Cruising & Boozing & Snoozing

There are only so many times you can bitch about the weather.

Having lived the majority of my life close to the pacific coast, I really had no appreciation for what real “weather” was, or any understanding of the privileged fucking paradise/biodome I had been birthed into.
Merry Christmas from San Diego
(photo actually taken on Christmas)

Instead, with my move to the Midwest, the faint memory of what a warm day feels like, dies by the hour.

Living through a Chicago winter is exactly like what a dog goes through when it’s castrated. The circular balls that provided warmth to your neither region have been removed, leaving you with a cold and sterile existence. You are reminded of the atrocity by wearing weird head gear for the remainder of your recovery. Yes, this long, brutal, never ending winter had not only sucked all the joy out of everyone’s bits but had caused us to keep our head hidden behind awkward and weird hats.

Fuck fashion you bitch, I'm trying to SURVIVE!
This polar vortex especially, took the insanity of winter to an entirely new level. Have you experienced a cold so deep, that when you walk outside to take out the trash, your butt cheeks tighten up for fear that the cold air will enter through your anus and freeze you from the inside out!?!?!?!?!


I am DYING out here you guys!!!!!!

SO when I got the email from Lady D that she had discovered a bahama get away cruise that cost as much as I spend on a weekend trip to Target, one thing came to my mind “HOLY FUCK I NEED TO FIND MY PASSPORT!”

Fast forward to the following Friday, at 3am. Lady D would be outside in our chariot (yellow cab) and we would be whisked away to the magical O’Hare aiport!

She greeted me cozily in the backseat with eyes kissed by the morning light “are you ready?”

Mai-tais, models, mojitos and maybe a moonlit makeout on the pool deck with a brazillian named Fredericko. I dunno man, I was so ready to get the fuck out of Chicago, I was ready for ANYTHING!

We arrived at the O’hare, printed our passes, waltzed through security (thanks in no part to our WASPY surnames, fuck you TSA) and awaited our first departure.

The trip to our cruise ship required a stop in North Carolina to connect us to Miami, then we had to pull into the port and get on board the ship. One night at sea and we’d wake up Saturday on a white sandy beach as a cover band plays UB40.

However there was a slight hiccup when we landed down in Charlotte. Somehow we had booked a “ghost flight” meaning we purchased tickets from an airline on a flight that didn’t exist. We were now stuck in the south, without an exit strategy.

Lady D got down to business: we ran across the airport to a variety of agents, she dialed a few 800s, she sort of yelled err raised her voice at one woman, then we took a breather at the airport bar where I chugged too much Rum and coke until we were notified that we would be leaving Civil War America and on the next flight to MIAMI!

But we lost time, A LOT of time, so once we landed we had to sprint the entire length of the MIA airport, screaming at strangers “WE NEED A TAXI! WE NEED A TAXI!” hoping that by causing panic and confusion we would be able to cut to the front of the line.

Plan worked ….cab loaded, enginges revving and here is where we met Maria.

Maria is a 4 foot tall leather faced Haitian woman who has been driving cabs for the last 30+ years. For 3 months out of the year, she drives a yellow cab, saving every nichol and dime to then head back to Haiti for the next 9 months to relax and live off her riches (Total Boss). She let us know that back at home SHE has a driver, and a maid, and a dude who comes over and rubs the bunions off her feet. Maria is a goddess, her demeanor let us know that she only is doing this work so that she can coil back into her domestic bliss abroad.

Maria also OPENLY shared with us about her time as a drug mule for a Miami cartel, all the children she had birthed and probably abandoned across the US, the nose bleeds she magically acquired in New York and the fact she fucking HATES California but LOVES North Dakota (that's a REAL thing?!?!?).  Despite her insane storytelling, oh and a song she sang for us, this indigenous witch doctor with a drivers license was exactly what we needed to get us to the port in time, because her tiny feet were filled with lead! She literally drove 70 miles the entire way getting us to the check in line with 15 minutes to spare. (Granted they don’t take cards in Miami, so that was another ordeal to get the $20 bucks we owed her, but we made it in time, and in line for our VACATION DESTINATION!)

We hadn’t even gotten on the boat yet, and so much had already happened. I couldn’t wait to see what else was in store!

Now, having never been on a cruise before I had no idea of what to expect. I envisioned some sort of romantic get away, half dressed men in sun tan lotion walking in European board shorts that grabbed their ass and accentuated their package, cruising up and down the pool deck…..

I've wanted this to happen since I was 10 years old

That’s not what we got.

We got large families where the term “rhythm method” must never have even been discussed  as everyone was as fertile as cats! People on their death bed being wheeled around each floor before juggling shows and buffet lines, there was even a man on a gurney in the casino! We got foreigners (YAY!) we got old people (OF COURSE!) we got family reunions (SURE?) we got tech retreats (WTF?). It was a floating prison for the world's most diverse type of people  who all enjoy their meals planned out and their tackiness, sky high.

