Wrong Fo' Dat

Gnarliest ashtray to wake up to. Hands down. Cheetos, Parliament Lights, Reds, and a match-box from the St. Regis hotel. Not quite rock bottom but still I have no real explanation.

"Loser goes down on the winner"

You never really see it coming. Like, no on does a war cry like "LETS BE FUCKING INSAAAANE!" All of a sudden: things get hazy, voices louder, someone comes up with a ridiculously bad plan that without thought everyone agree with, which sets off a domino effect of staggered events.

After a night of one lesbian surprise birthday and one pertentiously delicious theater party, the troubled two that is Elise and I ended up at her apartment. Details are blurred, but somehow we ended being the drunkest at her apartment. Shocker. Chain smoking and lack of rationing caused us to to both be out of cigarettes. Major problem. When entering her building we noticed that a different apartment adjacent to hers was throwing a ragging party. I'm talking like spilling into the hallway, don't-send-that- text-message-your-typing cause you'll regret it tomorrow, kind of ragger.

Let me say with only the intention of setting the scene, this party was entirely Asian. I'm unclear of the country of origin(s), but every single person there was definitely some sort of Asian. 

Moving on, cigarette-less and desperate Elise came up with the following plan:

"Alright, so here's what were gonna do. We're both going to run into that party and ask everyone we see for a cigarette. Person who gets one first is the winner. LOSER HAS TO GO DOWN ON THE WINNER."

So you know those ridiculous ideas that others immediately agree and go along with. EXHIBIT: A.

We sprinted into that jam packed apartment faster than Mariah Carey to a rack of velour Juicy Couture suits. We each took on very different takes. Elise approached one guy and did a "isolate and interrogate" technique:

Elise: "Do you have a cigarette?"

Innocent Party Boy: "No. I don't smoke."

Elise: "I know you have a cigarette. Give me a FUCKING CIGARETTE."

Innocent Party Boy: "I'm sorry. I don't have one."

Meanwhile, I took on a very different approach. I went frantically from person to person blurting things like, 

"Do you have a cigarette? No, fuck. It's alright."

"Can I please have a cigarette. Come on, pleaaase." 

I covered three packed rooms in 180 seconds. Finally landing in a cramped bedroom, where someone begrudgingly handed me a Marlboro Menthol, gag. 

Boastful I run up to Elise who is still cornering the same boy, who is practically crying at this point. Elise sees my winning cigarette, says nothing and runs out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. I'm completely unaware of what happened next. But when Elise ran out of the apartment there was a group of bewildered people standing in the hallway looking at her. So Elise cries out, "My boyfriend just cheated me in there!" (Well played, well played)

So I come running out of the apartment, chasing after her, again unaware of what just went down. I got some major stank-eye and and "accidental" kick to the shins when I walked the gauntlet of girls in the hallway.

Back in Elises apartment, we had to come up with an alternative to the "loser goes down on the winner" bet we originally had. We don't do that here, well at least not to each other. So I convinced Elise to flash her entire living room, which was filled with at least 4 prospective hotties. None of them gave a damn really, but we'll pretend they did.

I then figured out that the balcony from their apartment went all the way up to the window of the poppin party's kitchen. The window was open and I was wasted: game over. I stick my arm into a packed kitchen and grab a bottle of Skyy Vodka. Bringing it back inside, I get some cheers and a "Go get more!" I am the hero, I have the spotlight, I like it. I go back and get a bottle of rum. Round three I resort to a can of sliced pineapples (unopened), which gets minimal applause.

As a night cap we had a "6 crackers in one minute eating contest," which almost made us hurl. So competitive sometimes, but never very athletic. It's a lavish life, it really is.

[Mid-cracker contest- look at that determination.]

Nineteen Eighty Six!

Here are a couple verses from a now sober rapper, who wasn't always so sober. This picture came across my "desk" and the two fit together like Smirnoff Ice does with a hangover (so I hear).

Drugs in My System - Russell Aaddict Howard

"I got the drugs in my system and I do- I do- I don't know why"

"It  often starts with thought of maybe buyin some white

Yeah it's harmless, until I'm fuckin up all night

See the sun coming up, it's like the ugliest sight

So I'm running to the blinds tryin to snug em up tight, right

Shit, I'm thinking back in hindsight, 

what the fuck made my buyin sniff white for the night, well, 

it's callin up the man, askin for a gram..."

"Nah make it two grams, you understand man?"

"Sure he does, 

Cause he knows and I know, I need more,

So he says for me to come on ova f'sho

He's got that stuff from Ecuador,

that can turn the shyest broad to a sexual whore..."

The best white rapper you've never heard of. 

His O.G. tracks aren't on here but check it anyway: 

http://www.myspace.com/russellhoward

WHO DONE IT??

Someone got down a little too hard on their condiment filled turkey sandwich. Being only human, yours truly took a picture before letting her know of the face issues she was having. WHO DONE IT??

