Vodka & Pancakes

the things I eat and the drinks I drink…a Louisiana blog


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Who Holds the Power…

This story is one of my favorites and involves some of my favorite people, with whom I am going on vacation with later today.  I figured post as late as possible, then maybe they won’t read and it be awkward.

I think of this in terms of an Aesop’s fable, or one of those Confucious says type of stories.  When I think of it, it makes me laugh but also resonates on a deeper level.  Although maybe I’m an idiot.

dos equis

Some friend’s of ours came in town from Baton Rouge and we all went to Joe T’s, a terrible but pretty mexican restaurant, one afternoon.  As we are all sitting around, enjoying the 120 degree heat and drunken shenanigans that is Joe T’s, everyone starts talking about what they are going to order.  She, of the couple, says “I’m getting the chimichangas and ranch.”  I say, “I doubt they have ranch” (it’s mexican food so why would they but also this is Texas so why wouldn’t they?), so she says “then I’ll get some of that cheese sauce instead.”  Cheese sauce is also called queso but those are semantics.  Anyways, she then says, “and he’s getting beef fajitas” (or something along those lines, I can’t remember the exact food) to which he exclaimed in his Louisiana accent “No!  I am taking back the power.  I’m getting something else.”  She just rolled her eyes like a “whatfuckingever” and I laughed.  Fast forward five minutes and he ordered the beef fajitas

Who has the power?  Apparently beef fajitas.

Fast forward four hours and we are playing Cards Against Humanity at my favorite peoples house.  They are constantly being written about in my blog and bet they are going to read this and think ‘oh god, this shit again…’.   But anyways, we are playing CAH (which I love and that probably makes me a pervert) and he explains to me, talking about “the power” again, that you hold the power and you can’t let anyone take it from you and that, he, holds his own power.  Or honestly something like that, I’m paraphrasing because I had been drinking for 6 hours at that point.

While it made sense at the time, as everything is apt to do when day drinking, it wasn’t until four days later when it finally sunk in.  Yes, holding your own power makes all the sense.  Would I want to have someone else’s power?  No, I have enough shit on my on plate, I don’t need someone else’s.

So what made me think of this favorite story of mine was someone recently contacted me to apologize for treating me like shit in college.  My first thought was to reply and say “go fuck yourself” but then thought of this story.  I won’t give them the power.  So instead I said, “thank you for contacting me.  Thank you for apologizing.  Go fuck yourself.”

Who holds the power?  I’m still thinking it’s those fajitas but for one brief moment, I felt like I did.

Anyway, BBT yall.  Bitches be trippin.

 photo 2-6End of evening shenanigans for the terrorist from Baton Rouge.  No his shoulder wasn’t broken.

 

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Galaxies, Syphillis & Pay Phones. All in Louisiana.

Somewhere in southern Louisiana iPhone and I got in a fight.  It was more of a test of will, one that phone bested me in. Apparently it decided it didn’t want to live anymore and died in my hands.  Seeing as I was hundreds of miles away from my house (I don’t know geography or distance all that well, it could have been millions of miles for all I give a fuck), I realized I needed to find my way from central Louisiana to southern Mississippi then to western Louisiana back to central.  All without my mapapp.  And any common sense.

Since, like I said, I lack all common sense this plan seemed easy enough to tackle.  Mississippi?  It’s to the right.  Louisiana go back left.  What other directions do you need?

An unfortunate realization hit me as I made my way around southern Louisiana.  Pay phones have gone way of the dinosaur.  Actually, now that I have a new cell phone (fuck you stupid Apple), I realize that the fact I’d sooner find a velociraptor than a pay phone is actually safer.  I’d rather be chased by a dinosaur any day than any one of the people I’ve seen milling around a pay phone.

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Someone advised me in my search to find a pay phone: “go to the most ghetto area and find the most ghetto convenient store.”  I wasn’t looking to score drugs.  Nor was I looking to die, so I just stopped at an average-to-poor gas station and asked if they have one.  No.  But I can attest to the fact that southern Louisiana, for this point Lafayette to be exact, is full of friendly people.  As I stood outside the average-to-poor gas station pondering my next move (since I had no idea where I was or where I was going), a gay black man dressed like a pimp asked if I wanted to use his galaxy.  Yes.  I absolutely do.

As I took his iPad sized phone, I was thinking ‘who owns a galaxy?’ but then came to the realization that I soon will because I’m going to go burn down my local Apple Store.  Then I had another thought, that the only other person I have met that owns a galaxy lives in Baton Rouge.  Do all people in Louisiana have galaxies?  Do I have to move there once I get mine?

