between a bullet and a target

No, really, I know, it's been a long time and I've borderline abandoned the blog. I've had decent reasons though... I had all hell break loose in both my personal and professional life. I wont speak on the personal part (and no, I didnt fall off the wagon.. to fall off of it, you hafta be on it!), but I ended up getting fired two weeks ago.

Let's chat about that! First of all, I'll say that I start my new job tomorrow, and it pays more. So I'd like to thank the salty pirates at my last job for making that happen. Will I miss working with the chick that got herself knocked up just to keep her garbage man boyfriend around and felt the need to sabotage people to compensate for her own shortcomings? Will I miss working with the mumblefuck tool or the girl who was unfathomably cold, and even combining the two wouldnt create a person worth the air they breathed? Will I miss working with the girl who was mind-numblingly self absorbed, but yet couldnt figure out why she was alone (not to mention scared to try to sell things, which is a big FAIL if youre a salesperson)? Will I miss working for a boss that couldn't be consistent even if she tried, and ran the office with a in such a way that even when staff changed, the atmosphere of resentment and tension remained (there's probably a reason your womb was barren.. it's natures way of saying you would be a horrible parent and you dont deserve children)? I'm thinking I wont miss any of those people.

Also, because of this, I'm now able to hit Fla this week to hang out with my family for xmas. Almost makes me want to send them a loaf of fruitcake for making all of these positive things happen. But yeah, I didnt give up blogging, but I wont pretend I havent considered it. I'll do what I can to catch up on some of the funsies I've been up to, chili cookoffs, beer pong, TMNT party, a Florida trip a couple weeks ago, and finding out that the Dollar Store does sell thongs (no, I didn't buy them, but it induced LOLZ)... Have no worries, the hillarity and good times have still ensued, and they will be put on here eventually.

Tell me your dreams...

So I randomly got a text from my roommate this morning while at work. I'll definitely say it broke up the day.

Him: "last nite i had a crazy series of dreams. it involved kid rock trying to touch my dick, zorro, nazi's running people over with trains, silver, electrocution and man getting smashed by a tree"

How does one even respond to that?

Me: "did you beat kid rocks scumbucket ass?"

Anyway, that's all I have. It's fucking cold here. Like, when I consider driving to a bar when I can see one across the street, it's COLD. Maybe I'll borrow his ski mask.

More like Strawberry Tallcake

I’ve been absolutely horrid about updating this thing, but it’s certainly not for lack of good times! Halloween, I still managed to hit three parties (one of which Landon hosted at our house), despite recovering from a cold I picked up while in Florida the week before. I didn’t stay at the party at my house for very long, and eventually Timmy’s party started to die down, so we took the entire thing to Kremlin.

They welcomed us with open arms, possibly because I came bearing a Tupperware full of jello shots, and a jug of punch leftover from Timmy’s. There was a keg of hard cider, sushi, and a snake present. All the makings for a fabulous party; just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, a multi- leg amputee showed up. He happened to be wearing the same costume (sort of ) as Spam… Welcome Matt! Turns out this dude likes being walked on by cute girls in heels. Of course I HAD to participate in those hijinks. This guy thanked me profusely, and was quite polite. Made me want to consider trying to find a dominatrix to apprentice for as a side gig, but I figure I should probably stay away from the sex worker industry if possible.

My costume, sweet Strawberry Shortcake, was not only enough to get some leers at the grocery store when I wore it in there, but it got two guys to offer to drive me and like 8 other people back to Timmy’s. Now that’s a quality accomplishment!

Goose Stepping Overlords and Fembots

So who’s ready for socialism with a side of fascism? Take a peak at a convo I had today with a friend, as I don’t feel could possibly better sum up my feelings:
(9:06:38 AM) J W: OBAMA2K8!
(9:16:46 AM) ME: READY TO WEAR YOUR CLOTHES THAT THE COLOR SIGNIFIES YOUR SOCIAL STANDING?
(9:16:49 AM) ME: I KNOW I AM!!!
(9:17:03 AM) J W: McCain=Facism
(9:17:08 AM) J W: Obama=Socialism
(9:17:17 AM) J W: I for one look forward to our goose stepping overlords
(9:20:01 AM) ME: i agree wholly
(9:20:10 AM) ME: i hope it becomes a combo
(9:20:15 AM) me: with robot task masters
(9:20:24 AM) J W: Fembots?
(9:20:41 AM) ME hopefully
(9:20:46 AM) ME: i like my robots with boobies
(9:20:57 AM) J W: big lucious tits with strapons?
(9:21:04 AM) Me: absolutely
(9:21:11 AM) Me: to penetrate us with their political prowess
(9:21:17 AM) ME: hows taht for alliteration?
(9:22:07 AM) J W: I'm excited
(9:22:34 AM) ME: i figured
(9:23:10 AM) J W: why so bitter
(9:23:23 AM) ME: me?
(9:23:26 AM) ME: naw, it's just politics
(9:23:36 AM) ME: i'll vote for who i wish, but i think both are figureheads
(9:24:12 AM) J W: both are vile
(9:24:22 AM) ME: exactly
(9:24:44 AM) Me: it's like being forced to pick between a masturbation session with a potato peeler and a battery acid douche
(9:25:33 AM) J W: with a side of sodomy
(9:28:01 AM) ME: indeed

Zombie Pub Crawl!!!!

Before I get into this past weekends outrageous Halloween celebration, I’ve got to back up to tell about the explosion of awesome that was the zombie pub crawl. They’ve had this for a few years now, but this is the first one I’ve done. We did all of the make-upping and costuming at my house, since it wasn’t far away from where it started. A big thanks to Ben, who with his theatre experience helped get everyone looking zombie-riffic. Thanks also to Spam, who made our bucket of fake blood (corn syrup, chocolate syrup, and red food coloring); eventually we had a big fight with it outside. I feel a little bad for the cabbies who took us to the beginning of the pub crawl route and had their cabs defiled by our fake blood. Good thing we tip well!

We had a blast yelling out the cab windows “BRAAAAINZZZZzzz” on the way there, and an even better time leaning over the hoods of other cars screaming the same thing while going bar to bar. Some of the coolest zombies I saw was a Sarah Palin zombie at taco bell (that was right before I induced vomiting), a whole flight crew of zombies, and some SS officer zombies who people were getting for real pissed off at (seriously? come on.. it’s a zombie pub crawl and these dudes were definitely not REAL SS officers… chill out). I’m glad I wasn’t a prom dress zombie there was way too many of those. Another thanks goes out to Tony, who took a shit ton of pics of us, but unfortunately cause he took them, we don’t have any of him… he made a bad ass zombie Kim Jong Il. Randomly, I had some strict zombiest who tried to tell me that my costume wasn’t valid because I was a zombie cat. FUCK YOU, EVER WATCHED PET CEMETARY?!?! Overall, it was a quality event (about 500 people dressed up and came out), and despite leaving my house covered in fake blood and zombie makeup… I cant wait for next year’s!

