New Week, New Ink
The past week has been terr-fuckin-ific in Ealz-ville.
Wednesday night, the lovable Barak hosted a farewell party for dear Ehud, who has left us for the greener (and more lucrative) dollar pastures of California. It was great to see a lot of old faces again, as well as few new ones, one of who ended up starring in a lesbo-action dream in the Ealz Subconscience(thank you, God).
I am sad to see Ehud go but I am confident that he will make his own luck wherever he lands. Ehud - whenever you come back, I have a little piece of chemical delight with your name on it, so don't let Amerikkka get you down.
* * *
Thursday night led the gang to a fancy-ass party on a yacht to honor Lukach's birthday, complete with a free bar and strippers. So sure, the strippers were uglier than 9.11, but at Ealz Headquarters, we never say no to boobies.
Sooner than you could say "white trash", we were all drunk on a yacht sailing away from the Jaffa pier. I don't remember much, but whatever shards I did manage to salvage from that night indicate that I had a kick-ass time.
Advoth, however, was one lucky lady, and received a smoking hot lapdance from the uglier-than-sin strippers, much to our delight. Aiming to serve and report, I shot a few lovely pictures of the event, only to nearly have my Canon snatched from me by El Pimp, the patron saint of sea-borne strippers.
Yikes.
"Erase the photos or I'm going to confiscate your memory card!"
God, isn't that just so 2007 of him?!
"Sure, you got it," I replied while pretending to do elaborate things to/inside/around my camera.
That dickweed wouldn't know a memory card if it was surgically inserted in his ass.
The night was a splendid blend of all sorts of fun, until I had to bail ship and head home. Drunk and heavily disoriented to say the least, I began wandering the streets of beautiful if frightening Jaffa, scouting for a way to get back to Block 44.
Sure, I sang to myself a little and I may have walked a hell of a crooked line, but that was no excuse for what was about to happen.
Spotting a vehicle in the alienating darkness, I stopped to ask them for directions back to the main street, from which I could hitch my drunk ass a cab home.
"Get in the car, we'll drive you," they said. A couple, pretty decent looking.
Plus, my judgement was far beyond gone at that point.
I got in, relieved not to have to walk.
"So, you know what," I slurred, "I need to get as close to Allenby as possible."
"Little girl, we're not a taxicab service, we don't get handed addresses," the driver said.
"Ummm, okay...Then, uh, what the hell are you and why did you stop for me?" I asked.
"We're a police car," replied the co-pilot.
Apparently, despite being a wholesome 24, I got picked up by police for underaged drinking(!!!).
Let this be a lesson to you champs who refuse to grow up - if you are under a certain height and prance around the city under the influence and wearing bright colors, you're a likely target.
Only when I whipped out my driver's license with my year of birth clearly smacked across it did they agree to leave me alone.
"If you've got a license and a car, then why are you wandering the streets on foot? This isn't the best place for a girl to be walking around at night on her own," they reprimanded me.
"Ummm, because I knew I'd be getting shitfaced, so I figured leaving my car at home would be the responsible thing to do, as opposed to driving drunk outta my mind..." I couldn't believe I had to explain this.
They stared at me blankly, and then stopped to let me off on the corner of Sderoth Yerushalayim. They had no good answer for that one, but still, the fuckers couldn't drive me a bit further into the city after warning me about wandering the streets at night.
"Don't let it happen again," they called at me as they drove off.
More often than not, I just don't get cops.
* * *
Friday was all sorts of awesome, beginning with the brand new ink I got, courtesy of B-Street and the ever-awesome Arikmon. He finished the outlines, and now my entire right leg is branded with a charmingly fat Maneki Neko(the traditional Japanese cat of good fortune) surrounded by bamboo, shrubbery and waves, clutching a pearl(to honor my Savta Pearla, who rocks more than GG Allin).
In two weeks, we're gonna color in the motherfucker. (I say "we", but really, I don't have to lift a finger...I just sit back and take it).
* * *
Also, my fun-tastic package from Fred Flare arrived in the mail, complete with my spanking new embroidery book, Sublime Stitching. A new age of needlework is upon us, kittens. I'm gonna embroider my ass off.
In other news, the best television series ever aired on Israeli television, Ha-Alufa, has returned for an unprecedented second season. So what do we have here? A Fadida made of fiberglass, Roni Superstar in the cameo of her life, Itzik Zelig is out of the pen, and really bizarre crossover bits that remind me of the bridge-clips on Home Improvement. On the other hand, we welcome Sharon Alexander, who is a soap opera staple in the Levant, so this season can't be all bad.
Starting yesterday, between 20.05 and 21:00, don't call me unless it's a matter and death - I'll be firmly planted in front of the wanker box, following the ups and downs of everyone's favorite fictitious football team.
