I'm not sure why they even bother giving us a national holiday because without fail John and I will drink away the day--you know, when we're not a)remodeling the house b)taking tests that affect our entire lives and c) whatever else important things we have going on. Oh sure, we'll play drunken wii and I will cry over Kurt Cobain being dead as we sing along to the songs (true story) but ultimately, we will fill our gullets with a bottle of Black Seal (I'm sorry, he made pina coladas, and I like pina coladas...a lot) in less than an hour and I will pass out on the couch while John attempts to service me. I am a classy wife.

Also, have you seen the KIA commercial about Millard Fillmore being an unknown president? Well, my mom has a weird sense of humor and she told John and I over lunch the other day that she was going to write a letter because it wasn't "right" to make fun a president and/or creating a soap on a rope in his image. John laughed later that he would kill to see a "draft of that letter" because I think he really believed that my mom is bat shit crazy (she is not, she's just goofy). So what does every thirty year woman do? She prank calls her mother as the "Millard Filmore Appreciation Society" and attempted to urge her to write letters and call KIA...the whole time I kept losing it and lapsing into fits of laughter...so I gave up the ruse. I was amazed when she said, "Mel? Is that really you? I thought it was some CRAZY person!". Then she asked us if we were high since we were cackling like morons which spurred us to take pictures of John with a pot on his head and send them to her cell phone. This "hilarious" idea also backfired because we had to teach my dear mother how to retrieve both texts (she just found one that John sent her in October inviting her to the movies with us) and pictures. PS. we were sober for all of these antics.

I woke up this morning to find that I had written a note to my drunken self to remember. Apparently, spelling is beyond me when drunk...also, I must've been quoting John:

Living with a woman is like [living with] a salamander
I just don't get it, but I do amuse myself.

Geez...I had a to dust off the keyboard before typing, it's been that long!!
vacation has been glorious so far, I think I'm crossing the halfway point now and I never want it to end. However, just like life, vacations have their highs and lows. Let me explain in list form:

1. Thursday evening officially marked John's holiday break...for some reason, I thought I'd celebrate too. After a few rum and pineapple juices (daiquiris if you will...John's been reading a lot of Fitzgerald lately and daiquiris are anything that are rum based mixed with fruit juices, he's trying to bring it back--don't ask me why), I had a glass of Jameson and we played lots of Trivial Pursuit and sang to music. You can imagine my excitement when I got up at 6 the next morning. It reminded me of the good old days and why I don't like drinking during the week.

2. I came home from work on Friday and the house was full of deliciousness. On John's day off, he cleaned and he made me my favorite dinner! MMMMM! This is why I'm keeping him. More drunken Trivia Pursuit ensued (hey, it's a cheap yet fun entertainment...plus our local, hometown bar is closed for the entire holiday). I made John giggle with some drunken dirty talk...it was pretty funny, good thing he didn't start laughing until it was all over.

3. Saturday was the laziest day we had. We laid on the couch, did some grocery shopping and watched bad movies (namely, Hatchet, John didn't even make it through that one). We also had dinner where we were outnumbered by pregnant people, and toddlers.

4. Sunday we lounged. Then John took me to lunch since I've been salivating over commercials of shrimp. I believe at one point I said that I wanted my teeth removed and replaced with baline so that I could just guzzle shrimp down by the dozen at a time. I know, I know...what a dream to have!! Then we went out to see our friends down at the FQB. There we were on a mission to catch a buzz because our drunken friends had been there since 2 pm. We started with White Russians, switched over to shots of blackberry vodka and coke, more dark rum and pineapple, a shot of SoCo and lime, and then finally switching to a single beer and a shrug...we were well beyond our budget for the evening and well behind everyone else in the bar who were at this point posing with a giant blow up penis. Ah the holidays, so festive!

5. Monday was the low point in my vacation. It started off great...in keeping with our "drink lots of alcohol theme" of the holiday, John whipped up some vodka, cranberry and sprites for us and we sat and watched Die Hard, which John has declared to be his favorite "holiday movie ever". After a few of these drinks I started to feel not so good. In fact, only three of them had me on my knees praying for death. That "warm and fuzzy feeling stayed with me for hours...it wasn't until about 8 pm that I was able to actually keep food down. Unfortunately, this is the same amount of time I got to spend with T, as I ran back and forth to the bathroom. This little exchange though almost got me strangled.
(John comes back into the house after he ran out saying he was going "to get me something")
John: I brought you Wendy's, you need to something!
Me: I was hoping you got me Pepto Bismol or something... (as I greedily took my sandwich)
John: (tries to keep his hands from my neck) I'll run back out...
Me: No, I'll be ok, this sandwich should help...
I take three bites and fall asleep.

Needless to say, I had a lot of damage control to do on Christmas morning!! I'll stop off here for now.

Cheap vodka makes for a nasty hangover...

I'm just saying.

Pardon me, I need to lay next to the toilet for the next five hours. Seriously, I feel so badly that I think death would be an acceptable alternative at this point.