Hat Fashion Show and Vomit-Eating Birds

Yeah, I know I went to Florida like a bajillion months ago, but I ended up getting super busy and never finishing the tales of my journey. One of the last days of my trip, I went to the beach with my best friend Mike, Casey (our friend from high school), and her interracial love puppet. His name escapes me at the moment.

Anyway, so we got there and set up next to a family, who was not at all amused with our talks of rim jobs. We had good times catching up, which was interrupted when I had to run to the dunes to puke (hey, I was on vacation, you didn’t actually expect me to go to the beach sober, did you?). I didn’t quite make it to the dunes, and yakked in the sand instead. Randomly, a sea gull found my vomit to be enticing. I’d be surprised if it didn’t get sick later.

We finished up the day by going to a tourist store so I could shoplift some souviners for my homies back in Minnesota. WELL COME ON; I didn’t live in florida for over 20 years to come back and pay money for shells. Anyway, I digress… Our shopping trip turned into us dancing around the store trying on hats and singing showtunes. It wasn’t the best way to keep a low profile, but the staff was more amused than suspicious of us. Or perhaps they thought Casey’s boyfriend would ‘cap them in the ass’. Not really sure, but either way, it was a day of sun, fun, vomit and shoplifting!

How much do you fit in YOUR weekend?

Two house parties, Renaissance festival again, and a concert… It made for the weekend equivalent of a clown car. Friday was a party in ghetto Minneapolis, but they had a keg of Harp, a slushie dispenser full of white russians and some greenish-blue Romulan Ale (it fuckin’ knocked me on my ass, and for a concoction to do that, it’s got to be both impressive and possibly slightly toxic).

Highlights include (but are not limited to): trying to have the patience to wait for them to stop singing Tim Malloys around the bottle of birthday mead so I could actually drink some, watching a super old guy try to operate a bong, having a former stripper/speedfreak bitch at me when I used the word faggot-- keep in mind, I actually BROUGHT a gay guy to the party and like the gays overall more than the straights usually.

We grabbed a cab back to my house, but by then it was bar close. Early Saturday Jason, Timmy, Spam and I hit Uptown Bar, which left us squinting into the daylight when we emerged, drunk as piss at 3 pm. After ragstock it was nap time to be ready for the house party that was conveniently down the street from me. This house was also equipped with a stripper pole. I’m not sure who’s idea it was to install one, but it was pure genius. Nothing turns regular, boring, awkward girls into whores-in-training quicker than a stripper pole.

At midnight it was officially Shyong’s birthday and we were forced to concede to his wishes of going to the Soho Café for drunken food. On the way there, a stir was caused when I finished my beer-for-the-road (hobgoblin, mmmmm! Try it if you haven’t), because I threw it on the sidewalk not AT anyone, but um a little too near people.

Sunday was Renaissance festival with Spam, James, Sami, Cheryl, Ben, and Timmy. James tried to hustle the jugglers there (he’s like elite with some pins), but they didn’t fall for his trap. One of the friends we had working there led us down a hobbit path for some mystical ye olde herbals. One of the downsides to fest isthe absolute disgust when some turn their fat side-boobs into cleavage with bustier; IT IS NOT THE SAME AS REAL CLEAVAGE!\

We managed to turn a family-friendly place into debauchery as usual with copious amounts of mead, cigars that lead to black phallic jokes, and trying to find Timmy some fairy wings so in case some people didn’t “get” he was gay, they’d know without a shadow of a doubt.

I wasn’t planning on going to see Lagwagon, but it was on the way home, Spam had tickets and SHIT, WHY NOT, ITS FUCKING LAGWAGON!!!! We left after the show, but Pope, Joe and Sarah ended up singing with the band at the gay bar next door. If that’s not a serious case of badassery, I don’t know what is.

Laboring through Labor Day Weekend

Though this past weekend with the Renaissance Festival was a grand time (despite rain, which made my gypsy jingly belt make even more obnoxious reindeer-like noise), in the interest of catching up, I’ll back up to the weekend before, Labor Day weekend.

Friday, the 29th, I finally got to drink with McWhisky, who because he wakes up at 6 pm outlasted us all with his post-bar guitar hero antics. Fuck me and my 8-5 job; it’s really interfering with my drinking! Anyway, Saturday Ben, Cheryl, Spam and I went to the MN State Fair. Yes, I was intoxicated on booze (I only brought one flask, but hooray for leinekugals stands every 5 feet!), but I think I also became intoxicated on fried food. The thing about the fair, there are always disgusting lumps of people that make me feel better about my couple extra lbs, so it encourages me to shovel food in without abandon.

Highlights from the fair: getting cool cops to breathalyze all of us to see who was the drunkest, just for fun (no, I didn’t win), almost getting kicked out of the art exhibit because we were belligerent enough to be like “THIS WON AWARDS? THAT’S FUCKED UP” or “HOW MANY COCKS CAN YOU SEE IN THIS PAINTING, I SEE 4”.

Sunday was robbed of productivity due to some herbals of a rather strong nature. Monday was Labor Day, so we started drinking early at Skark with some screwdrivers that had 99 bananas (schnapps, for you uneducated boozy folks) in it. Then, Take Back Labor day hip hop show at Harriet Island; that would’ve been much better times had 1. they had some other beer besides Miller light bullshit and 2. Tom Morelos from Rage Against the Machine not lectured us about politics. Seriously, just sing some goddamn music; it already has a bucket load of your political rantings. And with that, I give you pictures.

Warmin' Up the House

We are gonna need to rewind a little bit here… I got backed up, and I still haven’t explained the gloriousness that was my housewarming. After a couple reschedules, Jason, Landon and I ran around like lunatics cleaning, and hiding all of our good liquor in preparation. I had decided rather than have a bunch of food, we should probably just have liquor (if they needed food, they could go across the street to one of the many restaurants). I made what I like to call “Donkey Punch”, and it has Limeade, maraschino cherries, an unfathomable amount of vodka, raspberry sherbet, 7 Up, and 5 hour energy. It was guaranteed to get you fucking drunk and keep you awake for the entire night.

My main goal of the evening was to keep the donkey punch flowing and keep people off the roof. We as a household may go out there, but dumbasses at the party I didn’t trust to not fall off (or at least not to sue me if they fell off, which is just as important, if not more).

Jason had brought home a large pirate flag, but we felt it was best not to draw attention to our house when we threw a party, so unfortunately it did not fly proudly. However, we did cover one kitchen wall with a paperbag and attach markers for people to write fun things on; because we are classy folks, we didn’t have string, so we used dental floss (which came in handy after the brownies Timmy made that um had some stems and whatnot in them). The best thing added to the wall was "cock juggling thundercunts," courtesy of Jessi, a quote from Parker Posey.

We are already discussing our next theme for the party… We were considering having a “flashlight and ski mask party” just to freak out the neighbors, but we definitely don’t want to combine it with our Fantastic Fall Frying Festival. Deep frying a bunch of shit in the dark seems like a bad idea.

