Tag Archive for 'bar'

Chocolate Cake Faceplant

I was recently in Rhode Island for a friend’s wedding.  Having never been to Rhode Island before, I was amazed at how beautiful it was.  So beautiful, in fact, that I ended up extending my weekend by an extra two days just to soak up as much of it as possible.  It was a fantastic weekend, filled with great times and great laughs.

One of the first laughs of the weekend (and possibly by far the best laugh) came on Friday night at the rehearsal dinner.  The restaurant where the dinner took place was situated right on the water where hundreds of sailboats were docked.  It was a very large restaurant, with an upstairs deck and a downstairs seating area.  Behind the seating area downstairs were picnic tables, firepits, and even a stage.  After a round of drinks or two, a bunch of my friends and I took a walk downstairs to check out the scenery.  We were down there about 10 minutes when we were told to take our seats upstairs as dinner was about to be served.

As we walked toward the wooden staircase, we noticed about 15 restaurant staff members lined up to go upstairs.  They started clapping loudly, and it was obvious that they were heading upstairs to embarrass some poor soul by surrounding their table clapping as loud as possible and singing some dorky ass version of “Happy Birthday.”  (If you can’t tell by my tone, I HATE when this happens in restaurants.  Especially to me.)  As the staff members began to make their way up the stairs, the girl in the front of the line totally tripped up the stairs and disappeared amongst the sea of black shirts behind her.  Everyone started laughing since, come on, it’s pretty fucking funny when someone falls.  What my friends and I didn’t see at first however, until the poor girl stood up and turned around, was that she had been carrying a large chocolate cake up those stairs, and when she fell, she fell FACE FIRST into the chocolate cake.  She had chocolate icing all over her face and down her shirt.  Her coworkers erupted in even louder hysterics and everyone within earshot turned around to see Chocolate Face.  It was hysterical.  I’m not sure if it’s one of those “had to be there moments” – maybe it is, but for shit’s sake I know that I was sitting in a restaurant and noticed that the fucking waiters were coming over to sing me Happy Birthday so everyone else can hear, it would make my fucking day to see one of them bite it and faceplant into what was supposed to be my dessert.  Awesome.

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Movie Snacks Can Cause Breakups

A bunch of few years back, I was reeling from one of the worst heartbreaks ever and those closest to me were all trying to “help” by convincing me to jump right back into the dating pool.  One girlfriend made me sign up for the free 30-day Match.com trial, which resulted in two weeks full of first dates that felt more like a job than anything and made me busier than I had ever been in my life.  Another girlfriend hooked me up with one of her husband’s closest friends which did nothing but deflate my ego because he was just not that into me.  Yet another (male) friend offered to provide me with whatever “physical” needs I may have until I found another lover, since in his opinion it was best to keep the wheels oiled if you know what I mean.

Then there was my mother.

I must say that my mother had never attempted to meddle into my love life before this.  She kept a safe distance, only trying to keep up with whatever relationship trials and tribulations were going on at the time.  Yet this time she decided to take matters into her own hands.  She had become a regular at a local gym that was also frequented by a certain ridiculously famous rock star.  She had noticed that there was a strapping young man that always accompanied Mr. Famous Rock Star to the gym, and thought that this young man would be perfect for me.  She chatted him up, turned on that charm that she only usually uses when company is around, and proceeded to get him to agree to meet her wonderful daughter at a local watering hole that evening.  Alright, maybe it wasn’t that evening, it may have taken a few days to get him to agree to meet a total stranger’s totally strange daughter, but whatever you get my point.

After she informed me that I suddenly had plans, I desperately tried to recruit one of my girls as a wingman, for I had never gone on any blind date before, let alone one my mother had set up for me.  I didn’t have any luck with securing a wingman, and after debating whether or not to even show up I said what the hell.  Nothing could be worse than a couple of the recent Match.com dates that I had been on.  When I walked into the bar, I circled around trying not to make it obvious that I was looking for someone, but after three circles I felt stupid and found a seat so I could order a drink.  I definitely needed some liquid courage.  After about ten minutes I felt a tap on the shoulder and I turned around to see one of the most handsome men I had ever seen up close.  He introduced himself as, um, let’s call him Iceman, and asked me if I was called Mamba.  I was smitten from the start.

One thing led to another that night (no, not like that you perverts) and we had a wonderful time.  He had been more successful at bringing some wingmen with him, but after a while he dismissed them and gave me his full attention.  By the end of the night we had decided to see each other again and made plans.  We went out again, and made even more plans.  We ended up seeing each other a lot over the next few weeks, and I remember I even watched the final episode of Friends from the comfort of his living room couch.  Of course my mother couldn’t get enough of the juicy details, but I played it cool.