Hangover be gone. Seriously, can someone please stop the evil dwarf that's in my head pounding on my skull with a hammer from the inside?? Last night was our friend Ronnie's birthday. We went to one of our favorite restaurants and then back to his house for a little house party action. It was like being in college again except with far better beer and no one was making out against the wall. Because Ronnie and his roommate are beer snobs I imbibed high octane beer rather than my watered down light beer. This resulted in me tripping over a cord, spilling an entire glass of beer and knocking over an amplifier...plus that little detail of me being sprawled all over the garage with five shocked musicians staring down at me wondering why the music had died. To be fair, I am naturally clumsy, there were sixty thousand cords snaked everywhere AND I was wearing platform heels. It was very early in the evening and I hadn't had nearly enough to blame it on the booze. Later? Well that's an entirely different story.

Those heels will be the death of me. As my care taker, John took one look at my wobbly self and suggested that I sit down on the steps and slide down them rather than break my neck. He has all the good ideas. I flew down the steps at what seemed to be slightly faster than the speed of sound and "gracefully" landed on the floor in what I assume was a very chic pose. You know, legs akimbo and arms flailing while yelling, "whoooooaaaaa!" Two seconds later, John came tumbling after...apparently I wasn't the only one having problems with gravity.

A girl at the party whom I despise took one look at John and I sprawled and laughing at the bottom of the steps and said, "Do you guys need a drink? A drink of water maybe?" Her suggestion was scorned, of course. And seriously, her one liners need work.

Gravity continued to work against me all night and I finally admitted defeat, and that's why dear friends, I left the party shoeless. And that's what happens when you don't leave the house very often anymore...you become socially inept. And I'm ok with that, because I have a partner in crime and suffering--John's on the other couch making moaning sounds that remind me of two whales humping each other. I'm not exactly sure why it would remind me of that because I've never experienced whale love making, but it has to sound like this.

All's well here...perhaps I'm understating-- it's simply perfect. But perfect rarely breeds inspired posts. I could tell you about how John and I have become afficienados of both Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble (that Genus edition is harder than I remember! I think my parents cheated and gave me fake questions growing up!). I could tell you that I needed my mom's help in paying my $1,000 bill to get my car cleared for inspection---it is seriously amazing how much better the car runs---it no longer sounds like Fred Flintstone is using his feet to carry my little econo-car along!

Instead, I'll tell you how our past weekend could've been exciting, in list form:

1. It could've been exciting if I hadn't played drunken Scrabble on Friday night.
2. I consumed 5 Molson XXX and a few other lite beers and all of the sudden I was just a blathering idiot.
3. 6,000 is the number of times that John begged me that night to take a breath and stop babbling.
4. 6,0001 is the number of times I ignored his request.
5. That night, the drunken sex was spectacular...I blame my drunkeness for my reference to John as a "stallion"...stallion??? You can do better than that, right???
6. I awoke the next morning to lay on the couch and drink another beer to try to stave off the hangover...instead, I passed out.
7. I awoke again, to puke.
8. and puke
9. and eat KFC
10. and puke
11. and eat Wendy's
12. and puke
13. John, my faithful nursemaid (and sex stallion), tried to revive me. First, with more sex...nice, but that didn't help. Second, with trying to get me to T's Halloween party. A party we were supposed to be at around 8 pm...instead, he was trying to rally me to go at 3 am and laugh at our drunken friends.
14. I waved him away, puked and set him along without me...I nestled down with a lovely marathon of To Catch a Predator (I think it's probably wrong of me to love that show...but I do, I love it)
15. John returned with lots of pictures and videos of all kinds of mayhem--girls making out, John's friend potentially getting a threesome (which may have been arranged by my very own sex stallion, since he plied them with numerous shots in the two hours that he was there--that's how he got his other name--The Shot Monster!)
16. I fell back asleep and laid on the couch the whole next day watching football next to the Stallion.
17. Moral of the story...drunken Scrabble can destroy a weekend I suppose.

Oh and I'm attempting to do this:

I don't know how this story slipped my mind...but somehow John came away unscathed because I hadn't posted this story on the blog--and we can't have that, now can we?!? Hells no!

Last weekend John and I got a bit drunk on our deck while listening to Bob Dylan, munching on some grilled foods and sipping on whiskey. Somehow, I managed to get myself more than a little tipsy so I excused myself from a drunken game of wii golf that we always end up playing when we've had a little too much, and I sneaked away uptairs to sleep. Eyeing up my options, a nice cushy queen sized bed or the floor as sleeping choices, I picked wisely. I chose the floor as the ideal place for slumber, I grabbed my pillow from the bed and I happily closed my eyes...and this is where the story gets interesting.

Apparently while I was sleeping, a certain drunken Johnny came upstairs and beheld his naked wife passed out, ahem, sleeping on the bedroom floor. The drunkard thought to himself, "Hmm...you know what Melina probably wants right now? I bet she wants to be tied up!" (I picture him scratching his beard while coming up with this bang up idea). So drunken husband o' the year sets about looking for things to use to tie me up with. All the while I'm just snoring away, blissfully unaware of what he's doing.

