Who Has More Fun?

I missed you guys yesterday. Writer's block hit haaaaard and I still don't really get where to find or how to do link-ups so I just left the page blank rather than word vom about I prefer sharpie fine point pens over ball point (yeop...that was literally where yesterday's post was going) and tell you guys it was a post. I like you. I'd like you to stick around. So, even though what I talk about is mostly bull shit anyways, I'd like it to at least be an attempt for relatable, relevant bull shit.

So, some things are changing around here. I'm basically in the midst of a full-blown Megan Makeover. I figure new city, new career, new look! First of all we're gettin' things right and tight up in hurr. Like changing the Body by Budweiser to the Body by THELANDOFHOTTOBODIEDBISHES. I'm on a new eating regiment that gives me the serious amount of structure I need. I'm not even lying to you, if I have too much freedom about choosing food and making healthy choices, the little fat kid in my brain will always win out. Always. He's all up in my head saying, "you're totally allowed that brownie, oh and you live alone so you can eat like 47 of them and no one ever has to know." Fat kid in my brain is a certified asshole.

I'm down 10 LB's and feeling better already. Come our family vacation to the Virgin Islands in May I'm gonna be back to my fighting weight. Since I put it all out here into the Bloggerverse I have to stick with it or you'll all thing I'm a slackerasslazyhoe. We don't want that. Plus my gym membership card is so cool looking. Its the closest I'll get to owning anything that looks like a American Express Black Card.

Okay, so putting them side by side my card looks like a diarrhea poop crap card, but I swear in real life it looks legit.

Now comes the part of the makeover that is negotiable and I need your help.

I have my first hair appointment in my new cit-ay (Yay! No more Shakira roots!) and I'm debating on staying blonde - which I have been forever with some very short exceptions orrrrr...going brunette for a while.

Here's the deal, I'm legitimately worried part of my internal feelings of hottness will disappear with the loss of my blondeness.

Let me qualify before all my brown-hair babies start throwing rotten fruit and calling me an ignorant brunette haircist. I know A LOT of hottass brunettes, BUT you REALLLLY have to get the color right with lots of depth and they typically have this beautiful skin tone that pulls it all together. I have the Irish skin tone more commonly known as Twilight pale. I should buy stock in Bare Minerals Warmth. Its not olivey or warm and no matter how dark my hair I will never look exotic.

At the same time, I'm ready for some change. I'm bored with my hair and I will ABSOLUTELY not cut it, so changing up the color is about the only option I have. I've even thought of doing a teeeny tiny little bit of ombre at the tips. Brunette all over with a little sneak peak of caramel at the ends for just a touch of flavah.

Here is the color/cut I'm thinking of - Mandy Moore circa 2008:

I've had this magazine page in my wallet for like 290384029384 years and have seriously just always been THAT chicken shit to ever take the plunge. 

Okay, so now I'm going to post some douchey selfies both as a blonde and brunette. You know how nervous I feel about posting pictures I take of myself, but this is a necessary exception. Keep the giggles/judging to a minimum and help me decided!

Blonde or Brunette?

Leopard Print Woes & Sequins Wounds

I'm wearing a leopard blouse today. Is that too much? I usually throw in my love for the LP (leopard print) subtly with a skinny belt, shoes, or purse, but today I went for the whole enchilada. I can't decide if I look stylish or like a Real Housewife of Orange County. I need some chick co-worker friends so I can get a female opinion because my one work friend is a boy and he walked into my office and said, "oh hey, cheetah girl." Cheetah Girl? The effing Raven-Symone Disney disaster?! Shit. This is clearly not a date blouse.

What do we think? Too much?

I'm not going to lie, I originally bought this thang for my Halloween costume this weekend. I was just going to shove as much leopard print on my body as possible and scream "Spice up your life!" in an English accent in people's faces until the we're horrified enough to realize I was, indeed, Scary Spice. Well, as it turns out, my leopard blouse was dubbed too conservative so we opted for a sequins tank that cut the sheeeeet out of my arms. Sequins are no joke people. They are life ruiners. Those bitches rubbed me raw. 

I am sorry that I am THE WORST at remembering to take pictures, so I only have this one photo. Its a horror show. I'm way to committed to my character and the Scary Spice horns didn't look good on Mel B., let alone on me. So feel very lucky that I'm sharing this friends because when I sent it to my mother her response was, "Oh. You are scary."

I picked up so many dudes that night.

