Some random thoughts and events from recently.
1. My friend sent me a picture of a woodchuck eating an apple. That lead to me googling other woodchuck things and finding out there is a whole section of t-shirts made for people who love woodchucks on 2 different websites. Life just got so much better.
2. I walked into my room from the bathroom this morning and the N*Sync Pop video was playing on MTV. Evidently, the 2 feet between my bathroom and bedroom doors is not only a naked zone, but a time machine back to when Justin Timberlake loved to beat box and budgets were so huge you could rent a giraffe and not even use it in the final cut of the video. Awesome!
3. Yellow cherry tomatoes are far superior to plain old red. Probably why God only grows them in the Summer.
4. Professional football is really pissing me off. Ochocinco bitching about getting hit too hard in pre season, Brett Favre being Brett Favre, Tom Brady's hair... it's like The Hills but with more Vikings fainting due to migraines.
5. My friends and I are putting together a boning play list. It's a potent mix of 90's R&B slow jams, Drake, Bed Intruder, Cee Lo "Fuck You" and Foreigner "I Wanna Know What Love Is". We would like to call it "Fux'n U - 20 Trax From Da Club to Da Bed". I smell a hit. And KY.
6. A bar in our town closed down. By the time we arrived for their last night, just about all they had left was Miller Lite and Smirnoff Ice. Yep... Icing happened. A lot. It has officially made it's way to my friends so if you are a puker or too grownz up to take a knee, you may want to avoid us for the rest of the Summer. I thought liquid cocaine was bad, but this.... IS AWESOME.
7. DRUNK HULK on Twitter is almost as amazing as Kanye West and Gary Busey. I strongly suggest you follow all three.
8. If your main mode of transportation is a scooter... and you crash that scooter inside your own apartment after a trip to the gas station for smokes... A. You are my hero and B. I need you to start a youtube channel immediately if not sooner.
9. I have a muffin top that is threatening to destroy all my jeans. I know that cutting out booze would be one logical way to tackle this problem, but if God didn't want me to drink booze, he wouldn't have made it so tasty and readily available. He also would have given me different friends.
10. I know a blue eyed boy. And I want to cover his face in kisses. Lots and lots of kisses.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
And Another Thing....
HAPPY FRIDAY!!!
"This is totally fucking awesome. I have an apple. Stop watching me eat, please."
8 Precious Minutes
I have been uber stressed this last week so blogging wasn't high on the priorities list. Though now, I realize it probably would have helped. What happened this morning did.
My roommate and I have a pretty set schedule in the morning. I know what time it is by hearing his huge feet hit the floor upstairs, when his sink turns on, when his light switch turns off, etc. He comes down and looks to his left and says hi to me in my bathroom on his way into the kitchen right before leaving. We're domestic freaks.
Today, I woke up exactly 8 minutes late. I went through pretty much the same schedule. Shower, mouthwash, pick up dirty clothes, head to my bedroom for lotion and clean clothes. I knew I was behind schedule when I heard his feet clomping down what I thought was the stairs just as I'm about to turn the bathroom door knob. I knew I needed to be fast. Did I mention I run this route nakey? Yeah. Not fast enough. His clod hoppers "on the stairs" were actually moving through the living room. Boy, did he get a pleasant surprise when he turned left to say good morning. FULL FUCKING FRONTAL WHAT, WHAT!
The look on his face was a perfect mixture of laughter, shock, apology, and relief that we had finally gotten this out of the way. He is a big guy, but he has surprisingly cat-like reflexes. He did a super quick pivot raising his hands to block the bright light of nudity shining toward him in all it's glory. it was literally a split second and I was in my room.
He is the nicest person on the planet, so as usual, he apologized profusely, laughed and moved on by asking me if we had any wrinkle release spray. Then he declared he was just using Febreeze. I love him to death. After he left, he followed up with a text letting me know that the Febreeze worked very well and he was "sorry about the peep show" this morning adding "it was bound to happen : P". (he loves emoticons as much as I love nudity)
Any other (normal) girl would most likely be mortified, but I'm more comfortable than I've ever been with my body, he's one of my best friends and I have already had my top come off at the pool this summer in front of a bunch of people I just met that day (and 3 small children). I mean, the guy stood next to my hospital bed, holding my hand while a nurse took an IV out of my arm after surgery. I'm sure my naked ass was no big. I have also walked through my offices at Universal Studios with my dress tucked in the back of my underwear. Then, flashed clients when my dress blew over my head while driving a golf cart. I am a lady of class and poise.
The real beauty (besides my naked bod) of this story is that I have had one big roller coaster ride of a week. I started to get a bit salty last night and this has reminded me: God brought me into this world naked and crying. If I started this day of my life naked and laughing, I think I'm on the right track. And if not, hey man, at least I started my roommate's day out right! : )
My roommate and I have a pretty set schedule in the morning. I know what time it is by hearing his huge feet hit the floor upstairs, when his sink turns on, when his light switch turns off, etc. He comes down and looks to his left and says hi to me in my bathroom on his way into the kitchen right before leaving. We're domestic freaks.