Now I should backtrack because I love humanity, I love people, and this trip was going to fulfill every people watching desire I ever had!! But I also heavily fanaticized about getting it in or on somewhere on the lower deck, titanic style. It sunk in rather quickly that my last minute decision not to wax wasn’t going to burn me in the end after all because there was no way I was going to get all “LOVE BOAT” on this trip unless it was with an 89 year old man between catheter changes.

Lady D already was smitten with someone in Chicago, and I tried to turn my flirting with our server into something more, but that wasn’t going to happen either.... so we agreed then just to focus surviving the next few days and have as blissful and stressfree of an experience as we could! Granted, that meant a lot of food, a lot of booze and a lot of quality sleep, and we accomplished EVERY GOD DAMN ONE OF THOSE TASKS LIKE CHAMPS!!!!!

As an aside, it should be noted that boat living can vary depending on your birthright. Now if you’re one of the indentured servants that has escaped the confines of your developing country to work abroad this ship for 7 months out of the year, serving us the best steak one can fit in a microwave oven, your experience is vastly different than the thousands of people who cycle through every 4 days.

On our particular stint we were greeted with 12 women celebrating their 50th birthdays. I’ll put it out there, if I can somehow fit into BEBE outfits during midlife, and actually look fuckable in it, then you know I’ve made it. These woman all are that and more. Fierce, beautiful, youthful, but gracing with a fuck ton of dignity. They commanded attention at the WHITE PARTY, they commanded attention at the FIRE DRILL, they commanded attention when GANGHAM STYLE played 50 times in a row on the pool deck, but fuck if they deserved all of it.

THIS but with minimal English

On the other end of the spectrum was the sweet and bitter sister duo we met who ventured to the Bahamas to escape the crippling cold in the North East. One was a nurse whose husband was a doctor and children were PhD students, the other was a tree troll who was probably living in a bridge back home. The other thing that united them was a smiliar DNA pattern passed down from their parents, but the two of them couldn’t be more opposite. Luckily, our first breakfast was spent with them, which was “special” only to run into the elder sister hog tied in a hammock with plastic bags carrying junk tied to her ankles.

So in between our social observations, D and I got to do what we truly wanted to do the entire time, and relax. We finally found our way to that illustrious white sanded beach with the clearest and warmest waters, we drank slushie concoctions that gave you a headache after a few sips, and watched chineese people learn how to jet ski. It was heaven, I mean seriously, heaven!

I even got to reunite with the sun. It had been so long since I had seen him, that after 4 hours my face was blistered, almost as if he decided that kissing my face wasn't enough, he'd rather full on face fuck me.

Was it worth it? Oh god yes.

After 3 days at sea, we had to venture back to Miami for a night where we walked the warm streets and were overwhelmed by the beauty of everyone in South Beach. We ate sushi, and drank mojitos, and got the shakes thinking about coming back.

When we got into the plane and crossed into Illinois, we waited till the last possible moment to put our parkas back on. As we entered the white covered city, we thought about all the people with unique accents who had just served us, especially that one chick from Mesopotamia who gave us the hook up for the water park. We reflected on the Canadian/Russian tech guys we had partied with till 4 am, that had urchased enough vodka redbulls to induce a heart attack in us. And most importantly we wondered if that old crazy woman was going to keep harassing those three little goats who only wanted to cross her bridge. 

Cruise living is a wonderful and special way of life. And if you get the chance to escape the tight grip Winter has around your neck, try to get away for just a weekend. 

Yes, Lady D, and the sun and I had a fantastic few days, we both literally almost cried when we had to leave him, knowing it’d be 4 months until I probably would see him again. But when summer comes, you know we’re gonna be ready.

Home, bittersweet, Home


If At First You Don't Succeed, TRY TRY TRY TRY TRY TRY & TRY Again!

I wish I remembered the first house party I ever went to, I don’t. I don’t remember the first time I decided hanging out at the movie theater at the mall on my weekends wasn’t WILD enough anymore. Yes, getting into fist fights after seeing Crossroads was nutty, but I wanted more out of life…something MORE rebellious, and gnarly, and truly detrimental to the development of my frontal lobes................I wanted to PAAAAARTY damn it!!!

There comes a point in every party girls life, when she moves up from juvenile levels of fun
(sneakily watching episodes of MTV’s The Real World at her non-religious friends’ house while drinking mountain dew) to more adult levels of fun (sneakily watching two people engage in hooking up on the back porch swing while drinking boone’s farm).

When I first started to party, the sneaky routine would be the same every week, Mom and Dad would ask where I was going with my best friends, and I would say “their house for a sleepover”, I’d pack a backpack with one shirt, a slutty one to change into later, and some flared LEI’s before we’d drive off in a white tacoma. Next, we’d venture to either the basement of a stoner boy whose parents neglected him, or we’d meet up at a taco shop parking lot and plan our night from there.

Don't tell MOM, we're not headed to YOUTH GROUP!
If we were lucky enough to know of someone whose parents were wealthy enough to go out of town (the Smiths) we knew we had a HOUSE PARTY on our hands.

