New Year, New Me

I wish there was that moment, just one moment, that I can pinpoint as the turning point. The last time I talked to most of you was in August. What. The. Hell? It has actually been almost six months since I last posted on this blog... but it doesn't mean that I haven't tried. This is actually the sixth time that I have started a post, but it marks the first time that I have actually finished one. I have run through the gamut of excuses for why I haven't written:

• Excuse #1: "Oh. Em. Gee. Guys, life has been so overwhelming! I've been traveling so much, and it's so hard to write on the road!"

(Which basically says, "Forgive me for being a privileged little bitch. I am so lucky, I get to apologize for it." #Imtheworst)

• Excuse #2: "Oh. Em. Gee. Guys, I have been going on dates as research! I went on so many dates that I went on several dates with this one guy, and it was awesome. So awesome that we became friends on Facebook. Then he stopped talking to me out of nowhere, and I was really bummed and decided to hide from writing because of it!" 

(Which basically says, "Forgive me for getting to go on so many dates, because I decided to write a blog about it and here we are. Also, I hope you are reading this dude who disappeared — you know who you are!" #coveredinSHADE)

• Excuse #3: "Oh. Em. Gee. Guys, I have been working so much, and it's sooooo stressful, I don't know what to do!" 

(Which basically says, "I think that I am the most unique person ever, and I am the only person who has ever worked a lot. I am so lucky to have a job!" #ungrateful)

• Excuse #4: "Oh. Em. Gee. I took so long off that I started to worry that I was bland and nothing was funny and everything I wrote was drivel. Oh, also, I wasn't inspired and I hated myself for saying I wasn't inspired, because that is literal bullshit. But now I have gone back and forth so much that I should really sleep on it and wait until tomorrow. OMG, tomorrow is Friday, so if I post then, no one will read it and that seems silly. JUST WAIT TIL NEXT WEEK!" 

(Which basically says, "My logic is flawed, but I said a lot of things at once, so I hope you didn't notice the ridiculousness of it." #circleoflogic)

So here we are, four of my main excuses for the last six months for not writing. I have given them to many of you who have asked why I am not writing. I have made empty promises to write more while dancing at bars and empty promises while sitting in bars. (Which is technically your fault for believing me whilst drinking adult beverages, but who's here to point blame?) I have made the same promises to myself. (Funnily enough, also whilst drinking and dancing... alone.)

So what changed, why now? I think I had been writing this blog on and off for so long that I forgot why I was writing it. I was living my life for the stories that I would get to tell you, rather than living life and letting the ridiculous happen. I began hoping that dates would go poorly because I was anxious to write about it. I know this might sound pretentious, but I realized that wasn't why I started this whole thing. I started this blog as an outlet for me to talk about the naturally absurd things that happened to me. I love to tell a story... but the story has to be real for you... and for me. 

("Omg, omg, omg. Shit just got real! Omg, what do we do now???" — Judgey readers of the blog)

Right, I know, things got a little to full of the "feels" for a blog about gay dating and ridiculous life stories. I just wanted to let you know that I took the last six months to live my life without thinking about the stories. I lived my life and ridiculous things just happened. I went on dates, I traveled, and I worked too much and I found out that I still have a crap ton of stories for all of you. True stories that I am embarrassed and, simultaneously, excited to tell you about. 

(I swear... no more emotional paragraphs!) 

SO, what the hell does that mean for you? Well, it means that I am going to post every Wednesday from now until the foreseeable future. 

Judgey Reader: We have heard this before — how do we know you're not full of shit?

Me: Well, you don't.

Judgey Reader: You're not good at this whole being "convincing" thing, are you?

Me: See, I could lie to you and sell you on me, but what fun is that? I will prove to you that I am not full of shit, and I will post every Wednesday. 

Judgey Reader: But today is Thursday. Why did you start this on a Thursday and not on a Wednesday?

Me: You're LITERALLY the worst. I decided this while sitting in a gay bar, by myself, trying to hit the $10 minimum to use my credit card. It was $2 drink night. I was also alone. 

Judgey Reader: So you decided this drunk? Yup, this will last. 

Me: GOOD POINT! SCREW YOU! 

(Queen B said it. You're fake arguing, through a dialogue I made up, and it is now getting on my nerves. So, you know, stop and let it happen.)

You'll just have to wait and see. This blog will continue to transform and will be my commentary on life, my personal life stories, adventures in dating, and plenty of drinking games (ugh Mama Fab — I feel the judgement. Just accept it, I'm a lush.) I hope you are ready for January 29. 

Blog Readers: Hopefully, still with me

Mama Fab: Possibly judging, but also excited for the drunk games

The Blog: Happy to feel the soft caress of a long lost lover. Shhh, baby boy, it will all be all right.

Fabulously Lost: Innocent until proven shady

The Bitch is Back

Guys, I am exhausted. The past month and a half has found me all over the East Coast, and I made my first foray into the Midwest. (Hayyyy Chicago, you be good gurl.) Should we take a little journey to see where I went and how fabulously lost I still am??? BLOKAY, sounds good!

Miami

Gurl. GURRRLLL. Gurl DOWN. 

(Gone. With. The. Wind.)

Have you ever been to Miami? No? Because it's not a real place, not even a little bit. It is the land of beautiful people, topless swimmers, outrageous night clubs, and expensive restaurants. Miami also has the Ke$ha-esque ability to turn any atmosphere into a glitter filled, alcohol infused, parental disappointment worthy party. Of course, all of that being said, the first night that I was there on "vacation," my friends and I promptly fell asleep at 9:30pm and slept until 9:30am. Like they always say, when in Miami.... sleep for 12 hours? 

(I've never been so refreshed and disappointed in myself at the same time. Blarg.)

