And I know that Tebow doesn't play for them any more and that that picture was from when they were playing Alabama, but it still makes me happy. Also this:
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Also
BULLDOGS WON YESTERDAY. I'm still so excited about this, it's actually a touch pathetic, but we haven't beat those shitheads down in Florida since I was a freshman, so yesterday was a big deal. I just had to mention something about that and leave you with two photos that really capture the essence of the day.
And I know that Tebow doesn't play for them any more and that that picture was from when they were playing Alabama, but it still makes me happy. Also this:
And I know that Tebow doesn't play for them any more and that that picture was from when they were playing Alabama, but it still makes me happy. Also this:
Today I Saw a Thing
Today my very best friend since 5th grade, Michelle, and her delightful boyfriend, Sam, were visiting me in the Big City. We touristed around all day (which was pretty fun for me, because, as someone who lives here, I generally get judged for doing this kind of thing) and went to Magnolia Bakery for cupcakes. Actually, Sam got some other sort of cake because he just has to be a crazy radical and rock the boat, but that is neither here nor there. We then went and sat in a little square to enjoy our confections, and just as I was digging into my cupcake, I glanced to my left. At the end of the square, about 10 feet from us, stood one of two trash cans. Perched daintily on the rim, like a beautiful, lithe ballerina, was a very large rat. Okay. I've seen rats before. I mean, I live in New York City, and I regularly ride the subway; I see rats like every other day. But generally they are not hanging out on top of a trash can in the middle of the afternoon in a relatively clean city square. So, of course, we were kind of horrified, but then we realized it was actually pretty damn funny. We fumbled around trying to get a picture, and then the rat, let's call him Templeton, fell into the trash can. We then spent a good amount of time speculating as to what would happen to Templeton. Would he be able to scale the trash bag, even though it had little to no traction, being a trash bag? Did he have some sort of rope with which he was going to lasso a tree and climb out? Would he be able to gnaw his way through the steel drum trash can? What kind of vertical leap do rats have? We were pretty concerned. Then we got distracted by other things. Upon finishing our cupcakes and non-cup cake, Sam went to throw the remainders of his treat out, because we were all too full to finish it. We remembered Templeton and decided to give him a sugary snack to make his imprisonment less painful. Sam crept up to the trash can, just close enough to see in, and tossed in the end of his cake. That's when he discovered that it wasn't just Templeton, but his whole rat family in that trash can. It was their smelly rat home. How quaint. Michelle then went over to view the Templeton family, and as she was creeping up, as both Sam and I are assuring her that there's no way a rat can jump high enough to get her if she gets a little closer, he jumped. If NBA players had a proportional vertical leap, regulation net height would be like 40 feet. I have never seen anything leap as high as this rat and he chose when Michelle was just barely peering over the edge to show off his skillz. It was basically the best possible timing, like the universe telling me it loves me. Michelle screamed like a little tiny girl and Sam and I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. It actually may have been the most hilarious thing I have ever seen. And so it was that I saw Michelle almost be accosted by a rat, and now October 30th will forever be remembered as Rat Day, or El Dia de los Ratos, for our Spanish speaking brethren.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
I Watched Boogie Nights Tonight
Well, I watched the edited for TV version, but that still sort of counts, right? Anyway, while watching it I had many thoughts, one of which was that I would have really jived with disco. I actually said that. Out loud. To my roommate. I'm such a fucking weirdo sometimes; I legitimately worry myself. Some other thoughts I had were about how amazing '70s porno names were and whether porn "actors" still have fun names. Because I didn't feel like doing the kind of research necessary to answer that question, I just made up a bunch of porn names myself*. If you are an aspiring porno starlet/studlet, please feel free to borrow one of these, but I expect some sort of royalties.