From his account of the evening's activities, John said that he wandered around the room and settled upon my pink robe tie and a pair of flannel pajama pants. The pants he tied over my face as a "little blindfold" because (as he chuckled) he didn't want me to wake up and see him (Oh of course not, because he knew that I would've probably decked him!) He managed to expertly get my arms behind my back and well...tie them up with the pink robe tie. Ok, so this story might be sexy if I had been awake (if you're into that), it might've been a little more perverted if he hadn't fallen asleep in the empty bed, but the story just turns out to be plain old funny because...

John passed out on the bed, leaving me to wake up the next morning wondering why I was blind and why I couldn't move my arms! After a long struggle, I managed to free my hands and then get rid of the damn pair of pajamas that were tied to my head. Call me Melina Houdini...if you will. You can imagine that I was more than a little confused because I damn well knew that when I put myself to bed I left off the blindfold. "Hmmm...who could it have been?", I thought to myself. Looking around the room, I quickly recognized the culprit who was sleeping the sleep of the guilty, alone in the bed while I had been naked on the floor with nothing for warmth but a robe tie! Of course, I woke John up to find out what the hell he had been up to but he just mumbled sleepily, "You looked so cute on the floor, I tied you up!" and with that he gave me a sweet smile and fell back to sleep leaving me scratch my head and rub my wrists a little wondering who the hell I married.

Watch your back Johnny boy, I've got a little of duct tape that has your name all over it...I'm just saying...

When you wake up hangover free do not take it as an open invitation to partake in spirits while attempting to clean...because then you will wake up feeling decidely like crap--and then you will throw up numerous times. The problem with this being that you haven't eaten anything and so it's fruitless and painful. I hope John's feeling a little better than I am--because unlike me, he had to work today. Ah, the joys of having the summer off are "intoxicating". We are dumb...

I'm going on the wagon...at least until Friday. Feeling like this, is for the dogs. Actually, I wouldn't even wish this upon the meanest junkyard dog. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to lie down, nap and feel better so I can actually clean the house...like I attempted to do before Miller Lite crossed my path.

Better posts to follow...when my body ceases to fight my every move.

I am constantly amazed at how good John is at being a husband. He totally read my mind all weekend. This is what I telepathically told him to do, and he did it! Seriously folks, he's good.

I said:

"Make me a homemade Stromboli!" (and he did! and it was AWESOME...I've never had such an awe inspiring combo of pizza dough and every meat product I love).

"Have sex with me, and put your back into it, Boy!" (Here, he got a little confused because he put my back into it, and now I have lots of sexy rug burn on my back...but it was worth getting it, plus it never truly hurts in the moment, only after.)

"Get me drunk!" (Boy did he ever...well, to be fair, I think I was the one swallowing the delicious mixes that he was handing me--but wow! He also wins bonus points for attempting to put me to bed when it was clear that I was no longer communicating with human beings and that gravity was beginning to work against me. Of course, I did not take this bed-time thing lying down, I popped up (of course) to harass everyone while they played wii!)

"Hold my hair when I puke!" (He needed to do this because when I woke up all bleary eyed he handed me an alcoholic beverage, citing "The hair of the dog". I took one whiff of it and scooted off to the bathroom to retch)

"Feed me!" (Several times he fed me. First it was Wendy's to coat my stomach, then he made me some pork meal that used all the contents of our very bare cabinets. You see, I was too busy drinking to actually go to the grocery store and purchase items for consumption. Yesterday I learned that pork, BBQ sauce and pasta actually taste really good together...I wish I had never found this out.)

It is a bad idea to only eat a Lean Cuisine all day when you know that you are going out with your friends to a concert. I ended up on my knees, praying to porcelain gods in no less than three bars...and yet? I still managed to stay up and out until 3 am. Imagine that.

The Deftones concert was awesome, probably one of the best concerts I've ever been to...if you get a chance, check them out--they were amazing. I challenge anyone to stay sober here, although, I did not throw my bra on the chandelier...which is a bonus...for once.

And if you ever get into Philadelphia, go see a show at the Electric Factory...I've never been to a bad show there. Now if you'll pardon me, I have to get the gum out of my jeans from kneeling on the dirtiest floor in the world (no offense Whiskey Dix, but it's true).

This bad post was brought to you by Pabst Blue Ribbon, Miller High Life and too many shots of Jameson.

Friday- Igot flagged from bar...2 mins after entering, and was sent home! Must've been the powerhour that John and I did before we went. John perfected his self portrait that night by taking a purple sharpie to our mirror and closing one of his eyes. Picture this (because I think I broke my camera), he looks like a sailor (he was wearing a sailor hat like on the Cracker Jack box), pirate (he drew himself an eye patch) cutie.


