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So, it’s my birthday. I have nothing planned. IT’S A LONG STORY, OKAY? I think I’m gonna see Star Trek with my mom and my dad is taking us to dinner afterwards. PLEASE, CHEECH, GIVE ME SUSHI. I HAVE NOT HAD SUSHI IN SO LONG.

This is what my life has become. Hanging out with my parents because I basically cut off every friend I ever had out of sheer embarrassment from not having a job for so long. Wonderful.

Anyhow, I got the cutest little birthday box in the mail from my bff -j. on GTI, and I wanna show it off, because he is always so creative and hilarious, and I basically died laughing when I opened it up.

birthdayj

Inside was:

  • a printed SEXY MORMON MENZ CALENDAR card thingie.
  • A DEGRASSI CARD WTF. Notice Marco’s WE ❤ PHRO hoodie, and my face pasted over STUPID ASHLEY. omg.
  • C E L I S S E Birthday candles. Apparently they ran out of L’s and E’s, so -j. got B’s and chopped them apart and melted them back together, LOLOLLLLL.
  • A TURTLE. A FREAKIN TURTLE!!!

It’s so sweet. I love my GTI friends when they are not totally making me want to vomit on them out of anger. <3.

Also, my iPhone is so greasy what the hell!

Thank you, -j. 🙂 You’re the best!

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[Cross posted to my Tumblr. I thought it could be relevant to my ACTUAL SITE. Go fig.]

Laurishly posting about her visit to the Toilet Seat Museum with Mermaidofthesoil made me laaaaugh, cos it remindedme of this crazy little place on Hollywood Beach called The Le Tub Saloon.

South Florida Tumblrs — have any of you been to this place?

It’s genuinely hilarious. As a South Florida native and as someone who used to work on Hollywood Beach and has thus driven up and down that strip of land huuuuundreds of times, I can attest to the fact that it’s easy to miss this place. It’s on A1A, facing the intercoastal, and hidden by tons of lush greenery. It’s easy to spot once you know it’s there, but yeah, it’s a HIDDEN JEWEL, that one.

So, my best friend Karla and I got invited by our friend Martie to her boyfriend’s friend’s birthday party at Taverna Opa on Hollywood one night. I don’t remember the exact details, but after waiting around for, seriously, over an hour (we saw that effing conga line circle the building at least seven times), for some reason we were denied entry — as is just par for course when I go out with Karla.

Dejected, grumpy, and hungry, Karla is like, “Well, we can go to Le Tub, it’s just a couple blocks up.” And off we went.

This place, man. It’s a friggen gem. It appeals completely to Karla’s and my sense of humor. There are tubs, sinks, and toilets scattered throughout this place. It is completely outdoors. When we got there, there were probably 5 people total enjoying the effing place, completely deserted, and really, really dark.

So we sat ourselves at a big picnic table overlooking the intercoastal: Myself, Martie, her boyf, Karla, and her boyf at the time. I’m constantly a fifth wheel — whatever.

Seriously

The server brings over some menus. They are hand printed. Haaaaaaand Priiiinted, on Xerox paper, with drawings scribbled on ’em. She then begins to list off all the items they don’t have available — which turns out to be most of the menu. Fabulous.

We ordered many rounds of beers and, like, french fries. We sat around and shrugged and giggled that this was a night that would only happen to us.

Then, it started to rain.

I mean, it couldn’t have been more perfect. Past midnight, sitting in the dark, surrounded by toilets, eating french fries and a lot of beer. In the rain.

To top it all off, they don’t take credit cards there, and I was the only homie with cash. The boys had to take turns walking to the nearest ATM (the one on premesis was busted, no joke), and I am almost positive that we all overpaid because attempting to split a check by cellphone light is pretty impossible.

So yes. Only on Hollywood Beach, basically. I give this place an A+++++ WILL DINE AGAIN (in bizarroland, maybe). But if you’re up for hilarious adventures, it’s definitely for you. Apparently they’ve got the best burger in America, or something. I wouldn’t know.

[Also, I don’t know what would possess someone to take a picture with their crying newborn under a toilet seat scrawled with the words “Le Tub Dumb Ass Club Newest Member,” but damn if Flickr doesn’t show me the most wonderful things.]

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It started on a Thursday afternoon. Location: Internet.

I was chillin at home, playing on GTI when I noticed this thread: Celisse, are you going? It beckoned to me. Hena had just informed me that one of my favorite people in music, Jay Z, was playing a free show in Miami — a voter registration rally for the Barack Obama campaign. I was immediately thrilled.