We spent the next couple of days making up for it by laying by the pool and drinking many a "Bucket-O-Liquor," which was the specialty of the hotel we were staying at. I can honestly say that I feel like I did everything I wanted to do in Miami. It's a ridiculous city that I am glad I visited... but I don't know if I'll go back anytime soon. The one thing I did not do was find love in that place. I realized, unlike most strippers, I do not tend to do as well in climates that require less clothing. I am one of those people that would do really well in a place that involves sweaters and layers, like Canada. (Its aboot time I move further north, EH? I'm done. I swear.) 

DC Pride

Holy crap ballz. Last year, for DC Pride, I drank far too much at brunch and ended up falling asleep at 8pm. I saw some of the parade and ended up with a press-on tattoo. (On. My. Face.) This year I wanted to do Pride the way it was meant to be done. I wanted to remember everything. I wanted to feel the pride of my people. I wanted to enjoy adult beverages. I wanted to attend the parade. I wanted to dance at the gay clubs. I wanted to see the festival. I wanted the weekend to leave me bleeding rainbows. (I said all of those in my head like Veruca Salt. You know, from Willy Wonka.)

(She understands what's important in life. Ain't nobody got time to be good.)

I decided to throw a little pre-parade BBQ for all of my lovely gays. We dabbled with drinks, danced in the heat, and pounded some meat. (Ew, pervs, I meant burgers and hot dogs. Grow up.) The parade was spectacular and over-the-top, like it should be. There were bears on bikes, Mormons in cars, gay boys in underwear, cowboys in ass-less chaps, and Wonder Woman (literally — Linda Carter) leading the parade. The true fun, however, began after the parade and post-survival nap. My friends and I owned the night by pre-gaming at my place and then dancing up a storm at Cobalt, in the heart of the gayborhood. What I wasn't expecting was my lovely departure from classy, upstanding citizen to drunken, dancing floozy. 

(Too soon? Sorry, Reese.)

After a few (many) drinks at the bar, I decided it was time to make my way to the bathroom. Unbeknownst to me, on this simple walk across the bar I would encounter two gentleman friends. One of these gentleman I knew from a previous date, whom you have never heard of. (The date had gone well... I can't jinx that shit!) When I got semi-close, he pulled me in and began to dance with me. I shimmied and shook and maybe even Mac Daddied it up with him a little. Once my confidence was boosted, I realized my bladder had slowly begun to take over my entire body. No matter how much I tried to Vulcan Mind-Meld my bladder into disappearing, I had to abandon my impromptu make-out to take care of nature. 

On my way out of the bathroom, I went a-searchin' for the man of my dreams (for one night only). Instead, what I found was his friend, who decided that it was now his turn to shimmy, shake, and Mac with me. I decided that all this attention was a gift from the Pride gods, and I needed to accept my new fate as the Pride Vixen, otherwise, I would be disappointing the fates. Much to my chagrin, the original shimmy shaker walked up and decided to throw a hissy fit. Unfortunately for me, it was not because I had made out with both of them, rather it was because the both of them... WERE DATING. 

(Mothertruckin' ass dogs.)

Other than assisting in being a homewrecker, the rest of DC Pride went perfectly. I saw Icona Pop and Emeli Sande play the festival, and I took home a new award in the amount of sweat one person can sweat in a 90-minute period. It's really a gift. 

Chicago

I'm not gonna spend a lot of time discussing Chicago. 

NY Pride

DOMA was repealed four days before NY Pride happened. I can say, from the bottom of my heart, I have never cried so much during a parade in my life. (Except for that one time in Disney World. We still don't talk about that.)

The night I arrived in NY, Swifty, her husband, and I made our way downtown to the West Village to go to a gay bar or club. We found ourselves, first, at Pieces, where the bar was completely and totally overcrowded. To our surprise, there was a coat check available at the front of the bar... a coat-check in JUNE. Turns out it wasn't a coat-check at all, it was a CLOTHING-CHECK. That's right: You could check your clothing at the door and walk around in your boxer-briefs, briefs, or JOCK STRAPS. 

We stayed standing for an hour (obvs oogling) before heading to the next bar. We decided to head to Stonewall... yes, of the Stonewall Riot fame. For those of you who know me, I am more than mildly obsessed with social media, so it should come as no surprise to you that I am an avid user of Foursquare. (Because it isn't creepy that someone can track your every move.) Well, I went to check into Stonewall and was surprised to see there was an event I could check into. The event was titled "LESBO GO-GO."

First I felt: 

Then I was all like: 

After I realized it was dancing, I was like: 

(Cause, bitch, I DON'T PLAY with my music)

We rolled into this history-making bar and bee-lined to the upstairs and downed a few drinks. I don't think I have been around that many dancing lesbians ever in my life. It took me a few minutes to get over the fact that I had changed the color of my shirt with my own sweat. (I'm impressive like that.) Just as I was getting over this not-so-secret fabric changing power I have, my friend Nomad (she, like, travels lots, duh), showed up and immediately pulled me up on the stage in front of all the lesbians. Much to my surprise, I danced like my life depended on it. At one point, whilst on stage, I thought I was so impressive I could definitely try out for So You Think You Can Dance... or at least their drunk bar version of the show. 

The weekend only got better from there. Brunching, dancing, and lots of eating ensued. There was the emotional Pride Parade — Edie Windsor was the Grand Marshall of the parade. I got ramotional. It was quite the weekend. 

Match.com

So, over a year after I originally talked about it, I finally took the plunge and purchased a membership to match.com. When I originally dabbled in it, I didn't pay for it and kinda let it hang by the wayside. On Sunday, however, my good lady friend Simba and I had our own little Sunday Funday that ended with buying a SIX-month membership. I don't know how things got so aggressive. 

(THIS IS WHAT MY INSIDES FEEL LIKE ABOUT DATING.)

The six-month membership comes with a guarantee; the site guarantees that if you do not find love within the six months that you paid for, then you get a SECOND six months for free. Because I am half-Jewish, I casually want to not find love and get another six months for free. (Hey, it's a deal! Gimme a break people.) I'll be sure to let you know how it goes. 

