How NOT to Get on The Price Is Right (and other tips)

A couple of months ago, our friend, Maxwell informed our group of friends that he created a ridiculous amount of email addresses, and eventually scored 20 tickets to The Price Is Right, filming in Hollywood for a Tuesday afternoon.

I didn’t even get the invite yet, when I cleared my calendar and decided on requesting a vacation day.  I shortly after, got the invite (I would have some way wiggled my way in, of course, but the legit invite was nice to have).

The group was intense.  Our group of PB friends is often intense, but throw in a game show in which there is a chance one of us has an opportunity to showcase our intenseness, and we rise to a different level of intense.

It was decided upon that we’d all be wearing Hawaiian shirts, and a party bus from PB to Hollywood was immediately booked for 8am on Tuesday morning, April 7th.  The internet savvy members of the group did their due diligence to find out the best way to actually get to contestants row, and we learned a few things:

  • You’re being judged by roaming producers, as well as hidden cameras as soon as you step foot in line
  • Over-the-top enthusiasm will take you far
  • Large groups of 15-25 are basically guaranteed to get one person chosen for contestants row
  • You need to arrive at noon and plan on being there for 5 hours

Over-the-top enthusiasm?  I’m pretty sure we have that covered on our sleepiest of days.  Add an 8am, three-hour bus ride (including at least one bathroom break), coolers full of mimosas, beer, and some Fireball, and we’ve got the whole audience covered on the enthusiasm-meter.

We get there close to noon, our deadline, and are ready to wait in line for a while (acting peppy and friendly, of course), and ditch alllll of our food and drinks on the bus.

Let’s fast-forward to FOUR HOURS LATER… we are STILL in line.

Here are some things I’ve learned from actually GOING to The Price Is Right:

  • BRING THINGS– drinks, food, whatever floats your boat.  You are waiting in line for legit 3 hours before you even get to the security area where you need to ditch drinks, food, and your cell phone
  • BRING YOUR CELL PHONE– many of our group members left their phones on the bus, after reading the show’s instructions that they would need to be “checked” at the door.  The “check-point” isn’t until an hour before you enter the studio, which leaves you THREE HOURS of potential selfies with your super cool PIR name tags, texts to your jealous friends, and responses to work emails if you happened to just “call in sick” or “work from home” that day.
  • DON”T BE AN ASSHOLE–  there is a fine line between enthusiasm, originality, and assholism.  As a group, we did not put ourselves on the right side of that line.  Being enthusiastic, sweet, friendly, is great.  Leave the cockiness at the door [*guilty as charged]
  • YOU ARE NOT GUARANTEED TO HAVE A GROUP MEMBER GET CHOSEN:  It doesn’t matter how big your group is, if they don’t want one of you, they WON’T PICK ONE OF YOU

As we’re waiting in what seemed to be the last leg of the line, right before security, after several overpriced Red Bulls and stale, tasteless personal pizzas from the show’s “snack stand,” and after being told we ONLY have an hour and a half left ’til we get into the studio, my sister says to me,

“I’m tired of this, do you want to just go to the bar across the street??”

I respond, “Umm.. yeah, if it’s really gonna be another hour and a half, I’ll go.”

“No, I mean, INSTEAD of going to the show.  I”m over this.”

That’s where I put my foot down.  There’s no way I’m waiting in a sea of ridiculous lines for this long, and not even getting in there.  We started making jokes such as,

“What if Carissa gets picked and they’re like ‘CARISSA!!!  COME ON DOWN’ and we have to say on national TV— OH- she’s not here anymore– she went to the bar!!'”

She resorted to just napping once we got to our seats.  She was over it.  Little did she know… there would be NO NAPPING.

The person I feel for the most in production of The Price is Right:  The young’ish looking man, who had a title I can’t even fathom, (Cheer police??) who stood on stage having anxiety attacks every time the cameras rolled, convulsing over getting everyone to stand up, clap, and act like they were having the times of their lives.  This poor guys was sweating down his cheeks and looked like he was about to cry when he wasn’t getting a proper response.

My hands were literally sore from clapping, my voice horse from hooting and hollering, and my Fitbit going out of control with all the fist pumping.  Sitting in the audience of The Price is Right is a much different experience from sitting on your couch.  You can’t hear anything that is happening on the tiny little stage.  You literally have to wait to see poor little Cheer Police’s note card to know who was chosen next to “COME ON DOWN,” because you couldn’t hear a damn thing.

The group of assholes with the Hawaiian shirts and enough enthusiasm to light the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, (even after a mid-afternoon hangover at this point), was strategically seated front and center, two rows behind the contestants.  We were USED.  They baited us before the show started, by saying all the contestants were not yet chosen after the interview process (obvious lies), and that they’d be watching us throughout the show to see who was cheering loudest, and helping out the most.  That’s how they continuously got us out of our chairs and screaming.  We bit the bait.  Bastards.

