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Just spent eight hours of my life hanging out with NINE 22-year-olds (Mario's a year older) who complained about how they couldn't down shots like they did "Freshman Year."

WHY the fuck do I do this?
I'm definitely old.
But the good type of old.

Excuse me... I have to go shower-off the smell of misery and failure... that shit was all over the poker tables tonight
... You don't honestly believe I spent ALL of those eight hours in the sole company of those kids, right? They just wanted to play beer pong... I wanted to dominate drunk men into losing their money to me. Duh.

I'll have a couple of lovely stories for later today. When I'm rested... but probably coughing uncontrollably.

She's a nice lady!

All this World Cup brouhaha has made me forget one thing: come Friday afternoon, I must entertain 9 boys... until Monday.
Like I said, I love having my guy friends, they're a blast... we just run into problems when they want me to show them the Vegas experience. That damn Hangover movie doesn't make this shit any easier. I'm not going to help them find a tiger, and I refuse to partake in card-counting (do I know how to do it? Yeah, my high school calculus teacher taught all of us how to do this... just for the hell of it, don't think he was some sort of thug. He was a sweet, adorably shy Catholic-school boy who would blush each time a girl would ask him a question... awww, I feel all warm and fuzzy thinking about him).
I have a huge connection at "The World's Largest Strip Club," which I've never taken advantage of because... why the fuck do I want to go to a strip club? But, for these boys, it appears I'm going to have to do it. Nine 22 year-olds... and me... they better not get any ideas.

They also want to go club hopping... which... I'm just too tired and old for that.
I mean, been there, done that. I hate the stupid hip-hop that appears to be invading the club scene... what the hell happened to techno and all that good stuff with a deep baseline? Oh, yeah, that's right, people can't dance for shit so they opt for the head-bobbing, gangsta thing to California Love (don't get me wrong, I LOVE that song, but how the fuck am I expected to dance to it without a drink in my hand? I can't! One needs a drink in one's hand and the other hand free to point to the sky and sway from side to side. And honestly, I'm sick and tired of the one clumsy bitch who always spills her drink on me because she can't even do THAT properly). But, the kiddies want me to party with them... and I do feel a little honored that they'd want to spend some time with me.

Now I have to clean the house, and have my car ready... to welcome the boys.
Barf.

Worst part? One of the boys is MGH's brother.
:(
That's the best way I can describe it.
I tell you, just when I'm cool with the process of moving on (I'm finally talking to dudes without feeling bummed. I mean, a word from Darcy is once again making me smile like a dumbass... like back in the good ol' days when I'd bump into him and I'd just stand and stare without saying much, only smiling until my cheeks hurt each time. Of course, he doesn't know he makes me smile like a moron, I keep that shit to myself), something comes along and stirs shit up.

The moment his name is dropped, I come back home (unless it's accidental, of course, since he does share his name with a certain, popular plumber).
This also applies if I hear one of them quote that fucking Hangover movie.

Tourist for a day

Just quick jubilant note that I can't live without screaming:
I'M GOING TO EUROPE ALONE!
...
FOR AS LONG AS I WANT!!!

What does this translate to?
I'm fucking staying there until international law allows! (a measly 3 months since I don't have a Visa)
God... I need this... I need this bad.

:DDDDDDDDDD

Anyway,

Recap of last night, with the aid of some pictures:

The girls and I decided to pre-game at a Mexican restaurant.
I had heard a lot about this place, particularly from my Caucasian acquaintances. They have issues saying the name (Bonito Michoacan), so I get a kick out of them asking me if I've ever had any.

No. I hadn't tried--in their words-- "Bo-niddo M-cho-cun" (in case you're wondering, it sounds more like "Bo-knee-toe Me-cho-ah-cahn")... not until yesterday, that is.

I'm Mexican, therefore I find it stupid to eat Mexican food at a restaurant.
In my eyes, no matter how awesome a place might be, I know I'll always have a relative whose food can blow that place out of the water.
Anyway, since it was AnoMALIE04's birthday celebration, we all were given margaritas... that were pretty awesome... and not too large. AnoMALIE04's holding her drink... that she couldn't finish (none of us could. I would have done it... but as soon as I felt a buzz, I started downing water like a camel... so there was no room left for the remainder of the margarita. I'm such a damn lightweight!)I didn't have anything to eat, because I was full from the afternoon (sushi and Subway... no need for more junk in my gut).
I did, however, taste this dessert... called "La Banana Feliz" aka "The happy banana."
We had a good laugh because the waiter (which we've known since we were all in elementary school) said "Quieren que les saque la banana... wait... I didn't mean that!" (which in English, it would have been equivalent to "Want me to whip out my banana..."etc. Mexicans I say!! We are GIFTED!)
At the restaurant, I found out it's basically an elementary school reunion.
All the Hispanic kids I went to school with work there... and so... I was being told of all the drama these kids are having today (lots).
We also had an enormous discount... and they gave us the margarita glasses for free, even if we didn't finish the drinks.
AnoMALIE04 also had a birthday shot... and more dessert on the house.
The guys ringing the cymbals (they had cymbals!) as they sang happy birthday almost made me go deaf.
Overall... it was a pleasant experience... and boy, am I glad I'm Hispanic and now have hook-ups all over town.

