One Last Stand

Springtime For Hitler

TheGoldenOne Debut !!

Girls, I got a little something for you. EvatheDiva made herself a dope chained headpiece and rocked it on the town. After the 53rd compliment, she decided enough is enough! Everyone should get a piece of these. So now exclusively for SuckitbySina is: TheGoldenOne.

The GoldenOne is a variety of headpieces designed and handmade by EvatheDiva. Regular headbands are beyond over and it's all about the sparkly chain. The perfect thing to go along with you black party dress, or that bohemian look your trying to get on board with! Girls this is one christmas gift you need to treat yourselves to. TRUST!

Headpieces come in Small, Medium, and Large, and range between $40 -$65. The current available styles are the Original GoldenOne Chain Headpiece , which is a double-stranded gold chain, which meets in the center. There is also the Silver Pearl Party Headpiece, which uses a strand of pearls. You love it and I know you want it. Below are some pictures, and there are more designs on the way so make sure to check back on here. Send order requests to: eva.golden24k@gmail.com

Original GoldenOne Chain Headpiece:

Silver Pearl Party Headpiece:

Get them while they're hot girls, and I know a handful of fabulous females who will be rocking them here in San Francisco. (I'm lookin at you, Lainy and Steph.)

Dealmaker (if you qualify please apply in person)

Dedicated SuckitbySina correspondent Evathediva, writes for us the following Dealmaker:

Dealmaker #2- If you own a chain of supermarkets

I mean, it really can't get much better than owning a supermarket. Free food, booze, flowers, tampons, birthday cake, and much more. You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at me, but I LOVE to eat so this could quite possibly be the ultimate DEALMAKER. So basically, a person possessing this umm quality (or inheritance) can do no wrong in my book. Mr. Whole Foods if you're out there...please call me, I would like to get married immediately. Not only would I have the please of getting free shit at the market but people that own supermarkets are rich!! For example, Mr. Smith who owns the chain of Smith's grocery stores located throughout the United States. My friend's mom was dating him last summer and he flew her and 6 of her best friends (including myself) to Hawaii for 2 weeks. We stayed in his 7 bedroom ocean-front home that was right next door to Kelsey Grammer, Charles Schwab, and the dude that owns the Boston Celtics. I didn't spend a dime the entire trip and I wasn't even the one sleeping with the guy!! AMAZING.

-Evathediva

99 Problems But A Bush Ain't One

Like he could get any more badass, Jay-Z does just that with this little number he performed at the Obama Staff Ball:

Dealmaker (if you qualify please apply in person)

Baby Anderson Cooper

Since Dealbreakers have blown up so hard, so fast that I still have whip lash from the last eight 30 Rock episodes, it's time to put some positive energy out there. Now we're addressing dealmakers which are attributes so strong, so valid that serious other flaws can be overlooked. Under the circumstance that a person has both a dealbreaker and a dealmaker, it's on you to make the executive decision.

Dealmaker #1- IF YOU'RE A VANDERBILT
The Vanderbilts are just a good bred of human. Exhibit A: Anderson Cooper. Yea that silver fox over at CNN, throwing around hot topics, all over the world, always in a perfect suit. Well Mr. Cooper is actually the son of Husbandnumber3? and Gloria Vanderbilt. And ladies: keep walking, he ain't interested.

Exhibit B: Nate Archibald's mother on GG is Gloria Vanderbilt. Therefore Nate Archibald is set to become an Anderson Cooper. Very interesting and Chace Crawford is no childs play either. The simple joy of hearing your name end with Vanderbilt is a pretty good "suck on that" to the rest of the world. Gurl, this would make that high school reunion so much more fun.

D-Bag Patrol

The tacky world of Facebook allows you to be "friends" with so many people you don't actually associate with. It also serves a great source of entertainment to ridicule the idiots who were given a platform to showoff their painfully predictable "lifestyles." D-Bag Patrol is going to spotlight pictures that show up in albums that just make you cringe that people like this exist. I also realize how oxymoronic it is that I take the time to go through such albums. I never said I was a role model.

