Zach, Fix It

I did something bad, and my buddy Zach had to fix it.

Zach: YOU OWE ME, FIZZ!

Me: *pats his cheek* I owe everyone, sugar, but I think you’re the only one who has a rather large debt to pay back to me.

Zach: WHAT?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

Me: Do we really need to do this?

Zach: YEAH! LET’S HEAR IT, SUGAR!

Me: I’ve bailed you outta jail twice, told about four of your flavors of the week to fuck off because “you’re mine” and even KISSED you to make it real, driven your drunk ass home who knows how many times, pulled you away from that gay guy while you were making out-

Zach: ALL RIGHT, STOP! …let’s not mention that last one again.

And here I am telling all of my readers about it.

To be fair, I kinda goaded him into kissing the gay man. Next thing I knew, Zach was getting up from his stool at the bar saying, “I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

I had to spend the rest of the next day convincing Zach he still exclusively liked women. “Do you like tits? Okay, you’re straight. Do you like penises? No? Okay, you’re still straight.” I think Zach was still drunk the morning we had that talk, so he just kinda…

My Funeral

When I die, Alex will say:

We’re here today because SOMEBODY couldn’t stay alive…asshole.

And when the pallbearers pick up my rotting body in a box, Paulo will cox my casket into the ground:

Up and overheads, and UP! In two, roll her down! One, two, and DOWN! *thud, wood cracks because it’s a cheap pine box*

While he’s yelling all this, a DJ will play Snoop Dogg’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot” or the Tetris theme song.

You know, if my buddies wanted to have a cookout in my back yard and just dump my carcass into the garden or something, I’d be cool with it.

It’s cheaper that way. All the money they save can be used on strippers. I want a funeral with strippers and a chocolate fondue fountain. Put those two things together and you’ll have a rager.

I hope these things will distract them from missing me when I’m gone.

What’s In a Name?

My mother always told me

Jeshka, you are a water hyacinth. You cannot grow in anything but mud, harsh times… But you will be pretty and strong. Strong enough to stop the water in a river. And pretty enough for people to choose you from the wild. You are a flower worthy of someone great. Do not forget.

I just remembered her words. I had almost forgotten what my mother’s name means. She thinks it fits me just as much as it fits her.

My Korean name means “wisdom” and “kindness” (Chinese origin). She didn’t pick my name.

I think that’s why she dislikes it. I think it’s pretty cool.

If there was a name that meant “has street smarts but is an asshole” I would’ve picked that one.

A Shouting Post

I got a job offer at a medical company. My first big girl job. I start in July. I just wanna say one thing…

I AM SO MOTHER FUCKIN’ AWESOME AND EVERYBODY AT THE COMPANY FUCKING LOVES ME!!!

And done.

Actually I’m not done.

I FUCKIN’ PASSED MY BIOCHEMISTRY CLASS!!!

I beat that exam like it owed me money. Fuckin’ bent it over the table and had my way with it.

I also may have found out about all this stuff after I slept with one of my former teammates. Good lookin’ fella. Solid 8 or 9. Smart, nice, and makes me laugh. But I feel really guilty about it. I thought Mitch had thrown me under the bus so I forgot about him. Turns out he was dealing with school and family stuff… That’s why he’s been mum. I’m not sure if he wants to pick things back up where we left them. I spent all this time looking for a nice guy… and then I got a “buy one get one free” sort of deal. Fuck. 

Whatever. I think Mitch needs some personal time. He used to live with his ex. She needed to pick up some things at the apartment they shared. She brought her new beau, and he kept slapping her ass and things along those lines… in front of Mitch. I think he realized that he’s not completely over her. It’s always too good to be true, right?

HOT DAMN, JESS! ONLY YOU CAN FUCK UP LIKE THIS!

I guess Sam’s catchphrase “Jess, you’re a mess,” is very fitting today.

Car Tag

I went to DC last night with a few friends that I box with on occasion.

We decided to hit up a gay bar called Town because it was Twink Night and Narcisse, a 6’4″ black dude, is hella gay. It was one of those clubs where you feel like you might go blind from the flashing lights, and anyone with epilepsy would have his/her final drink and die in that place.

Everyone looked very well-put together. Since it was Twink Night, there were very few bears, only pixie-like, cute men. On the second floor were jacked, underwear/thong-wearing go-go dancers that could probably make a straight man question his sexuality. I know I wished I was a gay man~

The night was pretty run-of-the-mill. Lots of dancing and even more drinking. The men at that club were very aggressive and fond of kissing random people. While a few were busy playing tonsil hockey, I swooped in and had swigs of their drinks. No one noticed and I quickly became inebriated. My hips became loose and I danced with everyone, including the lipstick lesbians who twerked so ferociously around my waist that I was bounced around the dance floor from powerful hip-thrusts.

Of the five of us, only one is gay. Corbin, his girlfriend Lorena, Derek, and I spent a good deal of the night explaining that we were straight when very forward people started to grind on us, but it was all in good fun. Our dance partners just backed off a bit, but still gyrated on the floor until 0300.

By the time we left the club, I was FUCKING hammered. Alcohol angels swirled around my head… or maybe it was the excessive flashing lights that fucked with my vision. Regardless, drunk Jess knew it was time to put food down the hatch to help with the inebriation level. My buddies wanted to eat McDonald’s; I saw a Subway across the street and decided I wanted some chicken breasts on some flatbread.

I made my way across the street and purchased my food. I think I did a pretty good job of acting sober to the Indian cashier. After buying my food, I tried to cross the street back to the McDonald’s where my friends were waiting. And then I got hit by a car.

The jolt knocked me to the ground and I dropped my sammich. I stood up and immediately felt a surge of pain in my shin causing me to do a stupid crow hop in the middle of the street. I didn’t fucking care. I was drunk and invincible. I guess the people in the car were either drunk or high because they peeled out without checking to see if I was all right. Again, I didn’t fucking care. I just wanted to eat, so I picked up my sandwich and walked back to the where all of my friends were squished together in Derek’s beater.

I told Derek what happened after he saw me rubbing my leg to get the achy feeling out. He took my bag from Subway, filled it with ice, propped it up on a chair, and told me to hold the bag there so it wouldn’t swell so much. What a nice guy. Too bad I’m too drunk to voice my opinions at this time.

Anyhow, we drove around DC for a bit and finally got back to Baltimore around 0600. I had work today at 0900. It’s a good thing I work at a coffee shop and have access to unlimited amounts of caffeine.

Quick, ¡Margargitas!

You don’t need to drive me crazy; that shit’s walking distance.

You also don’t need to fuck me over.

I can do that myself.


Now pay attention, ladies and gentlemen, as I jump from the fourth story and snap my femur in two with an audible crack and try to gimp after him as he walks away from my mangled body. Tortoises that are road kill have it easier than me. At least it’s quick.

This way is less painful than flying down the steps and catching up to him, tapping his shoulder, and asking for an explanation. I don’t know why I’d ask; I know what he’d say. At least I can pretend he didn’t see me fall.

Pretend I don’t know what he’d say.

I wish I were a tortoise with two broken legs, a semi-truck roaring down the road my way.

At least that’d be quick.


I’m drunk. It’s margarita Monday and Alex was my designated driver.


Everything will probably be okay.

Seems like it anyway.