As always, I intended on updating sooner... but shit got in the way. Luckily, I'm only sick, and not dealing with bullshit-ass family drama... my parents seem to have gotten their shit together... for now.
I'm sick because I spent my Monday screaming my head off at Disneyland... and getting incredibly soaked on that godforsaken Splash Mountain. Guys, never get on the same log as FIVE people who are well over 250 each... with one being at least 6'2" and in the 300's. The boat rocked in the most terrifying way, and splashed far more often than it intended. I was thrown to the front of the log, and so... I was literally drenched from head to toe... like a wet cat... my mascara even ran (and my maxi pad slid off my underwear, but no need to get into details about THAT beyond: I was MORTIFIED... and REALLY. FUCKING. WET. I should have just dived into a pool. This sort of shit only happens to me, I swear. Y'all should hang out with me more often and just witness the bullshit that occurs to me... it's amazing in a way).
I spent the rest of my day trying to dry off... and of course, I caught a cold like the dumbshit I am. I caught my flight back home that night, and I was so subdued by the illness, I didn't freak out when I had thirty minutes to reach my gate and a GIANT group of people with down syndrome (who had apparently attended some sort of convention earlier, based on the shirts they were all wearing) were ahead of me at the TSA checkpoint. They were confused... talkative... and did I mention confused? Had I been my normal self, I would have started sweating bullets, scared of not making my flight... but again, I was sick, and I just wanted to go to sleep.
ANYWAY! That update from the other day, the Saturday one that was sort of incoherent... that was written up while I very angrily sat at my table at the party, watching everyone act like a dick for the cameras.
It's baffling... terrifying to see how fucking different people behave once a legit camera crew is on them. I was the best behaved person present... and I was just fucking angry the whole time... and holding back my puke... and sort of drunk... and upset.
Each scene was shot a minimum of five times. FIVE TIMES. We were given freedom to be ourselves, but once one of us did or said something witty or outrageous, we were asked to re-do the "scene."
There's something about saying the same thing repeatedly, where you just feel a piece of your soul disappear.
There were about 28 of us, and I was the only one who isn't a regular at their parties... and one of the two Vegas girls they invited. So I sat at the table trying to remember everyone's name, while everyone else got mine the moment I shook their hand.
For the most part, I was checked out of the conversations... I had no reason to listen, since I didn't know anyone they were talking about.
There were three tables set up. One was pretty much empty the entire time because the four people who sat at the table left early, the other table was the "action" table where all the "main characters" of the show were sitting, talking their made-up scripted shit, and then there was my table-- the drunken, loud, unruly table (where real drama was going on).
We were only allowed to drink Bud Light-- that was hell, and why I was drunk. I hadn't had food in my system for a good eight hours, and they hadn't given me water. I sipped my beer and felt like garbage within minutes. I swear I'm allergic to that shit... fucking beer.
ANYWAY, they eventually got us some tacos... and that proved to be a mistake, since I spent the remainder of the party trying not to vomit them out.
There were some funny moments, legitimately sincere moments... like when we started playing the game (Loteria, which is the Mexican version of Bingo), and when the main character of the show won and yelled Loteria, we all naturally called bullshit and flung our beans (what we were using as markers, like in Bingo) at him. This, of course, tickled the producer pink, and thus, he had us throwing beans at the guy another five times... and another three at the end of the night. He killed our joke.
There was also my favorite part of the night, when the cameras left, and everyone behaved like themselves. The superficial fake folk left along with the camera crew, but the cool people stayed and proceeded to crack jokes... and we had a very nice sing-along. A girl at the party brought her guitar, which apparently is what she does at parties, and proceeded to sing our favorite Mexican songs. It was so fucking mellow, I momentarily forgot about my fucked up stomach.
And then the fucked up part rolled around at midnight.
The entire night, a girl at my table-- the loudest broad-- kept asking when the blow was getting there. I swore she was just being obnoxious.
But she wasn't.
The blow got there.
Lots, and lots of blow.
Ahhhhh, yes! For a minute I had forgotten what part of Mexico we hail from...
I don't know if I'm the only person who feels like this, but few things break my heart more than seeing WHO does that shit... I seriously feel my heart shatter. It's horrible. The disillusionment I feel when I see someone I perceived as "cool" hitting that shit... it never gets better.
Cocaine has ruined so much around and in my life... there's no way in hell I'll ever be cool with it... or those who use it.
So... feeling completely shitty about humanity, I finally bitched enough to get taken home.
Upon entering my friend's home, I rushed to her bathroom and proceeded to vomit the red velvet cake I had stuffed my face with a few minutes before leaving the party (I initially panicked when I looked at the puke... thinking I was bleeding like some tuberculosis patient or some shit). Little did I know my "friends" took the liberty to look through my phone and steal some of my photos and read my texts while I panicked in the bathroom, projectile vomiting. That was nice... I wish the camera crews had captured THAT fucked up shit... at least that way I'd be publicly validated when I tell you guys some of my "friends" can be pretty fucking shitty people.
