The Streets

When I was growing my, my parents lived (and still live) on a busy country road.  I was never allowed to play in the streets.  But my cousins lived in cul-de-sac neighborhoods where they could ride their bikes freely and set off fireworks and play tag…in the street.  I loved going over there and feeling the summer asphalt through the back of my shirt as we stared up into the sky, deciphering clouds.

I came back to that on Friday night.  Mike and I went out to Panini’s in Strongsville for dinner and drinks with some friends.  After rainbow shots and a grad party, we walked back through our friend Matt’s neighborhood, full of cul-de-sacs and slow drivers and soft green lawns.

We got back to his house, but opted to stay in the street–mostly because Stef decided to pull a Notebook moment and lie down there.  Warm asphalt, laughing, throwing flip-flops, acting like kids in junior high–only drinking beers and smoking cigars. 🙂  It made me feel young.  We sat there until 2am talking about God knows what.  It was great.

It made me think of all the great times that I did have in the streets.  Lying in the middle of Claremont with my friend Bob Bob after walking back from Buffalo Wild Wings while I was in Ashland.  Walking with Mike through the neighborhood we shared in North Carolina, dancing in the pine needles.

It’s the simple things.  We all need to get back to that every once in awhile.

 

When the Hell Did I Get So Boring and Twitchy?

I was talking with my friend Chris today and we both agree that our late 20’s are kind of shitty.  I can’t get in the same town as Mike and Chris is looking to catch a break in more than a few ways.

And I’m so damn worried about the future that quite frankly, I’ve turned into a royal curmudgeon.  So much so, in fact, that my left eye has not stopped twitching for weeks.  TWITCHY CURMUDGEON!

I rarely go out during the week with my coworkers…and if I do, I’m usually pretty lame.  You can ask them.  They will tell you the same.

I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday.  I got cranky about my oil change.  I pouted about living alone when I had to kill a spider.  I get pissy because I can’t decorate my apartment (if I can’t paint, then why even bother?).  Then I get pissier because I don’t want to live in an apartment and I want a backyard.

It never ends.  I’m boring.  I’ve lost my excitement about “right now” because I’m so worried about the future.  I’m going to try to change that…

If you catch me being a curmudgeon, smack me and tell me to snap out of it.

 

Return to College

Tonight, I’m going to my college roommate’s house in my college town to drink like I used to drink…in college.  🙂

 

Valentine’s Day Round-Up

Okay, so it turns out I didn’t take as many pictures as I thought I did over Valentine’s Day, but I did have great hair…

Valentine’s Day started amazingly (slight sarcasm).  On the Turnpike, my car began alerting me that there was not enough air in my tire.  Turns out it was the same one that kept losing air earlier in the winter.  A very slow leak.  I aired it up and then continued to Mike, who had tuna steaks, shrimp, veggies, and WINE waiting for me–all by candlelight!  Helluva guy, right?

We spent all night listening to music and talking to each other.  The next morning, we took my car to Sears so they could look at the tire.  They proceeded to tell me that there was a nail in it at an odd angle and that it couldn’t be plugged.  And because Delilah is an all-wheel-drive vehicle, I would have to buy four brand new tires…totally $817.00.  WHA?!

I called my daddy and whined and he told me to find a tire place that could do a vulcanized patch.  So being that we were in Franklin, PA on a weekend, there were hardly ANY tire places open.  But we found one!  They agreed to do it (although it might take a little while to squeeze me in).  I told the greasy guy behind the counter that he was my hero, and he laughed.

So Mike and I went to Franklin On Ice and saw all the ice sculptures.  Cute right?

Reminded me of Arctic Blast at Ashland University.

It was frigidly cold so we hurried back, and they called for me to come pick up my car.  Know how much they charged me?  $18.00.  AND THOSE DAMN PEOPLE AT SEARS WANTED ME TO PAY $817.00!!!!!!!

Such bull.

After that we went bowling:

I look angry and disheveled but it’s okay.

Then we got dinner at Foxtales and watched a movie.  It was such a good night.  🙂

So there you have it!  My Valentine’s Day weekend!

 

$16,000 Diamonds and a Pushy Sales Dude

Well, Christmas is over.  Back to work.

Mike and I had a great weekend.  See?  (In my hand is the last glass of the entire bottle of wine that I consumed…and did not get a hangover because of my drinking practice.)

It was so good to be home and to see my family and some of my friends.  I’l post pictures of my loot once I take pictures of it all on my new camera!!!!

I love it so much!  Mike got it for me, and he also got me the bunny that I wanted.  MY BUNNY!  Because I call Mike “My Bunny” sometimes.  (Sorry, Bunny, outed our secret!)

My mom even surprised me with a few things, including a Kenneth Cole Reaction watch, a Michael Kors keychain, and Parenthood seasons 1 & 2!