* * *
Wednesday night, the lovable Barak hosted a farewell party for dear Ehud, who has left us for the greener (and more lucrative) dollar pastures of California. It was great to see a lot of old faces again, as well as few new ones, one of who ended up starring in a lesbo-action dream in the Ealz Subconscience(thank you, God).
I am sad to see Ehud go but I am confident that he will make his own luck wherever he lands. Ehud - whenever you come back, I have a little piece of chemical delight with your name on it, so don't let Amerikkka get you down.
* * *
Thursday night led the gang to a fancy-ass party on a yacht to honor Lukach's birthday, complete with a free bar and strippers. So sure, the strippers were uglier than 9.11, but at Ealz Headquarters, we never say no to boobies.
Sooner than you could say "white trash", we were all drunk on a yacht sailing away from the Jaffa pier. I don't remember much, but whatever shards I did manage to salvage from that night indicate that I had a kick-ass time.
Advoth, however, was one lucky lady, and received a smoking hot lapdance from the uglier-than-sin strippers, much to our delight. Aiming to serve and report, I shot a few lovely pictures of the event, only to nearly have my Canon snatched from me by El Pimp, the patron saint of sea-borne strippers.
Yikes.
"Erase the photos or I'm going to confiscate your memory card!"
God, isn't that just so 2007 of him?!
"Sure, you got it," I replied while pretending to do elaborate things to/inside/around my camera.
That dickweed wouldn't know a memory card if it was surgically inserted in his ass.
The night was a splendid blend of all sorts of fun, until I had to bail ship and head home. Drunk and heavily disoriented to say the least, I began wandering the streets of beautiful if frightening Jaffa, scouting for a way to get back to Block 44.
Sure, I sang to myself a little and I may have walked a hell of a crooked line, but that was no excuse for what was about to happen.
Spotting a vehicle in the alienating darkness, I stopped to ask them for directions back to the main street, from which I could hitch my drunk ass a cab home.
"Get in the car, we'll drive you," they said. A couple, pretty decent looking.
Plus, my judgement was far beyond gone at that point.
I got in, relieved not to have to walk.
"So, you know what," I slurred, "I need to get as close to Allenby as possible."
"Little girl, we're not a taxicab service, we don't get handed addresses," the driver said.
"Ummm, okay...Then, uh, what the hell are you and why did you stop for me?" I asked.
"We're a police car," replied the co-pilot.
Apparently, despite being a wholesome 24, I got picked up by police for underaged drinking(!!!).
Let this be a lesson to you champs who refuse to grow up - if you are under a certain height and prance around the city under the influence and wearing bright colors, you're a likely target.
Only when I whipped out my driver's license with my year of birth clearly smacked across it did they agree to leave me alone.
"If you've got a license and a car, then why are you wandering the streets on foot? This isn't the best place for a girl to be walking around at night on her own," they reprimanded me.
"Ummm, because I knew I'd be getting shitfaced, so I figured leaving my car at home would be the responsible thing to do, as opposed to driving drunk outta my mind..." I couldn't believe I had to explain this.
They stared at me blankly, and then stopped to let me off on the corner of Sderoth Yerushalayim. They had no good answer for that one, but still, the fuckers couldn't drive me a bit further into the city after warning me about wandering the streets at night.
"Don't let it happen again," they called at me as they drove off.
More often than not, I just don't get cops.
* * *
Friday was all sorts of awesome, beginning with the brand new ink I got, courtesy of B-Street and the ever-awesome Arikmon. He finished the outlines, and now my entire right leg is branded with a charmingly fat Maneki Neko(the traditional Japanese cat of good fortune) surrounded by bamboo, shrubbery and waves, clutching a pearl(to honor my Savta Pearla, who rocks more than GG Allin).
In two weeks, we're gonna color in the motherfucker. (I say "we", but really, I don't have to lift a finger...I just sit back and take it).
* * *
Also, my fun-tastic package from Fred Flare arrived in the mail, complete with my spanking new embroidery book, Sublime Stitching. A new age of needlework is upon us, kittens. I'm gonna embroider my ass off.
In other news, the best television series ever aired on Israeli television, Ha-Alufa, has returned for an unprecedented second season. So what do we have here? A Fadida made of fiberglass, Roni Superstar in the cameo of her life, Itzik Zelig is out of the pen, and really bizarre crossover bits that remind me of the bridge-clips on Home Improvement. On the other hand, we welcome Sharon Alexander, who is a soap opera staple in the Levant, so this season can't be all bad.
Starting yesterday, between 20.05 and 21:00, don't call me unless it's a matter and death - I'll be firmly planted in front of the wanker box, following the ups and downs of everyone's favorite fictitious football team.
* * *