August's Douchebag of the Month

This month is already coming to a close, and since I’m still gathering pictures from the party I threw last weekend (oh hey, whomever stole the big ass grill lighter from the front porch, I hope you light your fucking nuts on fire with it), I’ll go ahead and bestow my most honorable award: DOUCHEBAG OF THE MONTH, here we come!

So, Tuesday night, a very lit up Tequila Mockingbird went to the Science museum to see the Star Wars exhibit. The IMAX movie wasn’t just about Star Wars special effects, but all special effects. Well thank you very much Professor Douches for showing me something on IMAX that would’ve been just as breathtaking on the discovery channel. Despite that, and the lack of my flask, I still had a good time, but mostly with people watching. Surprisingly enough, there aren’t a lot of hot chicks at the Star Wars exhibit, but there are some “characters” (I think that’s what my grandma used to call weirdos). And look at this bad ass visor I found to wear!

The Republican Natl convention is in St Paul, so when leaving, we scouted for cross-dressing toe-tappin’, money hoarding republicans in the streets. We saw none, but some friends and I are considering dressing up in hottie-whore clothes (possibly short-shorts with "juicy" on the ass) and going trolling for Republicans to eventually blackmail (with our hidden cameras). The real douchebags of this month are the molls hired by the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force. Some douchemongers felt it would be a good idea to have molls hang out with the protestors just to keep them in line. Gee, maybe we should just stop all pretensions of free expression, and have some red scare action going on. And to the people who became tool-bags and molls, well I hope you’re still able to walk after losing your spine like that.

Capt. McDrinketyDrunk

There’s much catching up to do. I threw a party this weekend, so there’s some cleaning to be done, both to the house and to the cobwebs left in my brain. So instead of a weekend recap, I’ll tell the tale of drunken boating with coworkers.

Every year we have Boat Day. Which consists of going out on my bosses’ boat on lake Minnetonka with a couple coolers full of booze. It’s unfortunate we all don’t get along better when we are sober, because it was a decent time had by all. Granted, it wasn’t like a couple years ago when Debbie’s fake boobs came out. No one got shitfaced like the year Pauline did and then fell off of the boat. But our boss put in some Craig David (I totally loved that guy when I was in middle school like a decade ago), and we kept well hydrated.

The girls in the office made a pact that if one of our boobs fell out, we would yell out our code word “JANET JACKSON”, in reference to a wardrobe malfunction. Unfortunately, when the alarm was sounded, it was on me. DAMNIT! Then when Tory figured out the code, he kept yelling it, making me paranoid.
Overall, it’s a good ‘team building day’ when no one gets injured or fired. Hell, I was still even able to make it to #skark bowling that night, but you can only really drink in the sun all day without it taking its toll; no driving home for me that night.

Hats, Can Smoking, and Betting on Beer

Skark moved our usual bowling group to the horsie track on Thirsty Thursday, and it got the weekend off to the right start. Senor Scat wasn’t racing, so I kept my bets mostly confined to the Leinenkugals stand, where I’m ALWAYS a winner.

Early-evening Friday was fried shrimp and honeyweiss at Stella’s with Landon, then I met up with Timmy at Marie-Louise and David’s, where I had potato schnapps. It was a new experience, but I figure since I’m Irish, and I’ve never met a schnapps I didn’t like, it was right in line with my interests. I liked the Absolut Kurrant with soda water better. We tried on hats, some that Marie-Louise makes (she’s seriously the most awesome, and possibly only, Danish girl I’ve ever met), and once it gets colder, she promised to teach me how to crochet, so I can make my own whoville hats.

After all that, Timmy and I walked to an undisclosed location, where we did a science project that led to us partaking of herbal essences out of a Strongbow can. It was classy AND refined, and we followed it up with a slumber party in the living room.

Saturday Timmy and I went on a quest to find a fedora, which I finally did at Ragstock. After miscellaneous hijinks, we met up with Spam for a drive to Chanhassen (SERIOUSLY, WHY DO YOU NEED TO LIVE OUT IN THE ASS END OF NOWHERE?! THE BOONIES ARE ONLY GOOD TO DISPOSE OF A DEAD BODY) to a bonfire. I failed, and not only got marshmallow in my hair, but dropped my wiener in the dirt. I hate when my wieners get dirty.

Sunday was supposed to be my super productive day, but shockingly enough once I started getting rid of the stragglers of beer that made it to my house from Saturday’s bonfire, I only felt like watching movies. HOWEVER, because one of the movies I watched was “Animal House”, a toga party is now in the works. Maybe my day wasn’t so unproductive after all!

School Girls With Topiary Equine Aspirations

Tonight's my big night off from shenanigans and hijinks's. Ate some leftovers from yesterday's BBQ (hat's off to Spam for the delicious concoction that had vermouth in it to put on the steaks) and got to decompress and rehydrate.

Friday we started off at the Irish Fair, to see Flogging Molly, which as usual was legitimate badassery. I wore an Irish school girl outfit; the picture isn't from Friday, but it's the only picture of me in it I could find. It allowed us to play the game of watch-which-pervys-leer-at-me. After the Irish Fair, we went to Epic, and normally I'd probably not wear school girl outfit, but I figured why the hell not since I was already wearing it. It was once again well-received.


Saturday stalled like a shitty car because of breakfast of tater tots and screwdrivers. After some violent old school video games with Landon, he and I went out to Stella's to meet up with Camaroon. He's the one running for Congress, and he really has a good shot of winning. Landon's politics that night was limited to pissing off some chick he was trying to score with by arguing about issues she was very passionate about. Hilarity (at least for me) ensued. Random side note: I got recognized at the bar this weekend. like, someone who read my blog saw me out and was like HEY TEQUILA MOCKINGBIRD!!!" it was both flattering and scary.

Sunday was horsie races! The only bet I won on was one for Senor Scat (I SHIT YOU NOT, THAT'S HIS REAL HORSEY NAME!!!!). Shockingly enough, the horse named "Fiddy Cent" was a black horse. My newest goal is to ride the topiary horse they have in the court yard. Even if I got in trouble for it, having an infraction on my record with "equine" just makes it worth it.

Putting the "ASS" in "GLASS"

It’s been a hectic and taxing week. Tues was memorial happy hour; I think the gays are the only group of people that can possibly make redheaded sluts seem like a respectful shot to take. I remember driving home, and having the most irrational thought that if I got a DUI and missed my friend’s wake the next day, he would be pissed. Fortunately that didn’t happen, and we said goodbye to Bill. Fun fact, his family told me that while looking on his camera, one of the last pictures he took was of me “sleeping”. Hehe, I have the sneaking suspicion I might have been passed out on his couch.

Anyway, I figure I might as well catch up and get to last weekend’s recap. Friday was the art fair, which was conveniently located a few blocks away from my house. Saturday I went to Valley Fair, which compared to Busch Gardens and 6 flags, sucked. But, when you think about the relative awesomeness (lets be honest, Minnesota isn’t exactly over run with theme parks and roller coasters), it wasn’t too terrible. Oh, beware folks; if you see a guy that looks like one of the bearded dudes from ZZ Top, be careful. As soon as we saw him, The Renegade broke. I’m positive there was a correlation.

