Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Syllabus Week Slopfest: 6 Days of "Sobriety"

Syllabus Week is known throughout college campuses as usually a very relaxed week with classes. Generally, the teachers don't do a lot of notes, and if there is homework, it's pretty minimal. Therefore, us students take advantage of this opportunity to drink. A lot. Some more than others, such as myself.

Every night was entertaining, and by every night, I mean Monday through Saturday. So here are some of the highlights that happened during this atrocious and monster of a week that was the death to my liver.

Monday: Started drinking at 1PM approximately after class. Spent an obscene amount of money at the bars. Blacked out and woke up to PCP's delight, on her couch.

Tuesday: Too many Cherry Vodka shots and ending the night at the Taco place eating only lettuce. Also, bringing a man home that is nameless and we won't mention. Mainly because he just passed out on my bed after a quick game of tongue twister.

Wednesday: Wasn't going to go out, but I blame PCP. Drank a disgusting amount of Bacardi Gold Rum at 11PM and proceeded to dance my face off at the bar. Also turned into one of the worst black outs of the week. A gentleman walked PCP and I home, but we think he had the mindset that we were going to have a threesome. He was promptly excused from my residence.

Thursday: Worst hangover day of the week, but I knew in my heart that I had to be a champion. Went to Hippie's boyfriend's party where there was fire hula hooping and a lot of drunk freshman girls. I threatened to spit on all of them. While walking to the bar to get my gig on, I wished a "happy thursday" to one beautiful lady, and she said "FUCK YOU BITCH," so I wanted to fight her. After the bar closed, I sat outside and had a smoke with some friends. The police thought these two gentlemen were fighting so they tackled them. Turns out they were just play wrestling. An uproar from the drunken WSU students at the police. I was staring off into oblivion, contemplating life obviously, and a tall blonde grenade thought I was staring her down, which in truth I wasn't. She attempts to pick a fight with me, poor choice betch. I start yelling at her back, and my friend had to take her away. I would have just sat on her anyway.

Friday: GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY. You betcha I did. Did not go to the bar, the line was outside of the parking lot full of drunk sluts and wannabee bros, not really my cup of tea. I spend the night wandering the streets with a gentleman who works at the liquor store, he's pretty swell, and helped me pick out what alcohol to put into a watermelon. Sounds like a keeper to me.

Saturday: Get sleazy. Day drinking was a must today. Not only was it pushing 98 degrees (90's band reference) but I was parched for some beer. My roommate and I venture over to a Rugby party that was close to our place of residence. We are intercepted by the WSU dance boy and his roommates. Take some shots there and some homemade beer that dance boy had made. Not too shabby actually, tasted a lot like apple cider. Eventually, we make it over to the party and witness a whole lot of beer chugging and can throwing. Dance boy cums with us, but is kicked out for being wasted. Whoopsie daisy. After Rugby party, it's time to get serious. I am currently hammered, and make a delicious whole wheat ham wrap dipped in too much mayonnaise (cellulite). You know we're going to get serious about drinking when my roommate buys a fifth of 151. The last time I had an encounter with 151, shit got real ugly, real quickly. Anyway back to the present, never underestimate the power of 151. You can only take a few shots of it to get a good buzz and that's all you really need. Everyone is feeling wonderful and drunk. Liquor store boy cums over and he and I venture to the bar. I make the poor decision and decide that I am not nearly drunk enough and the man pulls out a pint of Gentleman's Jack. You know this boy is classy. We are taking pulls while walking to the bar which is not too bright of both of us when we see the boys in blue walking straight towards us.

Cop #1: "Hey! What's that you got there!?"
Me: "Oh, you know...hehe"
Friend doing a ride a long for the school newspaper: "OH HEY GABBY!"
Cop #2: "You know that's a $250 citation for an open container right?"
Me: "Oh, no I did not know that officer"

They let that shit slide like butter. They probably should have given me a ticket, but I think they had too much on their platter with all the drunk freshmen acting a fool. Apparently, a thirty something couple had been partying at our place with a half gallon of Captain Morgan's Rum and as liquor store boy and I arrive back from the bar, we see a DUI taking place in front of our house. I run outside, barefoot mind you, and observe the scene. APPARENTLY the woman getting arrested was the thirty something wife of that guy who was partying at our house. The husband was across the street watching his wife get arrested, he sounds like a winner.

