Routines and Miss Procras. do NOT get along

Routines have never really been my thing. Must be why I detest working Monday – Friday 8:30 – 5. Can’t we get a little variety and spice things up a bit? I.e. allow me to sleep later than 7:50 – 8:05 am?

This whole I’m-so-not-a-routine-person has started to wreck havoc on a facet of my life I adore…blogging.

A few months ago, I would blog at work during the 6 hours I had NOTHING to do. It would keep me entertained for a good hour or so of my work day. But now, I’m working two jobs, and my 8:30-5 job is crazy. I am working non-stop for a full eight hours. I barely have time to pee! Not that I’m complaining, I much prefer this type of job to the one I had before. The days fly by and I actually kind of enjoy the work. And it’s not like I have internet access while working at the mall. Unfortunately, no iPhone/Blackberry/Smartphone for me yet.

So, this leaves me with zero time to blog.

I could say, okay, no matter what, I’m going to blog every Tuesday and Thursday at 10 p.m. when I get home from working at the mall or happy hour or whatever. But I know that won’t happen. I’ll grab a beer or glass of wine, plant myself in front of the television, and watch Friends, Snapped, Forensic Files or Golden Girls until I pass out. (I may or may not have memorized the line-up of awesome shows that are on between the hours of 10 pm and midnight.)

I’m not going to write lies (maybe that’s why I can’t find a job as a journalist), so I’m not going to promise that I’ll do better and post more often. Because I know the minute someone suggests happy hour or I find a Snapped marathon on t.v., blogging will be thrown out the window.

Sad, but true. Because I do love blogging. It’s introduced me to some pretty rad people (Hi, Pho and LiLu!)

But I can say I’ll blog when I can. And hopefully I can kick my ass in gear and make it happen more often.

In other news, this weekend, I will attending horse race with Lo and my Richmond nearest and dearest. Lo and I are bringing a bottle of firefly, a bottle of Absolut Apeach vodka to mix with lemonade (which will actually end up being peach vodka with an itty-bitty splash of lemonade) and a 12-pack. I’m driving my mom’s mini-van there and then my dad is chauffeuring us back. (Thanks, Daddy-O!) It’ll be just like high school….except it’s legal for us to drink.

Two words: SHIT SHOW

Guaranteed, I’ll have some fun pics/stories to share.

Happy Friday!!!

Christmas Traditions

For me, most of my Christmas traditions revolve around movies. There are just so many good ones! I have to be infront of a film infused with cheer, magic and St. Nick while writing Christmas cards, baking cookies, decorating the tree, etc. Hell, if I could walk around with "Elf" playing as I did my shopping I totally would.

On my flight to San Diego last week, the Southwest magazine in the back seat pocket had a quiz to determine which holiday movie you needed to watch this season. I changed my answers each time so I could land on them all. Yep, I'm that much of a dork.

I present you, my must-see holiday films:

Childhood favorite; been watching this one since I was 4. It's on VHS and still has commercials on it from 1988. Remember creepy Teddy Ruxpin? He's on there, still taunting me and giving me nightmares.

Another childhood favorite on the same tape as "Muppet Family Christmas."

I saw this for the first time in my sixth grade chorus class. I was instantly hooked. Who can resist Bing Crosby's"White Christmas?"

My grandfather loved this movie. He had to watch it whenever he came to visit. Not that I blame him-it's hilarious. Now, everytime I watch it I think of him.

Pure comedic genius. The perfect remedy for holiday stress.

Why people felt it necessary to recreate this Christmas classic and put Jim Carrey in gallons of green paint and fur is beyond me.

That 24-hour marathon on TBS every Christmas Eve through Christmas Day? On the ENTIRE time at my parent's house. I always get kind of depressed when the marathon is over-it's like it signals the end of Christmas.


Will Ferrel in an elf suit, eating syrup all over spaghetti, wrecking holiday havoc in NYC. Lo and I quote this movie throughout the entire month of December. Love this movie almost as much as I love her. ALMOST.

You just feel good about life when you watch this movie. It makes the world feel like a much

What are your top Christmas flicks?

Why does the entire right side of my body hurt?

Because I'm a drunk asshole, that's why.

Let me explain.

This weekend, I experienced the shitshow that is Dewey Beach. I've heard DC-ers and NOVA-ites rave about this place for three years now, and I figured I needed to see what all the fuss was about.

The Hoff and I decided to take a trip with his roommate and his roommate's girlfriend. I found us a hotel that ended up being in prime drinking location (i.e no more than 4 blocks from the all the good bars.)

Friday night was normal enough. I was in that happy-drunk state where everything is right in the world.

