Red Means Go

Sex With Socks On

2012-02-22T20:47:00.002-05:00

I think I mentioned in passing that the company I work for had their Christmas party in New York this December and much to my surprise, I was invited. From all the ludicrous things that took place that weekend which I’ve yet to tell you about (I suck at keeping posts –and life – in chronological order), rushing through customs on the way there was possibly the most embarrassing.

I’d been out until the wee hours drinking with friends and arguing about politics to then land in Ethan’s bed and wake at eight in a foggy haze when I realized my flight was to depart at ten. I hardly remember rushing out of the house and high-tailing it to my place. Nor going up the stairs and changing into something more suitable for work and brushing my teeth. What I do remember -asides from feeling like spewing in Ethan's car when he took me to the airport- is taking off my boots in the customs line to find this:

*** Sidenote: It’s been brought to my attention more than once that I'm horrible at matching socks and this denotes a lack of structure. To that I reply: Socks are just fabric the cover my stinky feet and have nothing to do with structure, so shut up.

So there I was, a breathing ball of vodka fire going through the metal detector as the agent eyed my feet suspiciously and tried to hold back his disgusted confusion. I offered an It was a long night and picked up my suitcase in shame, quickly zipping up my boots and running away to Starbucks without so much as a glance back.

New York was balls to the wall postal. I made my flight. I sat next to an eight year old. She wouldn't speak to me. But made this for me in her fancy tablet:

I checked in at two. I ate a hot dog from a street vendor. He watched me scarf it down in three bites. He smiled and asked if I liked them big. I laughed and said yes. We walked the city. And saw the Christmas tree. I bought a toy for an underpriviledged child. I ate pastrami at Carnegie Deli. I did not like it. I wore a beautiful dress. Had a martini with a stranger who told me I reminded him of his wife. He was eighty. I attended my Christmas party. En Vogue performed live. If you don't know who they are, you're probably too young. I met up with Olivia at one in the morning. We partied 'til three. Then felt like singing. Karaoke bar it was. Locked ourselves in a room with our friend Kwa and sang until five thirty. Ran to the airport at six and made it to my flight by seven.

This time, I wasn't wearing socks.

Ethan and I crossed the friendship boundaries and finally slept together on a cold December night. As mentioned before, it was worth every complication that came with it (and God knows there were plenty), even if something really strange happened that night. While almost breaking the walls in shoving and pushing each other, we land on his bed in a race to find the golden ticket. We're kissing so hard I think my bottom lip falls off when suddenly, he pulls away abruptly and asks me a question.

"Alright. Socks on, or off?"

I open my eyes and push the hair out of my eyes. "Come again?"

"Socks on? Or off?" He repeats.

Me: What in the world are you talking about?

Ethan: Well... Haven't you ever noticed how taking off any article of clothing can be sexy?

Me: Uh-huh...

Ethan: Of course you have. The more clothes that come off the sooner things are going to happen, right?

Me: .... I'm not following.

Ethan: Except, haven't you realized you can't ever take your socks off without looking doofy?

Ethan: No. No. I'm serious. How, exactly, do you take off your socks without looking like a fool and simultaneously turning the person off?

Me: I have no idea, Ethan, the thought's never crossed my mind. Socks and sex are just not words that go in the same sentence. Is this really happening?!

Ethan: (sighs). Alright, so socks on or off?

Me: Off.

He slips them off while still on top of me, throwing each one across the room violently. He looks at me quizzically and laughs, "I told you that'd be awkward. Still want me?"

"Of course I do. What is wrong with you?"

Bringing down his face, he kisses me softly and finds his way inside without taking his hands off my face, "I don't think we have enough time to answer that question, Annah."

Then the only language spoken was that of the silent and best kind.

After twenty-four hours of no sleep I arrive back home to perfect weather and my bed. I sleep from noon 'til eight when my alarm jars me back to reality, telling me it's time to get ready for a friend's 30th birthday. I dress in a haze made possible by Red Bull and vodka, dress and boots and socks and a headband for my hair thrown together like a school lunch on a Monday. I think there was cake... And some beer... Chocolate icing on my dress and a cool breeze in my hair as we toast to thirty more years for my friend Sadick.

After the usual intoxication that happens when lifelong friends get together to celebrate, Ethan carries the birthday boy to his car and drives us home.

I'm thinking only of my bed when we finally arrive at my place. He is as well, just differently. Everything has come off a few moments later before we make love again. "Let's keep our socks on tonight," I joke, unzipping my boots off slowly in the most seductive manner I could muster.

"Are you sure about that?" He asks, a smug expression on his face as he glances at my feet. I look down to find this combination taking place.

"Well that's weird. Um, I was in a rush when I left the house..." I stammer. "Still want me?"

He holds still for a moment, looking down at me in silence. "Of course I do. What is wrong with you?"

Well... I don't think we have time to answer that question, Ethan.

Or do we?

The Greatest Player Alive

2012-02-21T00:35:00.003-05:00

This is Michael Jordan.

He is also presumed to be the greatest basketball player of all time.

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This is Britt Caroline.

She is also presumed to be the greatest romantic of all time.

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This is a story of when Britt Caroline and Michael Jordan collided for a few minutes in South Beach (not like that, you friggin' pervs).

...Because just when I think I need to get out of town and move somewhere brand spanking new, Miami reels me back in and totally redeems itself with promises of the unexpected.

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One of the greatest things about living in the Magic City asides from the endless rain (my favorite), is the probability of running into famous people at random. This was certainly the case last Thursday, when I was sweating grease by the buckets at the gym and my friend Veronique called to see what I was doing. Apparently there was a club at the Fontainebleau Hotel throwing a special party and she knew some people that knew some people that knew some people who could get us in.

"I don't really feel like going anywhere, Vee," I whined.

Three hours later, there I was.

As opposed to regular clubs where mere mortals wait in line to dance and pay for overpriced drinks, ArKadia offers free champagne for ladies until one, something we economically challenged adults did not take for granted.

Five champagnes and one $22 martini later, Britt had crossed over to the other side.

As we're dancing and sipping our free champi, the DJ suddenly yells "Give it up for Michael Jordan who's in the house tonight!" into the mic. Some people cheered and others clapped unenthusiastically, but Britt's eyes opened wider than moons during lunar eclipse night.

"Michael fucking Jordan! Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God. WHERE?!"