Once (five years ago) I was in New Orleans supposed to meet a friend living there for drinks.  He canceled and wanted to reschedule for the next night but I told him I had to be in Lafayette so that was a no-go.  What he informed me next has stuck with me for years.  “Everyone in Lafayette has syphillis so you should stay in New Orleans.”  Everyone?!  I was intrigued.  Sounded like World War Z in the making.  Since then I have always made it a point, when someone says they’re from Lafayette to ask if they have syphillis.  The reaction to that question is varied, I’ve been laughed at, looked at like  I was about to be murdered and even several plain, “no, do you?”.  “Oh me?  No.  No syphillis.  I’m from Texas.”

So around 8pm (after leaving the house at 8am), I finally made my way back home with a new found respect for galaxy owners and pimps alike.  They’re not all bad people.  I’m thinking I’m about to join them.

caturday

I forgot all pictures so here’s this.


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Detective Vodka Pancakes’ inquiry into the TV Show Lost…

Something very upsetting happened to me recently.  But to be able to properly explain, I have to first explain how it relates to the TV show, Lost.

I made a ‘joke’ that at some point, all good conversations can be referenced back to either Nutella or Lost.   If it doesn’t, then you need to shut up.

Lost

I don’t know why I didn’t watch the show when it was on the air, I guess it all stems from that fact I ‘m not a big beach person.  Like, I didn’t watch Heros because I’m not really that big into cheerleading.  But about six weeks ago, my boyfriend convinced me to start watching Lost on Netflix.   Or Netflicks.  About three years ago, when the show was airing, I had a friend (who is type A to an alarming degree) who told me they watched each episode twice just in case they missed something.  I remember at the time thinking, ‘hmmm, you’re a weirdo.’    But alas, last night, I made the very comment, “when we have finished the series (I have two more seasons so don’t fucking ruin it for me) I think we should start all over again and watch it in case I’ve missed something.”  I’m like the Lost detective.  Detective Vodka Pancakes.

Maybe it’s the fact I’ve been sober for 17 days (I like saying that, sounds like my situation is significantly more interesting than it is…) but I’ve been watching a lot of Lost lately.  Like a lot.

Lost-2

Here are my thoughts on this picture.  Middle row, yes to both.  They can come to my island.  So can Sun.  Anyone who can fake knowing another language from their spouse is a badass.  Claire, she likes peanut butter, she can stay.  Charlie was cooler on drugs.  Someone should hit John Locke in the face with a paddle and thank god Shannon’s dead.  She was fucking annoying.

But back to the original point.  Like I said, something very unsettling happened to me last Friday night.  I was at the movies (like I said, I am currently not drinking, zzz) and I saw a trailer for some Hobbit movie.  Actually make that two unsettling things.  One of them being the fact there is another fucking Hobbit movie out.  How is that possible?  It’s like they’re rolling those out daily.   Anyway, while quasi-watching the trailer I saw Evangeline Lilly.  She didn’t quit acting after Lost?!  Like I said, upsetting.  I tried to explain this to my boyfriend over the noise from Hobbit Movie but I’m pretty sure he was ignoring me, hoping for compliant silence.  I will never be silenced!  Detective Vodka Pancakes has things to say.

evangeline lilly

First I found this upsetting picture of Evangeline Lilly in Hobbits Movie (I don’t know the name of that stupid movie so I’m just going to forever call it Hobbit Movie) but then I found this one…

Evangeline lilly-2

What the fuck is up with her hair?

Knowing what I know now, that Lost is the best TV series of all time (Lost and True Blood), I can’t believe they let those actors act again.  They all should have retired.  I mean, Vincent the dog (who has his own IMDB page), only starred on Lost.   He apparently is the only one that understands that you go out on top.

Vincent

Someone should have told Sawyer/James that before he starred in that dance movie with Chris Brown recently.  Weird.

battle of the Year

But anyway I’m headed to Costa Rica in November.  Mysterious traveling island here I come.

Actually, scratch that.  I’m traveling with my mom, it’s best for all parties involved we don’t get stranded on a deserted island together.

 


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Not Drinking…it’s even more boring than it sounds.

I’ve never really considered myself one of those people that needs to be constantly entertained.  Until I stopped drinking.  I can easily attest, it’s boring as fuck.

I gave up drinking for 30 days.   Thirty days in comparison to your entire life doesn’t seem like that long of a stretch.  But it is.  Oh, is it ever.

