Days 5 & 6: Friends with Benefits and How to Not Apply for a Job

Hi HI HIiiiiiii,

I can’t believe it is already Sunday…Sundays used to be the BEST day of the week.  For those of you who have not experienced a Sunday in Miami yet, it works like this:

9:30am: Wake up next to four a piece of half eaten supreme pizza from Dominoes.  Finish eating it.

10:30am: Wake up and start chugging water.  It’s Drag Brunch Day!!!

10:47am: Call your fag hags and start BEGGING them to come.  Never mind their pounding headaches, missing wallets, or lost virginity.  It’s time to see some TRANNIES!!!

11:11am:  Jump in the shower so you can try to make the 11:30am showtime.  Daydrinking can’t start at 2…it has to be done ALL day.

11:26am:  Pick up your fag hags from their building.  Fight over what should be played on the radio: “Blown Away” or “All Gold Everything”.  (Sadly, Carrie always loses…I need new fag hags 😦 😦 😦 🙂

11:40am: After breaking countless speed laws, arrive at your destination:  PALACE bar.

From 11:40am – ??? (whenever we decided to cab/”drive” home), Sunday’s would be filled with showstopping performances from trannies skinnier than Xtina Aguilera and with less make up than *insert ugly celebrities here*: ImageImage

(Well, maybe Kelly needs to start wearing makeup after that lypo…)

Anyways, Sundays were awesome because we all used to just day drink and thank Carrie that we didn’t have to resort to this to make money:Image

Regardless, now that I’m 6 days sober..the weekend was full of…other…exciting adventures.

Saturday nothing really major happened, except if you think me binge eating coconut ice cream topped with peanut butter and German Cake icing is exciting.  Seriously, my logic is so whack…I’m like “if I’m not going out, then I won’t drink empty calories…so that means instead I can EAT empty calories”!  And then whenever I see a picture of Matthew McConohey shirtless I’m just like… 😦

Thankfully, my friend Sophia V. saved me from my night of binge eating while crying to Grey’s Anatomy.  And that isn’t supposed to be funny – I know that each and everyone one of you chicas have done the exact same thing at least once in your life.  So STFU.  She picked me up and we cahorted across Miami to walk our friend Britney’s dog.  Unfortunately, as we were watching, we almost got attacked by the werewolves from True Blood.  I wish I was joking.  Sophia and I were just walking in the street, catching up on casual gossip (but no seriously Sophia…WTF was she thinking) when all of a sudden I hear the sounds of death and destruction behind me.  I whirl around as my scream gets caught in my throat…I can’t move because two HUGE BLACK HOUNDS are coming RIGHT at us.  If those direwolves had rabies, poor Sophia probably would be 8 feet under right now, because I was *thisclose* to booking it and leaving Sophia behind (remember, I was almost paralyzed and completely mute with fear).  Carrie must have been watching out for us from her humble home in Oklahoma, because we both made it out alive, albeit with my dignity dripping from me like how it drips when I wake up from a blackout.

Sophia and I then decide to go back home and have a nice Saturday night sleepover.  As you might have remembered, Jesus failed at fixing my air conditioner and I was not about to spend another night in Hell’s Kitchen.  Sophia, however, completely forgot to mention the fact that a nice Saturday night sleepover, for her, included rescuing baby toads from gutters.  Like seriously, WTF.  All I want to do is walk to the effing corner store, buy my Doritos Nacho Picante chips (THEY ARE THE BEST EVERRRRR) and flavored water (closest thing to flavored vodka, amIright?) and pass out watching Netflix.  But no.  Sophia must have a Girl Scouts card tucked away in her bra, because she goes into FULL animal preservation mode on me when she sees a little toad happily bouncing along on the street.  PETA should seriously reach out and hire her…I’m sure she could rescue all those misplaced alligators and crockidiles (how the F do u spell that) from the gutters too.  And it’s not like the toad was in DANGER…it was just minding its own business when Captain Planet decides the toad is in mortal danger and we must save it.  Alas, as she contemplated with what PETA strategy to implement in rescuing the happy toad, it hopped into a gutter.  Props to Sophia…her heart-wrenching cry of anguish probably could have won her a Teens Choice Award for “Saddest Cry when Toad Hops Into Gutter” category.  And me, being the IDIOT I am, decide to sarcastically be like “Oh don’t worry Sophia, I have been working out!” and attempt to lift the gutter up just so that I can show her that all hope is lost, the toad is probably drowned, and now its time to Nacho Picante our way to the corner store.  I drop down into serious benchlifting position, and lo and behold the motherfucking gutter pops off.  I completely wish I was joking.  I’m standing there, amazed, like what.the.fuck I am a puny white boy from Maryland HDF did I just life a gutter.  Sophia, again, looked equally shocked: combined we would have won the Teen’s Choice Award for “Most Shocked Face when Idiot Lifts Gutter Up to Rescue Baby Toad”.  Then, to my complete and utter dismay (and her nail parlor’s), Sophia drops down and starts sifting through the gutter to rescue this toad.  ewwwwwwwwwwww. She finally rescues it and literally walks 5 feet away and is like…the shrubbery should do…and drops it off.  I wasted 10 minutes of my precious, (possibly soon)cancerous life watching Captain Planet walk 5 ft for a baby toad.  Ugh.