It was at these events I’d learn about beer bongs, second base, and the important of knowing how to roll a joint, or at least how to hit one.    
These living room soirees continued into college, but all good things must come to an end. Eventually house parties simply grow out of fashion, you asking your friends to throw $5 in for a keg, gets replaced by throwing money down for a cab. Closet make outs in strangers houses, turn into disabled bathroom stall sex in a dive bar.

I am now in my mid twenties (late twenties?) and am actually nostalgic for those epic, wild times that happened in a shitty house, with deplorable carpet, not working toilets, and never enough alcohol.....

And then in the midst of a conference call at work, I got the text invite to TWO HOUSE PARTIES!!!! That's SO MUCH HOUSE PARTY!!! WHAT DOES ONE DO!?!?!?!

I rushed home from work ready to put on my hottest non flaired jeans, when I hit a wall. I was a tad bit exhausted from a work week, so I decided to take a light “cat nap” to restore my levels of energy before I hit the town, HARD. 

Except........................... the “cat nap” turned into a mild coma. I woke up at midnight!!! FUCK YOUR LATE TWENTIES!!!! Once I rubbed the sleep from my eyes I noticed a plethora of texts and missed calls and some total FOMO, I was pissed. I missed all those initial party interactions where everyone is sober, and will have nothing to compare it to when everyone is wasted.

I threw mascara on, grabbed a red sweater, and bolted out the door. With it being so late, I had to choose one party to attend, and because I’m lazy I just walked to the one nearest to me.

So into the time capsule to 2005 and ooooooooh fuck, everyone’s at a level 10!! I’m so behind. And there’s no booze. And the liquor store is closed. AND GAH, this feels exactly like being 15 again. I barely know anyone, I don’t fit in, why is everyone so happy the Cure is playing right now.
You try walking into this scene sober!!
And then an angel from above descended down to me, and escorted me to a private room and offered me some candy.

I took one lick, and then another, and then for old times sake another. And yes, it might have tasted like discarded kitty litter as it went down my throat, but that’s just the way fun times taste, maaaaaaaan.

The only part I remember from his story of where he acquired the goods was “from a stranger, at lollapalooza” 

Was that a while ago?
Do drugs expire?
Did he say stranger? Oh fuck it, yolo.

So fast forward an hour. Mid conversation with someone about something unimportant when it hits me. I mean SIRENS begin ringing in my ears, firecrackers are exploding in my head, the lights in the room get brighter, my pupils explode and I interrupt the stranger in front of me to say these four words as slow as I possibly can “WHOAAAAAAAAA, I’M HIGH AS FUCK!”
do as I say, not as I do
Keep in mind, this came entirely out of left field. For that last 15 minutes we were standing in the corner having casual conversations about Rush Limbaugh when the fire drill went off in my brain. And obviously as the state I was in, this conversation was way too fucking slow for what I wanted to be doing. So I walked away, or ran. I ran away and instantly began circling around this house party looking for someone else to be on my level.
Alas, no one was.
No one.
So I left.
I left the party high as fuck.
At 3 am.
I left the party, high as fuck, alone, on a cold night in Chicago, and proceeded to walk home.

But halfway through my walk home, I had a better idea. Why not call this guy I had been hanging with recently, and surprise him by showing up at his house! Ya, that would be brilliant. No worries that we hadn’t mentioned meeting up this night, and really hadn’t talked in the last few hours, but in my evolution from house party enthusiast to BURNING MAN participant, I had convinced myself NOTHING was more romantic than a surprise visit to a guys house.
So I walked the 14 blocks to his apartment.
High as fuck.
I get there to discover ALAS the front door to his building is closed. No problem, I decide this would be the appropriate time to call him…except he didn’t answer.
It’s ok, I’ll call again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
This continues 14 more times.
Oh wait, there’s a listing of all the people who live in this building, if I just go through it and find his last name, I can dial in to his place.
So I dial. And no answer.
I’ll just push the little buttons again.
To no answer.
And again…to no answer.

If at first you don't succeed, TRY TRY again!

With each dial of his number, and each punching in of his apartment, I was more determined than ever to get through. And then I realized “THERE HAS TO BE A BACK DOOR!”

So over a fence, through a walk way, behind some rose bushes and into a backyard I went, to jump a fence again and get to the back door, which was now locked. It’s ok, i’ll bang on it. No one answered because it is now almost 4am, on a Friday night, and who the fuck would answer the cries from a deranged white woman pounding on the back door of a building, screaming some guys name.

I felt defeated, temporarily, until I got the idea to get UNDER his window. Nevermind, he was on the top floor of this extremely tall apartment building, I was going to jump over a fence, and position myself tightly between two buildings, guess where his window was located, and call up to the heavens until he heard me.


At this point, nothing.

More phone calls, a hand ful of texts, an email with thrown in there. And nothing.
In my drug fueled haze, I finally felt the feeling of defeat.
44 calls, 7 texts, one email, and me wailing like a cat in heat from below.


The boy didn’t wake up.

I dragged myself back to my bed, and despite my mild heart palpatations and the room spinning around me, I was able to kind of close my eyes, or at least stare straight at my bedroom door on my side…and began counting to infinity.