Saturday-Went out with John and his brother for a liquid lunch. Oooh boy! We came home and John decided he wanted to take a shower. Well...Drunk Girl (that's me) that I am, I decided to sneak upstairs and scare him. Little did I know he was soaping up his feet when I reached into the shower curtain and yelled "BOO!". He came crashing out of the shower and landed directly on top of me, pinning my arms to my sides. Because of this, I will be wearing a cardigan over my dress this weekend for Chelle's wedding...I have the most enormous bruises you can imagine on my fat arms. Uggh! They hurt! Sorry Pumpkin, didn't mean to almost kill you!

Sunday- My friend Chrissy, a bartender down at the FQB, decided to have a closed party complete with strippers. Maybe it was the excitement of strippers coming to the party (girls, not guys...because male strippers always look like Michael Bolton in a flag Speedo), maybe it was the fact that John's bro was joining us and he just moved back to Pennsylvania due to a failed relationship, or maybe because we kind of took it easy on St. Patrick's Day, we went ALL OUT! I couldn't even tell you how many Jagger Bombs, Tick Tacs, Car Bombs, shots of Jameson, or beers we had. I'm sure it was prolific. So prolific in fact that I couldn't pay our tab and had to rely on T to pay for it...don't worry, I'll pay her back this week!

And the rest of the missing posts?? Monday, Tuesday and still today I'm running around trying to catch up with all the things I neglected while I was drinking our paychecks away.

So I know at least one person (Jay) has been missing my poetic and poignant posts. The question, "Where have you been?" can only be answered by the above pictures. I've been digging out of the carnage left behind in my house. Let me tell you what I've been doing. I've been drinking. Heavily. It all started on Friday...because hey, I'm mature now and I don't go drinking on school nights. So Friday, we went to see our friend's band play, we were sprayed with a lovely mixture of beer and gallons of (fake) blood (as usual, only our friends Matt was fazed by the bloodiness and the eagerness of many patrons to get bloody). Of course, staying out until 2 was not enough and we love our friends so much that we just HAD to continue the party here at home in the basement bar with other like minded mature adults...Like minded individuals who stayed up until 7am, long after I was snoozing on the floor in my guest room spooning John.

The next day was full of Bloody Marys and laughter through the pain of hangovers. All of the pain was forgotten when at 6pm, we boarded a drunk bus and headed towards Trenton, NJ. Our stay there was short. Tony's band played again. I might've done a choreographed leopard crawl across the floor of the bar...but then again, I might not have. Which do you think it is? Everything remains hazy except for the fact that it was fun, there were lots of drinks, loud music and bouncers who kept trying to hit on T. Then all hell broke loose somehow...it seems to do that with our crowd and Tony ended up hitting someone in the face and knocking them out. We were promptly sent back to Pennsylvania...which was fine with us, there was plenty of free beer on the bus! (please refer to picture of shitty Pabst Blue Ribbon Pounders, it's what all the "cool scenesters" drink)

And round and round it went until Monday afternoon when finally, I was able to assume my position on the couch and it was pure heaven. I turned to John and said, "In April, after all our birthdays, bachelorette parties and weddings...we're going to enter into the Witness Protection Program to escape our friends!" Last night he turned to me and said, "We're probably the only two people who could have a baby right now and actually save money!" It's sad, but true. It was a nice little homage to the old times of our wild ways, but it hit the pocket a little harder than we intended.

Next up? NYC this weekend for John's birthday. Stop by on Friday and say, "Happy Birthday" to my pookie!

John and I were forking on the couch last night after gorging ourselves on my mini-pre-Valentine's Day meal of chicken parm and we were deciding whether to watch Less Than Zero or Suspiria. Suspiria won out, but I wish it hadn't...I sure as hell wish it hadn't. Coven of fucking witches in a ballet school? Well there's a WONDERFUL premise. I'm amazed no one has ripped this idea of in the history of cinema.

You may ask why we had a pre-Valentine's dinner. Is it because I am soo in love with Valentine's Day that I just don't want it to end, therefore I start it early??? Nope, it because we won't see each other tonight, much like last year...except this year John's "blowing me off" for night class/exam whereas last year he blew me off because he "was sick and had to do laundry" aka he wanted to get back together with his ex-girlfriend but wasn't ready to break my little heart on VDay. I'm taking this excuse much better than last year's, where I cried on the couch and pretended to be optimistic on the blog. But that's just because I'm awesome.

Anyways, while I was snuggled on the couch with him, and he's all licking his lips after a tasty little meal he has the gaul to say to me, "You know, I was reading the archives of your blog and you used to be fun." (what a dick!) But I agree, I used to be fun. I used to do the most idiotic things. And actually, I still do. For some reason I'm so moony eyed about John that that's all I tend to write about...SNOOZE FEST...from now on, I'm reverting to my idiotic tales of drinking too much and doing ridiculous things. Gone are the fleeting months where I decided to be an adult. So, for your reading enjoyment I will tell you a tale of how I received a massive head wound this weekend.

