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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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.


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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.

temaki

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.

temaki- jazz hands

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.

usual

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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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?”

LSU cups

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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The Usual then Mijo’s & thoughts on why I’m lazy…

It’s been awhile since I updated this.  I kept telling myself I was “busy” but as someone oh so dear to me pointed out, I rarely am doing anything and was being lazy.  So I decided it was time to update.  And call that person an asshole.

Last night, the guy I live with and I went to a place over on Magnolia called Mijo’s. We originally went during lunch a couple weeks ago after remembering the restaurant is always on Groupon (doesn’t really seem like a  sound business plan) so we decided to buy $30 worth of food for $15.

the usual- french 75

Last night we went to go have a drink at the Usual (my fave, his least) and walked across the street to Mijo’s.  After looking on the app, my boyfriend sadly informed me that there weren’t any current Groupons for Mijo’s.  It might have been the look on my face (or the passive aggressive comment about how I couldn’t believe he was going to use a Groupon on date night) but I was then subjected to an informative speech about how Groupons are, in fact, not a representation of how much someone loves another person.  As I only half-listened I also recall something about being ‘fiscally savvy’.

Oh, romance…

Mijo- wine

But back to Mijo’s.  One exceptionally great thing about this place is that for $8, you get half a gallon of wine.  I used my hand as a point of reference but my boyfriend informed me that my giant man hands won’t give my bucket of wine the credit it’s due (I have little girlie lady hands, by the way).

mijos- wine 2

Several years ago, he gave me one of those wine glasses that holds an entire bottle of wine.  I like the concept but, honestly, if I’m in the mood that I need to put an entire bottle of wine in one single glass then I’m just going to cut out the middle man and go straw to bottle.

But again, back to Mijo’s.  It’s asian/mexican fusion so it’s confusing.  Plus I really don’t care for asian food so I might not be the best person to listen to.  The guy I was with loved it.  Walking the block to the restaurant, we randomly saw someone we know who said to get the lasagna.  So, maybe it’s mexican/asian/italian fusion.  And they have weird forks.

mijos- food

So in conclusion, I’ll go to Mijo’s for the wine.  My boyfriend will go for the food (look at his little girlie martini in the picture).

Get the lasagna…

 


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Santa Fe. Close your borders.

So as I begin day two of the search for my car, I suddenly realize something.  I’m an idiot.

A couple days ago I went out with friends to celebrate her new engagement.  Now I’m searching for  my car.  So after 45 minutes of walking in the general direction of the general area that houses my car, boom.  Found my car parked next to an El Camino.

Now President Kitty and I are off to an unfamiliar city to drink wine all day for a wine festival.   Fantastic.  Thank god we don’t need my car for this one.


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The Gold Standard.

I really like what they did with this place.  Considering I didn’t care for 7th Haven, it wouldn’t have taken much.  I think that was more my problem though than 7th Haven’s. One time my boyfriend and I decided to walk to Fred’s for lunch and on the way, we stopped in 7th Haven to one drink.  Next thing we know, it’s 6:30 and time to put one foot on the floor and go to bed.  Like I said, probably my fault.

That said, my drink at G.S. was amazing (Pimm’s Cup) but my boyfriend’s was tres terriblé.  That was his fault though.  It’s a aspect of our relationship. I always pick really well and he always picks really poorly.  It’s so baffling to watch, he will pick the absolute worst thing on every menu.  Every time. I never understand it.

I pick awesome.  Always.

Good call, I say ‘fuck Patron’ as well.  That shit has never done anything good for me.