By George, you're awful.

My personality had to develop out of necessity.

When I was 3-5, I had a serious bowl cut. When I was 6-11 I had an afro. When I was 5-11 I had a smile so unfortunate and crooked, a kid in my tao-kwon-doe class didn't think "buck-teeth" was quite accurate enough so he convinced everyone to call me "butt-teeth". It was so cute the way he used a pun like that!

I also went through an "I'm huge and I don't know it" stage. This was age 22-25, when I would relish in the attention ANYONE was willing to give me. Including a homeless man or a cat. Even though homeless men will often stab you and cats make my face itch.

I was going to get one of my pretty friends that still don't realize smoking is disgusting a pack of cigarettes from the machine at Baker St Pub one night in 2005. I pulled the lever to dispense the wrinkle/cancer-makers and 2 packs fell out. So I pulled the other levers and the cigarette packs started flying out. I knew this was my chance to get some amazing attention so I cleaned out the machine and went around table to table throwing free cigarettes at people, telling them jokes, and moonwalking.

I was officially a superhero. I'll call myself Super Cig: the coolest and sweatiest girl at the bar. I fell in love with myself that night.

I wanted some non-asexual love though, so these free cigarettes better start working.

A man we will call George came up to me and told me he loved my smile and I was his dream girl. I had already given him his free pack of Camel Lights, so what was his motivation? I said something flirty and sly like, "Do you have any cookies?". He loved him some Mary. He followed me around like an orangutan for the rest of the night. He wasn't my type at all, but I didn't have much to work with so I gave him my phone number.



He called me the next morning. We had absolutely nothing to talk about. Pretty much, I would ask him questions and he would talk about himself and celebrities for 20 minutes. Whenever I got him on the phone, I would have to have something to read, food to eat, a trashy reality show to watch on TV, and a Rubik's cube.



He lived in Las Vegas, but was from Oklahoma City. He was a solid 6....maybe 5.75. He had a good job in Vegas, and he came home once a month. Not that any of that really mattered. The only thing that I cared about was that he would pick up the phone and call me and tell me I was pretty. His compliments were really back-handed, and most of the time I felt like we were in a SNL skit.



"I've had the underwear models, and I would rather just have someone like you."



"Looks aren't everything! I'd rather have someone who is bigger and won't cheat on me or leave me. I like you."



"You're my new type. Seriously. You look like a Lane Bryant model. I am all about it."



"If we start dating you better not change. Seriously, I like Nicole Richie better when she was fat."



(It reminds me of when my friend Kelsey and I have a back-handed compliment war. I said "Your hair looks clean today!" and she came back with "You're really good at not being fat anymore". Best. Worst Compliment. Ever.)



I'd kind of grimace and bite my lip and pretend this shit made me feel good. I had a trip planned to Vegas  with four of my friends, and I wanted to have a boyfriend to rub in their faces while we were there. He also worked for a promotions company, so he told me he could get us all VIP at some amazing places. This was a total red flag of douchebaggery, but I was blinded by the attention.


We would be in Vegas for 5 nights, and I promised him I would stay with him for one of those nights. It was a promise I would not keep.

When we got to Vegas, we were pissy. We'd missed our flight from Dallas and had to each purchase a one-way ticket. I had gotten a ticket in Texas for driving through a median and being an Oklahoman. Once we got to my parent's condo, took a bubble bath,  and had a pillow fight, we were jonesing for some sushi. George had already called 27 times and I was starting to regret our planned rendezvous. He frequently said things like, "You need to go to 'insert lame one-syllable too expensive restaurant here' because that's where Sahari Goolesh, 4th runner up on Bravo's Bad Girls Club, had her birthday party."

I called George to let him know where we were going to eat sushi, and he said he would meet us there by driving his '97 Eclipse (That was a cheap shot, Mary). While we're walking across the street, he honked at us and I could tell the girls were not feeling him. I also wished he wasn't coming to crash our vagina and sushi party, but what could I do? He was going to be stuck to my ass non-stop. I was going to have to do some damage-control and be a little bit stand offish so perhaps he would back off.



