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.