Our trip to New Zealand is afoot, tickets and a microwave coat purchased, itinerary made and discussions of what's to come endless. Chatting with the Ten Key Ninja today about our little trip round the world led quickly to bed bugs. I'm not a entomologist but for some reason I have a belief that bugs, even those of the bed variety prefer "clean" people to munch on. Thus, when sleeping in hostels I've claimed myself as safe from such predators. This little theory was born because when I vacation, I vacation from everything I consider everyday life. I like to embrace vaca like that. Showering just happens to be one of those everyday things I steer clear of. It's not that I prefer being a dirt ball, it's just that I get so enamored by living my whole trip things like showering become trivial. Couple that with the fact that traveling in foreign countries on a budget might not provide the best digs. I would have to check with J-Nelly, but I think the whole time I was in Thailand I might have showered, ehhh five? times. There was a waterfall and a pool, so I am of course counting those. Really though, if you look back, showers in Thailand could be taken while sitting on the toilet. Something about this particular situation, though admittedly a time saver, doesn't make me feel all that clean so I just move right past that little portion of my day.
This discussion resulted in a artistic representation of A on vaca....apparently I strongly resemble pig pen.
I love brunch, it combines a couple of my favorite things- waking up late and breakfast foods. I can't wrap my brain around morning people. I know these people, they are my friends, my co-workers, my momma. They provide reasoning such as "habit". These people allege that after waking up at an ungodly hour for work everyday for insert a copious amount of years here that they just can't sleep in. I have been at my "grown-up" job for 5 years 9 months and 26 days, and I can still sleep till a minimum of 10am on any given day. On a weekend, good luck getting me out of bed before noon unless someone arises to consciousness before I, and alerts me of activities such as brunch. Brunch is like a beautiful poem, except that I can understand it without having it explained to me. Generally, good brunch places follow some general rules.
Good brunch places:
Have a minimum of a 45 minute wait; you want a good sized line at your brunch place, this way you know they mean business, you know they serve cocktails, and you know people want to linger.
Are the size of an atm vestibule, bonus points if none of the chairs match.
Have servers who are eclectic. Last great brunch I had the pleasure of partaking in, I didn't know whether my server was a man or woman, to tell you the truth I still don't and I was there for around two hours....Best brunch I think I've ever eaten... french toast I would cut a bitch for.
Speaking of toast, it should be like a great kiss- french and in my mouth. They must serve some hybrid, culinary genius, thousand calorie version of french toast- fry it, stuff it, cram it, scatter it, cover it, smother it, I don't give a shit, do whatever you have to do...just make it fancy and put it in my mouth hole.
Wanna brunch, but don't know how? How about some tips....
Take your time, brunch is about starting your drunk in the am hours, continuing it into the early afternoon and having a hangover somewhere around the prevening/evening. You're going to want to drink rum, because it's delicious, but contrary to everything you've read on this blog rum isn't a morning beverage. Think more mimosa, screwdriver or bloody mary. Brunch based alcoholic drinks always have some type of 'healthy' flair to them, usually juice of some sort so you can masquerade your morning drinking as starting your morning off right with some vitamins.
Avoid the scone, not sure how this became a food but its essentially like a really really hard, crumbly, bad tasting donut thing. You'll recognize it because it resembles a petite, buttery, fluffy biscuit; but when you lift it, its brick like weight will tell its true tale. Put some bacon in your mouth instead. Bacon is amazing, so amazing in fact that when it cooks it makes its own applause. Better yet, see if they make some kinda fancy pants donut with maple bacon on the top of it. It's not trashy, bacon's all the rage right now, even hipsters are ironically eating it.
Try other people's food, don't ask, just get your fork right up in there. This is normal brunch behavior and they want you to do this (come on, you know you want it too). Then make lots of nummy nummy sounds which suggests you made a wrong decision, are inferior, and their food was better than yours (even if that is not at all true because you ordered french toast that made you tingle where you pee).
"If they call it snowbird season, why can't we shoot them?", is the question asked by locals each and every year just after the holidays wrap up and the blue hairs fly south for the winter. Among those blue hairs is the one and only, well my one and only, Momma, in town for 6 weeks. Thus far momma has been on the island for 10 days, and in that time I've began to learn a few things about the snowbirds, have been taking some "field notes" (aka typing stupid, confusing shit momma does/says into the notepad of my phone). Come along with me on this learning journey.
The snowbird, also known as the blue hair, is a particular sect of the human race native to the Midwest. It is primarily a carnivorous species, and thrives on early bird menus or cafeterias at assisted living facilities. When left to prepare its own meals it will instead eat whatever sweets are in its sights, such as cake for dinner. It has few natural predators due to its endearing immobility, and generous offerings of hard candies.
The snowbird varies in size, but is distinct in it's markings. Their exterior is leathery and dark in color and glistens from its ceaseless application of Australian Gold Dark Tanning Oil Accelerator. It seems snowbirds live in seasonal rentals or mooch off their children. They are notoriously habitual and seem to keep a routine consisting of the following: breakfast, cocktail, nap, tan, nap, cocktail, watching their idol and bachelor, and finally passing out. Snowbirds do not like to be awakened from their slumber and will either lash out or talk nonsense when it occurs.