Not long after that he suggested we go to the movies together, something we had yet to do since we met.  I should have known when the movie he “really wanted to see” was Van Helsing.  Wha da fa?  Anyhow, we all do crazy things when there’s good action in the bedroom, and I went along with it.  We had arrived at the movie theater a little late (see bedroom, above) and I said I would get the tickets if he would grab the snacks.  When we met up to head into the theater, I saw that he had bought a child’s size portion of popcorn and the smallest bottle of water EVER INVENTED.  OK, I thought to myself, this guy’s all into being healthy and god knows my ass doesn’t need a bucket of movie popcorn and a 64-ounce soda.  We sat down and of course the previews had already started (one of my biggest pet peeves – I love movie trailers).  Well.  This guy proceeds to start stuffing fistfuls of popcorn in his mouth, and after 4-5 times I notice that he’s got the popcorn in his left hand (the opposite side from where I am sitting) and he’s chugging bottled water like a camel.  The movie is about to begin and he hands me the almost-empty-except-for-unpopped-kernels bag of popcorn and the bottle of water that had maybe a sip left in it but you could see some popcorn-infused backwash floating around in and asks if I want some.  Gross!  And after all of that THEN I had to sit through Van Fucking Helsing.  I know it’s Hugh Jackman and all but still, that shit was horrendous.

Needless to say there was no way I could continue on with Iceman, no matter how cute he may have been or how decent he was in the bedroom.  He was selfish.  And that’s just not how I roll.  When I told my mother the story the next day, she laughed hysterically.  When I told her what movie we had gone to see, she laughed even harder.  Of course I didn’t tell her about any of the bedroom antics, otherwise she might have tried to convince me to get over it.  I don’t know what made me rehash this whole thing, but the moral of the story has to be:

Buy your own damn movie snacks, and don’t ever see Van Helsing.

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Good Thing I’m Used to Pulling All-Nighters

I have soooo many things to write about! I have, like, a million hundred posts swirling in my head. My notebooks are filling up faster these days with little phrases or keywords that I jot down with the hopes that I’ll remember what they mean when I finally get around to reviewing them and composing some sort of banter to post on this blog. Why is it, then, that this blog sits here untouched, neglected, unloved?

Since I got laid off, I’ve written four posts. FOUR!!! What the hell have I been doing with my time? Sure, I could blame it on excessive partying, which is partly true, but it’s not like hangovers can literally stop you from laying in bed and typing up a post about whatever you did the night before that gave you such a fucking hangover in the first place…isn’t that what you want to read about anyway? Aren’t the stories what you stop by here barely, if ever every once in a while for? It’s not like I don’t have the time to write.

Now, after contemplating my next steps, I’ve decided to go back to school and pursue my Masters degree. I’ve found the perfect program for what I want to do (teach), however, one of the admission requirements is a passing grade on the state certification test. There is only one more test given before the application deadline, which is in three weeks. From the day I found out I needed to take and pass this test, I have three weeks. Three weeks to try and cram all those high school and undergraduate English courses back into my brain. My brain hasn’t studied more than the TV Guide for years! (Not really true.) And it’s not like English is such a cut and dry subject, it’s basically endless. I’ve been in flash card HELL eight hours a day for the past week. I have two weeks until the test. From today. And I’m terrified! If I don’t pass, I don’t get accepted, and THEN WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?!?

I feel kind of like I’m a senior in high school again, stressing over whether or not my choice school will accept me because if they don’t, like, O.M.G., like, what the heck am I gonna do then? Like, my life will be like, totally over, and like, Jonny will never want to marry me and then he’ll all, like Lauren and marry her instead, and then like omgican’teventhinkaboutit. I, like, TOTALLY HAVE TO GET IN!!!

Okay, well, maybe not exactly like that. But it’s still stressful. I’ll likely pull more than one all-nighter between now and the day of the test, and they won’t be the kind of all-nighter I’d prefer if you know what I mean…

I hope to be able to break long enough to post more since the fact that I’ve published FOUR posts in the last two months just annoys me, but I can’t promise anything really until after this test. So please bear with me and wish me luck. I’m seriously going to need it. And instead of wishing me luck if you feel like, oh sending beer money instead, that’d be cool too. I’ll need a lot of those too once this test is over.

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Do You Like Scary Movies?

I do.  The scarier the better.  I haven’t seen a good scary movie in a long time, until tonight.  Until “The Strangers.”

Aside from being stranded in the middle of the ocean as shark bait, this scenario is my worst nightmare. Home alone in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, and a crazy lunatic is banging down the door?  Thanks, but no.  I’m out. Under the bed, hiding in the attic, the woods, whatever.  But, of course, this movie is full of hysterical people barreling directly towards the danger.  I found myself tightening my fists throughout the whole movie.  While I will admit the buildup left a little to be desired, I thoroughly enjoyed this flick, and if you are in the mood for a good scary movie, give this one a shot.  