Exhibit A: No your eyes are not deceiving you, that "man" does have redneck tattooed in the shape and color of a confederate flag. I'm mostly surprised that he got the spelling right. The broken wrist and lazy eye only add to the picture. I don't want to know what this guys story is or those two beaming backup d-bags.

Mardi Gras '09

As you may have guessed by her deeply rooted dedication to having fun, Elise was born and raised in New Orleans. (Even though she says she lived in France until she was three to seem more cultural.) Last year she made us all come with her for Mardi Gras in the Spring and that solidified her as the kindest person in the world. Let me say, I will not be missing another 4 days fuck-fest for as long as I live and neither should you.

We made some videos on my old dinky camera and I'll be uploading some of the more coherent ones on her. Just a little preview, Elise describes what happened to her morals and dignity:

Time To Mix It Up

I want your ugly, I want your disease. MISS ME? Doubtful, but I'm glad you came over. There's a chocolate Snack-Pack in the fridge if you want, since your eyeing mine more closely that an alcoholic bum in the liquor aisle. Let's begin somewhere that's no where near where we left off.

Elise's "Swine in '09" Campaign went off without a hitch. She skipped one night of partying and 14 days of school. Now that's commitment!

We tried to buy one dollars worth of ice cream at Ben-n-Jerry's cause thats all we had and it didn't go over well. He didn't really understand the concept or care for our pushy pitching style.

For the third time in my life, David Beckham has copied my current hairstyle. It's chill though cause I have more money and I'm better looking, so I'll let it go.

Elise got kicked out of Q-Bar for, how can I put this, lacking the ability to um.... stand. She then proceeded to cuss out Carmello, the bouncer, who we know too well. Good thing for selective memory because if you don't remember it: IT NEVER HAPPENED.

There's a new show on the horizon thanks to Emma's video-camera that is tentatively called "City Girls" which you should be seeing videos from on here pretty soon. It mostly just tracks the lives of 5, you guessed it "city girls," who basically just follow a group of graffiti artists who they love far more than love them, around the mission from one "art" show to another.

I'm currently wearing denim cut-off over-alls from the Gap's Spring 1992 collection. It just goes to show, no matter how judgmental you are, everyone is someone else's dealbreaker.

I like you. I like you quite a bit. Please keeping reading and I'll keep (or restart) to write.

Worst One Night Stand

[Photo by Terry Richardson]

Five page papers due on Wednesday regarding the "Mystery of God" are no fun at all. I never met the guy, but he bumped into me at Q-Bar once and didn't even say sorry. So instead, I write for you this twisted little tale:

It all began as too many early collegiate nights did. Before weeding out the cities best spots (and best friends) a group of notoriously on-point girls headed downtown to make the rounds. Starting at Sugar and ending at The Cellar, things were darkening by the minute and bobby-pins were finding themselves scattering across the slimy floor as they rocked and cocked their heads to the sounds of a Saturday night.

As things progress I strongly urge you to keep your eye on the one who we'll call "Olive." Don't lose her cause, she the lead here. At The Cellar "Megan" and "Olive" met two good looking lads. One introduced himself as Borha from Barcelona and the Euro thing was the only thing saving him from getting him beaten rotten for the Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt he had on. Olive was too drunk for a name like "Borha" and told him she was just going to call him Jack. Jack returned the favor with, "Fine, I'll just call you Lucy." Both placing aliases on the other, perfect: another matchbook romance.

The girls all leave the bar and head over to Geary for some pizza. Hating all things bread-like, Olive soon gladly received a phone call from none other than Barcelona-Jack. He and a friend picked up her and Megan from the pizzeria in a lavishly cheesy Benz and took them to their lavishly cheesy apartment.