Today, I woke up exactly 8 minutes late. I went through pretty much the same schedule. Shower, mouthwash, pick up dirty clothes, head to my bedroom for lotion and clean clothes. I knew I was behind schedule when I heard his feet clomping down what I thought was the stairs just as I'm about to turn the bathroom door knob. I knew I needed to be fast. Did I mention I run this route nakey? Yeah. Not fast enough. His clod hoppers "on the stairs" were actually moving through the living room. Boy, did he get a pleasant surprise when he turned left to say good morning. FULL FUCKING FRONTAL WHAT, WHAT!
The look on his face was a perfect mixture of laughter, shock, apology, and relief that we had finally gotten this out of the way. He is a big guy, but he has surprisingly cat-like reflexes. He did a super quick pivot raising his hands to block the bright light of nudity shining toward him in all it's glory. it was literally a split second and I was in my room.
He is the nicest person on the planet, so as usual, he apologized profusely, laughed and moved on by asking me if we had any wrinkle release spray. Then he declared he was just using Febreeze. I love him to death. After he left, he followed up with a text letting me know that the Febreeze worked very well and he was "sorry about the peep show" this morning adding "it was bound to happen : P". (he loves emoticons as much as I love nudity)
Any other (normal) girl would most likely be mortified, but I'm more comfortable than I've ever been with my body, he's one of my best friends and I have already had my top come off at the pool this summer in front of a bunch of people I just met that day (and 3 small children). I mean, the guy stood next to my hospital bed, holding my hand while a nurse took an IV out of my arm after surgery. I'm sure my naked ass was no big. I have also walked through my offices at Universal Studios with my dress tucked in the back of my underwear. Then, flashed clients when my dress blew over my head while driving a golf cart. I am a lady of class and poise.
The real beauty (besides my naked bod) of this story is that I have had one big roller coaster ride of a week. I started to get a bit salty last night and this has reminded me: God brought me into this world naked and crying. If I started this day of my life naked and laughing, I think I'm on the right track. And if not, hey man, at least I started my roommate's day out right! : )
Monday, August 9, 2010
I Blame Gisele
Dear Tom Brady,
You have been a constant in my "Top 5 People To Do IT To" list now for a few consecutive years. Those eyes, that jaw, those shoulders, that laser rocket arm. There are many reasons to love you.
I stuck by you. Even though you went to Michigan. Through that horrible season ender to the Colts in 2006. Through you blowing a perfect season, to the Giants of all teams, in 2007. Through your foot, finger and rib injuries. Through you dumping your pregnant girlfriend for Gisele. Through you wearing all white sneakers on the reg. All of it.
I am now putting my little foot down, Tom. You look like a 2 year old baby girl. You are not Viggo Mortensen. You are not in a crappy garage band. You are not a beefy member of the new Brady Bunch. CUT THAT FUCKING HAIR.
Love Always (maybe),
Me.
PS, if you grow a goatee, we really are over for good.
<----this is bullshit.Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Love, Loss and Hardcore Cuteness
Let me tell you a little story about the cutest thing I have ever seen in my long life. But first, you must understand something. My favorite animal.... is a woodchuck. Please, let me explain.
When I was about 6 or 7 years old, I was begging my Mom to play outside with me. She had shit to do, so she convinced me that a lawn mower ride was the most fun thing that could possibly happen that afternoon. After a good stare down, I agreed to go on the journey with her. We had a ridiculously large yard at the time with barns and such scattered around it. I got bored about 5 minutes into this epic ride, so I started started pretending my Mom and the riding mower were a horse and I was a sweet ass cowgirl with 2 six shooters for hands that could do riding tricks. My Mom didn't care, just told me not to fall off or I would get chopped up and not be cute anymore.
As I spin around to shoot bad native Americans chasing us across the western plains for our dry goods, I see something really tiny and fluffy following us about 5 feet back. I shriek and start smacking my Mom on the back of the head because I want to immediately get my hands on this little furry marshmallow of a creature before my Mom turns it into a spray of blood and guts with our John Deere. She slams on the brake assuming I have lost a shoe or something and turns the mower off. The animal stops too and looks up at us. I am in love. What the fuck is this thing???
When we climb off the mower, Mom turns around to look for my Ked and sees the baby fuzz ball. "Holy shit.... has that been there for long?" she says to me. I tell her "I have no idea, but I WANT it". I assume it's a fat, deformed bastard kitten from one of the many farm cats that dwell on our property. This is when my Mom laughs in my face and says "Um, no, it's obviously not a cat. It's a baby woodchuck. I've never seen one dig people before. They're angry animals and you can't touch it". She might as well have just kicked me in the face and told me I'm her least favorite child. (so not true, by the way)
Now, no has never been a word I have dealt with well. This time is not an exception as the baby chuck is now sniffing around my feet, wiggling its fat little ass and I am denying the very nature of my being by not bending down and snatching it up in my eager hands. I look up at my Mom and I harness every single bit of facial expression energy I have. The woman is an iceberg and does NOT respond to brat-ass fits or meaningless pleading, but true, gut-wrenching grief? I own her. The unstoppable one-two combo of chin quivering and silent streams of tears down my cherubish cheeks did her in.