Miami: A new meaning to Hot Mess

DC Pride: Politically incorrect and loving it 

Chicago: Shhh

NY Pride: Am I a lesbian now?

Match.com: Jesus, Joseph, and Mary

A Glittery Guide to Getting Ready

A couple of weeks ago, I had this major epiphany that I wasn't taking an active role in my dating life. (I can literally hear you all going, "Uhh duh. All you write about is getting drunk and sports. Get. With. It." Please don't gay clap at me, I'm fragile.) So I made the executive decision to set up three dates with three different people before the middle of May. The only way I would divert from this plan would be if I fell madly in love with one of the first two gays and couldn't complete the trifecta. (HAHAHA... yeah, right, love.) So, I have done (sort of) just that!

I actually had a date this past Monday, and I have one set up for this upcoming Sunday! Instead of telling you about Monday's date — in complete fear that I will jinx it, because it went well — I am going to give you a A Glittery Guide to Getting Ready. ("Oh Fab! That's the title of the post too!" Yup, thanks genius... you really saw that coming.)

(These men are constantly in my head. Also, I wanted to do Kyan, bottom left. His. Name. Is. A. Seasoning. #intoit)

1. Grooming: This is something you should do all over. Start with the head. It's got to look fresh to death. You wanna make sure your quaff isn't an unruly mane. (Unless that's what you're going for — then make sure it is perfectly out of place. Must. Be. Perfect.) Don't stop there, though — you want to make sure every hair on your body is perfectly groomed and trimmed. (Ewww, why did I go there? BECAUSE THIS IS SERIOUS. THIS IS GAY DATING BOOTCAMP.) If you feel good, it shows through.  

(Groom yo self.)

2. Pump Up Music: I say this one because I have made the mistake before of playing methodical music before a date, and it has ended horribly. Playing Ingrid Michaelson or James Blunt (you know, the guy who sang the sad song about being beautiful) can easily put you in a thinking mood. You shouldn't be thinking before you get there. You end up doing things like deciding how you are going to fail at this potential relationship. You begin to pick apart all the things that this persons profile didn't match. You end up breaking up with him before you get on the date... because that's normal. (I may be speaking from experience, because I am coo coo for cocoa puffs crazy.) Anyways, listen to music that brings out the fun side of you and not the Emily-Dickenson-jump-off-a-bridge side of you. 

(Look how HAPPY she is. Bitty's been listening to happy music. You. Should. Too.)

3. Wear Shitty Underwear: "That seems super counterproductive, Fab. You just told us to look good on the outside, and we will feel good on the in. Now you are telling us to do the opposite — which is it?" Ugh, you are like ON TOP of shit today. I get it, this doesn't make sense... yet.

You see, from my many years of playing the field, I know that the only time someone wants to go out with you again is if there is a little mystery. I also know, from friends of course, that sometimes if you give up your goodies too early that mystery disappears. I also heard that that sometimes leaves you with a carton of ice cream and the Golden Girls wondering how Blanche Devereaux makes it through all of her lovers with her sanity intact.

To help me... I mean my friend... in this department, I say: Wear shitty underwear. If there is anything that gay men take pride in, it is their ridiculously expensive underwear. You do not want to be going to do the hokey pokey and showing off your off-brand ripped Target underwear. It's just not cute. 

(Soo... umm... yeah. It needed to be said. Sorry I'm not sorry.)

4. Dress the Eff Up: This isn't high school. Wearing a sweatshirt on a date is unacceptable, especially a first date. You have your favorite outfit/shirt, wear it. Hell, I don't care if you have a designated first date outfit because you feel good wearing it. (I would reevaluate it if you are still single and you wear it on all your first dates. Just sayin'.) You can dress appropriately for the climate; I am definitely not forcing anyone to always wear ties or pants. Just look good and find a friend to do a once over on you before you walk out the door. Spray on the expensive cologne to top off the outfit. Just make sure you don't bathe in it — there is nothing worse than a man who looks bangin' and smells like they fell in a vat of Ralph Lauren Polo. It ain't cute, yo. 

(If you happen to be Ryan, then you can wear whatever the eff you want. Because you're Ryan. Effing. Gosling. I think his middle name is Effing, I read it somewhere.) 

5. Bring Your Wallet: I have forgotten my wallet once before. This was a messy experience that led me to feel awkward and obligated. You should always bring your wallet because it holds your ID, and when you are over the age of 21, getting a drink on your date helps to lubricate the conversation. If you forget your wallet, you are unable to get that lubrication. This also presents the awkward conversation at the end of the date when the check comes. (Remember: You haven't had the social lubricant to make this convo easier, because you're an idiot) So you have to do the whole:

"Oh MAH GAWD, I'm a fool. I am so sorry. I will get our check the next time!"

And there you have it. You're a complete dumbass at this point. You not only forgot your wallet, so you can't drink, but because you haven't had that drink you don't think before you speak. Just like that, you sign up for another date with someone who you hoped would look better with your beer goggles on, AND YOU have to pay for it. So, please, tap your ass, check your purse, and make sure your wallet is with you. 

(FAHK)

6. Think of a Good Story: This one is all for you. If the date starts to tank and you don't know what to do, think back to your favorite story from another friend. It's usually 1/4 of the way into the date when I know if it is going to go anywhere. If the date is tanking, I start to make shit up about myself. 

• I lie about traveling. My favorite country to "visit" is Zimbabwe for its tropical atmosphere and the friendly people. Really great resorts. 
• I talk about famous people who I pretend to kinda know. I have "played" pool with Mark Wahlberg and "taken shots" with Lindsay Lohan — at the beginning of her downfall. 
• I tell little lies too, like going to sleep away camp most summers and having two dogs growing up. (I went to week-long sleep away camps and I had two turtles... not dogs.)
• I have also made the mistake of lying about moving. This used to be a rookie mistake — you never tell people you are going to do something and not follow through. I used to do this if things were really tanking, and I didn't want them to ask me out again. I was always moving to NY within the next month, except I never did. Then I would run into them at the bar and awkwardly clam up and take a shot by myself. Don't do this one. 

