Vodka & Pancakes

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


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Oklahoma. Fried Pies, Meth & Casinos.

Oklahoma.  I had once referred to as the ‘Land of Shitty Casinos and even Shittier Beer’.  But there is so much more…

Upon driving into Oklahoma, I saw the person driving in their pickup truck in front of me throw what I believe to be a bottle of pee in a Dasani water bottle out of the car.  I knew it was going to be a long day.

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I drove past Winstar Casino, which embodies London, Rome and Paris in its architecture, as you enter Oklahoma.  I haven’t been to London but now there is no need.  This was exactly how I had envisioned it.

I’ve never really been a big fan of Oklahoma but I think it all stems from a weekend long fraternity party somewhere in OK I went to every year while in college.  Apparently a year is just long enough for you to forget the terrible time you had the year before and agree to go again.  There’s less alcohol in the beer and when you can only afford Keystone you might as well save the money and drink water.  You’ll get just as drunk.

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Although I did run across a couple things of interest while traversing up and down 35.  The most interesting thing I found to be is the billboards.   Is meth really that big of a problem that there is a need for a meth/suicide billboard every 2 miles?  I did see a news story the other day about how a group blew up in their car while driving around making meth in the backseat.    I must be in the wrong profession.

They also have some good ones about prescription drug fraud and a really intense pro-life campaign.  I don’t need that shit while I’m driving.

fried pies

An exciting piece of information is they sell fried pies literally everywhere.  Growing up, my brother used to eat those fried apple pies from Mrs Bairds and drink cokes like he was employed to do it.  This must have been before people worried about things like ‘caloric intake’  and ‘childhood obesity.’  He finally stopped around the age of 30 when his wife informed him that by consuming the two a day that was his general fried pie consumption, he was going to die before they were able to ever have children.

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As a rule, when traveling by car there is no stopping once we start.  So while someone throwing a bottle of pees out of their car is incredibly gross, conceptually I get it.  We stop for no reason.  So I brought my own peanut butter sammie.

I actually took this pic so you could see my sweet ride in the background.   Have you ever noticed people do that on Facebook?  Like, oh let me take a picture of the temperature gauge in my car to show you it’s currently 102 degrees but let me just happen to get my mercedes icon in the background.  It’s 102 degrees today in Texas and you drive a mercedes. Fantastic.   I eat peanut butter sammies in my car and I drive a four year old Volvo.

ABBA

So as I drive back home, listening to ABBA, I’m realizing there might be more to Oklahoma than I had originally led myself to believe.  And am contemplating who to contact about getting a meth billboard outside my new digs.  Waylan and Little Joe are about on my last nerve.

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Temaki…and Jazz Hands. And Recreational Drugs.

I can’t make fun of it because I genuinely love it.  But that said, it’s slow.  Like my dead grandmother slow.  Which is ok to say because she was mean as shit.  And didn’t like me.  Which is impossible.

Also, I told the owner it was my “favoritest restaurant of all time” and he wasn’t too impressed.  Like it was the 1,000th time he had heard that that day.

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I always get the tomato miso soup because its ultra delicious in my tummy.  I wanted to take a picture, so I told my boyfriend to move his hands.  This is what I got.

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Jazz hands at Temaki.

But my problem started when I walked into the Bearded Lady at 4:30.  Our two beers were $8.  My manfriend was like, “wow, $8 is really cheap.”  Is that what we have been programmed to think?  Eight dollars can buy me an 18 pack (if I’m getting all college style on your ass and get Keystone).  Anyway, we then hit the Usual then Temaki.  Apparently 5:45 is not an acceptable time for anyone under the age of 65 to eat, so we had to have a drink first.

Or several.  Thats how we normally do it.

