See, here’s the thing. If I try to write this and then try to make it presentable, it’ll take me all day. So you’re getting the raw version. (almost) No editing. Capiche?

In many efforts to record my fucking AWESOME (screamy time!) weekend in SF last week, things have happened and somehow the post kept getting deleted. I even tried to write it in open office then paste it in here. Even that file disappeared into the ether. Obvs something does not want that post to be written. Fine, I give in, you win, Universe. (It might be all the shit I talked about TBU’s dad’s girlfriend or as I like to say, Skeletor)

But last weekend rocked my face and hands off. X is awesome. Saturday, we tried to go shopping but it somehow turned into an all day drinking session. I blame the teebs. He offered to buy us driinks. He knows the way to our hearts and underwear is some free alcohol and maybe a roofie or two. Friday night was the alien hoedown, which Sir Chinko, the teebs and I promptly rocked. X’s (super) gay brother was there and totally wanted a piece of TBU, I gave the go ahead for ass grabbing. The gay brother is so hot it’s not fair. You know what though, I’m gonna go ahead and assume he’s not 100% gay, there was some definite millionizer grabby grabbiness. Maybe The Mills is just that hot. I dunno, there was a lot of alcohol involved. TBU did say that if he was single he would go home with the questionably gay brother. And not even in a turn gay for one night kinda way, like just letting a beautiful thing happen between two beautiful people. We all know hot is hot whether it’s got a dick or not.

There were a bunch of wine bottles but we broke the corkscrew, so we got ghetto and used spoons to push the cork in. The only problem was that you had to put your finger in the bottle in order to make the wine flow. We were like little hamsters with wine bottles. I think you know what I mean.

Saturday night we got bamboozled into a fucking four course pretentious ass dinner with the parental units on TBU’s side. This is where I would have talked all kinds of shit about rich white people and sewing anuses shut. We’ll skip that part and go straight onto the fact that The Millionizer is not on her A game when there is pretension to be observed and interacted with. Jesus christ people lets be real here.

Also I blame this dinner on missing my drinking appointment with Mattman. I think he is over me and no longer wants to be my friend. Mattman, me love you long time! Call me, dudebrah. Although it was really my fault because I didn’t call him, I guess my feelings of inadequacy outweighed my excitement to see him.

But Saturday night something magical happened. Something so pure and beautiful it brings a tear to my eye as I type tthis. Time: 1am. Setting: Japantown, SF. TBU passed out, Sir Chinko and I drank two bottles of wine, topped it off with some crazy ass yogurt alcohol and rented a private karaoke booth. OH MY GOD. We fucking rock. All the world needs for peace is a karaoke machine, I guarantee it. We dueted all night, the highlight was Say It Ain’t So. You haven’t heard that song until we have sung it for you. Believe it bitches.

And now here we are, back in the present, with a laptop and a test on Tuesday.

The Millionizer wants to see you

Turns out medieval folks were right, the world is flat and you can fall off. What they didn’t know is that scientologists are also right. Lord Xenu caught me and said I haven’t suffered enough then flicked me back to Santa Cruz. I woke up a bit bruised but all together fine.

Saturday: Borat. Borat. Well Borat was made tolerable by the flask that we bought on our way to the theatre. I love that I live within walking distance to a flask selling establishment. The 8pm show sold out at 5. But being us we bought our tickets on Fandango, you just have to pick them up at the theatre, like movie will-call. The line to get tickets was huge. But the line to get in (after you already got your tickets!) was around the block. So we split up. I went around the block in hopes we would have a chance to sit together. TBU’s boss was coming too but I didn’t see him anywhere, so to the very end of the line I went. My line started moving before TBU and I found each other and, because I am a dork in all social situations, I started to panic. Just as I got to the ticket taking lackey TBU was there, holding my ticket. This is where it gets good. Once the guy ripped our tickets it was a complete free for all up the stairs to the screen. I fell. Luckily, I was drunk enough that it didn’t matter. I love it, the line starts moving and I panic, I fall and I’m totally fine. The drunk is probably why I fell in the first place. If you were at Cinema 9 on Pacific Saturday night and you saw some girl with an old man sweater and eye makeup like this

that was probably me. I kinda really injured myself, that was lame. While we battled the crowd TBU’s boss called and asked if we could save him 5 seats. We laughed and said we’d try. We lied, we didn’t even try. We took the first 2 seats we saw. I’ll gloss over the movie itself but I will bitch about the girl behind us. Do you live under a rock? In a cave? In Santa Cruz, it’s not completely unheard of but you didn’t smell and you paid $10 to see a movie on a Saturday night. So I think you’ve heard of Borat before. That being said, why were you so offended by EVERYTHING in the movie? And why did we all have to hear about it? Honestly, I don’t completely disagree with you, Borat can be a jackass. But if you “can’t handle it,” why go? You owe me $10. Well, you owe TBU $10.