So as I count down the days (the hours…the minutes…I truly believe it’s all started going backwards at this point.  I’m like Alice in Wonderland) until I can once again feel like a well adjusted drinking individual amongst the population, I need a distraction.  Actually what I need is a paid companion.  Or maybe I could get an intern and have them just sit and slap drinks out of my hand.

brewed

Back to not drinking being boring.  Yesterday for happy hour we went to Brewed because they serve kombucha.  Kombucha is fermented tea.  If that doesn’t sound gross to you, then you’re doing it wrong.  But I HAD to get out of the house.  Although sitting at Brewed for 30 minutes is just as boring as it sounds.  And by the way, they have terrible service.  Last time I was there (hungover and eating a friedeggsammichohmnomnomnomnom) I swear our waiter was tripping on acid.  And not in a ‘fun to watch’ kind of way, but like a ‘this is really fucking annoying’ kind of way.

Last week we went to go to the movies but had to bypass the Movie Tavern.  They serve full bar.  Way too tempting for this non-drinking little lady.  Wine and movies…love it.  Just like wine and walking the dog or wine and blow drying my hair.  So we went to the theatre at Ridgmar and let me warn you, just don’t.  If you like hanging around obnoxious hormonal high schoolers that don’t give a shit about anyone around them then be my guest.  Of course the little morons sitting in front of us tried to get in a fight with the little jackasses sitting in front of them.  I find it impossible to believe I was that terrible in high school.  Maybe I was.  I probably was.  I was.

I took my boredom to the internets.  While you can google anything, you probably won’t like any of the absolutely fucking stupid answers you get.   So I googled, “what to do when you stop drinking?”  Here is what I got:  movies, masturbate, sex and ultimate frisbee.   While I do know what movies, masturbation and sex are, I had to look up ultimate frisbee.  I went to TCU, we didn’t do that shit.   Or we might have.   A) I’m getting old and B) I was usually drunk.

My recently pregnant best friend told me it was hard but she said what kept her going was the fact she didn’t want to fuck up her baby.  “So what you’re saying is I lack the motivation.”

So if you have any non-sexual/frisbee related suggestions, please tell me.  But as for now, I’m off to happy hour to cry at Brewed.

Sad hour at Brewed.  Boom.  Ugh.

19 days, 7 hours, 5 minutes…


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Tim Love…and Songs about Cheese Sticks.

I’ve noticed over the years I like to make foods songs.

I was telling my new friends from Baton Rouge (I have to keep mentioning that because I rarely make new friends) about how I was kicked out of one of Tim Love’s restaurants (doesn’t matter, he’s a goober) named Duce (doesn’t matter, that restaurant was bad).  After I was kicked out, although I actually like to use the term “escorted out”, I went to Sonic and ordered cheese sticks.  Obviously.  So to order, I sang a song into the ordering monitor box about how I love cheese sticks and ranch.  I can be incredibly creative or incredibly stupid, I like to toe the line of each.

My boyfriend politely informed me he thinks it’s a trait I have gained from my father.  If you’ve met my father then you would understand.

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All the pictures I had of this event I would rather not appear on the internets.  So here is a picture of President Kitty.

Anyway, after the ‘escorting’ business (sounds sexy) I went back for dinner one night (to Duce, not to Sonic).  I look back and wonder who goes back to a restaurant they were kicked out of? I’m thinking that was one of the more ‘incredibly stupid’ things I’m apt to do.  They didn’t have anything vegetarian but said they could make me some type of cheese risotto.

“Ok fine.  Sounds gross but ok fine.”  I received a goo pile of some sort of cheese rice surrounded by fried spinach.  Who fries spinach?  It’s the one food in the world I had thought impossible to fattyfryup.  Someone somewhere (apparently cooking in Tim Love’s goober kitchen) was like, “here’s a great idea, let’s fry spinach.”   This person probably works at the State Fair now.

Although I will say this year they are frying Nutella.  My boyfriend told me I can “fry your own Nutella at home.  We aren’t going to the State Fair just for me to have to watch you eat that.”

cat-nutella

But back to my original point that had nothing to do with Tim Love being King Goober or the State Fair of Texas (although in  a good convo, all roads do lead back to Nutella) but it’s that I made some new friends.

Did I mention I made some new friends?

Nutella.