Check out the trailer (I love trailers!):

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Saturn Has Returned With A Can Of Whoop-Ass

NERD ALERT!

I’m totally about to drop some astrology knowledge on your asses.  I’m no fortune teller, nor am I a tarot card or palm reader or any of that shit.  I’m not trying to get you to join any cult or anything.  My ears perked up though when I overheard someone discussing their “Saturn Return” and I can honestly say I related to the conversation.  I googled a bunch of keywords did some research, and the only reason I am sharing is because I am so there right now, and I’m hoping I’m not alone.  So why not ask the internets? They’ll be honest, right?

I feel it necessary to point out that I am a Libra.  Libras are also known as the Scales of Balance, basically meaning that we fucking hate it when there is conflict and imbalance in our lives.  Our sign is also the only inaminate object of the Zodiac signs, meaning we are neither human nor animal, but dammit! things need to be in order.  Anywho….

Apparently somewhere around every 29.5 years the planet Saturn orbits the sun, returning to the same place in the galaxy as when you were born.  This happens between the ages of 27-30, 58-60, and 86-88. Did I tell you all I just turned 30?  Yea.  The “return of Saturn,” as it is called, brings with it an awful mix of challenge, significance, fear, reflection, doubt, prestige, hard lessons, order, confusion, and accomplishment.  I mean, seriously?  This is a Libra’s nightmare. This is my nightmare, and it’s happening.  

Saturn comes to tell you whether or not you’re on the right path in life.  If you’re not, Saturn will nag you until you realize you need to change it up.  If you are, Saturn will encourage you to stay on the same path.  

Need some proof?

Vincent Van Gogh, at age 30, decided to become a painter instead of a minister. Bill Rodgers marked the first of three consecutive Boston Marathon wins, and made the 1976 Olympic running team, all during the course of his Saturn Return.

The U.S. Census Bureau names its peak divorce years at 28-30.  You all belong to Facebook, I’m sure most of your childhood friends (and probably you!) are married, having babies, buying houses, the whole nine. (Just want to say – Love you!  Better you than me!)  Some might be ending those commitments.  Some might just be questioning them.  So goes the Saturn Return. 

One of my all-time faves, No Doubt, released an album entitled “Return of Saturn” around the same time Ms. Gwen Stefani turned 29.  The song “New” in my opinion is in direct relation to her return of Saturn, as can be found in the lyrics.  Need to read them?  Here.

Another total girl crush of mine, Drew Barrymore, attributes her return of Saturn to the changes in her life on her infamous appearance on David Letterman.  Yes, that episode.  Where she flashed her tits.  Don’t remember?  Let me refresh:

Ummm, can anyone say “parallel?”

So this is where I’m at.  A total crossroads.  Life (and Saturn) has decided to give me the ultimate mid-term exam.  Where am I now?  Where do I want to go?  Am I on the path I’m supposed to be?  

What the hell kinds of questions are these and who has the damn answers??  I’ve never passed a test without taking a look at the answer code!  It’s not fair!  I hate school!

I guess that’s the whole point.  Grow the fuck up kid and take a long hard look at where you’re at.  Where do you want to go?  Who do you want to end up being?  Saturn is here to kick your ass into high gear, to show you what you’re made of and show you how to get it.  If you listen, awesome.  If not, you’ll have another chance in about 29.5 years.  But that’s a lot of time to waste.  

Just sayin.

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The Ultimate 80’s Romance Battle

Twenty-two years ago I was too young to compare my all-time favorite movie characters to see which one would be the ideal mate.  I was a little young for that kind of thing but there was always a clear winner in my mind. So what if I didn’t really get the whole boyfriend-girlfriend-love-hate-sex thing? I knew who I’d rather, and haven’t wavered from that choice since. I thought I’d run down my comparison of the two characters, and see if I can find out what, exactly, draws me to one over the other.

Let’s start with Ferris.

How much fun is Ferris Bueller to be around? The guy’s got a whole gamut of tricks up his sleeve to make adolescence super-fun, like pre-recorded doorbell greetings and the ability to convince the school principal that he was your dad and get you out of a boring class so you can spend the day cavorting around the windy city. He’s audacious, cunning, persuasive, and spontaneous. He has the wherewithal to not only coax his best friend off his death bed to join you, but also (albeit apprehensively) to coerce him into taking his father’s precious Porsche for a joyride. He’ll show you the best time of your life. He’ll shock you with his ability to upstage the headliner of a major parade, take you to a museum, to a fancy restaurant, to the top of the tallest building in town, all the while maintaining enough composure to steer clear of the powers that be that may just ruin your great time. He’ll make you think that all of this deviancy is okay simply because “look how much fun you’re having!” And you’ll believe him. He’s shameless, brazen, loud, hysterical, proud, impulsive, lighthearted, entertaining, creative, clever, and flattering. He’s more fun than any 17 year old ever to walk the earth. And you love him.

