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01/30/2005 03:24PM Next Entry >>
02/02/2005 04:28PM
Ashley's Blog
Here's a picture of an ugly Jamison Brewer, when he dove for a ball and nearly took out Latrell Sprewell. I would have given him a Pulitzer or something for that.
A day in the Life of a Bad Girl Part 2
01/30/2005 07:30PM
My mom was PISSED when Adrienne dropped me off and headed home. Pissed.
"We have courtside seats and no one to take!" She yelled. "I was going to go on a double date with Ray and Kathy Dallas and her husband. Fucking Ray, he's gotta kiss you and act like he likes you and then totally blow you off..."
I suggest that we bring Kristy, a going-out partner of my mom's and the mother of my grade school/high school ex-boyfriend. She tells us to meet her at Chili's at 7. I pimp out my clothing. Hey, courtside demands attitude. My black peasant top, jeans tucked into black furry boots, a black knit cap, this old gold and pearl Chanel necklace of my mother's, and my mom's coyote jacket. It's 25 years old, please don't give me the PETA speech. I look like a baller. My mom's in black pants and a leather, because she's the hottest f'ing mom alive. Seriously, she looks maybe 30. We leave.
It's 7:15 and there's no sign of Kristy. We drive around the intensely crowded parking lot and call her repeatedly. No dice. She finally picks up at 7:30 and says she's been there since 7. Sure. She jumps in the car wearing HER leather, a Polo button down, jeans, and stiletto boots. She's clutching a gigantic bottle of Merlot. My mom's friends are kind of awesome, too.
"I'm sooo fucked up, guys!!" she screams as she falls in the car. Holy shit, she is. She also has three paper cups, which she fills with wine and passes around to us as we start making our way down I-75. I look at my mother curiously but she stares out the window and tells Kristy about her date with the CEO of a telecommunications firm yesterday:
"I've been calling him 'Pig-Nose' from his pictures, but he's not so piggy in person."
I drink my wine and get us lost. Kristy doesn't seem to mind; rather, she keeps kissing me on the cheek and telling me that she wants me to marry her sons.
"Either son! I don't care!" she screams. "Their father just inherited 3.9 million dollars! And each boy has a trust waiting! I want YOU to have that money! I want you to be my daughter-in-law!"
I smile and keep driving. I could marry my ex-boyfriend if I really wanted to, but he's found God, Slipknot, and Jack Daniels, and there really doesn't seem to be much to him anymore. I'm aspirational, I guess.
So we keep driving, and finally park in VIP, finishing the wine and throwing the bottle out the window. I help Kristy walk. She says, "I want you to be my daughter-in-law" at least thirty times before we get to the door of the stadium.
Courtside is hot. We only have third row, but I'm still about six feet away from Jamison Brewer, who plays for the Knicks and looks like a really hot version of this cellist from Miami that STILL stalks me even though I hooked up with him, once, a year and a half ago and have not seen him since. Jamison's eyes put him to shame. I know this for a fact because he turns and looks at us when Kristy stands up and begins gyrating to "Can I Get a..."
Kristy's 49 years old. She's 49 and she may have just had a tummy-tuck but her legs are spread apart about two feet wide and she's rotating her pelvis in a circle and rubbing her breasts with her hands and licking her lips while eyeing every man in the area. I am HUMILIATED. I look over at my mom, who may even be more mortified than I am but is managing to joke about it with the (quite attractive) man she's sitting next to. Of course I get a surly ex-Piston next to me. Kristy sits down and, in need of more attention, turns to the man my mom is chatting up.
"Can I sit on your lap?" she whines.
Dear God.
We watch some more of the game. Kristy tells me four hundred times that she wants me to marry her sons while stroking my hair. She also drinks three more glasses of Pinot Grigio, which, I would say equals up to eight glasses of wine that she's drank since 6:30. It's not even 9 o'clock yet. I realize that Kid Rock and Uncle Kracker are sitting about ten feet away from me, and that Kid Rock is also looking over and staring at me pretending to watch the game while Kristy strokes me like she's my sugar momma or something. I love when celebrities think that I'm a lesbian Anna Nicole Smith. But the game's good, rather a blowout. The entire stadium does Darko chants for ten minuted until Larry Brown puts him in--Darko being the very worst player on the Piston's roster, and possibly in history. He is ADORED in Detroit. The crowd thunders his name as he tries to guard a Knick with the ball without lifting his arms, and screams with glee when he walks down the court toward the action. Darko shoots a free throw and makes it! The Palace erupts.