They enter a pad that you love because it makes you look so tan, but you hate because you're afraid the vibrations from your voice are going to stain something. WHITE WHITE WHITE. Not cream, not off-white, not fucking periwinkle or beige. From the walls to the floor, to the bed to the sheets, to the fucking couch, it was all very blanco.

Megan and Barcelona-Jack disappeared or left, whatever. Punch drunk and alone, Olive and Jack begin hooking-up and as any sly seductress would, Olive swiftly avoided answering the question: how old are you anyway? She mumbled a doubtful '19' and Jack replied that he was 29 as he lite a series of white candles around the room.

BAM-BAM-BAM. Instant sex. Literally 45 seconds after the last candle was lite, clothes were flying about like $2 day at Goodwill on Haight. Allegedly it was full blown, jack rabbit sex for about 10 minuted, fully equipped with one Spaniard speaking the naughtiest sentences in his native tongue. What happened next to interrupt the beautiful 'bow chica bow wow' that was going down was unexpected to say the least.

Pre-note let me say (if this story didn't already tell you) Olive is not a virgin. You are not reading of her sacred 'first time' into womanhood experience. Alright, so they're going at it and Olive looks down to find herself covered in blood. Blood all over. It's all over the white bedsheets, pillow cases, comforter, and beloved Barcelona-Jack. Fuck my life moment.

Olive gets up as fast as her confused-self can, noticing that it is getting light outside. She drips down the hallway into the bathroom, blood all over. She comes back to the bedroom to find Jack frantically trying to get the blood out, naked, a cigarette dangling dangerously from his lip. They exchange a series of forgotten dialogue as he blows out each candle, she puts her clothes and runs out. Downtown San Francisco at 5:30 am, with a low battery cell phone, no money, no bus pass. She gets in a cab, calls a friend who agrees to meet her outside and pay for it. After telling the cab driver the story, he dumbfounded asked her, "Do you need a napkin?"

Two days later, Olive got a text that said, "Sorry I yelled at you like that, but I need to now something." Here is the rest of their texting conversation:

Olive: Who is this?

Jack: It's Jack. Were you a virgin?
Olive: Haha no.

Jack: Then why wouldn't you tell me you were on your period?

Olive: I wasn't. I just bled for 30 minutes.

Jack: Tell me how old you are really.

Olive: 17

Jack: (no response)

And that was the last they spoke. After half-surviving the worst one night stand after finding out her age Jack ran for the hills. Ironically it wasn't the bloody mess he found to be a complete dealbreaker, rather her age. It hasn't happened since then, but of all nights for Olive's vagina to act up (and out), it made sure to pick the one-nighter with the Spaniard living in a white castle.

Carpe-fucking-diem.

Frightening Parallels

They just aren't that different than us.

Duly Noted

"I believe in the soul, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

-Bull Durham

Campus Chic- Have A Good Laugh Fuckers

Chloe Schildhause and Sky Madden take on the Long-Champ mafia that is our campus to find that good shit.

Campus Chic Episode 1: Sina Ghahreman from San Francisco Foghorn on Vimeo.

The ULTIMATE Dealbreaker

Was Jon Gosselin always such a D-bag or has the divorce from Kate just brought out the worst? Either way, SuckitbySina is proud to present that he is the #1 Dealbreaker.

If you haven't already figured this one out...don't worry, I'm prepared to explain.

Exhibit A: The constant use of BlueTooth when not operating a motor vehicle.

Exhibit B: Always looks sweaty.

Exhibit C: Love for "mandals" aka man sandals.

Exhibit D: Hair plugs, hair plugs, hair plugs.

Exhibit E: Perpetual wearing of all things Ed Hardy-even his own show was so disgusted they had to blur out those lame ass designs on his t-shirts.

Exhibit F: Has an annoying voice.

Exhibit G: Man Boobs. Need I say more.