It only took her about two minutes to locate him and before we could even utter a reply, she was halfway there. I watched in slow motion as Britt approached Mr. Jordan, who was standing by a pool table stick in hand. She crossed the personal space boundary sooner than I could say Score! and to my surprise, no one stopped her. I saw Mikey Poo (I can call him that now that I've seen him in the flesh) bend down to Britt's face as she whispered something seductively. He seemed to hesitate and then laugh, gingerly grabbing her waist soon after and kissing her cheek. Britt turned around and almost floated away, bumping hard into a pole before a security guard caught her.

"No one saw that," she says once she approached us, breathless. "I cannot believe I get to speak to one of my idols and say something like that! Lord help me."

I raise an eyebrow as we all inch closer to hear better. "What exactly did you say to him?"

"Well I neared him rather quickly and had intended to tell him what a huge fan I was," she started. "But then I guess the proximity and his smell made me dizzy and I just sorta said the first that came to mind."

"Which was?" I ask, scared of the answer already.

She laughs hysterically and takes a swig off my champagne.

"Well... I waited for him to get closer to me and I say, 'So Michael, are you wearing your Hanes tonight?'"

Me: What the hell did he say to that?

Britt: He said, 'Excuse me?'

Me: Uh-huh...

Britt: And I'm like, 'You heard me. Are you wearing your Hanes?' Then he laughed and looked at me sort of funny and said, 'Yes. As a matter of fact I am.' Then laughed some more and gave me a kiss on the cheek. So I just turned around and tried to walk away all sexy-like but ran into that fucking pole instead. (She pauses for a second then giggles). I will never forget this, you guys. I swear it.

I have a feeling... That Britt isn't the only one not forgetting.

Sometimes... You Just Need A Break.

2012-02-16T01:58:00.003-05:00

So there have been some developments on my end of the world and although they are just right for my present circumstances, they're no good for this love of mine called a blog.

I finally got offered a permanent position at my current place of employment. I also came to the conclusion that the best way to stop bullshit from happening is nipping it in the bud. I've become weary of some things in my life that I know need fixing. So there's that...

Call it a transition of sorts. But I need a few days to bring order to disorder and re-arrange things before I'm back in full force.

I've said this before, I know... But just bear with me, guys.

Love always,
Annah

For Caroline and Olivia

2012-02-14T10:19:00.002-05:00

In an attempt to find the perfect bronzer after mine was discontinued, I spent a good fifty dollars and months of my time on the quest for a replacement. It seems that just like bronzers, waiting on love is a process that only pays off if you have that sort of patience and perseverance within you. The more I live, the more evident it becomes that love isn't a means to an end, but rather a journey one must enjoy as it unfolds slowly before us.

Never what you expect. Hardly the fairy tale we think. But infinitely real.

It wouldn't be love if it wasn't given fully and without conditions, casting outside the fear of being hurt in exchange for something greater. And maybe some of us take the easy way out by abstaining from it in an effort to guard our hearts, but if the essence of life lies in love can one say they'd truly lived without fully giving into it? Doubtful.

So I loved, I lost, some have lost me. Yet in the grand scheme of things here I stand, happy and unscathed after every weathered storm.

Hard to believe, but I finally found a perfect bronzer called Happy Hearts weeks after searching undeterred. I was elated to have it in my hands and loved it furiously for days, only to find it shattered to pieces for no apparent reason one rainy Monday morning. That's the thing about loving something... You never really know how long it'll last or what shape your heart will be in when things fall apart.

Something tells me that if it's anything like my bronzer, we'll be just fine.

Happy Valentine's Day. I love you so much.

Everything's Not Lost

2012-02-08T21:30:00.025-05:00

A few weeks back I mentioned how my neighbors were living without electricity and I wanted to do something for them but had difficulty deciphering the best approach. After a talk with my friend Ethan, I took to the blog world to write about my dilemma and received plenty of feedback, including this one from a reader that made me laugh in spite of my genuine concern.

Three days later, I was delighted to find my neighbor’s porch light on and their place no longer in the dark.

(Partly because it sucks living without air conditioning in Miami.)

(Mostly because I didn’t want to shell out grocery money to pay for someone else’s electric bill.)

Today, I received an email from Ethan with the subject line: I had to share this with you.

In its body, the following message was included.

This was a house from a case I worked on recently. Want to know what they were sharing?

So maybe it isn’t the best example of loving thy neighbor, but in a time where I’ve been exposed to much that’s left me devoid of sympathy, it’s nice to see there’s still some good left in others.

And there is, guys...

Even in me.

It's Not All Fun & Games, I Assure You...

2012-02-07T21:41:00.002-05:00

If I was a celebrity (or at least a reality star of some sort) I'd be checking into rehab every Monday for "exhaustion" as a result of my weekends and irresponsible behavior but alas, I am not.

Because the cumulative amount of sleep had within a regular weekend is usually less than ten hours, Mondays are spent vacillating between being productive at work and picking up the pieces while restoring order in this thing I call life. Yesterday my mom came over to walk my dogs while I was at work and sent me a text message: Left you a note on top of the stove. Please read.

I also got a simultaneous text from my roommate stating she'd bought donuts and hidden them in the microwave so I wouldn't be tempted (seeing I'm trying to diet and all).

When I arrive home, I find the famous note.

Here's its literal translation:

You're going to go to Europe looking beautiful if you keep eating donuts!
Did you throw away that feather duster I bought you?
Are you ever going to unclog your bathroom sink?
Also, you know you're supposed to clean those.
You didn't give the dogs their meds. Now Bruno and Kingstone (<--- spelled wrong) are still sick.
Could you please pick up your room?

THANKS!

Oh! Clean your balcony. And it's one can of food a day for the dogs. Not one and a half!

This is what I have to deal with every week, guys. A swift kick-to-the-face reminder that life isn't a party and there are higher ups to report to, even if you no longer live with them.

So maybe it isn't Monday and I'm not a celebrity, but after taking care of that list and hitting the gym tonight I'm checking myself into a little rehab I like to call bed.

Thank you. And goodnight.

Monday Blues

2012-02-06T14:40:00.011-05:00

It’s never been more evident that the more I confine life to a specific set of plans, the more it derails itself into a crash course way off its manic path.

Sometimes when I speak of weekends it seems life’s a party and my existence is comprised of a flurry of nightclubs and Irish car bombs (yum). I promise I am a productive and fruitful human being during certain times of my weekend. And that my existence doesn’t fully revolve around having a good time.

There are moments where I stop to read books and go to the gym and give myself a venue for reflecting by spending time in my favorite place of the apartment (the kitchen).