You see, it's not because I was trying to be mean, it's all because I secretly want to be an actor and I pretend to put on a character. (I'm normal. I swearrrrr.)  

(So many jokes, so little time.) 

Those are the six steps I use to get ready for my dates. Take them or leave them, they have done pretty solid over the last couple of years, exploring the tedious world of dating. I have gotten a few good stories and a few bad ones from following these. I also realize I just gave you advice on how to get ready for a date, and I am currently sitting on my couch in similarly colored sweats and gym shorts. Single. Someday, my friends, someday. 

Fab 5: My inspiration in life

Getting Ready: A glittery mess 

Dating: An expensive ugly beast

Fabulously Lost: Possibly looking for a new routine  

Brazilian Adventures, Part 2

Remember how cultured I was at the end of the last post? You know, cause I had wooed a woman with my boyish good lucks and sparkling charm? Yup, that happened. I wonder if she is sitting down there in Brazil wondering if I will ever show up to her hotel room. I am sure she is...cause what woman wouldn't want this hunk-a-burnin' man love. (The answer is most...most women don't want to bed a flamer thats been burning bright since '88)

Now that we have that little RECRAP out of the way we can delve into the meat of my trip. (Jokes for days. DAYZ I tell you). You may remember me mentioning my co-worker Daddy Raids (his name needs no explanation, other than that I promise he isn't a pedophile. Or a rapper. Or a rapping pedophile.). Well he is partially the reason for some of my adventures down in good ol' Sao Paulo. You see, Daddy Raids and I have actually known each other for many years. We met through mutual friends in college, then later became coworkers. Since we are around the same age, we tend to be around each other at work functions and at younger people work functions outside of work (See also: copious amounts of drinking activities). 

Anywhoz, Daddy Raids and I also work with a man who can only be described as one of the most suave men I have ever met. (And I have met many suaveeee men). Casanova holds a very high position in our company and has lived a life that many of us would kill to live. He is married to a gorgeous woman, they have an adorable child, they live in NYC, he has lived all over the world, and travels constantly for work. Back in a previous life he had lived for some time in Sâo Paulo, and it is because of that that he decided to grab me, Daddy Raids, and Sharif (another colleague) for the adventure none of us would've every predicted for ourselves. 

(Ugh, great movie. Also, similar to my night.)

Casanova separated the three of us from our larger group to show us the "real Sâo Paulo." He told us about the hotel he was staying at in the downtown portion of the city, Tivoli. 

Casanova: Last night, as I entered the elevator to go to my room, I saw five of the most beautiful women heading to the bar at the top of the building. We must go.

Me: Yes, well, you know how I like to follow the most beautiful women to bars. 

Casanova: Brazil is full of beautiful people. You will have so much fun. 

Once we arrived to Arola, the bar/night club on the top floor, we found out that there was a guest list for a private party. Casanova took everything in stride and explained that we were on the guest list. (In case you were wondering...we weren't anywhere on that list.) Without missing a beat, he leaned over the table to help the girl find his name, and just pointed at a random person and said it was him. The woman, completely flustered, handed him a wristband and he began to walk in. We started to follow before she stopped us. 

Dainty Bouncer: You cannot enter unless you are on the list....

Casanova: They are with me, they come with me 

Dainty Bouncer: I am sorry they need to be on the list

Casanova: They are on the list, that is Webhnar *points at me*,  that is Campillo *points at Daddy Raids*, and that is Brunier *points at Sharif*

When he picked his name off the list he picked three other names off the list quicker than lightening. Just like that I was Gustavo Webhnar. 

(This is how I now looked in my mind entering the party. Dreaming never hurt anyone, bitches)

Without a moments doubt, all three of us were let into the party and we made our way directly to the bar. Laughing hysterically we all ordered drinks and realized we were the first people to this private party. We took a spin around the club to see the almost-360 view of Sâo Paulo before we took a stance just out of eyeshot of the front door. Being the nervous nellie I am when I am put into those situations, I had my back facing the door so I wouldn't have to view the people filtering in. I heard people making there way in and someone had commented that they were waiting for the beautiful girls to show up. Then Daddy Raids tapped me on the shoulder...

Daddy Raids: Hey fab, can you turn around for a second...this party seems a bit...off.

As I slowly turned my head, I was met with something I have only dreamed of. There, in front of me, was a sea of amazingly attractive, well dressed, well groomed gay Brazilian men. That's right, we crashed a gay man's 30th birthday party. 

(Best.Surprise.Ever)

I was beside myself. All of us couldn't stop laughing because it was the complete opposite of what Casanova had been promising since we had separated from our group. All of the beautiful Brazilian men were also all staring at us, because we were most obviously not the Brazilian men that we pretended to be to get in the club. Though, none of them called us out and I'd like to think its because we brought the attractive foreign men thing to this wild and crazy party.

After a couple of more drinks, we decided it was time to leave before the people who truly possessed the stolen identities showed up to their good friends birthday party. That little taste of gay Brazil helped to solidify my decision to go back to Brazil sometime in the near future. (As if I NEEDED a reason to come back. Ugh guys, I am going through Portuguese withdrawal) 

Post-Gayzilian experience Casanova had us make our way over to Hotel Unique, which is a massive hotel in the center of town that is in the shape of a ship. Like...a huge Noah's Arc...in the middle of the city.

(If the bible ever repeats itself, I will jump on that ship and be one of the two gay men Noah has to get on the ship.)

On the roof of the hotel is this exclusive restaurant/rooftop bar. Because of the exclusivity there was a massive line that wrapped around the corner of the hotel. Casanova wasn't going to have any of this. 

Casanova: I don't do lines. We will get around this. 

Daddy Raids: How exactly will you do that.

Casanova: I offer some money, see if they listen, and get us around it. 