Contestant after contestant was chosen.  Not.one.of.them.came.from.our.group.  W…T…F…

The beginning of the bus ride home was somewhat solemn.  How did NOT ONE of us get chosen?  We were soooo cool, and fun, and enthusiastic.  Weren’t we??  We got over it by the time we hit the highway, got back to our normal selves, and started  pumping the jams (I’m old… I say pumping the jams), cracking the beer, and passing the Jack.

We made the bus driver get to record speeds on the way home (approximately 55mph), as six of us on the bus had a  co-ed softball game to get to at 9pm.  Forfeiting was not an option.

We made the game.  Me, still in my Hawaiian shirt, jeans, chucks,  and Price is Right name-tag, as I didn’t have a second to change.  We also won the game, due to something I can’t put my finger on.  Probably the fact that the other team had never played softball in their lives??  There’s nothing else I can guess there….

Ginge and I had a talk later on that night… why didn’t any of us get on?  It wasn’t very hard to decode.  After all of the tips we read about being outgoing, enthusiastic, and original, we didn’t really stop to think about the target audience of the show.  Who is the target audience?  Mostly old retired people, maybe some stay-at-home moms, and the obvious kids who pretend they’re sick to stay home from school and binge-watch game shows.

What were we lacking in our approach?  Genuineness.  Plain and simple.  We didn’t need to be these over-the-top ridiculous people, making up fake occupations and turning on the ham.  That’s not what people want to see.  That’s not what people are rooting for.  At least not on this show.  We discussed the people who got called up, and the old woman who won the entire showcase, whose husband, who was bound to a wheelchair was crying tears down his cheeks.  We realized then, people want to see good people win things.  Not annoying people, not crazy-hyper people… real people with good hearts and a great desire to play the game.

We are those people.  We are all, individually, good, genuine people who have good hearts and want to play the game and win things.  Every one of these people I love is that great person you’d cheer for if you knew them.  But I’m not sure we portrayed ourselves in the best light possible.  I’m not going to say we were the drunk idiots of the interview process, because we weren’t.  Maybe we would have been if we knew better…. they kept us in line for so long beforehand that it would have been somewhat impossible to STILL be the drunk idiots that we may have been on the bus.  But they may have read our enthusiasm incorrectly.

Here is my humble advice for anyone who scores tickets to this show:

  •  BE YOURSELF-  Just maybe a less-inhibited version of yourself.  Be friendly and kind, very happy and really want to play the game
  •  BE PREPARED- They tell you not to wear open toed shoes.  Don’t.  Our friend with flip-flops stopped at a store outside the studio and bought a pair of knock-off chucks for $194.  (He’s pleased with his purchase, so all is good).
  • DON”T PLAN ON HAVING A VOICE…OR PALMS the next day:  You will clap like you’ve never clapped before, and yell like you’ve never yelled before.  Even if you don’t want to.  Cheer Police knows what he’s doing.  He’s no joke.  You will clap.  You will yell.

All in all, I could not have thought up a better way to spend my Tuesday.  A group of great friends getting together and sharing an experience so close to home that most don’t really put on their priority list…. we put it on our priority list.  Thank you Maxwell, for all of your finagling and hard work.  I love you guys all to the moon and back… and no RV, Range Rover, pony, sailboat, washer/dryer, cooking set, or bear hug from Drew Carey could even make me love you more.

To all of you thinking of going to The Price is Right?  Go.  It’s an experience for sure.  Just pack a backpack full of snacks and refreshments for the wait… and try not to act like an asshole.  😉

PS- Our episode airs June 1, 2015.  Look for the sea of Hawaiian shirts up front. 🙂

xoxo, pumpkins,

Gossip Girl

price is right

The Night I Didn’t Meet Tom Brady

I just remembered I had a blog. Have I been boring lately or what? Maybe I’ve just been such a blast that I haven’t had time to properly document it. Let’s go with that.

The Patriots are in town all week to play the Chargers on Sunday. T and Brie are New Englanders so took a strong interest in “randomly” running into them while they’re here. You might think, “how can you just randomly run into football players?” Right? Right. Well here’s how… you stalk the crap out of their every move.

Within hours of them touching down in San Diego (touching down… see what I did there??), the girls had figured out where they were staying, what their curfew was, where they were practicing, and what Tom Brady ordered for lunch. Yes, that’s serious. He gets a tray of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day. Really, bud?

