I just discovered the greatest documentary I have ever seen -- aside from Jonestown, of course. That's the greatest movie I have ever seen, and maybe just the greatest thing I've ever seen, in general, ever in life. Anyway, let's not let Jim Jones run yet another show. This moment is all about
THE WILD AND WONDERFUL WHITES OF WEST VIRGINIA
Alirght, if you haven't figured it out yet from the trailer, this family is filled with the most badass, hilarious, lawless, backwoods, tragically depressed people on the planet. To quote Hank Williams III, "They are the true rebels of the south."
You're gonna laugh and you're gonna cry, but mostly, you're gonna drank. Because I just made a drankin' game. (Warning: the first few minutes are going to do you in, but it's to prepare you for the rest of the film.)
To play, you will need:
A pack of cigarettes
A pint of whiskey
A 30-rack of Budweiser Original
Optional: a couple xanny bars, some crack and/or PCP, and a penchant for murder.
Drink every time:
You see a tap dancer
There is a reference to murder
You are confused by someone’s gender, based on their voice
Something really inappropriate is said around Tylor, and yet he’s blissfully playing with weird toys
You see a cigarette within five feet of a child (and finish your beer when a child actually smokes one)
Fortunately, this video is streaming on Netflix, so if you have a membership, which I'm pretty sure is everyone by now, you can start the fun right away! Yee haw!
Despite how terrible my recent Four Loko night was, this song makes me want to do it again -- and maybe use a fake I.D. to buy it. Also, I'm thrilled me and this G can agree Cranberry Lemonade is where it's AT.
(Thanks to Karen for pointing out this major, major gem.)
So it was a rainy poop day, huh? It was cold. It was windy. It was cloudy. Plus now apparently it gets dark at, like, noon. And here I thought I was all psyched for November. Until I have a giant turkey/cranberry sauce/stuffing Thanksgiving leftover sandwich resting on my stomach while I lean back in fullness and despair, and then just eat it all -- sandwich, despair and all -- in blissful hibernative delight (made it up), my opinion of November is going to remain about as low as my opinion for Keith Urban, and kids who shop at Hot Topic.
Anyway, days like this require a very special kind of music. First of all, you need a fucking pick me up. Second of all, you need to wallow in your gloomy melancholy, and snarl at the city a little, and get pissed at the wind a little -- which, I guess, isn't so melancholy after all. It's a pretty tough conundrum, a melancholic pick me up.
Our dear friend Mayssa, whom you may remember from OMG You're So Jellz of My Pen Palz is on a whirl wind trip around her homeland, America. She stopped in California for a few days on her way back east, so we all went down to LA to do silly things. Thanks to amazing good fortune, LA was experiencing a heat wave and it was over 90 degrees every single day. We went to beach twice and went swimming and weren't even cold. It was like a tropical vacation, except with more smog and traffic.
After a day of spending too much time in the sun, we went to Cabo Cantina in Venice for Happy Hour (2 for 1 drinks!) The margaritas were delicious and I saw a celebrity!
Yep, it was sexy, killy Renee from True Blood. It was my first LA celebrity sighting, and it was very exhilarating.
The real highlight of this trip, however, was our night out at the club. We went to Colony in Hollywood, which is exactly how you would expect it to be. This is the kind of place where Miller Lites cost $8 and you have to give the lady in the bathroom a dollar to dry your hands. They played mad jams like Oh My Gosh and Shots and we danced in a very non-ironic fashion. Most importantly, we looked good doing it. Especially the boys.
Here come the Dans in Black
Do you see how much they love dancing on stage? No doubt one of them used that pole for some sexually suggestive dance moves.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. Mayssa went to Virginia and we came back to Santa Cruz. Mayssa should be heading up to New York in a few weeks, so hopefully we'll getting an update of all the silly things she does with Erika.
This could really go on forever, so I'm just going to suggest you guys go here, and get some 'stache glory of your own. You know, in honor of the month.
Have you ever been busy? Like, so busy you can't really figure out when to eat or do your laundry? Or you get really psyched when you only have four more hours of work and 32 emails in your inbox to deal with? So busy you can't click on all the funny links people are posting on Facebook and just laughing and laughing and joking away while you're drowning in a pile of paperwork and desperation? Or maybe you try to go to bed one night but then you start thinking about your to-do list and start crying and hyperventilating and then someone is suddenly putting ice packs on your face and you realize you're having your first honest-to-god panic attack?
(Alright, I'll admit it, I never stopped dicking around on Facebook.)
Unfortunately, all this business and busy-ness will be continuing on for the foreseeable future, but seeing as today is Saturday, I though I'd take a moment to send out a little prequel to all the soon-to-be restored glory and fullness of... constant dicking around on Facebook. And sometimes writing things. And photoshopping clams. (Oh, how I miss the clams.)
Last night James and I had a romantic evening--just us and three of the Four Loko, which I have lovingly nicknamed Gross, Grosser, and Get The Hell Out Of My Mouth. (You can learn about all the flavors on the "four facts" page, which clearly needed to exist.*)
Seeing as my body has been crushed under the debilitating weight of indefinite big kid obligations, I knew I would need some sort of a pick me up to make it out for Janusz' birthday. After a brief discussion, James and I came to the only logical solution: popping back a nice big can of meme drink. (Plus, we heard it got banned in Michigan, and if a state is going to ban something, I'm going to drink it. Me and every college student in the country that hasn't tried it yet, because, you know, that's how these things work.)
Imagine my surprise and delight when I got home to find this:
That's flowers, a candle, cheese and crackers, wine glasses and three Four Lokos--sitting in ice. Look at how sensual those cans of crazy, crazy madness looked in the candlelight.
Mmmmm.
Alright, before you go getting all hot and bothered, know this: Four Loko tastes like a frat boy made jungle juice with sprite and Hawaiian Punch that was actually manufactured in 1992, then filled it with Fun Dip and rufies, and maybe peed in it a little, just for good measure. James and I started safe, with Cranberry Lemonade, devolved into Blue Raspberry, and then felt too concerned for our health to actually crack Loko Uva, which apparently is a flavor. We saved little Uva for Janusz to drink at his birthday party, but he politely declined our offer as we were being yelled at for potentially "ruining the night," source to remain unnamed.
Here we are taking our first tastes of Blue Raspberry:
James really seems to be taking it in stride there, doesn't he? Maybe we should try to set him up as a Four Loko spokesperson. He can just drink and drink and drink, and die and die and die and we'll make so much money and probably end up on the news somewhere with the title "local idiots."
By the time we made it out for the birthday, I was wholly self-aware of what an asshole I was being, and totally incapable of doing anything about it. It's like watching a train wreck, but you're also the driver... and also the train, come to think of it. And you really have to pee all the time.
Looks like we were keeping some sort of dream alive at the bar... not exactly auspicious.
Every once in a while there is a special night, with a special meal, and it's name is Breakfast for Dinner.
It can be as simple as a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, or as intense as a salmon and cream cheese omelet, but nothing, NOTHING is as good as the peanut butter and silly sandwich.
Really it's just a a peanut butter and jelly sandwich -- except the bread is made of pancakes. And that's just down right SILLY.
Now, don't be fooled by people giving you recipes with peanut butter in the batter. Eff. That. You want some hard core, extra crunchy peanut butter slathered on top of pure, unadulterated, fluffy as hell pancakes. That is where the magic is.
Sadly, this is not exactly what I'm talking about, but I can't stop myself from eating the PB&S masterpiece long enough to take a picture...
