Flip Flops Are Evil (As Am I).

Do you know those kind of flip flops that are made out of foam? I suspect they were invented by someone secretly plotting to wipe out society. Last night I was singing while holding a glass of wine and coming out of the shower (usual Thursday evening, I assure you) when I slipped on a pair of these foamy assassins and almost plummeted to my death.

This post is to simply tell you that I'm still alive. And to thank Feryx from Sydney (that's in Australia, by the way) for being the very first to sponsor my blog with this fabulous in-post ad. Click here to see her kick-ass blog and celebrate the fact she bought me four bottles of good wine at a discounted price.

Finally, a quick hello to the guy who took me to see the horrifying nightmare of a movie that was Contagion last night. You sure know how to pick 'em, buddy.

(See... I told you I wouldn't write anything embarrassing about you.)

Have a great weekend, my little chicken dumplings.

Send me a love letter via the interwebs if you want to advertise here. Now click here and make me proud.

UPDATE: Because God is a jokester, this conversation just took place via Yahoo Messenger five minutes ago:

Me: Hi :)

Cassie: What're you doing?

Me: Super tired.

Cassie: What'd you do last night?

Me: Was up until five. Went out to a movie and then drinks with _________ and it just sort of became a long night.

Cassie: No way!?

Me: No, not like that. We're just friends.

Cassie: Good. Because you know that _______ (estranged friend) slept with him.

Cassie: Aaaaand she said he was pretty good. If you sleep with him, you'll be eskimo sisters!

Me: I'd rather vomit on my favorite pair of shoes than be an eskimo sister with that cuntazoid.

Cassie: Be nice...

Me: Oh, I am.

Cassie: Okay, just whatever you do, don't blog about it.

Me: I won't.

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How ironic that just last night we were talking about an ex-football player from high school, Mr. Good Kisser. And now it turns out that you danced the horizontal mambo with his special lady at some point in the past.

I'm very amused by all this.

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Okay, now I'm really done, guys. Click here and enjoy.

How To Scare The Shit Out Of Someone

Disclaimer: I, Annah Rondon, do not make myself responsible for any heart attacks the following video may cause. Also, do not try this on anyone with heart conditions or easily startled.

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There are times when people just get what's coming to them. The following is a fool proof method of scaring the gajeebers out of someone when properly executed.

I find this to be particularly hilarious at work (if the environment lends itself to such shenanigans and it doesn't get you fired). Finally, there's a possiblity the prankster may get punched/slapped by the victim, so proceed with caution.

***Last disclaimer: My friends are terrible actors and yours should be better if you aim for this to actually work.

Public Nudity

Seeing that David and Sosi's wedding is exactly one month away and being held in a land where people are tanned and beautiful (Puerto Rico), I decided a decisive course of action needed to be taken in regards to my skin shade.

Presently, I look like this:

And even though I try to stay away from the sun at all costs and wear 55 SPF for terror of premature wrinklage (not a word), I decided to take advantage of living near the ocean and gain some natural color recently. This post is about my initial attempt at becoming a bronze goddess at my local nude beach (it's called Haulover if you're ever interested in tanning that white pasty ass of yours and find yourself in my vicinity).

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Let's begin by dispeling all rumors and confirming that nude beaches are indeed, places of true civilization, where (most) humans go to roam free the way God intended. Some go because they have a deep rooted disdain for tan lines and are petrified of tanning beds (those things are like caskets full of lights, yo).

My first time at a nude beach was as eventful as a stapler sale on a Tuesday night. Not much to see (pun intended), except a bunch of old people gayly prancing around and splashing in the water. I felt comfortable, at ease with my own nakedness, and the sun was all mine for a day, so who was I to complain?

It'd been years since the last time I'd been tanning at some point in my early twenties and seeing that the only friend willing to bare it all with me now lives in Manhattan, I grabbed my towel and headed out on my own two weeks ago. Now I know this sounds ridiculous, but Haulover is a safe, happy place, where one can rest easy knowing they won't get raped by perverts or run into someone they know.

I tore off my sarong like Demi Moore does the robe in that scene from Striptease (shut up, you know what I'm talking about) and laid down on it. Five minutes later, I spotted an alien walking towards me (alien = young person). As it neared, I realized it was that of the male species, and was carrying a beach chair and newspaper with him. No sooner had I focused on his silhouette, that he opened his chair and plopped down on it, dick swinging and skin glistening in the sun.