All I will say about Borat is if you are not in the market for hairy, old man balls, then don’t go.

Sunday: We woke up and continued a tradition we just started. We go downtown late morning, maybe get a coffee, and sit on a bench. It is so relaxing. I’ve lived here for 5 years and 2 weeks ago was the first time I sat on a bench to just relax. I’ve sat on the benches before but that was when I was too poor to have anything else to do or when I was so drunk I was lucky to be on a bench and not in a parking lot. Last week I got hot chocolate but Peet’s fucked that up and I had no tasty, hot drink for my late morning loaf session. TBU has a Peet’s giftcard so of course we went back. I normally avoid caffeine at all costs because I’m really sensitive to it. But this Sunday I decided to go crazy and get the coffee. It was only noon, I had plenty of time to sweat it out. I got a small, poured out half and made cafe con leche. We had a lovely time. I bought some polymer clay to make who knows what.

Later that evening I painted a bunch of notecards for Christmas gifts. Something was off, but what? I’m feeling a little too, how do you say? Ah yes, a little too productive. I got seriously crafty with my bad self. Before I realized it I had painted over 100 notecards. Damn you, coffee. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep very well.

We went to a friends “bbq.” Oh yes, with the snarky quotes. As soon as we got there we were asked to take off our shoes. Fine, but isn’t this a bbq? Shouldn’t we be standing outside drinking beer? We got there an hour late hoping to bypass all the lollygagging but nothing was happening. Our hostess was in the shower! Our host immediately put on “literally” the funniest movie he had ever seen. Grandma’s Boy. The movie where a 30 something videogame tester lives with his grandma and accidentally gets her really, really high. There were a few golden moments but I signed up for a bbq not a movie where everyone who’s already seen it shouts out all of the lines and warns us about the “funny parts.” (Ha ha…funny parts) The funniest movie our host had ever seen included the scariest fake boobs I’ve ever seen (aside from Tara Reid’s, oh god), and tuh-ired marijuana jokes. “Oh I feel like a deer, how are my antlers?” Laaame. Anyone who has tried it knows half the shit isn’t even funny because it can’t be true. Unless, while smoking the weed, you also dropped some acid. Movies like this are why there are so many ridiculous misconceptions about marijuana.

Where was I? Oh right, who invites you to a bbq and forces you to watch a movie, a shitty movie no less. They may as well have said, Look, I know we invited you over but we are not smart, funny or witty enough to entertain. So we won’t even try. Instead we will rely on this piece of media to do all the work for us. Enjoy. At 8:15 another guest (the one who danced around and exclaimed, Oh, I love this song, to the soundtrack) whined, Tree House of Horror is on right now. When no one responded she started to panic and whined louder, You guys Tree House of Horror is on right now. Yeah genius, it’s already half over and oh yeah, I hate you. So our hostess says we can watch what’s left and finish the movie afterwards. I HAVE HAD IT. I nudged TBU. I am not stopping this movie so we can watch HALF of a Simpson’s episode I have already seen. Fuck you annoying girl who I can’t figure out is either retarded or foreign. You and your crazy striped socks and floppy beanie, you can just stop. So instead of making a socially graceful exit (like at the end of the movie!) we just left. We said our goodbyes, put our shoes on and left. Did I mention the food was delicious?

I’m unsure as to whether or not I should keep going. I’m only on Monday.

Monday: The cup of coffee was still screwing me over. I did not sleep well. While driving to work I felt a menace on the road. Little kids beware! But then it was fine because I realized if I adjusted my rearview mirror so I could actually see out of it I wouldn’t feel so out of control. Again. Damn you, coffee.

Tuesday: I voted. I love voting. I fucking love voting. On my way into the polling place a mom and young son were riding their bikes in. She had obviously just picked him up from school and decided to vote on the way home. He followed behind her and yelled in his small voice, Do you have to vote? She yelled back, Yes I have to vote! It’s my right. Awesome. I won’t go into the results of the mid-term elections, because you know what happened. I am pleased that prop. 85 here in California did not pass. Here is a picture of my I voted sticker and the top of my ballot.

