The Orgy Dance (not as fun as it sounds)

PDA:

"Public Displays of Affection, can be seen in the form of kissing, touching, groping, licking, nuzzling, cuddling, crossing hands into each other's opposite back pockets, etc. Usually spotted among new couples, frisky teenagers, and occasionally the 'young at heart' (god help us)." (via Urban Dictionary)

There is a time and place to show how you feel about your significant other (or that guy or girl you've been ogling across the bar awkwardly for the last four hours). Some people like PDA when they're coupled, some don't. Some people are okay seeing other couples displaying affection, others are not. Some people like to have orgy conga lines in bars with their significant other. And another couple. 

Friday night I was at a Hybrid Lounge, a pretty chill bar in Milwaukee. They have a DJ and encourage dancing, but this isn't some giant club where you can do the nasty in the back room (do those actually exist?) and no one will notice. "The back room" at Hybrid happens to feature tables and a second bar. Well, my friend and I were sitting at the back bar when suddenly I felt someone press against me. I turned to find four guys all rubbing up on each other in a four person sandwich, standing against the bar. You couldn't even tell who was coupled with who. Then they started making out with each other. It was so romantic. And by romantic I mean "gross." 

I observed in amazement (read: horror) and then the inevitable happened: I had to use the restroom. I always "break the seal¹" and end up having to leave my bar stool a dozen times an hour.  I averted my eyes and made my escape around the "grouple." On my way back I encountered one tiny problem: I had been sitting at the end of the bar with the wall to my right and, in my absence, the orgy conga line had formed a wall running from the bar to that wall. I was cut off from my friend. What does one do in an awkward situation? Blend in. So I wrapped my arms around myself, pretended to make out with my shoulder, and danced (read: humped) my way through the line. 

I made my way back to my bar stool in one piece only to find the bartender² searching frantically for a cleaning product strong enough to erase the stains--and scarring memories--from the bar. No such magical spray exists. My corneas may never heal. Nor will the clothes that I wore during my encounter and had to burn when I got home.

¹ In my defense, I'm pretty sure the whole "breaking the seal" thing is a myth. I mean, of course you won't have to go to the bathroom more if you just fight the urge, because your bladder will explode and you will die. Fact. Probably.

² This is definitely not the funniest post I've written, but I have a confession... I may or may not have only written this post because the cute bartender told me that I should give the bar a shout out on the blog. Not sure this was the kind of publicity he was looking for, but I can assure you that Hybrid is an awesome bar with awesome owners and awesome bartenders. And the occasional creepy patron. But hey, we wouldn't love people watching if everyone acted sane.

Most people are NOT this bad at wave pools.

Mike has been recounting our fabulous adventures in Vegas for you, and to continue with that I’m going to tell you the story of how we drowned. Don’t worry! As Mike said, it didn’t stick. I think that means we’re immortal. Or that we’re so bad at everything that we can’t even drown properly. One of those.

Mandalay Bay has a really awesome pool area. There’s a wave pool, a regular pool, a lazy river, and ton of lounge chairs on sand so you actually feel like you’re at the beach. Also, BOOZE. Lots and lots of booze. It’s my version of heaven. The pools especially come in handy when it’s 104 degrees out, aka so hot that your organs start to feel like they're boiling inside your body. So Mike and I developed a fantastic little routine to get a tan and stay cool:

Step 1: Lay on your back. People-watch through your sunglasses.
Step 2: Cool off in the pool!
Step 3: Lay on your stomach. Read your Kindle. [You can’t really people watch from this angle because the chairs are so close together. If you look up you have a direct line of sight to the groin of the guy in the chair behind you. Awkward. This is why having a Kindle/book is important.]
Step 4: Cool off in the pool!

It was a pretty fool-proof plan. Except we forgot to account for the drowning.

The wave pool didn’t look terribly intense, and it wasn’t our first time at this particular rodeo, so we strolled in with perhaps more confidence than we should have. This is always our downfall.

We waded into the pool, enjoying the cool water and easing our way in at a leisurely pace. That was, until some angry lifeguards were all, “HEY! GET BEHIND THE BLUE LINE IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE IN HERE!” Because APPARENTLY we were supposed to fly in the pool at warp speed to get behind this silly “line” immediately after entering the water. I mean, do I resemble Michael Phelps in ANY way? No? Then why on EARTH would you expect that I can swim that fast?