Daily Dealbreaker

When I saw this picture a part of me died. You might say that it is obvious: it's a douchebag red flag, let alone a dealbreaker. But I'm going to take it one step farther:

Dealbreaker #7:

"I won't date you if, YOU'RE THIS FUCKING GUY."

Holy shit. Like actually WHERE do I begin. The Ed Hardy shirt is mistake #1. The orange tint from his over-tanned skin combined with his viciously plucked and possibly pencilled in eyebrows, are abslutely insane. Let's move on to the hair. The whole tic-tac-toe board on the side of his head is in no way edgy. He's used a gel and cum combination to form a pyramid of hair on his head. The worst part is the eery pinkish smirk across his face, as he holds in his arms a legally blind, emotionally insecure Jersey girl. You KNOW he has never gone down on her and never will, because he says he doesn't like the taste of sushi. So if you look like, smell like, walk, talk, fuck, suck, or think anything LIKE this d-bag, rev-up your lowered mitsubishi with spray painted black-rims at the next red light we're both sitting at and get the fuck out of town.

In case he didn't give you enough nightmares for the next ten years, I give you the entire hair-gel, vodka slut mafia:

Butthole Talk

Butthole talk: any verbal or non-verbal discussion having to do with butt-holes or butt sex. (Yea, my life is hugely appropriate and intellectual. Not.) Butthole talk has been been popping up in the most random situations lately and usually involves a good friend, who we'll call Kami.

Kami, who once vowed never to mess with butt sex, recently explored and conquered this new territory. When our professor brought up a society that tried to make buttsex illegal, Kami turns to me and most adamantly says, "If they ban sodomy, my life would be so sad."

Over a dinner of pizza last night the topic came up again and another good quote, "Just a little bit of lube and you can stick almost anything in your ass." This was obviously followed by a good amount of laughter and many "You're so embarrassing. I can't take you anywhere," comments from me. The family of four seated next to us we're disgusted and began doing hail-marys on our behalf for the rest of their dinner. They had no idea what was coming.

We then proceeded to apply Kami's theory to every single object sitting on the dinner table. Here are our reactions:

-Salt shaker: so easy

-Bread basket: tricky but possible

-Pizza: messy, gross

-Plate: impossible, ouch

-Napkins: why bother?

And next week we cover the economy and universal health care!

"Lemme see some identification"

Going out with my girl Elise, I can be sure of only a few things: I'll be telling ya'll about it the next day, there will be tons of whiskey involved, somebody will fall and start bleeding, there will be approximately 7-9 high intensity situations with perfect strangers, and I'll have a great fucking time.

A few nights ago, we caught news of a bar named Blood Hound on 7th and Folsom that was having a fundraising art gallery called the Tenderloin Project. Since "giving back" is our number one priority on a Friday night: we just needed 10 minutes to find a babysitter for our self-respect and dignity for the night, before heading over.

We get inside, with our girl Emma, and open a tab. Uh oh. The crowd is a pile of mid-20s crap, who are desperately trying to "live it up" because their jobs have been driving them up the wall all week. Elise and I have a grand old time running into circles of strangers, insulting one of them and running away before they have a chance to be offended or humored.

Here it gets good. I lose Elise and find her outside complimenting the 6'5" black bouncer, Damien, on how "strong his arms" are. Elise then single handedly convinces Damien to go inside and hangout while she mans the door. LET ME TELL YOU: the sight of my 120 pound, 5'7" friend with a cigarette in one hand and a can of beer in the other, acting as a bouncer is completely priceless. No one was let in or OUT of the bar without getting carded. People walking by on the sidewalk (or across the street) were subject to a "LEMME SEE YOUR FUCKING ID!" People walking in couldn't help laughing to themselves, but you better believe they got their IDs out and quick.

One guy gives her his ID. After squinting for a second Elise belts out, "1969!? This is FAKE. Definitely FAKE. GET THE SCISSORS OUT!" Dumbfounded and confused, this innocent bystander shuffled into the bar.

Now come on that is some funny shit. After one reggae bar, one lap dance (for me, curtsey of Elise), we get on the bus headed back to sanity, so I think. Let me say that this bus carried about 15 people: perfect, an audience. Elise, without informing me, decides to have a slapping contest. She starts hysterically laughing with her head down, while trying to simultaneously slap me in the face. Her motions are slow and misguided. I easily block each slap and return her one for one. The only difference is that I am actually hitting my target. After about 5 minutes of stop-start slapping and laughing, Elise finally gives up. The couples surrounding us are horrified, some at this guy beating up this drunk girl and some at how drunk and loud this girl was.

Close to home, it gets interesting:

Elise: "You tooootally want to fuck me."

Sina: "Elise, you WISH I would ever want to fuck you."

Strange Man: "DOES THIS BUS COME WITH EARPLUGS?"

Elise & Sina: "NO!"

Strange Man: "If he won't fuck you, I'll fuck you."

Elise: "NEVER! Drink your 40 by yourself, lonely boy."

Strange Man: "I AM lonely."

