TRASHLEY is really trashy

CHEF SISTER got married at my house this past weekend. Nothing too big. Just some close family and friends. It had been a wishy washy event, on one week, off the next. Up until the week before, CHEF SISTER and THE NEW HUSBAND decided to just go ahead and take the plunge.

The big day comes and my house starts filling up. His family, my family.. Couple O' friends.. TRASHLEY and HER FIANCE show up. I think TRASHLEY had already been poppin the pills and drinking. The first thing out of her mouth is, (in a screechy sorta way) "I Can't Shtop Crying!!! Booh hoooo!" She then proceeds to stumble around, kissing everyone at any and every opportunity. She's wearing bright red lipstick, so it doesn't take long for everyone to be decorated w/ lip prints.
I happened to be wearing a low cut shirt and at one point she cornered me to rip my shirt down and kiss my tit. Then she demanded that HER FIANCE stick his nose in my ample bosom and get a whiff of my perfume. He graciously declined while I ran the other way.
At one point, I hear her yelling about how HER FIANCES' daughter couldn't find her ass hole to wipe it. Then she focuses her "one good eye" in on MY OTHER MINI ME's B.F. (poor kid) she yells at him to "Start being a MAn!!" and so on and so forth.
Fortunately, he was able to escape her grasp and hide til they left.
I didn't see much of her after that, except when the ceremony started. She was tucked into the corner of my couch with her little hanky... dabbing her eyes and boo hooing again.
Well, Any whoo... I just thought I'd propose a toast:
To our dear, (fucked up) friend, TRASHLEY. You make all special events something to be remembered!
I also want to thank you. I don't know how we could keep up our blogging fodder with out you.
May Your lipstick always be red, and your words always slurred!

Poor CUTE B.F.

So. CUTE B.F. and I start drinking early. Caucasian Gary's, Champagne..Bloody Marie's.... Beer.. You name it, I think we tried it. His big X mas party was the next day and he had gone out and bought a pimp suit.
We're loopy. He's trying on everything, prancing around.. Wielding his gun, acting like the Welsh gangster that he truly is.
We decide that we just aren't high enough. Right?
I whip out the reefer..Take a few puffs, and hand it over.
CUTE.B.F. never smokes the reefer. I mean EVER.
He doesn't handle it well. About 10 minutes into realizing how fucked up we really were, he goes running into the bathroom.
Now, as for me. I'm higher than a kite. I decide to rummage through the closet... Dig in my drawers... Zone out on the fuzz balls on the floor.... Count my hair....I'm pretty sure I spent about an hour trying to find a pair of pants that turned out to be right in front of me.......
Needless to say. The whole time I hear nothing from the bathroom.
I eventually pass out. Only to be woken up by MINI ME standing in front of me, yelling, "Will you PLEASE go check on him?? He's only been calling your name for an hour!!!"
I jump right out of bed, (like the GOOD committed G.F. I am) and rush to the bathroom door. All I hear are animal like moans and LOTS and LOTS of hurling. It sounded something like this.....


CUTE B.F.:OOOOOOHHHHHHhhhhhHHhHHHhh GoOOOOOoooooDDD!!!! retch.retch.retch.
me: uuuuh?honey??? you ok??
I open the door slightly.
CUTE B.F.:(lying on the floor nekked as a jay bird, puking)
GET oUTT!!!! HAVEN'T YOU SEEN ANY ONE DIE BEFORE??????


wELL, I decided that that is the last time I ever partake in the greeny green w/ him.