We picked up the pace, trying to get behind the line before the waves started, but then we noticed the mass of people behind that line, waiting for the waves, and waiting to crush us in our moment of stupidity. Panic set in as everyone started yelling to us that we had better get out of the way, while making outrageous MOVE-THE-F***-OUT-THE-WAY hand motions. We frantically tried to increase our pace. Which? NOT easy when you’re walking through thigh-high water and you don’t happen to be an Olympic swimmer.

Then our ears filled with the sounds of rushing water. The waves were coming and we were STILL not to the magical “safe” line. I managed to get a little ahead of Mike. [Okay, I might have pushed him back to save myself. I’m not proud of that, but I panicked.]

The waves rushed at us and it wasn’t long before I lost my footing and fell on my butt, carried forward by the force of the waves. Mike was excited because he thought he had managed to stay on his feet. He was feeling quite proud of himself until the wave drove me into his back and he fell onto my lap. I’m sure it all looked EXTREMELY graceful to the crowd.

After we finished laughing hysterically [to keep from weeping out of embarrassment] Mike confessed that he didn’t know that it was me that had knocked him down and he had been terrified it was a total stranger. Although this story would have been MUCH more hilarious if he had landed in a stranger’s lap, the way it happened is so very Mike & Kayla.

Fast forward about twenty minutes.

After overcoming our earlier embarrassment, Mike and I were feeling quite daring. We found ourselves in the 6-7’ deep end of the pool. I’m not sure why either of us thought this was a good idea. I can only assume our state of stupidity was caused by far too much time in the sun.

Forgetting that he was not, in fact, 8 feet tall, Mike decided to stop treading water and simply stand on the floor of the pool with his hands in the air. I treaded water and looked on in confusion, but just figured he had wanted to cool off with his head in the water. But then when his hands remained above water, I wondered if that was his way of telling me that he was drowning. I contemplated whether or not he required rescue, when his hands disappeared and I saw him FIXING HIS HAIR UNDERWATER. At this point I was really confused. Is he drowning and just wants to make sure his hair looks good when he dies? WHAT DO I DO?

Finally, he resurfaced. I asked what the hell he had been doing and he said that he had gone underwater by mistake, but then realized he probably looked like he was drowning [which he WAS] but he would rather have drowned looking cool than have to go through the embarrassment of being rescued by a lifeguard. Fixing his hair was just his way of acting natural.

Yes. Natural. Because EVERYBODY fixes their coif while submerged for extensive periods of time in a 7 foot pool.

At this point we realized that our time in the desert sun was probably causing some sort of permanent brain damage, so we went and bought some yummy frozen alcoholic beverages, got drunk, and then spent an hour giggling in our hotel room.

Like I said, FABULOUS ADVENTURES IN VEGAS!

Cirque du Soleil (sp?) (Also, Boobies) (Oh, and Oprah) (But not Oprah's Boobies)

I hope I spelled "Cirque du Soleil" correctly...considering I do have a degree in French.

ANYWAYS...as Kayla has been saying, "VEGAS! VEGAS! VEGAS! VEGAS!"

We leave Sunday morning and we are soooooooo excited. We leave Milwaukee at like 7 AM on Sunday and go through a time loop hole (or however that works), therefore gaining two hours so we should be there at like 9 AM Vegas time. A little later than I had hoped to start drinking, but maybe we can start on the plane. I've previously mentioned that we plan on crashing the 2012 Billboard Music Awards. The awards start at 5 PM so we'll be on the red carpet (or at least within two miles of it) a few hours before that. Then, I plan to yell the wrong name at various celebrities. That is sooooo much more likely to get their attention than using the right name. This is brilliant; I don't know why no one has thought of it before. Though, I should clarify that I will yell the wrong name UNLESS we see R.K. Follesé from Hot Chelle Rae. Then I will scream like a seven year old girl and began sobbing uncontrollably as I yell how much I love him and want to have his babies. And that´s saying a lot given that I don´t want children. But I just love him so much. He looks so good in a tank top. I mean how many guys really look good in a tank top? Yum.

Anyways, this post was supposed to be about Cirque du Soleil (By the way, that means Circus of the Sun. Seeeeee, my degree isn't completely worthless!), but I don't remember what my point was.

...