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He’s also embarrassing, crass, loud, cunning, sly, self-centered, lazy, arrogant, bold, spoiled, and overbearing. He gets whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I suppose some people would be envious, like Cameron. And girls like Sloane love to be with him because they are the female equivalents. See, the problem with Ferris is he’ll make you think he’s loyal, and he very well may be. For now. All it takes is a couple of bikini clad women sunbathing and Ferris stops in his tracks like the Road Runner. He’ll make you think he’s serious about you, that he wants to marry you and have little Ferrises, but deep down you know he’s not really serious. He doesn’t really have any ambition to do anything except party like it’s 1999. (In 1986 this was still a big hit.) Hell, he probably won’t even graduate if he doesn’t stop skipping school all the time.

Enter Lloyd Dobler.

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You probably don’t even know who Lloyd Dobler is and how amazing he thinks you are. Lloyd admires from afar for a long time before he musters the guts to give you a call. This call only comes after he sat 5 tables away from you in the mall cafeteria and told all his friends that you had a “date”. Mind you, Lloyd is the guy who has lots of girl-friends, none of whom are, or ever will be, anything more than friends. You won’t know it, but he’ll be pacing around the bathroom while he talks to you, and he’ll talk so much that he’ll convince you to go out with him, even though you are convinced that you’ll never have a good time, but you think what the hell. He’ll be polite to your father, and to him, every detail of the evening will be a big deal. He’ll be generous, sacrificing his own inebriation for the sake of the safety of the entire party. He’ll check on you every so often to make sure you are having a good time, but not in a creepy, suspicious way. In a caring, respectable, and attentive way. You’ll start to find him quite charming and not at all how you initially judged him. He’ll open doors for you, kick glass out of your way, visit your dad in jail for you, drop everything and move to Europe for you. He’s a family guy. He’s ambitious. And when you push him away, like you know you will, he’ll wake you up at the crack of dawn and blast that oh-so-romantic song that you first made love to.

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Some might say, “Hey, he also might be the guy that can’t do anything without you. He might be the kind of guy that gets upset when it’s “girls night out”. If you’re in the bathroom too long he might come in and ask “what’re you doing?” He might read your email over your shoulder and be jealous of everything you do without him and whoever you talk to. Maybe he’ll ask you to throw out all of your old photos and memorabilia.

Lloyd Dobler?  Naahh.  Well, at least I hope not.

The thing is, if I look at Ferris and I look at Lloyd, and I try to picture each of them in 20 or 30 years from where the end of their flicks left off, it’s really tough for me to picture Ferris as a man with a wife and kids. Lloyd, on the other hand, well, I imagine him and Diane living in some duplex in London, sipping tea and watching the little ones play hopscotch or some shit.  

Question is, what do you think?

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You’re still here? It’s over. Go home. Go!

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Change I Believe In

This is not a post.

I just want to go on record as saying the next President of the U.S.A will be Barack Obama.

Please enjoy the video and no matter where you stand, DON’T FORGET TO VOTE:

I hear Fort Lauderdale is quite nice this time of year.

“I’m asking you to believe.  Not just in my ability to bring about real change in Washington…I’m asking you to believe in yours.” – Senator Barack Obama

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Music Byte: Sikamor Rooney

Seeing as I haven’t been successful at posting a new Music Byte every week, I’ve decided to drop “Of The Week” from the title.  There’s certainly no reason to be misleading, and to be honest it’s a little too much pressure for me right now to make sure I post something completely new and exciting every week.  For now, let’s just say I’ll post a Music Byte when I find something worth posting it for.  That works.

You may remember I told you I attended the release party for Sikamor Rooney’s self-titled record at the Mercury Lounge.  If you don’t, just scroll down a bit and I’ll remind you.  Anyway, I showed up a little late, thinking I had some time before the band of the hour started their set, assuming they would be the final band to play. Well, I was wrong.  They played first.  Is it customary for bands who are having record release parties to play first?  Everyone knows people show up late to everything, shouldn’t that band play last?  Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Because of all of this, however, I only was able to listen to a couple songs of their set, kicking myself the entire time for not getting my ass in gear a little sooner. Fortunately, I know people, and was able to get my hands on a CD. Good thing, too, because I’ve been having a lot of fun with these guys.  

To have a listen go here.  There were no YouTube videos that had decent sound quality, so you’re going to have to not be lazy about this and just click the damn link.  You’ll have fun, I promise.

PS – Thanks to the sis and her super-cute-but-WAY-too-young-for-me-friend!  I had a blast!

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