He walked up and met everyone and then told me I was beautiful. Then he did this:

It was 6 o clock, in front of my friends, and it was the first we had seen each other in person since the night I stupidly gave Giant Tongue Monster free cigarettes. It was like my face was on fire and he was trying to save my life. Keeping my mouth closed did not deter him, he instead just spit up my nostrils.

Once I got a shamwow and cleaned myself off, we sat down to eat sushi. My friends were all kicking me under the table, their way of promising to throw poker chips at my face for bringing this ass-monkey around.

George: Here in Vegas, people don't order sushi for themselves. We order it as a table. It's much easier.

Maggie: Well, we don't want to do it that way since we're going to have separate checks.

George: Oh my. You guys sure are from Oklahoma. Trust me. I saw Paris Hilton's mom at a Tapas restaurant. I know how the cool people do it, okay?

Mary: Oh this is fun! Maggie, don't be silly, we'll let George help us order.

George: We'll have 4 samurai rolls, 4 california rolls, 2 electric eel rolls, and the roll Khloe Kardashian gets when she comes here.

Taylor: Can I get some nigiri smoked salmon as well, please?

George: I guess that's okay. You'll just eat less sushi I guess, than the rest of us. I'll allow that. Oh, Greer, are you going to get drinks?

Greer: uhhh, I was going to get myself a drink.

George: Here in Vegas, when you go get a drink, you get EVERYONE at the table drinks. That's just how it's done here. So I'll have a amaretto sour and Mary will have a vodka sprite. Right, sexy? (tries to turn his tongue into a water sprinkler on my face again) (I turn my head and pretend Taylor has just said something hilarious)

Maggie: (she's not having this shit) I've been to Vegas 16 times and we have never done that. Everyone can just get their own drinks. I am not even drinking with dinner so Greer, or anybody for that matter, doesn't need to buy me a drink.

We stuff our faces with sushi and awkward conversation.

The bill comes.

George: Okay, so everyone just throw down as much as they can contribute. The bill, here in Las Vegas, where I live, is $180.

We each throw about $30 down on the table, except Greer, who only ate a piece of lettuce drizzled with vinegar. (Keep in mind. George ate and drank the most. If it hadn't been for him, our bill would've been more like $60)

George: What the hell? Am I going to get stuck paying the bill? That's not right, we're a lot more laid back than that here in Las Vegas. Does nobody have any more money?

He puts a 20 on the table.

I, hating awkward situations more than not being able to pay my bills, throw down another 50. I'm trying to find a 10 dollar bill out of the money pile to take back, but George interrupts me with curiosity about what I am doing.

Mary: I'm looking for a 10.

George: No, here in Vegas we tip well. We need to leave at least 40 dollars, so just leave it.

Mary: Oh. um. all right.

We decide we want to go to Barbary Coast. I have told everyone it is my favorite place to gamble because it is cheap and not busy. I try to hint to Cheap-ass that this is a girl's trip and he better go on home. I'm not very good at hinting, though.

George: We all need to pile in my Eclipse.

Taylor: No, we want to walk.

George: That's cute. No one walks here. You'll look like a tourist.

Greer: I look hot and I want to walk and see people. I've never been here before.

Taylor: I want to walk too! I want to walk past the dancing waters! 

Maggie: Don't say "No one walks here". You don't know what you're talking about.

George pulls me to the side.

George: I'm seriously too embarrassed to walk, okay? Tell your friends. They're so rude.

Mary: They just want to walk. It's only 8 and we're not in any hurry. Why don't you go practice with your horrible metal band and we'll meet up later okay? And by later, I mean never. Because you're awful.

George: Fine, I'll go. But I am driving. Are you seriously going to make me drive by myself?

Mary: My friends need me. I have....all their money....in my....pockets....errr....

We make the 10 minute walk up the strip towards the Barbary Coast. I don't know how we managed to do any walking with the large amount of George-bashing we were doing.

He had already used his connections to get us VIP free access to an amazing club at the top of Mandalay Bay. We had all been looking forward to it. Was it worth it? Could we suffer through this Asshat's company to get free entry and liquor? We decided yes, we would have to.