And that basically sums up that gross week, don't try this at home.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Who Let Gabby Out? The Start of My Senior Year In College

I AM BACK. BACK BACK BACK BACCCKKK. my DEEPEST apologizes fellow bloggers, for I have not blogged in almost two weeks. I feel terrible. I've been incredibly busy with moving back to Pullman and starting up school and what not.

I really need to try and make this whole blogging business a frequent thing, because I am constantly receiving word that I need to keep blogging more often. So I shall work on that.

In the meantime, if you have any questions or topics that you would like me to touch up on or discuss or answer, you can shoot mah drunk ass an email: I love listening to other people's problems or questions.

I am officially starting my senior year at the gorgeous WSU, which really stands for "Wasted Students Unite." It's really bizarre to think that I've already spent three years of my life at this place. Also, I want to give a special shout out to my liver for being a trooper and holding out for so long. For everyone reading my blog, give your liver a little rub every now and then, they are, in my opinion, the most important organ in your body. They do a lot for your drunk ass, show a little appreciation now and then for christs sake.

I moved back to town about a week ago and have really just been working errry now and then and boozing. Most of the tricks here were doing sorority recruitment, so the pussy population was down for the count because they aren't allowed to drink for that week. So we go to the bars a few times and the poonani is hella scarce. BUT on the plus side, there's delicious men around, so that definitely makes up for it.

I know that I mentioned the act of day drinking in my earlier posts, but it was a flip and a flop this past weekend. We started around 1PM, and it was toasty as tits. We were all outside playing beer pong on our front lawn and gradually getting more and more drunk. One of my fellow roommates cracked open a nugget watermelon and proceeded to dump half of a fifth of watermelon vodka in that betch to soak. NOM NOM. Talk about a quick spodie. We have a sign out that we are dancing around with that says "YOU HONK, WE DRINK." Pullman just screams class. So here we are, drunk breezies dancing around with a sign and taking way too many shots of Tequila, just another typical Saturday in paradise. People begin to pass out, and the hula hoops start to come out. As the night continues, the police drive by our house a few times and give a friendly wave, they also honk, but they won't admit it of course. One of the officers comes out to give us a low down on the new nuisance complaint policies, but I think it's an excuse for him to come out and hula hoop with us and pose for pictures. Only in the Pullmonster can the cops get away with this.

It's only the first day of class, and I feel overwhelmed. Not from school work, but from the enormous population of whores that are infiltrating our campus. Every year, the shorts get shorter, and the shirts get more low cut. But I can't really say anything about that because I am infamous for wearing disgustingly short shorts. Only because I can get away with it because I have no butt crack. There should also be a picture of that on my next blog of my non existent booty meat. I like to give my readers a very descriptive idea of who they are reading about, that janky betch named Tron.

It's the second day of classes and I reek of alcohol...I think the people sitting next to me know too.

I have a damn good feeling that this blog is going to get very entertaining this year. After all, it is my senior year, and I gotta go out with a bang, even if that "bang" does mean jaundice.

Stay tuned for daily updates with the Syllabus Week Slopfest, cumming soon to a blog post near you!

Note: Every so often instead of saying "come or coming," I may instead switch that little o for a u and say "cum, or cumming." I know it's disgusting, and it's a bad habit, but I still find it way too amusing to stop. Sorry bout it yuccas.

Monday, August 8, 2011

I Need A Bloatation Device...Or To Simply Stop Drinking and Eating

Being bloated sucks. Like, fucking sucks. I feel that for some reason, I get more bloated than the average moron. It always happens at the most inconvenient times. Like when I'm out at a bar, or with a guy, or the worst,  in my fucking swimsuit.

This one time I was at this bar in a college area and i was incredibly intoxicated and I felt the bloating sneak up, like a fucking cheetah. And of course, I never expect when said bloating will happen, but I was very unprepared for that bitch to come. I was wearing an uber tight dress, and knew instantly I had to run to the ladies room.

I always think that I can somehow "push" out the evil bloatation, so being as drunk as I was, I tried to smash myself against the bathroom wall and the toilet paper dispenser. I immediately am thankful that I am drunk enough to realize that this would be incredibly inappropriate and awkward to do in a public area, so the privacy of my own bathroom stall seemed decent.

