Tag Archives: skeezy dudes

i can’t believe i dyed my hair & shaved my legs for THIS…

posted by:  audra

the most preciously icky thing just happened to me:  a job interview gone totally horrible.  it went something like this…

10:27 am:  i leave the house, perfectly pressed & polished. 

10:45 am:  arrive at destination really early.  my appointment was at 11:15.  the outside of the building is nice, professional, cute…kind of stands out in the skeezy neighb.  

10:46 am:  go inside of said destination.  interior is dismal; one crappy watercolor on the wall, about 5 dingy gray chairs that have seen better days, NO magazines.   TINY room…maybe 6×8 in dimension? 

10:48 am:  greet front desk person mySELF.  she’s trashy & kind of rude.  i sit in one of said gross chairs.

10:48 am:  shortly after sitting, a woman clamors in with her two crumb-snatching crotch-maggots.  one of the chitlins isn’t doing so well.  i thought maybe he was just throwing a little hissy fit, by how the mom was petting his head asking if he was okay.  evidently he wasn’t throwing a hissy–he was going to throw up. 

10:49 am:  the mother keeps badgering the ugly, sick child and finally asks if he’s “going to puke”.   his answer:  “uh huh.” 

10:49 am:  i panic.  i have a fucking interview, you sick fucks!  you know your child has some sort of vomitty ebola virus or whatever, and you STILL take him out in public, you fucking imbecile?!  what is wrong with people?!!  if there’s ONE thing i can’t handle, it’s vomit.  it’s my absolute number one fear–being vomited ON or NEAR.  i don’t want to hear it, see it, smell it or worst of all–feel it.  i’m so freaked out at this point that i’m literally shaking, because this kid’s about to blow.  it was carpeted though, so that would reduce the chances of splatter.  i had a plan to jump up & run to the opposite corner of the room, should this actually take place in this tiny, gross lobby.  no restroom sign in sight, the mother rushes over to the front desk area to ask where the bathroom is.  pointing to a weird, unmarked, white door, the mother grabs the timebomb & takes him into the loo. 

10:50 am:  not 2 seconds later, i hear it.  everything.  every detailed, splashy, liquidy awfulness.  great.  not only is this reeeeally fucking sick, i had to pee.

10:50 am:  i move to the farthest chair away from the door to hell. 

10:53 am:  a dumpy, trashy mouse with a scrunchie comes out of another door.  she thanks two people of mystery & leaves.  immediately following her exit, i’m called into the room.

10:54 am:  i’m greeted by a short, old-ish man with a weird face.  kind of like he’s melting…somewhat like toby on the office, only browner.  not latin brown, just brown.  brown skin, brown hair, brown suit.  cheap.  there’s a woman, too…she seems nice.  conservative, but nice.  mr. brown is totally skeezed out, like total sexual-predator vibe.  gross, gross, gross. 

10:55 am:  “wow….you’re eyebrows are amazing!  that must take you a long time to do everyday!”   strike one, asshole. 

so, we do a bit of small-talk.  it’s awkward.  mr. brown seems drunk.  is he?  is it just pills?  maybe he’s really hungover.  nope, i’m pretty sure he’s intoxicated.  he’s awfully loose.  and he rubs his face an awful lot.  they ask why i’m not with my former-employers any longer, and i explain.  it appears that this is the first time he’s reviewing my resume.  he says, “oh i see you worked at some vineyards!”  well, just the one VINEYARD…but yes.  “wow, you commuted all the way out there?”  yes, of course i did.  the woman is silent.  “what did you do at your last job?”  well, since you’re looking RIGHT AT MY RESUME, i suppose i’ll save you a step & tell you.  “do you have questions for us?”

10:58ish am:  i reply with, “oh, yes i do!  um….so [the woman] told me yesterday on the phone that you’d be hiring for several different positions.  i was under the impression that there was just the one.  i want to be certain–which position am i actually interviewing for?”

yes, i really had to ask that.  this was ridiculous.  “oh, well, you’d definitely be interviewing for the front-office position.”  okay….and? 

i ask what the pay is going to be.  get this…

“that’s a good question.  i see here that you made [undisclosed amount] at your last job.  i can tell you right now that we won’t be able to pay you that much, but it won’t be any less that what we’d pay our administrative assistant.” 

and i didn’t make “that much” at my last job.  seriously.  you’d have thought i was asking them to start me at $65/hr or something.  i have to backup a bit….yesterday when i spoke with this woman to setup the interview, i asked what the wage was.  she was real  sketch about it then, too.  what is with these people?!  i should also add that they’re looking to hire IMMEDIATELY, as in now.  so, wouldn’t you think they’d have the payroll shit figured out??  they wouldn’t even give me a ballpark figure!  isn’t that weird?!  i said that i would possibly take a little bit of a pay-cut, just to have a job.  he says, “well, you’re on unemployment, right?”

