Big Upsets, Barn Dancin, Bob & Back Flashin

Yes kids, it's the day after Superbowl Sunday and if'n you're a football nut you're either stoked because the Giants pulled the rug out from under the Patriots or bummed and depressed to the point of needing psychiatric help and a lollipop.

Sorry boys.

It's kinda cool that the Mannings rock balls like they do with Peyton being a superhero in the likes of Aquaman around these parts.

I'm not a huge Pro ball fan at all.

College ball is a different story, can't pull me away from the TV on Saturday all fall.

I pulled for the Patriots for one reason: The boy.

I knew if they didn't win that the boy would need a visit to the shrink this morning and a mild sedative.

Not to worry. Dr. Mayhem said it appears that he will only need the meds for the next week or so and he'll be ok.

It's over. Put on your big boy panties and go on.

Enough of that.

So, me and Big T have found a new watering hole/dive to kick it in.

It's less than a 2 minute drive from our palace.

This is a definite plus, because after I've drinkin ungodly amounts of alcohol, being chauffered too far makes one feel the need to yack...

It's a cool little place we found a few weeks ago, quite by accident.

They gots the karaoke and not one of the singers sucks balls!!

Yes, friends, if you go to karaoke at the wrong place you might suffer bleeding ear syndrome.

Anyhooodle, it's called "My Place"... cute name, huh??

I try explaining that to my BFF who was coming to meet us there..

Holly: "So, where ya gonna be?"

Me: "My place."

Holly: "But I thought we were goin out."

Me: "We are, you dork."

Holly: "But you said you're gonna be at your place."

Me: "No, I said I was gonna be at My Place."

Holly: "Ok, tell me where the hell I'm supposed to meet you dammit!!"

Me: "At My Place. I'll be at My Place for fuck sake!!!"

Holly: "Ok, I'm on my way. We'll pick you up."

Me: "Gonna be kinda hard to do since I'm not gonna be home."

Bless her heart. She's my best friend, but soooo easily confused.

Reminds me of that super swell Abbott & Costello thing "Who's on First"...


So, we finally get it all straight and make it there.

We get out cozy little spot in the corner. It's set up just about like a living room would be.

Finally get my beer from the beer nazi. The Bitch...

We were sharing the corner with "Bob" and another couple.

Bob is an older gentleman who we've seen dancing every weekend we've went there.

Bob can dance. Bob was having trouble finding someone who could remain standing up straight as he twirled them around the dance floor.

Bob = good dancer
Assorted partners = not so much

Now, Diva knows how to get out there and shake what her mama gave her.

For a white girl, I'm loaded down with Rhythm.

Yes, I can line dance, but I'd rather be dancin freestyle to somethin with a wicked beat and strobe lights.

Not sure where it came from.

Maybe my mom was foolin around, cuz my daddy certainly hasn't got a drop of ass shakin in him. Never has.

So, Bob decides its my turn.

Too late, Bob, old pal. I'm already drunk.

Bob still grabs my hand and off we go. Fine. His fault if I yack on his shoe.

I didn't spew my brew, but I was dizzy and glad it was over, and as an added bonus, I danced well.

Bob was impressed. I fear he'll drag me often.

Anyways, I was sitting there trying to compose and breathe, when some old boy jumps up and starts singin "I Likes It, I Loves It" by Tim McGraw.

This song sends my alcohol soaked brain in to flash back city.

I used to run around at this place called Cotton Eyed Joe.


It's a saloon type place, only bigger. The DJ sits in the cab of a semi. Very cool.

So, they line dance at this place. Alot. To everything.

Ever seen an old boy with a belt buckle bigger than a dinner plate bust a line dance move to Outcast "The Way You Move"?

Humorous, unless you're drunk as a skunk, then it's knee slapping hilarity at its finest.

There is this dance. The Barn Dance.

This is where you find a partner and go to the dance floor. Two rings are formed, men on the outside, ladies on the inside....

The outside ring moves one way, the inside ring moves the opposite way. The partner switch is on.

It's a twisty turny dance. Which we have already established is a bad thing when I've had a few.

So, about half way through this dance, I look at my current partner as he spins me back in.