Wow, sad, awkward. Thankfully we're properly shit-housed enough to not care. The night capped off with us getting off the bus one stop too soon and subsequently being on the wrong street. We obviously freak out although where only one block from where we should be. We each pee on the sidewalk before deciding its a good idea to walk the rest of the way home and into Elise's highly populated living room, with our pants at our knees.

And another one bites the dust.

Daily Dealbreaker

I haven't actually met anyone who consistently falls victim to the following Dealbreaker, but just in case you exist: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE.

Dealbreaker #6:

"I won't date you if you refer to yourself in the third person.

Sina thinks people that speak of themselves in the third person:
a) love to talk about themselves
b) want to end up alone and miserable
c) fucking suck
d) all of the above
Sina studied hard for this life test and Sina is going to pick d) as his final answer. Sina believes that with absolutely zero research or factual evidence, that people who speak in such a manner are in fact: clinically insane and/or a little retarded. Sure with spot on comedic timing, once in a blue moon, it's kosher to pull the "Sina thinks you suck!" response when lacking another comeback to someone's insult, but talking in a self-righteous idiotic way for more than 5 seconds a year is not appropriate. Sina says there's nothing wrong with thinking in the third person, because the he doesn't have to hear it. Sina is ashamed for writing in the third person, but is doing so to emphasis his hugely important point. 

Glamo-fuckin-rama

So the truth is: I'm a lot less cultured than I act like I am. I've never seen the Godfather or been to Hawaii. I watch reality TV, have one night stands and consider Cheetos and cigarettes adequate nutrition. That being said a book recommendation may seem a little out of my league, but TRUST Bret Easton Ellis knows what he's doing. You've probably heard of The Rules of Attraction or American Psycho. Those two were made into movies that probably sucked, but his writing has cemented him as one of the best American writers of the 1980s and 90s. I'm obsessed with his book Glamorama right now and believe me: I FUCKING WOULD BE. Main character: male model opening a night club in New York during the 90s. Screwing women like he's going to die the next day, taking drugs like Kurt Cobain, and all the while showing up just in time to have his picture taken. Forgetting people he should obviously remember and internally cringing at the thought of a blackhead, Glamorama is deliciously shiny. This isn't the best quote from the book but the shallow honesty is pretty damn good:

"Hey babe, we're all in this together," I grunt, my hands dusted with chalk. "Yeah, I wanna give this all up and feed the homeless. I wanna give this all up and teach orangutans sign language. I'm gonna bike around the countryside with my sketchbook. I'm gonna-what? Help improve race relation in this country? Run for fucking President? Read my lips: SPARE ME."

-Bret Easton Ellis

Fuck Scarlet! Eva takes a tumble!

This is just too good. When you have one national holiday, a party at Paris Hilton's house, and a SuckitbySina correspondent in attendance: you KNOW there's is going to be a good story. I don't want to give anything away, so ladies and gentleman I challenge you to top this one. As told by the girl who lived it:

Only this would happen to me. Although this is not the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened in my life, it's definitely #3 on the list. Ok, so let me just set the scene really quick: Friday night. 10pm. I somehow end up at Paris Hilton's house for an Easter party bash. I'm dressed super cute in a new dress and 5-inch heels. You walk into the house and there are several hot easter bunnies in the foyer to greet you with multi- colored Jello shots, mini-pizza's, and candy. To the right is a neat little photo booth where u can take fun pictures, upstairs is paris' home nightclub (aka "Club Paris") and to the right is the pool.

So after a walk through the house, we decided to check out the pool area and see the house she built for the dogs. Let me just tell you at this point I have only had 1/2 of a jack&diet and a cigarette. Alright, I'm just going to say it- I fell in the pool. Yep, that's right! I fell into Paris Hilton's pool, fully clothed and in front of people. I managed to create a minimal splash effect and scramble out of the pool in about 2.5 seconds leaving nasty battle wounds on my arm and knee. I then ran behind the tent where my friends were standing totally confused that I'm drenched from head to toe.

Panic mode!! I'm freaking out and want to get the fuck out of there asap. I mean, what the fuck does one do in that situation?? Luckily, one of my girl friends gets Paris on the phone...to which she laughs hysterically and agrees to lend me a dress.

Thank god Paris has a closet the size of my apartment with a million things to choose from that still have the tags on. If you fall in a pool at someone's party, you definitely want it to be Paris' party. Could you imagine if I was at Pauly Shore's house? I would have been walking around in old tube socks and a fucking hawaiian print mumu. That would suck. Anyway, I ended up going with a really pretty green silky dress- thanked her for the hot ensemble and headed over to Club Paris. The rest of the night was filled with good times of rollin down the street smokin endo and sippin on gin & juice with Snoop Dog. Not a bad price to pay for memories like that, oh and a cute new dress.

If the story didn't give you wet mental images of drenched hair, dripping mascara, and utter embarrassment: HERE IS A PLAY BY PLAY.

Before fall: Fabulous. Carefree. Fierce. Our girls are ready for it and the attitude these stares have are going to be changed to shivering wet-puppy embarrassment in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..

