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Posts Tagged ‘happy birthday j.’

This weekend marked 22 years of J.  terrorizing blessing us all with her presence.  Although I guess I’ve really only known her about 5 of those years (and only really liked her about half of that time – JUST KIDDING).

In fact, I’m so fond of the little biddy that I will willingly insult men who can buy and sell me for her sake. 

We happened to be at a bar where nerd and gazillionaire, Mark Cuban was also partaking in some libations.And even though I really couldn’t care less about the guy, apparently I am the only person in the entire population of Dallas who feels that way.  

As soon as we got inside, the Birthday Girl (who had had 3 drinks for everyone else’s 1 at the previous bar) decided she needed to use the ladies room.  I offered to go with her because chicks are often like water buffalo and only go many many places in herds.

Unfortunately, there was a huge crowd of men standing and yelling in our way.  I tap the first one on the shoulder and yell “its my friend’s birthday and she has to go to the bathroom, move!” the guy turns to me and says “Thats Mark Cuban.” I said, “cool…my friend still has to pee, if you’d like to keep your tennis shoes white I’d suggest you move.”

We finally manage to make our way to the bathroom and come across the same problem on our way out.  Some guy turns to me and says, “Hey that’s Mark Cuban.” I open my mouth as wide as it gets with a look of mock suprise and say, “No way, Mark Cuban drinks beer too?!??! People magazine is so right, stars really ARE just like us!” then roll my eyes as dramatically as possible. 

Meanwhile L. ran up to tell me some guy was standing in her way so she pushed him to get by and someone yelled “Hey, you can’t push Mark Cuban.” I guess they didn’t realize that she had just PUSHED MARK CUBAN proving that you can, in fact, push Mark Cuban.

My notoriously boy-crazy roommate A. somehow managed to get invited to an after party where said gazillionaire showed up – alone…without friends…by him self…solo…pathetic, but I suppose more wealthy than I will ever be in my life. 

She sent me a text message to let me know she was there.  I was already passed out in my bed.  You do the math and figure out who got the short end of the stick. 

Long story short, A. woke up at about noon, emerged from her room, and declared “I GAVE MARK CUBAN A FOOT MASSAGE LAST NIGHT.” 

I guess she was expecting me to immediately have an orgasm or something and then murder her Cain and Abel style out of jealousy.  Instead I said, “Ewww” and threw up a little in my mouth because, come on, you know Mark totally Cuban has hairy feet.

 So I suppose the moral of the story is money can buy a lot of things, but at the end of the day, if your feet are hairy you are pretty much shit out of luck.

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