"Cripes, let me get you some work gloves at least". (Win!) Mom goes to the garden shed and I am simply vibrating with joy over my new pet. Over the next few days, I feed it rabbit food, (they are old news now that I have basically made a wild animal fall in love with me) give him a name, (Herbie) and tell him we'll always be best friends. My Mom informs me that this will not last as his Mom is probably looking for him and will either take him back home, or ..... possibly destroy him for having our scent on him. I ignore her and fall deeper into my woodchuck love affair. He's the best.
About 4 days later, I'm putting my Cabbage Patch Kids down for their afternoon nap when I look out my bedroom window and see a GIANT woodchuck near Herbie. I haul ass down the stairs screaming for my Mom and Dad like someone who was about to witness a grizzly murder. Little did I know.... My Mom and Dad exchange a glance when I tell them what's going on outside and they tell me to wait for them to get back, the Mom might be mad. Mad indeed. I can't bring myself to look out the window because I'm scared that my woodchuck best friend is getting it's ass kicked. My Mom returns while my Dad is handling business in the yard. Thus begins their first conversation with me about death and loss.
They inform me that the Mom (or Dad, who the fuck knows which is which with woodchucks, they all look the same) has killed Herbie. This is far worse than the time they had to convince me that I wasn't adopted (another blog, another time). I am beside myself. I quietly sob for days in my room with my face down in my Muppets sheets recalling all the special moments Herbie and I shared. My Mom only gets me out of the funk by telling me how absolutely crazy radical it is that a woodchuck liked me at all, they usually hate people so much they fuck up their yards. Already thinking at that time that I am pretty awesome, I sniffle a little more, dry my tears, punch my Cabbage Patch Kids for making me miss even one second with a live animal and move forward. I also gave Herbie's murderer forgiveness because, after all, it's a wild fucking animal. It doesn't know shit. Can't be mad at someone who doesn't know shit, it's just not right.
Present day-
I still love woodchucks. More than any human should love any animal that can never be domesticated. I start searching for them from the confines of my car every spring the second the ground thaws enough for them to waddle their huge tushies up to the surface. I know that they're kinda weird with fucked up crooked teeth, but so is Hugh Grant and he is loved by movie goers all over the world!
A few days ago, I'm at a stop sign that T's into a busy road near me. Across the T, there's a farm house that has a small orchard in their yard. There's always woodchucks out there in the grass so I'm looking over to spot some friends and give them a what up wave. I see what I think is a little dog sitting under one of the trees. Then, it was basically a "that's no moon, that's a space station" moment, but in a good way. Upon closer inspection, it was not a dog but a woodchuck... sitting up... leaning slightly to the side on it's own ass fat... holding an apple and nibbling on it. My head almost exploded. "OH MY GOD, THAT'S A FUCKING WOODCHUCK EATING AN APPLE!!!" I scream to myself in my car alone. I blaze out onto the busy road to get a closer look. I don't even care that there are other cars on this street, I slow down so much that I can fully take in the woodchuck's facial expression. Nothingness.. it's just staring into a wheat field eating, but still, it's magnificent. I'm giggling like an idiot, memorizing in minute detail every bit of this moment, my eyes are welling up with tears of joy. It's absurd. Cars behind me finally start honking at me to speed up. I do, but not without flipping them off while getting one last long look at my special little woodchuck neighbor. It was the single cutest thing I have ever seen.
I know people think I'm a freak, and that goes without saying, but I think we've all learned some things here. 1. I tame wild animals just using my essence and 2. One girl's ugly woodchuck is someone else's Hugh Grant. You know?
When I was about 6 or 7 years old, I was begging my Mom to play outside with me. She had shit to do, so she convinced me that a lawn mower ride was the most fun thing that could possibly happen that afternoon. After a good stare down, I agreed to go on the journey with her. We had a ridiculously large yard at the time with barns and such scattered around it. I got bored about 5 minutes into this epic ride, so I started started pretending my Mom and the riding mower were a horse and I was a sweet ass cowgirl with 2 six shooters for hands that could do riding tricks. My Mom didn't care, just told me not to fall off or I would get chopped up and not be cute anymore.
As I spin around to shoot bad native Americans chasing us across the western plains for our dry goods, I see something really tiny and fluffy following us about 5 feet back. I shriek and start smacking my Mom on the back of the head because I want to immediately get my hands on this little furry marshmallow of a creature before my Mom turns it into a spray of blood and guts with our John Deere. She slams on the brake assuming I have lost a shoe or something and turns the mower off. The animal stops too and looks up at us. I am in love. What the fuck is this thing???
