Protesters, Wizards, and Truth Or Dare

Such a crazygoodtime weekend I don't even know where to begin! Friday night Pfrank, Timmy and I played guitar hero downstairs at Marc's. It ended with Pandafrank almost getting a handy j from a larger girl, and me waking up with Marc's cat eating my hair. Turns out I knocked over a table that night, so there was a fun mess of broken glass, rocks, and soil to clean up

Saturday I got to be inconvenienced by protesters. Also, it was Kevin's birthday/Harry Potter party. That's one of the many things I love about the gays, not only do they recycle, redecorate, and smell great, but they throw costume parties. And really, what's better than a bunch of drunk wizards? I went balls to the wall with my costume (which was even awesomer when I busted in the liquor store in full garb), and loaned my extra cape (BECAUSE WHY WOULDN'T I HAVE TWO CAPES?) to Timmy. We went down there with Ellen and Pj, and when we arrived, everyone was already hammered. We worked hard to catch up, and shot of the Dr Macgillicuddies helped. Not only did I get asked to be a surrogate mother (don't I need to stop drinking for that? I can't blame 'em, I do have spectacular Irish genetics!), but we played a rousing game of truth or dare. It involved, but was not limited to, me giving Melissa a lap dance, Raleigh running around the culdesac naked, Timmy making shadow puppets with his wiener and two of the straight boys making out.

Sunday I had more adventures, as I rode the bus for the first time on the way to retrieve my car from Ellen and Pj's house. Turns out a lot of "interesting" people ride the bus. We entertained them all, with our McDonald's cups full of white russians and stories from the night before.

Everyone Wants To Be Naked and Famous

Once again, it's been a hell of a weekend. Started early on Wednesday by catching up with Andrew over Snakebites (hard cider and Guinness) at Old Chicago. Friday Landon and I pre-drank at the house (I made some concoction with UV Blue, redbull, and then added in some pear cider when I ran out of the redbull). Then his girlfriend Lisa, her roommate Ashley, and The Novice came out with us for one of our old fashioned pub crawls in Uptown. I classed it up and brought a watermelon candy cane with (cause why WOULDN'T I have a candy cane at the bar in Jan?), and some weirdo at Stella's was like "ohhh NICE, I LIKE THE CANDY CANE!!" Yeah, thanks asshole. From the 2-for-1's there, we went to Williams, with a quick stop at McDonalds to get some grease to soak it up. Darts, pool, pints and peanuts set us up right. What happened next is subject to interpretation because none of us remember it... At some point on the walk home I *think* I fell in a snowbank. Why do I think this? Because I woke up with a rather large bruise on my back (I cant wait till it turns greenish yellow because it will make my fairy tattoo look gangrenous), my knee all fucked up. But WHY a snowbank in particular? Well, when I woke up my phone had so much water damage the screen wouldn't work and it didn't get a signal. I tried to bake it in the oven (what setting do you even put the oven on to bake a phone we wondered? We treated it like a creme brulee, where less is more), but no dice. Landon took me to Godfather's pizza buffet on Saturday afternoon so I could eat away my pain. Then to the sprint store where they gave me a new cell. I guess all is well that ends well. Or something. My injuries caused me to tap out early on Sat night, after only a couple Leinies Dark N Creamy's. PandaFrank and Timmy made fun of me mercilessly, I told them to shut the fuck up, because I was crippled. Not a valid excuse it turns out.

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!

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!

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.

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!

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.

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?

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

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)

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!

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.

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??