Kristy tells me that I can marry a rich man like one of her sons if I a) become a Detroit Pistons dancer and walk around in sequins, or b) go flirt with Kid Rock. I'm sorry, but I don't want to have to be 45 and tell people that once, twenty years old, I shook pom-poms at football games, and have done nothing with my life since. Similarly, I think that Kid Rock is interested in big-breasted blonde movie stars like Pamela Anderson, not relatively flat college students who would really like to talk about the use of imagery in modern South American literature...do you see what I'm saying? Maybe I am aspirational, but a few million dollars in the bank doesn't exactly wet my panties.
Kristy gets lost somewhere in the fourth quarter--my mom thinks that she asked a random suiteholder to use his bathroom so she wouldn't have to stand in line. She's such a slut. My mom is also starting to get tanked, even though she's way behind the likes of Kristy, who staggers back with two minutes to go and insists on making the entire row let her through so she can sit down.
"I'm soooo fucked up guys," she whines. I hand her my Diet Coke to finish while I drink my MGD (my mother is a good woman).
"Oh sweetie, you're my daughter. I don't care if you marry my son, you're still my daughter." She's slurring so much that I wonder if she's switched to mumbling "you're my water", but figured she's probably not into metaphors right now.
I suggest to my mom that we wait in the Palace bar to leave so that I don't have to deal with Kristy stroking me from the backseat while we wait in traffic for an hour. My mom agrees, and we haul Kristy up five flights of steps to the bar. The bouncer is so busy getting out of Kristy's way that he forgets to ask for my I.D. Score. Like anyone would mess with me in this badass fur coat, anyway.
We sit down, and my mom and Kristy order more wine (bad idea). Kristy asks the 40 year old bartender who resembles Ron Jeremy if he'll go home with her. She also asks this random guy at the bar ordering a drink, the 22 year old bartender named Brian, a 60 year old man with white hair in a denim shirt, and the 60 year old man's friend once the 60 year old man says he doesn't do one night stands. We're very proud.
I start talking to two 27 year olds who are very amused to find that I am out with my mother and her friend. Their names are Jason and Jamie, and they prove to be very frank when it comes to talking about sex. Not that they're talking about anything abnormal, but I'm with my mother, you know? However, my mom seems to be juiced with a little liquid courage, and proceeds to tell these two that she has not had sex in three years but uses her vibrator regularly.
(pause)
You can see why I feel emotionally hungover.
We stay and flirt and talk until midnight. I get asked for my number by three men. One is over 30, one has greasy hair (he says he's an artist from New York, yeah right) and one is Jason. I give Jason my number because he has the guts to wear quite possibly the ugliest shirt and jacket combination I've ever seen my life and still look attractive. Kristy gets cut off by Brian, the 22 year old bartender that she keeps licking her lips and showing cleavage to. Keep in mind that she has a 21 year old son. The greasy haired guy that I reject starts chatting up my mom and asks for her number too (quite the discerning guy). He gets pissed when my mom admits that she's, well, my mom, and stomps away:
Him: "If you're not interested, you don't have to lie about something like that. You could just blow me off the way that other girl did."
Mom: "The way my daughter did?"
Him: "Whatever, okay.? Whatever."
When we get in the car, Kristy gets the most RIDICULOUS case of hiccups I have ever heard. She sounds like a hyena every time she speaks, or maybe a raptor. She also cannot hold herself up in the back of the car and keeps rolling around the backseat of the Liberty and hitting her head on the windshield. Good stuff. When we take her into her condo, we see that her youngest son (age 18) has apparently converted the apartment into an Asian brothel while we were away, as he and three of his friends are in various stages of nudity around the apartment with these underage Asian girls, only two of whom speak English. I pull Eric aside and give him what for, and then grab Tracy (one of the English speaking girls) and whisper to her that she does NOT have to have sex with this boy. She looks at me blankly and tells me that they're all having sex, even though she only met Eric "about a month" ago. And that all of them are F.O.B, so they have to do it here because they can't have boys at home. When did high school kids grow up so quick? You're never supposed to give it up right away. Sigh. We undress Kristy and put her to bed in the brothel, realizing that this night is just a little too ridiculous to continue. My mom and I go home. I drink a beer and pass out. These middle-aged women are a little too much party for me.