Not only does this guy possess a plethora of horrible attributes, but homeboy left his children and pretty decent looking wife (with vaginal reconstructive surgery to repair what those 13 kids did to her lady parts, so I'm sure it's back to virgin status) for some skanky little mid-west whore. Nice job buddy. But hey, she's just as much a cheesy Deakbreaker as he is so I hope they live happily ever after. Suck it.

-Evathediva

SuckitbySina Correspondent

Blackberry Vizion

This is Paulina. She gets nosebleeds more often than Mischa Barton goes to the hospitol for "exhaustion." Toilet paper in the left nostril is THE look for Fall '09. Pshhhh

"DID YOU DATE BRITNEY SPEARS?"

Sometimes it's just too good to be true. At the end of summer after a savage night out, we grubbed on pizza at Escape From New York and were heading back home. I had somehow managed to break one of Elise's ankles at the restaurant causing her to become hugely handicapped.

It was 2 am, Paul was carrying Elise on his back as we stomped down Haight Street. With a brimmed hat and a droopy-eyed state of mind, I was in no particular mood, no vacancy. A second later a man comes up to me and gets about 2 inches away from my face. He desperately asked, "Is there anywhere I can get a bite to eat?"

Without missing a beat or any doubt in my mind, I replied, "Did you date Britney Spears?"

Yes. With the landing strip of a goatee, Ed Hardy sweater, and small entourage of about 5, standing in front of me was Adnan Ghalib. Sure he took my poor Britney's innocence and threatened to release her sex tape, I couldn't have been more dumbstruck.

The men around him let out laughs, he mumbled "Oh shit" and quickly walked away. A few seconds later he returned, to pick-up my jaw which had landed on the sidewalk and re-ask me where he could eat something. I directed him to Escape From New York, knowing it had closed 10 minutes prior.

Name-dropping is trashy and frowned upon? Well then, OOPS I DID IT AGAIN. Fuck that, Adnan was my connection to Britney and no one can take that away. So by the simple rules of gravity, this means I met Britney and we're friends.

The Ruins of New York

Shawn Joswick unofficially models for this seasons Palladium look-book and also hosts this video snooping around wrecked buildings. Going into ruins in New York like an abandoned hospital in Staten Island, Red Hook Grain Terminal, and the Glenwood Power Station, he wears the hat of "urban explorer" quite well. Working with architectural salvages Joswick learns the beauty that lies in the dirty and rusted. A hidden metropolis, ghost-buildings with stories to spill. Check it out.

Blackberry Vizion

The phone has hit an all new rock bottom. As if parts of the screen missing wasn't bad enough, Elise decided to drown me in her Jack-and-Coke one night. Result: my entire phone's keypad gets soaked and sticky. It's besides the point that she was retaliating against me undressing her in the middle of Frenchman in New Orleans. After it's alcohol poising my Blackberry entered an intense rehab detox program, which consisted of being buried in a jar of rice every night. Not fried with an egg on top, just regular, white, uncooked. Much like when old people try to recover from a breaking a hip, she's easing back into it.

The crappy camera still comes in handy though and more Blackberry Vizions like this coming.

Olive or was it Viola had to use the restroom at Toad's Hall(?) in the Castro the other night. The boys were taking their sweet ass time and she wasn't having it. (Babe this urinal thing is quickly becoming a habit. I'm concerned. I take that back, I'm intrigued.) Anyway the only problem was that the urinal left her no access to toilet paper. We then spent ten long minutes trying to convince the man in the stall to pass us some. NO FUCKING MERCY. He cold-hearteningly ignored our drunken pleads and offers of money and over the pants handjobs. Fucking bastard, but Viola let him know that she thought he was mean and I told him he had "moobs."

[Yes, that is her out-stretched arm begging for toilet paper under the stall door.]

Alexander Spit

Alexander Spit's album drops today and here the video for "Beat For The Street." Dope dope track and best believe there's more where that came from. Put your hands up now or head over to Slim's on Friday for the release party. Now let's see some tickets.

