Posts tagged ‘panama city’
My Craziest Spring Break Story
Even though we are primarily based in New York, Gloganvlog is a world-wide thing. As long as there are people out there willing to get hammered and then nailed, we will be there, making fun of Jews. I am originally from Panama City, Florida- which if you google it you probably won’t be surprised to find out that:
a) Its the spring break capital of the world.
2)Its basically Alabama, with a better tan.
My sisters keep mentioning that Spring Break is in full effect right now, so it got me thinking about my past and what it was like growing up there. When I was a teenager I had a job at a trashy little t shirt shop directly on the beach. I remember several things about it: I used to hit on all the straight guys that came in, even if I had to put on a wig to do it, I used to go upstairs and jerk off in the attic, and I used to stand outside watching cars go by thinking “There must be someone else gay in at least one of those cars” (Panama City was awesome, but not very gay so it got kind of lonely at times). Anyway here is my favorite Spring Break story:
I remember getting super fucked up in the car on the way to the beach. In Panama City the liquor stores have a drive through, and they give you cups with Ice. (Editor’s note: We were doing more than drinking, and it was my first time experimenting). When we got to the beach we decided to climb up a ladder on the side of the store where I worked and lay out on the roof. We drank more and flashed some people on the street. Then we found another secret ladder, that lead down to a crazy homeless person shack behind the store. It was pitch black and Im pretty sure there were homeless people sleeping, but we took that as a sign to get more fucked up. Then we met up with some of my friends and went to one of their houses, which smelled like cat pee and crusty towels. Then, my straight best friend tried to get everyone to have an orgy Read more…
The Hangover Diaries: Paraplegic Strippers, Hot Tubs, And The Hojo
First of all, I want to know why so many people don’t know what the HoJo is. If you don’t, please either take a salad fork and jam it up your puss, or immediately order or download Drop Dead Gorgeous. You will be glad you did.
So I am still trying to get my life in order here in Florida. Last night I finally got 8 hours of sleep so Im not a fuckin zombie. I am just going to run down some of the shenanigans so try and keep up. First off, we have started every night pregaming at the Howard Johnson with Stoli, which is the nicest hotel around these, here, parts. I have been partying with my friend Don, who I have known for 25 years, Nadia, the most beautiful tranny Florida has ever seen and my siblings. The picture above references us as the Kartrashian sisters (and unfortunately since I have the biggest biceps that makes me Khloe). The first night we went out to a club called Siren, which is nostalgic because its the first club I ever went to. Back then it was called Confetti’s and I remember scratching my ID up with an exacto knife in the parking lot and redrawing the numbers in with a sharpie in the parking lot before going in so my 16 year old ass could get down with the gayness. And look at me now. Feel free to judge.
So we were at the club having a jolly good time, even though we were one of 15 people there. Then, a paraplegic stripper with backwards spina bifida arms rolled onto the stage. Her name was Mercedes. Normally, I am pretty respectful of people with disabilities, since both my room mates are a little downy, but this caught me off guard. She had neon cotton-ball covered tits. Im just sayin. So me and my sister promptly left the room albeit rudely since we had to walk across the stage to do so. Then, my sister started flirting with the lesbian bartender hardcore in order to get free drinks. I guess she didn’t realize it was open bar (which it better fucking be for a $10 cover charge on a Wednesday!) We also played pool, which I lost (but only by one ball). Normally I really suck at pool when I am drunk so losing in this way was a small victory for me. Long story short Read more…
Found: Gary’s Foreskin!
Gary’s foreskin is a force to be reckoned with. Abandoned at the tender age of 16 the foreskin all but vanished. We learned years later that it had in fact been hiding in the sewers of Panama City, Florida where it stumbled upon a radioactive mutagen (sound familiar) growing into the monster you see before you.
Masquerading as a dried up potato chip, and traveling around in a salt n’ vinegar Pringles can the foreskin is on its way to New York City. Filled with rage, teenage angst, limburger cheese, and leftover Asian precum it’s coming; it’s coming for your circumcised dicks. So if your tip is nipped you better be on the lookout because Gary’s foreskin is on the loose.