Necessary sidenote: Nude beaches are infamous for the civilized manner in which people behave, so even though I wanted to bolt out of there in the presence of this stranger, I lay there quietly humming along to my ipod, as if everything was normal.

Everything would've been alright had he sat down to read in the buff facing the ocean and away from me but instead, he plopped down with his back to the water and directly facing me, the distance between us about three feet.

Within a matter of minutes, Naked Guy's ding dong went from limp to solid batting status, even if he seemed to be very entertained by his newspaper (I knew he was wearing sunglasses for a reason). The worst part of it all was that I felt so ridden with shame that I didn't dare turn around to face my white behind to him, so I had to lay there for an entire hour facing up, absorbing sun on the front part of my body only. Eventually, I wrapped my sarong awkwardly around myself and got up as gracefully as I could, seeing that Naked Boy was intent on staying there all day.

I retreated back to my car as nonchalantly as I could manage, but not before tripping on a branch and dropping my ipod in the sand.

Awkward.

I'm Never Drinking Again

It's a fact of life that whenever I insist on staying home pretending to be a couch vegetable with the sincere hopes of dieting and saving money, I end up doing the complete opposite (case in point: this weekend).

A Compressed Version

• Grab two movies from Blockbuster.
• Rent one, get one free, bitches!
• Can't believe I've never seen this.

• Receive a call from Lola.
• "Guess who has a sitter?!"
• Summoned to go out.
• Really don't want to.
• Say yes anyway.
• Arrive an hour later.
• Three drinks at the house.
• Two shots in the car.
• One more sometime later.
• Irish pub, for the win.
• Live band in the background.
• Complete fade to black.
• Spilled drink on some girl.
• A boxing match challenge.
• Initiated by me.
• My friends hold me back.
• I've never fought anyone.
• Would've gotten my ass kicked.

• Violent onslaught of projectile vomitting.
• Way too old for this shit.
• Wake up on my parents' bed.
• Complete and utter confusion.

• An infinite walk of shame.
• Home sweet home.
• Check my Blogger stats.

More confusion.

• ::::: takes off her boxing gloves ::::::

I Don't Even Know...

At the present moment I'm sitting at the dining table (where I usually blog) and Katie's sitting on the couch (where she usually dwells) and I'm listening to I've Got A Crush On You by Frank Sinatra and singing along really loudly but I'm wearing headphones so for sure she's plotting my death as I sleep tonight.

Ay, you guys, today I wanted to write a great post but as you already know greatness can't be produced on a constant basis so here goes nothing.

• I went to the nude beach the other day and a stranger sat in front of me.
• Not facing the ocean.
• Facing me.
• He was naked.
• I was alone.
• Also naked.
• It was creepy.

That's all for today except I have a question: How can you tell if a man is gay? The thought has been plaguing me for days. Seriously there are so many fabulous gay men in Miami that I think they should all have some sort of sign to throw at a girl if they are. Like gang signs, but full of glitter.

I think I may have the hots for someone who bats for the other team. A little crush of sorts. Help me.

The Magic Bullet

Last night, after finishing up a late workout in front of the television, I took a shower and got into bed. It was way past midnight and I felt drained, but I really wanted to spend some time petting my dogs and cuddling with them before they passed out on me.

So there I lay, enduring Bruno's bad breath and petting his little belly vigorously when I suddenly hear a loud noise emanating from my night stand. At first I thought it was an earthquake of some sort, but it soon dawned on me that this is Florida and I need to get a fucking grip on all my apocalyptic nightmares. The prrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrr prrrrrrrrrr grew stronger and all my dogs began growling at the table, alarming me even more.

Related sidenote: Katie (my roommate) is obsessed with scary movies and was watching some nonsense called Paranormal Activity 2 the night I returned from Key West as I attempted to write a post. I dismissed it as junk and laughed at her while she covered her eyes, because I'm a douchenozzle like that and enjoy seeing her suffering.

When the noise didn't stop after ten seconds, I deduced my night stand was possessed and the demon inside of it would soon come out to take my soul. I threw on a pair of pants and bolted out to Katie's room, knocking desperately on her door to wake her up. Once we returned to my room, we were faced with this (you have to watch it to understand):

We began a game of: You open it - No you open it - But why me? - I'm scared, Katie - And on and on and on...

Eventually, fueled by sleepy drunkenness and ingenuity, Katie opened the drawers to solve the mystery.