I'm green.

I'm gonna yack.

He grabs be by the hand a runs me to the women's bathroom and shoves me in.

I didn't yack on his shoes. He was lucky.

And a gentleman to shove me in the bathroom like that.

Hit me up.. I'm shamelessly whoring my bloggie!!

Hooters, Jolly Roger, Biker Underwear & A Naughty Chicken

It's Tuesday again kids and you know what that means!!! A naughty chicken in honor of my bachelorette party and Speedcat Hollydale's quest to bring joy to an otherwise boring existence.


Ya gotta love a bunch of Pirate Chicks along with those who dare to come along for the ride.

They never let a special event go by without celebrating with cake and alcohol.

Becky and Natalie decided that come hell or high water there should be a bachelorette party the week before the wedding.

Thank God they had the sense not to have the party the night before the wedding or I would have never made it.

Yes, my friends. I got soused.

Diva + cold beer + shots of jack = hangover city

It was a beautiful evening, not too hot, not too cold. We all met up at Hooters for dinner and a drink. It was nice. Our little waitresses were super sweet, although I must say, I honestly thought I'd see more tits and ass. Not that they weren't precious in their little Hooters gear, they were. But my 14 year old neice has more boobie and butt than these poor girls had.
Meet Ashley and Felicia:


The Hot boneless chicken tenders were tasty as all hell, my lips were nice and tingly for a while though. The girls decided to get me a cute little shirt to commemorate the joyous occassion.

In general, Hooters doesn't see many bachelorette parties, but they do get hoards of bachelor parties... So, they improvised and got the Bachelor Party Shirt and turned into a Bachelorette Party shirt that all the little girls in tight Hooter's shirts signed with loves n kisses.

We decided that it was time to continue on and move the festivities to Coyote Joe where Natalie and Holly had decorated and made it look like a scene from a slasher flick with the "Wild Girls- Caution" tape.
They adorned Diva with a princess tiara which boldly stated that I am indeed the Bride to Be... and if there was any question left due to the tiara being hiddeny by my hair which was erect like a hard penis, then the big Bride to Be button aptly placed between my breasts certainly gave it away.

So, we go in and invade the corner lot of CJ, nothing different there.

Olga made a real honest to God rum cake. It was a Jolly Roger, cuz she knows how pirates roll.



We love the booty, especially rum laced booty.

It was time to have a little fun. We had games on tap, and honestly, watching them set up the Pin the Bow-Tie on the Bachelor was more fun than playing it. Amanda gave the poster a hard on when she licked it from thigh to belly-button.

And Steph gave our bachelor a nice sized penis to look at...

We had Do the Dare Cards. The name alone implies that there will be some mischief going on.

I need to state that, I, as the bride to be, didn't do anything extreme.

Quite the contrary, I was very well behaved.

Four of the six cards I drew from the deck were completed by our sweetheart of a bouncer. God bless you, Steve-O!

Diva's cards dared her to:
-get the bouncer to laugh for 100 points. Done!
-get a hunk to give her a neck massage. Done!
-get the phone number of a hot guy. Done!
-get a man to show you a hidden tattoo. Done! It was on his upper thigh.
-get the bartender to give you a free drink. Done!
-find a guy, grab his ass, and tell him he has a nice ass. Done! Twice.
(Steph was witness. Two guys, two butts, double points!)

Here are some photos of the festivities! Enjoy!

Shawna found a baldguy & kissed him on top of his head.

Natalie and Amanda took the cake when they talked one of the big biker boys out of his drawers.

Round Four ~ Won Tons, Manicotti & Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten

I wandered over to Speedcat Hollydale's page today for the first time. Interesting stuff.

In honor of this visit... I post a chicken!

I never realized eating in a forgein country would be so damn difficult.

First, I am the second pickiest bitch you will ever meet in your life, behind the boy of course... he'd have starved to death.

Ok, being the typical American tourist type, not to mention a closed minded, livin in the box kinda girl, I never realized that Chinese people that run a chinese restaurant in Germany wouldn't speak English.

It was odd to me that they spoke Chinese and German and not English.

Go figure, huh?

But, the place was across the street from our hotel, and smelled really, really good.