Post fall: If there is a picture that could ruin a life, it might be this one. Let me say as someone who has seen this girl pretty drunk, she is dead sober. There are no goggly-eyes, no seducing pattery eyes, just shocked scared lonely "I JUST FELL IN PARIS'S POOL EYES." After Make Over: It is all relatively good in the hood again. Crumping and bumping in a new green dress with friends. Practice in your 5-ich heels before you skip past Paris's pool

Daily Dealbreaker

The summer is almost here and the heat is rising. Everything is sticky and you might think it's alright cause everyone is sweating. Nah check it.

Dealbreaker #5:

"I won't date you if you sweat when not "active," specifically on the forehead armpits, chest, and back.

Let me define active: working out (dancing definitely counts), manual labor, sex, or an intensely high pressure situation: like getting mugged or meeting Kate Moss. But if you sweat when sitting at your computer typing or ordering a burrito at the taqueria, I know myself well enough to know that that shit is not only gross, but a total dealbreaker. When even the slightest glistening pearl of salty sweat forms on an unactive persons forehead a prospect can jekyll and hyde in front of my eyes into the most unfuckable noob, before I ever have the chance to fight against my shallow state of existence.

Watch & Learn

Call her a cokehead, call her an anorexic bitch. Sure she can probably hoola-hoop with a Cheerio but Kate Moss is one other thing: a regulation fucking badass. At 5'7" she nearly single handedly changed the fashion industry, and essentially the whole world's vision of beauty from the tall full-figured glamazon likes of Cindy Crawford, to her signature waif look. She got caught doing blow and came back with twice as many ad campaigns. Now THATS what's up. Although I wish she and Johnny Depp had never broken up, when asked when she feels most alive by a reporter, Kate replied, "When I'm lying naked on my back." The song is so-so but put an underwear clad Kate Moss, dancing on a pole and you have struck gold. Watch and learn.

Daily Dealbreaker

Our girl Eva is back with another bone to pick and I must say she's got a point. Hooking up with a friend's ex is a standard no-no, but picking at their leftovers, in general, can be a sticky situation. And you know that pun was intended.

Dealbreaker #4:

"I wont date you if a friend of mine has already banged you."

Thanks to the societal double-standards that exist between men and women, this rule applies mostly to girls and their girlfriends, although not excluded from guys and their sexual relationships entirely. Knowing (or in some cases later finding out through investigation) that one of your friends has already gotten down with a guy that you are attracted to and may want take the relationship to 4th base sometime in the future could be a complete turn-on or make you throw up in your mouth a little. Look, sometimes shit happens and there are those seldom nights of drunken slutty behavior or that one night where it felt so good yet so so wrong at the same time. Either way- its not OK. I recently met this hottie little D-list actor boy, Andrew Keegan, at a reggae bar one night in venice- we hit it off and exchanged digits. The next day he called me and I was so excited that I had a new crush. Not for long! I managed to get his entire life story and then some in a matter of 3 hours after my friend, who we will call Jane, had informed me that she used to date him back in the day. I was immediately turned off by my new discovery- too much, too soon. There was no way I could bump uglies with this guy now- what if he compares how we are in bed? what if my friend thinks I'm a slut now that I did that? What if I want her to be my made of honor at the wedding? What if that would be too tempting for them to handle and they bang in the honey moon suite the day before the wedding? And that my friends...is the problem with hooking up with your friends left-overs.

-EvatheDiva Holbrook

Open bars: best friend or worst enemy?

*This picture is fully explained below. The picture has been distorted to disguise the individual. If you recognize the person, please don't use real names for the dignity of the passer-outer.

If you didn't know open bars are these gifts from heaven where an events bar is essentially free! Yes, it's true, they exist. You walk up and order and WALK AWAY without dropping $9 on a jack and coke. I love them religiously. They take events that may have little to no potential and QUICKLY turns them into a legendary night. Bat Mitzvahs, weddings, birthdays, clubs: whatever, as long as I have all access to a full bar without opening a tab: it is ON. But open bars also entail riding a fine line between ridiculous blackout fun and seriously hazardous completely chaotic, puke drenched madness. Believe me, when you know it's free your mind has little to no resistance to over-drinking. It's tricky and shit usually gets messy in literally 3 seconds flat.

So a while back we heard about an open bar at this silly club called Etiquette downtown. The crowd is always a pile of crappy people who suffer from identity problems and receding hair lines , but they bump that head bobbing, ass shaking music that you want to dance to when your wasted with your best friends.

I head over there with two of my girls, who we'll call Alexa and Viola. Viola and I polished off a pint of Jim Beam (classy, I know) on route to the club as our pre-game. RED FLAG: MISTAKE #1. Never, I repeat NEVER "pre-game" for an open bar. It will be your downfall because its like going to the gym before you run a fucking marathon. Open bars are all about endurance and stamina. Remember: you want to be stay conscious as long as possible to consume as much of other peoples' alcohol as possible.

