A Crude but Friendly Reminder

I've been reading a book called, "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell," by Tucker Max. I was first told about Tucker from my brother. I had just finished telling him the story about the girl and her bag of shit (a blog I had previously written on Myspace) when he said, "Jewels, you gotta read this book, it's hilarious and his stories are completely over the top, just like the one you told me." I considered this for a moment because it really did sound like complete and utter trash and then thought to myself, who am I kidding? I LOVE trashy books. Especially when they're self deprecating and have to do with sex and potty talk.

To say that his stories are "completely over the top," would be an understatement of vast proportions. His stories are mind boggling; they're offensive, crude and sadly, gut wrenchingly hilarious. This guy should be a case study for prospective parents and what NOT to do when raising a child. He's a womanizing, man-whore, drunk who has no redeeming qualities other than the fact that he's a talented writer and no doubt, can make people laugh.

However, I will say that no matter how I feel about him as a person, he has provided me with one of my favorite quotes and best pieces of advice of all time. I came across it last night and knew that I was meant to read this book for no other reason than this:

"Ladies, let me give you some advice. You can throw all your stupid fucking chick-lit, self help, why-doesn't-he-love-me books out, because this is all you need to know: Men will treat you the way you let them. There is no such thing as "deserving" respect; you get what you demand from people. Let the guy fuck you in the ass, cum on your back, drink all your beer and then leave, and he'll do it. But if you demand respect, he will either respect you or he won't associate with you. It really is that simple."

I can't tell you how many times I've sprinted to a book store every time I couldn't "figure out" a guy. I know, it seems so obvious, right? You get what you demand for yourself. I guess it just served as a reminder. I deserve the best. Who would have thought that something so helpful and poignant would come from somebody that embodies everything I hate about the male species.

If You Can't Beat Them, Join Them...Unless Neither Sound Appealing

Occured: October 27, 2007

I’m kind of a party pooper when it comes to going out on holiday weekends, especially when it comes to Halloween. I hate the pressure of looking for and spending money on a ridiculous costume that you’re going to wear once. My friends always tell me, “It’s your one time of year to be somebody or something else!” And I always answer with, “What’s wrong with being me 365 days a year? I like me and I certainly wouldn’t want to trade being me, even for one night, to be some slutty nurse with my ass hanging out of my dress. ” They frown at this.

I’m also not a fan of crowds and since Halloween tends to draw hordes of drunk, horny and scantily clad people to San Francisco, I tend to find my tolerance for humanity straddling a very thin line. The mere brush of a shoulder can send me in to an oratorical tirade of cuss words.

You would think by now, knowing how I feel, that I would just sit it out with a glass of wine and a good movie in the comfort of my own home. But no, every year I go through the same moral dilemma: Do I really want to sit at home while everyone is out having fun? What if I miss out on something? What if, by some off chance, this is the year that Halloween turns around for me and I really enjoy myself? Fuck it, I’ll go out. Every year this happens and every year I end up kicking myself for making the wrong decision.

We bought tickets to a club called Suede. The doors opened at 8, wherein, the free vodka started flowing, so you know that our entire group was there at 8 on the dot. The only reason I showed up that early was so that I could get hammered before everyone started showing up. I thought a preemptive strike using copious amounts of alcohol would be useful in fending off my feelings of disgust and hostility towards the other party goers.

Unfortunately, to my disappointment, I couldn’t get drunk fast enough. I had consumed approximately 5 vodka sodas and I barely had a buzz. The thought occurred to me that they were really just serving us water and juice served over ice. No wonder the drinks were free.

As the night went on, I became more aware of how sober I was and how abhorrently intoxicated everyone else was. I was kicked, elbowed, punched in the boob and was on the verge of upper cutting the next bitch who “accidentally” spilled her drink on me.

I made a conscious decision that the only way I was going to get through another minute of this freak show was to adopt the mentality of, “If you can’t beat them, join them.” I proceeded to the bar and fought my way to the front. I ordered two shots and another vodka soda, easy on the soda.

While I’m waiting for the bartender to make my drinks, this drunken ass hole starts shouting in my ear, demanding that I pay him attention. I told him politely to back off and to please stop spitting in my face. No girl likes to feel like she’s taking a germ shower while having a conversation. He was slightly miffed at my lack of respect and proceeded to yell at me, call me an ugly whore while palming my ass and squeezing it so tight it left a bruise.