I just don't know how to be this confident. I would've seen the line, contemplated going in, and then convinced myself that I could probably find an episode of Dawson's Creek that I have only seen once. (Facts: There aren't any episodes that I have only seen once. More facts: You are finding out so many reasons why I am singleee...so am I.) 

(Dawson just knows)

Instead, what happened was Casanova walked up to the hostess at the door and began speaking to her in English and Spanish. They went back and forth for a bit, he kept asking to get us a table at the bar and saying we would get bottles and such. She wasn't really having it. 

Dainty Hostess: I am sorry sir, it is 90min wait in line, 40min for a table.

Casanova: Yes, but that will not work. We would like a table now.

Dainty Hostess: There isn't really a way around it. 

Casanova: Ok, I will check in at the downstairs restaurant. 

Dainty Hostess: There is a wait there too, sir. 

Casanova: We shall see about that

And with that, Casanova rounded the corner and made is way to the entrance of the restaurant. He said something in Spanish to the security guards and breezed through. He stopped momentarily to tell us he would be back to get us within 5 minutes. Less than two minutes after he walked through the door the Dainty Hostess came running around the corner and told us she had a table for us immediately. What did he say? What did he do? I DON'T UNDERSTAND. We all stood there flabbergasted and trying to explain to her where he had gone and that we needed a minute. 

Just as quickly as he had entered the restaurant, he returned and let us know we now had options. Let's just recap for a moment. Five minutes prior we were being told we had to wait 40-90 minutes to get into this club, now we were being told we had TWO different ways to get into this club immediately. HOW DOES THIS MAN DO THIS??

Then again, who am I to question any of this? Onward I went into the next place I had not intended on going to, nor would I have gone had Casanova not been there. Boy am I glad he he was there. As soon as we got up to the bar we ordered drinks and I took in my surroundings. It was an absolutely gorgeous evening and the view from the top was breathtaking. As if he could tell I was getting comfortable in my surroundings, Casanova decided it was time for him to go on a mission. Casanova's mission was to get Daddy Raids and Sharif women for the evening. 

(Me too Obamarama, me too)

One thing is for sure, when Casanova puts his mind to something, he will most certainly get it. We scoped out the scene and eventually found two gorgeous girls who turned out to be Brazilian Sisters. Bing, bang, boom! We were left speaking broken English and Spanish with these girls who just kept giggling and laughing. They took to Daddy Raids and Sharif quite quickly...but they also found me amusing. At one point I was trying to explain what I "liked" because one of them mentioned finding me someone.

Me: They *points at Daddy Raids and Sharif* like...girls...ladies. I don't.

Brazilian Sister 1: They like? You dont like? *Points at self*

Me: No, no. You are nice. I like you...just not *Points at lady parts*

Brazilian Sister 1: Ohhh One minute

Me: One minute? What do you mean one minute?

BS 1: I knew one minute

Me: You knew a minute?

BS 1: I knew you like *points at man parts* after one minute

There you have it, I am an international Rainbow. Apparently the Polish Girl was severely slow, because these sisters knew after one minute of broken English that I was not trying to check out their Brazilian waxes. (Also known as "Waxes" down there...jokezzzz). The conversation only got better from there. Brazilian Sister 1 then began stroking the umbrella pole.

Brazilian Sister 1: You need some Brazilian dick tonight

Me: Oh, no really its fine. It's 2am, I have to be up in a couple hours. 

Brazilian Sister 1: We take you to gay club and find you man

Me: No really, I think I'll probably just go sleep

Brazilian Sister 1: NO. We get you Brazilian dick. Tonight.

They are a forceful people and they do not take no for an answer. Out of nowhere the semi-mute sister, Brazilian Sister 2, decided to chime in with something in Portuguese. I had completely forgotten about her but all of a sudden Brazilian Sister 1 began laughing and telling Casanova to translate. They went back and forth about whether he was going to translate or not, but seeing as these girls were determined to get their way, Casanova never stood a chance. 

Casanova: *points at me* You do not like the Brazilian pussy to ride, we get you Brazilian dick to ride. Tonight.

(Thanks Degrassi for this gem)

Well....I just...I had no words. Nothing she said was false, but nothing she said felt right. It also felt so weird to hear it out of the mouth of someone I work with. With the awkward laughter that ensued, I must've blacked out and agreed to go to this gay area of town to get me a man, because off we went. Brazilian Sister 2 made us get into her car and she began driving, sans Casanova who decided to venture back to his hotel room because it was now 2:30am. Somewhere along the way our two heroines decided they wanted drunk food more than they wanted to find me a man. They stopped random people on the road and in their cars and asked them where Burger King was. Drunk food in Brazil is apparently the equivalent of a fine dining restaurant for Honey Boo Boo. (HAD to get a reference to my favorite tyke in here).

I was slowly waning interest in our impromptu tour guides and my traveling companions seemed to have joined me. It seems none of us had really thought through going on an adventure with two girls who could barely speak English, who "forced" us into their car. (This is how 20/20 specials happen...). We decided to part ways with the lovely ladies and I promised them we would come back and visit them in a month or two to get them to stop yelling at us for leaving (Spoiler Alert: I will not be visiting them). Daddy Raids and Sharif both macked it with their respective girls before we got into the cab and I talked to a random homeless woman who looked like she was going to poor peoples Mardi Gras.

(Helena has always looked a bit homeless. But this is pretty much what I talked too, add a little more dirt)

We finally ended up back at the hotel it was 4am and we had to be up in a few hours for the final day of our conference. We were met, unfortunately, with a fellow colleague who was pacing the lobby and obviously not feeling well. We made the executive decision to take him to the hospital near by...because what night isn't complete without a trip to the good ol' ER. When we got there we were met with a slew of people who couldn't speak a lick of English and a waiting room that was sub-par. Luckily after a solid 2hrs their our colleague in need was feeling good enough to make his way back to the hotel and sleep off the rest of the pain. The real wining part was that we were able to skip over him getting his blood taken by the woman who was coughing violently into her hand and wasn't planning on using a glove. (It's the little victories)

So that was it. That all happened in one night. I felt like it was my own version of The Hangover, except I was only casually drunk the whole time and I remembered everything that happened. My next business trip will be in December to North Carolina (womp, womp...not really the best follow up to Brazil. Whatever..its a free trip.) and Daddy Raids and I will be road tripping down there from the DMV. This seems like a good idea, right?