In any case, it had been thrown out there that no one would mind running into these dudes, but no moves had been made. It was a Tuesday night and one of those nights that one of us was having a hard time and needed girlfriends around. V and Brie came over after work to join T and me, and the four of us sat on the couches in the carport watching Friends re-runs, devouring pasta and garlic bread, drinking wine, crying, and laughing. T was in her PJs and nestled in for the night.

I got up to use the bathroom and two minutes later hear Brie’s loud mouth, “COURTNEY!!!! LET’S GO!”

I open the bathroom door a crack (get it…? crack) “What?! I’m pooping!”

“Well taper it off! The Patriots are at Tavern. We gotta go. Now!”

I cut my bathroom time short and rushed out. T is in her room doing a quick outfit change, exclaiming “Gotta wear an East Coast outfit!” as she throws a vest over a red and black plaid shirt.

Apparently T got a text from a friend who somehow knew where they were headed. V’s scrounging around my room for makeup, as T and Brie are already out the door. They told me I didn’t have time to change into a cuter outfit, so I did a quick hairbrush and makeup touch-up, chugged my last sip of wine and ran out the door. We piled into Brie’s little VW bug and raced down the street.

“We gotta hurry. They have to be home by 10:30 and it’s already after 9.”

I ask if I look cute enough to meet the Patriots. They tell me I have a boyfriend so what do I care?

“Oh, Ginge wouldn’t care if it was an NFL player.”

Brie agrees, “Yeah, I’d definitely get a pass too for a Pats player.”

Glad that’s settled. When push comes to shove, I don’t know any of the Pats besides my love, Tom Brady, and I was told he probably wasn’t there, so I wasn’t quite as giddy as the rest. They gave me a quick lesson on how sexual some guy named Gronk is, and passed a few pics around the car. We were hoping he’d be there.

He was.

I told the girls they had to play it cool. My version of playing it cool is acting like I have no idea that people are famous. I like the way this usually works. I utilized the method on a guy who later introduced himself as Darius. I positioned myself very near to Darius. I overheard a guy next to him ask, “Are you starting this week?”

He replied, “No.”

I took this opportunity to turn to him and ask, “What sport do you play?” [**playing it cool**]

“Football.”

“Oh, cool.”

He asks, “What sport do you play?”

“Co-ed softball.”

“Oh, like the slow pitch kind?”

“Yeah the ball has to go to head height. I think it’s harder to hit that way.”

“Oh yeah, I love watching girls softball.”

“No you don’t. Nobody likes watching girls softball.”

Darius chuckles, introduces himself. The girls come join the conversation. V asks why he has a tag hanging off his hat, which was on backwards, and he says someone had just given it to him. I ask to see the front, and it’s a Patriots hat. I ask why someone gave him a Patriots hat and he tells me it’s because he plays for them.

[Play.It.Cool] “Oh really? You play for the NFL?”

The girls think my act is moronic at this point, but I’m pretty pleased with how it’s going. He confirms that he does, indeed, play for the NFL, and asks if we’re going to the game on Sunday.”

“I’m not, I don’t have tickets…” [sad puppy dog face] [this face does not work] [Darius does not offer to gift me free tickets] [this is BS].

Brie pretended to play it cool for about 5 minutes before she broke into her story about how Gronk crashed her birthday party in college and ate all of her food. Mid-story I gave her a stern look to shut up, so thankfully she cut it short. Play.It.Cool.

The conversation somehow turns into an age guessing game, in which I correctly guessed Darius’ age on the first try, which made me remember my bar trick of guessing men’s weight. This trick was born a couple of years back at a national sales meeting for my old company. Professional as ever, one night I decided to have all the male sales reps sit on my lap one at a time, and I guessed their weight. I had never done this before, but I was surprisingly dead on the majority of the time, so I brought my talents back to Green Rock in Hoboken, still nailing it, and decided it’s quite a talent of mine. Pat.hand.on.back.

I asked for Darius’ height, and instructed him to get off his stool and sit on my lap.

I shook him around a little… “252.”

“Whoa. I’m 250.”

“Well probably after everything you ate and drank tonight you’re 252. And did you have that weird little patch of chin hair last time you weighed yourself?”

“Good point, you’re probably right.” He turns to his teammate and tells him I think his chin hair is weird. It is. His teammate agrees.

Darius got up and a few of his buds took a turn on my lap. I had no idea who anyone there was, being a loyal Saints fan and not paying much attention to New England (loyal Saints fan = I own a Saints jersey and know who Drew Brees is). I wish I had known who people were, I maybe could have yelled at some of them for ruining my fantasy season. T thought this weight guessing trick was hilarious and started taking pictures. She was instructed to not let the pics go anywhere, and one of the dudes asked her to not take any of him at all. They were all very embarrassed after a recent photo of them with Justin Bieber had just gone viral. T obviously immediately posted the photos to the fb.