Where are the $16,000 diamonds, you ask?  Right here.  Mike and I made the mistake of stopping at the mall to get links taken out of my watch on the way home Sunday.  It was PACKED.  We finally found a place to take the links out of my watch and while the guy was doing that, Mike let me play with diamonds.  I had a 1.51 carat $16,000 solitaire diamond ring on my hand!

Sure, it’d be nice to have that, but who the hell can afford it?  I would never expect Mike to get me that.  But I think that theory is for tomorrow’s post.

But the guy was so pushy and so obnoxious that we had to leave.  I think I’ll cover that tomorrow, too.

Cheers, everyone!  Now GET BACK TO WORK!

 

Preparing the Liver

I’ll be the first to say that I didn’t train for this.  No.  In fact, I’ve been kind of sluggish about my training this year.  I haven’t drank as much as I normally do, particularly in my promise to not get drunk unless Mike is around for the entirety of my 26th year.  I admit it–my tolerance has suffered.

But this time of year is no time to be unprepared…in any aspect really.  From Drunksgiving on, your liver must be prepared.  Holidays = Excessive Drinking.

• First o f all, you drink because of the stress of preparing for said holiday.
• I mean, 8 hours at the mall on Black Friday and you’re damn well ready for a glass (read: bottle) of wine.
• And there’s always a casual drink turned into a binge when you stop by old friends’ houses to visit.
• Not to mention the appearance of Christmas Ale that we are all obligated to guzzle for its short existence each year.
• Then there are the Christmas parties:  the company Christmas, the significant other’s family Christmas, your own Christmas.
• Plus you feel like drinking when they’re all over!
• And then New Year’s Eve?

My liver ought to be in tip-top shape by the time 2012 rolls around.  Maybe that’s why we do it.  So we are all prepared to survive New Year’s Eve.

I have to say that I love these parties.  Last night, my co-workers and I went to the Winking Lizard for drinks after work.  Tonight, I’m going to a cookie exchange where there will be WINE!  Friday night is the company Christmas party (hibachi and sake…YES).  Saturday is Mike’s family’s Christmas.  Pretty much going to be drunk for 4 days straight.

Bring.  It.  On.

In a slightly unrelated (and wholly related) note, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BROTHER JASON!  🙂  Getting old there, boy.  24.

 

The Proper Drinking Age – According to Me

Another Matt-themed question for the week.  This one is actually something I feel pretty strongly about.

What is the proper age to begin drinking?

Well, I say 16.  Now hear me out.  At 16 years old, kids start to think that they’re adults.  They start to think that because they can drive, that they can do other adult things–like drink alcohol.

I think they’re right, with some very necessary stipulations:

1. The first time kids drink, and really until college, I think kids should drink in the presence of their parents or trusted adults.  The purpose of this is to learn their limits, particularly before they go to college and lack supervision.  For instance, I knew that three beers made me silly when I was 16 because I’d drink them at family gatherings.  I knew that I could handle about 2 mixed drinks, and I hated wine.  I learned what it felt like to be tipsy, and what it felt like to be drunk, and because of this, I knew when to stop at college.
2. If parents let kids drink, it immediately takes the excitement away from underage drinking.  Part of what is so alluring about it is the fact that you’re not supposed to do it.  And when your parents give you the go ahead, it loses some of its luster, thus creating less situations where “being a badass” leads to “blacked out and pregnant.”
3. We should let kids drink and learn their limits early on, too, because guess what, they’re going to do it one way or another.
4. And if we start them at 16, they’ll have approximately two years to try every type of alcohol they can (in front of their parents) and to learn how they respond to all of it.  It’s a learning experience.

Alcohol can make anyone dumb, but often that idiocy is brought on by lack of experience and an ignorance of limits.  Let kids learn before they head out into the world alone.

 

What’s the deal with stripper poles?

Friday night, my co-workers and I went out for some pumpkin beer.  We had a great time.  My friend Matt, who continually busts my chops about something, started complaining that none of my blog entries interest him.  In turn, I gave him the opportunity to pick out my blog content for this week.

His first choice?  Stripper poles.  And why women are “drawn to them like a bug is drawn to a bug zapper.”  And if stripper poles were actually bug zappers, “we’d have dead hoochies all over the place.”  Words of wisdom, my friends.  Words of wisdom.

So why are women drawn to stripper poles?  Let’s dumb this down to poles in general.  If a woman is in a bar (I’ve seen *ahem* and done *ahem* this before–Windsor, Canada rings a bell…), and there is a pole nearby, there is a 80% chance that at some point throughout the night, she will grab on to it, throw her head back, swing around a little bit, and carry on drinking.  The show may go on a bit longer if she is getting attention.  Which brings me to reason #1 that women go to stripper poles.

#1:  Attention.
Women love attention.  It’s in our blood.  So if we’re going out, we’ve probably done our hair, painstakingly picked out an outfit, and we want someone to notice.  And as soon as you grab a pole, people notice because they’re interested to see what will happen next.