Fabulously Lost: Brazilian dick-less and okay with it

Daddy Raids and Sharif: Brazilian Sister winning 

Casanova: The only constant winner. 

Brazil: Just plain fabulous

Brazilian Adventures, Part 1

Holy fuck Brazil was awesome! Pardon my Portuguese! (See what I did there...get it? ohhh yeah). Guys, I am super cultured these days because I just spent a ridiculous 4 days in a country full of beautiful people, beautiful weather, and delicious food. I can't even put into words how much fun I had...butttt I am going to because thats what I do. So really I am a liar. I can put it into words and here begins the saga of Brazil.

(nom on some margs)

The last time I left the country was in 2010 when I went to the Middle East with a UMD sponsored trip. I didn't really worry about booking my flights, hotels, or making sure things got to places when they needed to because everything was planned for me. Luckily, a lot of the same things were true for me on this trip because it was all for work. I booked my own flight but the hotel and most of the activities were taken care of for me by my job. What I wasn't expecting was the intense and dramatic way in which I would finally ended up in Brazil.

I arrived early to the airport on the day of my departure to give myself enough time to make it through security and met up with one of my coworkers, Daddy Raids, who was traveling with me. (What I really mean is, I got there early so I could get casually drunk before my flight.) We made our way to our terminal and were pleased to find a Green Turtle not too far from where we were going to take off. After several beers we boarded our plane and just sat. We sat for a few minutes and then they made the announcement that there was paint on the antenna and that they would need an hour or so to replace the antenna. I want to repeat that for you. There was PAINT on an antenna and they couldn't fly....

What this also meant was that my coworkers and I were going to miss our connecting flight in Detroit (No, it doesn't make sense why I would fly North to go South...and no, I didn't question it until much later.)  that would get us to Brazil. We scrambled for a few moments trying to figure out what we were going to do and finally found flights that would take us to Atlanta that would then connect us to Brazil, having us arrive only one hour later than originally planned. This seems perfectly normal and calm, right? Welp, don't you worry your pretty little heads....nothing in my life is ever even remotely calm. The flight out of Baltimore was at 7pm and the flight out of Atlanta was at 9:35. My plane would arrive at 8:57pm and give me a little less than 40min to get off of my plane and get from Terminal A to Terminal F, which is only accessible by train. (I hate math. I hate math so incredibly much.) 

By the grace of some higher being we made it to Atlanta earlier than expected, but not that much because that would make my life easy. I ran through the mother effing airport and was sweating like...like....like an animal that sweats a whole freakin' lot. Now, this is a big deal because I have very strict rules about when I will and won't run. Usually the rule is that I will run from wolves or I will run towards chance encounters with gentlemen friends. (Surprisingly, I will run towards a chance encounter with Taylor Lautner...the only wolf I will let pounce me).  I now have to make an amendment to this rule and add "Will run to make flight", which I don't feel good about, but I will let it slide. Mainly because I made it onto my flight with moments to spare.

(Ohhhh yeah...lets be a wolf pack of 2. Shut up...you know he's legal)

Anywayz, we got down to Brazil and were promptly left without our bags for a couple days. Luckily for us, Delta said they would pay for us to go shopping for clothing for our conference. So, my momentary drama queen freak out about not having my bags turned into sheer joy over my ability to go on a shopping spree in Brazil. (I'm a fickle pickle who loves free shit, sometimes my half-jew really sets in)

Once I was settled in with my new wardrobe and a solid shower, I was ready for the opening dinner and the night that would follow. Everything went off a lot smoother than the previous 12hrs had and I got work tipsy off of Brazils national drink, the caipirinha. (Wait, did I just say that right. Do they have a national drink? Why, yes, yes they do. #inlove). I literally had died and gone to heaven. Not only was I sent to Brazil for work, but then I have the luck of finding out that there is a NATIONAL drink. I just...I just couldn't. Unbelievably happy. Life was good. 

(Foreign men, free clothing, and a national drink...its like Christmas morning)

The next day came a little too soon, but was interesting enough. Meetings galore and an unbelievable amount of food was served. (Seriously, I think I might've consumed an entire cattle farm while down there. And I would do it again...suck it vegetarians. Jk, lolz, power to ya). When the evening time rolled around I ended up going out with a group of colleagues to a bar called Wall Street in downtown Sao Paulo. The prices of the beers depend on how many people are buying them that night, the more people buy a beer the higher the price ends up being. Every once and a while there will be a "Wall Street Crash," where all of the prices are brought back to a basic price. What was great was that all of the beers were 40s. (Did I mention heaven yet?)

The best part in the evening came when I was leaving one of the rooms with one of the women on my trip when this beautiful Polish girl interrupted us. 

Polish Girl: You speak English, no?

Me: Excuse me? Yes?

*My colleague proceeded to walk away without entertaining any of this.*

Polish Girl: Oh no, I made you girlfriend made, no?

Me: HAHAHA, no she is not my girlfriend. Not like that at least. 

Polish Girl: Oh how good, no?

I was confused, I was lost, and I was intrigued. (Sounds like the first time I kissed a boy. ZINGER to 15 year old me! BOOM. 2004 Burn...yes, I am still single.) This girl then kept hugging me and holding onto me, finishing all of her sentences with an inquisitive "no" that continuously made her less and less attractive. 

Polish Girl: You're from America, no?

Me: I think I am answering you....yes, I am from America

Polish Girl: You have fun in Brazil, no?

Me: Again, trying to understand but....yes?

Polish Girl: So much fun, but girls are prettier in America, no?

Me: Well, I think there are beautiful women everywhere

Polish Girl: But foreign girls in America are that best, no?

