kellita the señorita the ibby dibby dow: T-Rex and Morality Checks

Blah, blah, blah, I have a blog. Blah, blah, blah…MEHHHHH!

The planets aligned this weekend, bringing together a unique dream team and reality TV hopefuls, K-Lo and MatTony. We kicked off the weekend with some Four Loco, a Cava toast to Matt’s new home, and some Arby’s beef and cheddar heartburn.

After a lesson in Machu Picchu geography from Tony, who we now refer to as Tenacious T, we hit the dance floor at Yabbas where we discovered some guest stars, Small Hands Maria and Fat Elvis.

Had I been wearing socks, they would have been knocked off by the dancing “pet the dog” performance a la Matt and Tony on the dance floor. And I thought I had dance skills. It has been proven that I need to continue working on said dance skills as I couldn’t master the full tap dance/hula hoop move.

After a hydraulic, Slim Jim filled ride home with our shirtless co-pilot we took our seats on the back patio, sans Lauren who needed sleepy time. Matt left us following an inspiring rendition of some Tenacious D. TT and I continued to question morality and taxes, and finally called it a night after the rooster crowed for about an hour and then the sun came up. Seriously.

On Saturday, despite our big plans to head to the beach or perhaps jaunt to the Everglades for an air boat ride, we traded in productivity and hygiene for a day of movies, napping, and grilled cheese sandwiches. We actually didn’t move from the 20-foot radius of the porch, kitchen, or living room until 9:30 when we decided to get our bowl on. What can I say, we’re a simple posse. And there is no better entertainment or ab workout than the 4 of us sitting around that table for a combined total of at least 10 hours. Believe the hype and get us that reality show.

The swanky bowling lounge was the scene for our ball rolling adventures and continued infancy. Lauren took some “lessons” from Matt, which involved some serious hip guiding and heavy petting, but she seemed to improve as the night went on. Who could blame them? Self-posed cell phone photos of the chin-gina and hairy-elbow-butt elicited monumental levels of doubled over laughter and a whole new level of hysteria. In a test to gauge our sanity, we offered up the photos to a drunken patron on the patio, only to be greeted with mad pelvic thrusting and stories of his boy's camel toe. Twice.

After many a great deep conversation, mostly intelligent ones concerning cocks, bubble baths, bubble beards, and reverse bulimia, the weekend was coming to an end. We ended on a high note with the “gas special” at Nana’s. After one final claw moment and some hugs, the dream team sadly disbanded. After a well-deserved day at the beach Lauren and I are recovering with copious amounts of snacks and other goodies. It’s a don’t ask don’t tell solution.

I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend my last weekend in the States. These peeps are sending me off in style, and I didn’t even know two of them when I got here. And who knows? Maybe when I come back I’ll take Matt up on his offer to build a palm tree house in his backyard. Cause what’s a little dog vomit between friends?

Also – as I’m turning my phone off tomorrow, you can now reach me at 555-MEHH.