Porno Names:
-Tiffani Lalane
-Sheree Bandeau
-Jock McHart
-Picabu Street
-Dash Hightower
-Destiny Childs (this is also an effective drag name)
-Rick Maxfield
-Tina Shine
-Crystal Jaggers
-Megan Foxx
-Gina Jones
-Shane Skyy
-Trip Scott
-Scot Tripp
-Mandy Pepper
-Ryan Seacrest
-Chassidy Lyles
*Any similarities with actual people's names are purely coincidental. Also, I'm sorry your parents gave you a porn star name and you decided to keep it instead of changing it when you got famous even though your manager probably told you it sounded like a porn star name.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Excuse Me?
Rand of Horses? Sounds kind of dirty. Sometimes you make me uncomfortable at work, Shazam.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Atlantic City
Clearly, I'm a terrible blogger. I said 2 weeks ago that I'd write a hilarious post on my weekend of nonsense in the most elegant city in the world, Atlantic City, New Jersey, and have I? No. Luckily for all of you, my friend Clay pointed out my extreme neglect and now I shall right that wrong. Here it is: my journey to the Shore.
Note: This picture doesn't even come close, but it's the best I could find.
Two weeks ago, roommate Lyndsay's company sent her to AC (as it is known to locals, aka hardcore gamblers and people on vacation from Cleveland), and they kindly allowed her to bring friends, so Virge came up from GA, and we all headed to the Shore. As we didn't arrive until 10:30, we felt it necessary to start drinking the minute we got to the hotel. I might mention that we were staying at Caesar's. No, we didn't ask if that's where the real Caesar lived, because we're not 14 year old boys, and I'm sure that joke's been done to death. Stop it. After dressing in our sparkliest attire and consuming a large bottle of wine between the three of us (after having not eaten dinner, a detail that will be important to remember later), we were ready to hit the slots. Since we are not hardcore gamblers, we felt that slot machines would be the best bet (no pun intended, but definitely enjoyed), because the minimum is only a dollar. Little did we know that slots take extreme strategy. There are at least 6 buttons on every machine, which was disappointing for several reasons:
1) You don't get to pull the lever, which is kind of one of the most fun parts of the slots.
2) The only directions (if there are any) use weirdo gambling jargon that you would only understand if you spent many days of your life in a casino.
3) They make you bet at least 30 cents on each spin, meaning that dollars don't go as far as they should.
Basically slots are awful but were the only type of gambling we felt comfortable around. Also, when you're gambling, the casino has lovely cocktail waitresses bringing you free drinks of which we had several. By the way, "lovely" here means "old and haggard and wearing white dresses that appear to be from Bebe ." Virge and I quickly lost $10 a piece and decided to give up. Lyndsay, on the other hand, only spent $3 and won. She won A HUNDRED FREAKING DOLLARS. What a bitch. Well, then Virge and Lyndsay went and cashed out and the cashier looked at them like they were idiots for being so excited over $100. Clearly, she wasn't aware that we're not hardcore gamblers. Have I said that enough times? Good. I'll move on.
Though we briefly thought about going to the "club" on the premises, we opted for the very elegant bar, Toga (Caesar's has a bar called Toga, get it? sOoO fUnNy oMg). Obviously, we forced Lyndsay to put up the dollars for drinks. For some reason, our drink of choice that night was vodka and Diet Coke. Why? Because we're great. Anyway, Virge insisted on light ice in these drinks. If you haven't been paying attention, we've had many drinks at this point. How many? I have no idea. The point is, there was no reason to put less diluting substances in our drinks. But you're only in Atlantic City once. If you're lucky. For some reason, none of us realized that by not going out until midnight, it was automatically about two hours later than we assumed it was. That and the fact that casinos never fucking close and don't have clocks anywhere, so we had no idea what time it was. After a few more vodka DCs, we met some lovely gentlemen, who we chatted up until they bought us more drinks, including some Jager bombs that were the same size as regular drinks. Woof. Clearly, the rest of the night got interesting. I won't go into details because this is the internet and I may want someone to give me a job one day. Needless to say, we made bad decisions and one of us may have vomited into a toilet while sitting on said toilet.