I was supposed to see Nine Inch Nails on sat. night, but Trent Reznor was sick (or just being a pussy), so that was rescheduled, and instead I went out with LuckyPants and Landon. Granted, I get drunk and wild, but this chick brings it to a whole different level. It was both impressive and scary. Like, after a night of drinking, we wake up to my kitchen table flipped on it’s side, her without pants, and when we did find the pants they were wet and had glass and flowers inside (which had formerly been on my table). It’s been almost a week later, and we still aren’t sure what the hell happened.

She woke up on Sunday and started hitting some Jim Beam. I had a better idea, so we got on my roof with some orange juice, vodka, and peach schnapps. As the afternoon wore on, she started screaming at people walking by to the art fair. Keeping in mind Landon and I have been known to yell shit off the roof, we live there, so we keep it somewhat classy. Luckypants is yelling to women’s boyfriends, telling them to show her their dick, calling people fat asses, and randomly complimenting people on their accessories. Once bottles started falling off the roof, I knew it was time to go back inside.

Bill.

Though there are stories of good times from this weekend, instead of sharing those, I must instead make a departure from my usual posting to say goodbye to my friend. Bill, who has been a reoccurring character on here died yesterday. He was 34, and had beaten cancer... but one can never win them all. He had a heart attack, which caught us all off guard. Much love to Timmy who gave him CPR until the paramedics arrived.

So yesterday goldshlager and I went over to the gays, and in between crying jags and chain smoking, we shared some of our favorite stories of him. And all though it made us miss him more, we felt less sad. His death put a crack in the armor of youth that can sometimes seem impenetrable. To those that knew him well or even superficially, he was a beautiful person and I'm proud to have called him my friend.

UPDATE: people deal with loss in their own way. My friend's and I dealt with ours by drinking a his favorite drinks and making a bunch of food for his family. Two casseroles, 5 loaves of banana bread, and 75 cookies later, I feel better. He's the only one I ever let get away with calling me "Christy", a variation of my name I never particularly liked. And because it was him who introduced me to most of the gays, they all call me that. I guess that will just be part of his legacy for me. For anyone who reads this and knew him, we are doing happy hour today (tues), the wake is tomorrow night, and thursday morning is the funeral. Contact me for details.

July's Douchebag Of The Month

I’ve been running a little behind lately. But just because I’m a little slower at getting to it, please don’t be confused and think that this award smells any less of the aroma of douchebaggery. This award because I waited so long, will be shared this month.

First and foremost, I need to bid a bitter farewell to Bennigan’s. I knew some of the staff there, and they undeniably had the best happy hour specials in the suburb I work. When I found out about their closing, I happened to have just been there the day before. I was like someone who had a friend die, but had seen them recently. My reaction: “WHAT, BENNEGINS CLOSED?! I JUST SAW ‘EM YESTERDAY… LOOKED FINE!!!!!” So, #1 douchebag of July goes to the assholes (Metromedia Restaurant Group) that filed for bankruptcy. Way to cowboy up and try to get through it. Oh wait, you actually took the coward’s way out.

The second part of this illustrious honor goes to Kid Rock. He has sodomized one of my favorite Lynyrd Skynrd songs. If the majority of the band was alive, I’ll am more than positive they would rain hot fury down upon his greasy, scumbucket ass, that would be akin to napalm on a Vietnamese village. Why doesn’t he take a shit atop Jim Morrison of the Door’s grave while he’s insulting iconic music legends? I mean, if he had even a moderate amount of talent (for music, not for railing bleach blonde hepatitis whores), it wouldn’t be so fucking offensive. Like when Stone Temple Pilots did “Dancing Days” by Led Zepplin, granted it wasn’t as good as the original, but at least it wasn’t insulting the taste of music listeners. But you, Kid Rock, you have honed the craft of douchfulness, and it stabs at my eardrums with every note I listen to that you have spat forth... And it's for that that you get the heavy crown placed upon your do-rag adorned head.

And They Shall Call Me "FRANK"

Friday I went to the Eagle with Bill, met up with Craig and Luther and some of the others. I had the fortune of discovering the gay man group, Bearforce1, which if you know what a Bear (see #5) is, you can get my amusement of watching these guys dance around in pastel shirts, then water while singing jauntily. I managed to meet the ONE straight there. Going around, like I usually do, I asked this cute guy that if I had a dick, would he suck it... To which he replied NO, because he was straight. He thought it was funny and understood how I might think a guy in a gay bar would be homosexual. Guess those drink specials of 3-for-1's really draw 'em out.

We also figured out my gay name. Luther said something about me talking to more guys in the bar than even the gay guys do. And I'm like: "HELL YEAH, I'D MAKE A GREAT GUY DUDE!" so of course then we needed to figure out a name; at the same time, Craig and I came up with "Frank".

Saturday was divine. Sunday I made guinness pork chops (because all of my yumgasm marinades and sauces had dripped on the grill), we had enough smoke to blow into the next door neighbor's house. The fire alarm went off and two fire trucks came. WHEE!


I once again had a quality weekend with some gays, but Timmy (who went to Bismark Pride, a wholly different experience than Mpls Pride), had adventures that eclipse mine. Just a big field of gays, camping, getting drunk and having queertastic weekend. They were even selling "jock on a stick," which as you might have imagined is a neon jockstrap, on a stick, tied in the back so it's tighter. Once you have that, what other article of clothing do you really need?

The family that gets intoxicated together, stays together

I think because I lived in Florida until I was 21, it made my trip down there less like a vacation and more like a revisiting of my former life. Needless to say, it was more than a little overwhelming to attempt to see all of my friends and family in such a short window of time. Being related to me, of course my family is awesome, and decided to help me out by throwing a little shindig on the 5th. My dad blackened fish, Auntie Cougar had a well-stocked bar, and my grandma just tried to not be offended when she heard us using copious profanity in everyday conversations.

I also got to meet my Dad’s new girlfriend. Keeping in mind that the last time I saw him with a woman, it was my mom… things were bound to be weird anyway, much less that his lady friend happens to be a lunatic. This is not just my opinion, this is something he and many others who have met her share. But she’s hot, and kind of looks like Rachel Ray… A Rachel Ray that would slit your throat in your sleep if she’s pissed off enough. Also, because she’s a lunatic, her 12 year old son is a little fucked up in the head. Like, for example, he saw my dad playing grab-ass with her in the pool, and he flipped out. So there’s Tequila Mockingbird, drunkenly trying to console this kid and to get him to stop crying. Obviously, that was not the highlight of the evening.