Additionally, they appear to have poor eyesight without something they call "their readers". Their memory too seems to be lacking. I believe for this reason they do not like their surroundings changed. I noted this particular trait as Momma tripped over a newly acquired fire pit twice within a week long period. When the snowbird injures itself from a fall they vocalize through plaintive whines. They also prefer to have trips and falls blamed on their age and arthritis as opposed to their day drinking. General knowledge of first aid also seems to suffer as the snowbird ages, as they appear to not understand that hand sanitizer should not be used to clean an open, bleeding wound. For these and many more reasons it's believed their lifespan in the wild would be shorter than in captivity. We're only 10 days in folks, stay tuned for more momma updates and observations about snowbirds.
Admittedly the north wasn't nearly as blistery as I anticipated. It did snow, but by that point in the night I had my beer coat, managed to throw a couple snow balls at the intern without falling, and generally enjoyed it. The cold, windy weather that followed the next day I generally did not enjoy but thankfully most of the day was spent inside recovering from whirlyball.
I don't think you can go pro in whirlyball, but if you could I would try. My dad always said he wished he would have raised us to be amazing in a really obscure sport like trampoline because inevitably everything will be an Olympic sport one day. If whirlyball ever becomes an Olympic sport, I will start watching the winter Olympics for more than just curling.
This 'sport' is amazing. Picture basketball, mixed with lacrosse, played while inebriated...in a bumper car. Sound stupid? Yes, yes it is.
So the ultimate goal is to get a whiffleball into a hole in a backboard more times than your opponent. Other goals include not pissing off the crackwhore who is 'refereeing' your game, and not losing any digits or appendages. You know how when you go on a fair ride or to the amusement park and they have a multitude of signs and workers that say "keep arms and legs inside". This rule was probably created after someone at insert name of large amusement park here stuck their hand out of whatever 'vehicle' they were riding in and it got ripped off, the one handed man in-turn sued insert name of large amusement park here and is now a kajillionaire. Despite that, in whirlyball you are encouraged, nay, required to stick your limbs out of the bumper car to retrieve the ball. Keep in mind, at no point do you sign a waiver releasing this place from responsibility for your limbs. I don't understand it, but I didn't question it.
Here's some tips in case you get a chance to go play. 1. ALWAYS whirly like a champion. 2. Be prepared for more than a few bruises from your hips jamming into the side of the car and/or your legs jamming into the steering 'stick' 3. Pay more attention to the game than the photo ops. 4. When not playing, be shufflin'...everyday. 5. Leave with a nice buzz and all your limbs.
It's off to the blistery north for me this weekend to celebrate Ten Key Ninja's birthday with some Whirlyball (updates on that when I return). Turns out, it's been some time since I've visited during the winter months and I know people can develop allergies so I'm crossing my fingers that I haven't somehow developed Cold Urticaria. I imagine I'm good to go though as I've never had an allergic reaction to an ice cold beverage or the lovely ocean water on a "winter" day. What I am not looking forward to is the ice. I hate ice, it's hard and slippery, and I am clumsy. I think we're even going ice skating, which to me is like paying someone to fall and hurt myself. Ice is just water that won't let you go swimming in it. Generally, I'm not a fan, at least when it's outside of my glass. Back in a bit!
As you may be aware each year on MLK weekend The Gray Lining, My BFF and myself try to get together. MLK 2K12 was no different and as it was my year to host the Yanks headed towards the blue on the map. We ate, we drank, we sunned some of the palest skin I have seen in my life. Mostly, we talked...because that is what we do. We talk about very stupid things. One such item which sticks out in my mind for what will become obvious reasons was My BFF informing us that science says that people are 5 times less attractive then they believe themselves to be. Science said this, that's all we were given, no other reference than science. So apparently I am a 1.3...on a good day. The Gray Lining is a negative integer when she wakes up in the morning.
After some poking around, I still don't know that science says we are 5 times less attractive then we think we are but I did find some research (there was some legit stuff which was not off msnbc as well) to back up My BFF's claims. Turns out, 28% of young women and 30% of young men rate themselves between an 8 and a 10 out of 10. Meaning that essentially 3 out of every 10 people think they are super duper hot. Having been to Walmart in the past week I can tell you this is not true.
Hmmm, if science is right, I'm not completely sure how I ended up gainfully employed.
I learned the importance of car maintenance only after Steve-o almost lost an eye, wondered why I am always the sidekick in my own dreams, found out I'm allergic to angry birds, won trivia, got scared, watched Flav spend two days as a cone head, felt happiness like that I've never felt before, learned doctors don't necessarily understand science, snuggled and fed a baby tiger, fell in love with Hannah Hart, discovered what a heart attack feels like, ate breakfast at mac donalds in three different countries, begrudgingly turned 30, got lost in an Ikea, started an urban farm, kissed a stone named blarney and got a silver tongue, found out that I "look like" a person who would drive an Element, ate Thai food without getting sick, won a Beer Olympics, felt sadness deep inside, made some charts, BINGO!-ed, drank a Guinness while on Irish soil, met Tila Tequila, crafted my face off, and shot my friends.
Not too shabby. But I'm ready to make 2012 my bitch.
Young, Ambitious, Clumsy, Witty, Smart, Mushy, Creative, Bite-sized, Over-thinker, Salty, Sweet, Car Dancer, Optimistic.
I answer to two kitties named Tuxedo Sassy Pantalones and Flavor Flav, adore the simplicity of Sundays and the calm the one day sandwiched in-between freedom and work can bring, and feel prettiest when I'm smiling.