Game on!

So,thanks to my nepotistic (is that even a word?) connections, I scored prime-o seats (in the VIP suite mind you!) to the Sharks game. Now, I am a bit more of an "against the glass cuz I wanna smell and see the blood" kinda gal, but really can't complain. There was a friggin lounge and free water, and VIP parking, which unlike Candelstick, was actually in close proximity to the stadium! Before I get into the experience, let me just first relay a unique sighting on the ride down to San Jose where the stadium is. As my friend and I were driving, I look to my right and see a little yellow car (some kind of Toyota or Honda type of compact) with a life size wind-up key rotating on the back. Easily amused, I start to laugh, but then see the driver (it was also a convertible). He looked like the poorman's version of Tom Selleck with a mullet and diamond earring.
My laughter was drowned out by the radio blasting "goodybumps" or whatever the hell that new song is called by the Blackeyed Peas. Very surreal.

Anyway, back to the game. I think of sporting events as my excuse to eat like a Titan. We set up camp in the lounge and after chatting with our respective suite mates, visited the concierge for a map of food stations (oh, and they serve REAL alcohol as well). I went with a bento box (sushi at a stadium? risky-yes, I know), while my friend got a polish dog and we split a box of popcorn shrimp and fries. My gut still has not forgiven me for that outrage and even though we were already doubled over in pain, figured "when in Rome" and got a chocolate dip cone and a chocolate-chip cookies ice cream sandwich. Despite his cast-iron stomach, he was hurting too.

So, the Sharks were shamed (our goalie should be bitch-slapped) after a decent start by the Canucks, who weren't even that good themselves. Canada scored two goals in the 3rd period and it was over. What happened?! The Sharks made a name for themselves...what...four years ago with such a strong start, then never recovered. I didn't have high hopes, but expected at least more than one fight as consolation. Come on boys-get with the program!

Anyway-a goodtime was had for sure. One day, I will be plastered against the glass in NY cheering on the Rangers, amongst the bone-crunching, testosterone pumping blood of the hot, denture wearing players. One can dream....

All Hallows Eve...again...

So, it's been a whole year since I started this blog last September, generating interest among my growing readership with images and recounts of the infamous and now legendary Halloween Party at the Old Mint. (Picture the sarcasm dripping from these words). We didn't realize that party would be so cool and I still run into people who start telling me about a great party they went to last year in that building. I'm like "I threw that shit!" I do wish I could've enjoyed it more as an attendee, but was too busy running around-hell I wasn't even drunk! Regardless, I'm glad it was enjoyed by all.

Most years, I can never get a costume in time and wind up throwing something together at the last minute. Last year, my friend helped me put together a grand costume as a peacock. This year, I lost my nerve for my costume which involved a skintight body suit and not much else (I'll save that one for next year). So, I went with the lame back-up of "rocker a go-go devil chick" also called "my alter ego."

I wasn't sure what to do this year. Most friends were out of town and the last time I went to the Castro district, I was nearly trampled by riot police and stuck with needles by asswipes from San Jose. Luckily, my friend works at the Castro Theater and this year invited me to their staff party, saving me from the self-degradation of strapping on a candy feedbag while watching Goulies II at home. How awesome to be able to view the crowd from above, while not having to be submerged in the mess. I definitely felt superior...even more so than usual. I didn't have high hopes for the evening when we walked into the Castro and the police confiscated my pitchfork. Good thing I left the real one at home. Anyway, so after downing a few glasses of two-buck-chuck, some whiskey and sangria, I started to get into it. At one point I startled a guy in a Jesus suit by yelling, "Hey Jesus!" in my most obnoxious drunken voice. He looked like he was about to piss his robe and birkenstocks. In order to protect associated parties at this event, unfortunately a few details of the evening will have to go unaccounted. What happens in the Castro stays in the Castro, right?

I took a walk later with a new friend to the Men's Room bar. They hadn't seen many "real" women in there to drink, so the moment I walked in they were like "the ladies bathroom is in the back!" My eyes glittered with the amber hue of the full line-up of whiskey behind the bar as I proclaimed my intention to drink. They all loved me then. I spent a lot of time talking to "Jim" the wasted drunk guy dressed as a Furbie, while another guy hugged my waist and serenaded me with a slurry version of "Roxanne."
Need I say it? Good times.