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Afterwards, we went to the Chat Room, another mistake, as I currently have a monster fucking headache and am having to one-eye it to write this.  Anyways, I read online the Chat Room serves minors, but I didn’t see anyone other than us under the age of 40 there.  That said, some guy I unfortunately know walked up and joined us saying he was about to leave to go eat at Mijo’s (buy the Groupon!  It’s always there!).  He asked if after we wanted to come over for “some weed and coke if yall like to party” (I shit you not).  Is that a measure of how much you like to party?  I thought I liked to party, but am I in the baby party league?  Apparently so because I thought the most interesting thing about that sentence was the fact he was going to go eat at Mijos.

So as he left with my imparting words of ‘get the quinoa tortilla soup and dare to get off drugs’ (boom) I realized I guess I’m not a ‘cool’ partier.  When tortilla soup is more appealing than recreational drugs you are with me in the baby party league.

I’ll just stick with my 18 pack of Keystone.  God, I’ll never be cool.

 


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You Ask and You Shall Receive…

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So this blows.

It’s funny because when I went through the pics on my pooter looking for this one, I found it next to the picture titled ‘guy passed out in car’ and ‘tim love equals goober’, all which made me giggle.  Morning giggles.

So I went to cocktail party several weeks ago and everyone was talking about jury duty (zzz) and I mentioned I had never had it (zzz).   Two weeks later this arrives.  I think this was Jesus’ way of telling me to improve my cocktail party banter.  Or to stop writing Jesus jokes in this blog.

Fortunately, I work for myself and can just go galavanting around downtown Monday at 8am when the government informs me to do so.  But unfortunately, Monday is my ‘get over the residual hangover from Sunday day’ and Sunday is ‘eat Happy Bowl in bed all day in the dark day’.  And from that it takes at least 24 hours for the MSG/sodium swelling in my face to go down before I can go in public again.

But my boss gave me the day off which is surprising because she is a real bitch sometimes.

 

Courthouse, you want me.  You get me.  I think this might be the earliest I have been out of bed since high school.


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TCU/LSU & the TV Show Lost…

I went to the TCU/LSU game yesterday because I’m a badass.   This moment has been in the making for two years since it was announced, so obviously, we didn’t halfass it.  Game started at 8pm and tailgating started at 11am.  Who knows how to party?  Sometimes this girl.

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We finally drunkenly made it to Cowboy Stadium.  Shit show.  My boyfriend hates when I use that term but honestly nothing could describe it better.  So as I waited in line for beer for maybe no less than 45 minutes I realized I had no idea where I was.  Nor did I have my ticket.  No worries, surely in a sea of 100,000 people I could find at least one I know.  Anyway, I get to the front of the line, like I said, after 45 minutes, only to be told they are out of beer.  I was too confused to be angry.  “So wait.  I have been standing in this beer line and now you tell me now that I finally get to the front of this line, you have no beer?”  “Yes exactly.  But you can go get in that line over there and they have beer.”  Oh, THAT line of 200 people has beer.  That’s fantastic.  It’s not like I’m fucking doing anything like watching the most expensive football game of my life.  So I decided, ‘fuck this and fuck you’ and wandered around til I found my seat.  When I sit down I hear “where have you been the last hour and where is the beer?”

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Some people I know came in from Louisiana for the game (big TCU fans) and informed me they don’t have Facebook.  Mind.  Blown.  It’s made me reconsider my relationship with Facebook.  That and I posted a pic of me and the boyfriend (I went to TCU and he LSU) saying he threatened to murder me if TCU won.  30 people liked it.  I just said someone was going to murder me.  My friend commented I am probably much ‘scrappier’ than I look.  If you have ever met me, ‘scrappy’ is not a word one would use to describe me.  I think the people from Louisiana are doing it right.