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When one of the guys asked, “What are you girls doing out tonight?” we clearly couldn’t respond with, “We got a tip that you were here, so we put on makeup and east coast outfits and raced over, ran down the street in the rain and arrived here out of breath…” so it was more, “Oh you know, just a girls Taco Tuesday night!”

After a bit, the guys had to hit the road, or they’d turn into pumpkins. We were very pleased with ourselves and left the bar as soon as they were out of sight. We ran back down the street in the rain and back into the Bug. Man, were our boyfriends going to be jealous. Not because we were flirting with large athletic men, but because they were not flirting with these large athletic men.

The girls’ stalking skills were at an all time high, and I’m proud to call them my friends. But the moral of this story is this: I didn’t meet Tom Brady.

The week isn’t over yet…

xoxo

Gossip Girl

Roommate Search Begins…

Our rent went up, so V is moving out, and into a less expensive abode with my sister…  Which is traumatizing on its own.  Looking for a new roommate to fill her spot has already proven to be somewhat of a challenge.  Saying we have unrealistic expectations in a roommate is probably something I wouldn’t admit.  But our expectations are quite high.

Living in a desirable beach town, in an uncharacteristically large house for the area, and having perfect, sweet, fun, pretty, smart roommates, has created a situation where we are weeding through loads and loads of emails.  We realized pretty quickly that we couldn’t keep up with responding to them all, and even more importantly, we had to choose carefully who we agreed to actually meet in person, otherwise we’d have weirdos in and out of our house for days straight.

Tay asked V to be part of the process, because she felt like I wouldn’t like anyone at all.  So V would be a mediator.  Tay wrote the first Craigslist ad.  She made us sound like lovely, clean girls who do nice things and are kind and loving to all.  It was a great, well written ad, but it caused us to get a lot of emails with people describing their “healthy lifestyles.”

As we’re all sitting on the couch reading through emails, Tay says, “What is with this HEALTHY LIFESTYLE everyone is talking about??”

“Maybe you made us sound too healthy.  You were talking about hiking and working out and I don’t do any of those things.”

“Yeah but I also said we like happy hour and day drinking.”

“You didn’t harp on that enough.”

“These people won’t eat pizza with us on Sundays.  That’s a problem.”

Tay had an original list of 32 potential normal sounding people.  The three of us sat on the couch social media stalking one after the other, crossing them off as we went.

“Too skinny.”

Next….

“Too ugly.”

Next….

“Too much beard.”

Next…

“She takes too many pictures of food.”

Next….

We ended up with a winning four, and invited them to come see the place.  We found ourselves warning them of what they’d be getting into.

“People show up and have parties here some Saturdays… people sleep on our couches… we’re loud every Friday and Saturday….and sometimes Thursdays, and Sundays… The dog is pretty annoying… V will basically still be living here because she will miss us when she moves out…. Court walks around naked if she works from home some days…”

We scared people away.  But we felt it was only fair.  That way they wouldn’t move in based on our “lovely” persona and then hate us. At this point, I decided to re-write the ad.

I added some flavor and some spice.  I instructed potential roommates to bring us wine.  And I put every sort of “warning” in black and white, in a charming tone.

Bingo.  The slew of emails that came after that were from fun, creative, friendly people who offered to bring us wine, play with the puppy, watch the Bachelor with us, and jump in for driveway hangman and beer pong sessions.

We had our first visitor from the new batch of potentials come to see the place last night.  It was Thursday night so we forewent happy hour out, and just opened some wine at home, hung out and waited for the guy, who didn’t arrive til 9:30pm.  We considered this sacrifice.  Carissa was over, and so was another girlfriend, Danielle.  This dude walks into a house of 5 slightly buzzed girls, some with purple teeth (ok that was me), and was probably somewhat afraid to be eaten alive.  We give the tour of the house, Danielle leaves to go home, and Carissa and V sit outside while Tay and I interview the crap out of him.

He stayed for SO long, that we had to offer him beer (he drank two), and he is now well versed on how badly Tay’s farts smell, which of our friends would probably try to jump in his bed, and how much I don’t shut up after a couple of glasses of wine.  Although I warned V to not be weird and quiz him on his athletic abilities, I jumped right in for her to decide if he’d be a candidate for our softball team, and basically gave him a verbal tryout.

What’s funny is that he’s still interested in the place.  We figured if he could handle that… he’d survive with us just fine.

We have four more girls coming this evening.  We don’t have high hopes for the first because she’s way too pretty and skinny and none of her clothes would fit us.

…to be continued.