Me: I like diversity, so sure?

This went back and forth for a bit before she hugged me and told me she was going to find me before she left. Completely flabbergasted I turned to my group as the congratulated me on being the first person to be hit on in Brazil...and yet they were also laughing. (SURPRISE...everyone knows I'm gay at work. I apparently can't hide it...except from Polish Girls). The creepiest part ended up coming closer to the end of the night when my Polish lovah slinked over and put herself right in between myself and the rest of the group I was with. 

Polish Girl: You have fun tonight, no?

Me: Yes, I have fun tonight

Polish Girl: I see you again, no?

Me: Well, I am only here a few days...so I don't think so 

Polish Girl: I see you tonight, no?

Me: I mean, you are seeing me right now, so yes?

Then a colleague of mine stepped into the conversation.

Life Saver: Ummm, my boyfriend is with me tonight. 

Polish Girl: Oh, so sorry. We all have fun, no?

Me: Uhh, yeah I have to stay here with my girlfriend. Sorry

*Polish girl slides up and gives me a hug*

Polish Girl: You come over to my place later, no? I am staying downtown, no?

Me: I just...I don't think...

And like that she was gone with the wind. She gave me her hotel and room number as she finished hugging me and then bolted out the door. I was left questioning my life choices. I haven't been hit on by a girl since I was too young to be considered homosexual. (HAHAH...who am I kidding...I've always been considered a glitter lover). My colleagues continuously ridiculed me for the rest of the night...but I had the last laugh because I was the only person to get hit on that fine evening. 

Alright friends, I am going to have to update you on the second, more ridiculous night tomorrow. For now, just revel in the fact that I went all the way down to Brazil to meet my sexy new husband and instead got hit on by a grammatically confused Polish Girl. Apparently I would be quite the lothario if I were to move to Poland...#semiwinning 

Fabulously Lost: Newly minted switch hitter

Polish Girl: Confused and aggressive 

Brazil: Amazeballz

Recrap Tuesday(?): RIP Glitzy, RIP

Confession: I got super intoxicated playing The Honey Boo Boo Drinking Game. I decided to play with Skinny Girl Margaritas and took shots of American Honey (because if you are going to take a shot of anything during this show...it's gotta be from Amurika). It was an extremely aggressive Thursday and I loved everything about it.

I feel like that is an accurate explanation enough for why I haven't posted a recrap. But I'm ready, I'm here, and I'm going to recrap the shit out of this wonderful episode. Are you readyyyyy?

(The judges just didn't know a good thing when they saw it)

In an episode entitled "What is a Door Nut?" we are taken on a journey with the family as they try to give back to their community. (I keep wanting to refer to them as The Thompson Family, but the family has so many different last names. Keepin' it classy in GA) The Honey Boo Boo clan does something that makes my heart sing...they did Christmas in July to help raise money for local charities. I literally peed myself with excitement. How did TLC know that train wreck television and Christmas are the two things that make me happier than anything in the world? I took an extra couple drinks because of the impending amazingness-ness that was about to happen. 

The families idea of setting up for Christmas in July was to set out all of their tacky blow up Christmas decorations and have Sugar Bear dress up as a creepy Santa Claus. That was it. No Christmas lights, no Christmas trees, just blow up decorations. The set up of all of this involved a lot of complaining by everyone. Chickadee found a random chair in the middle of their lawn (cause that's a thing) and was playing with her belly button. Pumpkin gets electrocuted while setting things up. (because she is just perfection). My favorite (probably because she is a mini-me) was Honey Boo Boo as she ran around naming all of the blow up decorations and calling them her friends. They are my friends too Honey Boo Boo, my friends too. 

(Just makin' friendz)

When the event actually takes place, Sugar Bear is unintelligible as the bumbling Santa sitting in another random leather chair in the middle of the lawn. (not the same one that Chickadee was sitting on. Don't you have a full living room set on your lawn?) He comes across kinda creepy when he had the kids come and sit on his lap, in exchange for a can of food. The best part comes when Mama comes and sits on his lap and they cut to an interview with him and he mumbles through the dip:

Sugar Bear: Mama didn't ask for anything, but I couldn't feel my feet after she sat down. 

Sugar Bear is slowly becoming a cast favorite of mine. He doesn't say much, but when he does...GEMZ. I can see why Mama is in love with him.

Shortly following this wonderful moment of family joy with something that pains me, it hurts my soul. Mama calls a family meeting and tells the family she has decided they are going to give Glitzy back. That's right...Glitzy will no longer be a part of this dysfunctional redneck family. Honey Boo Boo sobs as they do a montage of Glitzy (which takes a solid 10 seconds because he/she was only in 3 episodes...including this one). RIP Glitzy, the bestest gay pageant big there ever was. 

As much as this moment stung, what followed and who we met due to Glitzy's departure made my heart smile. To cheer Honey Boo Boo up (because if we have forgotten, this family only does things to make Honey Boo Boo happy), they decide to go four wheelin' through the mud. They can't just go four wheelin' with anyone...they have to go with Crazy Tony. 

I. Love. Crazy. Tony. He is the epitome of a redneck and he loves every bit of it. We are introduced to Crazy Tony as he ties Pumpkin up by the feet and dangles her as she hoots and hollers in pleasure. (You know, cause getting hung upside down from a tree is just plain fun). They do a quick montage of him as Mama is explaining how he is a close family friend and all that jazz. My favorite comes when he decides to do four wheel show, which consists of him turning the four wheeler on and then standing up,  flipping himself around, and eventually flipping the four wheeler on top of himself. 

But here's the thing, they don't just go four wheelin'...they go "Mud Bogging" which is basically riding your four wheeler through 3 feet of mud. But like....3...feet...of...mud. I'm lost on several things. I don't understand the name of this. I don't understand how someone decides this is an adult thing to do, and I am not exactly sure why I found myself kinda wanting to join them? (Not really though, I don't do dirt very well..) We watch them as they tumbled through the mud and screamed redneck things. They all kept calling themselves rednecks as well...which, as we know, is part of the drinking game. (I told you...I was soooo drunk). They swam in the mud, the rode through the mud, and they used the mud like it was a swimming pool. 