01/30/2005 03:24PM Next Entry >>
02/02/2005 04:28PM
Ashley's Blog
Here's a picture of an ugly Jamison Brewer, when he dove for a ball and nearly took out Latrell Sprewell. I would have given him a Pulitzer or something for that.
A day in the Life of a Bad Girl Part 2
01/30/2005 07:30PM
My mom was PISSED when Adrienne dropped me off and headed home. Pissed.
"We have courtside seats and no one to take!" She yelled. "I was going to go on a double date with Ray and Kathy Dallas and her husband. Fucking Ray, he's gotta kiss you and act like he likes you and then totally blow you off..."
I suggest that we bring Kristy, a going-out partner of my mom's and the mother of my grade school/high school ex-boyfriend. She tells us to meet her at Chili's at 7. I pimp out my clothing. Hey, courtside demands attitude. My black peasant top, jeans tucked into black furry boots, a black knit cap, this old gold and pearl Chanel necklace of my mother's, and my mom's coyote jacket. It's 25 years old, please don't give me the PETA speech. I look like a baller. My mom's in black pants and a leather, because she's the hottest f'ing mom alive. Seriously, she looks maybe 30. We leave.
It's 7:15 and there's no sign of Kristy. We drive around the intensely crowded parking lot and call her repeatedly. No dice. She finally picks up at 7:30 and says she's been there since 7. Sure. She jumps in the car wearing HER leather, a Polo button down, jeans, and stiletto boots. She's clutching a gigantic bottle of Merlot. My mom's friends are kind of awesome, too.
"I'm sooo fucked up, guys!!" she screams as she falls in the car. Holy shit, she is. She also has three paper cups, which she fills with wine and passes around to us as we start making our way down I-75. I look at my mother curiously but she stares out the window and tells Kristy about her date with the CEO of a telecommunications firm yesterday:
"I've been calling him 'Pig-Nose' from his pictures, but he's not so piggy in person."
I drink my wine and get us lost. Kristy doesn't seem to mind; rather, she keeps kissing me on the cheek and telling me that she wants me to marry her sons.
"Either son! I don't care!" she screams. "Their father just inherited 3.9 million dollars! And each boy has a trust waiting! I want YOU to have that money! I want you to be my daughter-in-law!"
I smile and keep driving. I could marry my ex-boyfriend if I really wanted to, but he's found God, Slipknot, and Jack Daniels, and there really doesn't seem to be much to him anymore. I'm aspirational, I guess.
So we keep driving, and finally park in VIP, finishing the wine and throwing the bottle out the window. I help Kristy walk. She says, "I want you to be my daughter-in-law" at least thirty times before we get to the door of the stadium.
Courtside is hot. We only have third row, but I'm still about six feet away from Jamison Brewer, who plays for the Knicks and looks like a really hot version of this cellist from Miami that STILL stalks me even though I hooked up with him, once, a year and a half ago and have not seen him since. Jamison's eyes put him to shame. I know this for a fact because he turns and looks at us when Kristy stands up and begins gyrating to "Can I Get a..."
Kristy's 49 years old. She's 49 and she may have just had a tummy-tuck but her legs are spread apart about two feet wide and she's rotating her pelvis in a circle and rubbing her breasts with her hands and licking her lips while eyeing every man in the area. I am HUMILIATED. I look over at my mom, who may even be more mortified than I am but is managing to joke about it with the (quite attractive) man she's sitting next to. Of course I get a surly ex-Piston next to me. Kristy sits down and, in need of more attention, turns to the man my mom is chatting up.
"Can I sit on your lap?" she whines.
Dear God.
We watch some more of the game. Kristy tells me four hundred times that she wants me to marry her sons while stroking my hair. She also drinks three more glasses of Pinot Grigio, which, I would say equals up to eight glasses of wine that she's drank since 6:30. It's not even 9 o'clock yet. I realize that Kid Rock and Uncle Kracker are sitting about ten feet away from me, and that Kid Rock is also looking over and staring at me pretending to watch the game while Kristy strokes me like she's my sugar momma or something. I love when celebrities think that I'm a lesbian Anna Nicole Smith. But the game's good, rather a blowout. The entire stadium does Darko chants for ten minuted until Larry Brown puts him in--Darko being the very worst player on the Piston's roster, and possibly in history. He is ADORED in Detroit. The crowd thunders his name as he tries to guard a Knick with the ball without lifting his arms, and screams with glee when he walks down the court toward the action. Darko shoots a free throw and makes it! The Palace erupts.