Oh yeah! We are going to see Cirque du Soleil Sunday night. They have 17 Cirque shows in Vegas. Okay, they actually have four shows, but did we learn nothing about dramatic effect? Kayla (which I just tried to spell with a "C." Thankfully I caught it before I published this post so you didn't see how special I am.) said that we are going to see Cirque du Soleil O. Upon learning this I immediately became very excited, because I love Oprah! I expressed my excitement to Kayla and she told me that, unfortunately, Oprah is not the star of this show. This is upsetting, but it's also just plain bad business! Do you know how much people would pay to see Oprah twirling around in the air while interviewing celebrities (who would also be twirling around in the air) and giving away stuff?

"You get tickets to the booby show! And you get tickets to the booby show! And you get tickets to the booby show!"

[You should know that I just Googled both "booby show" and "titty show" to determine which is more commonly used. It's "titty show," but I have an Eskimo friend (who may actually be a mix of Asian* and something else and not actually Eskimo at all) who despises the word "tit" so I decided to stick with "booby."]

Also, I'M GOING BLOND TONIGHT! This may or not be related to my current one-third life crisis.

*I'm 92% sure she's Japanese and something European, but, despite the nature of this blog (and the numerous times that I've referred to Guest Blogger Emily as "Oriental"), I don't really want to label this friend (not to be confused with Emily) as the incorrect variety (is it okay to say "variety?") of Asian.

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

I know you're busy and all, but I'm kind of a VIP so it would be sweet if you would read this letter before deciding what to bring me for Christmas. No need to check that "Naughty or Nice" list. Trust me, I've been VERY good all year.

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First of all, I would really love a Slush Mug. I really really love slushie-type beverages, and being able to make wine slushies with ease would really make me happy. Plus I'd be a happy drunk ALL the time and I'd probably use that happiness to go do charity work or something. So giving me a Slush Mug is really like giving to charity, therefore if you don't give me one, that's the equivalent of STEALING from charity. Just something to think about.Your move, Santa.

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This next item isn't even for me. See, I'd really like a 26lb Gummy Bear, but there's no way in hell I could eat that whole thing without dying, so I'll share it! With poor kids! And the elderly! 
Actually, not the elderly. They'd probably get their dentures stuck in it. And poor kids would probably just get cavities. 

Okay! I'll be honest. I just want to eat ice cream out of its tummy/bowl. Points for honesty, right?

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I don't think it's necessary to explain why I need to own a wine glass that can hold an ENTIRE bottle of wine, do I? If you see me when I'm sleeping and know when I'm awake, you'll realize that my drunken Glee nights are sub-par at best because I constantly have to pause to refill my glass. 

Unacceptable.

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This would bring me endless joy every Friday. I would drink all of my beverages out of it at work and it would put me in the greatest mood ever. Plus, "motherfucker" is one of my most favorite words ever. It's like this glass was MADE for me. 

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Santa, I know you're always watching, so I know you've probably seen some of my less-than-proud moments. Sometimes I'm kind of a hot mess, especially when I'm drinking. This flask will be a constant reminder that I should put my shoes back on and stop acting a fool. 

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I only want this so I can shoot marshmallows at Mike when he's being a jerkface. Think of it as a behavioral tool. I'm just trying to make sure he stays on the "Nice" list. 

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This is for when the marshmallows don't work. My last resort will be to slingshot rocks at him. 

Or animal poo. 

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Okay, I don't care who you are, this is FREAKING AWESOME. It would keep me warm AND make me look like a tiger. Plus it matches the awesome tiger slingshot! If you ignore everything else on this list, PLEASE GET ME THE TIGER BLANKET/COSTUME!!!!!!!!!

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Santa, I fall a LOT. I also cut myself on sharp things, like paper, a LOT. These snarky adhesive bandages would make me feel a million times better about being a klutz. 

This concludes my 2011 Christmas List. I know the elves are busy making toys and shit for kids, so you can conveniently order ALL of these gifts off of the Internet and have them delivered to my house. All you have to do is clicky the "Image Source" links under each picture and type in your credit card number and my address!

How easy was that? 

YOU'RE WELCOME, SANTA!

Love, 

Kayla 

Oh Em Gee We're Gonna Be Kindle Twins!