When we climb off the mower, Mom turns around to look for my Ked and sees the baby fuzz ball. "Holy shit.... has that been there for long?" she says to me. I tell her "I have no idea, but I WANT it". I assume it's a fat, deformed bastard kitten from one of the many farm cats that dwell on our property. This is when my Mom laughs in my face and says "Um, no, it's obviously not a cat. It's a baby woodchuck. I've never seen one dig people before. They're angry animals and you can't touch it". She might as well have just kicked me in the face and told me I'm her least favorite child. (so not true, by the way)
Now, no has never been a word I have dealt with well. This time is not an exception as the baby chuck is now sniffing around my feet, wiggling its fat little ass and I am denying the very nature of my being by not bending down and snatching it up in my eager hands. I look up at my Mom and I harness every single bit of facial expression energy I have. The woman is an iceberg and does NOT respond to brat-ass fits or meaningless pleading, but true, gut-wrenching grief? I own her. The unstoppable one-two combo of chin quivering and silent streams of tears down my cherubish cheeks did her in.
"Cripes, let me get you some work gloves at least". (Win!) Mom goes to the garden shed and I am simply vibrating with joy over my new pet. Over the next few days, I feed it rabbit food, (they are old news now that I have basically made a wild animal fall in love with me) give him a name, (Herbie) and tell him we'll always be best friends. My Mom informs me that this will not last as his Mom is probably looking for him and will either take him back home, or ..... possibly destroy him for having our scent on him. I ignore her and fall deeper into my woodchuck love affair. He's the best.
About 4 days later, I'm putting my Cabbage Patch Kids down for their afternoon nap when I look out my bedroom window and see a GIANT woodchuck near Herbie. I haul ass down the stairs screaming for my Mom and Dad like someone who was about to witness a grizzly murder. Little did I know.... My Mom and Dad exchange a glance when I tell them what's going on outside and they tell me to wait for them to get back, the Mom might be mad. Mad indeed. I can't bring myself to look out the window because I'm scared that my woodchuck best friend is getting it's ass kicked. My Mom returns while my Dad is handling business in the yard. Thus begins their first conversation with me about death and loss.
They inform me that the Mom (or Dad, who the fuck knows which is which with woodchucks, they all look the same) has killed Herbie. This is far worse than the time they had to convince me that I wasn't adopted (another blog, another time). I am beside myself. I quietly sob for days in my room with my face down in my Muppets sheets recalling all the special moments Herbie and I shared. My Mom only gets me out of the funk by telling me how absolutely crazy radical it is that a woodchuck liked me at all, they usually hate people so much they fuck up their yards. Already thinking at that time that I am pretty awesome, I sniffle a little more, dry my tears, punch my Cabbage Patch Kids for making me miss even one second with a live animal and move forward. I also gave Herbie's murderer forgiveness because, after all, it's a wild fucking animal. It doesn't know shit. Can't be mad at someone who doesn't know shit, it's just not right.
Present day-
I still love woodchucks. More than any human should love any animal that can never be domesticated. I start searching for them from the confines of my car every spring the second the ground thaws enough for them to waddle their huge tushies up to the surface. I know that they're kinda weird with fucked up crooked teeth, but so is Hugh Grant and he is loved by movie goers all over the world!
A few days ago, I'm at a stop sign that T's into a busy road near me. Across the T, there's a farm house that has a small orchard in their yard. There's always woodchucks out there in the grass so I'm looking over to spot some friends and give them a what up wave. I see what I think is a little dog sitting under one of the trees. Then, it was basically a "that's no moon, that's a space station" moment, but in a good way. Upon closer inspection, it was not a dog but a woodchuck... sitting up... leaning slightly to the side on it's own ass fat... holding an apple and nibbling on it. My head almost exploded. "OH MY GOD, THAT'S A FUCKING WOODCHUCK EATING AN APPLE!!!" I scream to myself in my car alone. I blaze out onto the busy road to get a closer look. I don't even care that there are other cars on this street, I slow down so much that I can fully take in the woodchuck's facial expression. Nothingness.. it's just staring into a wheat field eating, but still, it's magnificent. I'm giggling like an idiot, memorizing in minute detail every bit of this moment, my eyes are welling up with tears of joy. It's absurd. Cars behind me finally start honking at me to speed up. I do, but not without flipping them off while getting one last long look at my special little woodchuck neighbor. It was the single cutest thing I have ever seen.
I know people think I'm a freak, and that goes without saying, but I think we've all learned some things here. 1. I tame wild animals just using my essence and 2. One girl's ugly woodchuck is someone else's Hugh Grant. You know?
Monday, August 2, 2010
The 4 Elements of Game Changing Liquid Life Ruiner
So.... I like to booze. As do my friends. I don't think it's a secret.