I'm sick because I spent my Monday screaming my head off at Disneyland... and getting incredibly soaked on that godforsaken Splash Mountain. Guys, never get on the same log as FIVE people who are well over 250 each... with one being at least 6'2" and in the 300's. The boat rocked in the most terrifying way, and splashed far more often than it intended. I was thrown to the front of the log, and so... I was literally drenched from head to toe... like a wet cat... my mascara even ran (and my maxi pad slid off my underwear, but no need to get into details about THAT beyond: I was MORTIFIED... and REALLY. FUCKING. WET. I should have just dived into a pool. This sort of shit only happens to me, I swear. Y'all should hang out with me more often and just witness the bullshit that occurs to me... it's amazing in a way).
I spent the rest of my day trying to dry off... and of course, I caught a cold like the dumbshit I am. I caught my flight back home that night, and I was so subdued by the illness, I didn't freak out when I had thirty minutes to reach my gate and a GIANT group of people with down syndrome (who had apparently attended some sort of convention earlier, based on the shirts they were all wearing) were ahead of me at the TSA checkpoint. They were confused... talkative... and did I mention confused? Had I been my normal self, I would have started sweating bullets, scared of not making my flight... but again, I was sick, and I just wanted to go to sleep.
ANYWAY! That update from the other day, the Saturday one that was sort of incoherent... that was written up while I very angrily sat at my table at the party, watching everyone act like a dick for the cameras.
It's baffling... terrifying to see how fucking different people behave once a legit camera crew is on them. I was the best behaved person present... and I was just fucking angry the whole time... and holding back my puke... and sort of drunk... and upset.
Each scene was shot a minimum of five times. FIVE TIMES. We were given freedom to be ourselves, but once one of us did or said something witty or outrageous, we were asked to re-do the "scene."
There's something about saying the same thing repeatedly, where you just feel a piece of your soul disappear.
There were about 28 of us, and I was the only one who isn't a regular at their parties... and one of the two Vegas girls they invited. So I sat at the table trying to remember everyone's name, while everyone else got mine the moment I shook their hand.
For the most part, I was checked out of the conversations... I had no reason to listen, since I didn't know anyone they were talking about.
 |
| Starting the night/filming |
We were only allowed to drink Bud Light-- that was hell, and why I was drunk. I hadn't had food in my system for a good eight hours, and they hadn't given me water. I sipped my beer and felt like garbage within minutes. I swear I'm allergic to that shit... fucking beer.
ANYWAY, they eventually got us some tacos... and that proved to be a mistake, since I spent the remainder of the party trying not to vomit them out.
There were some funny moments, legitimately sincere moments... like when we started playing the game (Loteria, which is the Mexican version of Bingo), and when the main character of the show won and yelled Loteria, we all naturally called bullshit and flung our beans (what we were using as markers, like in Bingo) at him. This, of course, tickled the producer pink, and thus, he had us throwing beans at the guy another five times... and another three at the end of the night. He killed our joke.
There was also my favorite part of the night, when the cameras left, and everyone behaved like themselves. The superficial fake folk left along with the camera crew, but the cool people stayed and proceeded to crack jokes... and we had a very nice sing-along. A girl at the party brought her guitar, which apparently is what she does at parties, and proceeded to sing our favorite Mexican songs. It was so fucking mellow, I momentarily forgot about my fucked up stomach.
And then the fucked up part rolled around at midnight.
The entire night, a girl at my table-- the loudest broad-- kept asking when the blow was getting there. I swore she was just being obnoxious.
But she wasn't.
The blow got there.
Lots, and lots of blow.
Ahhhhh, yes! For a minute I had forgotten what part of Mexico we hail from...
I don't know if I'm the only person who feels like this, but few things break my heart more than seeing WHO does that shit... I seriously feel my heart shatter. It's horrible. The disillusionment I feel when I see someone I perceived as "cool" hitting that shit... it never gets better.
Cocaine has ruined so much around and in my life... there's no way in hell I'll ever be cool with it... or those who use it.
So... feeling completely shitty about humanity, I finally bitched enough to get taken home.
Upon entering my friend's home, I rushed to her bathroom and proceeded to vomit the red velvet cake I had stuffed my face with a few minutes before leaving the party (I initially panicked when I looked at the puke... thinking I was bleeding like some tuberculosis patient or some shit). Little did I know my "friends" took the liberty to look through my phone and steal some of my photos and read my texts while I panicked in the bathroom, projectile vomiting. That was nice... I wish the camera crews had captured THAT fucked up shit... at least that way I'd be publicly validated when I tell you guys some of my "friends" can be pretty fucking shitty people.
 |
No comments:
Post a Comment