I don't really understand how this frequent bloating is always such a common factor in my life, but I have a feeling it has to do with my constant digestion of carbohydrates (my weakness) or over consumption of alcoholic beverages. I would go with the latter, but I love carbs so much, that wouldn't really surprise me if that was the clincher. I could eat an entire loaf of bread with butter and still not be satisfied.

Mischa Barton should watch her carb intake as well

I promised that I would talk about my experiences in Kirkland, so I'll go over that briefly. The first time I visited Kirkland was a sloppy one. I went with PCP and Sweetheart. We went to prefunk at our friends. I had my usual prefunk item, a liter of cheap white wine. I don't know why I insist on always drinking white wine. One time I did a power hour with a liter of white wine and was not let into the bar and carried home by my friends. Choo Choo! Back to Kirkland, PCP and her friend bought a fifth of Absolut and put it in the back of the trunk of my car. We parked and opened the trunk, the fifth rolled out of the back and smashed into a bagillion pieces. So we obviously had to run to the gas station to pick up Four Lokos. WHOMP WHOMP WHOMPP. I don't remember leaving the house to go to the bars. We go to this bar called Timeout, and buy drinks. I end up giggin' with some blonde trick. I'm semi blacked out by now. Then we venture on over to Tiki Joe's, which Sweetheart told us, we can never go before midnight. Now I understand. The place is small and compact, but everyone goes there after Timeout. By this time, PCP and I are both blacked out, and we have to enlist her little brother, Alfredo Cheese, to come pick us up and take us back to PCP's house. I told Alfredo that I would buy him donuts, which I still have not done.

Note to self: Buy Alfredo a box of Krispy Kremes

The second time I went out to Kirkland bars I didn't black out, but I was incredibly drunk. Tuesdays through Thursdays at Timeout they have two dollar well drinks. Which is absolutely mortifying and deadly. I bought two double Pineapple and Rum drinks. And then another two after that, obviously. While I was downing my drinks, I noticed an Orca whale on the dance floor. I thought that they were an endangered species, so we were in for a treat. Now this girl wasn't obese, and I don't really know why we started calling her an Orca whale, but maybe it was in the way she was dancing. She was bobbing her ass up and down like a tidal wave and acting like she was the best dancer in the bar. FALSE. So that was our entertainment at Timeout for a good chunk of time. There was also a guy there who was absolutely gorgeous. Sweetheart knew him from high school I believe. He looked like Chris Brown, popppinnnnnnn'. Anyway, all the pussies at the bar were following him around like catnip. I went outside to have a fag, and overheard girls talking about CB going to Tiki Joes and how they had to go introduce themselves. I wanted to burn our their eyeballs with the rest of my smoke. So we venture over to Tiki Joes and meet some gentleman who insist on buying us "Skittles" shots. This was after I bought my friend and I double Whiskey Sours. Fuck me running, I am feeling genuinely wasted. So I go up to the bar for shots, and CB plops right next to me. He asks me to buy him a shot. I tell him "No, and fuck you." Because number one, I'm wasted, number two, I hate men who know they're hot shit and can manipulate any stupid pussy to buy them drinks and do whatever they want. How infuriating. I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR. Whomp. We end the night getting hot dogs at a place that was open late. I think my wiener was a concoction of cream cheese and BBQ sauce. It was heaven in a bun.

So a snippet of advice to my fellow readers:
. Do not eat a fuck wad of carbohydrates before wearing that "little black dress," or you'll end up leaning over a hard surface to "push" out that bloaty bitch.
. Don't let a CB look alike try to get your drunk ass to buy him drinks.
. Orca whales are known to make an appearance at bars, save Shamu!

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Masturbation Only Burns 60 Calories?

God fucking damnit. Do you think it varies with the size of people? I was watching "Precious" the other day, and the actress Mo'Nique had a brief clip of her masturbating in the movie. That woman is fucking enormous, do you think she burns more calories than sixty? I'll bet. Lucky bitch.

I work as a Barista at a coffee stand right next to the Home Depot. We are not affiliated or employed with the Home Depot, but our stand is located right outside. Anyway, I get some incredibly bizarre people coming up to order coffee and have had some weird experiences at the stand that I thought I would share. The other day I had this Mexican man who didn't say much except pointing at the piece of coffee cake in the display and grunting. So I handed him his piece of coffee cake and he walked off towards the picnic table. Except he didn't eat the coffee cake. The fucking guy pulls it out and crumbles it on the table for the fucking birds.