Ok we get there. Small line outside but I notice that Viola is making very LOUD, very UN-SUAVE passes at the bouncer. Things like:

"Oh my god, do you see how tall he is? His dick must be huuuge!" ALREADY!? We haven't even gone inside and shit is getting inappropriate. Oh boy, this is going to be good.

Alright what happens next is why I take no responsibility for what was about to go down in the next few hours. The hostess inside hands each of about a dozen raffle tickets and tells each one is good for a drink. She then says if we run out to just come get more from her. When I say raffle ticket, I literally mean the little tickets with the numbers that you try to win Disneyland tickets with at your school fundraiser. OK, let's back up: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! So your telling me each one of these papers is like a ten dollar bill that I can slam onto the bar and exchange for a drink of choice. I was a fucking kid in a candy store! Happier than that pill-popping Paula Abdul getting locked in a fucking pharmacy by herself.

We beeline it to the bar and get down to business. Tequila shots all around and jack and cokes to chase with. As I said before, we're looking to clear these fuckers out. We scope the crowd out a little and dance like we're back at a high school.

Ok were only about an hour in and things are getting sloppy. Alexa and I go outside for a cigarette, leaving Viola to her own devices. In trying to light her cigarette Alexa sets all of her side parted bangs on fire. They burnt up to a crisp along with all the eyelashes on her right eye. We both stand there in utter shock. Alexa starts freaking out, I begin to gag from the spell, and I just start hitting her face to get the ash off. RIDICULOUS. I lie and convince her she looks find and it'll grow back in 48 hours (what? the night must go on), and we get back inside.

Two of our other friends, "Chelsea and Veronica," met us at the club. Chelsea however, not being 21 also doesn't have a fake-ID. She tells me to find someone in the club, convince them to let me take the ID, so she can use it to get in and then she would return. OK WAIT, WHAT!? You want me to run around this very dark club, wasted, and ask strangers for their driver's licenses like a crazy person so my underage friend can get in?? I AM SUCH A GOOD FRIEND SOMETIMES. I make it my mission to get her in. A spot maybe 3 red heads in the crowd, which is the hair color we need for Chelsea. The first giggled and walked away, the second got angry and walked away, and the third was so drunk she would have agreed to let me eat her first born child: BINGO. Now that is fucking talent. You need years of training to spot people at their most vulnerable moments and shamelessly take advantage of them. Chelsea gets in and returns the ID.

Next, I'm mid-cigarette outside. By this point we've been opening baring it for about 2 and a half hours now and I've switched to beer. Alexa comes running outside screaming, "Viola just threw up on the dance floor. WE GOTTA BOUNCE." Alright we're not the classiest group of people but throwing up on dance floors is even a bit much for us. I'm hardly surprised, so I rush inside, to find Viola dancing her ass off, huge smile on her face, and grasping an open bottle of champagne above her head. I'm like, "Viola did you just throw up, do we need to leave?" She looks at me and is like, "HELL NO. I was chugging the champagne and it was too bubbly, so I spit that shit out." THAT is some funny shit.

Some time later Viola and I decide to bounce, leaving Alexa with her then boyfriend. We have lost Chelsea and Veronica but TRUST it's not for long. We try to unsuccessfully hail a cab/take the bus home for about 20 minutes until we found ourselves outside the club again as the clock is striking two am and everyone is spilling onto the sidewalk. We spot Veronica sitting by the club's door head in hands. Not at all a good state to be in when you're in downtown crack-den San Francisco at night.

We drag, literally drag, her to a bus stop where we run off to hail us all a cab. When we come back, home-girl is laying on the sidewalk, CHEAK AGAINST THE CONCRETE. This is the crazy, shit-hitting-the-wall kind of madness that can happen at an open bar. I of course, take a picture (see top of post), sober up pretty fast and get us a cab home.

We found out the next day that Chelsea ended up across the Bay in Oakland with a guy she met. Dangerous. We shouldn't have lost track of her, but when you hand me a bunch of tickets: I HOLD NO RESPONSIBILITY. Looking back I was saving bitches from down fall left and right. Kudos to me, fuck.

So flock to your next open bar, but be pre-warned you may wake up in the bartenders apartment with a black-eye, after shooting a low budget porno the night before.

Daily Dealbreaker

Preface: I am still an asshole and I don't wish someone cutting themselves on anyone, but that's just way too much baggage.

Dealbreaker #4:

"I won't date you if are currently a cutter."

Oh COME ON, I'm not good with that. Drug problems and daddy issues are thing that can be tolerated, but the next time you go to take a leak and find your lover bent over with a gilette against their wrist, a bottle of jack by their side, and emotions begging for Dr. Phil: tell me how "incredibly amazing" they are then. Note, the terms are "currently" a cutter, so have your Courtney Love phase before we meet.

