Happy Meoww-lloween!

Dracula-meoww would like to wish you all a very Happy Halloween! We only have Shannon and the Bungalow Cats to blame for this.

I love this picture of Justin positively reinforcing the costume wearing. "I don't think she likes it," he says. "She was born this way," I say. 

Okay, maybe she doesn't *love* it. But a vampire without a cape is like a halloween without cat costumes and I can't live in a world where either one of those things happen.

"I don't think nuns drink..." "It's the blood of Christ!"

Monday, WHY? I'm too tired to make strings of words, so please enjoy this mild selection of photos from our Annual Golota Halloween Party (in which I did not sleep in the front yard but two people did and one of them was dressed like Wilma, ALLEDGEDLY).

Mom & Her Girls (Me, Daisy Duck, Brittany the Chipette, & Sable)

It's funny because it's ironic.

Blessing our Chipette, Brittany. Justin invented
the two-finger blessing.

Bonding with my sister, I guess?

We are drunk ninjas.

 Kick ass this week, my friends.

Hipster Big Bird.

I'm a little peeved. Due to the fact that the biggest controversy to come out of this election season is a controversy I created years ago. Sexy Big Bird costume is so 2010, you guys.

This was also the year that I drank a half a bottle of tequila and passed out in the front yard. Of my parents' house. Dressed as Big Bird. I will give you a moment to absorb that.

You see, it was my sister's 30th birthday and her special day just happens to fall on Halloween. So we decided to have the first of what would become a traditional Halloween bash. At my parents' house. Where parties were forbidden in my day.

That up there? That's us dancing on my father's pool table. On a normal day he doesn't let me sit on the edge of it because it might get thrown off balance. But on Halloween, all the rules are thrown out the door. 

Also thrown out the door was my common sense that year. I was going through a phase where tequila shots were my thing. I repeat, I took multiple shots of tequila rather than drink like a normal person (except for those beers I can't seem to put down, ever). I carried around my own bottle all night. Because it was MY THING.

You already know where this is going. Let me explain what was going through my head when I made the decision to head out the front door and lie down in the cool grass. We had a DJ and it was incredibly loud. My dad was smoking a cigar in the house because according to my mother who was dressed as Anna Nicole Smith, it was his party too! We all had great rationale that night. So I was hot, it was loud, and it was smoky. Who wouldn't head outdoors to the cool, quiet, and plushy grass?

Hours later my parents were alerted to my presence in the front yard by my mom's dog (my savior and love of my life). Which meant that EVERY SINGLE PERSON at the party came out front to witness me sleeping (okay, and occasionally vomiting) in the grass. They tried to get me inside. I refused. I was comfortable. I was FINE YOU GUYS. Oh my god just get me a blanket and let me be!

Finally much to my mother's elation, my sister's in-laws dragged my ass inside and dropped me in the bathroom where I remained for about 10 hours. Until I figured out how to get upstairs, where I remained for the next day and a half surrounded by my own shame and everyone elses' amusement.

To answer your questions, tequila is no longer my thing. And yes, my family and friends are still not over this nor will they ever be. And yes, there are photos but I threatened bodily harm if they ever met the internet.

If one of the thousands of people dressing as Big Bird can top that, then they may have the glory. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I won the Big Bird contest before it was cool.

The annual Chino Halloween Party is tomorrow. Wish me luck!

The JMEOWW Diaries V.5

Welcome, fans of the queen beast. I am delighted to report that my precious monster seems to be growing out of her incredibly violent phase and is now only slightly violent, sometimes. With age comes wisdom, and also apparently hunting skills.

San Diego has been experiencing a disgusting and horrifying influx of grasshoppers. Which I confuse with crickets, and also dragons. They are awful. It is the second sign of the apocalypse, as far as I'm concerned. The first is the never ending 90-degree temperatures.

One night JMEOWW somehow enticed a disgusting grasshopper to enter my apartment by squeezing under the screen door. Then all hell broke loose. My sister and I started screaming. Justin started laughing. And J started running and meowing and had no idea what the fuck she was doing. Worst hunter. Ever. Every time the grasshopper jumped, we screamed, she meowed and he laughed. It was ridiculous. I was begging, begging Justin to kill it but he got all alpha and was like, NO WOMAN. SHE MUST LEARN HOW TO KILL PESTS. In this weird Thor voice.