But back to the game.  We were coming home and all I wanted was a grilled cheese from Jack in the Box.  Actually, let me correct myself.  I didn’t want a grilled cheese and curly fries from jack in the box, I wanted pizza.  But when we moved, we moved to an area that only has two Jack in the Boxes (weird) and a Churches (who cares).  Now I have no where to eat drunkenly at 2am unless I go to Jack in the box.  It’s funny, there is a Jack in the Box to the left and there is a Jack in the Box to the right but last night I couldn’t find either if my life depended on it.  I could walk outside right now and hit Jack in the Box with a rock.  Couldn’t find it last night.  Well, as my friend says, “sorry for partying.”  I don’t think he used it in reference to Jack in the Box but whatever.  It’s like that time I woke up and didn’t remember eating at Jack in the Box til I got in my car and there were curly fries everywhere.  Apparently I’m a messy eater.  It was as if I just threw them all around my car.

Cowboy stadium

This has nothing to do with anything but my boyfriend recently introduced me the the tv series Lost.  It’s amazing how everything can be referenced back to Lost.  My boyfriend was asking me the other day (me being a vegetarian) what menu item I would like to have added to restaurants since I hate the ambiguous ‘vegetable plate’ so much.  I said peanut butter sandwiches.  Good idea right?  Maybe a peanut butter sandwich and some chips?  Too delicious for menus apparently.  Like on Lost when Charlie finally is able to give Claire the peanut butter she desperately wants.  She made the comment no one in Australia likes peanut butter. Now that’s a blanket statement.  And is it accurate?  I never really have had much of a desire to go to Australia (even though I have met three people from there and they were all wildly attractive) and now due to the fact Claire said no one likes peanut butter over there I’ll never go.  I always knew they were convicts but they don’t like peanut butter?  It’s all too much.

But anyway, unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your views, TCU lost last night.   I, fortunately, didn’t have to forfeit my life or put my ‘scrappy’ skills to use.

It’s like that time on Lost…


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Chat Room…for the virtual drinkers

As I moved across town, I was plagued with thoughts of ‘where will I get drunk now?’ and ‘who will take out my trash?’.   But as I have lived on Magnolia for five days now I can easily answer those questions that so plagued me that initial drive.  One, as I am learning, I can easily get drunk anywhere.  And two, apparently I will take out the trash.  Which blows.

When we moved in, the landlord said, “Don’t mind all the pan-handlers.  I know them, It’s Little Joe and Waylan.  Just keep telling them you don’t have any money.  It took a couple years but they don’t even bother asking me anymore.”  Well thats fantastic.  Two dude, who probably make more money panhandling than I do at my real job, are going to be asking me for money for the next couple years.

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But I’m getting off track.  I was curious as to what would be my new “Shamrock”, which was my go-to dive by my old house, so we decided to test some places out.

We started at the Chat Room.  Yes I have been here before and then I vowed never to return. But that says something about vows you make when you’re drunk.  They’re stupid and pointless.  I got riled up several years ago because the shot offerings of the day were (keep in mind I was looking to take shots which speaks to my frame of mind) a shot for Democrats, only $3 made with shittyshit, and shots for Republicans, at a less reasonable $12 made with fancy shit.  I get it, I really do.  But being the conservative Republican I am, albeit potty mouthed conservative Republican, I thought it was pretentious and placed my vow to the Gods never to return.   So I went back last night.

chat room- scotch

Honestly, Glenlivet is Glenlivet, and tastes the same anywhere you go.  But having it being served to you from a place that originated as a bar that you could go hang out with all your virtual friends makes it taste more interesting.  I don’t remember if there were any pooters (i.e. computers to all you non techie idiots) inside but I made a mental note to look next time I go back.  And if we are going to be saying truthful things, I will see you there tonight.

tequila- yukatan

Post Chat Room, we went with the best idea at the time, which was tequila shots at Yukatan.  The dude I live with and I have revolve our lives around walking everywhere.  It was a major factor in deciding where to live; we have to be able to walk, get foods and drunk, and then be able to ‘walk’ home.  As I aforementioned about Waylan, I truly don’t have the money to spend on something frivolous, like a DUI and such.  So as we were leaving the Chat Room to head the TWO BLOCKS to Yukatan, the guy we were with wants to drive.  That we would walk two blocks apparently was a concept he couldn’t conceptualize.