Until next time.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

 

 

The Ginger

He messaged me on Tinder a couple of weeks back. He had a witty opening line, and kept interesting conversation going.

A few days into our conversation, I had a couple of glasses of wine at happy hour, looked over his pics again, and messaged him:

“Are you a ginger?”

His response was a solid, “No,” but I didn’t really believe him.

We were both busy in upcoming days with weekend plans and work trips. We kept in contact throughout, with conversations ranging from ear cleaning with q-tips to our biggest life fears. He occupied me via text during a week-long of loneliness I spent traveling around Arizona. I appreciated his virtual presence, even though I hadn’t yet met him.

I could not wait to get home after that week… I felt like I had been in solitary confinement (I was very dramatic and cranky about it). The Ginger wanted to get together. I made plans to do dinner and happy hour with the girls on Friday night when I got back, but suggested that we could meet up after. For some reason I forgot that I hate talking to people for an extended period of time before meeting them. I really do hate that. But I had done it anyway. When I realized that’s what we had been doing for two weeks, I all of a sudden got a little bit nervous.

I felt comfortable enough with him at this point to suggest we make a plan to escape each other immediately after meeting, if we decided we didn’t like each other in person. His response?

“If you want, but I already know I’m going to like you.”

Oh, a sweet talker. We planned to meet at Dirty Birds in PB. I somehow timed a really long trip to the bathroom perfectly for right before he showed up (this is sarcasm. This was really not perfect at all). He walked in, and apparently really awkwardly looked around for me. The girls saw him looking and thought it might be him, so they picked up my phone from the table and checked his Tinder pics to confirm. I came out several minutes later, saw him already standing there with them, and thought “Crap…” [pun intended]. Thankfully, even after I’m sure an awkward introduction to the girls, (my sister was involved, it was obviously awkward), he was holding his own.

We hugged hello, I apologized for being missing for so long (I wonder if he knew I was pooping?) and then he went to the bar and bought a round of Fireball shots for everyone. Sold.

The night progressed, we made our way to our usual spots. The Ginger was tall, and had a hot bod. I learned he was a D-1 baseball player which made him juuustttt a little bit hotter (I’m shallow… what can I say?)

**************************************************************

…. I started writing this post almost two weeks ago. I got pretty distracted. I just pulled it up to continue, but realized it would turn into a novel at this point… so… until next time.

The Italian Stallion

During a normal phone convo with T-Diddy last week, she asks what’s new.

“Well I think I’m going to go out with an Italian guy. Like one actually from Italy.”

T-Diddy responds, “No, don’t ever go out with an Italian guy! Didn’t I tell you about the one that I dated??”

Dad must overhear the conversation; I can hear him shout in the background: “Or a Greek guy! No Greek guys either!”

Well that eliminates a large part of Europe… You think they’d be less picky at this point.

I obviously didn’t listen to my parents’ advice, and decided to go out with the Italian. He was from Tinder. Was very aggressive in the messaging, Facebooking, etc. He just moved to San Diego from Italy for an engineering job a little over a month ago, although he spent 6 months at the same company last year, and a few months in NYC. So although he is literally straight from Italy, he has spent a pretty good amount of time here. At first, I think he paid a lot of attention to using proper English in text messages, and had me fooled, but when he started getting lazy was when it got funny.

Each time I shared a funny text, I felt it had to be in an Italian accent or it wouldn’t be as accurate.  It became routine for me to start giggling over a message, and one of my roommates to say, “Lorenzo?”

“V, get me into my Italian accent.”  (Italian doesn’t come naturally.  Asian accents, yes, Italian, no.)

V would say something like, “VinCENza!!!!” with her hands in the air, and I’d immediately be able to imitate Lorenzo’s message in perfect Italian form.

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Friday night started with an invitation to go out with Lorenzo, which I turned down because I was wicked tired.  Crap… get the Boston girls out of my house.  I told him I had a date with my couch, so we made plans to do something on Saturday night instead.  I put on my sweats, got my blanket and my real pillow from my bed (that’s when you know it’s serious), and curled up on the couch to watch TV.  I was definitely in for the night.  Turns out I wasn’t.  Breezy came home about a half hour later with Bud Light-aritas, looked at me and told me to get in the shower.  I said no.  Then V put on her sad puppy dog face.  So I got in the shower.

My date with the couch turned into a typical night out in PB, and wouldn’t ya know it, Renzie ended up coming back from his plans downtown early, and wanted to meet up with us.  Since all of the girls wanted to meet the mysterious Italian, I told him where we were and he came out.  I figured he’d just stop in for a bit, but he ended up staying with us the entire rest of the night and didn’t go home until like 3am.