I said fine but if she eats it, I'm disowning her. But I had little to worry about at that moment because my moronic cat could not even find the damn thing. Again, worst hunter in the entire world. Of course Justin helped her because he has some sort of death wish. When she finally caught it and had it in her mouth, part of my soul died. My little meoww was now a murderer (with evidence. not just alleged.). But it's good because she will rid the house of pests. That is probably what Charles Manson's mother said too.

The rest of the night she was on high alert. GRASSHOPPER? No, stupid. It's your shadow. You ate the grasshopper.

GRASSHOPPER? Ugh, NO. That was the wind blowing.

On a scale of 1 to the RHONJ, we are at about Guidice levels of intensity in my apartment between faux-grasshopper sightings and laser whining. Just wait until the move. I should schedule her counseling session now.

We went to Vegas and came back unmarried!

Well, we somehow managed to return from Vegas relatively unscathed and very much so unmarried. I know, I know. Some of you were hoping that I would get him drunk enough to hop in a cab and go to the drive-through wedding chapel. Okay so maybe I am the only one. Whatever. But really, this might have been the best weekend of my life.

When we arrived on Thursday we headed to check Justin in for his convention (which I will not be going into detail here because although it was mind-boggling and often hilarious, these are the people that keep him employed and are therefore off-limits. But if you are interested, it was SOE Live. Google will do the rest). Because we were starving we ate at the closest place we could find, Le Burger Brasserie. Where I quickly decided that the 100 ounce tower of beer would be the most economical way to get drunk. Because above all, I am an economical drinker. 

Okay, I just forgot everything else that happened that night. It was a long time ago, really.

Friday we wandered the strip most of the afternoon and managed to get DAY DRUNK, BITCHES. Which Justin announced multiple times. MULTIPLE times. We had some "walking beers" and I played my favorite game, "Is that what my ass looks like?" The answer is usually, No. This was a great opportunity to show Justin the great ways of penny slots. And he was instantly addicted. 

While I was getting ready for dinner Justin played his favorite game, "Drink along to the Boston drinking songs!" So by the time we finished up dinner at Margaritaville and had too many of their powerful, fruity, and acidic concotions Justin was down for the count. Which was fine because I wanted to resume my important mermaid time in the jacuzzi tub. I also learned that if you plan on spilling a full drink on your lap, it is best to do so wearing a pleather skirt. That shit just wipes right off. Incredible!

Saturday saw much, much more gambling. Much more day-drinking on my behalf (he had some work to do in the afternoon and had to hold off). And much more mermaid time, this time with BUBBLES! Saturday night was our fancy night and we went to Gallagher's Steakhouse in our hotel. They are famous for doing something to their meat that I still don't understand, but I do know that it makes it taste amazing. It was most definitely the nicest dinner that anyone has ever taken me to. He does things like that, this guy right here.

And then we spent the rest of the night playing slots! We of course nerded out and played the Lord of the Rings, Ghostbusters, the Dark Knight, and many more. And the Hangover slots are the coolest. But we were most successful on a system that features "group play" in which everyone gets a bonus! Because it's the damn bonuses that keep you going, and going and hold on I need to go get more cash.

I have this embarrassing habit of talking to the old people that sit next to me at machines. And I cheer for them and get all involved in their business. Because I know that one day that will be me and some young bitches better be cheering for me when I win $3 on a bonus round.

We also eventually started yelling at the machines. And scaring questionable people away from us. I guess when you are sitting next to two nicely dressed people yelling "Fuck you, HORSE!" during the bonus round in a slot machine where $6 is at stake, you might get a little creeped out too. But really, we did pretty well and if I wasn't such a poor gambling influence we might have walked away with more money.

It was a spectacularly fun and oddly enough, relaxing weekend. Blackout curtains, a king size bed, and a jacuzzi tub will do that to you. Until next year, Vegas. You did us good.

And, we're off!

Holy hell, FINALLY. I thought this vacation would never come. I haven't had a vacation since April (Oh, my first blog post!)! I am going to make the best attempt I can to detach from my cell phone so I can focus on having fun and also my blackjack hands. Also, I hear if you drop your cell phone in a jacuzzi tub it breaks. So it will stay somewhere safe.

In my absence, please peruse some of my favorite old posts.

Gal Pal weekend in Palm Desert

A Magical Night

So this mom walks into a bar...

Only almost a month later...

The JMEOWW Diaries V.1

And if you miss Justin too you should visit his writing space, Pixelated Trip. He's a smart one, that man of mine.

I'll be back on Monday with some (hopefully entertaining) Vegas stories!

But I love lamp.