Actually, I wish I could tell you that story, but honestly? The details elude me. I know that on Friday night John brought me home from the bar lit up like a Christmas tree. We also brought a bunch of people home. It was just like old times. The Basement Bar was fully occupied, people were drinking heavily and someone even managed to have sex on our futon (the futon, that will confuse CSI people in the future because it is simply decorated in our friends' DNA as gross as that may sound). The only difference? I was so full of "cheer" that I needed to be put to bed STAT. And there I was placed. But I was crafty. I did not want to go to bed. So I slipped out of it and crept downstairs to go back to the party--after all, it was in my house, was it not?? If nothing else, I'm a good hostess (or not).

That's when it happened. Either a door frame or a corner of an end table viciously jumped up and stabbed me in the side of the head. I was minding my own business when it attacked me, perhaps it was both of them? And they jumped me!?! I remember a lot of crying, a lot of blood, a lot of John saying, "Oh my God!" in a way that wasn't very comforting and me inquiring meekly (and drunkenly), "Is it bad?" and then saying, "It's bad isn't it?!?"

But obviously I'm alive and aside from the fact that I can't really brush my hair without crying I am fine. See, I'm still a drunk, I mean fun person!

I'm sure after this weekend we'll have plenty of interesting stories. We're going on a drunk bus to see our friend Tony play again. Each time this happens something insane occurs...for example, on our last bus trip we almost never got a ride home because the bus driver thought we were all shooting up heroin. Seriously I'm not that "fun"...we had two people on the bus that were diabetics. I believe they even informed the bus driver before we left!

So from now on my matra will be, "You used to be fun!" and I will attempt to write accordingly, because there's nothing worse than having the man you love telling you that your blog is boring.

John arrived home on Friday to an already tipsy wife. Our work was supposed to have a Holiday Party, it was cancelled for lack of participants and so it was changed to a happy hour. Oddly enough, I never signed up for the Holiday Party but I did attend the happy hour...go figure.

In the effort to save money for the floor (remember: we have disgusting carpet...so disgusting that if I were to take a picture of it and put it up on the web--you'd puke!) we decided to make an effort to have fun all weekend but to avoid the bars because we can't escape them without dropping a significant amount of money. So, considering that we have a nice bar in the basement it's not like we're making a sacrifice, we're just getting tipsy/drunk/incoherent/hallucinate-y (err...that last part was just me) with each other. Let me explain.

The beer started flowing, the music was playing, my clothes somehow were taken from me and then somehow I was having sex. Then I stopped. I looked up and said, "You know, I don't really comfortable doing this...I'm married!" Then, after a few seconds I recognized that indeed, I was having sex with my husband! Saint John just looked at me and said to me, "Get on your knees." I complied. This drunken fantasy stuff is nothing new...I've seduced Bruce Springsteen in my drunkeness as well as seduced John at my inebriated imaginary prom.

Aside from being a pro at putting up with my drunken coital fantasies, John turned out to be an excellent Craft Show shopper too. He came with me to my old high school to see all the wares and to purchase Christmas gifts. We got a bracelet for his sister, a lovely sterling and turquoise necklace for his mom and a piece of pottery for my mom. I bought John a lovely sepia toned photo of Boathouse Row that looks better than this...but still gives him a little piece of the city he left behind. It's ok that I told you all about it because as soon as I saw it, I pointed it out to John and said, "Go away, I need to buy you that for Christmas!" And so it goes. I've never been able to keep a present secret...but I'm going to try to for the last couple. John says he doesn't care and that he doesn't really like Christmas but...I'm going to knock that grinchiness right out of him. The holiday isn't celebrated religiously by either of us, but it has always been a time for me to pull my family close and tell them how much I cherish them. This year, celebrating with John will be the same way, and he will be my favorite gift. **ok, enough with the sap** Although, we did have a nice little romantic dinner Saturday night and I had Juliet Chicken, which I would've made sweet tender love to had I not been selfish and busy getting mine by shoveling it down my throat.

Sunday was all paint, all the time. John is trying to put his mark on the interior of the house, and as he has far better taste than me...we bought lots of paint to cover the walls, and they needed it. Somehow, even though I've been living here for a few years I only managed to paint a few rooms and those that I did paint I did a pretty horrible job with--I've never had patience for more than one coat of paint--I hear that's a no no. John has a sweet way of making me do work--he plies me with liquor. It's a proven method, one that's never failed us yet. We stocked up on champagne, wine and many, many mugs of beer. Amazingly, even though he filled me with so much bubbly goodness--I managed only to paint a little bit of trim and a couple of coats of white paint on the doors. Speaking of which...can you believe that I lived for over two years with bluish-grey trim and doors?? What kind of sadist paints all the trim/doors bluish-grey?? The person who sold me the house, that's who!