I know this is the type of blog that Adam H. Newman will criticize me for and say things like "Oh, wow, you're so cool because you drink! Tell everyone how much you love the sauce!" and what not, but A) It's summer! B) He wishes he was this cool. and C) I'm a grown ass woman, I do what I want. So, suck it.
I hang out with a group of people where I live. Everyone lives at or within a mile of an apartment complex next to a bunch of restaurants, shops and bars. Our numbers can grow anywhere from 4 to 20 deep at any given moment. We are all pretty close in age, enjoy the company of one another, and have a lot of fun together. It's constant shenanigans. At the moment, I hang out with 3 guys from the group pretty much on the reg. I talk to or see at least 1 out of the 3 every single day without fail. We are all single, extremely tolerant of each other, and have similar drinking priorities. It's a summer foursome made in immature people heaven. For now, we will call them Travis Mackleroy, Rik Yaml, and The Flick. They are also known as... the other 3 elements.
It all started when....
A few weeks ago, Rik, Travis and The Flick drag me to a bar in our town. I say drag, because on this particular Saturday, I was brutally hung over and knew I wouldn't be drinking. Or so I thought. I also enjoy this particular place because it's cheap, there's decent music, and my inner skeeze usually comes out via a rousing game of bar truth or dare. Anyhoo.
We have ordered beers, consumed part inside, and decide to move out to the patio. I have barely choked down a half a draft and Rik is feeling similarly p-wordish. The boys are checking out waitresses, I'm wing manning, casually eye raping college boys walking in, there's a girl throwing up in a trash can on the other side of the patio. It's pretty much a regular, chill Saturday evening. Out of nowhere, Travis, who can handle a ridiculous amount of booze on a regular basis, apparently decides he hates/loves all of us and is going to change our night/lives. He says he's getting himself, Rik and me a shot. I remind him that I hate shots and I'm feeling like a toddler with this hangover. He says not to fear because I'll "like it, it's got peach schnapps, coconut rum and ...(jokingly) a line of cocaine in it". I roll my eyes at his impish grin and excited hand wringing, agree to the shot and say I'm going to the restroom first.
When I return, the shot is on the table. It's obviously a double, it's huge, it's brownish in color. Travis looks like it's Christmas morning, Flick looks sad/jealous (because he is driving and doesn't have one) and Rik looks as if he's mentally writing his will. This is when they explain to me that it's a shot called Liquid Cocaine. I figure that I have only had one beer, one shot won't make me vom. Plus, with a name that dumb, it's bound to contain Red Bull and be super weak. I have no idea why Travis looks so thrilled. We take the shot. I don't think it's that bad, better than tequila. Here are some things that happen in the hour that follows:
- I learn it has no Red Bull... but does contain equal parts Jagermeister, Goldschlager, Rumple Minze and Bacardi 151.
- I begin to panic.
- My face turns redder than usual and I feel warm. I ask if my ears are as red as they seem to me. Rik declares he feels warm as well. We suspect that one shot is getting us drunk.
- I give a waitress a napkin with the phone numbers and a short physical description of all 3 boys I'm with and tell her "just in case". Whatever the fuck that means.
- I ask Flick if I look as drunk as I think I'm getting. He says "Let's hurry up and go, I'm so thirsty. I want that."
- Rik leans over and confirms; we took one shot and it's getting both of us drunk from the inside out rather quickly. I compare it to the time I ate a pot brownie at Coachella and lost my mind for 48 straight hours. I think at this point I have one more beer.
- I start planning a Tucker Max style attack on any half way decent looking college dude with blue eyes. The boys encourage this, but don't point any out as they fear it will make them appear homosexual.
- We decide to go to a bar within walking distance from home because 3 of us are now hammered and Flick is sober and wearing a frown. He shows us how fast his new car can get us to more drinks.
- Travis can't stop smiling.
- The bartender at Bar Louie tells us they don't make that shot because they don't carry Bacardi 151. We tell them this is unacceptable and walk over the ghetto pizza place/bar around the corner. They make 3 more shots. I can't handle another one. I have some Malibu and Coke.
- Lights out. I think I had some Twisted Tea at Yaml's place after this, but it's unclear.
- We decide that we want to be able to feel like this at any given moment and decide to purchase bottles of the evil ingredients. We make it safely to beds... somewhere.
This is where it actually becomes childish, believe it or not. Cut to a few weeks later, we eventually all pick up said bottles of booze. The first night we have them all together, we agree on some ground rules for consuming this death juice. We compare ourselves to the 4 elements of the Earth, though nobody decides who is what. It matters not. The shot of evil awesomeness can only be taken if all 4 of us are present. Much like the movie The 5th Element. I guess our 5th element would be stupidity or poor judgement. Also, nobody else can do the shot unless all 4 elements are present and agree. We are stingy with our super hardcore booze, apparently.