"And baby, whether I'm your dawg or your pet peeve

I hit play and put the pause on your bitch please"

Real Legit:

You probably/hopefully may find that I am a big fan of all things crude, blunt, and bad ass. These Burger King ads I came across are all of those and it's hugely refreshing. Thank you for telling it like it is AND for making those Whoppers just how mama likes them. Make it seem wrong and sinful and all the rats come running. Real legit.

The Business

"We give a damn about the drama that you do bring,

I'm just tryin to change the color on your mood ring."

-Run This Town

Toasty Shit

You may think bagels are a standard breakfast food. You take yours toasted with lightly spread cream cheese. Sometimes at Noah's when your feeling saucy you go ahead and order that jalapeno bagel that makes your mouth burn. It's ok baby.

I'm sorry, allow me to explain. This summer Elise, Paul, and I worked on campus and had only the overpriced undercooked cafeteria as our lunching option. The cheapest thing in the place is a bagel and cream cheese for $1.63. I have eaten 5 bagels a week from Monday to Friday for the past three months. DO THE MATH: THAT'S SOMETHING LIKE 4 MILLION BAGELS EATEN.

We got buckwild with this shit. Starting with cream cheese and stacking toppings like tomatoes, mustard, tons of onions, and lettuce, these sandwiches were serious. Fuck it, sometimes we hid bacon and chicken breasts underneath the lettuce. Our "Rodeo-Bagel" packed with bbq sauce, chicken, jalapenos, and a few onion rings was truly on another level.

The key to paying is always going to the black cashier lady. Debra doesn't give a fuck what you have in there. She'll just charge you for bagel and a cream cheese. If you ain't got no money take your broke ass home.

Blackberry Vizion

A Sunday afternoon in the neighborhood wouldn't be complete without a stage 5 nosebleed. Girl, get yourself together and blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-allergies.

Ramp Tramps & Bottom Feeders

[On the left: Born n Raised: MR RICHARD HATFIELD]

A while back a girlfriend of mine decided to date one and move in with three skate boarders. Sweaty boys with undying love for weed and beer? Not exactly, but something like that. This particular house was more of a Skating Hostel, attracting at least 80 percent of the grinders and tricksters of the north-west. Each day they'd roll into the concrete jungle and return with hours of footage of someone flipping onto a park bench. With swollen ankles and crushed testicles these boys helped fill our beer pong tournament brackets up real fast. I quickly learned that there is a definite language that skaters use to describe things and believe me when your playing beer pong against a blacked out douchebag whose calling you a "narc," then hurling his 10 beer cups at you: YOU WISH YOU HAD A FUCKING DICTIONARY. Don't worry, I threw all of my cups back and he's allegedly moving out of San Francisco next week because the mayor passed a strict law restricting any "little bitches" from residing here, so suck on THAT. Anyway here are some of the vocabulary and definitions skaters us to get by. Kick, push, kick, push...

Maggot/Bottom-feeder: refers to someone who survives off of other peoples dropping or leftovers. Also similar to a "cridler."

Buttery: utter perfection. You could say that, My apartment is so buttery. Or, That girl was butter.

Cutty: sneaky or legit.

"Stacking clips": getting things done.

Protege: talented young skater.

Ramp tramps: describes female skating groupies, that just linger around the boys looking for love, well or just dick.

Mutant: describes when someone does something unnatural, insanely different. "Oh my god, that guy is mutated." "Look at that mutant." Can definitely be a good thing.

Cridler/Lurker: describes a fucking sketchy person. Someone that's just chillin in the corner is definitely lurking.

Bunk: describes something lame, stupid, or whack.

Mark: describes a foo. Someone who gets no respect. "That dudes a mark."

Geno: Short for generic, geno describes something boring.

Tits: saying something is "tits" means it definitely a good thing. "Ah that's tits. That cheeseburger was so tits."