For those of you who don’t know, I am obsessed with Jay Z. I do not know why, it’s rather inexplicable, and totally hopeless. My headline on this blog comes from my favorite song by him. In fact, just a few hours before the thread in question, I had just posted an entry on OlyVil about My Favorite Hustla and My Favorite Hottie. It was kind of kismet.

I could pick up tickets to the show at any of the South Florida Vote for Change offices, and I was already planning to get up early the next day and pick up my own free pair of tickets for the Sunday night show at Bayfront Park, and also get some questions answered about the status of my registration (which is valid, thank goodness).

I failed to realize, however, that the tickets were being given out on THURSDAY, and it was already THURSDAY NIGHT. I had missed my chance! I immediately turned to The Craigslist to see if anyone was selling theirs. The prices for the FREE SHOW were outrageous. The cheapest I saw them was for $125 each. The most expensive? $400 each. For a FREE. SHOW. These people were clearly insane.

Refusing defeat, I decided that I’d spend Friday morning calling all 13 of the South Florida Obama offices, in the unlikely event that one of them was hiding some extra tickets someplace. The first three I called didn’t have any tickets. Four more offices didn’t even answer. But, one shining, gleaming little office in Hollywood gave me the news I might have wanted to hear: They didn’t have any more tickets for Sunday night. BUT. BUT BUT BUT!. The demand was so great, that Hov’ added a Monday afternoon show, and there would be tickets available for that on Saturday morning, and I could definitely get some if I came before 10am. WHAT?

The whole thing seemed pretty unbelievable. Was there really a second show added? I’d heard someplace that Jay Z was playing a regular show on Monday night in Tampa. A free Monday afternoon show seemed almost too good to be true. So I used the power of the Google, and found out that the news was TRUE, and that there was a second show added and that, provided I got to the office before they were out of tickets, I’d still have a chance to see my favorite rapper at an Obama rally in just a few days!

Nothing was going to stop me, not even the torrential rains that covered South Florida all weekend. Saturday morning came quickly, and I woke much earlier than I’ve been used to lately, and made my way to the Hollywood office. I got there at the same time as 4 other people, and we started the line outside the humble little door, where light rain turned into steady rain which turned into heavy rain. And there we stood, hoodies covering our heads, umbrellas dripping around us, for TWO HOURS, as the line grew longer and rowdier and more wet.

I’m going to skip the long and mostly unrelated story about the ASSHOLES that got there after we did who literally cut in line in front of us, one of whom was rude enough to block my way through the door before SLAMMING IT IN MY FACE, and just skip to the part where a sopping wet me excitedly gets my tickets, and made my way home to dry off and take a much needed nap.

I GOT MY TICKETS. All of my friends, and most of the internet knew about it, and I could not wait for Monday afternoon to come.

And it did come. I woke again, too early for my tastes, and headed to M’s house, totally ridiculously excited. The bad weather had finally passed over the Magic City and it was a sunny, INCREDIBLY hot day. We made our way to downtown, spent entirely too long finding parking, and walked hurriedly down the street to Bayfront Park.

There were tons of rally workers, rushing to get everyone registered to vote today, the last day to do so here in Florida. I wasn’t worried. M and I were already registered and have been for a while. But seeing the efforts made us feel a sense of.. pride? We’re not sure. But we did comment to each other that it was really cool to be at a rally, the first one either of us had been to before. Seeing Jay Z was just a bonus.

Only somewhat surprisingly, considering the day and time of the show, the place wasn’t nearly as packed as it was on Sunday night, the show that I missed out on. But I was fine with that, it meant I got to be closer to the stage to get some good pictures. We found some good, albeit burning hot seats right in the middle of the amphitheatre and sat down, and proceeded to sweat our entire faces off for the next half hour.

It was 12:30pm by the time we sat down, which was when the show was scheduled to start. It was going to begin any minute, and we were totally excited to be there. But 12:30 quickly became 12:40, which quickly became 12:45, which quickly became 1:00pm, and that’s when an Obama came out and told us the news:

I’m so sorry to tell you all this, but the show last night was such a phenomenal success that Jay Z actually strained his vocal muscles, and while he’s been with his doctors all morning, they advised him not to perform for this show. But please don’t hesitate to get registered and ….