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Max’s Wine Dive. It’s no Popeye’s.

maxs wine dive

Let me start my adventure that was Max’s Wine Dive by saying the girl sitting near us was giving me the stink eye.  Not something I tend to enjoy while trying to shove the world’s largest sammich in my face (ommmnommnommfriedeggsandwich).  Unfortunately, my picture doesn’t do my sammich justice.  Think of my plate with the circumference of a manhole cover.

sammie

Now, I love loud blaring music while I’m eating as much as the next person, but Bon Jovi?  It was a little more than I could handle.  I could hardly hear what my boyfriend who was sitting across from me was saying, but honestly, we’ve been dating for over 5 years so we’ve  obviously past the point I need to pretend to be interested.

As if there really was ever any question, I ate it all.  The waitress came by to collect my empty plate that I wiped clean with my face and said, “Oh wow!  I’m impressed!” My boyfriend looked at her like she was enemy number one and then proceeded to make jokes about me not fitting in the car for the ride home.  And now you see why I don’t care if I ever hear what he has to say.

So this one time I was in a pho restaurant named Pho (not terribly clever…) and the girl next to us licked her bowl clean.  Literally.  I have never been as grossed out, I wanted to turn to her and offer to buy her bowlopho if she would eat it on the other side of the room.

.mimosas

They also try and make you buy a case of wine while you are sitting captive at the table.  During the five minute spiel, I just always want to stop them and inform them if I had a case of wine, I would be drinking it alone at home with President Kitty.

But regardless of being subjected to Bon Jovi,  David Bowie and what I think was a Glee cover, and not to mention the half hour it took for someone to realize we were sitting there with the intention of eating their food, I hearted my eggsammich.  As I’m writing this my boyfriend added “the fried chicken is ok.  It’s no Popeye’s.  You could probably compare it to Church’s.  If you like that kind of shit.”

Also someone needs to inform them it’s college football season, not Jamie Foxx Show marathon Saturdays.  Who watches that.

That’s weird.


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Nachos, yes. Broccoli Enchiladas, no.

Omnomnomnomnomnomnom, I eat nachos anywhere.

It’s like a mantra I think when I get to go eat nachos.  One time I went six months and didn’t eat nachos (impossible) or drink margaritas (meh) because we were going to the beach.  I learned ‘getting beach ready’ = not worth it.  We got off the plane and I ate nachos and had a margarita.  It was like shoving heaven in my face.  Then I put on a bathing suit and was sad.

original- nachos

My friend sent me a text last night saying “tomorrow for the LSU game is veggie soup, sparking rose and handsies.  Who’s in?”  I wonder if they were trying to appeal to the vegetarian side of me or they make really poor menu choices.   Veggie soup didn’t really make me want to get out of bed today.

But nachos did.

I once ate at this terrible restaurant that I won’t name (Frankie’s) and ordered nachos which were, aforementioned, terrible.  As I was eating them, I kept saying “oh these are so gross.”  “Ew, so terrible, omnomnom.” Next thing I knew, I looked down and all my nachos were gone.  “Who ate all these terrible nachos?!”

Well, it was me.  “Should we get some more?”

original- margarita

So we were headed over to our friends house to watch college football all day and drink all the drinks.

But along the way, we stopped at The Original because my desire for nachos was clouding my better judgement (just kidding, I have none) and we decided to have margaritas.  These are no normal margaritas, these are Mas Finas.  That’s spanish for “hold on to your butts because you’re about to be shitfaced.”  I used to hang out at this bar by my house a lot and there was this mexican midget and he would try and teach me spanish every time I came in (no lie) so above translation is legit (lie).

It’s like when my boyfriends aunt and uncle try to teach us bridge after cocktails and dinner when we go over there.  It’s pointless.  If I’ve even smelled alcohol, don’t bother.  You aren’t even a blimp on the radar anymore.

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But my point behind writing this was, as I ordered my food I glanced down at the menu to see they offer broccoli enchiladas.  Hahaha, weird.  It just seemed so misplaced to me (first who even likes broccolis and second who wants BROCCOLIS IN THEIR ENCHILADAS?) that I had to take a pic.  So after two ‘hold your butts shitfaceds’ and 18 nachos (for me, I don’t share) we headed to our friends house.

Apparently they had eaten at the Original the night before and he casually mentioned we should try the broccoli enchiladas.  It was as if time stood still.  “No thank you.  I don’t believe I will try those and you sir are gross.”

So as I rethought my friendship with the broccoli enchilada eater I realized that he has such good taste in other aspects of his life that maybe he is onto something with all this broccoli enchilada eating.  Doesn’t matter, I’ll have to take his word on this.  Unless they start making broccoli nachos (weird, but I’ll eat it).

Omnomnomnomnomnomnom, I eat broccoli nachos anywhere.