A word about these little birds that are always outside of the coffee stand. They are stupid and annoying chickadees, and are abnormally porky. They are so fat from all the customers thinking how adorable it is that the birds will come and sit next to you with their beaks open and begging for food. Since when do birds beg for food? Then all the customers give them pieces of their pastries and hot dogs and they fly off. The birds will just loiter outside of my coffee stand and chirp their obese brains out and will occasionally fly inside the stand to piss me off. Bastards.

Anyway about the Mexican man, he crumbles the cake and walks inside the Home Depot. Now I'm pissed off because he just bought this pastry and wasted it on the fucking blubber birds. So I reluctantly go back to reading my magazine and about an hour later he comes out of the store. Here's the shocker, the guy picks up what is left of the coffee cake crumbs and puts it back in his little bag and starts eating the remains and walks off to his pick up truck. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?

There isn't a bathroom in the coffee stand so I have to venture through the monstrosity of a store that Home Depot is. This place is fucking huge. But it's nice because I usually get to say hello to the cool kids that work at the HD and it's a nice little break for me. I get into the bathroom and immediately go to the second stall. I have a weird thing about bathrooms, I usually try and get the second stall. Not the first, the second. The first is   usually occupied and the third or others are either out of paper or someone doesn't know how to flush. While I'm in the bathroom, another woman comes into the stall on my left. You know that awkward point when you're in the bathroom with someone else and you kinda glance down either to see what shoes they're wearing or just stare at the wall next to you, praying that some awful and awkward bodily function doesn't accidentally come out? Or hoping that if you do happen to make a weird noise, you pray to god that you get out of the bathroom first so that they don't see you?

Well this woman that plopped her lard ass (I saw her cankles) in the stall next to me, exploded. I felt my stall rattle. After the first bomb, I could tell this woman was not holding back, nor was she stopping anytime soon. I'm not sure if she knew that there was another person in the bathroom with her at the time, or if she just wanted to announce her presence. I felt stuck, I couldn't move. I didn't know if I should wait until the bombing had ceased or make a run for it. I think she started clutching the stall walls on either side of her because I heard a smack right next to my head. All I had wanted to do was take a quick break from work and go to the restroom. But fucking Hiroshima had to make a direct hit at the Home Depot Women's Bathroom. It must have been the longest minute of my life until I realized that I couldn't take it any longer. It would only be a matter of time before the fumes would reach me. I made a really loud point of getting out of the stall and coughing awkwardly and washing my hands. The bombing came to a quick halt, and I sprinted out of the bathroom like a gazelle.

Sorry that was such an atrocious story, but I had to tell someone. It was too juicy to pass up.

One of the great things that I love about my job is the people watching. The types of people that come to shop at the Home Depot is insane. You have your average middle class families, the Mexican workers that hang out on the corner waiting to be picked up by contractors, adorable gay couples, women who insist on wearing platform heels, and of course, the occasional crackheads.

I had a transsexual come up to the stand yesterday. She had on this great white business suit and these enormous heels. Props to her for walking in them. And she had an ass bigger than mine, I was obvi hella jell.

Since I usually am working during the midday, I can never enjoy the nice and rare weather that Seattle is experiencing, so I signed up for a two week tanning package. My mother always warns me about the dangers of tanning beds and UV rays and I always tell her that I'll be okay. She's also worried about my drinking too...maybe it's time to listen up. Now I normally don't tan indoors often at all for two reasons. One, it hurts my budget, and interferes with my alcohol purchases. Two, I have a fear that I'm going to somehow get locked in the cheap plastic tanning bed and burn like a fried piece of chicken like in Final Destination 3.


Although I know that scene in the movie is absolutely horrifying and hearing their skin sizzle like eggs being fried sunny side up, this song always pops in my head when I'm either thinking about this scene, or I'm tanning.


I know the song is talking about Kia's swag and shit, but I always thinking about burning to a crisp. Like the bitches in Final Destination. Or whenever I forget to put on SPF. WHOMP. 

Thanks for reading, my little marshmallow peeps. You guys are "as bestest" (NIKKI MINAJ)

Next topic of discussion: Krunked In Kirkland