So we pile in the back of the suburban and make the 12 second drive.

How many flights of tequila do three people need?  Two.  How many aspirin do I need this morning?  Five.  It helps at 8am while listening to Little Joe and Waylan call each other bitches outside.  I shit you not.

At least I haven’t been asked for money yet.  I don’t fucking have any.  Don’t bother.

SIDE NOTE: Actually the point, that I got out to bed to type, was that we ate at Temaki last night.  And it was fucking amazing.  Two things about it.  One- I saw a woman, sitting with her two kids order an entire bottle of wine and slam it.  Classic moves.  Two- everything was amazing.  Like spectacularly amazing.  Freshly made in-house french macaroons with fresh strawberries have ruined me for all other macaroons.  Even ones I ate in Paris aren’t this good.  I forgot to take pictures but thats fine.  I’m eating there every night for the rest of my life.

Temaki & Chat Room.  Match made in Magnolia heaven.

 


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Concerns about Chick-Fil-A

Pros- it’s delicious.  Cons- everything else.

chick-fil-a

I’ll state the question that’s on everyone’s mind.  Why aren’t they open on Sunday?  I get that old guy is religious but I’m not and I would like to eat it on Sunday.  Chick-Fil-A is a  hangover go-to and Sunday is my hangover go-to day.  As is Friday apparently because I feel like shit but that’s  different story that involves a farmer’s market and a bottle of scotch.

And I think it’s creepy when people say “my pleasure”.  I know it’s not but it sounds sexual.  I don’t like it.

But all this is a moo point, as I am moving farfaraway from my beloved Chick-Fil-A.  And the only fast food around where I’m headed is a Church’s.  Honestly, I’ll have to stop drinking as I can’t chance the hangover and eating at a Church’s.

I already know I’m going to get a text from my boyfriend once he reads this saying “Jesus, you’re eating butter biscuits on a Friday now?”  My name isn’t Jesus but that’s what he calls me.  Anyway, Friday is the new Sunday.  Go eat at Chick-Fil-A.


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Aliens. They don’t exist. Hell? It does. It’s called Roswell.

My friend visited from Los Angeles recently.  My boyfriend made the comment that she said “literally” in every sentence (she does).  “Literally her head exploded…”  “I literally died…”  First of all, no one exploded.  Nor did did anyone die.  Trust me, this would be a better story if any of that shit literally happened.

I guess my point is (moo points), that since I understand the heft of saying “literally”, please believe me when I say…Roswell is literally fucking terrible.  Literally I mean it and it’s fucking terrible.

Unless you give a shit about aliens.  I don’t.  And here’s why.

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I can’t pin point where I should begin my story, is it with the denim twins?  Or is it with the fact that I hung out in one of Roswell’s finest bars, and it was located in the most expensive hotel in the city.  Don’t be jealous, it was the Day’s Inn.  It was literally a shit hole with an indoor pool so the entire building made my hair frizz.

I guess I’ll start there.

Tuesday night, I was sitting in a sushi bar drinking a glass of wine discussing our upcoming trip to Santa Fe.  When I say I had a shitty idea, believe me when I say I wish I could turn back time.  I (being a person who loves adventure and now hates Roswell) said, “since we are DRIVING to Santa Fe, lets go early and go to Roswell (my boyfriend loves aliens.  I would say more but let’s just subtly leave it with ‘Ancient Aliens’ is all that’s currently on our DVR) and we can go a day early.”  Who knew, twenty words could bite my ass so hard that I could still feel it six weeks later.

So the next day, we decided to say “fuck work” (I seem to say that more often than “not fuck work”) and headed to Roswell.  Let me emphasize, t’s fucking terrible.  Oh, and I forgot all my clothes.