I saw friends from high school, we chased each other through my grandma’s orange groves, and set off fireworks. Fortunately, nothing exploded or caught on fire like the night before. That might have been more than a little embarrassing, seeing as how there were two firemen present at the party. Both of them said they would’ve without a doubt been able to put out a fire no matter how intoxicated. This is a subject of debate and disagreement.

Ostriches, Camels, and a Fiesta

As much as I need to get to part III of my Florida hijinks, this weekend had some serious badassery that I must first address. Friday I went over to the gays, where we made homo punch (cherry limeade, sprite, lots o vodka, and maraschino cherries) that resulted in a quest for cherries later that night. I can honestly say it was the first time I ever went into a liquor store and did not buy any alcoholic beverages. Later, when the fount of homo punch ran dry, we busted into the cheap champagne, and even convinced the Jimmy John’s bicycle delivery guy to drink a glass quick.

Somehow we ended up at Brother’s, which is a club/bar, but more of a club than a bar. Not knowing I’d be going out, I was wearing a sublime shirt and jeans, which had me looking like a hippy. Timmy was rockin’ the 70’s porn start look, complete with chops and “my name is earl” mustache. When we were dancing I heard someone remark “OHhh shiiiitttt, HIPPY GIRL CAN DANCE!”

Saturday Leslie and Skoalface had their annual fiesta. They had a kickass party favor, a beaded necklace with a shot glass on it. Joep was sitting next to the keg and kept filling up his little cup. We played boozy-badminton, which required us to keep holding onto our margaritas AT ALL TIMES. Landon and I left early, and because his date was cut short (he showed up 25 min. late, with hickeys from Fri’s date, and already drunk), he came with me to Chammps to watch MMA affliction, but I was too drunk to try to get jello wrestling scheduled with the midget bartender.

Sunday #skark went to Canterbury, which in the epitome of awesomeness was hosting Ostrich and Camel races instead of just the usual horsies. Ostrich races were fail (they ended so quickly.. it was like the premature ejaculation of racing), but camel races made up for them. We had some side betting going on after we saw two different chicks wearing tacky sequin purses as to if we would see a third. Instead of just seeing a third, we saw two more. No accounting for taste I guess. I busted ass from a wet spot on the floor inside, but like a pro managed to keep my drink upright and not spill the entirety of it. I still wish we had been able to steal ostriches and race them down Hiawatha ave against the light rail.

Blowing Shit Up

Last night started out with a bang, when I found out on the way to bowling you aren’t supposed to text while going 15 miles over the speed limit. But since I don’t look gross, the cop was nice and was like “instead of a ticket, I’m going to give you a stern talking to.” Well thanks; boy O boy did I learn my lesson! Like most #skark events, the night ended with drama, and amazingly enough I was not at the center of it this time. It was a nice departure.

Anyway, so back to my Florida trip, on the 4th of July I saw my dad and some of the firemen I grew up with at his station. Then my bestest friend since middle school, Gay Mike aka Poodles, threw a party at his apartment. With fireworks, pharmaceuticals, booze, and enough homosexuals to fill up a Pier 1 we had a blast, literally. We aren’t sure if the apt place turned the sprinklers on because of the commotion we were making or if was on a timer, but either way we were angrier than a stripper with a C section. Maybe they should’ve kept the sprinklers on and then we wouldn’t have blown a hole in the chair. Oops!




Here is that day’s slideshow. Next week I’ll have more Florida adventures in awesomeness.

Fake Fog & Ribs the second time around

I got back from Florida last week, but as soon as I returned it was Skark Skarey movie night, complete with dry ice to make fog and some extra that I stuck in a punch bowl with berry limeade and vodka to carbonate it. It somehow turned into Skark night swimming in the pool during a thunder storm (yes, I know, but at least we weren’t holding golf clubs high in the air). Disregard my arm looking fat, it's really not like that in real life.

Then on Saturday I had the gays (Timmy and Bill) over for bbq and a couple pitchers of mojitos, then subsequent walking around my front lawn with champagne flutes full of pink champagne. At some point one of us had the grand idea to bake a cake (this might have been fueled by Timmy’s bearings of high quality greenery) at 1 am. So we walk down to the gas station, buying our cake mix and the gas station attendant who had already seen us in there a couple times that day was like “really, REALLY now? Baking a cake in the middle of the night?” Nevertheless, chocolate cake with strawberry frosting and oreos on top never tasted so good.

The trip went awesomely, and eventually I’ll get to all of my stories with corresponding pictures. I went to Busch Gardens, and it turns out it’s not a good idea to eat a hearty meal of ribs and French fries and then go on Kumba twice in a row (yay, we had platinum passes that let us skip to the head of the line and go twice on all the rides)… the three people behind me that were covered in my rib-french fry vomit also figured out it was a bad idea. Hell, I’m just glad I didn’t throw up on my friends or family. That wouldn’t have been cool at all. Notice I'm wearing two different pairs of sunglasses; fucking gwazi stole the first pair (as well as almost thieving a shoe). To recoup the loss, I stole a replacement pair from the gift shop

She who Stands Where I Stood

In the last post I alluded to us moving. I’ve moved so much in the past year, I feel like a gypsy (only I take showers and smell better). Anyway, Landon and moved in next door with Jason this weekend. It's a bigger place, roughly the same price, and has off-street parking; that’s overall the largest win, cause when you live somewhere that everyone else wants to live, it’s a bitch to park. Granted, Landon and I still park on the street whenever convenient, because fuck everyone… we’ve had to walk a block or so to get home before, why should we make it easier for other people?

We were actually thinking of just throwing shit out of Landon’s window or rigging up a pulley system, since his old window was directly beside the new place. That way we would avoid the gazillion flights of stairs. OHhh how these stairs have memories of drinkety drunk times before!

Anyway, one of the things I wont miss about the old place is the plumbing. Because our building was one of the oldest in Uptown, it had some bad news bears where that was concerned. For example, you needed to hold down the handle on the toilet, but not hold it down too long. And the sink was vile; not only was it rusty (no, Maintenance, painting it will not fix the problem), it had two handles AND faucets for a cold and hot side of your face during a wash.

One of the cool things that came with the house next door, is Invader Zim, Jason's cat. He's one of the most awesome cats ever. He looks drunk here.

Thanks to those who helped us move. It was invaluable; yeah we had like two months notice and it was next door, but when it got down to the wire it was still like "OH SWEET MOSES, WE NEED TO GET OUR STUFF OUT!!!!" We were considering leaving a doubledecker for the next tenants (they dont check the toliet tank when doing move-out checkups!), but opted not to.

Chuck Norris got moved behind the pool table upstairs. Hopefully he’ll improve our game. Also, between the three of us, we now have four mini fridges. Can't ever really have enough of those. Anyway, you folks have a good week. I’m rolling into Florida for the week like a hurricane.

Filling the streets with my noise

It was another big weekend. Somehow despite moving next door into Jason's house (I'll get to that soon), I still managed to have more good times than Target has mentally handicapped people working for them (seriously, have you noticed that too?). Friday night Landon and I walked down to Stella's for the first shift of happy hour, where we had to fight to keep our stools from being stolen by this Asian chick with a face like an old leather purse. Later Landon's large breasted lady friend (they were at least thrice as big as mine), Calvin Crustitron, and his friend Tony that was visiting from Cali joined us out.