Bootsy: describes something average.

There are many more terms in the skating lingo but these are just some of them. Thanks Johny and Joe for hooking it up with the definitions. My bad if I mixed some of them up.

Spare Me Keira

You know that chick Keira Knightley? Of course, anyway, sure she is one hot bag-of-bones but she does one things that is more god damn annoying than when bars are "cash only." (Get a credit card machine, this is 2009 for christ-sake and mama wants a cocktail.) She fucking acts through her lips. Next time you watch one of those 4 hour Pirate movies, pay extra attention to her pout. She'll purse and pout her lips and beg for mercy like it's going out of style. "Ohhh Captain Jack Sparrow, please don't poke my eyes out." Madeleine gives us her best Keira pout and lazy-eye.

Blackberry Vizion

Wazima on Divisadaro is the bomb. Classier than a dive bar, but still dark enough to make you forget your morals and your last name at times. Elise told the bartender she looked like a gypsy-pirate, which was a huge compliment because of how "into pirate culture she is." (Fucking poser, I know right.) We dismally lost a game of pool, but didn't get kicked out for anything. Oh yea baby!

Happy Fourth

Sam Finger goes patriotic. America SUP!

Real Legit

There is only one thing that would appropriately fit in that man's purse and it rhymes with "fun." Got my mind on my money and my money on my mind.

Daily Dealbreaker

Dealbreaker #13; "I won't date you if you have designs of any kind shaved into your goddamn head."

No really, I'm not being picky. Your hair should never look like zebra print. Hands down dealbreaker. It seems obvious to say, but at the same time there are guys walking around with shit shaved into their domes.

True Life: Flies Are Invading My Life

Please allow me to explain. I'm generally a clean person with some exceptions. I shower daily, but I can never remember to brush my teeth. (Mainly cause I'm blacked-out at bedtime.) My clothes look clean, but I do laundry bi-annually. Personally I don't find cleaning therapeutic or fun or a turn on of any kind. Some people do, but I just don't get it.

I like to eat out because someone serving you is, well, fabulous, so I make food in my apartment probably once a month. The dishes from this rare occasion stay in my sink for atleast 3 weeks and I basically just rope off my kitchen with invisible CAUTION tape and dont go in it, until I finally man-up, put on some yellow gloves, blast "How Many Licks" By Lil' Kim on repeat, and get down to business.

Due to my lack of real responsibilities this summer I have also been quite the vagabond. No not slut, just vagabond. I've spent little time in my apartment going there about once a week to get more clothes, apologize to my house plants and such. After a 12 day span away from the place, a few of my friends went over there to pick up my laundry for me. Jesus christ, the tales of terror they brought back are still haunting me to this day.

Apparently the dirty dishes I had left there the previous week had created a major fly problem. A few fruit flies had reproduced, laying eggs and growing into hundreds of flying shitheads. Since the windows were closed and I have a small place, basically my studio was a petri-dish, just growing toxic flies. Fucking gross. The next day I gathered a posse, there is no way I was handling this alone. We headed over with a bottle of Jim Beam and some cheap champagne and just started swatting and hissing at these helpless flies.

Once I thought everything was under control, Isabel kindly informs me that before I got there they had spotted the Mother Fly, who was apparently the size of a golf-ball. The biggest fly in the world, quite possibly, and she tells me that they lost her somewhere under the bed and she is probably still alive. NOT CHILL.

I tried to send out a small search party, but they ended up just chain-smoking and laughing in my face. My fear of flies these days is legitamite and unforgiving, but I am happy to say there are none left in my apartment. And I no longer buy groceries because I simply can not handle all the responsibilities that accompany food. C'est pathetic. I learned my lesson.

Lyrical Killspree

"This is the Carter, so hold on to your teenage daughters.

This is the Carter, a lot more rich and a whole lot smarter."