The only lucky part is the menu did have English, I can point and the chick could speak some limited broken English.

Chicken Won-Ton Soup: #3 on the menu.
Mini-Spring Roll: #2 on the menu.
Cashew Chicken: #42 on the menu.

Best Won-Ton Soup I ever have had... EVER.

Since I am afraid of anything ending in -wurst or-snitzel, I steered clear of tradtional German food.

God forbid I pork-penis-wurst or something like that.

I'm sure I'd yack.

It's not like I can translate German to English very well.

We were in Pforzheim the first several days:

So, we ate Chinese food at the same place on Sunday and Monday nights.

The Tuesday night, we switched off for some Itatlian. The spinich manacotti was yum and the wine was a-flowin.

Then Wednesday night, we were gonna give the Brazilian place a crack.

But I wussed out, paid for my beer and ran away. They couldn't speak the English and I couldn't figure out anything but shrimp from the Brazilian/German menu.

I don't do shrimp.

So, we ended up back at the Chinese place again, where we were greeted with..
"Hello. You wanta Coka Light and Hotta Tea, yes?"

With a sweet smile I tell her, "Of course and can we have the same table by the window?"

I know she had to be thinking... Crazy American bitch won't eat anything.

She's right. I have food fears.

Then we went to Hannover:

Thursday night we ate food from the hotel bar, which is always tasty with beer.

Bar food = GOOD.

Friday night, we had another awesome Italian dinner with the owner of my company.

Then to Munich:
Saturday night, I finally broke down.

Mommy & Me went to Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten in Munich.


It's one of the oldest original beer joints with 400 years o' history.

Oktoberfest was over. Missed it by a week.

But you couldn't tell it by the guy on the table who had a bucket on his head and was leading the whole place in a German ding dong sing-along.

After several pints of some the delicious brew, I was starting to pack a nice buzz.



So, I broke down and ate stewed steak smothered in roasted onions (DAYUM!!) and some kind of potatoes.

The beer was the best ever though. It didn't have that watery as piss taste to it.

Sunday night, we found us another Chinese place. It was pretty tasty and it overlooked downtown Munich..

So, I guess I totally blew the opportunity to expand my culinary palate...

I suck. If it ain't Taco Bell, I don't want it.

I do know one thing for shizzly. Germany has the corner on the beer and ice cream markets. It was grub and I had my fair share.

Friends, Fried Food & Freakin 22's

Ok, so it's officially 2008 now. It didn't even feel like Christmas, and yet it slipped by along with the passing of a nightmare of a year. Good friggin riddance.

Between the cake disasters, underwear crisis, and other wedding nightmares... not to mention the wedding itself... jeeeez.
Glad it's done... bad as it was, it's legal and it's over.

Onward and upward.

Me, I looked at it for what it was. A good reason to have friends over, eat a bunch of fried crap, drink way too much, and loose my ass at poker.
Check. Check. Check. And check. I accomplished every bit of it.

As with any other weekend or holiday, our casa was just brimming full of folks on New Years Eve to ring in the New Year. We always have plenty of crap to do which amuzes us... I mean, seriously... how hard is it to amuze a drunk?? The cursing parrot kept us occupied for a good hour or so.

I made a plethora of nastily perfect deep fried goodies and other finger foods along with homemade dipping sauces. (My marinara is muy excelente).


My lazy ass even went through the hassle of setting all this crap up buffet style, which ain't an easy thing to do with a bunch of brats (i.e. teenagers) running around trying to get into it before it's all done. But, I dished out beatings and yelled enough that the backed off the food until the buffet was set and I got a picture.... for what is good food for if not but to make pictures of it???


Note the cutsie foo-foo little finger sandwiches... Aren't they just adorable??



Yah, enough with the food. I sucked down my share of cold beer (Mich Amber, of course) and Big T inhaled his Jack n Cokes, while Holly & Mario partoook of Segram's and Cranberry stuff (fucking ewww).

So. After we got bored of playing karaoke and driving the kids nuts with songs they had never heard of ever, we decided to play BlackJack, followed up with dealer's choice poker.