In the latest episode of "Oh my fucking god if Mike and Kayla become any more alike they're going to merge into one person" Mike and I decided to pre-order the new Amazon Kindle Touch 3G.

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I've had my trusty Kindle 2 for a few years now and it's been wonderful to me. It's still pristine and works just as well as it did the day I opened the box and named her "Elle." Yeah that's right. I NAME my electronics. But that's a story for another day. I really had no reason to replace my beloved Elle except for the fact that Amazon announced its SHINY NEW TOUCHSCREEN KINDLES that day. I really love shiny new things.

Mike is a total Apple Whore, so even though I've been raving about how fantastic my Kindle 2 is for years, he was all "Blah blah blah I want an iPad, it's so much better than Kindle blah blah blah." I usually tune him out because he starts getting all tech-y on me. Ick.

Then something magical happened. Mike realized that his iPhone can do everything an iPad could, but they're both terrible e-readers. (Naturally, I didn't remind him that I had been saying this FOREVER.) So on the day that Amazon announced its newest Kindle lineup, including the Kindle Touch, Mike decided that he wanted one. My jaw dropped to the floor and I was fairly certain I was dreaming.

After discussing the many new features and the awesome new touch technology, Mike and me simultaneously decided to pre-order a Kindle THAT DAY. Neither of us had intended for that to happen. In fact, we had even discussed going to Target when the new ones were released so we could see them and play with them first. I can only guess that we were led to this hasty purchase by the whirly spiral of validation that we provide for each other whenever one of us is thinking about buying something. We spent the better part of the afternoon subconsciously convincing each other to buy a Kindle, and we accomplished that feat in record time.

When you're going to buy a new gadget, accessories are KEY. The case for the new Kindle came in four colors: black, green, brown, purple. I was torn between black and green because black goes with everything but green is my second favorite color (after pink, of course). I figured since Mike also loves black and green he'd be in the same tortuous dilemma.

Kayla: Are you getting the black case or the green one?

Mike: The black. I love how you know me so well that you only provided me with those two options.

Kayla: Of course! I'm still trying to decide. I think I'm going to get the black too. But I don't know if I want the light.

Mike: I'm getting the light just for the convenience of having it.

Kayla: True! Okay I'm getting the black one with the light too!

Mike: We'll have to go read at the bar with our matching Kindles!

I'm not sure what's more telling about Mike and me, the fact that we would actually READ in a BAR, or the fact that our lives revolve around alcohol. I'm not sure I'd like the answer to that, so we'll keep it rhetorical.

Deep Thoughts & Weak Chins

Mike and I were out at a bar one night, and although it may seem like we’re totally self-absorbed (kind of true), we do like a little people watching with our alcohol.

I pointed out this guy who I thought was kind of awkward and unattractive, and was surprised when Mike disagreed.

Kayla: Wow, check out that mess. Sweet shorts, dude.

Mike: What? I think he’s really cute.

Kayla: Meh. He doesn’t have enough chin.

Mike: What???

Kayla: He has a weak chin. Not a fan.

Mike: That’s ridiculous.

Kayla: Why?

Mike: It just is. I mean he has *some* chin.

Kayla: Well yeah, he isn’t chin-less. He DOES have a lower jaw. It’s just weak. And therefore he looks weak. And I’m not attracted to weakness.

Mike: I don’t have much chin?

Kayla: You have more than him. And I don’t want to be attracted to you anyway.

Mike: Oh so you like your friends weak? I can’t believe you hate this guy. You don’t even know him.

Kayla: I don’t HATE him, I just think he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a man. He probably has a very small penis.

Mike: You don’t know that.

Kayla: Well then, you know what you have to do now? Figure out a way to see his penis. I’m pretty sure he’s gay so you’re going to have to do it.

Mike: What?? Why?

Kayla: Because I want to know if it’s tiny or not.

Mike: I’ll just walk up to him and go, “So, are you gay or not? Also, do you have a tiny penis? My BFF says you have a weak chin and therefore probably have a tiny penis.”

Kayla: I think that sounds perfectly acceptable. It’s not like you have to see him again.

Mike: True, but I don’t want to be an ass.

Kayla: It would be so funny to blog about though.

Mike: That’s true.

Kayla: I feel like I can get you to do anything if I just mention how great it would be for our blog.

Mike: .............

Moral of the story: I am a horrible person. Hilarious, but horrible.