A Glimpse Into My Hometown Via Redneck Randal
I don’t normally post these photos because the font offends me–yes, even I have limits as to what is tacky. But via my good friend Bryce Gruber I decided to post this because the guy’s name is Redneck Randal–and if that isn’t a sign then my boobs aren’t the brownest sum bitches this side of the Mason Dixon.
Here are some fair gems and true stories (rhinestones from the Caroline Manzo for QVC collection) about my hometown.
When someone accidentally dies of a crack overdose in your living room, bury them in the backyard with one hand sticking up so you can find them and rebury them when you sober up.
If you went to high school with me, make sure you get pulled over with a trunk full of weed so you can spend the rest of your life in jail.
Do I think owling is absolutely retarded? Yes. But yesterday was all about doing things you wouldn’t normally do so I figured What the Hell?
As you may know I am at home visiting family in Panama City, Fl. One of the things guys do here is get together with a bunch of beer and go scalloping. This involves crawling around in 3 ft water with a snorkel on digging through sea weeds to find scallops. It is a lot more awesome than it sounds. Naturally I filled my scallop bag up with Bud Light to take for the incredible undersea adventure. After 5 minutes, it was like drinking flavored alcoholic bathwater–but it did the job.
My brother joined us which created an interesting ratio of two straight guys–one with a redneck accent so thick he kept saying anywho, and two gay guys–one so gay he was wearing pink watershoes. It was kind of a perfect mix. At first scalloping seemed kind of like a dirty activity. At the end I realized it was definitely a dirty activity. I facetimed my friend Bryce, who is the last person in the world I could convince to do this with me. She just smiled and said : “You are drinking beer in the car?”
More pics after the jump Read more…
Here is the thing–small towns party differently than big cities. Basically meaning that they can afford to drink and get messy out at bars. When the bartender said 7.00 for two vodka tonics and a beer my head basically exploded. I started off going to a mexican restaurant with my sister for “1 margarita.” This is after going to the 1-story Panama City Mall where they have kiosks that allow you to sign up for a talent/model search. I’m pretty sure this is Barbizon’s newest evil ploy to get money out of hopeful skinny girls everywhere.
We met up with a lesbian that I have known for 23 years. I should have known that the 241 margaritas would be the death of me. We proceeded to my moms house where I discovered that kids are more fun when you are drunk. Then we decided to go to a gay bar called Splash–one of the only gay bars here. Upon arrival we realized they were trying to financially rape people by charging a 10 dollar cover and a 6 dollar all you can drink “special” to get in. This bar is literally the size of my apartment and I live in New York. Also, I wouldn’t even pay that much to get into a club in Manhattan. So we turned our tails and went to Coyote Ugly. Read more…
Just ask facebook. This screenshot has made it on to the world wide web. But it does give me a good opportunity to share with you loyal readers that I am at my mom’s house for the week, in Panama City, FL. For those of you who don’t know what this means–it means screaming children, falling down drunk at the dinner table, “hanging out in the garage”9 hour talks with my mom, getting fat on salt and vinegar chips and string cheese, secluded white sandy beaches, crickets, wind chimes, fighting sisters, quarter beers, trying to find discreet places to masturbate, stealing wireless internet from next door, people with more gaps in their teeth than brain cells in their head. Its awesome. I can’t wait to recap it.
Oh, and its my ten year high school reunion on Saturday. At a Beer garden.
I Am On A Plane Headed Back Down South (ATL and FL)
And this photo represents the way I feel. For one week I will be in Atlanta and Florida. That makes me feel just like this turtle. Why?
1. The weather will be warm. I am going to lay out so much my skin is going to blacken and sizzle until I look like either Kobe Bryant or Kobe beef.
2. The guys aren’t as jaded. (although I am pretty sure by saying that it makes me jaded) So it will be really easy to have a mini-vacationship and break his heart whenever I leave him thinking my name is Catherine Aragon and I have to go back to my life of supermodeling and running a business designing home furnishings for Raymour and Flannigan. Seriously Cindy Crawford and Cathy Ireland–what do you know about leather sectionals besides how to do lines off one?