From there, her voice was muffled by the roaring groans of the disappointed crowd. Wait, disappointed? I mean PISSED OFF. My friend and I lifted our hot, sweaty bodies off the benches we were sitting upon and joined the mass of people angrily stomping out of the park. Rally workers were still calling out to people to get registered, but they were met with the jeers and shouts of a livid crowd shouting back at them: “FUCK VOTING. FUCK THIS SHIT.”

M and I were pretty horrified, even though we were angry, and we got out of there as quickly as possible, stopping in Bayside to cool ourselves down in the pretty, air-conditioned shops throughout the mall by the bay.

We made it back to my car, and, kinda dejected (at least on my part) went back home, feeling our day was wasted. We could have been sleeping! Ugh.

So, I guess, some notes for the future:

  • Don’t get excited for free shows
  • Don’t bother trying to get tickets to free shows, especially if it means standing in the rain (I feel a heinous cold coming on, man.)
  • Always bring plenty of water
  • Beware of scary angry people

This was so typical. THANKS A LOT, LIFE.

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HI, INNERNET. I have a new friend I’d like to introduce you to. His name is RawkDaHawdCore, and you can find his OkCupid profile RIGHT FRIGGEN HERE. He is RIDICULOUSLY ATTRACTIVE:

Oh yeah he doesn't look like a dirty mountain man at all.

He is obviously gorgeous, charming, AND, a poet. His OKCupid journal holds some of the most beautifully moving words I’ve ever read:

my birthday is today. woo.

i’m going to go riding and then eat some pizza. possibly go to the mall.

of course, what i’d like to do is trip balls and look at art, but hey……

Our friend RawkDaHawdCore, clearly, is a TOTAL WINNER. And when I say “TOTAL WINNER,” I don’t mean in the Michael Phelps 8 for 8 kinda way. No, I mean “TOTAL WINNER” in the “My eyes just rolled down the street from the amount of sarcasm currently seeping from this blog post” kinda way.

RawkDaHawdCore is, for all intents and purposes, a douchebag. CASE CLOSED.

My friend, J, is a beautiful girl. She is also maybe a LITTLE too friendly and trusting when dealing with psychos on the internet, because she gave THIS moron the benefit of the doubt when he started talking to her on OKCupid. If it had been me, I would have immediately blocked him after seeing him on my stalker list, let alone before any lines of communication had been formed. But I am also going to die alone, so you know… whatever.

Anyway, apparently while having a lovely chat this afternoon, RawkDaHawdCore had a question to ask J, and this is the hilarity that ensued:

rawkdahawdcore: hey, you can fit through a turnstile, right?

Oh yes, friends and lovers. He asked that. BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE:

J: shut up.
rawkdahawdcore: what!?!?!?!?
rawkdahawdcore: that was an honest question!
rawkdahawdcore: you know what they say about internet cameras
rawkdahawdcore: i’m not really a big dickhead
rawkdahawdcore: i’m just sarcastic
rawkdahawdcore: but i really do want to make sure that you can fit through a turnstile
rawkdahawdcore: because what if i took you to a museum or something in the city
rawkdahawdcore: and when we’re trying to get on the subway
rawkdahawdcore: they had to open the gate for you to walk sideways through
rawkdahawdcore: that would be embarassing
rawkdahawdcore: and instead, i would just suggest we take a cab
rawkdahawdcore: you know?
rawkdahawdcore: i’m going to stop now
J: are you serious?

This guy was 100% serious when he asked my beautiful friend, who actually doesn’t have any “angles” photos on her profile and DOES have a completely full-body photo on her profile, if she was TOO FAT TO FIT THROUGH A SUBWAY TURNSTILE.

I think I should also mention that J IS NOT FAT. I’m not saying that cos she’s my friend and I love even my fat friends blahblah. No. I am saying this because she is physically NOT FAT. She is average sized. She could fit through a turnstile with room to spare, people. That, in addition to the fact that she is GORGEOUS and has the most amazing hair I’ve ever seen, and can kill you with just a glance from her perfectly liquid-lined eyes.

Internet, I beg of you. In what WORLD is it okay to be so crude, especially to someone with whom you wish to GO ON A DATE? What a charmer!

J brought this discussion to the site we mutually play on, and while many of the women involved in the discussion were LIVID at the nerve of this guy, who clearly has some REAL issues if he can’t even function socially on the INTERNET, a few of the guys felt it was a valid question to ask.

Excuse me? Listen. I love you, internet people. I really do. I understand that a lot of people involved in online dating sites sometimes bend the truth when it comes to posting pictures that may represent the way they looked 2 years and 50 lbs ago. This happens. It’s one of the perils of online dating. HOW.EV.ER. There are plenty of non-offensive ways to find out the truth about someone.