The other times. There’s this:

The weekend really started off on Thursday through a hilarious series of events that led Ethan to fight with my neighbor and urinate on his car at two o'clock in the morning.

But I'll leave that set of facts for another day (or maybe not).

Friday night was kicked off by a hockey game with my friends Miguel and Katie.

And even though there's this running joke that I'm terrible luck for home teams on games, the Panthers won.

Olivia surprised me by flying in from New York that night and after the game we headed to Spazio Nero, a club where drinks are way too expensive and the music isn't all that pleasant.

After we hit up Burgers & Beers for my two favorite things in the world, greasy burgers and Irish car bombs.

In retrospect I didn't do myself any favors with the dieting this weekend, but I enjoyed stuffing my face immensely anyway. After way too many spicy corndogs and a nap on top of Ryan, I mustered the energy to keep the party going and we ended up at Purdy (as we usually do).

We danced. We drank. We sucked on free lollipops. It was fucking grand. We then went through a deserted alley and got lost trying to find our car but made it out alive with a few pictures to prove it:

Got home at the reasonable hour of five and hit the sheets around six only to wake four hours later to the sound of loud pounding on my door. On the other side stood my three best friends.

The day was spent in a sea of vodka tonics and gossip and at the expense of sounding corny as hell, there's nothing better than having those women near me when I need them the most (hugging and weeping included).

That Saturday night I went to dinner with Ethan and had the pleasure of meeting his family which in turn made me realize where he's acquired his wicked sense of humor from. We then changed and headed to Wood Tavern, a hipster little bar in the design district where we possibly had one too many shots and argued over things two people riding the "friends with benefits" wave shouldn't argue about at all.

After that we ended up at Purdy again (surprise!) and tons of madness ensued yet the funniest thing was an exchange I had with a stranger while leaving and trying to walk to my car. My friends were ahead of me and into their own conversation, when I go around this guy who's standing in my way and he stops me.

Him: Hey.

Me: Hey, homie.

Him: Where you goin'?

Me: To my car.

Him: What are you doing now, though?

Me: What do you mean? Going to my car. Don't you see me walking?

Him: Do you want to get drinks at my place?

Me: (laughing hysterically). Have you seen this beautiful dress that I'm wearing? Does any of it say hooker to you?

Him: No. But you're beautiful. I'm hot. Why not?

Me: Dude, does this *ever* work for you?

Him: I'd say 9 times out of 10.

Me: That's awesome. Good luck on the other nine.

I walked to my car and as I'm reaching around to call a friend, this douchecanoe has apparently had a change of heart and is right behind me.

Him: Hey... Look, I'm sorry.

Me: My God. Who *are* you? Why are you still talking to me?

Him: I'm Jared.

Me: Okay Jared. Please go away. I'm not in the mood to talk right now.

Him: Come on... I came here to apologize.

Me: My boyfriend is going to kick your ass if he sees you here. I'm waiting on him right now.

Him: There is no boyfriend, you liar. If there was he'd be here right now.

Me: (Damn him). Maybe you're right. Or maybe you'll be getting a surprise ass kicking pretty soon. Want to take that chance?

Him: Okay, fine. I'll leave...

Me: Goodbye.

And that was the end of Saturday night/Sunday morning. I came home with the sun at seven after falling asleep for a little bit in a deserted parking lot.

Sunday's Superbowl was enjoyed with friends at a Dominican restaurant and I ate the hell out of some my favorite: mofongo with pork and sausage (so good).

My Britt bear was beyond elated that her Giants won (that and she bet a lot of money on the game so literally double the reason to be happy).

Once it was all over the restaurant turned up the music and the best dancers were definitely these children, who broke my heart ten times over with their cuteness and dancing skills.

I can't think of a better way to end a perfect weekend except one, yet sometimes things don't turn out the way you want them to and there's nothing to be done except move forward...

Very well then. Watch me go.

I'm Kind Of Embarrassed By All This.

2012-02-02T00:26:00.010-05:00

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I think I’ve mentioned on more than one occasion my deep-rooted aversion to strangers. By this I don’t mean friends. I’m okay with new people invading my personal space and telling me things I most likely don’t want to hear.

What I’m leery of. I mean really scared of... Are strange men.

What are their intentions? Do they come from a good family? Do they like dogs? Why are they drinking wine from a straw? Do they have herpes or stuffed animals on their beds? These are all valid questions that plague me on those initial first dates so it’s only right that for the most part, I’ve been a “relationship girl” until the demise of my engagement two years ago. Not ever has it been more apparent to me that opening up to people is hard to do. Or that Vin was a really great guy any girl without a few missing screws like myself would be lucky to have. Or that there are so many douchecanoes in Miami that possibly the best outlet for a single girl verging thirty is lesbianity.

(I just totally had to look that up to ensure it was a real word, guys).

Keeping the aforementioned in mind, it’s safe to say I don’t "hook-up." I don’t accept drinks unless they’re from friends and even those may have roofies in them. I don’t ride in cars with boys I’ve known for less than two months. I don’t take dudes I've just met home (except that one time, Jesus, don’t you people forget anything?!). And I most certainly never, ever, make out with strangers in dark corners of night time establishments.

***The following happened a few months back and was told to me over lunch by someone who actually remembers it. If you've been following for a while then this may not surprise you but just in case, love me still.

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My long distance relationship with John had officially been over for months and I'd forgotten what kissing someone felt like, still that night I just wanted peace, a few martinis, and some sushi with girlfriends and Katie’s sweet muffin of a mom. That night I wasn’t looking for trouble or a funny story to tell over breakfast. That night I lusted deeply for my bed and pillows straight after dinner.

Dear God.

That night…

Following the consumption of sushi and martinis, Katie went back to her boyfriend and Muffin Mom went home to sleep. Yours truly headed over to a bar called Cinco which was full of old farts and people who looked like steak that’s been cooked too long, including a man of about ninety who screamed insults at me when I declined a drink he purchased me.

After Cinco we took the party train to a joint called The Bar, where we spotted a booth with a view to the dance floor and made fun of people while downing Irish car bombs and beers on draft.

Soon after things became hazy but we managed to make it to Club 50 in another part of town. I felt the eminent need to relieve myself of all the beer I’d recently consumed and excused myself for the bathroom. After a ten minute line I attempted to make my way back to my friends when someone grabbed my hand. Tipsy Annah would’ve immediately yanked it away and scowled at the person touching her. Drunk Annah cocked her head to one side and said:

To which he simply replied: Robert.