Saturday night rolls around, and Renzie and I make plans to go bowling.  I’m last-minute getting ready (as usual), looking for something to wear, and yell out of my bedroom…

“V, is it cold out??”

“I don’t know, I’ll check.”

She walks to the front door and then all I hear is two loud screams.  I run out to see what happened… when she opened the door, Lorenzo was just standing there with his face two inches from the screen.  I guess he was getting ready to knock??  We invited him in.  I checked the temperature for myself.  V and Breezy were sitting on the couch painting their nails.  Renzie sits down and says,

“I paint.”

Breezy hands him the colors and says to pick.  He sifts through, “no. no. no.”  He finally finds one he is satisfied with, and looks at me and asks:

“I paint?  It is ok?”

“Ummm sure…”

He paints their nails.  I ask him a question about bowling and he responds with, “What you did?”

“Huh??  What you did?  What does that mean?”

“You.  What you did today?”

“It’s ‘what did you DO today?'”

“Yes, that what I mean.”

He’s making us laugh… a lot.  Breezy says, “I’m kind of jealous.  I feel like you’re going to have a really funny night.”

We did.  We went bowling and drank Long Islands… he insisted we drink Long Islands because “That where you come from.”

We had conversations that would have been funny WITHOUT the language barrier, so add in a strong Italian accent and some communication problems, and the night was a hoot.  On the way back from bowling, it was about 11pm.  I asked Renzie what he was doing for the rest of the night.

“I do what you do.”

“Okay, well my sister and roommates are at a party.  Do you want to go meet with them?”

“OUR sister.”

“Yes, our sister.”

“Yes, let’s meet.  And I need to meet boyfriend.  Sister’s boyfriend.  Will he be there?”

“I don’t know… ”

Lorenzo was quite the social butterfly.  He easily made friends.  V randomly asked him if he liked soccer.  He responded “No,” as another guy who overheard, informed her he loved soccer.  Lorenzo whispered, “soccer is for the gays.”  We laughed.  Because you just can’t not laugh at him.

He joined us for a stop at the Silver Fox, and pulled out his flawless swing dance moves, which he debuted at Duck Dive the night before.  He was quite the charmer.

The next afternoon, Carissa and I had a lunch date.  I texted Lorenzo to ask him the name of the Acai place he has been raving about.  He responds.  I say thank you.  I also say, “Thank you again for a lovely bowling date.”

Carissa and I look up Rum Jungle in PB and head over there.  We are sitting on the couch, eating our Acai bowls, and I get a response from Lorenzo:  “yes it was pretty boring.”

WHAT???  Carissa says, “I think he gets his words mixed up.”

I say, “No I think he actually meant it was boring, but he is trying to use sarcasm?”

We start dying laughing, quoting some of his bests from the night before.  I pull up old screen shots of texts that had made me laugh, and we are just having a doozy of a time cracking up at this guy.  Then Carissa looks up from the tears of laughter and says, “Oh, hi.”

It’s Lorenzo… walking OUT of Rum Jungle to take a call on his cell.  Which means he was IN Rum Jungle the entire time we were laughing.  There were only about three other people in the tiny little place.  I don’t know how we didn’t see him walk in… I died.  I said, “Should I run away??  Did he hear everything??”

Carissa says, “No, I don’t think so… even if he could hear us, we were talking too fast for him to understand.”

He comes back in and sits down with us.  We have a conversation about Acai and cauliflower ear.  Then we leave because Carissa has to head to work.

“Why would he go there??  I JUST asked what the name of that place was!”

“Maybe that’s WHY HE WENT THERE!”

So weird.  “Carissa, why does this happen to me all…of….the….time??”

“It really does.”

I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut unless I’m in the privacy of my own home.

In any case the Italian Stallion is at the very least, AMAZING entertainment.  And really nice to look at.  I’m thinking the whole dating thing may not work out due to the fact that we spend entirely too much time saying “What??” and “I don’t know what that means?”  And “I don’t know how to say in English.”  And the rest of the time just laughing.   Breezy asked several times yesterday, “Can Lorenzo come over?”  Hopefully.  Hopefully Lorenzo will remain in our lives for at least a little longer.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

“My Roommate Thinks You’re Cute…”

… works like a charm

This past weekend went as most do… completely randomly.  Carissa and I had a friend from home who was in town for a wedding, so we spent part of Saturday with him, getting lunch at Nick’s, which ended up turning into mimosas, bloody marys and LI iced teas.  We then wandered over to Lahaina’s on the beach for some fine pitchers of beer, because no out-of-of-towner’s trip to SD can be complete without some quality time at Lahaina’s.

