First!

I just want it on the record...it's 5:14 AM, I am home, unbroken and (unfortunately) unmolested, and, even more shockingly, 80% sober.

It was the best Blarg Hop ever. And this year, I remember all of it.

More to come. Now, though...sleep, and hopefully lots of it.

Holy shit, dude.

Greasy Backwash Candy Whores

Best. Spam. E-mail. Title. EVER.

Seeya at the Blarg Hop, bitches!

I'm already carbo-loading in preparation...

Countdown to Saturgay

I'm about to have the most stunningly homosexual Saturday of my life. Gayer, even, than the Saturday after my 28th birthday, which involved a topless multi-chick makeout session in a hottub. (That there is clearly a story for another day.)

I'm not counting on any lesbionic action this weekend (though would not be disappointed if some came my way.) No, this Saturday's gayness is about two things: The Oscars and booze.

First thing in the morning, O and I plan to plunk ourselves down in a theater with our complimentary drinks and popcorn and the intent of watching four of the five Best Picture contenders. In a row. Yeah. For the low low price of $30, you're more than welcome to join us. (Provided that you're not a douchebag, that is.)

Oscar Madness = pretty gay

Gayer still...by far, even...is what comes after.

We'll be opting out of the marathon's last film, Little Miss Sunshine, to meet up with Bisexual Bobby and hit Joe Almighty's Second Annual Blarg Hop.

I'm quite excited about this year's event, especially considering how much of last year's I don't remember. Looking forward to new memories. Or memory gaps, as the case may be. It'll be quite nice to have a co-vagina along this year, too. Matching drinks with burly mens all by my lonesome maybe wasn't the best plan last time around. Lesson learned.

This year I'm ready. This year I have a plan...

2007 Blarghop Goals:

• I will not barf on my good winter coat. Again.
• I will obtain phone numbers of any and all errant straight boys present. Again.
• I will steal Farmboyz semen to freeze for future impregnation.
• I will convince people I met last year that I TOTALLY remember them.
• I really won't barf on my coat. Really. Or in the cab, either!
• I will not give interviews. (Why did I do that? Oh yeah...I was hammered!)
• I will find a hot chick for Bobby to make out with.
• I will get someone to take pictures of Bobby making out with hot chick.
• I will try my best not to look completely cracked out and/or mentally deficient in photographs (this one is a stretch, admittedly...see below for a stunning example.)
• I will make my mama proud. Again.
• I will write another recap afterwards.

Again, any and all non-douches are welcome to join the carnage...er...party. For those of you who can't make it (especially the ones I really, really wish could), tune in next week for all the lurid details we can piece together. And pray for us. Oy...

Helen gets #, by Farmboy T, Blarg Hop '06

Son of a...

He said that he wanted to read my blog.

I responded with something like, "fuck no." Those of you who have been reading awhile...more than, say, two days...can imagine why I'd respond as such.

Mr. Smartypants was evidently dissatisfied with this answer. He proceeded to piece together little bits of information...and I mean miniscule, seemingly insignificant and unrelated items...and found it anyway.

Wow. It really, really sucks that dating dumb people is so boring.

As for you, Mr. Smartypants...now it's ON. You just wait.

Squishtastic

Dood.

I think all of this weird boy-related happiness I'm experiencing lately is making me soft.

I've been reading Cute Overload regularly, and I actually showered on both Saturday and Sunday this weekend.

I may need to punch a small child on the subway tomorrow, just to maintain balance.

Shake this bon bon, George

I've said it before, and will likely repeat it again until you're sick of hearing it:

I LOVE YOU, RICKY MARTIN!

Oh, and fuck you, Bush. Yeah.

Update, 3:58 PM:
Um, Georgie? Congress says "fuck you," too.
Good thing they listened to Ricky.

Ask and ye shall receive

Dear Eric,
Your Valentine's Day wish is my command, honey. Feel free to direct your anti-Valentine here to get his present.
Love,
Helen

I'm a giver. That's what I do. I give.

Love, Helen*

Click to biggenate & read. Worth it, I promise.

*This message is for entertainment purposes only, and does not necessarily represent the views or opinions of the proprietor of this blog, who, believe it or shove it, actually has an incredibly hot Valentine of her very own this year, and thus is not the least bit btter or pissy about the holiday. Everything she does, she does for you, people. Don't you forget it.

Bachelor #1

I told him that I like the word "lollygagging" because it sounds vaguely dirty, even though it's really not.

He replied that we should come up with an activity to suit the word.

I'm not sure if I should marry him immediately, or change my phone number.

Either way, this should be an interesting weekend

Helen + Rum = Fun for everyone

I guess I must have been blacked out when I poured most of that bag of tortilla chips down Chano's pants at Frankie & Tee's housewarming party.

Damn. I miss all the good stuff.