Then she found this:

In my defense I haven't used my magic bullet since my celibacy ended a year ago and completely forgot it was there. And now I've gone and used up my knock-on-Katie's-door-in-the-middle-of-the-night-because-I'm-scared-shitless privileges.

Apparently, being pulled out of bed to retrieve your friend's vibrator from her nightstand is ten times as scary as any Paranormal Activity low budget film could ever be.

So No One Told You Life Was Gonna Be This Way...

My friends David & Sosi are getting married in Puerto Rico this October and so it's factual that my existence in the coming weeks will consist of movie nights and canned tuna dinners in an effort to save the one thousand dollars I'll need for my little journey to San Juan.

The other night, home and watching television (which is surprisingly fun, by the way) I posted this tweet:

I'm guessing that after one too many cups of tea you forgo the ability to write properly, but by "thoughts," I meant Who are the five celebrities you want to sleep with. Not, Thoughts on Friends?

Soon after I received a few tweets in uproar:

It's not like I neglected Friends on purpose, guys. It's just one of those things that never caught my attention, is all. But here's what I learned about the-ever-so-infamous sitcom after watching a full episode.

• Jennifer Aniston's hair is really pretty.
• The one liners in the show are super corny.
• I didn't really find it all that funny (I love you).
• That blonde airheaded lady makes the show.
• Ross is kind of cute in a dorky, frog looking sort of way.
• It's likely I'll never watch another episode again (I love you, again).

Now on to the real reason for my tweet, the top five celebrities I'd want to make sweet, passionate, skin clawing sexy time with (even though it's technically seven).

Michael Pitt

Channing Tatum

Wentworth Miller

Jackson Rathbone

Marlon Brando/James Dean

Josh Hartnett (not married nor the word that starts with a G that rhymes with hay, yay!).

Thoughts?

And by thoughts, I'm not talking about Friends.

Some People Just Need To Be Stabbed In Their Sleep

As I quickly deduced from last week's car towing catastrophe, my condo's housing community has changed management and subsequently, the members of their board. Yesterday, I woke up to a loud and lovely barrage of knocking on my door and when I peeked outside (still half-naked and with bed hair), there was no one there. I noticed something off when I left for work, but was in too much of a hurry to pay close attention.

Upon my return, the entrance to my community had been blocked by yellow tape and cones. No sign. No forewarning notice on the door letting people know there would be no motherf*cking parking for them. Nothing. I had to park my car three blocks from my place and walk home in my pointy and uncomfortable work heels.

Today, my mom had to pick me up and give me a ride to work. Not only did I have to eat a bag of potato chips for lunch because I had no car to get food, but I'm going to have to deal with this situation for another five days. Now here's where the stabbing begins.

When my mom scoops me up and brings me home, she stops on the curb so I can get out. In order to not get rammed from behind by oncoming traffic, she parks the front part of her car on the grass. Immediately after, some asshole in a Mercedes Benz parks on the street right next to us and tells us we can't park there. My mom says, "No problem" and turns to me. As I'm packing my purse and looking for my keys, the man gets out of the Benz and starts knocking on my mom's car window.

And this was my breaking point. One thing is to nastily tell me something once, but you're not talking to my momma like that! I got out of the car and it was on.

Him: (Still looking at my mother) Next time you park there I'm gonna-

Me: You already told her she can't park there. She gets it, guy.

Him: I'm the new head of the board and-

Me: I don't really care what you're the head of. Heard you the first time. Please go away.

Him: You can't park there. Next time I'm going to call the cops.

Me: You can't talk to us like that either. Next time *I'll* call the cops.

Him: I'M GOING TO SEND A LETTER TO YOUR LANDLORD TELLING HIM ALL THE RULES!

Me: YOU CAN SEND HIM ALL THE LETTERS YOU WANT 'TIL YOU'RE BLUE IN THE FACE, BUDDY! (turned on my heel and left him talking to himself while my sweet mom rolled up her window on him and slowly drove off whilst looking apologetic).

Grrrrrrrrrrrr. I wanted to sucker punch him with my plastic lunch fork in the neck.

And this is what things look like now:

On a completely unrelated note, I've decided it's time to monetize this puppy of mine and will be featuring ads going forward. In-post ads will be $35 and sidebar ads will be $10 for a month.

What can I say? I'm cheap and need a reason to justify all the hours I put into this blog. Email me and help keep me alive! annahbanana@rocketmail.com <---- If that's not convincing I don't know what is. I'll even throw in a cartoon of you.

It's A Small World, After All...