V came to meet up, and Carissa and Roupen headed out shortly after.   V and I positioned ourselves in our usual spot, which is at the edge of the deck right by the wooden railing, with the sidewalk below.  During our normal (not really normal) conversation, we both looked down below when some loud motorcycles pulled up.  Two of the guys were older fat men with huge beards and tats all over, and then there was one who looked somewhere between our ages, and besides a sleeve of tattoos, looked pretty clean-cut… biker-sexual, if you will.

V says, “I LOVE guys on motorcycles.”

I knew.

“Well, that one’s actually pretty hot.”

He took his helmet off, and it was confirmed.  Definite hottie.

I tell V, “I’m going to talk to him for you.”

“No.  Please don’t.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.”

“Please don’t.  I hate it when you do this.”

“Oh, stop being like Carissa.”

I lean over the railing and wave to the guy who had just gotten off of his bike.  He looks over, smiles, and waves back.  I gesture for him to come over.  He obliges.  I start a pretty normal (probably not normal) conversation with him, and collect the basic information (he’s single, 28 and lives in the area), before telling him I think he’d be great for my roommate and she’s really cute.

He says, “Oh, really?  Who’s your roommate?  What does she look like.”

V is sitting across the table and probably about ready to murder me, when I point to her and say, “Well she’s here!  This is V.”

He says, “Oh wow, she is cute.”

V and motorcycle man introduce themselves from over the railing, and although he is in a rush because his big motorcycle dudes are waiting for him and one of them is out of gas, he asks V for her number, and immediately messages her to make sure she has his as well.

He walks away, and I say, “You’re welcome.”  V rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s into it.

I pat myself on my back, because I feel I was a pretty darn good wingman, and I’ve done my good deed for the day.

V and I left Lahaina’s shortly after to catch a shuttle bus to Oktoberfest in OB, the next town south of us.  The problem that I created for myself was that I just had such an easy time picking up a guy for someone else, so I got it in my head that it should be just as easy of a task to do for myself.  Piece.of.cake.

We get to Oktoberfest, walk around the vendors for a bit, then head to the tent to grab a couple of beers.  I immediately spot a tall, beefy, sexual man in the distance.  I spotted him because his head was higher up in the crowd than other people’s.  This is rocket science, I know.  I told V, “Okay, I’m going to go wingman myself, like I wingman’ed you.”

We walk over, and my genius-ass takes the same exact approach as I did with the motorcycle dude, since it worked so well that time.  “My roommate thinks your cute,” I think, might have been the line.  He asks if V, who is standing next to me is my roommate and I respond,

“No.  Well, yes, she is, but no, it’s not her.”

Somehow we continue talking to the guy and three of his friends, with them all seeming to forget about that “roommate” who thought he was cute.  We hit it off, and ended up agreeing to go with one of the couples to their house to let their dogs out, and then back to PB to all go out there.  I think it was during the car ride when one of the girls said,

“So wait… where’s your roommate that thought [Beefy] was cute?”

V and I look at each other for a second.   Whoops.  “Oh, in Rhode Island.”

“Then how did she know he was cute?”

“Who said it was a she?”

I think we just confused them so much, they dropped the subject.  We ended up hanging out all night, dancing, and knocking over photo booths… pretty typical evening.

Beefy and I will apparently be seeing each other again Thursday night.   And V got some super-sweet selfies from motorcycle man today.  Things are looking up.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

A Friday Night Out… Enter: Soulmate

A couple of weeks ago, I took this photo from Tinder and posted it on my Facebook page, announcing that I had found my soulmate, based on his tagline alone.

soulmate

Each time I referred to this guy with my friends, it would be “my soulmate” this, or “my soulmate” that, and everyone knew who I was talking about.  I hadn’t met the guy yet, and really, hadn’t even spoken to him.  A few days after I right-swiped him, he reached out, and we began chatting a little.  He seemed kinda funny and quirky.  And he lives in PB which is nice, because everyone who doesn’t live in PB seems to hate on it and never wants to come here.

“Oh… I won’t go out in PB anymore…”  [eye roll]

or

PB?!  I haven’t been there in like 3 years….”

or

“I’m too ollldddd to go out in PB…”

You get the idea.  People who used to live here are now way too good for it.   Or are afraid of fun.  Not people I feel like hanging around anyway.

So Friday morning started with V on the couch watching TV (she works Sundays through Thursdays), and me getting ready for work.  As I’m procrastinating around the house, V says,

“Would you just leave already, so you can come back??”

I say, “The only reason I’m leaving is so I can come back.”

It made sense in my head.  It was a warm, sunny day, and there were some baseball games on… the people without regular jobs were all going out to the bars to watch.  So I carried along with my day, with friendly reminders from V every once in a while to hurry up, and when I was content with my progress, I ran home to shower for happy hour.  We got on our bikes, with plenty of hours of daylight ahead and began our evening.