I still cant quite put my finger on why, but I didn't think Tony was gay. Landon thought it might be an act, cause he thought Tony was hitting on Tits McGee. I saw one of the gays, Hector, on the street while walking to the bar, and I refuse to believe it's a coincidence that we had just been playing the penis game. After Bar Abaleine and the Drink, we went to Burrito loco, where I was impressed when the staff chased after some assbag that stole the tip jar. On the way back home, Calvin Crustitron and I got in a stupid argument that left us screaming profanity at each other all the way down Hennepin. Nothing but class.

Sat. I still managed to have time to make blue, green, and purple jello shots to go with the red, orange, and yellow ones Melissa made for the Pride party. What better way to celebrate that with a spectrum of fruity booze?! Hmm, maybe perhaps the rainbow cape from the AIDS benefit party?

I wore it around Loring park for the En Vogue concert. It did well to hide the Guinness in my back pockets. Then onto the 19 bar, where we were trying to figure out if I looked more like a homosexual Batman or the gay grim reaper (we were thinking in place of a scythe, perhaps a large purple dildo instead).

Surprisingly enough, the employees at the gas station we went into were less amused with the cape and the stream of colorful people coming celebrating pride. I think of any gas station for me to be in with a cape, the Super America was the most appropriate. I still don't see what the problem was. For all they know I could've been a super hero; "Butt Genie to the rescue; NO MOAR TACKY DECOR FOR YOOOooooou!!!"

Robocop, Tater Tots, and a Recipe

My bad about the weekend recap taking so long to get out, but this week I'm in the middle of moving and also getting ready to go to Fla next week, not to mention I left my camera at Craig's house when I was drunk (shockingly enough!).

Friday I first met the gays at The Eagle, where I saw a lesbian that looked like Harry Potter, a black midget (no, he dissapeared in the crowd before I could pick him up and sprint away with him), and a Pirate that spit a lot when he talked.

After that was a bbq at Bill Skark's house. I brought some ribs that were so awesomely marinated, they ripped a hole in the universal curtain of "awesome." Amy and I were considering running through the sprinklers scantily clad on the golf course he lives in , but unfortunately 1. weren't paying attention the first time the sprinklers turned on 2. were taking a 2 hr "nap" the second time they came on.

After the nap at 6 am we ate some leftover ribs and drank more rasp. lemonade-vodka and watched Robocop. Somewhere during the movie we toook another nap, and woke up ready for Uptown Bar tater tots and screwdrivers/bloody mary's. Helluva way to start your Saturday!

Sunday it was Craig's birthday, and the gays threw an a fanfuckingtastic party, despite the intermittant rain. But hey, I look great in a wet t shirt anyway. We were solidly entertained by the ghetto couple across the street having a domestic dispute. She locked him out, but then kept opening the door to throw a handful of ice at him. Their reconcillation after 15 min took away our amusement.

I made Mojito Jello shots; last time I made them, you greedy bastards wanted my recipe. Here it is in all of it's glory. If the steam doesnt burn your eyes, you're doing it wrong.

Mockingbird Mojito Jello Shotz

• Boil ALMOST a cup of water, the rest of the cup being taken up by lime juice and mint extract (dont use real mint leaves, when they boil they turn brown and look like dogshit)


• Add a package of lime jello and 2 tablespoons of sugar. STIR of course


• Turn off heat and add 1 cup of light rum.

YOU'RE IN BUSINESS CHAMP! (watch out, they sneak up on you like a paternity suit)

Ahoy, Failboat!

While I wait to get pictures back from this weekend's shenanigans, I will take the time to call out some fail of epic proportions. Apparently pirates took four European tourists hostage and are now hiding in the hills of Las Qoray.

First of all, European tourists are not the ones to take as hostages. They arent sure whether they are French or German, but come on... Both countries dont give as big of a rat's ass as America does about it's citizens being . So if you want to be a successful captor, you would aim to snag some American tourists. That's where the real booty is!

Most importantly, you cannot be a pirate and hide on land. The whole thing about being a pirate is you STAY IN THE WATER... 'a life at sea', not 'a life at sea until people are chasing me'. NO GET BACK IN YOUR FUCKING BOAT!! Bunch of pussies, that's what they are. Unless they are hunting down ninjas on land (which is a difficult endeavor to begin with) or have run out of rum, their asses should be in the water, fighting off whomever is after them.

Thirdly, snagging a tourist vessel that has run out of gas seems to take away from their pirate cred. Everyone knows you are supposed to go after merchant ships so their is more shit to steal. And a boat that has run out of gas? You dont even need cannons to take it down. LAAAaaaaaame!!! I didnt see anything in the pirate laws against this stuff, but it still doesnt seem quite right.



Main point: It's not the hokey pokey, you dont put your left foot in and take your left foot out; if you are going to be a pirate, DONT HALF ASS IT.

Remembering Memorial Day...

So, I had a blast on Memorial Day, but unfortunately, I didnt quite remember all of it. Thanks to Chelsea, I now have pictures to forever memorialize the after-party with the gays. Notice the progression of the evening. I still dont know when I managed to lose my shoe, but the falling down does explain the rug burn I woke up with on my elbow. Have a good weekend folks!

June's Douchebag of The Month

Once again, I’m singing that same song that goes a little something like this: “do-doo-doooouchebaaaaag, oh how you make me want to smaaaack you with a mesh bag of piiiiineaaaaaaaappples… dooo do douchebaaags!” June’s winner of the fail-waste sweepstakes is psychics.

The immediate cause for me awarding this to them is that there is one occupying prime space in between my house and one of my favorite bars, Liquor Lyles. It’s a great bar, but if you go there, and things suck, there’s no other options except to walk four blocks to Lyndale, where Mortimer’s and Rudolph’s are located. It really is a serious investment. Anyway, if they ran the psychics out of there like they did in the good ol’ days (with pitchforks and lighted torches, of course), it’s totally big enough to have a decent sized food-drink establishment. I wonder, since they are psychics, if they would know beforehand that someone was going to throw a brick through their fucking window?

And going along with that line of thought, how come Miss Cleo didn’t know she was going to be sued and tap out before any of that started? OH WAIT, BECAUSE SHE WASN’T REALLY A PSYCHIC! I would be hard pressed to find someone who could prove to me that they were REALLY a psychic; most are just able to give semi-decent guesses based on people’s voices and the information they are given.

Maybe the sad sacks of shit that call those psychic hotlines deserve to get ripped off. Kind of like a dumbass tax. In this case, maybe it’s the callers of those hotlines that rank higher on the douchetitude scale. I’ve said this before in different posts, to think that the universe will magically fix life problems is idiotic and that energy would be better spent trying to improve the things that one does not like about their lives. Hope in one hand, douche in the other.