(Just boggin in the mud)

I am disappointed to point out that there was, in fact, only ONE episode last week of my favorite show on Television. Hopefully this week will be different, but one will never know. See you soon Honey Boo Boo, see you soon. 

Things I Arbitrarily Hate

Generally people would say that I am a positive upbeat person who likes to be liked and likes being around people. There are moments that you don't want to cross me or you'll see the she-devil rise within me (i.e. don't interrupt me during "my shows" or talk poorly of Britney. #facts) For some reason along the way I have picked up random things that make my skin crawl and make me want to punch unicorns and teddy bears and other happy things. Below is a compilation of the top things that I arbitrarily hate.

1. Home Depot

     This place is where happiness goes to die for me. I have never disliked any place more than this and for literally no reason. Maybe its because...wait for it....I. Hate. Do-it. Yourself. Projects. I have no urge to learn how to fix or build things. I gain absolutely no pleasure out of making things and then using them. I feel like doing this is depriving children in sweat shops the joy of making $.34 a day. Is that really how we are going to help foreign economies? (I'm a giver at heart). Basically what I am saying is...Home Depot is responsible for the economic downfall of America and most other countries.

2. Libraries

      I love reading with every bone in my body. I love free things (because I'm half jew). And I really like things that are organized. One would think that a library is somewhere I would love to spend my time enjoying all of the categorized free things at my finger tips. I hate them. All of them. I have not met a library I enjoyed going into. They freak me out with their silence and their inability to allow me to socialize. The pressure to be intelligent. What if I want to read Chelsea Handlers new book? I see the librarians scoffing at my choice. Ohhhh the judgement. I went to the main library on UMD's campus a handful of times in college and felt the life being sucked out of me. I snuck alcohol in there twice to make it less painful...it barely worked. (Yes I had to resort to alcohol to handle being in  library. And no, I won't go to Home Depot drunk. Power tools and alcohol seems unintelligent.)

(This makes me want to vomit profusely) 

3. Televised Sporting Events 

      I enjoy going to sporting events and oogling at the attractive athletes. Usually there is some sort of food or drink that is present at these events and I am a happy camper. While in college I went to one football game all the way through, other than that I went to tailgates like it was my job. (I still can't name anyone from the football teams....though I did have stellar nicknames for them. Hot Black Man 1, Hot Black Man 2, Future Husband, Future Mister (male version of mistress), etc) Watching a game on a television screen rages me. The games can be slow moving, I'm watching a bunch of people I don't care about hitting, throwing, passing a ball into some sort of "goal." The commercials are usually terrible (I'm looking at you Super Bowl...you've let me down. Shame on you) and someone is usually pissed or yelling at the T.V. I have never watched the Tony's (Awards show for theatre...uncultured people) and yelled or screamed over a performance...cried, yes, but never yelled. (Obviously this would be my version of the Super Bowl)


4. Tom Hanks
     I watch movies with him in them and I begin to get Hulk like rage. He is a perfectly nice person who was in one of the first major movies about being gay (Philadelphia) and has never personally hurt me or my family. Yet, Mr. Hanks annoys me the minute he begins talking on screen and all I can think about is how another actor might have made these words come alive...instead the words come out of his mouth and murder any happiness in the room. When I found out he was going to be in The Divinci Code, I stopped reading the book and made it my personal vendetta to make it the biggest flop in cinematic history. Unfortunately, the furthest I got was throwing out my copy of the book and refusing to go to the movie with any of my friends. (HA....I'll show you Tom! I will be anti-social and refuse to hang out with my friends just to spite you! ZINGER)

(ENRAGED, this makes me so upset. ugh.)

5. The South
      Ok, so a lot of you might think that this is totally justified since it's the Bible Belt and they produce things like homophobia, racism, and Paula Deen, but I think of this as an arbitrary hate because I personally haven't had terrible experiences. (I mean my wallet did get PICK-POCKETED while I was in Richmond for Memorial Day...but that's neither here nor there...). I think it stems from my fathers view of the South, which has generally been negative... But my chest clenches up when I drive further south than MD and I feel like I've entered enemy territory. I am waiting for the Westboro Baptist Church to start picketing my car as I drive. I am not terribly sure about the geography down there either...I vaguely know where Texas is and Florida...but I was completely amazed recently when I looked at a map and saw where Tennessee is actually.

(Found this: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-3o-best-anti-westboro-baptist-church-protest-s, makes me lolz)

6. Hipsters
     Now, I don't arbitrarily hate hipsters because of the reason a lot of people dislike hipsters, I dislike them because I am not one of them. I share similar taste in music with them and I can sympathize with their plight and dislike of "the man" and other main stream shit...but my look doesn't match. I want so badly to dress like Johnny Depp and walk around with several piercings and just feel like I belong with that crowd. I have tried a couple times to be more "emo" and I take it too far. The debacle of 2008 ended with an odd argument with my mother about how she "just needed to let me be unhappy because that's the real me." (We laugh about the ridiculousness of that sentence all the time....I am nothing if not overly dramatic)

(I just want to wear a circle scarf and not look like I tattooed a glittery rainbow on my face)

All of these things have the potential of becoming things I enjoy and like over time I assume...(Except you Tom Hanks...never!). I used to hate vegetables because I was told they were good for me and I used to hate being spontaneous because its hard to schedule being spontaneous and it would stress me out. Now I no longer dislike these things. There is hope. Not for my dating life...but maybe for Hipsters. 

DC Pride is this weekend....Expect a full update on Monday or Tuesday. For Realz. I shall be playing around the city with my Twin getting toasty on mimosas. 

Fabulously Lost: Not handy...or into Cast Aways.

Arbitrary Hates: Plentiful