Around 8 am I passed out, only to get a phone call 30 minutes later, from the guy who had just woken up from his SOMBER sleep inquiring to why the fuck I had called so many times and if I was ok.

I didn’t want to tell him that I went to his house unannounced and contemplated scaling the walls to his apartment like spider man, I didn’t want to let him know that I almost googled the property manager to see if he’d let me in at 4 am, and I didn’t want him to know that I saw the security camera outside the front door and was hoping that by mouthing the words “LET ME IN” someone on the other side would unlock the door. I also didn't want him to know that I have a mild reaction to illicit substances and officially will never take drugs from a stranger AGAIN!

But I did tell him, and somewhere in his weird heart he thought it was adorable.
Fucking house parties.


Encino Man Gives Me Night Terrors

**this post was originally written August 24, 2011 but sometimes things seem fit to repost from an earlier time

When I got the phone call from my best friend that her boyfriend of two years had decided he no longer wanted to be a part of their relationship, my heart sank for her. Not so much because it was over, fuck him, but because I knew the journey that she was about to embark on: 

The erratic-ness
The drunkenness
The crying fits
The googling of the word “break ups” as if the internet is going to have an answer for how to survive this!!!!!  (And fuck you IMDB.com that’s not what I’m looking for!!) 

Granted I am thrilled she is now on the market and can dance her ass off shamelessly at HiFi with me while seducing the best SF has to offer at 2am, but break ups suck and this is going to be a looooong journey.
When a significant other decides that they no longer want to be with you, your entire world seems to crumble all at the same time! It’s like a spiritual earthquake except instead of the bay bridge collapsing on cars and killing innocent people, it’s your metaphorical heart falling out of its socket….which is much worse.
One of my more memorable dumping experiences happened a few years ago: While drinking a six pack, watching Encino Man with previously mentioned best friend (and devouring Woodstock’s pizza) my college boyfriend determined this would be the ideal time to barge into my living room and break up with me.
(door kicked open)
K: “uh hey weren't expecting you over, just watching Brendan Frazier’s award winning performance as a cave man, I hope you’re not here to give me bad news and ruin my day?”
Ex bf: “Listen K, this barbacking gig is taking off, I don’t want to be tied down by a girlfriend when flirting with other girls over Washington Apple shots, I’m going to be single. So we’re done. By the way, I’m also totally sleeping with someone else and we’re probably going to get married. Later babe.” (runs out door and zooms off in a Honda with TuPac blasting)
Even tampon glasses couldn't have prevented the water works from exploding out of my eye sockets that second! PS guys, if you’re gonna dump a girl while she’s watching a film, try to do it in the middle of Australia or some other shit movie she won’t watch again! I developed PTSD every time I hear Paulie Shore’s voice.
Now I had a bit of an unconventional reaction. Granted, I was devastated . . .  for about 30 seconds. . .  before I called and left a message on my bosses voicemail that I was feeling sick that night and probably wasn’t going to be at the work the next day (planning ahead for my emotional meltdown). I then opened up a fifth of vodka and mass texted all my friends that despite it being a Wednesday we were going to rage that night. . .and rage we did. I knew the next few months were going to be a rotating door of psychotic emotions, so tonight let’s just pretend everything is dandy and dance, in the morning I’ll cry myself into oblivion.
For women especially, we’re highly emotional creatures! So embrace it! The louder you cry, the redder your face, the puffier your eyes- the better it will be. If you don’t look like a sobbing blow fish with black mascara running down those blood red cheeks, you’re doing something wrong! I have been on the receiving end of a break up more than once, so believe me when I say that you really do have to put inhibitions out the window and be prepared to embrace your inner crybaby. Ask my beloved friend HR, she once intercepted a phone call from me walking up and down the aisles of RiteAid just blubbering!!!!
He broke up with me, and he took the wallpaper with him!!!!
Rite Aid Backstory: I didn’t have a kleenex and refused to use my sleeve to wipe the snot and tears from my face, so I walked and wept and walked and wept and just let it all drip down, meanwhile the attendants are horrified that this giant ghoulish wailing creature is having some sort of exorcism in the greeting cards section.
Rite Aid Attendant: “escuse me lady, you need to do your public crying elsewhere, dis is a place of business”
K: (hyperventilating) “do you. . .  have ANY. . . .  idea what it’s like. . .  to have the love of your life move 2000 miles away only to break up with you over gchat!!! AHHHH GAHHHH WAAAAA UGHHHHH AHHHHHHHH WAAAAAA”
Rite Aid Attendant: (into loud speaker) “can we have security in the Hallmark aisle”
Honestly, the first few days. . .weeks. . .even months after the “divorce” you are going to be sensitive, so avoid the things that provoke the unnecessary emotions of inadequacy. The one thing about the dreadful breakup that plagues everybody is suddenly not feeling worth it- despite the fact you ARE worth it! 

