Friday Night of Memorial Day Weekend

As I sit here by myself being so lame on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I have come to the realization, through my current status of holding a real nine-to-five job, that the real word sucks.

I know I am only 23 years old, still in my prime, but after working all week I turned down offers to go out opting to instead stay in and get some rest because I am so tired and so not used to getting up anytime before noon. I know I'll go out tomorrow night but I still feel ridiculous for staying in on a weekend that had before now been like Christmas to me.

Memorial day weekend in prior years had always brought with it plans of debauchery.

It was a weekend that my friends and I would look forward to for months on end. It was a weekend where we would actively plan on engaging in mindless drunken activities. Activities such as talking to other intoxicated people about the meaning of life, inviting guys back to the house just to get back and realize there was no more alcohol and the guys weren't that cool when they weren't buying you a drink.

It was a weekend where we would convince ourselves, in our state of drunken stupor, that things like: riding a skateboard while intoxicated, operating any motorized machine after consuming alcoholic beverages, or talking to a guy while having to hold yourself up on the bar counter because if you attempted to stand up straight you would fall, were brilliant.

But of course the wonderful ideas would result in bruises and cuts that didn't hurt until the next morning when the numbness of the alcohol had worn off.

After tending to the injuries, drinking gallons of water and nursing yourself back to life you would remember talking to a cute guy, forgetting it was after five red-headed sluts and a few too many vodka/crans, and would proceed to check his myspace only to come to the sobering realization that he's missing a couple teeth, shaves his head because he is balding, is currently unemployed, lists his favorite interests as getting drunk and going off-roading, has Joe Dirt and Girls Gone Wild: College Babes under his favorite movies section and that his name is actually Jeb after you had been calling him Jeff the entire time.
Note to self: operation find husband or any decent man for that matter while drunk = bad idea.

My friends and I would go to the beach, the river or wherever they had alcohol and drink like it was our job. We would then follow our excessive drinking with late night mexican food trips and at times the numerous shots that seemed so fun at the time would result in someone waking up the next morning, hungover, wondering what the hell happened and why aren't they wearing any pants.

And yet although I didn't go out I still managed to find a way to spend over a hundred dollars in a single sitting. The only difference is that the money I spent tonight wasn't at a bar and won't make me feel like my head will explode tomorrow morning.

After dinner with the family I went to "The Target" as my baby brother Michael says it and took Michael with me. He means everything to me and I spoil the shit out of him.
After running into about five people I knew from high school, all of who proclaimed "I didn't know you had kids," Michael and I were off to shop.

I went to Target to pick up a few new shirts for work and I ended up getting myself three while Michael ending up leaving the store with three new shirts of his own, a slip-n-slide and a race car that moves forward and in reverse when you push buttons. How the kid manages to get everything he wants, sometimes without even asking, is beside me.

The Lakers or Rather the Cause of My Alcoholism

I consider myself an avid Lakers fan and this relationship we have, me as a fan and they as the team I am a fan of, is a love/hate relationship.

It goes like this: I hate to watch them choke and they love to make me watch them choke especially in the last few minutes of the game after I have invested numerous hours cheering.
I shout and cheer in hopes that through some miraculous intervention, maybe even from God himself, Kobe will hear me shouting "Go Kobe" and he will in turn go for 100 points and the Lakers will win. But as things are going as of late Kobe could go for 100 and the Lakers would still lose, most likely in the last thirty seconds by giving the ball back to the other team.

Now I am not a basketball player but I'm pretty sure that a main staple in the game is to not give the other team the ball especially when the game is on the line. I mean I'm just going out on a limb here.

This relationship is one of the hardest I have ever been in. It has brought me to the brink of tears, led to my alcoholic tendencies and all along been like a rollercoaster ride. I should just jump off the rollercoaster mid-ride and yet like an abused dog I keep on coming back for more.

I can only relate their wins and losses to the circumstances surrounding a battered woman. When they lose I feel beat down, I cry and vow to never go back and then the very next game they win and it is as if they are apologizing to me personally for being such a horrible companion the previous game and I am drawn back in.

It's a vicious cycle and yet I can't seem to shake it.

I have never felt so many mixed emotions in any other aspect of my life other than the hours I watch the Lakers play.

Perhaps this obsession is why I am still single. This relationship already takes up enough of my time and I can't commit to yet another relationship when I am currently still in one.

The Start of My Day with Melissa

As I was driving down the freeway at 8:30 a.m., cutting in and out of traffic as to try and get one step ahead of my fellow commuters, I decided to call my friend Melissa.

Now at times Melissa and I try to torture one another. Among other torture techniques we engage in in order to annoy the other person one I fancy the most is the late night calls I make to her, when I know she is sleeping, in hopes of waking her up and ruining her peaceful sleep.

Kindly Melissa will return the favor the next morning sometimes at 6 or 7 a.m. when she awakes for the day when I am engaging in some one on one time with my bed and pillow. Abruptly I will be awakened from the horrific sound, that is Melissa's ring tone, as she proceeds to call me 6, 7 sometimes 10 times in a row to ensure that I wake up and can't fall right back to sleep.

I mean after all what are friends for?

So back to today. As I was driving down the freeway already pissed off because I had to be up early to go to work just to be stuck in traffic for 40 minutes while driving to La Jolla which should in fact only take me 20 I decided to call Melissa.

