Dear Amy,
recent events have lead me back to that warm, fuzzy, non-sticky mental dumping ground we like to call "our blog". I apologize for my absence, we both have been busy conquering the world. The bridal industy anyway. I think the last time I posted was the night i wound up doing a sobriety test in a tutu. Truely

Anyway... after meeting the entire crew of HV plumbing at Taco Cabana for lunch, I had to go back in because I forgot the cheese quesidillia I promised the girls back at the studio. As I was standing in line I felt something graze the back of my thigh. The upper back portion of my leg, the good part that my ass is attached to. Having all of us seen my ass, you can understand my shock. Its hard to get to on accident. A person would have to "reach in". My ass being so round, puffy and well... out there, there is no mistaking that it could not have possibly been an accident. I immediately turn on my heels and look to see what or who it was that would have the nerve. There was a random soccer mom in line standing behind me (she was actually wearing a t-shirt that said "im a soccer mom") and behind her was a girl I knew from the city where I pay my water bill. I had heard she started doing yoga and cocaine.. looks good on her.

After realizing it could not have possibly been either one of them I turned back around to wait for my turn to order fried cheese and I notice on my other side is a small homeless looking man with a handlebar mustache. A very stange looking little fellow, but somehow familiar to me. I remembered he looked just like the guy you paid in New Orleans to pull you in the wagon that time, when you were wearing the sash and crown and singing "all the single ladies", that guy. Upon closer inspection I determined it was not him. He immediately gave me a smile and said "how are you" to which I replied "very fine, thank you". I straighted back up in line and started with the whole don't make eye contact and he will go away vibe. He then said after tapping me on the sholder "you don't remember me, do you?". I said "no sir, im sorry" and "have we met before?". He put his hand over his mouth and giggled then said "we met in Vegas, on the strip". I said "sir, I have never been to Vegas". Lying so he would leave. His response was (leaning in and whispering to me), and I am quoting him.. "we had one hell of a time, I blacked out right about the time I started licking your teeth" and walked away. SWEAR! LICKING MY TEETH!

Astonished, I am playing all the highlight reels in my head at this time trying to come up with which trip to Vegas we could have encountered him. The only memoriable ones were when I took that doorman up to the room and was having sex with him on the bed while you were sitting naked in the desk chair, drinking whiskey straight out of the bottle and asking me for my laptop password so you could play mood music. High five. Go us. Or maybe it was third trip. That weekend was outta control. The point of no return was when you "drugged" that guys drink with glitter.. face-planting on his dick was going way beyond. But, still in all of this... never saw the small handlebar mustache guy. Do you remember him?

How we wind up going astray....

Actual conversation from last night..

Mel: What are you doin?
Amy: Laundry!
Mel: Why?
Amy: I don't have a small black man with a wife named Wheezie to do it for me..
Mel: I don't do laundry or windows (I really do)
Mel: You should get a pocket sized Chinese man to do it for you
Mel: One that can roll fortune cookies!
Amy: and walk on my back!
Mel: we can just use the one who is going to go around behind us banging the gong
when anyone says our name and when we are home, he can do laundry..problem solved
Mel: Hey! That's a good name for something.. like a band or a club or some shit
Mel: Bang the Gong
Mel: I fucking love it!
Mel: "Where have you and Melissa been?" and you reply "Banging the Gong, duh"
Amy: New York's hottest club. Gong. 102 year old Japanese pimp has done it again. He has dykes, bikes, trikes, the village people, and fire hydrant people!
Amy: you know fire hydrant people right?
Mel: Um... no
Mel: they like to be pissed on?
Mel: fetish stuff?
Amy: it is where midgets with really long legs wear red pants and stand really still while people pee on them.
Mel: If we ever go to Gong remind me to wear my Body Glove!

Bad Mood

Dear Amy,

I have been in a foul mood for about 3 weeks now. I don't know why. I haven't a clue. It almost seems as if I had a sparkle or glimmer of happy times then a cosmic fire extinguisher came along and put it out. I just exist. Day to Day. Same shit, different day. Nothing happens anymore. Are we in a slump?

How bad is it you ask? I have had the same bottle of bubbly in my fridge for over 2 weeks now!! I haven't even entertained the thought of opening it. Sad. What happened to our spirit, our gumption, or willingness to go out on a ledge and pee? I wanna get so drunk we wind up doing shots of Vanilla Extract again. Life is nowhere the amusement park it was when we were on Vicodin.

I started thinking what could have led to my demise. What could the contributing factors be? Have I done anything different? I remembered that I had gotten a new therapeutic mattress & started smoking weed all in the same week. This just makes it hard to get out of bed is all. Dosn't really put a damper on my social life.

I want to make Tequila spiked Arnold Palmer's again and mumble things to each other in French so who ever we happen to have around does not know we are saying the most ridiculous things about them. This is not cool.

If I am going to drown.. it is going to be because there was open bar.. on a yacht!

