Looooonely, I'm so looonely.

Summer has officially taken a turn for the worse. With the 'friends' all galavanting off to Europe, Africa, California and other exotic locations, I have been left alone. Completely, and utterly alone. I guess I do have the cat, but she can be a bit stand-offish at times.

So, I have decided that the best route to take is to bury myself in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and to watch as many CSI:NY reruns as possible...because they are just too addictive. Unfortunately, as a result of both, I am terrified to go anywhere alone and have taken to sleeping with my maglite flashlight, a pocket knife (aka, shank), and a very small can of pepper spray. I can only hope for Conley's sake that he never catches me off guard.

I had a life-changing discovery the other day:

Danke Schoen...a song I have loved since I first saw Ferris Bueller's day off, is sung by Wayne Newton. WTF did he do to his voice? He sounds like he had a temporary sex change. Or maybe he sucked helium before he performed. Who knows.

I guess the real question is: how did I not know any of this?

--jamie

Thank you for being a friend.

In the days of my youth, I loved The Golden Girls. My mom was above the show and would always change the channel if she saw it on. So, if I ever had the fortune of catching a rerun on a Saturday morning as she cleaned house, I took in every second. For some reason it never occurred to me to inform her that I actually wanted to watch it. Rose was by far my favorite growing up; needless to say, I was incredibly stoked when Betty White appeared as Chelsea's guest this evening and discussed her slutty nature. I'm so glad I'm not kidding about that last part. What a kinky 87 year-old.

My love of Betty White, The Golden Girls, and the elderly (which rivals Chelsea's love of nuggets) has been taken to a whole new level.

All my love,

Ashley

why i shouldn't drink.

i've decided i am out of control and need an intervention.

i went out for A drink. as in one. singular drink. last night. 8 drinks and two hours later i managed to find a ride from the sweetest friends ever. This is what i woke up to (and why i should renounce vodka and cranberry and moscow mules forever):

1. the nail polish from my left, middle toe is completely missing. but only from that toe.

2. i have a strange patch of skin missing on my right elbow.

3. the entire contents of my purse are spilled out on the floor in the living room.

4. the little curtain that resides over the tiny door window is on the floor next to my purse.

5. i feel like i've been run over by a small steam engine.

6. i vaguely remember taking a pencil and graffiti-ing on the bathroom wall. My funny little quip: never trust a person who collects stickers.

and finally. the biggest reason i should quit drinking. i checked out my bathroom-graffiti from the last time i went out for a single drink. It was still there, in all it's penciled glory: is this butter? I don't believe it. I don't know what to believe any more.

--jamie

Gross.

My boyfriend keeps bugging me about taking him to Walmart with the reasoning that he has a new wife beater to try out.  He seems to have forgotten that I have teeth.

"I went out with a guy who once told me I didn’t need to drink to make myself more fun to be around. I told him, I’m drinking so that you’re more fun to be around"

Love,

Ashley

Obvious necessities

Tonight has proven to me that a concert is nothing without the following:

1. A drunk girl dancing alone, entirely too into herself.

2. Gloriously gay men easing ever closer to the all-male band.

3. A bar.

4. Me competing with the dancing drunk girl for the best moves, without her knowledge.

5. An older couple grinding on one another (the female must be at least two inches taller in flats and standing in front of her fella who can't stop chugging his beer to properly get down).

6. A bar.

7. An exit strategy.

May you never attend another unsuccessful concert,

Ashley

Confession

so i have a confession, but don't hold it against me.

i used to collect stickers.  

Long ago, in the days of my early childhood, i had a little black composition notebook filled with stickers: puffy ones with googly eyes, scratch and sniff, sparkly, small, large...you name it, i had it.  while most of them were collected from frequent visits to the doctor's office, dentist's office, and successful school exam papers or homework assignments, there were others. these special few had been meticulously picked out from the masses of stickers that could be found at the store.  they had special features: glittery wings on a fairy or soft fur on an animal...things one with a sticker collection could not pass up.  oh it was dazzling, that collection, and entertained me for hours while it lasted.  however, it was a short-lived collection that ended as quickly as it began.  i soon learned that it was difficult to maintain friends and other hobbies if too much time was spent perusing over pages full of sticky paper.  i gave them up and moved on to bigger and better things: a stamp collection.

although i probably should have gone through life wearing a helmet, due to other indiscrepancies, i do not view this little fad as marring my ability to meander through life with some semblance of normality.  in fact, i view my ability to confess my former addiction as proof that i have certainly moved on.

trust me.

...jamie...

Let's get this straight.

Listen, bubbs.

Mission statement:  Our goal in life is to see Chelsea.  Without that, we are nothing.

This blog records our journey to meet our idol: the one and only Chelsea Handler, comedian of all comedians, and the most Jewish of all Jews.  We can only hope that one lucky day she will read this and welcome us into her life, in spite of our nuggetlessness.  

(note to Chelsea: we come with vodka)

"I used to live with a 28 year-old virgin."

Love,

Ashley & Jamie

P.S.  We're not stalkers, just avid fans.  For the record.