To my utter dissapointment Melissa was up and happily answered the phone.
Note to self: Operation piss Melissa off in the morning failed.
She told me she too was on her way to La Jolla and was only a mile or two ahead of me. Thrilled at the mere idea that she too had prior engagements which forced her out of bed before 7:30 a.m. I jumped at the chance to see what she looked like at this time of the morning as previously I had only seen her up at this hour after nights of heavy drinking that lasted into the day.

So after almost getting in numerous accidents and making Melissa hold up traffic by slowing down so we could drive side by side, we met on a two lane freeway driving next to one another.

Our conversation went some thing like this:

Melissa: Hey
Brittany: Hey I can see you
Melissa: Yeah I look like shit
Brittany: Yeah you do
Melissa: Let's get coffee
Brittany: I can't I have to go to work and I don't want to be late
Melissa: Come on Brittany we never see one another
Brittany: Ok fine but in my building
Melissa: Fine but you're paying for my parking
Brittany: Whatever
Melissa: Shit are there any hot lawyers in your building cause I look like shit
Brittany: Yeah you do but I look cute
Melissa: F**K you
Brittany: I hate you

So we get to the coffee place and get our respective freshly brewed drinks and our conversation is amazing. And by amazing I mean ridiculous.
But I always wonder how the two of us must look to outsiders when we talk to one another.
Either A. they think we are neurotic
B. we look like lovers in a quarrel
C. they think we are retarded or
D. all of the above.

Brittany: So I think I'm addicted to pills I take at least four advil a day
Melissa: At least you admit you have a problem
Brittany: Yeah that's true
Melissa: So I wanted to smoke the other day
Brittany: Why didn't you
Melissa: I didn't want to
Brittany: Oh cool

We talked about other things and no matter what we talk about we laugh, mostly at ourselves, and our conversations always end with a cheerful goodbye. I believe it is something to the extent of

Melissa: Bye Bitch
Brittany: Yeah Bye Hook

So after that was over I went to work and started dozing off. My coffee kicked in around 9:30 a.m. and I felt recharged and energized but unfortunately the novelty soon wore off. During the day I consumed two large black coffee's, around 10 diet pepsi's and I still crashed around 11:00 a.m, 1:00 p.m., 3:00 p.m. I felt like I was being thrust head first into a wall. Driving home I was a zombie as yet again I was stuck in more traffic at 5:30 p.m.

This day got me thinking....

Whoever created a 9-5 work day should be shot. If I were in charge it would go something like this - start work at 11 a.m. lunch at 12 p.m. work until 2 p.m. break for tea time and then be done around 3 p.m., leaving just enough time to go home clean up to go out for happy hour - I think tomorrow I'll put that in the suggestion box.

Random Thoughts While Stuck in Traffic

As I was in the midst of what would amount to be a 3 hour and 45 minute drive from Los Angeles to San Diego (after having my mouth drilled on by a dentist who after finishing screwing a metal screw into my mouth presumed to hit on me as I was actively drooling on myself from the numerous novacaine shots) I began to ponder all sorts of random things.

Perhaps I was attempting to deter my mind from the not so healthy things I was contemplating doing while at a complete stop on the freeway: would it be more fun to A. slam my car into the car in front of me or B. burn myself in the eye with a lit ciggarette? I quickly realized while both of these masochistic ideas would at the time be more fun and enertaining than traffic, they might not be the best ideas I have ever had.

So rather than be destructive I switched my mindset to be more constructive with all this wonderful time I found on my hands.

And so while looking out my window at the gang graffitti that painted the walls lining the freeway - one of which proclaimed "I love Octomom," - I thought "Self, wouldn't it be great if there were a type of concrete, plaster or building material that would not allow paint to stick to it so the un-artistic graffitti wouldn't litter the walls of the great state of California."


After realizing I was retarded I quickly moved away from this idea since it seems way too farfetched and ridiculous. And so I decided instead that when I got home I would start my own gang. I knew that I would have at least five people in my gang from the start.

The first being my baby brother because he is pretty gangster and is down to punk a kid off the swing set and push them off the slide and shit. With him we would run the playgrounds in San Diego, punking all the 3-4 year olds and stealing their lunches then selling them back to their parents for some sort of income. We would even graffitti in chalk claiming our territory.

The second person I knew would join my gang is my little sister Heleyna. She is half mexican and that alone is intimidating to the 9-10 year old white kids that frequent schools. With her we would run the 4th and 5th graders, forcing them to hand over their recreational drugs and force them to then push their own product on the streets of El Cajon. If they didn't do what we told them to we would get real gangster and tell them Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were not going to come unless they followed what we said.

The next two that I knew would be in my gang are Charlie and Stella. If any of you know Charlie he is down to take a bite out of a bitch and Stella is down to cut a bitch, she already does what I tell her to and if I told her to kill someone she would. With them in hand we would rule the dog parks pushing the dogs around stealing their bones and shit. Charlie would mark our territory for us as he frequently does on the grass or when he lift his leg on people's flowers.

This idea could work and instead of forcing my followers to drink purple kool aid we would drink red kool aid minus the cyanide because whats the point in killing off the only people who believe in what you believe in? Too bad Jim Jones learned the hard way.