Other than that I've just been busy with work and with getting this grad class finished...only one more week and then it's all posting, all the time! Careful what you wish for ;)

Camera found! It was lurking with Godzilla...a lovely (and I truly mean that, I pet lil' zill all the time) addition to our shelves courtesy of John's bachelordom/childhood. I'm assuming that my drunken self thought that Godzilla could hide and protect my camera while I decided to pass out. Of course, before I passed out I dragged John upstairs to ravage him. What? Do you feel that host and hostess should stay up and entertain their guests? In our home, we do not. We went upstairs...I may or may not have ravaged that man I call a mate (the jury's out on that one, neither of can remember) while our friends partied until about 7am...Guess they didn't need us. (picture of one of lovely party goers down at our basement bar--John's friend talked to my friend for nearly two hours before they smooched! I'm hoping they hit it off...but we'll see...he swapped DNA with one of my other friends at our wedding reception)

What were we for Halloween before I shucked my costume off and rolled naked in my bed? We were the most distasteful pairing you can imagine. I'll let you guess if you'd like but I'm not going to tell just yet, for fear of being crucified.

In other news. We decided to try and lay low for a few weeks. We want to save up for fun stuff, maybe a little holiday vacation (oh la la), or Christmas presents or even birthday presents! We've eliminated credit cards from our lives and decided that we will live within our means. Our friends,however, have other plans for us. While we ate some wonderful, wonderful wings last night (they're free with a five dollar pitcher of Yuengling-Pennsylvania's idea of the best lager ever--I've never bought into the hype whatsoever--but I do appreciate that it's America's oldest brewery) we licked our fingers and discussed the wonders of Everclear, no not the band headed by Art somebody (who quite obviously had a horrible father), but the grain alcohol that has been banned in Pennsylvania due to the fact that myself and many other college goers in PA couldn't get enough of the stuff--we'd shove it in watermelons, drinks, even pasta salad if we had to (luckily I never went to that point of no return).

Anyways, our friend Tony and John decided that they had a hankering for the potent potable (put that in your glass and drink it Trebek!) and made the decision that on Saturday, we were going to trek down to the fine state of Delaware, (a state which is really on good for purchasing grain alcohol) and pick up a few bottles of the stuff. We're going to make good ol' fashion jungle juice (is that pc? should I call it a rainforest refreshment?), we're going to buy a new trashcan, and fill the lovely container with fruit, red liquid (Hawaiian punch perhaps) and lots and lots of grain. Saturday will be deemed Blackout Saturday, not to be confused with Black Friday. Wish us lots of luck.

PS. I read Jay's post about making sushi with Jason and it got me thinking that I would love to take a little cooking class kind of thing (that DOES NOT INVOLVE FISH RAW OR OTHERWISE) with John...so thanks Jay, I'm going to see if there's anything cool like that in our neck of the woods.

We took the drunk bus down to Philly on Friday...we did it once before if you remember back when Johnny and I were rocky. This time we certainly weren't having any relationship problems but we were both having a hard time fighting gravity. You see, for the cost of $27 a person ,you too can act like an idiot. Paying $27 ensures that you will get a ride to and from the city (safe!) and that your cover will be paid to enter the bar...and...there's free beer and booze on the bar. Well, on this particular trip, the "promised booze" turned out to be a small bottle of Jameson in a paper bag which was passed around like we were all 16 and drinking MadDog or something.

It's a strange thing when you think the beer is free...something clicks deep within the human psyche and you begin to horde beer. You also try to throw as much of it down your throat as humanly possibly (because of course, "You want to get your money's worth"). This whole process is easier said than done in a hired out school bus. School busses have the springest shocks in all the land and half the time, my hoarded beer that I attempted to pour down my throat ended up going over my head and landing in my hoodie (this is only an assumption, but it seems plausible as my hoodie hood reeks of Miller Lite and PBR and no other part of my clothing does. The other half of the time I was trying to keep my body from involuntarily shooting towards the metal roof of the vehicle. Seriously. School Buses + Drunks= Death Cab (but not for Cutie). Speaking of equations...

Melina + one too many beers (at the end of the night)= stumbly/beligerent and full of beer tears. Johnny+ one too many beers= babbily/beligerent and also full of beer tears. We got made fun of because we had a little spat on the bus and then both started to cry...because that's how we roll. Luckily, we're both very forgiving and we're both quite used to being stubborn little butts when we're drunk so we can laugh it off and then take a night off from everyone else out at the bar to 'poon on the couch...(I'm so cutsey pie now. I've changed spooning, to 'pooning...which could sound dirty, and sometimes it is, but most of the time, it's just cuddling on sie couch).

The show itself was fun, I sat on a stool and got pretty rip roaring drunk with T who somehow twisted her ankle at some point in the night, she made out with one boy and went home with a different another (Tony)...the same boy who will always "fight" for her when there's someone else interested in her (at least that's my theory and John nodded sagely when I suggested it, so it must be true. It. Must. Be). John lost his glasses mid-show...perhaps it was from his impromptu performance (he was asked to sing one of his band's old songs with Tony) or perhaps it was from doing a (several?? I dunno?) beer bongs out of this?? One may never know. I do know this-- he lost them and then I went around trying to find them. Drunkenly bobbing and weaving (dangerously approaching the ground with my skull as I tried to focus on looking down), I was triumphant!!! I ran to give him his sludge covered glasses (honestly, I ran...he was outside smoking a cigarette and I flew around the club and then out of the doors holding my little dirty prize in my hand) and he wasn't as grateful as my drunken little self wanted him to be! "How dare he?" I questioned...didn't he know that "I stopped a punk rock show to find them!??!!" but of course, he did know when I told him just under 9,257 times.

