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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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.


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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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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.