"Im a gangsta, Miz Katie"

Well he's just fucking great and you know it. Don't hate then request some Lollipop when your drunk in the club. But come on Katie Couric and Lil Wayne have a conversation: THATS some good shit. Yea the whole spiel about bowling is crap to make it seem like they get along well, but watch Katie try to call our boy out on his shit. It's not happening. Miz Katie this and Miz Katie that: 

"If you need an example on how to live. Then you just shouldn't have been born. Straight up and I am a great role model cause I'm only a role model for two, that's all. So why don't you worry about yours, and let them worry about theirs, I GOT MINE."

Smoke Break

Preface: I know I should quit. I know, BELIEVE ME...I fucking know. But what? I'm ruining my 60+ years? Ah shit, don't wanna miss out on those. Fuck that, pass me a lighter.

So apparently something called the "economy" is about as bad as Courtney Love's sobriety. I'm not falling for it, must be some kind of urban myth. I'll be honest, I don't know a damn thing about the economy, but I keep hearing everyone complain about it, so that's good enough for me. I've been attributing everything from my back pains to the weather on the damn economy. 

But recently the tax on cigarettes has gone completely buckwild. Its something like 7+ dollars for a pack of Parliament Lights. And when you go through packs faster than a Pamela Anderson wedding (probably faster actually), on a college student budget, IT'S NOT FUN. But cigarettes and alcohol are those two things you can raise the price on cause people will still buy them, they're irreplaceable. Bastards. 

So I've converted to rolling my own cigarettes. I don't care if it's politically incorrect to say, but I feel like a homeless person when I pull out my Bali-Shag pouch of stringy tobacco and papers. It's not as satisfying to say the least, but here are the pitfalls:

-SHIT IS MESSY: I've been pulling loose tobacco out of my pockets and ears for the last three days. The worst is when the pouch opens in your bag and engulfs your belongings with stanky tobacco.

-ITS ANTI-CLIMACTIC: That whole work hard for something and the end result is more satisfying bullshit doesn't fly with me. Every time you want a smoke you have to go through the process. Essentially you have to work hard to smoke, when the reason you may be smoking is that you're stressed about work.

Word on the street is that it looks a little edgier, which obviously is the ONLY reason I smoke anyway, so I guess that's a plus. But Papa Obama I'd really like my bailout to be in the form of cheaper smokes and a 50 foot yacht.

Daily Dealbreaker

Time for a rant! I stand by this one, shits annoying and I'm tired of people running around with one hand on their ears, heads bent, muttering about budget deficits to themselves. I think you'll agree:

Dealbreaker #3:

"I won't date you if you wear and/or use a bluetooth while walking down the street or anytime when not operating a motor vehicle."

Let get something straight: bluetooths are in no way cool, badass, or any kind of panty-dropper. They do not and never will make you seem: 3 inches bigger, more professional, or capable of growing a full beard. Rather you look crazy, talking to yourself while actually pressingly telling your roommate to clean the fucking puke he left on the toilet seat off before you get home. To others its a pretentious douche-bag red flag that immediately makes you seem like an uncultured pee-hole. If you're going to conform and get one, keep it in the car.

WHO DONE IT??

Drinking excessively and having a fantastic memory can be quite the Catch-22. You remember everything. Exactly, everything. The good, the bad, and the "slap-in-the-face" contest you had with your best friend on a VERY crowded and annoyed bus. "WHO DONE IT??" here on SuckitbySina is going to be a series of true stories that are fucking funny, but may question a person's reasoning for ordering that last round.

Alright, let's get into it. A good friend who we'll call Tami (Apparently I like giving my friends dumb stripper names. My kids are so fucked.), was on a flight coming back from Albuquerque. It's Friday and she's been traveling for work all week. Getting on the plane which will soon have a layover in Las Vegas, Tami finds that the seats in the back of the plane are empty except for one dead-sexy guy. Hmmm, what to do? She takes the window seat, while he's in aisle seat, with no one sitting in the middle. Perfect. Sexy-Bill is from Fort Lauderdale and is on his way to a weekend of blissful sin in Vegas. He has already started on his quest by opening a tab with the stewardess and is beginning to get properly shit-housed. Tami and Sexy-Bill hit it off: discussing the economy, the best ways to care for a tomato plant, and the aniston vs. jolie debate, and all the while getting good and plastered. It's a plane ride, what else is there to do!?

During the layover is when shit gets interesting. I wasn't there but I'm thinking the conversation went something like this:

Sexy-Bill, "Why don't you change your flight and just hangout in Vegas with me?"

Tami, "Fuck it, ok."

It may have been the 2 and a half hour pre-game session on the last flight, but our girl's on board for the long haul.

Leaving the airport, Sexy-Bill tells Tami that they're going to the Belagio for dinner. A nice private date, filled with quirky stories and more cocktails?? NO, NOT EVEN CLOSE. They were going to meet Sexy-Bill's parents to have dinner with them. I'm sorry, I thought you had to legally know someone for more than 5 hours before you meet their fucking PARENTS. Tami, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into.

Dinner: One and a half hours of torture with a side of steamed vegetables. The mother of now: "Are you fucking kidding me with this curve ball-Bill" or just "Curve ball-Bill", tells Tami, "Sweety you can't do that. Meeting men on the airplane and leaving with them? Darling, that's not right." How much do I owe you for that golden piece of advice mommy-fucking-dearest?