Last night I sat on the front step trying to convince my husband that it was 7:30 am when in fact, it was 7:30 pm...

This kegorator is going to be the death of me...

It's not often that you're called to duty to drink for 12 hours straight, but Friday night that's just what I was asked to do. A little before six, T, Chelle and I headed down to the FQB for dinner...pulled pork for T and me and a Po' boy for Chelle. Mmm, my god do they have the best food in the entire world. With lots of fabulous food in our bellies we hung out at the FQB for a little (so that T could look at Tony [her ex] a little longer). after T got her fill of Tony (well, at least for a little) we moved up to thithwbar.

There we just acted like idiots, talking in Scottish accents, doing shots, playing Naked Photo Hunt (and critiquing the pictures). At some point while there we ran into Hot Ronnie and Favorite Bartender (Hot Ronnie's roommate), they were about as banged up as we were...well Favorite Bartender might've had us beat by say...15 beers. The boys invited us back and this time Ronnie really was supposed to play for us, since last time we all just ended up wandering around the house rather than have the promised sing-along. At the peak of our drunkeness in walked Tony and his friend John. We chatted with them for awhile and they agreed to go over to Hot Ronnie's too after the bar closed and actually gave us a ride over.

Ronnie did actually play and sing that night, however, not many people focused on Ronnie. This was because Favorite Bartender was sooo messed up. Typically, the most rational and calm one of the group it was surprising to see him do the following things. First, he decided for absolutely no known reason, to toss the barbeque that was sitting on the deck all harmless-like off onto the driveway below...this isn't a low deck, we were quite a ways up. Within seconds, neighbor's lights were going on...people were coming outside and I was running damage control while Favorite Bartender went down to inspect the damage that he had created. Ever had a drunk girl as your spin doctor? No? That's probably a good thing. I'm just going to leave it at that because I'm not even sure what I was saying to the neighbors to allay their fears that the sky was falling. But Favorite Bartender wasn't done, oh no.

We went into the basement and we were all happily listening to Ronnie, albeit Tony was doing it with a sneer...you see Tony's very punk rock and plays in about three punk bands and well Ronnie, plays Jack Johnson. So for some reason T, Tony, Favorite Bartender, John and I ended up out in the garage. Favorite Bartender for some reason decided to throw a gigantic can of paint thinner at the garage wall...you can imagine the stench...and you can imagine that no one, drunk or sober moved to clean it up. We all just went upstairs. Now there was panic. Hot Ronnie was pissed at Favorite Bartender and went to bed. Chelle and I helped clean up the upstairs. T, Tony and John left...Chelle and I were supposed to go with but Chelle wanted to stay and I didn't care either way where we went.

About 20 mins after they left we changed our minds. Everyone was worried about what JB (the boy who actually owns the house that Favorite Bartender and Hot Ronnie live in) was going to do when he got home from work at 3am...and um, JB has a license to carry...ha ha). So Chelle and I make a call to T to see if John will come back and pick us up. He agreed to (with a sigh or two) and there we waited. Picture this, Chelle and I sitting in the dark with the tv as our only light. I'm sitting on the corner of the couch that Favorite Bartender is sleeping on, there's some random boy sitting on the other couch and Chelle is sitting on the floor.

We see a car pull up and we run to it, open the door and it's JB looking at us like we're idiots. Instead of explaining anything, we shut the door and ran right back into his house. Soon after, our ride came. We gratefully hopped in the car and he was sweet enough to swing by my house to let my dog out and Chelle decided at 4am that she had had enough. She stayed in my guest room as I proceeded with John over to Tony's house.

Over at Tony's, T, John, Tony and I proceeded to stay up and talk, drink and bust on each other for hours. I remember finishing my last beer with the sun warming my face...because it was coming up! Finally, at around 9 am John brought T and I home and we crashed our little bodies on the couch, where I remained all of Saturday--because ladies and gentlemen...I'm not 21 anymore, but I sure did party like that.