Keep in mind I'm also trying to cut back on my boozing, so I was SOBER through this whole "situation". Regardless of the sequin death rubbing, horned hair-do, and caked on makeup the Halloween party was so much fun and I soberly raged until 3AM, resulting in me not getting out of bed until...um...3PM yesterday. Ultimate shame.

On the MOST exciting note of the weekend...my Irish are 8-0!!! What an amazing win over Oklahoma, I think I'm still on the victory high!

My best friend Kathleen's BF called her out for snoozin' through the biggest game of the season! But its okay, we still love her ;)

Happy Monday lovahs :)

Freakin' Weekend

Well, I'm not in Kansas any more Totos. It SNOWED here yesterday. SNOWED. Effmylife. None of it stuck thank gawd, but the toddler in a tiara inside me threw a slight tantrum while reading everyone's twitters and FB barking about the tropical heat wave they were experiencing. Don't worry bout me guys, I'm just up here freezing my royal rastafarian nay-nays off.

Sooo...I've been trying to cook up some ideas for a consistent weekly post I can start doing and keep coming back to this idea of FreakShow Fridays. I feel likes some of my weirdest observations, interactions, and personal habits start to show their bizarre faces on Fridays and figure it might be fun (so many f's in that sentence. my apologies.)

Lets try it on for size, see if it makes our nipples tingle. If it does, we have a new Six-One tradition. If its lame, let me know and we'll pretend it never happened. K? k. 

In today's episode of FreakShow Friday:

• As I was walking to my car this morning I passed by a girl who was walking her cat. on a leash. in public. That shit weirds me out man. I am not a cat owner, so maybe I'm ignorant to the amount of exercise they need, but I thought the whole friggin' point of getting a cat is that you don't have to go outside in the balls cold weather at 7:30AM to walk them. Like I said, it was super weird, but don't worry I trumped her weirdness by thinking I'm Emily Thorne (see, watching too much Revenge) and trying to discreetly snap a photo. FAIL. She totally caught me and flipped that shit on me. SHE was the one walking a GD cat, yet because I'm about as inconspicuous as a Rob Pattinson at a Twi-hard convention I'M the one who ended up getting judged. Figures.

• I woke up this morning to a text from a random number that said "his triflinazz walk in wit her n i say u aint gon get no mo of dis goody brokeazz *explitive*!" This was followed by a video message from my best friend who went to a Halloween party and ended up at a NELLY Concert. I must be doing something wrong because my Thursdays NEVER consists of "dis goody" or live renditions of Hot in Hurr. Ever. 

• I just know I'm going to be a hottassmess of freakshowness tomorrow at this Halloween party. Its during the ND vs. Oklahoma game and the party is hosted by ND grads so the game will definitely be on. I don't know if you've read my other post about how I behave during just a regular Irish football game, but multiple it by a bajillion when it comes to a BIG game. I'm going to definitely fulfill my roll as Scary Spice. I can kiss meeting any cute guys goodbye. 

Yeop. I will pick up so many hotties losing my shit over...

This.

I will be cheering on my friends who are running a 10 mile monster dash tomorrow morning. They'll be all up in there workin' on their fitness and I, fittingly, will be standing with a jank-ass homemade sign sipping Bloody Marys out of a thermos. Booze will be necessary for whatever leopard nightmare I'll be wearing in public after. 

What freakshow shiz happened to you guys today? Let the freak flags fly people. 

I'll Tell You What I Want

I stayed up until 1:30AM watching Revenge on netflix last night. Woof.

I was then woken up at 3:30 by the sound of something - be it a mouse, cockroach, demon critter - in a box I had on the floor next to my bed. I cried on the inside, sat on my bed with my Louisville Slugger in hand and stared at said box for 15 minutes. I then spent the rest of my night on my couch. Yippee.

Tell me why when I googled "Gross Critter" a picture of Lindsey Lohan popped up. Dying.

This weekend I was invited to a Halloween party! I haven't dressed up for Halloween in about 5 years and the last time I did I wore a green sweat suit, made a cardboard cut out mask in the shape of a paddle and painted my whole face white so it look like the ball. I was ping pong. Needless to say its been a while since I've done the "sexy kitten".

I was wracking my brain on what to be when I got an email from my GF's suggesting we go as the Spice Girls. You'll never guess which one they want me to be. While I wish you were thinking Posh, I think we both know you immediately went down the Scary road. DING! DING! DING! I have been requested to get my Melanie Brown on and rock some outrageous outfit the embodies zigazig ahhing.