An hour later Robert and I were still dirty dancing in the dark when my friends found me to say we were leaving to a spot in South Beach. In no position to argue, I shrugged my shoulders and allowed myself to be led towards the door. Of course, not before pouncing on Robert like a teenage girl at her first dance and kissing him for a whole of thirty seconds.

DJ proclaims herself the designated driver and we make our way to Automatic Slims. As she drove slowly down a crowded street, I spotted three cute guys headed in the direction towards us.

“Slow it down there, Deej,” I told my friend, who shot me a puzzled look but did as she was told.

Ninja like, I stuck my head out of the driver’s side of the car and called out to one of the guys. “Hey you! Cute guy with the hair. Come over here!”

Hair seemed to find a strange girl hollering at him in the middle of the night from a moving vehicle normal, so he approached our car with a smile and said hello. I in turn replied: “You’re exotic looking, Hair Guy. What’s your name?”

Him: Juanas.

Me: Juan?

Him: No, Juanas.

Me: Juanes? Like the singer? I like that guy a lot.

Him. JUANAS! Like. J-U-A-N-A-S.

Me: What kind of a fuck name is that?

Him: It’s Portuguese. (Bewildered look on his face).

Me: Oooooh Portugueeeese. I like Portuguese. Good kissers, I hear. Come closer.

Juanas and I kissed for about three minutes through the driver window, which of course meant poor DJ was sitting about two inches from our faces as we made out while the world waited. When I finally pulled away, I looked at Juanas and said, “You are a good kisser," bidding my farewells and allowing DJ to continue the drive. No more than half a mile had been covered when I spotted another group of guys.

“Stop the car!” I tell DJ.

“Are you serious?” She says, half laughing.

But by this point I was already calling out to them. This group of boys didn’t have any exotic hair or strange names, just good ol’ American boys so obviously not from Miami (Charles, Johnny, and Kyle). I took a liking to Kyle and skipped over introductions and other nonsense. No time to waste when there's kissing to be done, apparently. And kissed I did until DJ got tired of Charles trying to drool on top of her while Kimmie made out with Johnny in the back, pulling away without preamble.

When we finally arrive at Automatics I had to urinate so badly I hid behind a bush and took care of the situation. Once I returned to the car Kimmie informs me the night has ended as it was already past five and the place was closed. I shrugged my shoulders violently, focusing my gaze on two guys a block away. I immediately looked at DJ imploringly and waited.

“Oh no, you’re not,” she says while waving a finger in my face.

“Come on… Don’t be a party pooper, DJ boo boo,” I pleaded. “I just want to have some fun fun.”

“First of all, stop talking like a drunk five year old,” she sighs and rolls up my window while pressing something on her side panel I can only presume to be the child lock. “Secondly, I just know you don’t want to make out with those guys, so let’s get this show on the road and put some food in your system.”

“Oh come on… Come ooooon,” I continued.

“Absolutely not,” she shrieks while suppressing her laughter.

"Please, DJ boo boo?"

It was then that she conceded and drove me closer to the two boys huddled in the corner. Of course as we neared them it became apparent why I would, in fact, not be making out with either of them that night.

Let's never speak of this again, shall we?

Monday Blues

2012-01-30T15:35:00.002-05:00

This weekend:

My old high school.
Late night basketball.
Flask of vodka.
Neon tights.

Bowling after.
Struck out miserably.

Consoled myself with beer.
And the company of friends.
Headed to the Hard Rock.
Drank too little.
Danced too much.
Not enough of either.
Found Bob Marley.
Documented it.

Headed home.
Tossed and turned.
Insomnia killed me.
Morning came.
Slept too little.
Cleaned my place.
Afternoon beers.
Evening nap.
Dinner at Mr. Chow's.
Holy fuck, expensive.
Took some pictures.

Lychee martinis.
Incredible food.
Incredible bill ($300!?!?!?).
Heart attack.
Almost drowned here.

Sunday came.
Loved my dogs.
A little much.

Saw my parents.
Then some friends.
And ~~their~~ my munchkin.

Drank a little.
Laughed a lot.
Ruined my makeup.
Half past midnight.
Headed home.
Feeling fine...

The Special Olympics

2012-01-27T11:13:00.003-05:00

Me: I need to talk to you about something.

Ethan: Yes I'm okay with naked pictures via text.

Me: (laughing) Don't be ridiculous.

Ethan: Alright.

Me: So I’ve noticed my downstairs neighbors have been charging their phones on the outlet outside my front door.

Ethan: That doesn’t waste any energy.

Me: Can you let me finish?

Ethan: Yes.

Me: So… The other day I saw the little girl go in the house when I was coming home from the gym and it was pitch black. Like. No lights.

Ethan: You think they don’t have electricity?

Me: Well that kind of *proves* it. The question that I want to ask is… I kind of want to help but don't know how to go about it. I mean. Do I just outright go down there and give them money for electricity? Or do I leave an envelope on their door with no note? I don’t know.

Ethan: (shaking head) You're going to offend them.

Me: No I'm not.

Ethan: This isn’t the Special Olympics, Annah.

Me: Excuse me?

Ethan: (sighs) The other day you came over and dropped a receipt on the floor. On it, there was: one bottle of champagne, one bottle of orange juice, and a donation to the Special Olympics.

Me: What’s your point?

Ethan: The point is… You’re a nice person. But you can’t save the world. And paying for their electricity isn’t going to enable them to fix whatever the problem is. They live in a nice neighborhood. In a safe area. Electricity is a luxury these days. Not a necessity.

Me: (quietly sipping my wine).

Ethan: Do what you want. But you're going to offend them. In the meantime, I have something to cheer you up.

Me: Is that so?

Ethan: Check your email. I recorded this the other day while you were sleeping...

I kind of hate him.

Bucket Me This: Part II

2012-01-26T00:35:00.002-05:00

Last year I mentioned my intent to jump on the bucket list bandwagon and compiled one of my own to finish before 12-12-12 (my thirtieth birthday and the beginning of the end).

Because it’s 2012 and January's almost done, I’ve become more proactive in checking off every item on the list with a goal of one per month. I hear that in order to succeed at these sorts of things you need keep it simple so here it is if you missed it last time:

Shoot a gun.
~~Get a tattoo.~~
Take Portuguese classes.
Skydive
~~Get a massage by a professional (preferably in a spa).~~
Rescue & find homes for 100 stray dogs
Learn to bake a cheesecake from scratch.
Go on a hot air balloon ride.
Return to my high school weight (ha ha ha. I’m a funny girl).
Go sailing.
Buy a pair of Christian Louboutin heels (do knock offs count?).
Go on safari.

