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.