If it had been strip poker, I'd have been close to fully dressed, I actually did pretty good. I managed to keep all my chips and then some. Look out Texas Hold 'Em championship... if you switch to strip poker, I'M THERE!!!!

Anyhoo, Mario, God bless his heart, couldn't bid a hand of poker if he had poker brilliance or even the slightest bit of good luck.

Sorry brother, fact is, you suck. Don't go to Vegas, Atlantic City, Tunica or any other casino town. You'd loose your house, your cars, your money, your family, not to mention your ass. Face it, you need your ass.

How is it one can suck so bad?? Well, it's those fucking 22's. He didn't know when to hold and let the deal bust. Oooops. I started throwing extra bets in that the poor boy would hit 22. This would be how I doubled my money. Which pissed him off.
He sucks, I don't. Haha.

Drunk Wine & Sleepin on the Job

We generally have friends over on Saturday nights. Not because we don't dig going out, because we do. But going out all the time does tend to get old, plus you have to worry about the PO-PO pullin your ass over in the middle of the night.

Of course, I'm a spoiled, lucky girl. I have a designated driver at all times and I dig it. Regardless of that, it's nice just to stay in, cook a smorgassboard of tasty good stuff and drink hot toddies or beer or wine or Jack....

Well, on tap for the past weekend's buffet was pork tenderloin, rosemary potatoes, steamed snow peas and a variety of other crap.

I must say, I've never cooked a tenderloin before and I rocked the balls out of it.
Baked it sloooooow in the oven, double wrapped in foil filled with every herb you can think of. After being on slow bake for 3 hours, I jerked that badboy out of the foil and slung it on the grill... G-R-U-B!!

Everybody ate way too damn much.

I, of course, was no exception. Quite the contrary. I started drinkin whilst cooking. The flavor of the day was Meridian Chardonnay, mighty good.


I asked Big T to open me the first bottle and it was on. Between me and Taucha, we polished off close to three bottles. A little much.

I paced myself, like a professional New Orleans drinker. Sipping all night long. It's hard to tell how much wine one has consumed when one's glass never quite gets empty before somebody happens by to freshen it.

So, it's 1:00am, and everybody is leaving. I had been giving Big T the eye and making obscene gestures toward him all night. REOW... come here big daddy.

He was sitting on the couch in the love den, when I crawled up in his lap and made close up obscene gestures at him before departing with my clothes and heading toward the bed. I knew it was a matter of 1.8 seconds before he'd be following me that way.

Woooo! I was feeling my oats. I was gonna tear his ass up. I was gonna make him scream my name and write bad checks. I was gonna make him beg for mercy.
Let the makin out and major league cannoooodlin begin!



I kiss my way down into a desireable spot. Somehow, don't ask me how... I passed out. His goodies right in front of me and I pass out. Of course at first, he thought I was thinking or taking a breather....

He taps me on the head. "Baby, are you ok? If you're gonna go to sleep, release that and get on a pillow."

"I'm not asleep. Swear I'm not." As I sit up and leave a drool puddle on his belly. "Ok, so I might have been asleep."




"That's ok, baby. Go to sleep."

So I did.

Well, I woke up to him staring at me. "Gotta hang over?"

My head was spinnin, "Hell ya. I'm dehydrated and my head's spinnin."

"Why don't you go back to sleep?" He picked. "You do remember falling asleep last night, right?"

All day long, kids, I had to hear him slip in little comments about my inability to handle my alcohol and still be sexually fucntional. I mean, granted, it was all in fun, but how embarrassing is that?

"Sorry, baby. I swear I'll never drink again." Rolling my eyes. "Gimme some aspirin."

"Yah. Yah." He gets me aspirin, "You know you got yours and you were done, ready to go to sleep. Sometimes I think our roles in this marriage are jacked the hell up."

"I know, huh? I spit, burp, and fart better than you." Smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary.

Pick on me again some more.

Hot Toddies, Christmas Trees & Nekkid Bell Ringin

I swear to all that is Holy... I'm trying my bestest to get into the holiday spirit. It just ain't me. But I'll not sit here and spew a bunch of Bah Humbug and tinkle on everybody else's happy happy ho-ho-ho.