Sometimes I pray for blog material and it never shows up. Other times, God throws me a bone of such magnanimous proportions, I'd be the world's biggest idiot if I didn't share.

It's important to note that if you're my friend and have a boyfriend, you'll likely think this post is about you. My advice? Don't fret.

Paranoia is usually unfounded and you're boyfriend is a saint.

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Last November

Right around the time the holiday season began last year and the temperatures cooled five degrees, I culminated a seven month celibacy period I began right after a particularly hard break-up. Some of you have been reading RMG long enough to remember, some have not.

I think of my time of sexless torment with fondness. After all, it was a time of introspection. A time of self-discovery. A time of meaningful growth. Also, a time of too much drinking 'til oblivion came to lie with me.

After that beautiful thing called "celibacy break" took place in late October, I was ready to go out to actually meet and talk to men. On one of those nights, there he was. Looks wise, he was definitely my type. I could sit here and explain what said type is, but then the cat would be out of the bag much sooner than it should (and even I'm not that much of a bitch).

That night he met a few of my friends, including #1 and #2 (names would just mess everything up). For the next few weeks we talked on the phone almost every night and went for drinks on one occasion. He said he worked late shifts and I wasn't thinking of marrying the guy, so his whereabouts didn't concern me as much as he thought they should.

One evening, I was out with friends for a birthday dinner, when he sent a text asking where I was. I replied and soon after he inquired what I'd be doing after. Once I arrived at my final destination, I had a chance to reply to his last text.

"I'm here at Cigar Bar with some friends," I quickly responsed, then put away my phone.

I don't know why he thought this was appropriate, but half an hour later, there he was.

I know I wrote about this at the time so I won't re-enact our conversation outside the bar word-for-word. All I know is that I asked him to leave and he was extremely offended. He didn't understand why showing up uninvited to a place where I was with people he never met was weird. I nicely told him to leave and he just kept hugging me without a reply. Finally he conceded, but not before asking for a kiss. The answer to that was, "No."

We never spoke again.

Months Later...

It's the weekend and we're headed to a friend's place. #1 isn't able to make it due to a family engagement, but #2 is there as my necessary evil co-pilot. As soon as we arrive to the dinner party, I realize it's one of a very intimate nature and immediately deem it boring. Three guys are sitting at the dinner table, while their girlfriends are in the kitchen preparing the feast.

I carelessly stroll inside and say hello to the guys first, planting the customary Miami kiss-on-the cheek and introducing them to #2. I then go to the kitchen to greet the girls and make myself useful.

During dinner, #2 has a funny little smile and keeps kicking me under the table. I figure she's drunk and kick her back, although I'm inwardly pondering if she wants to play footsies with me. One of the guys looks familiar but I can't really pinpoint where I know him from, so I quickly assume it's from a previous outing and enjoy my turkey meal. I notice him looking at me from time to time and smile politely, the fact he's attractive isn't lost on me.

That night, as we're heading out of there and high tailing it to a place not filled with couples, #2 turns to me with that same smile from before and says, "Small world, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" I ask in confusion.

She sighs deeply and examines me with her big brown eyes, finally exclaiming, "You honestly have no idea, do you?"

Oh. My. God.

It's him.

My friend Nadia's been dating this creepster for a year and I simply just sat and broke bread with him while he possibly fought off a heart attack the moment I walked in. The boyfriend I've probably met before but simply don't remember. The boyfriend who tried to cheat on her with me but I turned away that fateful night outside a cigar bar without a second thought.

"How did you not recognize him, you weirdo?" She interrupts my thoughts. "Actually, don't even answer that. Your selective memory never fails to amuse me."

"Holy shit, this is so ridiculous. I-, I can't believe this."

She laughs while slowly shaking her head at me reproachfully. "Only you, buddy. Only you..." Then her eyes open wide and I already know what she's going to say before she utters a single word. "Oh please, please, please say you're blogging about this."

"Absolutely not," I reply.

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Then later I changed my mind.

I'm On.

 

britt and janet. three days without shampoo. hemingway's old house. polydactyl kitties. frozen drinks. pools and hammocks. my old hat. beers by the mile. mallory square. cassie and hiram. missed sunsets. unexpected surprises. clothing optional bar. smell of sweaty testicles. stick-on mustaches. a few gay men. jello shots. one bronze lion. an old church. strawberry margaritas. lots of walking. spicy food. southernmost point. 90 miles to Cuba. good decisions. some bad ones.

and so it is.

another necessary trip away from reality.