“no, i’m not.”

“why not?!  man, i’ve had people just walk right out of the door on me, and straight to the unemployment office!  it’s free money!” 

really??  oh my god.  so i’m sitting in an interview with your company, and you just told me that “people” have repeatedly “walked out the door”?!  sounds like an awesome company to work for. 

i’m of course, horrified, but he asks if i have any other questions.  i had prepared a long list of really articulate questions, so i continued with my next one, “what would you say the typical career path is for someone in this position?”  thinking he’d answer with paralegal, legal assistant, something clerical, whatever…maybe going to law school…right? 

no.  he LAUGHS.  laughs!  shakes his head, rubs his brown face some more.  “wull, i dunno…i mean, you either got the skills & move on, or you don’t!” 

i mean, is this is a totally retarded question to ask an interviewer?!  i think it’s pretty valid, don’t you? 

NEXT!

“what are a few things you feel makes this position interesting & challenging?”

MORE FUCKING GIGGLES!  and face rubbing!  and an, “ohhhh….hmmm…..that’s a good question.  the clients? (laughs again) the people i work with?  yeah…the people who work here definitely keep it interesting.” 

ewwww i totally feel like i need a rape-shower!

this is when i decide not to ask any more questions, especially “how do you keep your employees happy & motivated?”  i don’t even want to know. 

11:07 am:  interview concluded.  i was barely in there for 10 minutes, and all of this ickiness happened. 

rules for potential employers:  when you interview me, be professional!  don’t you fucking dare laugh in my face, and don’t even THINK of commenting on how much time it must take me  to do my eyebrows!  inappropriate!  and don’t tell me that people have walked out on the job!  NOT COOL!  and especially, BE PREPARED & don’t look like a TOTAL FUCKING MORON!! 

i’m over today.  i need a drink.  who’s in?

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shoe trouble

posted by:  audra

i didn’t think it was going to happen there for awhile, but! i have finally taken my beloved shoes into my favorite cobbler.  i attempted to take my broken, beloved shoes to the cobbler.  last night i went out of my way to drop off all of my precious cargo to be repaired.  well, three pairs at least.  and it was fucking closed.  againthis is the third time in a row that this has happened to me.  their hours on the door state that they are open until 6:00pm every night.  and every time i show up shortly after 5:00pm, there is a sign on the door saying “will return at 9:00am”  fucking hell!  are you fucking kidding me with this shit?  to make it worse, i’ve called.  and called.  and called their number & just gotten the answering machine–and this is even during normal business hours.  so i’m pissed.  i have no cute shoes to wear, & am in total panic about what shoes i could possibly wear on to go out with on saturday.

i did this to myself.  had i taken them in, one by one, as the heel pads crumbled, or even as the metal started to show, this could have been prevented.  but now, all my good shoes are fucked & i’m upset.

i could have taken in ten, & probably should have, but that will have to be another time.  that’s too many at once, ten.  just the three pairs alone scares me…one of which are my babies, the red marc jacobs that i lament over constantly.  the other two pairs have been broken for ever.  forever.  a weitzman & a fairly inexpensive square-toed joey o, both stilettos.

typically i’m not wild about weitzman shoes, what with all that bling & tack all over them, but these are perfect, pointy, black stilettos that i’ve had for years, and the heel has cracked once again.  also, the lining is falling apart.  and the joey o’s?  i got them for probably less than $100 like….four or five years ago.  i got them right before a birthday, & in typical new-shoe-fashion, i proceeded to get drunk one evening whilst galloping around the house in them.  “breaking them in”, i call it.  i then remember getting the brilliant idea of making one of my favorite dishes–buttered pasta with tons of kosher salt–right after midnight, as it was now officially my birthday.  i had romantic visions of sitting my then-much-thinner-ass down on the couch & devouring my pasta while staring at my shoes…and i’m pretty sure i was watching the beautiful girls dvd on repeat.  anyway, i peeled around the corner in the kitchen, probably scrambling for some butter, & one of the heels snapped off.