Extra credit: Make passionate steamy love to my teenage crush, Josh Hartnett.

So this Saturday, despite my deathly flu-like symptoms and inability to breathe through my nose, I mustered the energy to check off item # 5 from my awesome and totally doable list.

When I walked into Evolution Spa that windy afternoon, a heavily tattoed girl escorted me to a dark lit room and the smell of mint and incense engulfed me. A beefy woman of about fifty who could totally kick my ass with her big hands if she wanted to introduced herself as Linda, my masseuse. After some small talk she asked me to get comfortable and said she’d be back in five minutes.

Because I’d never been to a spa before, I deduced “get comfortable” meant get naked and that’s what I did.

(Except my underwear, of course. What kind of creepazoid do you think I am, guys?).

When Linda returned to find me lying in the buff moments later, she laughed and asked me to get up so I could lie under the blanket. Weird.

For the next sixty minutes, Beefy and her big hands went to town on my body, rubbing me so hard my back is bruised and my hips hurt when touched. Occasionally I’d laugh and scream “ouch!” To which Linda would respond with a light beating of the shoulders and a “You laugh for anything, little girl.” She proceeded to tell me stories about all the weird people she’s offered her services to. How one guy walked around the room completely naked and refused to put his pants on. How she pepper sprayed him and called the cops. How he sent her flowers and an apology note the day after.

“There are some weird people out there, little girl,” she’d offered as she kneaded her fingers into the back of my knees. “Some weird, strange little people.”

I must confess getting beat up my Linda’s huge hands wasn’t my idea of fun. Then she brought out the hot stones and shit got interesting real quick. That feeling of a smooth stone against my skin with warm oil was exquisite. Maybe it was my masochistic subconscious speaking, but I found it as close to divine intervention as possible for a Saturday afternoon.

A little while later I fell asleep and awoke to the soothing sounds of wind chimes and Linda packing her materials.

“You sure do snore, pretty one,” she mused, then left me to get dressed without further warning.

I have never felt so used.

-------

All in all, I give this experience 9 out of 10 ninja stars. The only thing I would’ve changed was the pain factor and the “din dong ding ding ding” of Asian music for the sounds of Mozart but I’m peculiar that way. Until next item… The pleasure’s been all mine.

The Year Of The Dragon

2012-01-24T00:37:00.005-05:00

The weekend was spent sleeping obscene amounts of time as I attempted to battle the flu and lost miserably. After incubating myself to near death and growing to hate my bed and its NyQuil scented pillows, Britt came over Saturday night to state that a) she had broken up with her boyfriend and b) she needed to drink. I sighed and drank hot tea in a corner while she rightfully drowned her sorrows with this array of spirits:

When she finally convinced me to throw on a dress in an attempt to go out, I felt like death on a stick. My new phone isn’t the greatest at taking pictures but here I am anyway with my roommate before terrorizing Miami.

A great night was had by all and Colombian dogs were consumed by the tons at four o'clock in the morning. By Colombian dogs I mean “perros,” a delicious hot dog filled with sauces and tiny French fries, not canines from Colombia (that’d be weird).

Sunday I woke up feeling better and headed to the local pub with Britt, who bitched and moaned about her ex-boyfriend and why breaking up is hard to do, meanwhile I took a few Irish car bombs to the face and gave the best advice a single girl can muster in spite of her natural cynicism. Later on Ethan took me to see the Heat play the Bucks and of course:

He’s assured me he’s willing to take me to other games but no playoffs. “You’re bad luck," he says and laughs at me.

The Year of the Dragon has officially begun today and even though I’m not Asian I’m ready to set things on fire and eat some Chinese while we're at it.

By Chinese I mean greasy noodles. Not people with really nice hair.

The Golden Ticket

2012-01-19T01:10:00.012-05:00

Sometimes when they drink, my friends achieve genius status.
-------

There's a cloud of disillusionment that suspends itself above me and pesters my existence when people deceive me in exquisite fashion, leaving me in the dark for no other reason than their own cowardice. There's a sense of resolution that follows once I realize others actions are not a reflection of my character, but simply a lack of their own.

There is a light... One that shines when the dust has settled and I realize that yes, I've dodged a bullet.

But before all that, when I'm deep in that tunnel and clarity has yet to set in, there's only one viable method of eradicating that knot in my stomach: real friends, introspection, and the golden ticket.

-------

It's no surprise writing a public blog about real life events gets me in more trouble than a diabetic child dipping his hands into a cookie jar after dinner. There's sadly no exception to this rule but fuck it, you can't really please everyone.

Last week I wrote about the perils of thinking too much while partaking in coitus with Ethan, a boy I've known since adolescence who's no longer a boy at all, but a man in his own right. When you're outspoken in public but wary of strangers in private, friends like Ethan are an essential part of life.

Yesterday he sent me a text:

Ethan: Um. You couldn't get wet?

Me: Hello to you too.

Ethan: Sorry. Hi. SO. YOU COULDN'T?

Me: Of course I could. When have you and I ever had problems in that area, Ethan?

Ethan: Never. But you always say your blog is 95% true. And my mind began to wander.

Me: Don't let it do that. Something tells me you'll need it. Sides... You're my golden ticket.

Ethan: Your what?

Me: Nothing. Just something Britt made up which I find hilarious but I'm sure you won't find half as amusing.

Ethan: I see. . . It's hard to stomach your honesty at times. You know that, right?

Me: So I hear. Maybe it's time for me to take another celibacy vow. Makes life so much easier.

Ethan: Nooooooooooo.

Me: I'm kidding. Speaking of... Is it Thursday yet?

Ethan: Not even in China.

Me: Patience is a virtue, I guess.

Ethan: In more ways than one.

-------

And so the cloud lifts and is slowly but surely replaced with the conviction that things happen as they should. That at some point like right now it's Thursday in Miami but also in China. That tomorrow will bring sweet endings to beginnings made bitter by people who don't know any better. That the world will continue to spin on its perfect axis despite every battle big and small taking place on it. And that I will return to the person I was before I almost lost my faith in love and the goodness in others.

C'est la vie, boys and girls.

And it's mine for the taking.

Awesome. Awesome. Awesome!!!!!

2012-01-17T23:53:00.002-05:00

Guess whose friend adores her so that she gave her a brand new smart phone with internet?!!!!!!!!

Lola loves me to levels unimaginable by my rather small brain but I can still process the fact that hey! I will now have internet on my phone. And Facebook. And email. And Twitter, homies! This is radical.