But Saturday was a different story. I was pissed to begin with because the Steelers lost (I know it was only preseason football, but I still hate when they lose).

Then, two sleazy d-bags decided it would be a good idea to grab my ass. Side note: I'm often told I have a ghetto booty, and have been blessed with such nicknames as 'junk in the trunk' and 'bootylicious,' so I've grown accustomed to the attention my ass attracts.

That being said, I do not appreciate random dudes grabbing my goods. You have to be inducted into the super-exclusive Miss Procras. ass-grabbing club to have that honor bestowed upon you.

Problem #2 is I've never been that good at sticking up for myself. (I usually have Lo around to do that for me.) My rebuttal (no pun intended) to being assaulted? Throw ice fat one of the guys from five feet away. Yeah, I'm bad ass.

I decided that after the bar, some good ol'fashion drunk food was in order. But by the time The Hoff and I got our pizza, I felt sick and asked if we could go back to our room.

This is where things get really, really fuzzy.

I ate a slice and a half of pizza, then kept mumbling over and over that I didn't feel well. The Hoff escorted me to the bathroom and held my hair back while I vomitandoed a few times.

Next thing I knew, I woke up wondering why the hell the right side of my body ached so much and realized I was passed out on the floor of the bathroom. Apparently, I refused to move after my vom sesh, so The Hoff gave up and brought me a pillow and blanket so I could slumber peacefully on the cold, hard, germ-infested floor.

My side is still in pain.

Oddly enough, that was the first time I passed out on a bathroom floor. Picnic tables, stages and underneath tables are usually more my style.

I really need to find more comfortable places to lay my head when wasted - or just don bubble wrap before I go out drinking.

Miss Procras.: A Recap

I'm still in vacation mode. I have yet to unpack, do laundry or anything else one should be doing upon returning from a trip. But we all know I'm not one to follow those sorts of norms.

What really sucks is trying to break vacation mode at work when you have two huge deadlines looming. Don't my bosses know I need to catch up on blogs, celebrity gossip and what happened in the rest of the world while I was in Bermuda?! I mean, I missed the Saved by the Bell reunion for crying out loud!

Since I'm a little slammed at the moment, I asked Just Jack if he would do a guest post for me. He graciously obliged (thanks, Lovie!), and decided to provide you all with a little insight into our relationship.

Hello Fellow Miss Procras. Followers!

For those that don't know who I am, you can call me Just Jack. I've been asked to appear as a Guest Blogger. I, of course, was flattered but not surprised. I mean, I am fabulous and whatever I say tends to be golden...even if it is making fun of your outift!

You can catch me regularly on my own blog Kiss It! Spank It! Tranny! Shameless plug, I know, but word of mouth advertising is always the most effective, even when most of the time the words coming out of your mouth warrant a bronzer compact flung at your face ;)

Anywho, back to the real topic of today's post: Miss Procras. herself. I've had many memories created from my long-time friendship with the slut and I wouldn't trade it in for anything. We've become rather close over the past year, I think, and its made seeing her all the better.

But in order to understand what we are now, you'll need to understand what were back then. And, for that, let me start at the beginning.

The first time I met Miss P was at her and her roommates' Pink Party. I did not own anything pink, at the time...shocking...but you had to wear pink in order to enter the party slash get a drink. I purchased a pink Aeropostale polo (looking back in hindsight...ew) and headed over that evening to their apartment. I knew their roommate at the time and no one else really. I had met Miss P briefly before the party as we were both orientation guides that summer. Let's just say that we ended up finding each other at the party and proceeded to make fun of people and their disgusting outfits for the rest of the evening. Can we say kismet?

After that I began regularly hanging out at the apartment and became very close with their other roommate, Lo (as Miss Procras refers to her on this blog). I was soon inducted as honorary roommate (the fourth one was a total twat who owned a small dog that warranted nothing except the urge to throw it off the balcony). At that time I also became a member of the Pink Penthouse tribe, which will live in infamy in the form of a small wooden chair painted, by us, as an omage to our friendships, the color pink, and the memories that we carry with us to this day. It still resides, I believe, in the student lounge at JMU.

Since then Miss P and I have formed an inseparable bond; one consisting of me yelling at her for never being on time to anything, relationship advice, and, as always, help picking out an outfit and accesories for an evening out. I've been through a lot of things with her and seen her grow to the person she is today. I've seen her at her worst and have watched her triumph over some tranny bull shit that we all seem to encounter from time to time.