No Title Can Possibly Do This Justice

Saturday Lego's friends from Iowa came over (sure as hell beats drowning in their flooded state!), so we showed them St Paul. Keeping in mind they had read me and heard stories about me, but I'm not sure ANYTHING can really ever prepare a person for me. I think they assumed it was mostly exaggeration surrounding me; hmmm not quite!

Anyway, first stop was the Liffey, where the boys were attacked by a group of cougars out for a bachelorette thing. Too bad none of them were hot and were trying entirely too hard to be "naughty." It was sad really, and they smelled of Oil of Olay anti-wrinkle cream and barely surviving hopes.

On another disturbing note, we saw this guy with his gym-teacher-with-balls-hanging-out-of-his-short-shorts.

Awesomely enough, we found someone had left a flowery, frilly umbrella underneath the bar. So, on the walk to the McGoverns, I twirled it around like Mary Poppins and had a blast with it. Here is Andy and I with it, WHEeeeee! This was before I hit a pole with it and it broke. Oops.


At McGovern's, there was some Coldplay-ish band playing. Which of course made me feel compelled to start yelling "PLAaaaaaay SLAYER!!!;" those two bands couldn't possibly more dissimilar, so as you can imagine, they did not play any Slayer for me, however, they did keep telling me they would in a couple songs.

After saving some random girl with HUGE cans (seriously, I shit you not.. they mine look small) from having to dance with this gross old man, we started dancing, which somehow lead to making out. Funny how that happened. Her girlfriend was not amused, Legos and his friends were delighted. Sorry about the poor quality of pictures. All four of the boys have promised to ALWAYS carry digital cameras on them, instead of relying solely on blackberries.

Trainwreck Friday- Choo Choo BITCHES!

Landon came home on Friday, kicking my bed to wake me up for Stella’s 2-for-1’s (or as he calls them, “4-for-2’s”). I was still trying to recover from Thursday’s Skark Bowling that included but was not limited to:

• a crying jag


• Pecan Pie for Pope's Birthday that I made with Jim Beam


• Pantsless Bowling


• Piggyback Bowling (one person gets on another's back and bowls

After Stella’s and then Old Chicago, we got up on Jason’s roof with a bottle of Dr. Mcgillicuddy’s (hey, it has “Doctor” on the bottle, so that means it’s good for you, right?), and Invader Zim the cat to yell at people down below. For example, the 30 year old pizza guy got a “IS THIS REALLY WHAT YOU WANTED TO BE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?!” We knew it was time to get off the roof when a bird shit on Landon’s pant leg and he started screaming he was going to throw shit back at it.

The arab from the gas station across the street had recommended the 5 hr energy supplement, so we split it up into shot glasses to prepare for what we like to call “long distance drinking.” We met up with a birthday crowd that Jason knew at Nye’s in downtown Minneapolis, and came to the conclusion that as amusing as the polka band was, that was not the side of the bar to be on, because they poured Guinness in pure failure fashion. By this time, Landon (who had been pulling on the McGillicuddys harder than we had) was hiccupping).

We still aren’t quite sure how this happened, but we got kicked out of the cab on the way to Brits. We are good natured drunks and were agreeing with something the foreign cab driver said. Whatever. Fuck him and the border he snuck in on. At Brits I saw Jesus on the rooftop. He bought me a drink, so I assume I’m going to heaven now. We ended up back at Green Mill, who took our arguing with each other as a cue not to serve us. WTF?! We’ve been way more belligerent than that before.

Some people just don’t know how to take a joke.

A Brave New World (of drinking)

While reading the news today, I literally got a little wet when I saw this story. See, when a person lives in a place that is colder than an Eskimo’s dick for the majority of the year, they tend to drink at home considerably more than those who live in more accommodating climates. This is not the case for me, as I go out frequently. Anyway, the idea of a delivery beer man still appeals to me. Especially if he was hot (I can see the pornos now, “what would you like for a tip, Mr BeerMan?”)

It’s a fairly reasonably priced service too, but unfortunately with the raising of gas prices, that will change. This is also a fanfuckingtastic idea because with beer being delivered, there is less of a chance of DUI’s, and other bad times that can come with non-professional (AKA non-home) drinking.

There should be more places doing this. Granted, the area they are doing it in, Duluth, is a shitty, barren, funless place, BUT I think even in the cities it would still do well. They could even have the delivery truck play fun music like ice cream trucks do. I’m thinking it could be Bare Naked Ladies “Alcohol” song or maybe “Drunken Lullabies" by Flogging Molly (see video down below). Either way, I could see a parade of big-gutted men following the beer truck down the street like the pied piper.

Office Retardation

So today I had probably the most asnine staff meeting ever. Though this meeting wasn’t directed at anything I had done or said, I was still silghtly irritated (and not just because it took away from valuable time I could’ve been plucking my eyebrows or online shopping for sex toys). We work in a small office, that’s deadline-driven, thus tensions run high. Backstabbing bullshit is out of control, because people cant just confront people face to face... Seriously, GROW THE FUCK UP.
Which brings me to my main issue… when did people lose their spine and become unable to deal with even the most minimal conflicts? Are we that weak as a society we have resorted to being confrontationally crippled? I think all of this touchy-feely-we-should-tread-lightly has ruined us and made us mealy-mouthed milk-toast hollow shells. Not everyone will always like everyone else. And especially in an office setting where you have a group of people thrown together who otherwise would want nothing to do with each other, it wont always be cotton candy and rainbows.

What’s the point of this post? Basically to tell everyone to cowboy up and grow a thicker skin because conflict is inevitable and avoiding confrontation wont make it go away, but instead let it simmer like a stew of bitter resentment. So if you are sick of the office douchebag peeing in the coffee pot or the office bitch telling everyone you smell like a hobo behind your back, SAY SOMETHING. Or sabotage their car. Do something, because if you do nothing, you’ll just tweak out one day and come into the office shooting.

Grand Ol' Weekend!

Just as I figured out an angry midget is a harbinger of bad times, when Landon and I saw two midgets in the post office, we knew it would be a doubly fun weekend. It actually translated into two opportunities for public intoxication. After post office on Saturday, we went to The Felafel King's buffet. If the Burger King guy is so fucking creepy, the Felafel King must be even more disturbin, but instead have a turban with a crown over it and smell like curry and old shoes. But the place was fantastic. It had a bunch of Mexican guys working at it who kept threatening to kick each other's asses. Felafel King fight club? Hmmm.. I LIKE THE SOUND OF THAT!!

The first opportunity to get publicly hammered was a filthy tease. They blocked off a solid couple of streets a few blocks from us on calhoun square for the Beerfest. Too bad it was $28 to get in. JUST FOR SAMPLES!! Unless it comes from a mason jar, it'll take more than a sample to rattle my cage...