Kristy tells me that I can marry a rich man like one of her sons if I a) become a Detroit Pistons dancer and walk around in sequins, or b) go flirt with Kid Rock. I'm sorry, but I don't want to have to be 45 and tell people that once, twenty years old, I shook pom-poms at football games, and have done nothing with my life since. Similarly, I think that Kid Rock is interested in big-breasted blonde movie stars like Pamela Anderson, not relatively flat college students who would really like to talk about the use of imagery in modern South American literature...do you see what I'm saying? Maybe I am aspirational, but a few million dollars in the bank doesn't exactly wet my panties.
Kristy gets lost somewhere in the fourth quarter--my mom thinks that she asked a random suiteholder to use his bathroom so she wouldn't have to stand in line. She's such a slut. My mom is also starting to get tanked, even though she's way behind the likes of Kristy, who staggers back with two minutes to go and insists on making the entire row let her through so she can sit down.
"I'm soooo fucked up guys," she whines. I hand her my Diet Coke to finish while I drink my MGD (my mother is a good woman).
"Oh sweetie, you're my daughter. I don't care if you marry my son, you're still my daughter." She's slurring so much that I wonder if she's switched to mumbling "you're my water", but figured she's probably not into metaphors right now.
I suggest to my mom that we wait in the Palace bar to leave so that I don't have to deal with Kristy stroking me from the backseat while we wait in traffic for an hour. My mom agrees, and we haul Kristy up five flights of steps to the bar. The bouncer is so busy getting out of Kristy's way that he forgets to ask for my I.D. Score. Like anyone would mess with me in this badass fur coat, anyway.
We sit down, and my mom and Kristy order more wine (bad idea). Kristy asks the 40 year old bartender who resembles Ron Jeremy if he'll go home with her. She also asks this random guy at the bar ordering a drink, the 22 year old bartender named Brian, a 60 year old man with white hair in a denim shirt, and the 60 year old man's friend once the 60 year old man says he doesn't do one night stands. We're very proud.
I start talking to two 27 year olds who are very amused to find that I am out with my mother and her friend. Their names are Jason and Jamie, and they prove to be very frank when it comes to talking about sex. Not that they're talking about anything abnormal, but I'm with my mother, you know? However, my mom seems to be juiced with a little liquid courage, and proceeds to tell these two that she has not had sex in three years but uses her vibrator regularly.
(pause)
You can see why I feel emotionally hungover.
We stay and flirt and talk until midnight. I get asked for my number by three men. One is over 30, one has greasy hair (he says he's an artist from New York, yeah right) and one is Jason. I give Jason my number because he has the guts to wear quite possibly the ugliest shirt and jacket combination I've ever seen my life and still look attractive. Kristy gets cut off by Brian, the 22 year old bartender that she keeps licking her lips and showing cleavage to. Keep in mind that she has a 21 year old son. The greasy haired guy that I reject starts chatting up my mom and asks for her number too (quite the discerning guy). He gets pissed when my mom admits that she's, well, my mom, and stomps away:
Him: "If you're not interested, you don't have to lie about something like that. You could just blow me off the way that other girl did."
Mom: "The way my daughter did?"
Him: "Whatever, okay.? Whatever."
When we get in the car, Kristy gets the most RIDICULOUS case of hiccups I have ever heard. She sounds like a hyena every time she speaks, or maybe a raptor. She also cannot hold herself up in the back of the car and keeps rolling around the backseat of the Liberty and hitting her head on the windshield. Good stuff. When we take her into her condo, we see that her youngest son (age 18) has apparently converted the apartment into an Asian brothel while we were away, as he and three of his friends are in various stages of nudity around the apartment with these underage Asian girls, only two of whom speak English. I pull Eric aside and give him what for, and then grab Tracy (one of the English speaking girls) and whisper to her that she does NOT have to have sex with this boy. She looks at me blankly and tells me that they're all having sex, even though she only met Eric "about a month" ago. And that all of them are F.O.B, so they have to do it here because they can't have boys at home. When did high school kids grow up so quick? You're never supposed to give it up right away. Sigh. We undress Kristy and put her to bed in the brothel, realizing that this night is just a little too ridiculous to continue. My mom and I go home. I drink a beer and pass out. These middle-aged women are a little too much party for me.