Also needless to say, we weren't feeling too snappy the next day. Poor Lyndsay had to get up and go do work things, but the only reason Virge and I got out of bed at all was to walk to the Mickey Don Dons. Seriously, that was the only reason either of us got out of bed until 6 o'clock that evening, going to McDonald's. It would have been a lot sadder if it didn't seem that every other person in Atlantic City was doing the same thing. It's possibly because there are no real restaurants in AC; it's like the entirety of the Mid West was transported to the New Jersey shore. The nicest restaurants appeared to be Applebee's and Longhorn, but there was also a delightful "gourmet" establishment right on the boardwalk in Trump Plaza where we dined Saturday evening. They had a prix fixe menu (probably pronounced as it's spelled by most customers) for $19, if that gives you any idea of the level of cuisine we faced here. I order what was called a pork tender on the menu, and ended up being two huge pork medallions stuffed with ham and cheese and covered in some sort of sauce. It was delightful. I also have type 2 diabetes now. We played the slots for a while, but Lyndsay wasn't on fire that night, so after spotting a very large woman in a pink, leopard-print, spandex unitard, we decided to call it quits (I tried to find a picture of this, but, luckily for your retinas, I couldn't). After Friday night, Saturday was slightly more low key; especially after we tried to go to Dusk (the club), and found out there was a $25 cover. I'm sure you're surprised to know that none of us wanted to pay to hang out in a darkened club with the types of people who go to clubs in Atlantic City (think Jersey Shore cast if they were from Nebraska) and listen to house music, so we went to the "beer garden" on the boardwalk. I put "beer garden" in quotes here, because it was really just a bar. They had about 8 beers on the menu, all of which were bottled, 4 of which were Budweiser, Bud Light, Coors and Coors Light. I'm not sure what they think a beer garden is, but it's not that.
On Sunday, we couldn't spend the entire day in bed again because we had to check out at noon, which was sad, so we spent the day on the boardwalk and in the mall. Both were about as depressing as you would imagine, with the high points being the souvenir stands at which you could buy shirts that said things like "A Special Lady" with a picture of kittens (or other adorable baby animals) and The Show. The Show was every hour on the hour in the mall. It was amazing. It was hilarious. It was a fountain with lights that synchronize sprayed to a variety of awful music. After The Show we had a delightful seafood lunch in the mall. Yes, I ate seafood in a mall. Fortunately, we were in Jersey, so that's pretty average. Sadly, it was probably the best non-McDonald's meal we had all weekend. That night after the premiere of Boardwalk Empire (the entire reason we were in AC, because Lyndsay's company does marketing for the show), we were driven back to the city in a really fly SUV with a tv and watched a movie called Flight of the Phoenix starring Dennis Quaid. I have no idea what happened in the movie, but old Dennis looked pretty good.
Virge said it best, "I feel like everyone here is on their bucket list." There is seriously no other reason that any person should ever go to Atlantic City, but every person should go at least once. It's dirty and old (in a sad, post-nuclear meltdown Chernobyl kind of way) and filled with people who seem at once depressed and too stupid to realize they're depressed, also very old people; of course, being very old gives you the excuse to do anything and be neither pathetic nor stupid. Old people don't give a fuck.
Here is a list of things I learned in Atlantic City:
1) Casinos are filled with broken dreams and elastic waist pants, and therefore hilarious if you have no soul (like me).
2) If faced with restaurant choices that include Applebee's, McDonald's, Melting Pot, and Longhorn, I will have no problem with going to McDonald's twice in two days.
3) Though I will never ride in one, whoever invented the "adult strollers" as we called them (basically pedi-cabs without the bicycle that are pushed from behind) was a fucking genius. If there's one thing that the type of people who go to AC hate, it's exercise of any kind, and so love any way to get from buffet to buffet while moving as little as possible.
4) Wearing a tiara and/or boa and/or veil to your Atlantic City bachelorette party is even more embarrassing/depressing than doing that at your bachelorette party in any other city.