-Lil Wayne

Blackberry Vizion

Whoa whoa whoa. San Francisco was the place to be this past weekend. Block parties and gay parades. The streets were shut down, the tequila on ice, and the sun was shining. We did it big with tattoos, tacos for breakfast, and jaw dropping back-up dancers. These people are in the business of getting buckwild, so start dancing.

Daily Dealbreaker

Dealbreaker #12: "I won't date you if you where shirts with: pick-up lines, self-describing slogans, or sexual innuendo."

Seriously this isn't junior high anymore. I don't need to know that you think you're "rich and good looking" or that you "heart vagina." All it really says is that you thought what some un-clever loser who failed out of FIDM and is now designing for the likes of Hot Topic and
TackyT-shirts.com (or something like that), was dead-on when he came up with the shirt that you are insisting on the rest of the world associate with you. What happens when you run into someone wearing the same shirt? "Whoa, you like tits too?? Shit so do I! Let's go throw back some Jaegar bombs and pick-ups some broads breh." Spare me, seriously spare me.

Blackberry Vizion

After a solid Subway session, extra mustard please, the tummy-monster comes out to play. Unbutton those shorts baby, it's time for crunches. Wait, we don't do that here.

WHO DONE IT?? ONE GIRL, TWO CUPS

About a month back the semester was ending, everyone parting ways for the summer, and an overall sense of one more year of partying and youthful stupidity coming to an end. Believe me, the 5-8 day post-finals partying binge was one of monumetal proportions. Hugging best friends outside of dive bars, as your both sobbing and puking, because you won't see each other for like 3 months. (Well with my friends the same thing happens when someone leaves for a weekend, but we all have isolation issue, so fuck off.)

One of the last nights brought some good material. About 8 of us went out to a karoake bar in the Marina. (Some call the Marina the La Jolla or West Hollywood of San Francisco.) I don't agree, it's really just filled with straight people who LOVE to fucking work out. They order dirty-dirty martinis and Samual Adams beer, only party on the weekends, go out on frozen yogurt dates, dream about yoga positions, rock boot-cut denim like we're still in the 90's, and always make it to brunch on time. Anyway the bar we pounced on was not what we needed that night and after laughing about the guy singing Rascall Flats to his girlfriend for long enough we high-tailed out of there.

On the street we realized we needed two cabs to get to the Castro which was on the other side of town. I spot a white limo parked to the side and say to Elise, "Let's go flash him for a free ride."

We sprint over and the driver gets out. Let me explain to you this driver: truly a beautiful human being. He was a black guy dressed in a pimped out lavender suit, including matching hat and shoes, sprinklings of fake gold jewelry throughout. He quickly told us it would be $4 each and we all hopped in. He explained to us that failing to follow his rules would mean he would cut off our "privileges."

We didn't exactly know what these privileges entailed but we learned soon enough. Stick your head out of the sunroof with a bottle in your hand screaming? NOT ALLOWED. Drink the numerous bottles of bourbon and whiskey that were in the back? NOT ALLOWED. Smoke a cigarette? NOT ALLOWED. Our driver would cut our music off long enough for us all to apologize eight times, tell him we loved him, and kiss him on the cheek. When he stopped at an ATM for us he was standing outside with Daniela watching as "Cindy" leaned into the backseat of the limo. Cindy's got some junk in the trunk and he looked it up and down before saying, "Damn look at that booty." Daniela attempted to veto any ideas in his head by jumping in with, "HEY, that's my girl." With a grin on he replied, "No, that's our girl."

At one point in the ride, I'm sitting in the back of the limo with Isabel and Daniela. I see Elise hand Daniela, who is sitting next to the window a cup full of something. Daniela says, "Beer? Thanks honey." What Elise said next made us all whip our heads around faster than LA folk sprinting to a new Pinkberry story opening. 

"NO DANIELA. THAT'S CINDYS PUKE. SHE JUST THREW UP IN A CUP."