Post-sushi, pre-Day’s Inn?  I left ALL my clothes at home.  It’s funny, as we were leaving my boyfriend looked at me and said, “did you leave anything at home we should grab before we get too far?”  I, exasperatingly, rolled my eyes and  said no and that anything I forgot I could just buy in Roswell. Well, guess what., I left all my clothes at home.  LITERALLY.  I had the clothes on my back (which stayed there for five days) and a shirt to sleep in (henceforth called my ‘sleepieshirt’).  As I learned, you honestly don’t need much more.  But we stopped at the Roswell JC Penney and I bought a dress for $15.  So I had my car outfit, a shitty dress and my sleepieshirt.  Made me rethink the way I pack.  Essentially I’m never packing again.  Makes you realize how much you don’t need clothing when you don’t have any.  Just pack your sleepieshirt.

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If you havent been to Roswell (don’t go), it’s much different than you would expect.  There are no alien themed restaurants, which is disappointing.  There are no bars, which is also disappointing wherever you go.  So we roll into town, (we drove through Lubbock which smells like cow poos) around 8.  I urbanspooned it and we found the nicest restaurant in town (not alien themed- there are no alien themed places there which seems to me like someone is losing a LOT of money) which has a 37%.   At that point, after nine hours who gives a shit.  So we ordered a pitcher of beer, as the only liquor they had was tequila (weird), and a pizza and a grilled cheese.  That was mine, I don’t share.  It was a small pizza.  Number one problem with Roswell is there is a time change and I’m hungry.

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Anyways, the next day we headed over to the UFO museum.  Here actually begins my story.  First off, I saw these idiots.  Who still sells denim overalls to someone not working in a farm capacity?  I texted the pic to my friend in LA (the one mentioned above who after reading this is no longer peaking to me) who made the comment about the straps.  MY THOUGHTS TOO!  Did they do it on purpose?  Too many questions that following them around didn’t solve.  Although, oddly enough, they weren’t the weirdest people there.  Lots o’ foreigns.  Like buses of them.

This picture…well, it’s a point of contention.  ‘X-files’?  They include seven posters of ‘X-Files’ but none of ‘Roswell’, the fucking amazing CW show; star crossed lovers…an alien and a Roswalien (henceforth all Roswell residents are Rosaliens.  too easy, honestly this blog wrote itself).  It was like the ‘Twlight’ of alien programming.  Who would go to  vampire museum and not see ‘Twilight’?  I mean, yes we all know it’s terrible, but it was a major grossing movie about vampires.  Side note, I saw Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’ the other day.  Good shit.    Another side note, what ever happened to Gillian Andersons’s career?  Put her on Californication.

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I took this pic because the guy in the middle looks like a guy I dated in high school.  Made me laugh.  Then it made me question my life.  I’m the one in Roswell taking a picture of some guy that looks like a loser I dated 10 years ago.  Oh high school.  I with I could delete you from my memory.

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I’m a fast reader.  I’m also a good judge of things that are boring so those boring things get skimmed.  I figure, I read every fifth word, then at the end I make my on story of the few words I read.  Theme- Aliens.  It took me 9 minutes to go through the place.    It took my boyfriend, henceforth known as my ex-boyfrind (just kidding.  ugh), four hours.

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I took this picture because I couldn’t decide what was the best part of this picture.  The fact that aliens eat at Arbys or that Arby’s has wi-fi.  At least someone is eating at Arbys I guess.

Here is something I thought about while waiting for my boyfriend in the UFO museum (not a sentence I thought I would ever say)-while we were in Paris, there was a haute couture exhibit.  I wanted to go.  My alien loving and believing he-boy did not.  Did we go?  No.  Fast forward five months and I’m in Roswell questioning my life.

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I’m putting an ad in Craigslist for a new boyfriend.  Honestly, the dudes who came to pick up our dining room chairs weren’t that bad…

Sorry if you live in Roswell.  Here is some free advice.  Move.

I normally do cool shit with my pictures but I am waaaayyy too hungover