just like that.

it was a clean break.

i was so pissed.  and on my birthday!  ridiculous!  they were fairly cheap though.  and the heel was plastic.  plastic!  not even coated with leather!  anyway, i was so pissed that i threw them in my closet after only one wear & they haven’t seen the light of day until now.  even though they’re several years old, they are still really cute.  very smart looking, these are.  so, we’ll see how long they last at the hands of my cobbler.

my cobbler is a funny little man.  he looks exactly the way one would imagine a cobbler:  kind of short, old, long grey hair, round glasses…except this one smokes a lot of pot.  every time i go in there it’s like hotboxing.  sort of like tommy chong & geppetto from pinocchio had a baby & the baby opened a shoe repair shop.    the narcotic indulgence is fine with me–if one is at home, or hanging out with friends or something–but not when you’re holding a hammer & nail to my $500 shoes, thank you.  maybe it steadies his hands…?  eases his arthritis to get into the fine leather-work details of my footwear?  so far, no mistakes.  he does a beautiful job refurbishing where the back of the heel has become scuffed from driving & resoling where i’ve walked many a drunken step on cobbled sidewalks & gotten the heel lodged in a crack.

there are just two instances thus far where i thought i was going to have to hurt him:  the first was when the stitching was coming undone from the zipper pull on my large coach handbag.  i took it in to him, and a couple days later, it was ready.  i had sam go pick it up for me, but he couldn’t find it right away.  in fact, i believe he said it “wasn’t here”.  sam told him that it was a “big, black, leather handbag?  you redid the zipper pull?”  finally, after digging through stacks & stacks of bulky plain brown paper bags, he found it.  crisis averted.

the second time, i had taken in some nice michael kors heels.  not terribly high-end, but i love them & have had him resole them several times.  i went in to pick them up, the night i had to wear them.  i handed him my ticket and he said they weren’t ready.  he said, “oh, no, no.  those are gonna take me a few days.  i had to unscrew the heel & order a special fitting for them.  try back on tuesday.”

i was furious.  i barked at him spitting, “um, you told me you’d have them ready!  tonight!  by 4pm!  i need them tonight, and this is bullshit about unscrewing the heels.   you’ve worked on them before, and i’ve never had a problem.  just give me the shoes & i’ll take them elsewhere.  i’m not paying for your services.”

he held up the most hideous skank-deluxe strappy prom shoes i’ve ever seen…believing them to be mine.

i said, “those are not mine.   mine are the black pumps with studs?”

“oh…THOSE!  yes, of course!  they’re right here.  i just got done polishing them.  here you go.”

“oh!  they look purrfect.  thank  you so much.  have a great night!”

again with the pot-smoking during work hours!  jesus christ!  i almost had a shoe-aneurysm!   in a bad way!

his prices have gone up considerably since i started going to him a number of years ago, but his quality is well worth it.  currently, he’s charging $25 per pair for a new heel pad & half-sole, complete with a little metal tack in the toe to help prevent excess wear there, too…which is still ridiculously cheap compared to a new, $400 or $500 shoe.   i consider my shoes to be my children, so it’s kind of like taking them to the pediatrician; the little metal tack thing acting as a booster shot.  i’m a little hesitant, though, about the marc jacobs repair.  they’re my favorites, & they’ve never had to make a trip to the shoe doctor.  and now my shiny manolos are ruined, too.  however will he make the dull silver on the back of the heel gleam again?!  will he fuck up the suede leopard print lining?  oh jesus, i think my head may explode.  i’m shallow & materialistic like that.

so, wish me luck!  or, better yet, wish geppetto-chong-the-shoe-guy luck.   he fucks up & disfigures one of my babies, i’ll be driving one of those little shoe nails through his forehead.  if i can ever get in the fucking door.

i’ll keep you posted.