Literally every time I have been asked to be a Spice (oh yes my sweets, this is not my first rodeo) I am cast in the role of Scary. It probably makes sense, I have naturally curly hair that can look like Chaka Khan if I let it, I own multiple leopard belts, scarves, skirts, and shoes. I wear heels so high, I'm most certain some people confuse me for a tranny and I tend to be, well....loud. Yeop. I'd say Scary sounds about right.

Now can I please just have Mel B.'s abs to complete the look?

Dayyyyuuuuuum guuurl.

Beyonce is the Only One Who Understands Me.

This statement is going to shock you all.

I am single. 

I know, I know, its super hard to believe with my lady-like ways, superb hygiene, very clean speech, and slammin' hott bod that causes 1998 Suburbans to back it up, but its a true story.

Here's the deal. I'm pretty damn comfortable with being on my own - and not in the way we lie to ourselves at night while spooning the extra pillows - (I would not have been able to say that a couple years ago), but after a year and a half of nada, zip, zilch in the mans department I'm completely okay with it being just me, myself, and I. What I have come to realize is that everyone else seems to be a lot less comfortable with me free and on the prowl.

Why do I tell you this? I'm sure you're all thinking, "why does dis bish just get on here and cry bitch baby tears about her non-morning person, dirty crackbun wearin', no-man havin' ass?!" No, no, no I'm telling you this because the next person to tell me, "don't worry, it'll happen for you" is getting a chudo chop to the throat then a face full of my boobie mace.

With two sisters married within 9 months of each other, this seems to illicit all sorts of fun comments. While standing in a family photo (significant others included) one of my Aunts leaned over to me and whispered,

"You better find yourself a man Megan, you're the only one left in the family." I choked her with my thoughts.

Now, I realize that most people say these things out of "kindness" or their awkward social skills, but pointing out a woman's aloneness (made that up, go with it.) at a wedding is like telling a 9 month pregnant woman she looks like she's going to pop. You just don't do it. Unless you want your face clawed off. 

I am well aware that I am here solo-dolo, but I'm THRILLED you felt the need to point it out. 

These moments, coupled by the numerous times my girlfriends have had 3 glasses of pinot and decided it would be "SO fun" to make me a match.com, okcupid, youregoingtodiealone.com profile, are enough to make me start sending myself flowers and RSVPing my plus one only to claim he got called into work. All to just put the concerns at ease.

Listen, I know my family and friends just want me to be happy. I know they know how important it is to me to find that someone who compliments my weird and have big 'ole weird family. I know they do this out of love for me and I can appreciate their desire to see my settled, but I also know that I'm really happy with my life and I'm more than okay with waiting for my weirdo.

Irish Victories with a Side of Psychokilla

Hellllllooooooo Monday! This weekend was just what the doctah ordered. I spent 99% of it in my sweats and the grungiest, loosest t-shirt I have watching trashy television and basking in my all-around laziness. 

Remember when I said I was going to spend Friday night finishing my bottle of wine? Welllll....I may or may not have waited until Saturday and had my on own personal living room tailgate before the Notre Dame game. And by may or may not, I mean I did. And it was the tits. 

I'm not sure I've mentioned to you my complete and utter obsession with Notre Dame Football. To say I'm fanatical would be an understatement. I spent some of the best years of my life at Saint Mary's College and got to play Water Polo for the Irish. The ND/SMC family is my heart song. Oh I drank the kool-aid friends, I chugged that shit.

Not a single one of the douchelords I've dated in the past, oh I dunno, 26 years have resulted in the amount of heartache I have known through my love of the Irish. They have ripped my heart out of my chest then recruited a 10 ton jungle beast to use it as a trampoline. Everyone loooooves to hate ND and these past few years we have given them reason to talk all sorts of ish. But, BUT not this year. This year we are currently 7-0 ranked no. 5 in the COUNTRY and our defense makes QB's pee in their jockstraps (too graphic? sorry...sorta.). 

Saturday though, while sparing you the details, my sweet sweet Irish tried to revert back to their old ways and effing kill me. My neighbors FOR SURE think I'm certifiable. I was screaming to the high friggin' heavens, jumping up and down on my couch, cussing like a sailor and trucker made love, and just being an all around psychopathic killer. We ended up winning. I'm a bit dramatic. 