Anyway, we then headed out to Tao...
I am now more convinced than ever:
Tao sucks balls.
I hate the place.

The only nifty thing you get out of there is the fucking stamp they mark you with to denote your superiority over the non-locals/poor happy-go-lucky folks who decide to do things on a whim/people who don't have hook ups with the place (please note the sarcasm).
We, as you can probably guess by now, we have the hook up when it comes to VIP, so we were marked like cattle.
Then came the dancing part.
Yesss... The dancing.
Once again, we were all mesmerized by the Go-Go dancers (everyone on the dance floor, really). Not because of their moves (hell no. They perform the same move repeatedly. They don't even shake their ass like a Brazillian girl. Which in my opinion... in order to be a good Go-Go dancer, you must know how to shake it like a Brazillian girl), but because no matter who you are, seeing those chicks on stage just motivates you to hit the gym... hard.
Chase... the project is so on!

But that music...
MAN!
The music!
I would listen to Free Zone DJs a million times over the ones at Tao.
Sure, the DJ's are hotter at Tao (and probably straighter)... don't get me wrong, but... I wanted to climb to their podium and scream at them for their vile use of their turn tables.

Instead, I'd stand there (I was probably one of the tallest girls there... with my six-inch heels. haha. I was taller than a good number of men present) and shake my head when I heard a song I disliked (which was often. They played MIMS at one point... and when I figured out it was him, I stood still).
I also had to use this quite often while dancing:
Guys would be so imposing... after a while, I stopped giving a shit and I just started throwing elbows at motherfucker's backs.
I only elbowed guys, though... the overly-touchy-feely ones (there were maybe three guys that were pretty hot... and I didn't mind them rubbing up behind me) that were just a tad bit too drunk.
I'd push back a girl if she pushed me, but nothing major... and this time no chick groped me or hit on me, which ever so nicely kept "awkward" form having to be used as a descriptor for my night.
One girl did pour her drink down my ass for no apparent reason, though... and that's when we decided to call it a night, because AnoMALIE isn't very nice when bitches start crossing the line like that (and why is it always the fucking stumpy ones who always do that type of shit?). Do they think the tall girl will take pity on the shorty because of her height deficiency, and not slap a deserving bitch (they are correct in their assumption that I won't slap a bitch. As much as I dislike Tao, I wouldn't like to be banned from it for punching some short bitch who poured her drink down my ass)?
Eventually, my patience (fear of breaking rules? Fear of upsetting people?) will run dry and I will have to not only slap, but punch, a hoe.

So, we left the place.
But we headed down to the casino... to play the penny slots.It was my first time gambling (how tragic, I live in Vegas, yet it took me nearly 2 extra years after turning 21 to gamble for a first time), I took out the seven singles I had in my back pocket, and played each soggy dollar one by one.
I had two dollars left in my pocket when I won this much:
I cashed out... since I felt I had won a profit of 1 dollar.
However, since AnoMALIE04 was attached to her slot machine, as was our other friend Sunny, I decided to insert my voucher and play the 52 extra cents I had.
That's when this happened:From there, I won an extra two dollars... played 86 cents.... then cashed out with 1900 credits, aka $19.
Hey, considering I only played 7 bucks... I gained a profit of $12.
Good enough for my broke ass.
AnoMALIE04 had a net loss of 7 bucks... and Sunny a total loss of 15 dollars.
AnoMALIE... as in, me, was the only winner that night.
Nice change of pace for once.
Will I gamble again?
Nah.
I might play a couple of hands of Texas Hold 'Em and regular poker.... but slot machines are just not for me (I kept thinking of my high school calculus teacher as I played... and I felt bad... because he thinks people who play on the slot machines are kinda, sorta retarded... I found myself constantly thinking "Oh my God... I'm admitting to being kind of... sot of retarded. I must stop this immediately!" We had some lady "lurker" who immediately stole my machine once I stood up... and it was like "WTF lady? Chill... this thing is stupid, anyway").

So, I came home in time to catch the end of "Poker After Dark," and called it a night.

I woke up with blistered feet.
I hate heels.
... but I'm still clubbin' some more later on tonight.

I'm bad.

Summer Time AnoMALIE

I'm exhausted.
It's difficult being the body guard of 3 sort of inebriated girls.
It's like having 3 small children to run after while screaming "You come back here, you hear me?! Don't you go bothering strangers!" "You stay away from that creepy fellow over there! I don't need you missing then all of a sudden turning up floating in some canal in Southern California..." (OK, maybe my mom was the only one who used the latter... but it sure as hell kept me from wondering around).