GENTLEMEN. I HAVE SOME TIPS FOR YOU:

  • Asking someone if they are TOO FAT TO FIT THROUGH A TURNSTILE is not a good way to find out if their pictures are real. That IS, however, a very good way to NEVER GET A DATE AGAIN.
  • If you’re that invested in finding out how someone really looks BEFORE the actual date, you can try simply asking them to trade more photos. In the age of iPhones and Flickr, it’s not hard to persuade a girl into trading flirty pictures right at the moment.
  • Still not convinced? Invite them to a video chat.
  • No video chatting? You can try BEING HONEST and asking them how old their photos are. Simple, and way less rude than the turnstile thing.

Hopefully, our friend RawkDaHawdCore (whose name is really getting annoying to type) will realize his douchebag ways and learn how to interact with women in the future, so he doesn’t come off looking like a DUMBASS.

RawkDaHawdCore. On the toilet. Because all self-respecting men looking for a date post photos of themselves on the toilet.

RawkDaHawdCore. On the toilet. Because all self-respecting men looking for a date post photos of themselves on the toilet.

Well…. maybe not.

——-

In COMPLETELY UNRELATED NEWS, Kimmy Falcon and I have started a joint blog. We’re not sure what we’re gonna do with it yet, but I predict a lot of hilarity and a lot more Olympics Hotties. And YES THE HOTTIE POST WILL BE UP THERE SOMETIME SOON, I FRIGGEN PROMISE.

In the mean time, go visit and check us out at:

ASPIRATIONS OF OLYVIL.

Bringing you hotties and other fun stuff every day until 2012.

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June 3, 2008

About a month ago, I was invited by one of my good friends to an event called DayGLOW, hosted at Club SPACE in Downtown Miami. I pretty much LOVE Downtown Miami, and after some research on the event, I really couldn’t turn it down. The premise is that you wear all white and get DRENCHED in neon paint for the duration of the evening. WHAT possibly sounds like more fun on a Thursday evening? Pretty much NOTHING.

After scoping out the official DayGLOW Website about 2,000 times, I was excited to the tips of my fingers for the chance to cover my friends in ooey gooey neon colors and listen to some of the best DJ’s in town while doing it.

I managed to find an all-white outfit that was cute enough without having to worry about destroying it, along with a thick silver waist belt, and a cute pair of strappy silver sandals (on sale! THANKS, DSW!). I was ready to get out there and have some fun.

My friends and I departed for SPACE around 11:45. None of us had ever been there, instead preferring our usual haunt, neighbor megaclub Nocturnal. It was a night of firsts for all of us, and as we walked in, we were immediately splattered with drops of paint from nearby party-goers. The music was relentless and it was an awesome sight to behold all of the bright blue emanating from the all-white ensembles of the crowd on the dance floor.

Apparently there was extra fun scheduled in the lounge and the terrace, but we heard it was kinda lame up there, and honestly, I didn’t even notice anyone going up there, or coming from there, so we all stuck to the first level. Anyone go up there? Let me know how it was.

We bought our paint ($5 for a pretty big bottle) — one green, one orange, and one pink — and headed out to the dance floor. It was such a relief to be in a club in a city that is so focused on constantly looking gorgeous and perfectly coiffed and styled, and throwing all of that out the window and letting go without having to worry about how your peers are judging you, just for one night. No one cared, because we were all having too much fun covering each other in paint.

The people around me were dancing and slipping and falling (which was HILARIOUS, naturally), and at some point there were so many people crowded around me that I could barely move. I made a brief escape to the bar before my friend came up to me, screaming, perhaps a little bit too excitedly: “CELISSE, OH MY GOD. THIS GUY IS REALLY SICK AND I’M GOING TO SAVE HIS LIFE!”

….Obviously, simple pleasures in my friend’s life, right? But I spent time with her as she took care of a boy who probably had just a LITTLE too much to drink, and our other companion made friends with someone else nearby. After Drunkie was feeling better, we made our way back to the floor and stood back and just watched everything around us. The energy was as electrifying as the colors flying through the air in every direction. It was kind of amazing.

I bonded with so many people that night, as odd as it may sound. I became closer with my friends who accompanied me, and I became even closer with my city, who never fails to disappoint me.

It was a great way to start the 4th of July weekend.

NEXT WEEKEND: Vodka Watermelons?!!?!

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