Thank you all for your well wishes regarding my cohabitation announcement. Had there been ill-wishes, I would have no choice but to UNFOLLOW and we know what an awful, awful thing that is. The internets is a cruel place.

Cohabitating brings with it the interesting task of combining decor. Luckily, my boyfriend has decent taste in decor and nothing is overly MANLY or disgustingly bachelory. Unlike the last place I moved in to in which I begged to remove the images of nearly nude women from the walls. That should've been sign #1.

Anyways. I have what you might call "peculiar" taste in decor. I have a deep, deep love for the kitsch. And a passion for vintage. Anything with animals? Bought. And I have a total boner for mid-century. Don't act like you're not impressed.

And Justin prefers things to be orderly, minimal, and what I've dubbed "geek chic." I don't oppose his geek items in the least. Well, the majority of them anyways. So when I email him items that I would like for OUR apartment, my soul is usually crushed by his responses:

Animal heads are tacky! This isn't my grandma's house! I don't like a lot of knick-knacks!

To which I reply:

You're stiffiling my KITSCH!

and my favorite:

This house is a prison. On planet BULLSHIT.  

So this post is basically an ode to the items I should no longer purchase and display in an adult apartment. Because along with cohabitating comes compromise and I guess I like Justin more than those glittery antlers, as glorious as they may be.

I should be watching The Walking Dead...

Life without cable is weird, you guys. But I'm not even sure I want to watch The Walking Dead anymore because the only good character isn't even alive any longer. Yes, I am talking about the love of my life, Shane. Let's argue about him. It's my favorite pastime.

I also just realized how productive I was this weekend with Justin being out of town. You know, you really can get so much accomplished when you aren't sitting around staring at your adorable boyfriend. This weekend I:

• Celebrated a friend's birthday at a place called Sushi Kuchi. Which has kuchi sauce. Or you can order the kuchi boat. Or the kuchi taco. The chefs shouted something (we like to think they were saying "kuchi") every time someone walked through the door. They also wore afro wigs which was especially hilarious when a man with a real afro walked in.

• Organized and packed more of my hoard while doing laundry.
• Had lunch with my friend Kathrin of Shop.School.Sleep at Baja Betty's.
• Saw Pitch Perfect and loved it so very much. Rebel Wilson is hysterical.

• Celebrated another friend's birthday at Bar Pink in North Park, the ultimate hipster bar.
• Watched a total of 7 episodes of Cold Blood on Netflix and then convinced myself that someone was hiding in my apartment when I returned home Saturday night.
• Cleaned the apartment and threw away more of the hoard.
• Ran more errands (including cashing in my change at a Coin Star much to the dismay of everyone at Albertson's. Sorry my change is loud, but I now have $45 and y'all don't...) and had brunch at Snooze in Hillcrest.

So many accomplishments in one weekend! All completed just in time to pick up Justin from the airport so I can resume staring at him in the least creepy way possible.

Ball. So hard.

Ladies, and maybe gentlemen, of the internets. If I had to choose one image, and only one image to describe Tiffany this would be it.

                                                                            Source: theyallhateus.com via Tiffany on Pinterest

Ladylike and ghetto, all rolled into one. Every now and then, the ghetto really comes out. You can take the girl out of Chino, but she will still know all of the words to every Kanye West song and want to shout "TWO CHAINS" at inappropriate moments.

If you really want to annoy my boyfriend play some hip hop music. Or suggest performing a Jay-Z & Kanye song at his best friend's mother's 50th birthday party. Because we have been asked to perform a song.* What the heck would you do in a situation like that? Rap, right?

(Seriously though, what would you sing in that situation? Not karaoke, mind you. Full-blown live performance. Extra credit if you fly out and take my place.)

Anyways, here is some friday linkage love for you:

The best films of the 90s. We all know my record with movies (hint, its not great) so I've only seen #1-4, 16, 25, 34, & 39. I've seen more of the honorable mention titles, naturally.

Christopher Walken reads Honey Boo Boo. Enough said.

OKCupid posters = hilarity. You know my thoughts on online dating.

I'd like to enroll in Monsters University please.

Ball hard this weekend, everyone. I won't fine you.

Vegas lies.

What happens in Vegas does NOT stay in Vegas because we all love a good shitshow. Am I right? With our Vegas trip on the horizon, I thought I would share some of my most favorite Vegas shitshow moments with you.

• The time a very awful, awful girl asked me if I forgot to put clothes on and then I cried and then almost got arrested at a liquor store for having a fake ID when in fact it was my real ID and the lady at the counter said, "Psht, not with THAT nose." Worst trip of my life.
• The time I went with a bunch of girls for work and it was just dramatic and oh dear god I'm having PTSD.