I spent the morning elbow deep in paperwork and meeting room reservations. I spent the afternoon ankle deep in dog hair and Kibbles n' Bits. I spent the evening head deep in sweat and trying to avoid unleashing a fart festival during Zumba after a late lunch of Mexican and refried beans. Tonight isn't one of those nights where I feel like sitting on the floor connected to an ethernet cable so I can blog (hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me).

That and I want to mess with my new phone, obviously. And as I cleaned all the ~~pornographic~~ baby pictures Lola left behind, I found this!

(Nevermind I don't remember taking this picture or when it took place).

The phone remembers, guys. And that's why it's "smart."

Good times and rock n' roll.

Well That Would've Been Awkward...

2012-01-16T16:11:00.000-05:00

If you've been reading RMG for more than a minute you know I've been pining away for literary famosity while juggling temp jobs and praying for a miracle every night before I go to sleep. Currently, I'm working in the administrative side of a political team and although I never thought it'd be my thing, I'm kind of in love with it. Because we're in the heated portion of a political campaign that'll reach its zenith this November, things around the office have been incredibly hectic with a side of stressful sauce.

This Friday my boss asked me to find a "nice resort" for three of our head honchos, who'd be coming down to South Florida for a company retreat this spring. After a few hours of research and some ridiculous prices (who actually pays $400 a night for a hotel these days?!), I found the perfect five star resort. I couldn't believe such a beautiful place could only be $189.00 a night and felt quite satisfied with myself as I copied the link into an email and forwarded it to my boss.

Five minutes later, she replied.

Her: Is this some sort of joke?

Me: What do you mean?

Her: Do you realize what you just sent me?

Me: The link to the Royal Palms Resort. It's beautiful, no? Five stars.

Her: Of course it's beautiful. But I'm certain top management isn't into *that* sort of ambience for their retreat. Go into the website and check it out.

So it turns out that the beautiful and economic Royal Palms is indeed five stars. And exclusively for the gay community.

Something tells me this isn't the right approach towards a permanent position.

Regular. Everyday. Ordinary Bullsh*t.

2012-01-12T11:02:00.000-05:00

Oh you know... Just Ryan and I shooting the shit at work last week.

This Won't Stop 'Til I Say So.

2012-01-09T23:38:00.003-05:00

Ryan: You need to stop being gay and post more fun shit, yo! <----- First text today.

Me: Good morning to you too.

Ryan: Quit the gayness.

Me: Gay?

Ryan: Your posts lately = Gay.

Me: I’m sorry, bubba. I write what I feel.

Ryan: So you feel gay.

Me: Gay is happy. And I guess I am, now that I think about it.

Ryan: Then write like it, damn it!

So how does one even begin to explain the clusterfuck of events that have taken place in the past month without sounding like a whiny little bitch? Impossible.

So I had a phone. Mostly got me in trouble but I loved the hell out of the stupid thing. It had internet and all sorts of cool applications I didn’t know how to use but that’s besides the point. I went to a party and the theory's that someone stole it. I secretly think my friend’s dog ate it but some things will forever remain unknown. My coworker had an extra phone lying around the house and gave it to me because she’s a wonderful and decent human being.

(I drowned it in vodka three days later.)

My dad then lent me another one that same weekend and said it was perfect for me.

Here it is for your viewing pleasure:

It has no internet. No apps. No Facebook. No nothing.

It has texting. And I can make phone calls. I'm dwelling in the land of the dinosaurs and it’s not as fun as it looks in the movies. Also? My wireless router broke before I left to Cuba so now when I want to blog I have to sit on my living room floor and insert a fat cable into my laptop (ugh, that doesn’t sound right).

------

So there’s this ritual of writing posts in which I map out what I want to say and do little clusters like they taught us in elementary school and get my ideas together and sometimes strike gold. Then there’s this…

Between Cuba and work and the flip phone and no money for shampoo and looking like a beggar from time to time something funny happened: I began losing my hair.

(Down there)

I brought this up to Ryan tonight and he wasn't very helpful (as usual):

I don’t know if I should be alarmed or elated but I’ll go with the latter.

Silver lining? I think yes…

Deep In It

2012-01-06T12:05:00.003-05:00

My friend Ryan has stated on various occasions that my biggest flaw is my brain and the fact it's constantly on, churning away thoughts and ideas likely to get me in trouble. “Brain off, Annah,” he tells me when he knows I’m over thinking things. “Just go with it.”

As mentioned previously, I’ve been pondering a little too much about love as of late. What is it? Does it really exist between two people? Is it possible to keep it alive without playing mind games? Is being honest about your feelings a dagger you throw that eventually turns to stab you in the heart? Are there people out there who actually mean what they say and follow through on it to the end?

And I wonder…

These thoughts have consumed me so much lately I’ve nearly lost my mind. And what do you think? I’d really like to know.

-------

I sit in a bar last night with a feeling so heavy it seems I’ve swallowed a bag of rocks. “Did you hear me?” She says, looking at me with a face of concern. “You haven’t even taken a sip of your wine and we’ve been here for hours.”

I lift the glass and examine its contents, no longer interested in numbing my thoughts momentarily with pinot. A vibration to my left startles me and I see my phone flashing. A ghost from the past comes to greet me just when I need it the most. He senses my sadness and asks me what’s wrong. I tell him I need a sign that states he’s out there. He laughs and tells me it’s not in the cards just yet. All in due time, he whispers. Hope is the last thing one should lose, remember?

And I do…

A couple to my left is on their first date. I’ve heard them talking in the background and shift my gaze in their direction. A good looking guy is doting on a girl three times my size. She tells him she’s cold and he drapes his jacket snugly around her shoulders. I watch in amazement and Britt taps my glass. This time I lift it and drink its contents without hesitation. The bag of rocks inside me has left the building, leaving instead a feeling of lightness and faith.

It’s the last thing one should lose... His words resonate in my mind and I turn them over for a minute.

I turn my brain off for the night and emerge hopeful. I think it's the only way to be. Even when thinking, is bad for my health.

So How Much Did You Miss Me...?

2012-01-04T12:47:00.004-05:00

I've been thinking about love a lot lately and couldn't exactly tell you why.

When I was seventeen, I fell head over heels in love with a boy named Gabriel on a visit to Cuba. He turned my world upside down in ways no one had the capacity to do. Wise beyond his years, spontaneous, honest, cultured, absolutely mad in ways few people can be without scratching the crazy surface.