Honestly, we’re a good judge of people here at Haight and Hyde (except when we’re horny and blacked out, then we don’t give a fuck who or WHAT you are). We know you truly are amazing, duh!! Trust us, you will get desperate and cling to the one person that once made you feel awesome, visiting their facebook page and holding on to voicemails they left you, conveniently forgetting the fact that this same person just stomped on your beating heart and turned it into flesh confetti .
FYI- I swear nobody breaks up once, so you may have signed yourself up for 12 more months of torture trying to win him back. This is straight pathetic, but do it anyways. Trust us, despite everyone telling you to save your time, energy and frequent flyer miles, you gotta do what you gotta do. Even if that means watching Say Anything over and over again until you’re convinced your ex is going to show up at your house with boom box in hand to win you back.

Once you’ve been re-welcomed into the world of singleness the best thing you can do is surround yourself with love. Normally this would be your best girlfriends, your mom, your sisters, or your favorite college guy friends who will remind you that he wasn’t that awesome of a boyfriend anyways and “didn’t deserve you”, they may even remind you how “special” you truly are by getting you liquored up and trying to fingerblast you on a dancefloor (true love?!). Whoever you choose, make sure they’re awesome. I was blessed with a plethora of rocking people in my life who fully took advantage of my new found freedom by keeping me continually inebriated while having my phone in their back pockets to prevent those desperate late night text messages, you know the:
“bahby itz m e,icant libe without yu” or the painful “wwwhhhyyyyy????!!!!” or the “im about to fuck someone else right now, bitch asshole”
Of course we’re all fully aware alcohol is a depressant, so your friends should be prepared for whatever this happens to set off. Granted, if you’re a few long islands deep having the time of your life at a popular dance spot sometimes referred to as the Library, and the realization that the only person who has hit on you the entire night is an albino trash man with one leg who happens to be wearing a a top hat INSIDE a bar, singleness starts to sting a little bit! But your best friends will be prepared to carry your limp, sobbing body all the way back home and will try to see the good in the situation
Evan:”K, I love you so much and gay love is just as good as straight love!”
If your friends are not amazing and can’t comprehend why you’re acting like such an psychotic mess and refuse to take care of you during this “period of transition” and you happen to pass out in the back of the bar in a puddle of mud let’s hope an EMT, the local police department or a rocking bartender are willing to do it for them (or in my case, an amazing girl with the heart of a lion and the strength of 10 jesus's! I love you JC for saving my life on more than one drunken occasion. Even putting make up on my blacked out face to make me prettier before i died).  

In all seriousness though, your friends love you and at this age we’ve sadly all been here before. So if you are not the one going through a break up, but a fellow amiga is. . .then give her the biggest gift you can, your presence. If I hadn’t had the love and support of my friends, I can imagine me being in the same spot Edna ends up in The Awakening (Spoiler Alert: for those of you that weren’t smart enough for AP English literature, she kills herself in the end).
And in regards to the ex, I don’t care how many letters you write, sexts you send, care packages you prepare. . .he made up his mind about the situation, so believe him:
You can spend minutes, hours, days, even months analyzing a situation. Trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, should've, would've happened, or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on

You Only Live Once, and some will live shorter than others
Don’t hate yourself and don’t waste energy hating him. Just move on and trust in the power of time. In the time between the “break up” and truly finding inner peace in your new identity, you have to just DO and you have to just GO. Do new things that make you happy, and go to places you didn’t have the time or energy to go before. In my case I got to go to a Montecito mansion in the Santa Barbara hills and watch fire breathers on stilts dance around a pool, take Grey Goose vodka shots out of an ice sculpture, feast on chipotle burritos and then get surprised by a 4am impromptu concert by a very coked out Mickey Avalon. Could I have done these things with a boyfriend? Sure. But was everything a shit ton more fun without one? Of course!!!! Surprisingly there are a lot of things that are fun now that you’re riding solo! Like getting fire men to drop you off at Grant & Green in a real life firetruck, or spending three incredible days in Chico, California trying to prevent yourself from being hit by random bullets at La Salle’s between $2 whiskey shots. Hell, it gave me the freedom to move to San Francisco! Had I known all the great things I would have done in the last year of my life, I would have written a thank you note to my ex!

Thanks for the therapy bill!

Ladies, you have to remember the motto Lady L, Lady M and I live by. . .You Only Live Once. So try life SOLO because YOLO! We have our entire lives to spend sharing a bed and a bank account with an aging man child, so really take time now to appreciate the amazing life you have before you when its only YOU, you have to worry about. You have been regifted the opportunity to determine your course without thinking of someone else. You can stay where you’re at, move away, go back to school, sleep in, sleep naked, sleep with strange but adorable men, dance with stranger more adorable me, dance with friends, you can watch Noah’s Ark on Netflix, you can youtube videos of the Ukranian Dog Girl and not feel judged for laughing, you can go weeks without shaving your LEGS! Everything is Wonderful, and it takes a moment of true agonizing pain to recognize how fantastic the world really is.


Lady F & the Company Party

I’ve always heard that you shouldn’t dip your pen in the company ink - which by the way, merits an entirely separate discussion because it clearly refers to a man’s penis and leaves out lady parts altogether, and what if I wanted to make a move instead and kiss someone with my secondary lips? – I digress…..throughout the beginning my first real job, I “successfully” adhered to that rule. Successfully......meaning I went for people outside of my department or who sat so far away that I wouldn’t have to risk seeing them in person more than once a week. But overall, I thought I did well considering I worked in a place filled with smart, relatively attractive people my age.