Quite the contrary. In my efforts to pull the Grinch out of my ass, I have found that a nice alcolhic beverage can be very beneficial. My drink of choice? Ahhh, a nice cup of fresh brewed double shot o' espresso combined neatly with a shot of Bailey's Irish Creme. Yes, it is tasty. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmmmm.

So, one cup of cheer at a time, I have managed to begin my holiday-ing with relatively little pain and suffering.

I slung up two Christmas trees this year. One in the living room where everyone hangs out and the other in the Den Of Love downstairs.

Wanna see? I know you do... even if you don't... here it is in all it's blinged out glory!! This is the silver & white tree. This sucker glows by the light of the fire even with the twinkle lights not plugged up.


Let's sing...
"Silver balls..... Silver balllsssss... it's Christmas time in the Lair"

This is the wooden tree. Tastfully decorated thanks to JoAnn's craft emporium. Everything on it is made of wood. We like it. Eco-safe, tree parts that will be used for years to come. Poor thing still needs something on top, but I've yet to find me a wooden angel or star or santa...


Up close with my fave ornaments.... The sappy but sexy LOVE BELL... When I get lucky, I run upstairs in all my nekkid glory and ring that bad boy... (Scary thought, huh?)



Now just because I have my own forest of Christmas trees doesn't mean that this tree or this tree are safe.

I made a promise to myself that I would go steal them and leave ransom notes for each tree if either tree owner turns their respective back for more than 2 minutes.


Happy Holidays, boys and girls.

Only at THE Waffle House

There are some things that you just expect when you are on a 3am-after-party-food expedition. Granted at 3am, choice are limited to few establishments.

After partaking in my fair share of cold brew and closing down Coyote Joe's on Wednesday night, the whole load of us decided food was in order as it was late & we were packing a cool buzz. Never mind that my ass had to get up at 7:00am to finish brocolli casserole. So, personally, I was in need of coffee.

Where else would ya go at 3am on Thanksgiving morning for a little sobriety effort? Why, Waffle House, of course.

We wandered in giggling and cackling about anything and everything. All it takes for me to get tickled is enough beer and somebody else starting to laugh. No shit, laughing & yawning are contagious around me.

We finally played musical chairs long enough, got seated and our waitress came over. She was obviously annoyed that she was working and she was obviously even more annoyed that she was dealing with us. If you have to work that shift, at least make an effort to enjoy it.

Whatevers. This poor chick had the personality of a wet-sweat-sock. She took 2 of our orders, not speaking between, just sort of grunting at whoever happened to be next.

Just as she grunted toward #3, her cellie rang. The fact that she had her cellie on her was no big deal. Even the fact that it rang while she was waiting on us was no really big deal even. But when the bitch cut me off mid-order to answer it, now that just pissed me off. Her side of the conversation went this-a-way.

"I gotta answer this." She grunted as she lowered her head, still facing our table(presumably so her boss wouldn't see).

"Hello? Who is this? Who is this?" She acted like she didn't know who HE was.

"Who the hell is this, I'm at work and I have customers." Why the hell would you tell somebody you don't even know that you are currently at work and are waiting on them?

"Jesus, Robert. No, I'm not talking to anyone else." She DID know his ass.

"How can I be cheating if I'm working?" Apparently, Robert didn't have any faith that she was truly working. I guess that Waffle House distinct waffle and bacon smell being emitted by her apron wasn't enough proof.

Taucha, my drunk monkey friend, decideds she wants to talk to Robert. So, the waitress obliges (and takes another little bit of our order). After only 2.7 minutes, Taucha hands her the phone back and says to our lovely server, "Lose him, girl. He's a dick."

Mario getting on the phone didn't help. It made Robert believe that she really was in the cubicle of a bathroom bangin' the customers.

We all figured Robert would show up waving a semi-automatic threatening to blow up the Waffle House and everyone in it because in his head he believes that his girl was fucking us all.

Get a grip, pal. Let the girl bring home the bacon in piece you loser.