We end up in the apartment with our goodies from the cornerstore and select the movie “Friends with Kids”.  Absolutely amazing movie – it’s like the whole cast of Bridesmaids, except no Melissa McCarthy 😦 .  The plot involves male and female best friends who decide to have a baby together so they avoid the whole messy parenting aspect of marriage (I know right? such a hetero movie…these breeders are trying to AVOID marriage when millions of fags/dykes can’t even legally have sex let alone tie the knot….)  Sophia and I joke about the fact that could be us.  It was a cute and funny joke.  Up until we watched the part of…like the conception of the child, the birth of the child, aaannnd the way a child kindaaaa takes over your life.  Nope.  It was cute while it lasted, Sophia.

Passing out in an air conditioned apartment was heavenly.  When Sophia breathed on me to wake me up (just kidding honey boo boo 😉 ), I felt refreshed and ready to tackle the day.  That luxurious moment fell flat when I stepped on the treadmill, but that’s another story (the bad part of Nacho Picante Doritos is they add like 14.8 percent belly fat).  However, I did have a job lead I wanted to take, which leads me to my Sunday adventure in a parking lot.

On my way to apply for this job, I have to park in a parking lot so I can walk across the street into the restaurant.  Except it’s a parking garage, so unless I have a validated ticket I have to pay money to leave it.  That’s fine, I’m cheap, but not like counting pennies cheap (yet).  I’ll just get it validated from the grocery store containing the garage.  So I’m walking to apply to this job all happy and cheerful because I’m feeeelllin good about this.  Good like the Big Lebowski drinking a white russian good.  And it goes great!  Except when I find out they have no applications on file, so I need to go back, print out an application, and turn it in with my resume.  I’m like, no sweat. Staples is 10 minutes away…I got all the time in the world.  Except when I get back to the grocery store and realize I lost my goddamn ticket somewhere between my car and the garage.  And I literally look like Image.

To lose a ticket in a Miami garage means you have to pay/sign a contract stating you will give them your firstborn child as soon as you get one.  It’s just ridic. and for a brokeass mofo like me, I wanted to get out of this dilemma even if it meant breaking the rules.  So naturally I walk across the parking garage to the ticket dispenser and push the button, thinking that even if I get caught I can give them an earful about how unethical their ticket policy, on some human level, is.  Unfortunately, the ticket dispensers must be programmed to only dispense the effing tickets when a car/someone the size of Rosie O Donnell approaches. Because no luck.  So I’m one unborn baby down (Sophia, you said you would do two egg donations after Friends with Kids, right? 🙂 )

After that, I pretty much laid in bed all day and discovered Blockbusters actually exists. Which is FANTASTIC, because that means I can rent movies for 99 cents for FIVE DAYS which means I can show movies ALL WEEK.  Yea, just call me Cameron Diaz.

Aaaand then my roommate asked me if I want to drink tonight and I just looked at him like Image

Until next time, betches.


Day 3: Part 2: When Life Gives You Lemons, Become a Bartender to Make Lemon Shots

It is 1:54am and I just got done my first “bartending” shift.  Yes, this means that the business was not a complete fraud, but if you call what I just experienced “bartending”, then Helen Keller could have been an astrophysicist and Snookie’s illegitimate crack baby WILL be President of the universe one day.  ANYONE WITH HALF A THUMB AND TWO WANDERING EYES COULD BARTEND.  But let me rewind.