#2:  To turn you dogs on.
Right along side of the desire for attention is the desire to feel physically attractive.  We get on stripper poles because as soon as we touch that metal, we have every man in the room’s attention.  Whether he thought you were attractive to begin with or not, as soon as you touch that pole, you have his undivided attention.  Why?  Because you’re probably about to do something slutty, and men will watch purely for the chance that you will.

#3:  We’re drunk.
So basically, drunkenness means bad decisions.  You go sleep with your best friend’s little sister.  We wrap ourselves around a pole in public.  A stripper pole.  When you’re drunk, everything seems like a good decision.

#4:  The freedom.
I know what you’re asking.  “What freedom?”  The freedom of flying through the air on a stripper pole while your senses are already dulled and your head is buzzy and you can’t feel your nose or your front teeth!  It’s like getting drunk and finding a swing set.  The pole is just more apt to be found in a bar.

#5:  Finally–to prove that we’re not that drunk.
We can still hold onto a pole and flail ourselves about.  So we’re not that drunk.

 

 

Speeding

UPDATE:  I got a text from person in photo involved with Ticket #1.  If it had anything to do with this post, I apologize, and only referred to person as ‘douche’ to maintain anonymity.

I don’t speed much anymore, but as I was sitting talking to my co-workers the other day about car insurance premiums, I realized that the tickets I’ve gotten often resulted from pretty funny stories.  I’ve only gotten two, so this shouldn’t take long.

Ticket #1: It was the end of April 2008.  I had just finished my first year of graduate school in Wilmington, North Carolina and I was ACHING to go north.  I had recently begun seeing (I’m not going to call it dating, as the douche never fully let me know where our “relationship” stood) an old flame from college who was living in the Washington DC area, and two weeks prior, I had surprised him at his DC apartment after not having seen him for two years.  Unrequited?  Hardly.  The weekend after that, he showed up in Wilmington to celebrate my birthday with me.  Which brings the story to the weekend school was finally out, and I decided to drive to DC on my way home to Ohio.

I had a great weekend with him, and I was floating high on young-kid emotions and the way I used to feel.  Blessid Union of Souls was blasting from my Neon’s speakers and I was cruising across the state of Pennsylvania with a smile on my face, the windows down, and a Diet Mountain Dew in my hand.  Sounds glorious, right?  When I crossed the Ohio state line, I got so so so excited to be close to home that I must have pressed on the gas pedal a little too hard.  The deputy pulled me over, and despite my smiling, my glowing, and my flirting, I got my first speeding ticket.

It brought me down only a few clouds from my high, as I turned the radio back up and continue to smile the rest of the way home, almost proud to show my father that I’d done something wrong.  I figured my parents would be happy that I was so excited to get to them.

Ticket #2: This story is a little more ridiculous.  That same summer in August, I “chaperoned” a date between two shy friends on a Friday night.  When I say chaperoned, I mean that I took my shy friend, and my buddy took his shy friend and we put them together and went out with them to a bar in Ashland.  Needless to say, I got pretty guttered on Long Island Iced Teas that these truckers were buying me.  We made it back to a friend’s house in Ashland (after I threw up in the bushes) and fell asleep.

Prior to this, I had been pretty psyched for this weekend.  I was going to be a chaperon that Friday, and then Saturday I had a bachelorette party in Put-In-Bay for a girl whose wedding I was a bridesmaid in later that month.  I thought I’d set my alarm to wake up at 8 that following morning to give myself enough time for the hour and a half drive back to Fremont.  We were leaving at 11:00 for the ferry ride to the Islands and I needed time to get ready, too.

I woke in a panic at 9:00 am, grabbed my possessions including a half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan, and ran out of my friend’s house, stumbling and passing out in the street, luckily only landing on my pillow and losing a flip-flop.  I stood again and ran to the Neon and climbed in.  I took off faster than anything.  About 20 minutes into the drive, I realized I hadn’t peed all morning after a night of heavy drinking, but I figured I could make it.

I’d also realized I hadn’t washed my face, so I reached into my toiletry bag and applied a face mask that turns white upon drying.  Another 15 minutes in, and I really had to pee.  I couldn’t stop anywhere now, not with a white mask all over my face, so I just unzipped my pants (to relieve pressure–not to pee).

When I finally turned onto my road, I was 15 miles from my house, and I was floating, going upwards of 80 mph in a 55 mph zone.  And I got pulled over.

Immediate thoughts:  Oh fuck.  I have a half bottle of Captain.  I’m sweating alcohol.  I’m probably still drunk.  I have a mask on my face.  I still have to pee.  OMG MY PANTS ARE UNZIPPED.

As the officer pulled up behind me, I decided the most important thing to do was to hide the bottle of Captain, or else he surely would think that I was drinking and driving.  I slid it under the seat in time to turn my unzipped pants and white face to him, hand him my license and registration, and kindly ask him to make it quick.  I had to pee.

I made it to the bachelorette party–eating a ham and cheese Hot Pocket in the shower and still catching the ferry with the rest of my friends.  And you’ll never believe who I met once I got to Put-In-Bay:

THE CAPTAIN!!!

CHEERS