Over to the Luxor where Curve ball-Bill has a room. Tami is still getting along great with Bill and they post up at the gambling tables until 4 AM. The drinks are free and plenty. He's giving her money like it's her fucking Bat Mitzvah, and she's losing it. Coooome on dealer, hit me.

They end up in the room as the sun is hitting its alarm clock and beginning to get up, and Tami decides to not sleep with Sexy-Bill because it would make the experience so much better if they just shared a great flight and night and didn't make it about sex. So we've established the intention for moral high ground was there. Instead of that nice idea, Tami and Sexy-Bill (who did NOT disappoint) had tons of Vegas sex. Tami then wakes up at 7 AM and catches the 8 AM flight out-of-fucking-there. 

Now THAT is some serious spontaneity ladies and gentlemen. That's some baller shit right there. If you were wondering, Sexy-Bill still desperately hits up Tami every time he is on his way to Vegas on AIM Instant Messenger. I mean, atleast she didn't get married in an Elvis Chapel. 

Scarlet Takes A Fucking Tumble

I'm an asshole. Remember that always. Many of you have probably already seen this youtube gift from baby jesus himself, but if you haven't: YOU'RE WELCOME. Shit is hilarious. It's that kind of sick funny that makes you feel like you should repent and shotgun a beer at the same time. I want to know at what point standing on the coffee table in wedges seemed like a good idea to our fabulously unsteady Scarlet? 

You're right, the repeated and slow motion effects are just too mean...So we should watch again yes?

Lesbians have it better than gay guys

Maybe it's juvenile indiscretion. Maybe it's the heat of springtime. No no it's probably boatloads of tequila, but it seems to me that all around formerly straight girls are thinking the grass is greener on the other side. More than a few girls I know have been...I don't know, not "experimenting," I don't like that word, it reminds me of science, but have been welcoming the idea of physical girl-on-girl sleep overs. 

I recently had dinner with two of my VERY straight girls friends, who we'll call Rikki and Vikki. And by dinner I mean drinks, lots of drinks. At some point in the night we ended up in a sex shop buying a strap-on. (Thinking back, this must have started with a dare of sorts. Warning: drinking prior to "truth or dare" can result in the loss of both your memory and your morals.) Vikki, or was it Rikki?, whatever, used the strap-on on the other for a good 30 minutes before the night was over. Besides the fact that it is just hilarious to wake up to a pink sparkly strap-on lying on your dresser, the point is these girls never batted an eye to their sexual preference. No one called home and no one had a tell-all special on Dr.Phil.

 

And lesbians: good for you! Pop, lock, and drop it until you can't any longer, but somewhere along the lines our society accepted girls casually hooking up with other girls. Straight guys "apparently" find it hot and no one thinks twice about it the next morning when you're hairs in a knot and your trying to check out of the hotel. But when a straight guy even thinks about shaking up with another guy, the idea is torpedoed out of his own head faster than your food is delivered from King of Thai restaurant. (And if you've been there, you know they're fucking quick.) I'm not saying all straight guys have this hidden fantasy of sucking a dick, but the point can be made that if society looked at it the same way they do girls riding the dividing line, men would more open to the idea. 

Daily Dealbreaker

Its that time again. To be ruthlessly shallow and call some heads out on their tragic misconceptions of what is kosher. Today our entry comes from Eva. This will surely not be her last run in with SuckitbySina because anyone whose alter ego is EvatheDiva is solid gold in our book. Listen up:

Dealbreaker #2:

"I won't date you if you're A Name-Dropper."

To casually mention the names of illustrious or famous people in order to imply that you are friends with them is not only annoying, but also pointless because I will always be better than you anyway. I don't care if your cousin's best friend from high school is Paris Hilton's dog-sitter! It does NOT make me want to bump & grind you, in fact it makes me want to bitch-slap you right across your pathetic face. There are only a few exceptions as to when it is suitable to give a shout out to a celebrity or famous person: 1) If you have their personal cell phone number in your phone and talk to them on a somewhat regular basis. 2) If you have appeared in their music video that was shot on a yacht in the French Riviera, accidentally slept with them within 8 hours of meeting and want to share this amusing story with your friends. 3) If you grew up down the street and knew him/her from back in the day when they were fat, had braces and wore thick glasses. Other than these specific circumstances...keep your mouth shut because nobody wants to hear it, dumbass!

-EvatheDiva Holbrook

Watch & Learn

Rise and fuckin shine! Ashley brought the coffee and left MK at home. Let's break it down. Black, black, and more black with a serving of stank-eye from behind her timeless Ray-Bans. If you're not catching on, she's telling you to throw out your True Religion cut-offs and put your one color cotton F-21 dress through the paper shredder. It might be the light blinding me from her Rolex, but this girl is a legal midget and has more swagger than FlavaFlav. Watch and learn.