I've lived here since... I was born... and my parents have visited the strip each time a family member from outside Vegas comes to visit. But it took me 22 years to make it to the strip and act like a tourist... camera and all. What a shame.

It was... entertaining. While I do admit that the entire time I was at Caesar's Palace I kept having flashbacks of the one time I went as "chaperone" for a date my little sister had a couple years back. Those flashbacks were neither entertaining, nor pleasant. I could have been enjoying the damn thing, I mean... we were having fun with the drinks my three friends had. We would make the shortest girl of the group drink out of the foot-long margarita glass each time we were in front of security (the girl's around... man... I don't know... four foot... eight? But she's 22, probably older than me). They'd just stare at the guy who would give her the drink... I'm sure thinking "Man, that's one fucked up father!"
But nooooooo... I had to be thinking shit like "Ew... that's where Little Sister and *BitchLiarwhodidSisterVERYwrong* were... oh man... get it out of my head!" or "When we were going down this cool escalator, Little Sister and *BitchLiarwhodidSisterVERYwrong* were going at it like there was no tomorrow..."
Those two ruined my life... fucking... hormonal teenagers.

But anyway... I had fun, I suppose... although I did get a little sad thinking FutureDentistFriend will be gone and our dates will be no more (you know, until she drops by to visit every other month)... and no more Kickboxing instructor stories will be shared (more like... no more talk about how fantastic the instructor is. He's like, the poster boy for the gym... that shit's crazy).

At least now we'll have "When you were buzzed..." stories.
She was an adorable buzzed girl.
-She's adorable with her dental stories (she was telling us about how easy it is to knock out an Asian with anesthesia, but how redheads have a hard time and that they usually come back from it all violent. That was funny... and totally out of the blue when she said that).
-And when she talked about how awesome her mentor is (a dude I was pretty pissed at this past semester, but when I saw my final grade in his class, I could have kissed the man).
-And how she looked surprised when I told her I was Mexican:
FutureDentistFriend: You speak like... 4 different languages...so what are you?
Me: Mexican!
FDF's eyes get wide.
Me: I mean... I'm a U.S. citizen... I love America. I was born here... so I'm American... but I'm Mexican because of my parents... so I'm... Mexican-American. (Shit, and I'm the sober one here and I'm stuttering like an idiot... it was the damn chocolate fountain! That shit Mesmerized me to the point where I was functioning like a drunk...)
-And she was adorable when she was going crazy taking pictures with strangers (the sober ones: me, Chase, ShortGirl, and BoyWhoEnjoyedGivingShortGirlDrinksInFrontOfSecurity gave the drunken trio the idea to hunt down tourists wearing certain colors and then taking pictures with them, thinking it wouldn't peak their interest... but they got so into it, we sober ones started fearing for our safety once we noticed the type of people the drunken trio were going after, i.e. attached men who had their sometimes irritated girlfriends scowling at us for going up to her man).

Lovely way to spend a Sunday night (I say that with no sarcasm... I really did enjoy myself even if my feet were a little in pain).

***
Anyway, let me make this announcement: Summer tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime!
Yes, I know it officially began last week, but it takes a while for me to realize this because certain things need to occur before I can officially declare my persona being in Summer Time mode (yeah, I'm a completely different person during the summer than during any other season of the year).

I begin to realize I'm being Summer Time AnoMALIE when:
1) I start sleeping in... sort of.
2) I definitely stay up late (Go to bed before 3 in the morning? Not this chick. It's kind of like insomnia)
3) I start O.D.ing on cherries, even if they cost 6 bucks a pound (O.M.G. Don't get me started on cherries. I... adore them)
4) I become addicted to cherry tomatoes! (mmmmmm. Just... mmm)
5) ...and Watermelon! (Oh man...)
6) ... and Lemonade! (stttttop thinking about this, AnoMALIE, damn it!)
7) I crave Slurpees at any time of the day, especially if I'm in an area where 7-11's are nowhere to be found (I'm usually scared of 7-11's during the other 3 seasons)
8) I crave Ice Cream at night (I fight this one with all my being!)
9) I can't stop thinking about, dreaming about, and talking about MEXICOOOOOOOOOO! (Ahhhh!! Although... I'll be sort of alone... and it's gonna be a little difficult to assimilate to the fact that Grandpa won't be there to give me really hot chiles... or be there to give me apples to feed his horses... or make me angry with his little jokes... or tell me I look elegant in my Sunday clothes... or tell me stories about his Korea days. Man... it's going to be hard)
10) I start having nightmares every night of the week (I hate this... but alas, it ain't summer unless I am abruptly awoken from my "dream" with my heart racing and sweat running down my face).
11) I vomit at least once... reason sometimes unknown (yeah... most definitely true. There has not been a summer where I have kept my cardiac spincter happy and working properly)

Summer time... I love it... even if it does have me sweating bullets at night, and vomiting in the morning (what the fuck... do I mysteriously become pregnant over the summer?).