I'm still kind of unsure what George does, but I know liquor companies pay him to go out. They give him free liquor and he has to take pictures of hot girls drinking this liquor. Then he writes up a synopsis of the evening and sends it to someone. It's pretty much the most mindless douchebag job in the history of men. 

We are on our way to the Foundation Room, and we were ecstatic! We had our own VIP section, with full bottle service and couches AND we didn't have to pay the 50 dollar cover to get in! I had managed to blow George off successfully for the last 3 nights and now I was ready to suffer through him so I could feel like a celebrity.

He meets us in the Mandalay Bay casino, and sits down at a penny slot by the bar. He yells at the bartender for a drink and when the bartender brings it and says, "That will be $8.25" George says, "Hey shut up man. I'm gambling. See? Comp it." I was mortified. The bartender demands payment, so George GIVES HIM THE DRINK BACK.

George: So guys, since we get to bypass the line I need you guys to give me money to tip the door guy. I need to tip him at least a couple hundred.

Mary, Greer, Taylor, Maggie: ..........................................................................

George: I shouldn't have to use my money! This is my job!

Mary: Your job doesn't allow for that? How do you usually pay it? We'd rather just wait in line.

George: We are NOT waiting in line. You're getting a free night and you can't chip in any money?

Greer bashfully hands him a 5. I muster up a 10. Maggie and Taylor aren't having this.

George is annoyed, but we continue on. We bypass the line of 14 people and George does an over-exaggerated handshake to the door guy and gives him no tip. I hate George. We get to go in an elevator to the top of Mandalay Bay and we're all giddy and giggling.

This place was amazing. It had the most beautiful view and we saw some D-list celebrities. George was able to get us a free bottle of Vodka, so we were drinking Vodka-Red Bulls like it was our job. We pretty much never stayed in the VIP section George had provided us. That is because George was an awful human being whose voice was somehow nasal, monotone, deep, mentally-challenged, and douchetastic all at the same time.  Which would have been fine except he used this voice to frequently say things, and we just wanted him to stop.

George: I'm getting paid. Getting paid to just here. I'm getting paid thousands of dollars to just sit here and drink.

Mary: What? Yeah, I like sharks too!

George: Getting paid so much money right now. So much money. Just to sit here. Did you see that line when we came in? I don't wait in lines. I'm getting paid.

Mary: Tiger sharks ARE the best. They can swim in fresh water!

2 hours later it was more like this:

George: Whyyyyyyyy isn't anyyyyyone in my VIP? Whyyyyyy? Waaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Mary: Because there's a huge balcony, they smoke, and the 3rd runner up from Top Chef is out there and Taylor is trying to hit it.

George: wahhhhhh. I did ALLLLLLL this stuffffff for youuuuu guysssss and whiiiinnnnnneeee whiiinnnnneeee whiiiiiinnnnneeee whiiiiiinnnneee.

Maggie: Ug. SHUT UP. Are you seriously upset that we aren't sitting on the couches? People go to bars to meet people and dance and walk around.

Greer:.............

Greer:.............bleeeehhhhhhhh.......

Taylor: Um, we're getting kicked out because Greer is sleeping on the floor.

Greer:.............................................................

Mary: Oh, darn. Sorry George we gotta go. I'll call you later.

George: NO! I'll come with you. Here, stick this bottle of Makers Mark in your purse.

Mary: ummmm okay?

Greer:..................................................

In the elevator, I have to come clean and tell George that I would rather sleep with 7 geriatric lepers that were covered in marmite than ever get anywhere close to anything that could possibly even be in the realm of his bed. He has tears in his eyes and mutters things about us using him and I just pat his shoulder and remind him he's getting paid for this. A lot.

I accidentally stole his bottle of Makers. I had Maggie answer my phone when he kept repeatedly calling and throwing temper tantrums over the phone. I assured him I would leave it at the front desk of the hotel I was staying at. After he repeatedly used cuss words, which everyone KNOWS I am adamantly against, I stopped in the middle of the casino.

Mary: Hi! Do you like Makers Mark?

Man in cowboy hat: Yes.....I do!

Mary: Enjoy! In the name of George.



New boys that loved Maggie!