That all got ruined once I had a drunken run in with a coworker one weekend, which lead to a pretty harmless hookup that turned into a majorly difficult situation once I remembered we sat RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER.
you think he can hear my heartbeat over the Pandora he's playing?
Right next to each other, as in I could hear every word he said on the phone, I could monitor his breathing patterns, I could measure the speed of his typing by the amount of click clacks per minute on his keyboard. Most alarming was that at any point, and I mean ANY POINT, he could casually lean over the 2 inch thick cube wall that separated us and say something witty about abused blind kittens and I would literally have NOWHERE to go but into the depths of his eyes. OH THE INCONVENIENCE!

I worked myself into a frenzy of attraction towards him over our daily work interactions, which I of course lathered with much more significance than he did.

Him casually asking me how my weekend went, turned into a 20 minute analysis over what exactly he meant because no one is actually ever interested in how your weekend is! I mean, he asked with a slight eyebrow raise! Thus he so wanted to know if I had gone out on any dates so he could size up the competition. And he made eye contact with me, which translates into him obviously wanting to spend the rest of his life with me. Plus he addressed me by my NAME, if he didn’t like me he would have called me “thing”.

Flirtation anxiety aside, I was able to keep most of my dignity afloat during that period…………… until our company holiday party.

Our party was a huge event. My job included helping to plan, orchestrate and execute the festivities, meaning I got there early and stayed on shift for the first two hours to make sure nothing was going wrong. It was like being an un-glorified chaperone at Sadie Hawkins, except your high school’s budget was 20 Million dollars, and the music wasn’t provided by a 36 year old impotent DJ named Stan, but by Florence and the Machine.

This turned from Classy to Trashy
once the vodka luge was introduced

To stay on task but still enjoy myself, I decided I would alternate non-hard alcoholic drinks with water until 10pm, when the dancing would begin and most of the higher ups would have left, so I wouldn’t be worried about losing my job for showing the entire human resources department the proper way to “freak”. But that plan went to shit when I decided "I'll just drink champagne only until 10pm," which then turned into “I’m having a rare anorexic occasion where I’m working and too excited to eat anything besides half of this mini cheeseburger.” I wound up quite tipsy by 10pm, which set the stage for a night of great decision-making.

Going along with my “responsible” drinking notion, I waited for approximately 10:01pm before I said,
"It's after 10! Let's take shots!" and hustled my roommates to one of the nearby OPEN bars. We all took a shot, then the bartender said "Another!" and everyone said “NO! We respect ourselves and our jobs, being responsible means saying no at a company sponsored event!” and me and my roommate who doesn't get hangovers (I think she’s part unicorn) didn’t hear the cries of such boring and negative people so we said "YES MORE SHOTS AT THIS COMPANY PARTY TILL WE CAN’T FEEL OUR FACES!!!" Annnd there goes any salvageable future of my night into the trashcan, and any chance at becoming the next CEO.

The rest of the night then gets a little blurry, but I recall doing laps up and down the numerous floors of this ballroom as I looked for my cubicle crush since he hadn't yet seen me in my adorable cocktail attire. Then, maybe 20 minutes before the party ended, I managed to find him on the dance floor surrounded by a bunch of people from our work team.

I think there may have been one or two sentences exchanged,

Crush: Hey, you look great!
Lady F: Derrrrrrrrrp, gurrrrrrrrgle. Arrrggg.

I made Account Receivable jealous with my dance moves!

 And then judging by my pictures, I did what any (twelve year old) girl does to show she likes a guy and completely ignored him. Instead taking half decent pictures with my other friends which only highlighted how NOT GOOD ONE LOOKS AFTER TOO MANY SHOTS AT A COMPANY PARTY COMBINED WITH RUNNING UP AND DOWN FLIGHTS OF STAIRS TO FIND THE LOVE OF HER LIFE.
The company party concluded with me screaming that the DJ play my favorite song for the third time that night, and then being escorted out by my roommates into an Uber cab so we could head across SF to another party… YES, another party.

Now, one of my problems is that I'm a pretty functional drunk and you can't tell when I'm wasted, which leads to people allowing me to order the aforementioned shots as well as other drinks despite the fact I am 5 jaeger bombs away from cirrhosis of the liver. However, once we reached the next party, it became quite apparent that I was beyond wasted since I was trying to prop myself up against the wall like a drunken scarecrow. After who knows how long, I decided I had celebrated enough and was now horny. The only solution to this was to send myself home and somehow convince my cubicle crush to trek across town to spend the night with a girl who ignored him at the company party.