Meeting him marked a precedent for the man I'd ultimately want to end up with if he just so happens to roam this earth. A sense of urgency so thick cuts the air when you're madly in love with a person whom you share a long distance relationship with. Days are measured in years and nights consumed with a hunger one can only reserve for their last meal on earth. Our country became our own personal playground, whatever it was we were doing intensifying with every trip, with every letter, with every phone call.

"That which with fury's picked up, with fury is dropped," my mom used to tell me. I'd reply fury had nothing to do with it and continued living in a dream world where Gabriel and I would one day roam together.

When the inevitable topic of marriage came up two years later, a split second of insanity told me it was the only route. Of course days later I came to my senses and despite a heart so heavy I felt it at my feet, we ended things. Each time I return to Cuba I'm engulfed by those days, when innocence claimed that love truly does conquer all, and everything else can be resolved through the strength of said feeling. Sometimes we speak and reminisce on times only Alzheimer's and death can take from us, the friendship flower we cultivated out of two broken hearts still growing strong twelve years later.

This time I returned to my country and none of the melancholy of times gone by accompanied me. If I learned anything from the past is that it exists to appreciate the future. If I learned anything from mistakes is that they're made to not be repeated. If I learned anything from anything is that I still have a lot to learn. And if I learned anything about love is that it's made of actions and not words, for actions build things (tangible or otherwise). And words are just that: words.

-------

I leave you guys with a few pictures of my trip to Cuba for my cousin Mel's "quinces." There's a simplicity to life there I sometimes miss. And a complexity to the one I lead here I'm grateful for and would never give up.

Love,

Annah

Katherine. The Great.

2011-12-28T16:05:00.004-05:00

One night in my early twenties, I left the gym on a chilly Miami night and drove home in silence while texting back and forth with my good friend Lola. As I parked the car and grabbed my purse, casually heading up the steps to my place, I heard footsteps behind me. My brain initially assumed it was a friend playing a prank on me and I did what any girl would do at the moment, scream at the top of my lungs. When the boy behind me looked down and told me to shut up, I did the complete opposite by screaming louder.

"Shut the fuck up and give me your purse," he said, the cold end of his gun grazing my left temple.

In retrospect, I realize throwing my purse at his feet wasn't the brightest of moves. In reality, the five seconds it took for him to bend down and grab it as I opened the door and ran inside possibly saved my life. It goes without saying that my level of paranoia for dark parking lots and coming home alone has heightened to places filled with anxiety and despair most people will never visit.

-------

My roommate Katie is my own little version of match made in heaven. She's considerate, fun, doesn't eat my food without replacing it, hates vodka (which means she won't drink mine), loves my dogs, and understands that cooking in the kitchen in only a t-shirt and underwear while jamming Spanish music is a thing of art not to be interrupted.

Like most people on earth she has one ~~murderous~~ little flaw: Forgetting to lock the front door. I've told her on countless occasions how imperative it is to take care of this one minute task. It's apparent my darling Katie still thinks she's living in the posh and safe neighborhood she resided in, prior to moving to Casa de Annah.

Last night at a little past midnight, I was floating in the clouds of deep sleep when distant growling in the background woke me. As I groggily adjusted my eyes to my surroundings, Bruno was sitting by the bedroom door instead of in bed with his mummy (that's me).

"What's wrong, Fatsi?" I asked, opening the door to the living area and heading towards the front door to check the lock. It didn't surprise me to not find it locked, while Katie slept soundfully in her room oblivious to the dangers that lie in the big scary world of Miami-Dade County. I decided that instead of bitching again so we don't end up shot by our drug dealing neighbors one of these days, I'd take some action and write this post.

This morning I made some signs... Like the ones Lola has for her eight year old reminding her to flush the toilet and brush her teeth before bedtime.

Front door:

Door to her room:

Inside of front door:

I'm thinking these will really get the point across. If not, it's only a matter of time before I end up floating in some Miami canal while my head drifts away in the Atlantic towards Europe and seriously it's been super nice knowing you guys.

Going Back To The Start

2011-12-25T19:35:00.001-05:00

Before I left to New York. Before I turned twenty-nine. Before I fucked up my banner. Before the holidays took over and made life rosy. Before I got pulled over for forgetting to renew my registration. Before possible arrest for urinating in public. Before obliteration of a degree I didn't know was possible. Before I met him. Before he blindsided me. Before I shot up the inevitable walls that come up whenever I meet his kind. Before I said things I didn't mean in an effort to drive him away. Before it backfired on me in more ways than one. Before I apologized. Before he accepted. Before welcoming the unknown, there was a start.

One in which I lived less and wrote more and didn't neglect this blog into the obscurity it'll surely fall into if I don't turn things around quickly.

I realize I've been doing myself no favors with my lack of posting lately. And that this broken record of mine as it relates to writing has become one you'll soon throw away if it doesn't start singing a different tune.

I want to go back to that time. The one in which I thought I'd have to give this up due to lack of post material. Then I let life in and the flood gates of madness and awkward situations opened up once again... I'll start there and move it forward steadily after that.

Promise.

Today I will talk about my hair. Tomorrow I'll explain the rest.

-------

I didn't intend to post about bangs and hair mishaps on Christmas Day but unfortunately this is what the blog gods have intended for the moment being so just bear with me.

So because I cut off four inches of hair between a bout of insanity and my hairdresser trying to repair the subsequent damage two months ago, I can no longer rock my samurai bun.

What is a samurai bun, you ask?

It's this:

And this in real life:

Samurai buns are my thing. They make me feel happy. Free. Ninja like, if you will. Without it I feel conflicted and inadequate on Sunday mornings and gym nights. What could I possibly do to fix this? A little voice in my hear whispered, Weave shop. I figured all I had to do was grab this "ponytail" of hair that looked like this:

And pin it to my top ponytail whenever I wanted a bun and then wrap it around, pin it in place and voila! Fake samurai bun.

After spending $30.00 on "espresso human hair," I got home to try it out but was baffled by the contents once out of the bag:

What the fuck am I supposed to do with all this? Looks more like a hair scarf than a ponytail. Bruno certainly thinks so.

Merry Christmas and a Happy Hanukkah. Or something like that.

Mea Culpa

2011-12-19T15:34:00.000-05:00

Between a wine party Thursday evening and leaving to New York the next morning to return to Miami on Saturday afternoon and celebrate a friend's thirtieth birthday to sleep three hours and spend all of Sunday cooking for ten friends and drinking too much wine, my brain is a fried egg (on drugs).