I have a headache straight from the depths of hell...when am I going to learn to drink responsibly?? No time soon apparently. As I sit here dehydrated and in pain, and with bruises on me knees(?), I'm reviewing my evening both mentally and with my digital camera. Apparently last night at some point I decided to take pictures of every male in the bar...I have loads of smiling/waving men in these pictures that I have vague recollections of, but do not know. The nice thing about digital is that after I show my friend Cr (the soon to be sainted designated driver of the evening) I can delete them, perhaps she can shed (embarassing) light as to who these gentlemen are.
On to another subject.
Last night I saw K.. K used to be my best male friend until he started dating M. M apparently is either threatened by me or is just crazy but she never allows K and I to hang out alone. We used to go out all the time but now we are restricted to stiff conversation seated at the bar with M in between us. Don't you think that if I wanted to have sex with K I would've taken that opportunity a long time ago? In factI never even wanted to or even thought about it (in my experience I tend to at least think about the "what if we..." with my guy friends, maybe not taking it to that level but I still think about it)...not that K's not attractive, he is, but he's K. We never even pondered the idea, but apparently that's not good enough for M. M should get a grip on reality and then go ruin some other guy's life. K is like a stepford wife now, it's sad. He used to have a personality!
When Cr and I left K and M to discuss their china patterns and whatnot at the first bar, we headed to the ol' tavern that is right around the corner from my house...I have to say that I had motives involved with this trip. After text messaging D and receiving no reply and decided that I wanted to see Drk. Derek is the short order cook at the bar (Cr and Ml think that's an ex con's job, but I think he's a hottie so he can be an ex-con for all I care). Anyways about three weeks ago, Cr, Ml and I were there and the bartender was feeding us all free shots, that's when I decided to talk with Drk for the first time. I made him play pinball with me, obviously I'm still trapped in middle school courtship rituals, at the ripe old age of, well, late twenties. I love pinball, sue me!
Apparently during my pinball marathon (Cr informed me I played about a zillion games-true scientific number) with Drk, my drunken alter ego/slut invited him to come home with me, citing location as one of the bonuses of the deal! He had to do the cleaning and stuff and then he'd "try" and stop by. That Drk, trying to play it cool and smooth when he's dealing with a drunken slut, gotta love him. Let's just say that night didn't end in the way I was imagining it. Ml dropped me off and the next thing I know I wake up at 6am (which is my curse to always wake up early in the morning) sprawled on the floor next to my dog, the keys still in the door, and no Drk.
Ok...so with that background said and done, let's flash forward to last night. I haven't seen Derek since that night. Last night Drk was looking as cute as always. We talked for a couple of minutes, laughed about that night, since he did come over at 3:30 am but when he knocked he knew I was out cold! How embarassing it is to be me sometimes! I'm a great person when I'm sober, I swear. But I am just trash when drunk. So last night, I invite him over again...this time taking preparation to ensure that he could come in even in the event of a passout, this is how much I wanted sex. I put a note in the window, I left the light on/door unlocked (basically your average serial killer welcome mat) and...I wake up at 6am on the couch with the dog and no Drk! I was stood up. Fairs, fair I guess. I must take some aspirin to sooth my aching head now.

Well Thursday night I went out with my friend Cr., she finally took a night off from her boyfriend which was nice; we decided to check out our old favorite watering hole...trouble ensued. We managed to get good and drunk(which I don't recall planning to do), we talked to everyone that we had formerly had a relationship..ahem...slept with more than once, talk to a few nice new available men, and Cr. talked to the guy that she slept with before she got back together with her boyfriend. This is not a crime right? Wrong. This guy C. is a good friend of Cr.'s boyfriend...and from the way they were looking at each other and talking with one another, it doesn't appear that it is truly over. At least for that night it was just verbal foreplay...but knowing Cr as I do, I doubt that will be it.
So Cr.'s run in was not the trouble I was speaking of. It was my own run in that was my downfall. On the way out the door, I stopped by this very attractive gent and asked him, "Why has the hottest guy in the bar, hanging out by the door?"...someday I'll be killed by a serial killer because Cr and I invited him to follow us back to my place. I entertained him for a little while with slurred conversation (I certainly wasn't in any shape for any of this...) and the Cr decided to leave. This is where it all gets a little hazy, and a little sweaty too. I remember making out with D. on the couch in the basement and then the next thing you know my cute little cotton polka dotted bra is on the floor and I'm having sex in my bedroom. Not exactly sure how I made it from the basement couch/floor to the third floor...but I did, and obviously not alone. I certainly hadn't planned that, especially since the cotton bra is not usually part of my seduction, nor is the fact that I hadn't shaved my legs! Remember I was planning on having a girl's night out! I'll spare you the details unless of course...you post me a question about it...I love a voyeur.
Well...lo and behold I wake up and Prince Charming D has left...I can't recall if I saw him out the night before or not. But PC D left his ID beside my bed. So he calls. I call him back and leave him a nice little message stating that, "Hasn't your mother ever told you that you shouldn't leave things at a one night stand's home?" He calls me back and tells me he'll call later to pick it up and la-di-da...he calls and leaves me a message that he's going back to the fateful bar that brought us together. Even more fun, he calls at 1:45 while I was sleeping...whatever could he have wanted??? I wonder if he'll call me again? Should I be the one to call him? He didn't leave a message with the 1:45 call...Can he just get a new id? Am I evil? Oh and did I mention that I'm having my first date with F. tomorrow...