Drunk much?

Amy,

Did you get drunk last night? You put Christian lyrics as your Facebook status again.

Why TIticaca can never be a Smudgie name..

Titicaca is not a good name for a Smudgie. It is not a good name for anybody. I know where you got it Aimes, and I do love Titicaca as a person.. pigtails and all but, I love Bubble more and Titicaca knows this. We never connected. Titicaca sounds like it translates to Shitty Titties. Shitty Titties is not a good name for a Smudge. We are hot, smokin, all of us and there is nothing shitty about a Smudge. Wait, maybe.. um, not going there this early in the morning.

A-N-Y-W-A-Y, speaking of shitty titties.. I'm tired of being the ass girl. You get to have all the fun. Let's do a stint in Arizona (only a couple of weeks) so I can get mine done. They are perfectly fine the way they are, just too normal. I want perfection.. I want SKI SLOPES!!! I want them to turn up on the ends like the roof of the Grinch's place. Seriously!. I don't want the big obvious half circles that move around on your chest under your skin. NO. I want big bouncy ski slopes. Let's do dueling datebooks cause we are going to Arizona to the Master. Besides, people are going to start to ask why all my pictures are from the back and you never get to see full frontal of me. :(

Cumulus Clouds, the shortage of rainfall in the Mojave and why we can never eat at the Varsity!

Recent events have me planning a trip to the A.T.L. soon and I was invited by an old school chum to meet her at the Varsity for lunch. I had to decline. I am saddened by this because there is no place on earth better to buy lips and assholes grilled to perfection than THE VARSITY! Hum, "What happened?" you ask.. "Why is it that you are excommunicated from that wonderful island o' grease and beer battered onion rings?".... MINNIE DA' MOOCHA!

Let me set the stage... It was July hot in Georgia and my dear friend Minnie (AMY!) and I's dogs were barking from all the shopping we had just done. My heel had broke on my shoe and we limped in the Varsity for lunch and a malt. No sooner than we sat our butts down in the booth, she sticks her Jimmy Choo out and trips the little waitress in the red t-shirt! Hot Dogs are flying at this point. I came very close to loosing my best suede Prada to a coke that whizzed by my head. I peeked out from under the booth clutching my bag, coke-a-cola dripping from my extensions and gave her one of those "What the fuck?" looks.

Very matter of factly she says to me as she straightens herself up on the red vinyl, "Bitch had it coming". "What?, what did she do? We just got here!" I asked. "History, her and I have history" Minnie says to me. This is when she explains that she came in two weeks prior and made the acquaintance of a lovely little fellow named Lyman. Lyman is a sophomore at Tech. Minnie and Lyman connected over a slaw dog and found themselves in one of the ladies bathroom stalls shortly there after discussing the shortage of rainfall in the Mojave. Apparently the conversation got pretty heated and the waitress that now has a bloody nose from her slip and fall, kicked the stall door in and says "LYMAN! I told you if I caught you with another slut again I was going to bash you in the head until all you saw was Cumulus Clouds!". Bitch then takes a swing at poor little Lyman, he bobs and weaves and our Minnie takes one for the team, right on the kisser. Well, at this point Minnie's right brown slowly starts to rise, her face turns blood red and her left eye starts to twitch (it always does when she is fixin to twist off) the waitress gets a glimpse of this and she turns so fast and runs in the opposite direction her little paper hot dog hat hovers in the air for a second before it falls. Girlfriend left skidmarks on the tile!

Minnie hurdles Lyman and runs after the waitress; you can only go so fast in 5" Blahnik's. Girl was gone! She makes it to the parking lot only to see a beat up Honda civic skidding sideways out of the lot. She picks up the closest thing to her feet, winds up and pitches a baseball size landscape gravel at the Honda. It misses its target and goes right through the wind shield of an M6. Alarms go off. She debates on running but her purse with I.D, Credit Cards and the rest of the 8 ball we did that morning is still in the stall with Little Lyman.

She dashes in the ladies room, Lyman hands her the purse and asks if he will ever see her again. She says "Damn I hope not, go back to your dorm room, Ugg boots and Ramen noodles kid cause you've still got some growin to do. Oh, I'd get that wart looked at if I were you".

So here we are sitting in the booth in the aftermath of this most recent event when I see a portly black gentlemen walking over to Minnie and I. He leans over and under his breath he says, "Get the hell out and don't ever come back. I know who you are and I know what you do. Georgia ain't big enough for the two of you and short of bringing Marie Laveau back from the beyond, I will never get the bad Jou Jou of you two outta here. Now Get, and don't ever look back or I will call the Dean at Tech and tell him what yall did at the KA house last Spring".

We are never going back.

Tomorrow.. Round Table Discussion on why "Sexting" is a bad thing.. What?

Seriously! How the fuck could this be bad... Tomorrow.. too tired tonight.. but TOMORROW we will get to the fluffy powdered glittery bottom of this....