Anyway, Saturday wasn't such a lucky day for some folk... It started hailing like a sonofabitch (probably the forces of the universe in a rage about the cost of Beerfest...), and I had the distinct pleasure of laughing at some people running down a Hennepin while I was nice and cozy in my apartment, with my drink. THE FIRST of my "FUN IN THE SUN" summer drink recipes I will bestow upon you:

Tropical Mockingbird

• Pineapple soaked for at least two days in light rum and another day frozen
• Tropicana Orange Juice (it's from the town in Fla I'm from. Don't settle for that concentrate OJ Bullshit)
• More of that light rum good times

Unfortunately, time flies when you're having rum, so next thing I know it's Sunday and time for Grand Ol Day. No intraweb definition can give you the full picture of the awesomeness of this event. Thousands of people, drinking on Grand St. in St. Paul, for miles. Jugglers, Bands, Beer Gardens (those are for suckers), fried food on a stick, crafts, lawn parties, and GENERAL RUNNING AMOK!!! For this, I filled a camelbak with Red Bull, Blue gatorade, and vodka. I was like a tranny, trying to remember to tuck my hose in; I doubt the law would've been enthusiastic about the booze I lovingly carried upon my back.

After a shit ton of food and liquor (we had arrived already tanked, properly ready for the festivities), and walking down the miles of Grand St. the celebration stretched for, Landon and I started feeling ill, sun burnt (turns out a Ginger like me should probably slather on some sunscreen), and blisters... sooo, we decided it was time to roll out. We felt like the goddamn jews wandering around for 40 years trying to find Landon's car on Summit. We tried waiting for the shuttle bus, and had a pine cone throwing fight before eventually giving up and just walking it. I almost vomited in some of the nicest lawns in St Paul. I did see this house. WTF? Teddy bears in all the windows??

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!

Oh man, this is more than a little creepy. Not just inherently because it's about molestation, but because it's like a how-to for pervys. HOWEVER, it's funnier than a penguin playing the banjo, SO it should totally make up for my blog-slacking (hey, it happens when you have you are out there having ridonkulously roaring fun times)! So, have a good weekend, and watch out for Mr Macgregor and his wood working (yes, it feels nice at first, but then you KNOW it's just wrong)...

A Memorial Day To Remember

This weekend is much like my penis if I had one-- long and full of fun. Friday I made the mistake of taking a nap after 2-for-1's on Stella's rooftop, and combined with the lack of sleep from bowling late into the night on Thurs, I didnt manage to wake up for a round 2 with Landon. Saturday we watched the other two Indiana Jones' movies and then took the flasks to see the new one. Eh; it could've been better, but honestly a bad Indiana Jones' movie is better than most movies in general.

Sunday was skark's bbq, where I brought my crowning achievement in jello shot making, Mojito Jello Shots. They were a raging success, as was my lemon pepper blacktip shark my Dad sent up from Florida (he does fishing charters there). Suprisingly, no one got hurt despite juggling and Spam climbing up on the neighbors roof like fucking Spiderman to get the cat down. Later, he would grab a bottle of Stoli, and run around without his pants, screaming "STOOOOOOOOLIIIII-NAAAAAAACHAAAAAaa!!!" I didnt leave until 6 am, after a refreshing nap on the hammock I passed out on. A special thanks goes out to whomever gave me a blanket!

There's really no rest for the wicked, and Monday afternoon one of the gays, Craig, threw a party full of margaritas and delicious looking men. I brought a watermelon that had been soaking in vodka (note: it takes about three days... it's not really a spur of the moment type of boozing). Here's me with Hector, who is rumored to have a huge dong. More pics to follow.

The after-party at Bill and Timmy's house was where good times really rolled. The last thing I remember was stomping around with a bottle of Korbel, calling myself a champagne pirate. Unfortunately I woke up with a sore hip, a rug burn on my elbow and missing a shoe. I guess these are just the prices one must pay for a weekend of greatness!

Tapeworms, Chicken Rings And Breaking Bowling

I’ll preface this post by saying I didn’t go to bowling with the goal to bowl fabulously; more so to hang out with people and have good drinkety drunken times. That’s just how Thirsty Thursday’s go, folks. Anyway, so I brought the cookies (sugar cookies, with strawberry frosting and chocolate sprinkles) I had made the night before. I call them Moregasm Cookies, because after you eat one your eyes roll back in your head and you scream: “MOOOOOOORE I NEEED MOOOOORE!!!”

I definitely dig the bowling place, they make the drinks strong and will play Warrant’s “Sweet Cherry Pie” for me. We had three lanes, and definitely amused the other lanes with our 1. curling up in a ball of shame after a bad bowl 2. screaming about Poptix’s tapeworms that he may or may not have 3. throwing ice at each other. I either bowl really bad or really good, and the more I drank, the better I bowled. AMAZING! I wish driving had the same correlation. I’ve been trying to convince Spam that if he had his ball engraved with “I HEART COCK” he would bowl better. He says no, but I told him that it wouldn’t necessarily mean he’s gay, because he COULD be talking about his cock… it’s not like it’s plural.

I refused Poptix’s claims that I needed the retard ramp. Not that it mattered; he broke the lane by rolling two balls at the same time. Also, it turns out you ARENT supposed to try to bowl in someone else’s lane when they aren’t looking. We made up for our follies in liquor sales.

The staff at White Castle afterwards was solidly less amused with us. First of all, they kept giving us conflicting stories about whether they had chicken or not. And the old lady behind the counter kept giving us nasty looks when we were discussing whether or not Jesus got gangbanged by the disciples. Seems like an appropriate drunken White Castle conversational topic to me. People are so weird sometimes. Overall, a grand time was had by all, except for the bowling and White Castle employees who cleaned up the havoc left in our wake.

Indiana Jones And the Temple of FAIL

In preparation for the awesomeness I hope that the new Indiana Jones movie will be, last night was an Indiana Jones movie marathon and cookie baking extravaganza. Keeping in mind “Temple of Doom” came out the year I was born, when I saw it as a child, I didn’t notice some annoying aspects of it then.

Most glaringly was how annoying Kate Capshaw was. In between high-pitched screaming about bugs and dead bodies, she was whiny, petulant, and overall made me want to choke the shit out of her. The worst part is she wasn’t even hot. I could’ve overlooked her shrill shrieks of “INnnnnnnnnnnnnndyyyyy” if she was slammin’, but alas, she was not. The only part where she was even mildly appealing was when she was wet in a white t shirt. Even then, I’ve seen hotter crack whore transvestites outside the liquor store; no wonder Indiana Jones didn’t rail her the first time she offered, she looks mannish.

Secondly, the kids in the movie (other than the cool little Asian kid that saves Jones’ ass) were a bunch of little bastards. For example, those kids he frees, they don’t come help him out. What the fuck?! He saved you from a life of slavery and eventual death and you aren’t going assist him in the fight against the bad guys? How ungrateful; this is why they keep you in factories making shoes. And what was up with the little kid with the voodoo doll? He just needed a good ass whipping to keep him in line.

Seeing it on a warped VHS really added to the magic. Gee, it’s times like these I am devastated I missed the 80’s.