Problem number 2 (because as described above, a wasted girl is normally not the prettiest girl) There were no cabs in the area where I was standing. No worries, I decided it would be totally appropriate to accept a ride from a strange guy who stopped on the corner and asked me if I wanted a ride home. My rationalization? He’s young, part Asian, and he has a hatchback. Guys with hatchbacks can’t fit themselves and an inebriated women in the trunk to rape, I should be fiiiiiiiiiine. I got into the car for a short ride home from this nice guy who admittedly, was a little drunk, but like I said, it was a short ride and I was desperate. He did proceed to try and call me 500 times once he dropped me off saying he just needed a place to lie down for a little and drink some water because he was actually too drunk to drive home. Ah, there's the serial killer rapist in him I was expecting. At least he was too DRUNK while driving to do it when I was in the car. 

Now you might be wondering why I didn’t try to contact my coworker before heading home to see if he would even meet up with me, avoiding the Zodiak killer situation altogether. See, I do this thing when I have a crush on someone and I've drunk texted them awkwardly to no avail and I don't want to repeat that same mistake: I write their number on a post-it and leave it at home so I don't drunk dial them when I'm out. The problem is then I leave establishments for the sole purpose of going home to get these post-its. I have actually crawled up the steps of my house when I was too drunk to walk to find one of these tucked away in my desk (prime hookup state, of course). So I get home. Call my coworker. Nothing. Wait approximately 20 minutes. Call again. And proceed to leave voicemail that I have NO recollection of.

Once it becomes clear this isn't going to happen, my mind switches over into hookup survival mode and what do I do? I call a different work guy, who I was genuinely trying to be friends with but who had made too many not-subtle comments hitting on me for me to ignore up to that point. That night he had asked me to come over to “cuddle” and my response to that was to text him, "Come over here and you won't be sorry." OH DEAR GOD, WHY. Why am I speaking like I'm in a Lifetime movie about a woman who gets revenge on her violent ex husband by luring him into her home with the promise of SEXUAL FAVORS?
This movie also applies
to my past lovers

 (Though admittedly I’m also guilty of using the phrase “I’m going to fuck your brains out,” on a college fling, so maybe I just need to accept that I have a Jenna Jameson version of tourettes and call it a day.)

So I got super high, because being wasted just wasn’t enough, and eventually work guy #2 came over, and we made out between me stuffing my face with cheetos. Then I fell asleep, with Cheetos in my mouth, which leads me to believe that he left the night feeling at least somewhat sorry since I don’t think I even managed a handy and probably snored promptly upon passing out, or if that I did attempt a handy, his dick probably would have turned orange….from the Cheetos.

I ended my night .5 for 2, which helped me wean myself off of the pool of coworkers for future use. That and the fact I eventually had to hear that voicemail I left on my coworker’s phone, where I adopted a slurred foreign accent for about thirty-six seconds but thankfully didn’t belie my actual intention of wanting to jump his bones (or get high and fall asleep, in a more realistic scenario). I learned many important lessons that fateful night, though I’m still apt to believe that hatchback drivers are a trustworthy population for those of us in need of a ride! And if you ever have the inkling to dip into the company ink, just dip into the company alcohol reserve instead.


Lady H "Dukes" it Out

Every girl at one point in her life has gone through the post break up re-virginization. She swears off men, relationships (friends inrelationships) and most of all sex. It’s a time when we drink a lot of wine, swear OFF rom-coms and sit with our friends saying,

“I just can’t get turned on anymore… I can’t imagine having sex with anyone else!”

Eventually we all WAKE THE FUCK UP and thus begins the exciting (brought on by copious amounts of alcohol) journey to get back on the horse.
This is not what I hand in mind

And THAT is where this story begins.

I met my horse on a Snuggie Bar Crawl. You heard me, a bunch of drunk people wearing blankets. I was one of Snuggie’s Angels, He had written haphazardly across his snuggie, “DUKE SUCKS.”  How every great romance starts right?  It was about that time in the evening when your roommate is too drunk to stand and you’re too drunk to do anything but laugh.

The roomie managed a pep talk, “Go home with him, he’s tall, handsome, and YOU NEED TO GET LAID!” to which I reply, “I haven’t shaved my legs since prohibition, I don’t even know what’s going on down there.” Because let’s be honest ladies, shaving is as much fun as peeling potatoes (I’m looking at you mom), and if we’re swearing off men, we’re also swearing off upkeep and luckily the weather in San Francisco promotes fur.

After a debate over tequila, I drunkenly conceded, men really don’t care about that shit anyway, and let Duke carry me home. Literally. I was whisked away down Polk street to the mythical land some like to call the Marina.
almost as ridiculous as wearing a snuggie in a bar crawl...
Inhibitions to the wind (thank you tequila) we proceed in the “tear the other’s clothes off in random rooms of the apartment” phase of the date (which looks more like a failed attempt at contortionism). Let me remind you, I’m wearing a snuggie as a strapless dress with pins and tape holding me together.  As the bedroom begins to look like a Muppet murder scene, we’re both finally free and thus begins the hunt for big red (the endearing name I have entrusted to my vagina.)

This is the point in the evening where I suddenly become incredibly lucid and the sword fight (seriously that pun was not even intended!) begins. He moves right, I dodge left. A hand creeps, I make out words and noises to show my modesty. Now, I should probably tell you, I have no filter.

“Um, so, I haven’t shaved down there in a while.”