I will just say this... having this shot in a shot glass, in a bar, poured by a sober bartender is VERY different than Rik mixing it up in his "extremely baller" cocktail shaker set after a few beers and pouring it in Solo cups. I'm unsure of how many I had, but the night looked VERY different than the first night I consumed Liquid Evil. Here's a ... sketchy at best look into that night....
- The boys start asking me why I'm wearing a Canadian tuxedo (I was wearing a denim shirt) and telling me that my flats looked like shit with my shorts and to put heels on.
- Kicking a small stuffed soccer ball around Rik's apartment like a combination of Pele and the Tasmanian Devil.
- Going to a bar to eat and thinking fried pickles and jalapeno corn bread was a suitable dinner. Let's not mention the side dish of Coors Light.
- Stopping to get more beer after that bar and thinking Bud Light Lime cans was the best choice. I still have no idea where this case of beer is now.
- Black out. Don't remember going back to the apartments, where I put that beer, or how we got to the next bar. One that serves huge goblets of beer for $3. Thank Goodness!
- Lights back on. Our friend, Squint, who never ever goes out has a huge emotional conversation with me in a separate room that nobody but us is drinking in that I barely remember. I have some of his giant beer.
- Don't remember leaving that drinking room, but end up back in the main room of the bar just in time to see that most of the people we are with are going to need a cab home. Soon.
- Somehow manage to save a cab number in my cell phone. Don't know where I got the number, what cab company, if I reached them, what I said to them, but a cab does indeed come to pick up Yaml and I.
- Black out. Don't remember the cab ride, paying the driver or getting dropped off at Bar Louie.
- Lights back on. I realize that the 15 or so people that we were with have now completely split up and Yaml and I left Travis and Flick at the last bar. Fuck them, I'm sure I told them a cab was coming. I swear I remember Travis waving good bye. I look around and notice that Yaml has now also bailed, and our other friend (let's call him Smash) is too drunk to live. I decide not to worry about him, a guy with him looks pretty alive. I think I had a conversation with him about divorce about 20 minutes earlier. I'm not sure why.
- I decide it's time to go find Yaml. Black out. Don't remember walking out of the bar or taking my shoes off, but...
- Lights back on. I am walking on sod, barefoot, carrying my heels and having a discussion on the phone regarding the pain the sidewalk was causing my feet so I needed to walk in the grass. I have to look at the phone to see who I'm talking to. It's a boy. Shocker. We will call him Richie Tedco. I can't remember if he called me. I feel like I opened the phone to call Yaml, but I'm happy talking to Richie so I keep it up.
- Black out. Don't remember how, but I made it to the bottom of the stairs to Yaml's apartment.
- Lights back on. I am sitting on the stairs having a fantastic time listening to Richie laugh at me over the phone. I look up and see that Yaml's lights are off, but can't imagine he's in bed. I decide he will have to eventually run into me on his stairs and decide to keep chatting. I think I'm planning a trip to see Richie. Hell, it's only an 11 hour drive.
- Smash and his friend round the corner to Smash's apartment and stop in their tracks when they see me on the stairs laughing. This worries me so I look down to make sure I'm still clothed. I am, just missing shoes. I decide they're drunk asses and I'm a civilized human, waiting for my friend Rik, having the phone time of my life. I tell them to keep moving.
- Black out. Don't remember the conversation ending. I'm not worried as Richie Tedco is not the type of guy to fret about how I got off the phone with him. He gets me.
- Lights briefly back on. I'm sitting on Smash's couch talking to his friend about divorce again. I don't know why. The Flick calls my phone. I ignore it because I TOLD them to get in the damn cab. Smash falls onto his coffee table and kicks an entire glass of water onto his Wii and TV as his friend is trying to get him to have another beer. I half ass wipe it up, but decide that sitting back down seems like a better idea. Lights back out... for good.
I awake the next day in shambles. I am still at Smash's. There is a TV on. Loud. I am still drunk. My head hurts so bad I want to rip it off. I am sensing vom coming. Smash decides smoking will help everything. I disagree so I go outside to throw up. Nothing happens, but I do see Travis and Flick. Flick's hair looks like he slept on a park bench. Travis is still smiling. I hate them. When I decide I won't throw up on Smash's water logged Wii, I go back in side and collect my things to go as he's droning on about Bob Evans. The though of bacon nearly sends me over the edge. The only reason I make it home without barfing is because I decide that throwing up in my perfect, suburban neighborhood is unAmerican. And humiliating. There are kids around playing soccer. I spend the next hour standing in my bathroom debating whether to just vom or go back to the couch. Couch wins. I stay there.
After about 7 straight hours of DVR catch up, I am mentally aware enough to trace the route of this crippling hangover back to Liquid Cocaine. I speak with Richie and he says our conversation was awesome and I was hilarious. I asked what the hell we talked about and his response is "A lot of stuff, but you talked about something called a 'game changer' for about 20 minutes straight".
Liquid Cocaine, game changer indeed. Last time I judge a shot by it's name.
Or is it.....