That table is from my grandma, can you tell?

Wednesday: I listened to NPR and had mixed feelings. I mean hazzah! for Nancy Pelosi but W is still in office and The Governator got reelected. What is wrong with you California?! Really, should we go to group counseling? I’ll go if it will help. Santa Cruz also passed a measure putting marijuana related crimes at the bottom of law enforcement priority. After work I was talking to my student’s dad just letting him know how the day went and he touched me. It was all very innocent and socially appropriate but I think I flinched and I think he noticed. It was just so unexpected. Sorry student’s dad, you don’t repulse me or scare me, it’s just something I do.

Thursday: Today is the day I was supposed to go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. However, I did not. Victory is mine! I got up at 10 and stayed in my pajamas all day. Four day weekend, yes! I got pretty bored and redesigned my MySpace page. Please don’t hate me.

Friday: Today is Veteran’s Day. That means no school. That means no work. TBU asked if I wanted to go on a date with him tonight, dinner and a movie. We decided on The Departed and he said he’d make dinner. I squirted grapefruit juice in my eye as I wrote this.

Here is the flask in my produce and Jesus basket.

On second thought I should have cropped the onion out. Oh well. I like the fake Burberry look for a device that helps you drink in public. We had a terrible time trying to fill it up before the movie. Vodka all over me and all over the new car. The guy laying in the bushes really enjoyed our filling up the flask with a half-assed paper funnel banter. We tried putting in the mixer but by that point there was no point. Vodka evaporates but juice sticks. Somehow I remember the paper bag funnel working a lot better in high school.

[tags]Borat, voting, elections, punk in drublic, MySpace, election results, marijuana, measure K, marijuana laws, Santa Cruz, California[/tags]

Here’s the redesign I never talked about. When I started this thing I used a template with the idea that at some point I’d get around to adding my own flair. So here it is. There are still a couple things I want to change but for the most part it’s done.

Speaking of how lame the template was. I’m pretty sure Her Royal Dooceness was here yesterday. My reasons are three fold. 1) I sent her an email yesterday telling her how amazing and funny she is and how hot her husband is. 2) My site statistics say that someone from Salt Lake City found their way over here yesterday. 3) My site stats also say that person from SLC browsed this site with Safari. I know that woman has a Mac.

I love and absolutely hate that she was here. That template was fugly and half-assed while Dooce‘s site is awesome and totally professional. Honestly, I never thought she would bother coming here, otherwise I would have done the redesign BEFORE I sent that email pouring my heart out. I can see her reading it and laughing, she may have also told Jon that I thought he was hot. They probably giggled with superiority and had porn star sex. I’m %99 sure she was here and I’m completely embarassed. First off, can we just visualize that template again? How cheesy and graphic design school was it? Very. And secondly, yesterdays post was barely a step above stream of consciousness blathering. Reading someones stream of consciousness is dangerously close to reading about their dreams and everyone hates that. I can tell that she didn’t find it interesting either because I know she only read that one page, and probably not the whole thing either. If she thought I was as amusing as I think I am she would have read more than one page. At first, my inner optimist said she probably found it interesting but she HAS A CHILD and can’t be expected to waste her time here. My inner optimist assured me she book marked it and will come back when she has time. Then my inner logician punched the optimist and made it fetch a beer. The logician told me that Dooce knows she wasted her time and hates me. Then I cried.

Now that I’m living in its aftermath I wish I could rewrite that email. Some lowlights include me using various forms of the word inspirational, calling her funny and talented, describing her writing as fresh and then I started rambling about how I in no way meant to offend Mormons. Not to get all text message-y but WTF?! I call do over! Can’t we just pretend I sent cheesy fanmail today instead of yesterday? At least then there would be a decent site waiting for her. At least then I would have HAD A CHANCE! Do over Dooce, PLEASE.

I briefly considered writing her another email to tell her how I felt and how much cooler I made the site. Thankfully I decided against it. Because how sad would that be? Me all whiny and needy and her all cool yet slightly confused. She’d start considering me unstable and possibly a threat then blacklist my IP address. That’s not what I want to happen, because it’s not true. I swear.

I feel like my freshman crush caught me dancing in my underwear and now he won’t even look at me, let alone flirt awkwardly. Can’t we just flirt a little? Ok, I understand. I had no idea she would take the time to type themillionizer.com (all those letters!) in her browser bar, I didn’t even think she would read the email. Dooce, come back, I have a cool wifebeater graphic now!

Yes, all those links are a desperate plea for a second chance.