“Seriously, I’m an Amazon woman.”

You can put out my fire....crotch
As a ginger, I am proud of my roots and think pubic hair separates a woman from a girl. But this was a fiery jungle, a new adventure for all if you will. Duke was the winning contestant on Survivor and Jeff Probst was narrating our sexual escapade. 

The rest of the night was a blur, though being true to myself I brought up the furry vag again…

“Yeah, I’ve never experienced that before,” Duke offers, “but whatever.”

In the morning as I climbed into the cab wearing leggings and a snuggie shawl I felt empowered, “TO NORTH BEACH!” I proclaimed smiling at the cabbie through the rear view. 
Despite all the flopping and bush whacking that happened the night before, it was rewarding to be taking that cab of shame. Not like scoring tricks rewarding but self-awareness. For me that night marked a return to being truly single. Free from any emotional attachment, free to be the strong independent woman that we all have inside ourselves (that’s what she said).

Special thank you to Duke, you will forever be my horse.

Lady H


Mary J. Blige Got It Right

Underneath this ridiculous exterior, there is a beating heart with a desire to be…..loved!
After aggressively joining the dating scene following a big move and a broken heart in the beginning of 2011, this girl was determined to conquer two things:
  1. her ability to seek out wild adventure and fun in the form of awkward exciting dates 
  2. while simultaneously holding steadfast to her independence.

these women are NOT marching to register at Crate & Barrel

Now since writing this blog, I have had a ton of girlfriends (+EH) text or call to let me know that  along the way of these misadventures, I somehow inspired them to either take a leap of faith into the unknown, or just do something with the opposite sex (or same sex) they hadn't done before! (and to clarify that can be as simple as saying YES to a date, or as difficult as attempting to 69).

What? People were inspired, or moved? Are they really reading what has been written.......
And then my mom found this blog and was very concerned for my health and well being 
"I just wish you would use a little bit more discernment in your decision making"-Shazza

But it was never really about other people, as much as I guess this "journey" was for myself. Which brings out the Wonder Years style voiceover: 

What has been most revolutionary for myself during this process, is that I learned how to be carefree despite the chaos i'm surrounded with, that it's imperative I try new things even if they didn't end up in my favor, that big rewards in relationships require big risk, that there's a lot to be said about platonic love! Most telling of all, no surprise, was the revelation that I will constantly experience high levels of anxiety before a date regardless of how much wine I drink in preparation.

Now what happens when you're determined to maintain this carefree emotionally unattached existence because it frees you from disappointment, only to have one person break through that same rough exterior you've created over time?! 

Maybe you realize, "ummm I don’t really know if I want to casually date anymore, I kind of want to invest real emotion/time/intimacy into just one person......" 

TRUE LOVE = Casper & Christina
(which brought way more tears than Noah & Allie)
And what happens when you realize that this person is also establishing real feelings for you in return......  

I mean, bare with me, but what if you accidentally find someone that is actually capable of making you feel even more like the person you’re destined to be without forcing you to sacrifice any of the key elements that make you exactly who you are?!?! (and isn't the least bit freaked out by the amount of times you've relied on Craigslist for rides across the country)



Between 16, when I finally kissed a boy for the first time at my best friend's house while playing "suck and blow" (think the move Clueless not the movie 13), and 26, when I trekked 2,000 miles away from all my close friends and family to really foster my creative passions, I have been on a ton of dates with a ton of dudes in a ton of different circumstances!

Between the sociopaths .....
and the obsessives ....
and the ones that got away .....
or the ones I happily ran away from .....

........a lot that has occurred that has made me more clear on who it is I am, and who is it I want to be surrounded by. Although the ones that meant something to me at one point, might no longer be in the picture, they did instill in me a keener sense of self awareness and self worth. Now as I wade out of the dating scene, having felt there is a chance I may have finally connected with someone who means a real lot to me… I have decided to take a tiny break from actively putting my life in danger, or just dating in general, to try the "serious" thing for a bit.

symptoms of true love are:
spending times on beaches playing AIRPLANE
NOW this is where you guys come in, I am going to be taking some submissions and articles to keep Haight & Hyde (park) going. I have toyed with this for a long time, but because you readers are all fucking brilliant and hilarious, I really want to challenge you all to come up with a 2-3 page (double spaced) story about a dating escapade! It doesn't have to be extreme, it can actually be mundane, but If you guys create some real gems, email them to me, and we’ll find the right time to post. All stories will be as anonymous as you want them, even creating your own moniker (FYI: Lady L, K and M are taken!)
Excuses I expect to hear:
  1. I’m horrible with deadlines
  2. Nothing I write is funny
  3. If I am as honest as I should be, I’ll probably lose my job
  4. I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve ever engaged in a rimjob before
I don’t give a fuck. Just write something, and if you don't end up sending it to us at
at least print it out and save it in a shoe box under your bed, so if you die prematurely, someone can find it and be mortified at your dating patterns.

I look forward to some submissions!

Oh and lastly, DOES THIS MEAN MY WRITING IS DONE?! Not in the slightest, so don’t fret.

Lady K