5) I will never tire of judging people based on their outfits and life choices.
6) Even though I smoke occasionally, smoking indoors is just really really gross.
7) Giving your number to a guy is a really terrible, awful idea. I'm a fucking moron.
8) Atlantic City is the worst place in the world, and therefore, kind of the best.
And here's the song that was stuck in my head all weekend. If you can't guess what it is just by virtue of the fact that this is a post about Atlantic City, just stop being dumb.
Note: This picture doesn't even come close, but it's the best I could find.
Two weeks ago, roommate Lyndsay's company sent her to AC (as it is known to locals, aka hardcore gamblers and people on vacation from Cleveland), and they kindly allowed her to bring friends, so Virge came up from GA, and we all headed to the Shore. As we didn't arrive until 10:30, we felt it necessary to start drinking the minute we got to the hotel. I might mention that we were staying at Caesar's. No, we didn't ask if that's where the real Caesar lived, because we're not 14 year old boys, and I'm sure that joke's been done to death. Stop it. After dressing in our sparkliest attire and consuming a large bottle of wine between the three of us (after having not eaten dinner, a detail that will be important to remember later), we were ready to hit the slots. Since we are not hardcore gamblers, we felt that slot machines would be the best bet (no pun intended, but definitely enjoyed), because the minimum is only a dollar. Little did we know that slots take extreme strategy. There are at least 6 buttons on every machine, which was disappointing for several reasons:
1) You don't get to pull the lever, which is kind of one of the most fun parts of the slots.
2) The only directions (if there are any) use weirdo gambling jargon that you would only understand if you spent many days of your life in a casino.
3) They make you bet at least 30 cents on each spin, meaning that dollars don't go as far as they should.
Basically slots are awful but were the only type of gambling we felt comfortable around. Also, when you're gambling, the casino has lovely cocktail waitresses bringing you free drinks of which we had several. By the way, "lovely" here means "old and haggard and wearing white dresses that appear to be from Bebe ." Virge and I quickly lost $10 a piece and decided to give up. Lyndsay, on the other hand, only spent $3 and won. She won A HUNDRED FREAKING DOLLARS. What a bitch. Well, then Virge and Lyndsay went and cashed out and the cashier looked at them like they were idiots for being so excited over $100. Clearly, she wasn't aware that we're not hardcore gamblers. Have I said that enough times? Good. I'll move on.
Though we briefly thought about going to the "club" on the premises, we opted for the very elegant bar, Toga (Caesar's has a bar called Toga, get it? sOoO fUnNy oMg). Obviously, we forced Lyndsay to put up the dollars for drinks. For some reason, our drink of choice that night was vodka and Diet Coke. Why? Because we're great. Anyway, Virge insisted on light ice in these drinks. If you haven't been paying attention, we've had many drinks at this point. How many? I have no idea. The point is, there was no reason to put less diluting substances in our drinks. But you're only in Atlantic City once. If you're lucky. For some reason, none of us realized that by not going out until midnight, it was automatically about two hours later than we assumed it was. That and the fact that casinos never fucking close and don't have clocks anywhere, so we had no idea what time it was. After a few more vodka DCs, we met some lovely gentlemen, who we chatted up until they bought us more drinks, including some Jager bombs that were the same size as regular drinks. Woof. Clearly, the rest of the night got interesting. I won't go into details because this is the internet and I may want someone to give me a job one day. Needless to say, we made bad decisions and one of us may have vomited into a toilet while sitting on said toilet.