I could feel my face growing hot with an anger that could only be described as pure, unfiltered, loathing. After he had let go and I regained feeling in my ass cheek, I looked straight at him and said, “If you EVER touch me again, I will rip your balls off and shove them down your throat.” His friends, seeing the interaction, immediately stepped in. They could sense a serious altercation about to take place, apologized for him and dragged him off by the tail (literally). By that time, Justin Timberlake himself wouldn’t have been able to persuade me to stay another second in that hell hole.

I booked it, hailed a cab and was home in about 15 minutes. I didn’t even tell my friends I was leaving which I’ll later regret I’m sure. It bugs me that I just can’t relax, enjoy being with my friends and ignore what’s going on around me. Maybe it’s just not in me. Maybe I’m just getting old. Oh well, this is me and no costume, wig, or excessive amounts of makeup will ever change that.

Public Transportation

An oldie but a goodie...

Occurred: First months of my arrival in SF
Written: May 18, 2005

I HATE public transportation. I fully acknowledge that the use of the word hate as an emotional descriptive can be pretty intense and should rarely be used, but I HATE public transportation. I absolutely refuse to sugar coat something that is the cause of such great anxiety in my life.

Growing up in a family where I received anything and everything I could have ever wanted, the self transformation in to being financially responsible was, and still is, a difficult process. When my parents told me they were taking away MY car (granted I never paid a dime for it), I was devastated. How the fuck am I suppose to get around? I then looked on the bright side (at the time it seemed bright) which was that in San Francisco, you don't need a car to get around. I started to look at my new situation as somewhat of a blessing: no car payments, cheap transportation, possible encounters with hot men, no worries about parking and most importantly, no insurance bills! My excitement quickly evaporated when I traded in my mustang for a $1.25 transfer ticket and a smell so bad you would think you stepped in to a public restroom.

Here are just a few of my most memorable bus-riding moments and in the spirit of Halloween, we'll start out with:

Horrible Bus Experience #1: The Witch

I swear, if witches do exist, the only things this woman lacked was her broom and pointy hat. Imagine if you will, a VERY corpulent woman in all black with patches of grey hair matted to her head, warts and skin flaps covering her face, one yellow tooth, eyebrows that grew like weeds covering one (yes only one) of her eyes, long curly finger and toe nails, and moles with pube like hair growing out of them extending over her neck and arms. This woman, was stepping on to my bus and heading straight for the bench I was sitting on.

She hobbled on with her cane, her legs too fat and out of shape to make it up the stairs on her own, and to my horror didn't have much control over herself. To make matters worse, the bus driver decided to start driving before she had the chance to sit down and she fell....on top of ME!!! The weight of this woman was crushing and she clobbered me with the side of her hairy, scaly, mole covered arm. I swear it almost knocked me out.

She then, without apologizing, takes the seat directly next to me where she adjusts her sweater that had exposed her large, protruding belly and starts to whisper, groan, and grumble (spells?). Are you kidding me? Where do people like her come from? Was she homeless? How did she become a toothless, smelly, mumbling, schizo witch? More importantly, where does a toothless, smelly, mumbling, schizo witch go on a bus? After that, in my delirium, I high tailed it off the bus at the next stop, walked the rest of the way, nursed my wound and wondered if I should get a tetanus shot.

A Fresh Start

I thought the day would never come that I leave the Myspace blogging world. I finally realized that there's only so much you can say on a site where, with so many hackers, ex-boyfriends and sexual predators, you're forced to put your page under lock and key. Aside from that, there's something about it now that I can't quite put my finger on. It's just not as fun, right?

For a long time I was using Myspace for much more than writing. I enjoyed catching up with old friends, meeting new people, and editing my page so that it reflected the "real me." Now that I've grown tired of making small talk with strangers and people that are clearly no longer in my life for a reason, it's lost a lot of it's appeal. I mean, there's only so much you can say to your good friends whom you've talked to on the phone a mere 5 minutes ago.

I'm ready for a fresh start and have decided that Myspace is no longer the place to share my stories and experiences with friends. This feels much more official. So, welcome to my new blog! I look forward to writing new material as well as bringing some old stories back to the table. Hopefully you'll all enjoy a good laugh at my expense. I wouldn't want it any other way.