Yesterday, as I’m standing on the brink of despair…or a curb on South Beach…pondering what to do with this situation, the MTV rejects decided to study instead and hope that what the management said was true – we will still meet tomorrow, take the certification test, and bartend at the Hard Rock.  Now, given the fact that this management was also just EVICTED, I didn’t put much faith in those words.  I would probably believe Star Jone’s claim that she never had surgery to stop looking like a burnt elephant before I would believe anything this management said.  Anyway, persuaded by the belief that even if it is a scam by studying I will still gain more expertise about dranks (as if I needed any more expertise…what I really need to learn is how NOT to make drinks…) I went along with my group and studied.  But when I say study, I mean this 42 year old former bartender who DOESN’T drink who also cameos as a “teacher for actors in Miami” taught my group everything that would NOT be on the bartending test.  Seriously, we were like “we just need to memorize 100 drinks…why are you teaching us where blue agave comes from and no…that is not how a blackout works amigo…it does not mean you ONLY WANT TO ORDER DARK COLORED OR BLACK DRINKS”. Seriously, if this is how sober bartenders think, I’m just going to walk to my fridge RIGHT NOW and start taking Jose to the face.  Regardless, the study session ended THANK GOD and I went home and stuffed my face with mac and cheese and *chewy* chips ahoy cookies because if I can’t drink, I can most definitely eat.

Today, after school, I made a spur of the moment decision to end this phoneless predicament once and for all.  I also didn’t think the scam management would listen to my plea to email me or send me smoke signals about what we were supposed to do about the test/Hard Rock today.  So I cruise to the nearest phone store and waste half a paycheck to buy a new phone.  Some of you might think this is irresponsible, because I’ll probably lose the phone in like 11.3 days.  And while this is normally true, the fact that I won’t be drinking for…36 more days 22 hours 17 minutes 49 seconds means I also won’t be blacking out and forgetting if I left my phone in the taxi while I tried to seduce the taxi driver (I don’t want to talk about my drunk decisions) or if I left it at the bar I was trying to sexy dance on but really probably ended up breaking.  So, I won’t be needing a new phone for at least 36 more days 22 hours 16 minutes and 38 seconds.  BOOM.

But I get my phone, and activate it to find a text from the scam management telling me to “please call back ASAP; you need to wear all black to the Hard Rock in Ft. Lauterdale by 9pm please be early”.  Naturally I call back, wanting to inquire further about such a cryptic message.  I swear to god these people are spending my $500 on coke lines and pay as you go phones, because when I immediately call back, no one answers and THEN it goes to a voicemail that says “You have tried to reach Lizita, she can’t find her phone right now so please leave a message and she will try to remember when to call you back”.  LIKE WTF MIAMI WHERE DO YOU FIND THESE PEOPLE.  I can see now why aliens would never want to visit Earth now: they can see how ugly its people are (re: KimK, Miley Cyrus, Barbara Walters) and smell their incompetence from 930343433434 miles away.

Following the text message directions to a T, I arrive at the Hard Rock which is 45 minutes away at 8:55pm sharp.  Dressed in super tight gay dark jeans and a v-neck that used to fit when I worked out more, I looked passable if I was working in a gay mining club in West Virginia.  Unfortunately, this standard of attire was not quitteeeeee up to snuff here in Miami…if I was a girl, wearing a skirt that covers maybeeeee my upper thigh cellulite would suffice, but if I was a guy, I needed the Chinese-tats-barely-covered-up-by-an-extra-small-T-with-no-ass outfit.  Luckily I have a small tattoo of my dead dogs (RIP CHASE AND BAILEY), but that was hidden by my ginormous wrist.  So yeah. I looked stupid.  (And tomorrow I will start my gym regimen again!!!! SO LONGGGG DORITO BOXES TACO BELL).

When I arrive in my outfit that would have made Perez Hilton have that heart attack we all have longed for, I wait with Project MTV for 45 minutes until the management shows up.  FORTY FIVE MINUTES I COULD HAVE WATCHED OLIVIA POPE AND BLOGGED IN 45 MINUTES.  We don’t take any test, and instead we split up into groups so a different group is behind the bar for 30 minutes before switching.  Fine.  We can all split the goddamn tips – I just want to start making some drannnnks.

3 hours later.


We helped MAYBE 5 customers.  There were 12 of us there, and at the end of the night, we each received $19 in tips, not including the $2 we had to tip our barback who must have stolen Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak before work, because I never saw him a goddamn time.  What makes matters worse (and yes, they get worse) is that the scam management tipped us $200 to split BEFORE WE EVEN STARTED.  That means, right away, we were all guaranteed to take home AT LEAST $17.  akdslfhd;f34308qopha;fkdfd;lfd;cnd;ldlaf


I WAS ALMOST THIS ANGRY.  And my girlfriends know how much I love boobs.  When a gay man is drunk, they are like the mecca of the universe (until of course 3am when McDonalds/Taco Bell/Checkers/my roommates’ food takes over).