I know this is the type of blog that Adam H. Newman will criticize me for and say things like "Oh, wow, you're so cool because you drink! Tell everyone how much you love the sauce!" and what not, but A) It's summer! B) He wishes he was this cool. and C) I'm a grown ass woman, I do what I want. So, suck it.
I hang out with a group of people where I live. Everyone lives at or within a mile of an apartment complex next to a bunch of restaurants, shops and bars. Our numbers can grow anywhere from 4 to 20 deep at any given moment. We are all pretty close in age, enjoy the company of one another, and have a lot of fun together. It's constant shenanigans. At the moment, I hang out with 3 guys from the group pretty much on the reg. I talk to or see at least 1 out of the 3 every single day without fail. We are all single, extremely tolerant of each other, and have similar drinking priorities. It's a summer foursome made in immature people heaven. For now, we will call them Travis Mackleroy, Rik Yaml, and The Flick. They are also known as... the other 3 elements.
It all started when....
A few weeks ago, Rik, Travis and The Flick drag me to a bar in our town. I say drag, because on this particular Saturday, I was brutally hung over and knew I wouldn't be drinking. Or so I thought. I also enjoy this particular place because it's cheap, there's decent music, and my inner skeeze usually comes out via a rousing game of bar truth or dare. Anyhoo.
We have ordered beers, consumed part inside, and decide to move out to the patio. I have barely choked down a half a draft and Rik is feeling similarly p-wordish. The boys are checking out waitresses, I'm wing manning, casually eye raping college boys walking in, there's a girl throwing up in a trash can on the other side of the patio. It's pretty much a regular, chill Saturday evening. Out of nowhere, Travis, who can handle a ridiculous amount of booze on a regular basis, apparently decides he hates/loves all of us and is going to change our night/lives. He says he's getting himself, Rik and me a shot. I remind him that I hate shots and I'm feeling like a toddler with this hangover. He says not to fear because I'll "like it, it's got peach schnapps, coconut rum and ...(jokingly) a line of cocaine in it". I roll my eyes at his impish grin and excited hand wringing, agree to the shot and say I'm going to the restroom first.
When I return, the shot is on the table. It's obviously a double, it's huge, it's brownish in color. Travis looks like it's Christmas morning, Flick looks sad/jealous (because he is driving and doesn't have one) and Rik looks as if he's mentally writing his will. This is when they explain to me that it's a shot called Liquid Cocaine. I figure that I have only had one beer, one shot won't make me vom. Plus, with a name that dumb, it's bound to contain Red Bull and be super weak. I have no idea why Travis looks so thrilled. We take the shot. I don't think it's that bad, better than tequila. Here are some things that happen in the hour that follows:
- I learn it has no Red Bull... but does contain equal parts Jagermeister, Goldschlager, Rumple Minze and Bacardi 151.
- I begin to panic.
- My face turns redder than usual and I feel warm. I ask if my ears are as red as they seem to me. Rik declares he feels warm as well. We suspect that one shot is getting us drunk.
- I give a waitress a napkin with the phone numbers and a short physical description of all 3 boys I'm with and tell her "just in case". Whatever the fuck that means.
- I ask Flick if I look as drunk as I think I'm getting. He says "Let's hurry up and go, I'm so thirsty. I want that."
- Rik leans over and confirms; we took one shot and it's getting both of us drunk from the inside out rather quickly. I compare it to the time I ate a pot brownie at Coachella and lost my mind for 48 straight hours. I think at this point I have one more beer.
- I start planning a Tucker Max style attack on any half way decent looking college dude with blue eyes. The boys encourage this, but don't point any out as they fear it will make them appear homosexual.
- We decide to go to a bar within walking distance from home because 3 of us are now hammered and Flick is sober and wearing a frown. He shows us how fast his new car can get us to more drinks.
- Travis can't stop smiling.
- The bartender at Bar Louie tells us they don't make that shot because they don't carry Bacardi 151. We tell them this is unacceptable and walk over the ghetto pizza place/bar around the corner. They make 3 more shots. I can't handle another one. I have some Malibu and Coke.
- Lights out. I think I had some Twisted Tea at Yaml's place after this, but it's unclear.
- We decide that we want to be able to feel like this at any given moment and decide to purchase bottles of the evil ingredients. We make it safely to beds... somewhere.
This is where it actually becomes childish, believe it or not. Cut to a few weeks later, we eventually all pick up said bottles of booze. The first night we have them all together, we agree on some ground rules for consuming this death juice. We compare ourselves to the 4 elements of the Earth, though nobody decides who is what. It matters not. The shot of evil awesomeness can only be taken if all 4 of us are present. Much like the movie The 5th Element. I guess our 5th element would be stupidity or poor judgement. Also, nobody else can do the shot unless all 4 elements are present and agree. We are stingy with our super hardcore booze, apparently.