Speaking of psychopathic killers. Let.Me.Tell.You. about how some bat-shit crazy crackhead killa attacked my car last night as I was stopped at a stoplight. Holy shit balls I have never been so scared in my life. Like didn't sleep last night because I thought he had superpowers of lightening fast running and followed me home, then made himself invisible and snuck through my door and was waiting for me under my bed and once I relaxed he was going to murder me then snort crack of my dead body (can you snort crack? see. this shit is out of my league). 

Needless to say I bought this bad boy at like 6 this morning. 

 No freakshow killers are gonna snatch me up. I will blind them with my death spray that also saves the ta-tas.

My Body and I are Breaking Up

I'm not going to lie to you guys, I'm pretty tapped out this week and I certainly feel like its much too early in my blogging to be whining to you guys about such things, yet here we are. Me bitching and you so kindly NOT clicking that tiny "x" at the top right of your screen.

I have gone through a LOT of big life changes in the past month and this week seems like it all caught up with me. I've been running on hyper speed and my body is currently giving me the finger saying, "Suck it Meg, I'm not doing this ish any more."

In the course of four weeks I have watched one of my sibbesties marry the man of her dreams.

http://julieharmsenphotography.com/

Moved to a new city.

Started a new career.

Started decorating an apartment.

Resuscitated (if you only could have seen how I spelled that pre-spellcheck)  my social life.

All of these things are AH-mazing and making my life feel so rich, but have not lead to the healthiest of living. I mean, beer and take-out are definitely at the base of my food pyramid (that's the part of that thing that you're supposed to eat the most of right?), but my body feels super crappy and I'm SO. DAMN. TIRED.

Sooooo....I've decided to detox this weekend. Well. Starting tomorrow because I have a bottle of wine to finish and have been craving pancakes all friggin' day. (DO YOU SEE THE SLIPPERY SLOPE HERE?!)

My hope is that 2-3 days of no booze (waaah), no crap-tastic food, fresh air, and sleeeeeeeep will have me feeling like I can grab next week by the balls.

What are you betches up to this weekend? I want to hear stories of you all drinking the demon liquor, eating 40,000 crunchwrap supremes, and raging until the wee hours. I will be living vicariously through you.

I Love Being an Aunt More Than I love Dirty Martinis and Ryan Gosling

A large DC from the Donalds happened AGAIN this AM. What is with me this week?! Hottassmess. I'm clearly having some sort of break-up with coffee. No bueno. 

Today I'm over at Life After with this chick:

Talking about how obsessed I am with being this kid's Aunt:

Cha-cha-check it ouuuut bishes. 

www.lifeafterblog.com

No. 5 As a Fragrance, No. 1 in My Heart

I stopped at McDonalds this morning for a LARGE fountain Diet Coke. I can see that its going to be one of those days. Fan-freaking-tastic.

My hott date with this girl will surely be the only redeeming factor. 

Don't you dare judge me about how I look in this photo. It was St. Patty's day and my MOM had to pick me up and take me to Burger King that evening. Winner.

I have a confession. Remember all those times I said I have no friends? I should've qualified. I have no NEW friends. No friends who are not leaving me *cough, Shanel, cough* to go, you know, get married and live happily ever after in another state. I know! Total bullshit. I'm currently in the midst of campaigning for her to never leave and possibly for her and her husband to consider the adoption of a 26 year old. I think I'm making headway. 

My FABulous friend Shanel has been my saving grace through my big move. I swear she is the Katy Perry to my Rhianna, the Gwen to my Beyonce, the Courtney Cox to my wannabe Jen Aniston ass. 

Short of buying me groceries, this woman has been the definition of friend and I may handcuff myself to her come December when she tries to leave. I'm talking swallow-the-key-handcuffing. I mean who else is going to order a full meal withme at a HH where all the other ladies are politely munching on apps? Who else will make YouTube debuts about inappropriate topics with me? WHO ELSE will attempt to get me to purchase sensible heels?!

See what I mean? Her leaving is a tragedy. Do you all think web searching "kidnapping" would get me flagged by the government/FBI?

Put Your Paws Up

I have a question.
Do you think musicians who sing the love songs that make you want to cry in your car then go run slow-mo in a field of wildflowers are really as romantic in real life as they are in those tunes? Sorry. Ne-yo is all up in my headphones and making a girl think. Cuz he clearly wants to love me until I learn to love myself.

Speaking of loving myself,  I made a very exciting purchase for moi last week. This purchase was for something I haven't done since I was a teenager, but have always wanted to do as an adult. This purchase ended up being for something I never expected. Guys. Its GAGA! Yes, its true, I bought tickets to the Lady Gaga concert.