What The Fuck. Are you serious Cindy? A minute ago I look over and she is sneakily tipping the bourbon bottle down her own throat like the baller that she is, the next she's serving up a big ass plate full of NASTY. Daniela tipped the cup out the window, probably spreading steamy throw-up across the side of the limo. Cindy puked again, this time into a champagne flute. Those cups are damn skinny and I have to give her props for not spilling anywhere and taking care of her puking like such a lady. (ha)

The rest of the night was filled with eyes-closed dancing to the sounds of P-P-P-Pokerface. Cindy kept raging long into the night, Isabel acted as the bouncer at this bar called Badlands for a hot minute, and I kissed the bartender for a round of free Patron shots. All in a nights work baby.

Blackberry Vizion: Delores

Delores Park: when the weather is friendly and the friends are plenty. There is just nothing better than that, well other than those all you can eat pancakes over at IHOP. It's not a big deal, except it kind of is.

WHO DONE IT??

Two tastefully tipsy friends decided to wear their new high-top Converse out to the bars last Saturday night. Reasons for this new found love for the lace-ups: nothing. After running around Q-Bar long enough to step-on at least 86 pairs of feet, piss off the guy working the coat check, and scream "DEEEEALBREAKER" at the fucking Ed-Hardy Mafia that was waiting to get inside: we ended up at a bar called "The Mix." The bouncer could have doubled as Santa Claus at Macy's during the holidays and he never took his eyes off my face when I handed him my ID. PERFECT. A dimly lite room, with a smoking section in the back, filled with dark squinting men making eyes at each other. There was billiards, beer, and free bjs in each bathroom stall. (Well there was an unofficial "bartering exchange" system of STD's and such.) I'll pee on the sidewalk, thanks though.

Rolling with a group of about 8-14 people, we were all running around this place like fucking bats with our heads cut-off. At one point Ashley knocked over four half full drinks off the bar (belonging to other people) and didn't even notice she did it. Between hick-ups she insisted she was fine. For no particular reason my favorite part of the night was when "Fiona" and I were walking into the smoking section and interrupted a really intimate conversation between two guys. One was leaning against the wall while the other stood in front of him with his arm pressed against the wall, as he leaned in for support. We look down and see the bigger one is wearing an old beat up pair of Converse and the two of us, without consulting each other or thinking twice immediately, start blurting out the following types of things:

"CONVERSE! Look we have them too!"
"Oh my goddddd. We just got them. Look at our feet."
"Aren't they fun!?"

"Ours are high tops though, woooow."

"Fun. SO fun."

As if the three of us are the only people in the fucking world that have Converse. Being annoying is kind of fun I guess. I mean, we were truly excited in that moment and any excuse to rant about something is fine with me, but he was NOT having it. He gave us one disgusted look and rolled his eyes, before we turned around, laughed like 7th grade girls, and lite two Parliament Light.

Summer Love

You've seen The Notebook. Yea this love story is something like that. There is no alcohol induced flirting or late night booty calls. My summer love is black, metal, and about five inches tall. I've spent so many hours at work scanning and stapling files that the connection I've formed with the old Swingline stapler is on another level. Leaving him at five o'clock is much harder than it should be and some co-workers are becoming suspicious of this frowned upon office romance. I mean at first we were just friends, because the stapler knew that the fax machine had a crush on me, and since they were friends, he tried to suppress his feelings. But then there was a change. Swingline kept getting short and annoyed with me, he'd jam every other staple, making me poke and prod his insides to unjam the pieces. Fortunately the honeymoon stage was smooth sailing. I would plug my ipod in, give each of us one headphone, and I'd scan and staple for hours on end as we both belted out Taylor Swift lyrics on repeat. But then we realized our bond was only at work. His social awkwardness and lack of legs meant we could never both leave during my lunch break and on weekends I would shamelessly forget about my office affair and leave the promise ring made out of two intertwined staples he gave me at home...

Wait...which insane asylum shall I choose?