At the first bar, we met up with a few guy friends who all had something to say about “the cowboy,” and wanted to know how that was going.  I informed them that I’d been speaking to him but haven’t seen him since the first awkward coffee date.  They were confused as to WHY I would want to see him again, and the best way I could explain it was to say I just really want to get to the bottom of what the hell is wrong with him.  Because there is something very wrong with him.

As we’re sitting around the table, with my phone in the middle, it lights up with a very blatent Tinder message notification.  Andy points to it and laughs.  I pick it up and read it.  It’s my soulmate inquiring about my plans for the night.  Yeeehhhawwwwwwww…. I wanna meet this dude!  I tell V  that he might meet up later after he gets out of work and goes to the gym.

Since it was still sunny out, V and I grabbed our bikes and headed to our next destination, Lahaina’s… which is basically a big deck on the beach.  It’s always hopping, but apparently less-so after the summer is over and tourists are gone, so we were able to secure a good spot with a table.  At some point during my text convo with Soulmate, he barked and then I meowed, and V said, “Maybe you are actually soulmates.”

Soulmate messages to say he’s leaving the gym and going to stop by Lahaina’s on his way home.

“ON HIS WAY HOME??? That’s so lame… he’s going to come here all sweaty from the gym??”

V suggests, “Maybe he’s trying to feel you out before committing to hanging out?”

“Good point.”

He shows up in his gym attire.  Definitely cute, but shorter than I thought.  (I know, I know… I’m short.. yada yada)  He is quietly witty.  And he can handle V and me, in our giggly sarcastic moods.  So I’m digging his vibes.  He’s a doctor, but not a stuffy doctor.  We bonded sharing medical stories and useful info such as how to get a mouse into the bladder, and what happens if you stick a turkey baster full of tequila up your ass (he’s witnessed the aftermath).

Then something happens.  We ask his last name.  His last name comes out of his mouth and V LOSES IT.  Like full-out starts laughing so hard she can’t breathe.  Then the tears start flowing, and she gets out, “is that your real name??”

It really wasn’t THAT funny… but V is crying, and now so am I.  It’s the kinda thing where you’re not supposed to be laughing, but someone else is, so you just can’t stop.  Soulmate is taking it okay, and can’t help laughing a little, but I don’t think he really knew what he was laughing at.  Just as we were composing ourselves, V says,

“So if they need to find you in the hospital do they say, “Paging Doctor _______??”

“Yeah.”

She loses it again.   After a good 10 minutes we were able to move to another topic of conversation.  Then our former couch-dweller, Erin shows up, and we have to share his last name all over again.

Despite our obnoxious behavior, when the sun went down and it was time to hit up the next place, instead of parting ways for the night, Soulmate said he was going to run home and shower and then come meet back up with us, which he did.  We somehow passed the post-gym test with flying colors, because he was back to meet us at Open Bar in no time.  And then followed to Reds, where we danced like idiots to country music, with some of Erin’s dance moves taking place from the floor, lying on her back and kicking her legs in the air to the beat.  Not really sure how we pulled off that place without getting kicked out.  But we did.

Soulmate went home, V went to frolic on the beach with String Bean Ween, I have no idea where Erin went, and then JR randomly texted saying he was at the place next door.  Showing the bad decision-making skills I’m known to have, I stopped in there instead of just GOING HOME like a normal person would have.  Of course, he’s hammered and so super-duper ducky excited to see me like I’m his long-lost lover (REMINDER…  he didn’t want to date ME)… He was like jumping up and down and trying to dance with this big goofy smile on his face, when I pulled out my iPhone, clicked on the “Lyft” app [awesome new cab service], and requested a car at the click of a button.  It said my car would be there in 3 minutes, so I hightailed it awayyyy from JR’s hideous dance moves, and bolted out the front door.  He followed.   As the mustache Lyft car pulled up, I said goodbye and hopped in… only to have JR immediately text me 300 times.  SO.OVER.IT.

I finally get home and in bed, when V comes through the door explaining that she was just at the beach doing “normal sand activities,” while standing over my bed and shaking out her clothes.   I’m still trying to get sand out of my sheets.  And still trying to figure out what “normal sand activities” are.

After the doozy of a Friday night, we used Saturday as a relaxation day at the beach watching surf competitions and lounging by a pool, followed by a movie night in with Thai food.

Soulmate texted and asked if he’ll see me again.  When I asked if he wanted to, he said “Duh.”

So, I’m waiting for his move, and will try not to think about his last name next time I see him…

‘Til next time, love bugs….

xoxo Gossip Girl

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