The next ten days before I leave to Cuba are packed with so many activities I've hired someone to split me in three and rock on. Also, my internet broke again (fucking Comcast!) and I drowned my other new phone in a glass of vodka. I promise you that I'm trying my bestest to keep it together but all I can ask for presently is patience and faith that I can be an ambassador for madness and bad decisions even when I'm not writing about it.

My friend finally got around to uploading my banner and I love it more than beef empanadas drizzled in hot sauce. Ryan says it looks like the rising sun flag and I guess it kind of does but it wasn't on purpose. Regardless, we all need a little rising in our lives, whether it's the sun or male body parts.

I hope you're having a killer holiday season. And by killer, I mean full of love and gifts. Not blood and knives. That would be weird.

X,
Annah

Alive

2011-12-12T12:39:00.001-05:00

Twenty-nine orbits around the sun today and I'm celebrating the only way I know how: with Penelope nearby and a single birthday wish.

I'm not sure if I have it all as figured out as I'd hope to, but something tells me it'll come to me.

Meanwhile I vow to be more responsible for the sake of those who love me.

The erratic behavior is here to stay, though. Pinky swear.

Somebody Loves Me

2011-12-08T01:07:00.001-05:00

I was supposed to post this last night but was too busy drinking spiked eggnog with my best friend in the emergency room as she nursed a black eye she got at a bar fight.

Just kidding about the bar fight.

Not about the black eye.

Or the egg nog.

When I got home I cooked dinner in my underwear and sang out loud to Shakira much to the horror of my roommate. Then I went to Lola’s house and had a few drinks only to end up frolicking in bed with Sunday’s favorite mistake. Here’s an ad from someone who supports my blog and all its bad decisions (God knows I’ve been making tons of those lately and you guys love it - except you, Anonymous).

Click on the sidebar ad (or here) and make it worth her while, kids.

-------

I was a little bored of my banner (as you can see) and decided to change it for a little while. Apparently I forgot how to do it because it's a complete blurry mess and I'm too tired to fix it. Bear with me until I can figure it out next week, hmmkay?

You Know What The Holidays Need? More Of This.

2011-12-05T23:33:00.008-05:00

"So tell me all about it," she asked while sprawling her legs on my couch, expectant eyes smiling at me.

"God," I began. "It had been a long day..."

Unlike most weekends filled with dark rooms and things said we'd hardly remember come Monday, I'd resorted to descending to reality for a few days of sobriety and reading in bed. We made plans to see each other that night, the sporadic frequency of our times together as erratic as we both were. Penelope had been in my place for about an hour when he arrived with a bottle of wine. Initially I'd resisted to drinking at all but when in Rome...

We sit outside and open the bottle, his mischievous grin shining through every time he offers a joke or remark. As usual he charms the wits out of people he's never met, and when he steps away to the bathroom Penelope is convinced I must marry him. I dismiss her with a laugh and chalk up her naivete to the cabernet flowing through her veins. After finishing the wine and downing some nasty clear liquid a friend brought back from Peru we decide to go to his place, where his roommate is hosting a small get together.

Cassie raises an eyebrow and cocks her head off to once side. "Hold that thought," she says, going to my liquor cabinet and pouring herself some of that Peruvian liquor in a shot glass. "You're right," she winces. This is pretty nasty. Continue."

"We drive off in two cars, Penelope's and his..."

When we arrive there's only beer and we're too lazy to make a wine run so that's all there is to it. There's a taxidermied animal in his living room which he sets on the floor to my horror, and my dog finds completely amusing. We're laughing hysterically as she sniffs and examines the dead body from all angles, possibly wondering why it won't play with her. I realize how disturbing this must sound to an outsider but trust me, it was hilarious. Things are normal as we huddle around the television and discuss sports and better days gone by. No mention of our previous close encounters nor the people we're both dating. It's natural. Casual, if you will. I feel fine with it.

Midnight rolls around and I tell Pe it's time for last call. We finish our beers and get up to leave when she makes a beeline for the bathroom. He approaches slowly, looking down at me and placing his face dangerously close to mine as he says, "I don't want to impose... But would you mind staying a while longer and having some wine?"

The answer was yes. We decide to buy a bottle as soon as Penelope leaves but when she does, the door locks behind me and drinking is the last thing on my mind. As we're standing in silence at the entrance hall he says, "So do you want me to get that wine?"

"Not really," I reply, offering nothing more as I stand there.

"Um, what do you want to do then?"

"Let's see," I looked up at him. "I have a few things in mind."

"Oh my God, what did he do?!" Her eyes wide as saucers couldn't contain her excitement. "Tell me!"

"I guess I figured he'd laugh and we'd buy the wine..." I continued.

He grabbed my shoulder and pushed me hard against the wall, kissing me without any preamble or forewarning. I kissed him back, the urgency of the moment trumping any possible reservations we might've had about what was to go down. Hands everywhere, we stumble towards his room, lips separating only to gasp for air or peel off our shirts.

As soon as the door closes we're on the bed, clothes off in sixty seconds, bodies together in less than that as he struggles to find the necessary safety measures in the dark. There's no hesitation in the way he makes love, no apologies for being aggressive. The bite and nail scratch marks left behind when we're done remind me of a cat fight, if cat fights were enjoyable, that is. I finish surprisingly early and him not long after. A part of me is convinced I'll wake up at some point, but I don't.

"So then what did you do?"

"Nothing," I said. "We laid together in silence for a while and then I got dressed and asked him to take me home."

She wags her finger at me and gives me the you're-always-going-to-be-alone look, "Why would you do that?"

"Because this is what happens when friendship lines are blurred to the point where no one thing can bring them to clear definition again."

She exhales loudly and finishes off her Peruvian fire. "Well maybe you should do something about that, buddy..."

"Maybe I should," I reply.

But I won't.

Red Means Go

Sex With Socks On

The Greatest Player Alive

Sometimes... You Just Need A Break.

For Caroline and Olivia

Everything's Not Lost

It's Not All Fun & Games, I Assure You...

Monday Blues

I'm Kind Of Embarrassed By All This.

Monday Blues

The Special Olympics

Bucket Me This: Part II

The Year Of The Dragon

The Golden Ticket

Awesome. Awesome. Awesome!!!!!

Well That Would've Been Awkward...

Regular. Everyday. Ordinary Bullsh*t.

This Won't Stop 'Til I Say So.

Deep In It

So How Much Did You Miss Me...?

Katherine. The Great.

Going Back To The Start

Mea Culpa

Alive

Somebody *Loves* Me

You Know What The Holidays Need? More Of This.

Somebody Loves Me