I'm going to level with you here. I am not a HUGE Gaga fan. I am by no means a creature or monster or whatever the eff she calls her fans. I definitely like her music, but I probably wont know every word to every song and I will know none words to the songs that have not been on the radio. HOWEVER, I am convinced this show is going to be incredibly entertaining. How could it not be?!

When my friend asked me if I wanted to go with her I was all, "frick yeah, but I'm only going if we wear dresses made of meat and show up in an alien egg." She laughed awkwardly and thought I was kidding. I was not.

So now we have to find me a costume that is outrageous and awesome. As long as my hoo-ha and chesticles  aren't flopping in the wind, nothing is off limits. I'm welcoming all suggestions. So far the following are on my wish list:

Hair bow. A must for Gaga riiiight?

Where else but Gaga??

I realize the relevance of grillz to Gaga is non-existent but, like I told you, I'm a gangster. I can't think of anywhere else I could wear one, so I'm just going to take this opportunity and run with it.

Word to the wise. NEVER google "disco stick" or "rhinestone bodysuit". Just trust me on this one.

Snickah Thick Kim K. Wannabe

Ever have Mondays where you are soooo lazy and don't even deserve an ounce of it? Like, you didn't do a damn thing all day Sunday except walk two blocks to the coffee shop just to buy a chocolate croissant at 7pm, but still pressed snooze so many times Monday morning that you didn't have time to shower so crack bun strikes again and you had to put your deo in your purse and shamefully put it on in your cube? Anyone? Bueller? Just me? k. awesome.

HOB better not ask me to lunch today. That would be some form of evil karmic retribution I'm positive I've done nothing to deserve.

Guys. I went out on Saturday night. Like put on some tight skinnies, sky-high heels that made me 6'3", a blouse that showed some serious cleev, and red lipstick. I even did the half blouse tuck that is so "in" right now inspired by Sarah at Unexpected Journey. I looked friggin' hott.

I tried to take a selfie for you all, but I'm sooo bad at it. I look like the lord of all the douches when I take them and I have a legit fear of you all looking at a picture I took of myself and thinking, "Who the eff does this chick think she is? She aint no Kim K."

If I looked like this I would not give a shit what you all thought of my selfies. Just sayin'.

Going out was actually fairly successful. Some girls I met through an old friend took me out and it was nice to feel like I had a group of GF's. Staple memories of the evening include:

• Being asked for a hug by a small Spanish speaking man in-line for a...wait for it...strip club. EW.

SN: It appears that the higher the heel I wear and the taller I am, the shorter the man that hits on me. What is with that? Do I look like a friggin' jungle gym to them or something? Weird.

• Being told I was, "Thickah than a snickah". 

If someone knows what this means please feel free to educate me. If it is any reference to how massive my ass has gotten, forget the education. I don't need another reason to sit at home in elastic waist banded pants promising myself tomorrow I'll eat nothing but carrot sticks.

• My gf's car being attacked by a woman dressed as a zombie as we sat innocently (and petrified) inside.

Oh this shit doesn't happen to you guys? Par for the course in this girl's life. Its like weird is drawn to me. Moth to a flame.

I'd say my first nightlife venture here was success AND I just realized I have a frozen pizza in my trunk (normal.) to complete my lazy-ass Monday by not cooking dinner. Fat kid problems? Sounds about right.

Friday's Letters

Mrs. Life After said I should try a link-up this freezing-ass-cold Friday morning. I have no idea what I'm doing. Apparently I'm going to write the Universe some letters.

Dear Drivers in my New City,

You effing suck. You don't know how to merge, you don't know how to drive faster than 4 mph, and you have somehow managed to be passive aggressive all the way from another car. I wish I drove a Hummer so I could just friggin' monster truck rally all over your asses. Also, as my Bro-Dos John reiterates, there is something to be said for the "Thank You Wave". If you're going to abuse me at least make me feel appreciated after.

Dear HOB (Hot Office Boy),

I enjoy looking at you. Like I have to make a concentrated effort not to stare over the top of my cube at you like friggin' Wilson on Home Improvement. You're distractingly handsome.

Dear Chinese food,

You were so yummy, but I couldn't eat all of you at the restaurant because HOB was there and I needed to not look like a viking. Please don't tell anyone that I ate the rest of you once I got back to my cube even though I said I was going to "save you for dinner". You always call me on my bullshit, but lets just keep this between us. mmkaythanks.