I love me some Miss Procras., lateness and all...even when it means picking me up from the metro when I don't have a car, being a fervent supporter of the gay community by participating in Showtunes Night and the High Heel Race, or simply catching up over a glass of wine. There are very few people that affect your life in such a way that you know you want to be a part of theirs for a very long time...I said it yesterday in my blog...hold on to them because they don't come around very often.

I love you, Miss P. Always remember two things 1. I've seen your boobies and 2. I'll always be around for you just like I know you will for me too!

Love,

JJ

P.S. That top does not go with those jeans, I love your gold wedges, and go with the silver earings tonight ;) Oh and don't shop at Kohl's, TJ Max, Ross, Marshalls, OR Sanrio Surprise. Nothing says "disgusting tranny" like a Hello Kitty t-shirt and a plastic purse to match!

You Know It's a Good Night When Miss Procras. Passes Out

I'm not a mean drunk. Or a dramatic lush. I'm actually the exact opposite.

I become extremely relaxed and somber after I've had a few. (Unless Britney is playing, then my ass is prancing around like a hooker on crack.)

But once I hit the point of no return, I have a habit of passing out in inappropriate places. Actual examples:

-Underneath a table at a bar on New Years Eve.
-On the ledge of a stage (please note: a band was performing while I was zonked out. I'm sure I did wonders for their confidence.)
-On a picnic table in the middle of a vineyard surrounded by families enjoying their lunch (as they watched me puke up mine.)
-A bathroom stall in a frat house...while still sitting on the toilet.

Thankfully, I have friends/babysitters who keep me from drowning, getting thrown out of bars, arrested, etc. Lo keeps joking that she's going to get me a leash or a tracking device for when we go out.

My most shining moment as of late? The quarter-century birthday extravaganza.

I meant to post a recap sooner, but we all now punctuality isn't my thing, so better late than never. :)

Needless to say, it was a succesful night. Good friends, good food, good tunes and most importantly, my wine glass was never empty.

After killing a bottle of pinot with SayJo and pounding the large juice-box shaped container of wine Biggie Smalls brought me, I was good to go. And quite appalled when the concert was over and the attendants began kicking people out of the venue.

I demanded, I mean, politely suggested, that we continue drinking at my apartment. I just wasn't ready for the party to stop.

Fast forward ten mintues later. Badass Roomie graciously served as our DD. I decided I needed to repay her by helping her drive. And by helping her drive I mean impending her ability to shift gears.

Then, I got a little frisky and tried to get fresh with her.

At least there was no passing out on stage next to Huey or in the bathroom. Maybe it's a sign I'm improving with age...or getting progressively lame. Hopefully it's not the latter.

When "Did You Nail Him/Her?" Takes On a Whole New Meaning

Over the weekend, Badass Roomie and I visited Lo so we could celebrate her 25^th birthday. On Saturday morning, we (and by ‘we’ I mean Lo and I both shrieked with excitement when we saw that “Clueless” was on TBS. What a perfect way to start the day!

(And my apologies, I think this is the third time I’ve referenced “Clueless” in my blog, but it’s my favorite movie in the whole wide world so you will more than likely see it referenced another 50,000 times.)

Anywho, we’re watching the part when Tai, Cher and Dee skip school to have a “calorie fest” at the mall and cheer up Tai, who’s just been dissed by Elton. They see a hunky waiter walk by, who is way too good looking to be a waiter, but that’s beside the point.

Dee: Survey says?

Tai: Do-able

Dee: Puny, I like ‘em big

Cher: Eww, I hate muscles.

Tai: You know, I don’t really care either way. ::holds up bent, limp looking breadstick:: Uh, as long as his you-know-what isn’t crooked. I really hate that.

Cher: What?

Dee: Shhh! Don’t scare her. Cher is saving herself for Luke Perry.

Tai: Cher, you’re a virgin?!

At which point, being the dear friends they are, Badass Roomie and Lo bring up my nail story. We all have a good laugh, and then I realize I’ve neglected to share this little gem with the blogging community. And this is just too good not to share.

I was quite the little church girl back in my day. Went every Sunday, attended youth group, spent a week every summer at church camp, sang in the choir, etc. So angelic and innocent…hard to believe, I know.

While I was in high school, my church organized this group called ‘Just Wait’ which promoted-you guessed it-abstinence until marriage. It was comprised of roughly 20 high school students who went around to churches and schools in the area and did various skits urging kids to wait until they were married to do the deed.

I did not partake in this group. Not only do I have incredible stage fright, but the thought of telling hundreds of kids to keep it in their pants did not appeal to me. At all.

But when this group did their little song and dance at a church, they would ask anyone who wanted to make a pledge of celibacy until marriage to come forward at the end of the program and grab a nail off a cross.

