Stoopid week

My week started off badly. Sunday night/Monday morning will go down in the history books of Tabbie for all time as one of the top 10 strangest experiences of my life.

Drinking turns some people into completely psychotic dick noses. I'm not going to go into details here because it's too much to put into writing. Maybe someday when we're sharing our 3rd bottle of champagne (or cap classique) of the night, I'll tell you the story. By then, it will be light-hearted and I'll toss in all of the things that make me giggle about it. I'll leave out the parts where I was afraid for my safety and the part where I thought a friend of mine was for sure about to produce a monstrous amount of puke and/or get arrested in Nevada.

After that night, my week got worse. The drunky drunk friend let some information slip that shouldn't have gotten out. Another friend of mine got her feelings hurt. I hate to see my friends hurting.

HATE it.

But there was really not much I could do about this. So I just sent out a warning signal to the other people involved in the mess that there was, in fact, a mess. And I backed off.

Now, I'm not sure where to turn next. It's like my ability to process friendship information is broken. I love every one of the people involved in this icky mess, but they don't love each other.

People I love are being mean to each other. I HATE this.

Also, there's no goddamned clock on this computer screen. It's some kind of bullshit when I can't even use a computer screen to tell the goddammned time. Fuck you, screen.

Wait. It's not the screen's fault that I'm pissed. Still, I hate this stoopid, worthless screen.

Get Fucked

The above is the #1 most used phrase of the weekend. I don't think I've ever said it out loud, but I heard it mucho much from Friday to this morning.

We were in Vegas for my friend Jen's bachelorette party. "We" being my roommates and my Aussie friend. Jen had something like 10 ladies there from all of the different times in her life. Her sister hosted the weekend's events and we toasted and drank and toasted and drank...

I met Jen in high school. We were sophomores and she was already hanging out with all the college kids from the town just next to ours. We hit it off instantly and one of my first memories with her was being at a keg party and being driven home by one of her friends. Jen and I both ended up hanging our heads out the window to puke on the ride home. Gross.

Just a couple of years ago, Jen and I were on a pub crawl together. We were walking back to her place from the last bar we could reasonably stay awake at and she fell down in an alley. There was a garage full of guys watching football that opened to the alley and they all saw this happen. She was super worried about them all seeing her fall down, so she pulled me down on top of her when I went to help her up.

As I was screaming and giggling and trying to get up, she explained to me that she wanted them to think we were just rolling on the ground, making out. That she was totally down there on purpose. Oh... Jen.

So I guess we're used to being trashed wasted drunky tanked around each other. Which is why she handled me falling off a table at the dance club on Saturday night like it was no big deal. I mean, I didn't just fall one time at the club either. It was just once off a table. The next night, she wouldn't allow me to even say I fell. She insists she caught me every time. That I couldn't possibly have fallen with her there to catch me.

She's such a fun friend. I love the ones who are just going to be in my life forever and understand what I need to hear in order to feel okay about acting like a total jackass.

Don't mess with PMS

I moved to Las Vegas with my boyfriend when I turned 21. He was a royal a-hole to incredible extremes. He was mean- like vindictive, purposeful kind of mean.

He lost his job in Vegas after a few months there because he fell asleep at the wheel driving a work truck. He was tested for drugs and he loved smoking the reefer. It's pretty difficult to get a good job in Vegas if you can't test clean for drugs.

So he got odd jobs- working at an arcade and at a gas station. He kept quitting these jobs because they were too hard or too easy or something. On one of his breaks between jobs, he decided to go on a trip back to our home town, but he didn't have any money of his own.

Instead, he completely cleared out our joint bank account and took off, leaving me with only the cash I had on hand- about 10 bucks.

Unfortunately, his timing was pretty terrible. I had enough food in the house and gas in the car to last until my next paycheck, but I started my period and didn't have any tampons or pads.

I decided to spend my last $10 on a pack of cigarettes and a cheap bottle of pink wine and use alternate materials for pads.

I cut up his favorite T-shirts and they actually worked great to do the job of sanitary napkins. All day wearing them, I was thinking about how funny it was- I was completely ruining his favorite things.

When he came home, he noticed the few strips of T-shirt that I didn't get to use and was furious. The look on his face when I told him what I had done was priceless. It was totally worth the grossness of it just for that moment.

Payback is such sweet bliss.