Dear Madre,

You are a new apartment haver's dream. Thank you for helping me conceptualize my living room and getting me a rug that makes my life feel like its full of rainbows making love to butterflies. You're the best all the time.

Dear Kay,

I hope you're happy. I made it through an entire week of blogging and, while I feel extremely vulnerable and nervous every time I post, I've had a lot of fun this week. So thank you for being a nagging, peer-pressuring, stubborn-ass Irish woman. I love you long time.

Dear New Friends/Blog Universe,

Thank you for being so welcoming through my first and extremely experimental week of blogging. Thank you for letting me say muthaeff, shit, balls, pube salad, and a slew of other profanities without giving me judgey side-eye. I think we could have a happy, if not slightly dysfunctional life together.

Fug Days + Hott Dudes + Chinese food dates = Bitch Baby Tears

I think I might be short and sweet today my friends (yes, since I can't find any in real life you all have won the title. Congratulations.)

I drank three glasses of wine last night, ate 4,000 pounds of pasta and could barely zip up my pencil skirt this morning. Let me tell you, I'm a vision.

Hott. I know.

AND I just got invited to do lunch with my super sexy co-worker. Motherfuck. (yep. this situation is appropriate for the real deal.)

AND the restaurant he picked is Chinese food. Man do I love me some sweet and sour anything. Like, used to request it as my birthday meal love. Now I'm supposed to eat all small, ladylike, don't think I'm fat just think I'm slammin' portion sizes? Um. This will be a challenge cuz when I typically eat Chinese on a hott date with my DVR... I order like 2 egg rolls, crab ragoons, and the biggest entree on the menu. Shit.

This will only end in tears. and a Chinese food baby.

Aint Nobody Fresha

Allow me to introduce y'all to my clique, my posse, my peeps, my crew, my entourage, mi amigos, my people. (I'm extremely gangster so that sentence should be read in the most G voice you can conjure  Also, if I could go all Mark Zuckerberg on your asses and code or html or whatever that shit is to make "Clique" by Jay-z, Kanye, and Big Sean play in the background of this post, that would be happening.)

**Disclaimer: These people are complete freakshows, but their my freakshows and I'm obsessed with them. You're going to hear about them constantly. Sorry bout chya.**

Betches and Decks - I present to you my sibbesties:

E

(Yes, this is who set examples for me as a child. You're understanding why I am this way more and more)

This David Bowie lookin' ass is my seester Erin. She is more fashion forward than you or I could ever hope to be, she's got a laugh that is more contagious than that horrific Matt Damon movie, and she can write the muthaeff out of anything. Girls got skillz to pay billz folks.

Mr. & Mrs. S

This vision in aquamarine is my bro-tres, The Skiz, The Doctah. J+E joined #teammarriage like 4-seconds ago (try a month) and Justin is pretty much the most badass, low-key hi-larious dude on the planet. Homeboy can make fun of you and you don't even realize its happening. He's the effing Chuck Norris of sly jokes. Needless to say he fits in just fine.

Kay

Most of you know this ghetto-fab lady. Note the deuces she's chuckin' up as she strangles a friggin' puppy. Don't be deceived by Life After, this bitch will cut you. Just kidding...sorta. Kay has kicked motherhood in the balls she's so good at it, is going to save the world after she finishes her MSW, and can drink tequila like no other 5'4" blondemonster I know.

The "M" Posse

(These two know how to make a pretty baby. I mean, C'MON!)

That guy up there in the ugly green zip up? (Go Irish!) Bro Dos. John. The original BIL. Let me tell you about the bombtastic breakfasts this man makes. I mean, its all fun and games til you can't button your pants. He also pretty much dealt with me playing Uncle Jesse for a year as I practically lived at his house, he plays guitar and has a voice that's a mixture of Fergie and Jesus (he'll deny it) and he watches at least 4 rounds of SportsCenter a day. This guy just gets me.

Seany Pat

This muthah right here? Sean. You will never be as cool as him, stop trying now. Brosef has killer taste in music, is from the other side of the country but Cali Swags ankle socks, tanks on tanks on tanks, and keds like he's freakin' Rob Kardashian, and - despite the pube salad he rocks on his face constantly - pulls, like, the hottest chicks ever. I don't get it. But I do cuz he's the bomb.com. FoSho.

So there they are folks. The five most bombass individuals on the planet. I miss these jackwagons something terrible in my new cit-ay, but google group chats, text, gchat help make me feel like they are never too far. You know you're one lucky sonofabitch when your brothers and sisters are your best friends.

Boomsauce.