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queers, five years & saturday’s mistake: the conclusion

posted by:  audra

i was so starving & pissed at this point, & had consumed enough wine that i snapped.  mid-shot, i interrupted his photo-taking & hissed, “excuse me, are you going to be doing that all night?” i did!  i totally hissed!  he then of course apologized profusely & noted that he was taking blurry shots for the website & that i would definitely not be in any other shots.  whatever!  you’re still annoying the fuck out of me!  but he did move, & i didn’t see him for the rest of the night.  good work, audra.  good work.

entrees finally arrive & my thighs start sweating:   i ordered the grilled leg of lamb with green herb yogurt, chick pea fritters & a salad of orange & fennel…sam got the grilled sirloin with shallot butter, roof greens & fries.  we weren’t very impressed about the fries part…couldn’t they come up with something a bit more swank?  at least serve them in a cute little cup like this place does?  whatever!  everything was fairly good; except that sam’s meat was a little overdone.  actually, a lot overdone.   and if sam thinks it’s overdone, it’s way overdone.  my lamb was a little on the cool side, too.  it seems to me that they were leaving entrees out to rest too long before serving them.  again with the under-staffing issue!  anyway, the wine we chose to have with dinner was perfect…and oopsies, i have no idea what it was!  i wasn’t all that impressed with the wine-list either.  this being a wine place, you’d think i would be…but 6 years working in the wine industry, i’m hard to please when it comes to wine lists.  maybe it was just the by-the-glass list i wasn’t impressed with.  hmm.  whatevs.  i’m probably just being a bitch.

we did dessert & paid our check quickly…as oddly enough a really weird guy that we sort of know was seated less than a foot away from me, with his date.  she was really pretty & i have no idea what the fuck she was doing with him.  clearly she’s an idiot!  he spent the whole time texting while she sat & stared at her drink.  we don’t know this guy well, only through a friend of ours, and have only been around him twice.  but he’s a real loser & thinks he’s some big fucking treat.   i’ve witnessed him giving pcp to a friend when said friend thought it was just a regular joint.  anyway!   i can’t stand him.  he’s bad news.  luckily, we hadn’t seen him in a few years so he didn’t recognize us before we split.  so! close!

walking back to the car, i stumbled a few times.  i did.  what the fuck!?  i had four glasses of wine total, over the course of maybe 3 hours.  that’s nothing to me!  that’s just warming up!  whatever… i shrugged it off & got into the passenger seat.

not 3 blocks down the street & i have to ask sam to pull over.  i know i’m not going to be sick or anything gross like that, but i just could not be in the car.  super dizzy, you guys!  seriously!  do i need to remind you i only had 4 glasses of wine?!  so he drops me off in this parking lot, & i literally stumble over to the curb.  i can’t believe i didn’t fall down or scuff my shoes or something!  i was totally fucked up!  whoopsies!

i sat for a couple minutes, looking at my shoes, hoping i wouldn’t be sick on them, wondering why in the world i was so drunk & finally teetered my way back to the car.  it was so horrible!  i don’t think i’ve staggered so much, even in my drunkest drunkenness ever!  once i did make it back into the car, i was totally fine.  my drunkenness seemed to disperse as quickly as it had come on.  weird, right?!  i blame it on the one glass i had at le bar de skeeze earlier!  what else could it have possibly been?!   i just don’t know…but something fucked me up beyond recognition, as i went to bed at 11:00 that night.  eleven o’clock!  not my usual 4am antics, no!  eleven o’clock.  believe it.

i can say that there is something good that came out of my going to bed totally yet accidentally wasted at 11 on a saturday night:  i got up before noon sunday morning.  this never, ever happens & i’m kinda proud of myself!  this allowed us to watch all three of our netflix films in one day!  before dark!  this week’s was a fag themed one:  three of hearts, divine trash & the boys in the band.

three of hearts was kinda…meh.  i was real excited for it; documentary – one gay couple married to a woman, so they have this hot threesome thing going on, even though none of the three are really all that hot.  anyway, the woman gets pregnant at the beginning of the doc & they pretty much ruin it with that.  it’s mostly baby stuff from there on out, so i lost interest.

divine trash.  john waters documentary.   enough said!  get it!  i’m hoping to do some geneology maybe sometime real soon &  find out that john is my uncle.  wouldn’t that be rad?!

the boys in the band is fucking uh-mazing!  i’m super-embarrassed that we hadn’t seen it yet!  it’s super-intense & done in what feels like real time…like you’re there hanging out with them without any missing blocks of time, you know?  it’s like queer as folk & who’s afraid of virginia woolf? had a baby & it’s brilliant.  love, love, love.   in fact, as soon as it was over, i had to pop in virginia woolf because boys had put me in such a tizzy for it.  get the boys in the band right this very second, it will totally change your life!

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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.

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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.

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