Being the sweet little church girl I was at 15 (read: my mom was sitting two rows behind me and I was scared not to take one), I collected a nail at the end of the program, vowing to keep my flower until my wedding night.

And to remind myself of this promise, I decided to carry the nail around in my leopard print wallet.

Needless to say, it served as the butt of a lot jokes from my guy friends.

My favorite: “So, Miss Procras., when you finally have sex, are you gonna carry around a screw?”

High school boys=comic geniuses.

Sadly, the zipper on my wallet broke and the nail was lost. Not long after that, so was my V-card.

Coincidence? I think not.

God was trying to tell me he was cool with it, I just know it.

I think my solemn virginity vow lasted a total of eight months, but I can’t exactly remember. I’ll save the story of how my V-card was lost for another day. I think I’ve divulged enough for one post.

Oh, and don’t worry; there are no nails, screws, nuts, bolts or other hardware (wow…why are all those things laden with such sexual innuendo?) being carried around in my wallet any longer.

Even Toolbags Need Love

A ‘friend’ of mine got engaged over the weekend.

I say ‘friend’ because I wouldn’t consider Toolboy an actual friend. Here’s why:

-In college, Toolboy was having a get-together at his apartment and ran out of beer. So, my roommates and I graciously volunteered our stash of Natty Lites to keep the party going. Toolboy accompanied me back to my apartment to gather said beer. Only he didn’t just grab the Natty Lites, he also took the ONE Corona we had in the fridge. When I saw the Corona bottle shoved in his front pocket, I said, “Oh, that Corona is actually my roommate’s, don’t take that over – she’ll be pissed.” Toolboy claimed that he had brought it over from his place. I believed him – I mean, who would lie about ONE Corona? But the next day, my roommate couldn’t find her Corona and I immediately realized that Toolboy was a stealing, lying creep. When Lo found out, she goes, “honestly, who steals AH corona?!” To this day, it’s an ongoing joke between us and our roommate/bff Queen.

-Now that I think about it, Toolboy is a bit of a klepto. He also stole Lo’s bottle of 99 Berries and frozen Totino’s pizza from a pregame we had at our apartment not long after the Corona incident. Jerk. Doesn’t he know that alcohol/drunk food funds are scarce enough during college?!

-He finds the need to throw in his political beliefs into any conversation, facebook status/posting he can. Extremely annoying.

-He showed up to my 23rd birthday dinner without RSVPing, invited his girlfriend at the time, and then had the nerve to bash the people who came without letting me know beforehand. (Kinda reminds me of “Clueless” when she’s like, “But people came that, like, did not RSVP, so I was like, totally buggin’.” God, that movie is a classic.)

-He and his serious girlfriend broke up the end of last summer. He called/imed/texted me for days, about how upset he was and how he needed a good friend to talk to. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t aware I was in his ‘good friend’ category…I’d be interested to see how he treats people he considers enemies if he treats ‘good friends’ the way he’s treated me. But I listened, provided advice and tried to be there for him. I even went as his date to a co-worker’s wedding. After the wedding, we went to a bar where he proceeded to ditch me for the girl he is now engaged to. I knew like two other people at the bar besides him – one of whom was busy entertaining the 15 people he invited out and the other kept asking me to buy him shots. I opted to sit at the bar and watch SportsCenter highlights until a friend could pick me up. Five minutes after leaving, I got a text from Toolboy asking me if I left. That didn’t even warrant a response. And…delete.

-His ex-girlfriend (the one he called me crying over) is good friends with Queen, and Queen is married to one of Toolboy’s best friends. Anyway, ex-girlfriend was at Queen and her hub’s homecoming tailgate and Toolboy showed up with his new girlfriend/now fiancé and freaked out that he had to be around his ex. He then proceeded to yell at Queen and make her cry for allowing his ex to be there. Um…#1, why would he care if his new gf was there?! #2 –grow up and don’t make your best friend’s wife cry!

It’s funny…when I started this post, I forgot about half the shit Toolboy has pulled through the years. But, a la Celine Dion, “It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now…”

My initial reaction when I heard the news: I laughed my ass off at the audacity of the situation. I mean, this dude sobbed to me for weeks about how broken-hearted he was over his ex girlfriend, then started dating this new girl and proposed to her within a span of nine months. I know things like this happen, but in his case, it seems highly unlikely. He’s a bit too self-absorbed.

So then, I started to feel sorry for his fiancé…I’m not sure if she knows what she’s getting herself into. But now, I’m relieved. One less douchebag for us to filter out of the masses, ladies!

Congrats on your engagement, Toolboy! And thanks for sparring the rest of us from your toolish antics.