by several people, the entire evening wasn’t all that swell.  i got glared at.  lots of times.  all by girls!  they hated me.  some little skank with tiny boobies was texting in front of the paper towel dispenser in the loo, & when i politely told her, ‘pardon me’ with hands dripping, she glared at me.   apparently she was too troubled to move her tiny skanky ass aside for me.   then, sam & i went outside to smoke.  we left our drinks on the table, covered with bar napkins & a newspaper all askew to make it clear that table was taken.   not five minutes had passed when through the window i see that skank #2 & her skeezed out boyfriend were confiscating our table!  the best table in the bar!  hands off, motherfuckers!  i got the table back, but not before they managed to spill my drink & soak our paper.  and they were totally rude about it!  i was nice!  i believe i heard a “well, sorrrr-EY!”  from the boyfriend, too.  what a dick!  the bitch left her cell phone on the table, so before they were out of sight, i slid it across the table so she could get it before moving to a less-cool table.  she walked off.  i didn’t run after her.  cunt.

the night goes on as such:  i see cute girl.  smile.  cute girl glares and/or looks away.  repeat.  seriously!  i swear to god, you guys! i have never gotten so much concentrated negative attention from girls before, ever!  i realize i can look mean at times, but i was being so nice!  i blame the tits.   i only saw one or two other girls with their junk out that night & they were kind of fat…and everyone knows that fat girls are nicer than skinny girls.  wait!  i did not say i’m skinny, but i’m not fat either.  jesus!

i really don’t know what i’m saying here anymore, but i may have to do an experiment now.  perhaps one night i will cover it up like normal & assess the general feedback from fellow females, then the next night i will do cleavage & see what happens…?  is it jealousy?  really?  do you know how hard it is to find tops & dresses that fit properly?  bras?  and did you know that i wear a minimizer every day just to fit into my clothes?  have you seen the permanent indentations in my shoulders from carrying around a 34ddd chest for nearly fifteen years?  and i hope you mean little skanks from saturday night are happy for glaring at me, because i now i have welts on a new part of my shoulders just from wearing that fucking bra.  yes.  i do hope you’re happy.

now i’m just wishing i would have brought my camera on saturday.  i could have been able to take photographs of these mean girls AND made some real quality submissions to this website…then i could just call it even!  sigh!  whatever!

…and don’t worry, skank #2 came back for her phone, like two hours later.  i wish i would’ve spilled my drink on her shit.


Filed under potpourri