I actually went to the casino right next door, was like fuck it, I’m about to make some lemon shots from these rotten lemons life has squeezed for me so far.  And of course, I put $10 in the slot and accidentally press the $10 credit, and of course, I.lost.


So, because I will end on a good note today, at least it’s not TOTALLY a scam and later *tonight* I will be bartending in South Beach where we are pretty much guaranteed to make *more* money. But that’s like guaranteeing that Ashlee Simpson will never perform on SNL again.  YOU CAN’T REPEAT ROCK BOTTOM.

And if you are like me and love bad news too, I’d suggest: re-reading these first 3 blogs, then picture me at 2:27a.m. with a #6 (medium!!!! 🙂 ) from McDonald’s surrounding me, and a cigarette tucked into my ear.  And then think of Melissa McCarthy naked.

HAPPY BAD NEWS! NIGHT LOVAAAAHS Until tomorrow xoxoxoxoxo

Day 1 – I’m Not an Alcoholic (as defined by my parents)

Look, Image

Before we begin this epic adventure (no seriously, the movie “Epic” was supposed to be based on this but then the producers researched my life more and realized they couldn’t make a PG movie about a young homosexual alcoholic living in the party city of the world), I want to say thank you for choosing to click on the link to this blog when I most likely facebook raped you to make you click it.  Thank you for taking the 2-3 minutes of your undoubtedly valuable time to read a part blog/part confessional ramblings from someone trying to figure out his life.

…That is the deepest we are going to go.  And if you want, I’m sure you can stop reading now and click back to regularly scheduled programming in your life and watch Kim K’s newest sex tape or listen to Taylor Swift’s bitchass whine about another Disney channel star. Regardless of your decision,  I will be here writing in this online journal so I can tell stories about watching my friends rage all weekend in Miami while I sip lemon flavored water and pretend to get shwasted with them.  Now, don’t get me wrong: I don’t actually dislike drinking.  In fact I fucking loooveeeeeee partying and having a wickedly rowdy night on the town.  I have wanted to do this experiment for a while to see what my life would be (temporarily) without alcoholic influencing every daily/weekly/daily decision I make.  And no, I don’t actually drink every day – I probably drink as much as LiLo snorts coke (OK, so maybe I do have an issue).  I just kinda wanna see what life would be like sober. I know i know its kinda weird, but I’m a weird guy.  And who knows, in 3 days when Friday rolls around, I could have had enough of 72 hours of soberness and pass out by 10pm wasted.  It could happen.  But, one day at a time, I’m gonna test this out, and hopefully get to 40 days of sober living ( I would say clean but I don’t know when I’ll quit cigs/turn straight).  Thus you should be forewarned: this blog will not be politically correct, the grammar will most likely be shitty, etc etc but only because I am treating this like a stream of consciousness or whatever that means.  I don’t know. But yea, expect a lot of unfiltered me 🙂 🙂 And I promise this won’t be super duper gay, as in like “omg today I looked at a glass of vodka and felt filled with god’s strength as my trembling fingers resisted the urge to knock back the glass.  praise you jesus hallelujah”.  It will be more like “OMG LAST NIGHT I WENT OUT WITH _____________ AND SHE WAS SO FUCKING BLACKOUT SHE TOOK OFF HER SHIRT AND RAN DOWN LINCOLN ROAD SINGING HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME”.  I hope this is funnyyyyyyy.

Also, just because it would be fun, when I drink I on average lose my phone like every 3 months.  In high school/early college that was fine, because the shitty flip phones I was using werent good enough to even be put in a Kids Meal.  But for the last 2.5 years I’ve been losing/dropping/peeing on smartphones.  SMARTPHONES. and those are soooo expensive.  and this weekend I lost another one. I had just bought the 5 3 weeks ago.  and its gone now. my previous iPhone, I broke in mid April after getting it from my insurance company after I lost that phone in end of March.  Do you see my Iphone problem?  Hell, I don’t have a drinking problem – I have a hate/hate relationship with Iphones.  Maybe they have counseling for that?

Anyway, I’m off to bed, even though my apt doesn’t have A/C so I’ll probably just lay in bed dying and wishing I was tipsy so I could fall asleep.  Maybe my roommate has Nyquil….