I will just say this... having this shot in a shot glass, in a bar, poured by a sober bartender is VERY different than Rik mixing it up in his "extremely baller" cocktail shaker set after a few beers and pouring it in Solo cups. I'm unsure of how many I had, but the night looked VERY different than the first night I consumed Liquid Evil. Here's a ... sketchy at best look into that night....
- The boys start asking me why I'm wearing a Canadian tuxedo (I was wearing a denim shirt) and telling me that my flats looked like shit with my shorts and to put heels on.
- Kicking a small stuffed soccer ball around Rik's apartment like a combination of Pele and the Tasmanian Devil.
- Going to a bar to eat and thinking fried pickles and jalapeno corn bread was a suitable dinner. Let's not mention the side dish of Coors Light.
- Stopping to get more beer after that bar and thinking Bud Light Lime cans was the best choice. I still have no idea where this case of beer is now.
- Black out. Don't remember going back to the apartments, where I put that beer, or how we got to the next bar. One that serves huge goblets of beer for $3. Thank Goodness!
- Lights back on. Our friend, Squint, who never ever goes out has a huge emotional conversation with me in a separate room that nobody but us is drinking in that I barely remember. I have some of his giant beer.
- Don't remember leaving that drinking room, but end up back in the main room of the bar just in time to see that most of the people we are with are going to need a cab home. Soon.
- Somehow manage to save a cab number in my cell phone. Don't know where I got the number, what cab company, if I reached them, what I said to them, but a cab does indeed come to pick up Yaml and I.
- Black out. Don't remember the cab ride, paying the driver or getting dropped off at Bar Louie.
- Lights back on. I realize that the 15 or so people that we were with have now completely split up and Yaml and I left Travis and Flick at the last bar. Fuck them, I'm sure I told them a cab was coming. I swear I remember Travis waving good bye. I look around and notice that Yaml has now also bailed, and our other friend (let's call him Smash) is too drunk to live. I decide not to worry about him, a guy with him looks pretty alive. I think I had a conversation with him about divorce about 20 minutes earlier. I'm not sure why.
- I decide it's time to go find Yaml. Black out. Don't remember walking out of the bar or taking my shoes off, but...
- Lights back on. I am walking on sod, barefoot, carrying my heels and having a discussion on the phone regarding the pain the sidewalk was causing my feet so I needed to walk in the grass. I have to look at the phone to see who I'm talking to. It's a boy. Shocker. We will call him Richie Tedco. I can't remember if he called me. I feel like I opened the phone to call Yaml, but I'm happy talking to Richie so I keep it up.
- Black out. Don't remember how, but I made it to the bottom of the stairs to Yaml's apartment.
- Lights back on. I am sitting on the stairs having a fantastic time listening to Richie laugh at me over the phone. I look up and see that Yaml's lights are off, but can't imagine he's in bed. I decide he will have to eventually run into me on his stairs and decide to keep chatting. I think I'm planning a trip to see Richie. Hell, it's only an 11 hour drive.
- Smash and his friend round the corner to Smash's apartment and stop in their tracks when they see me on the stairs laughing. This worries me so I look down to make sure I'm still clothed. I am, just missing shoes. I decide they're drunk asses and I'm a civilized human, waiting for my friend Rik, having the phone time of my life. I tell them to keep moving.
- Black out. Don't remember the conversation ending. I'm not worried as Richie Tedco is not the type of guy to fret about how I got off the phone with him. He gets me.
- Lights briefly back on. I'm sitting on Smash's couch talking to his friend about divorce again. I don't know why. The Flick calls my phone. I ignore it because I TOLD them to get in the damn cab. Smash falls onto his coffee table and kicks an entire glass of water onto his Wii and TV as his friend is trying to get him to have another beer. I half ass wipe it up, but decide that sitting back down seems like a better idea. Lights back out... for good.
I awake the next day in shambles. I am still at Smash's. There is a TV on. Loud. I am still drunk. My head hurts so bad I want to rip it off. I am sensing vom coming. Smash decides smoking will help everything. I disagree so I go outside to throw up. Nothing happens, but I do see Travis and Flick. Flick's hair looks like he slept on a park bench. Travis is still smiling. I hate them. When I decide I won't throw up on Smash's water logged Wii, I go back in side and collect my things to go as he's droning on about Bob Evans. The though of bacon nearly sends me over the edge. The only reason I make it home without barfing is because I decide that throwing up in my perfect, suburban neighborhood is unAmerican. And humiliating. There are kids around playing soccer. I spend the next hour standing in my bathroom debating whether to just vom or go back to the couch. Couch wins. I stay there.
After about 7 straight hours of DVR catch up, I am mentally aware enough to trace the route of this crippling hangover back to Liquid Cocaine. I speak with Richie and he says our conversation was awesome and I was hilarious. I asked what the hell we talked about and his response is "A lot of stuff, but you talked about something called a 'game changer' for about 20 minutes straight".
Liquid Cocaine, game changer indeed. Last time I judge a shot by it's name.
Or is it.....
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