Also needless to say, we weren't feeling too snappy the next day. Poor Lyndsay had to get up and go do work things, but the only reason Virge and I got out of bed at all was to walk to the Mickey Don Dons. Seriously, that was the only reason either of us got out of bed until 6 o'clock that evening, going to McDonald's. It would have been a lot sadder if it didn't seem that every other person in Atlantic City was doing the same thing. It's possibly because there are no real restaurants in AC; it's like the entirety of the Mid West was transported to the New Jersey shore. The nicest restaurants appeared to be Applebee's and Longhorn, but there was also a delightful "gourmet" establishment right on the boardwalk in Trump Plaza where we dined Saturday evening. They had a prix fixe menu (probably pronounced as it's spelled by most customers) for $19, if that gives you any idea of the level of cuisine we faced here. I order what was called a pork tender on the menu, and ended up being two huge pork medallions stuffed with ham and cheese and covered in some sort of sauce. It was delightful. I also have type 2 diabetes now. We played the slots for a while, but Lyndsay wasn't on fire that night, so after spotting a very large woman in a pink, leopard-print, spandex unitard, we decided to call it quits (I tried to find a picture of this, but, luckily for your retinas, I couldn't). After Friday night, Saturday was slightly more low key; especially after we tried to go to Dusk (the club), and found out there was a $25 cover. I'm sure you're surprised to know that none of us wanted to pay to hang out in a darkened club with the types of people who go to clubs in Atlantic City (think Jersey Shore cast if they were from Nebraska) and listen to house music, so we went to the "beer garden" on the boardwalk. I put "beer garden" in quotes here, because it was really just a bar. They had about 8 beers on the menu, all of which were bottled, 4 of which were Budweiser, Bud Light, Coors and Coors Light. I'm not sure what they think a beer garden is, but it's not that.
On Sunday, we couldn't spend the entire day in bed again because we had to check out at noon, which was sad, so we spent the day on the boardwalk and in the mall. Both were about as depressing as you would imagine, with the high points being the souvenir stands at which you could buy shirts that said things like "A Special Lady" with a picture of kittens (or other adorable baby animals) and The Show. The Show was every hour on the hour in the mall. It was amazing. It was hilarious. It was a fountain with lights that synchronize sprayed to a variety of awful music. After The Show we had a delightful seafood lunch in the mall. Yes, I ate seafood in a mall. Fortunately, we were in Jersey, so that's pretty average. Sadly, it was probably the best non-McDonald's meal we had all weekend. That night after the premiere of Boardwalk Empire (the entire reason we were in AC, because Lyndsay's company does marketing for the show), we were driven back to the city in a really fly SUV with a tv and watched a movie called Flight of the Phoenix starring Dennis Quaid. I have no idea what happened in the movie, but old Dennis looked pretty good.
Virge said it best, "I feel like everyone here is on their bucket list." There is seriously no other reason that any person should ever go to Atlantic City, but every person should go at least once. It's dirty and old (in a sad, post-nuclear meltdown Chernobyl kind of way) and filled with people who seem at once depressed and too stupid to realize they're depressed, also very old people; of course, being very old gives you the excuse to do anything and be neither pathetic nor stupid. Old people don't give a fuck.
Here is a list of things I learned in Atlantic City:
1) Casinos are filled with broken dreams and elastic waist pants, and therefore hilarious if you have no soul (like me).
2) If faced with restaurant choices that include Applebee's, McDonald's, Melting Pot, and Longhorn, I will have no problem with going to McDonald's twice in two days.
3) Though I will never ride in one, whoever invented the "adult strollers" as we called them (basically pedi-cabs without the bicycle that are pushed from behind) was a fucking genius. If there's one thing that the type of people who go to AC hate, it's exercise of any kind, and so love any way to get from buffet to buffet while moving as little as possible.
4) Wearing a tiara and/or boa and/or veil to your Atlantic City bachelorette party is even more embarrassing/depressing than doing that at your bachelorette party in any other city.
5) I will never tire of judging people based on their outfits and life choices.
6) Even though I smoke occasionally, smoking indoors is just really really gross.
7) Giving your number to a guy is a really terrible, awful idea. I'm a fucking moron.
8) Atlantic City is the worst place in the world, and therefore, kind of the best.
And here's the song that was stuck in my head all weekend. If you can't guess what it is just by virtue of the fact that this is a post about Atlantic City, just stop being dumb.
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