• The time I made my BFF fly out from Colorado to meet me on a trip I had planned for a boyfriend that I broke up with before said trip occurred. And the first night we found a bar where women drink FO FREE so I drank for free all the beer I could fit in my tummy and then some. And then because the strip was ridiculously dead we had a really weird photo shoot. We got lost in City Center, more than once. We saw a drag show. We molestered wax people.

• The time my little sister and I went to see Mumford & Sons and stayed at the Hooter's Hotel & Casino because we are classy like that and also she wasn't 21 yet. And we walked the strip to watch Robyn on the big screen of The Cosmopolitan and made friends with homeless rockabillies. And went to the PBR bar and ate the largest sampler platter known to man after Brooke got challenged by a much old man to an arm wrestling contest. And after eating all that fried food we rode a mechanical bull and her boobs almost fell out. Also, we saw Mumford & Sons are our hearts are still full of memories of that special night.
  
  

Okay, so mayyyyybe my trips are a little mild. Tell me your Vegas shitshow stories. You know you want to. What happens in blogland stays in blogland.

Happy Birthday, Momma!

Many, many years ago on this date my mother was born. She was raised on a farm in Minnesota and we know this because any time we visit a petting zoo she reminds us. She's also really good at Farmville and also Pioneer Trail and could you maybe send her one barrel of massage oil so she can rub her pigs?

My mom is one of the most generous, selfless people in the entire world. She will never say "no" even if she only slept two hours last night and already has a full schedule.

She raised four girls, and we turned out only a little bit crazy but still make her full crazy. This weekend we taught her about Brazilian waxing as well as culos. Which she learned is NOT something you put your drink in to keep it cold. She also bonded with a lesbian at the neighborhood bar this weekend so she is totally cultured now.

She is just a really great lady and we are lucky to call her Momma. Happy Birthday, Mom! And yes, I am her favorite.

"Is Justin Timberlake Jesus?"

The above quote was said my none other than yours truly after we finished watching Southland Tales, yet another one of Justin's favorites. "Why do you keep watching all of his favorite movies and none of yours?" you might be asking yourself. Because he has already seen all of my favorites, naturally (with the exception of Bridesmaids which I am quickly trying to fix). Otherwise, he has seen ALL THE MOVIES.

Anyways, I got to thinking about Jesus. And Justin Timberlake, as one does. Here is my question: What if when he brought sexy back he really meant christ? I leave you to ponder that for the weekend. And also ponder these links.

I watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy, much to Justin's entertainment.

My favorite halloween costume idea so far.

"Shut up. I'd like to see how you'd react after your 10-month-old with a gorgeous head of thick locks just lost "Best Hair" to a bald child." 

It's good to know Hills is trying to figure out what's up with X-tina's boobies too. 

Raw crystal. It's all I want for christmas. So many jewels.

It's been a rough week, as you all read and laughed along with me. Thank you for dealing with my overshare, and oversharing along with me. We'll be back to normal blogging next week!

I've been poisoned.

Let's start with this statement: I grew up in a house of farts. And I somehow came out pretending that assily functions do not exist. In fact, my cousin once stated the truest of all statements - that I did not know how to fart out loud until I was 18. I'm a potty prude. Of all things.

So yesterday after someone (okay, me) had the bright idea to go to ihop for breakfast, this all changed. Because it had to. This weekend we probably contracted salmonella, gave ourselves food poisoning, and I got attacked by mosquitoes and my ankle and foot have golf ball sized bites that I can't stop scratching even if I wanted to. This can be summed up in three conversations:

The Salmonella.
Justin (friday): Oh, so I may have fed us salmonella tainted peanut butter. I read the recall report today.
me: oh, okay. I'm sure we're fine.

The ihop.
Justin: I don't want water here, it will be gross.

Me: No one has ever died from drinking tap water. Except all of those people in Erin Brockovich.

And the squitos, but I will spare you the photo because this entire post is bad enough.
Me in a picture message to Justin: I wanted to share my foot boobies with you, because I'm not disgusting enough already today.

And bonus convo to prove that Justin isn't perfect all of the time.
Me: I'm going home to die now.
Justin: Leave the bathroom door open so JMEOWW can find you.
Me: BROKEN UP.

So much sharing has happened in the past two days and I didn't want you all to feel left out. So, you're welcome. This is step one in the process of overcoming my potty prudishness. Step two is moving in together. And then it's all over.