Twin Blow Out - PreGame Festivities

[ Blogged in realtime, Wednesday, 20-Jun-2007, kinda like that stupid TV show 24, but without that asshat kid of Donald Sutherland’s… ]

Here we are folks. It’s a wonderfully balmy Wednesday night at CatScratch Jane’s. I’m sitting with a bird’s eye view of all the going’s on. Karaoke is getting ready to kick off and it looks as if all the regular crowd (good and bad) has started peppering in.

The Twin Blow Out is starting here tomorrow, but the biker boys on their motor-scooters are plentiful. The patio’s a-buzzing, the inside is buzzing. We’re looking forward to an eventful night. Bring on the singers.

A real blow-out, right? Uh. No. It’s another train-wreck. That’s what I get for being all amp’d up for a party! Thus far we have heard a not-so-right-on rendition of “Live and Let Die” (help me!). Now we are on to the worst drunken interpretation of “You Look So Good In Love” that I’ve ever heard… whining included.

The place is packed. Folks are piled up everywhere, inside and out. I’m dying for a beer. But dammit, it’s busy. I’m going to wither up and fall in the floor from lack of alcohol. But as I sit here, waiting for Cutie Pie (our beer wench) to surface, I think to myself “Damn, girl! You’re hair looks gooood!”

Finally! A hot guy is getting up to sing. I missed his name, but he’s wearing a polo shirt and baseball cap. He’s singing Toby! You go, boy! Mercy me, yes. He sure should have been a cowboy.

I’m still waiting on my beer. It’s nearly 10pm. Through the open windows I hear the clank of the triangle being busted by a gaggle of pool shooting biker boys. Now and then a loud, orgasmic burst of noise comes when one of the bikes fire up.

Ya know, Christmas is coming up. Harley. Under the tree. Big red bow. Thanks in advance to whomever decides to make this purchase for me. I’m obliged.

Finally, at 9:55pm, Mark drags his ass in. ”Log the time, Scotty!” He has mercy and goes to hunt Cutie Pie for my beer. Bless you, hon. I was withering.

By 10 I’m thinking, “I thought this was going to be the kick off to a bad ass biker weekend party… it’s more like B-97.5 night in the local geriatric ward.” Never has an hour seemed more like ten. Never have I wanted someone to shoot me in the ears worse than I do right this very minute. “Log the time, Scotty!”

10:01. Scotty is so excited to be here that he’s taken to watching the drag queens on the t.v. above the bar. *snicker* You dirty boy, you. But wait: Here comes Nike! He’s belting out some bad ass Lionel Ritchie love song, The boy possesses the ability to wake up a bored and otherwise depressed drinking crowd.

Oh my, what’s this? The heavens have opened up and some good singers with some happy ditties are now on a roll. Joe hops up and belts out a soulful blues number (he really rocks the hell out of the blues). Now if we can talk him into losing his “Bat Outta Hell” CD… *wink wink* You know I love ya, Joe.

I belted out some goodies too, if I do say so myself. I dueted with Cowboy Billy-Joe-Tom-Bob and sang “Dontcha.” He kicks ass on the rap part. Freestyle baby!
I then attempted to do the night justice, with Nike’s help, by belting out “At Last” … the Etta James classic. Choice. Very choice.

My news reporter skills are being diminished by the amount of cold beer and Jack Daniels I have consumed. At this time, all I can really say is that everytime I get up from my corner booth, I end up grabbing this poor girls ass. So, I end up making light of it, in my regular Diva style. I own up to it. I look her in the eye and tell her, “I’m sorry for grabbing your ass everytime I get walk by!”

“Log the time, Scotty!” It’s 11:14, and I’m drunk. Food ordered. Yah! I comment to Scotty that we are evil. He says “No, we’re just honest.” Good one.

Finally. Something note-worthy. A drunken skank finally falls out of her chair into the floor. NEXT! Scotty dies laughing, and notes the time is 11:23.

Food on tap. CatScratch has the best food around. Especially if too much alcohol has been consumed. Cue the onion rings.

And the french fries.
Scotty is in the loo, so I’m logging the time as 11:34.

So, if tonight was any forecast of the drunken festivities that are to go on for the next several days at CatScratch… all I can say is WOW! Good luck with that!
I maintain here and now, I’m Diva enough to stay on the porch, because I certainly can’t keep up with the big dogs. *rolls eyes*