IM ON A BOAT

It's spring and the sun is OUT in San Francisco. Yeah the wind is a bitch but deal with it. This weekend was one of toys. No don't get kinky, it's not that kind of party. Toys, old school toys. Like frisbee and playing fetch with a dog named Netty at hippie hill, kind of toys. My pretty female friends befriended three tight-rope walking and foot stomping boys at the hill. Heffe, Tim, and ? made us laugh all weekend but at one point they pulled this video out of their hemp woven pockets and I couldn't be more grateful. Ladies and gentleman, take note: IM ON A BOAT, TAKE A GOOD HARD LOOK AT THE MOTHA FUCKIN BOAT.

Andy Sandberg & T-Pain, you do me right.

Dealbreakers

I love lists. I love making them, reading them, dreaming & creaming about them. Some in the past have been: things I like that start with the letter p (pineapple juice, printers, pranks)or the "I like you more than ____" list (STD's, taxes, not being tan). These are usually long (50+items) and hugely time consuming, but try it: a spliff and a list a day keeps the doctor away.

An all time favorite is the "Dealbreaker: I won't date you if" list. A few friends and I compiled the list of 60 or so red flags for dating a while back and I've begun to write explanations. It's all in good fun, but seriously take off the fucking Ed Hardy gear, we don't do that here.

Dealbreaker #1:

"I won't date you if-you've been featured on an episode of COPS." 

Let me be clear, this does not exclude all ex-cons or if you've been to jail. While currently having a "cell #" be a part of your home address is a knockout dealbreaker being an ex-con can sometimes be, well kinda hot. However the world of COPS is one of high speed chases through Southern swamp land, 6 hour long hostage stand-offs, genital warts, and so many other versions of a person's rock-bottom. Shits trashy and I'd rather bang a regular guest on Jerry Springer.

*Those of you who already saw this particular DB in the Godless zine: shutup. There's more on the way.

Can you blame her?

Alright here's whats up. I think Lindsay Lohan gets a lot of shit for partying like a maniac and shopping all day. If I was young, loaded, and living in land of desperate sin, DUIs, and glossy everything: I'd probably be doing the same shit. AND SO WOULD YOU. You know that family fucked her up worse than the blow. Check it:

Lindsay Lohan's eHarmony Profile from Lindsay Lohan

Trad'r Sams

Tuesdays are tricky. Far enough away from the last weekend that you forget all the fun you had, but too far from the next weekend to hold out for it. Hence Tuesdays have inevitably become a party night. Investigations still pending on why or how this came about, but the beds been made, so get in and shutup.

After three classes with a girl who has weathered 20 New Orleans Mardi Gras in her day, Elise: we were ready. Hearing sooo much about the damn big ass drinks at Trad'r Sams and always down for a tacky dive bar, I grabbed my dismally empty wallet and headed over.

Holy Shit. Hawaiian printed canvas couches with fake bamboo canopies held canoodling couples. (Damn thats alot of c's.)12 middle aged men nursing foamy beers focused on the sports game on the flat screen behind the bar. Pineapples and oranges seemed to be floating in the air as Jimmy Buffet's "Pina Coladas" blared on repeat. It was your Uncle Larry's wet dream and of course we loved it too.

Let's get serious. One Scorpian Bowl drink serves four. Shits big but I was weary of the fruit and bubbly crap he was pouring into the blender. HOMIE TRUST. We posted up, two straws each, and began doing work on our version of the "superbowl."

Before: Things are civilized. Sitting, sipping like a lady. Making cheeky conversation and daring each other to hit on the bouncer

During: Feeling pretty sexy. The straws are no longer working fast enough and our girl has resorted to straight up Oliver Twist face-in-bowl style. The bowl is huge and we were antsy for a cigarette. Stay tuned.

After: Shit is hitting the fan and it's hitting it hard. We have now started to play with the drink ornaments and using the classy cherry come hither effect. Now outwardly spewing what we were formerly only thinking about the people around us. By this point I'm beginning to respect Trad'r Sam cause I am belting out the wrong lyrics to a LeeAnn Rhymes classic. Mission accomplished.

The night ended with one whiskey and coke drinking contest, two blocks stumbled home, and a special viewing of The Patriot, starring Mel Gibson. Are you fucking kidding me.

Debonaire

Suave, affable, carefree, and gay.

I am only one of those things, but after learning what debonaire meant today, I might be on board with the de-bo. Perhaps "de-bo" is the new "da bomb." Not possible? Our relationship with da-bomb is "complicated," there's too much history? You're probably right, it's too soon to let go. 

"Suck it by Sina" is going to be an unorganized, pretentiously sour taste of the mind of a kid who was would rule on MTV's The Real World... not exactly in a good way, and is desperately trying to learn Left-Eye's verse from TLC's "Waterfalls."

I here do solemnly swear...

to be a little too vulgar, to alwayz over uze my Z key, to refrain from the "LOL," to out enemies and embarrass close friends, to waste both our times, and to always reveal my sources after a few drinks.

-Sina