I can’t believe New Year’s Eve is barreling down upon us already. So much has happened in 2009, it’s hard for me to put it into words.
And I don’t plan to. Simple as that. You all know what happened in 2009. I’m 97% sure you were also there. So what can I do for you to close out your 2009 since I’m not humorously wrapping up the year? Probably nothing. New Years, like Halloween, is one of those holidays with a disproportionate fun to planning ratio. [Editor's Note: I (Meg) could not disagree with this statement more if I were being paid to. The traumatic heinousness that is New Year's Eve has absolutely nothing to do with the majesty of Halloween. Chris has meth psychosis. That is all.] It’s like the more work you put into planning your night, the less fun you’re going to have. In short, we should all stay home with our cats, read a book, maybe play some Sudoku, and drink tea to celebrate. But you and I both know that’s not going to happen.
As is tradition for me, I plan to black out around 11:59, just seconds before the ball drops. Then pretend to have known where I was when Baby New Year came kicking and screaming into our lives (answer: at the bar getting drink number 972 billion of the night, drunk texting the world some illegible variation of “Happy New Year”). The best part of this tradition is definitely the morning after because the calibre of my misadventures increases significantly on New Years Eve. New Year’s Day is like a scavenger hunt, where I spend all day going from one person to the next finding clues as to what I did the night before. I like to think of it as Supermarket Sweep, except instead of finding riddles about Philadelphia cream cheese in the bread aisle, I’m finding fragments of my shame in the gutters of New York City.
One particularly poignant New Years Eve was spent with our dear Meg McBlogger. To ring in 2008, we met up with Meg’s friend at a bar on the Upper West Side. The price was right and it was a solid plan, so I was 100% down. Cut to NYE circa 10:30, when we trek out from the depths of Brooklyn, to what ends up being borderline Harlem. No worries though because we both were looking good, feeling good, ready to close this year out with style.
Well. Ladies and gentlemen, I was a wittle hasty with my drink, and my memory from this night abruptly ends approximately after saying hello to Meg’s friend. That does not, however, mean that my night ended. Noooooo, far from it. I have this irritating (or amazing) ability to function LONG after my brain shuts down. I only found out about what I did the next day, after waking up on top of my covers in my clothes from the night before.
What I found out is this: I proceeded to THOROUGHLY liquor myself up as the night wore on, which led me to make out with everyone in the bar when the ball dropped. When that party winded down, Meg, her friend, and I decided to hit up a party in Brooklyn. As soon as I exited the cab, I promptly vomited all over the entire borough. Meg, being the saint that she is, realized my level of intoxication, and attempted to flag a cab down to take us home. Being that we lived just north of Satan’s asshole, no cab would take us, until Meg showed a little leg and a lot of chest to some gypsy cab driver. Unfortunately for her, I turned into what she calls “Legs”, meaning my drunk legs kicked in, and I had ambled away somewhere. That somewhere happened to be passed out standing up leaning against the corner between two buildings. Safe. After much cajoling, convincing me a brick wall is not a good sleeping surface, we get into the cab and home safely. SCENE. For me, the retelling of this story is infinitely more fun than actually experiencing it. I’m sure my drunk mind was just picturing a monkey in a top hat riding a unicycle all night.
So what am I trying to get across with this story? Obviously I’m not trying to lead by example. If that were the case, we’d have a situation on our hands. The point is to try and have fun on the night of New Year’s, and you can’t do that when you’re blackout drunk. What if you meet the most amazing guy/girl and have the best sex, but you don’t remember it when you wake up because after you were finished, you wandered away?
This is why I propose the New Year’s Eve buddy system. It’s like a middle school field trip, but with less learning, more adult beverages, and equal amounts of awkward. Naturally, unless you are a lone wolf, you’ll be going out on the town with at least one friend on NYE. Great, now you have your buddy. And what you and your buddy are going to do is, well, everything together. You should be able to scream “BUDDY CHECK!” at any point during the night and get some sort of response from your buddy. A head nod, a wave, the middle finger. Any reaction will suffice. Another beer? BUDDY CHECK! If you’re buddy acknowledges you, then you’re good to go. It’s flawless.
This can also work to prevent some terrible life choices from being made. If you see your friend typing furiously on his/her cell phone all night, you can yell BUDDY CHECK and cockblock that booty text message to the ex at 1 AM. See your friend heading out the door with a fuggo? BUDDY CHECK and you make some excuse to nip that prescription for Valtrex in the bud.
Let’s say you do happen to meet that dream guy/girl and you want to have that amazing sex that you won’t remember. You and your buddy call your final check so you can talk it out. If your buddy approves (after all, two pairs of beer goggles are better than one, right?) then off you go into the wild, wild world.
It’s a win-win situation to me. I know that I would still be asleep in an alleyway in Brooklyn if it weren’t for Meg. Without a buddy, that could be you. And we wouldn’t want you to start out the New Year in a ditch.
In conclusion, I hope that each and every one of you has a great New Year and you all get laid and get drunk and be merry and all your wildest dreams come true. Thanks for reading and I love you all and I’ll see you in 2010!
Showing posts with label Winter Holiday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Winter Holiday. Show all posts
12.30.2009
12.25.2009
I dare you not to cry...
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Here's my present to you: the most heart-wrenching episode of Family Matters in existence: It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Urkel. Enjoy!
12.24.2009
12.22.2009
Results of our Home for the Holidays Competition!
First and foremost, thank you so much to everyone who sent stories in for our little competition! Co-Blogger Chris and I read them and loled our pants off. And once our pants were off, we made love for seven whole hours. That's how much your stories moved us. They made Chris temporarily straight and me temporarily more tolerant of Gingers. Behold your glory. But of course there can only be one winner, so congratulations to...Nate Hinners!
Just kidding, that's not Nate Hinners. That's Nate Dowse, UW-Patville mechanical engineering major and All-City Swim Champ, who's picture comes up when you do a google image search for Nate Hinners. And while I'm sure Nate Dowse is a totally nice guy, one hell of a swimmer and a maven with a wrench, he's not the winner of the Jäger Tap Dispenser—Nate Hinners is. So congratulations Nate! We loved your story and it will run in all of it's awkward glory tomorrow! Enjoy the tap dispenser and take a (few) shot(s) for us.
(And for the record, yes, that really is me on the right. Told you my boobs were big.)
Honorable Mentions (in no particular order):
Toria Johnson.
"When I was twenty, I met my first lesbian. Wait, what? I know what you're thinking. Was this girl living under a rock? I'd really love to say yes, because that would make me feel better about myself. Except...I lived in Bellevue. Which is essentially Seattle. And Seattle regularly hosts things like naked bicycle races. It's not exactly hetero-palooza. But whatever you guys, I am an embarrassingly oblivious person. So when I say that Louise was my first-ever lesbian acquaintance, what I really mean is that this is the first person who was explicitly labeled as a lesbian. But I can pretty confidently say I would have clocked her even without the debrief, because she spent 76% of her time hitting on my grandmother..."
Toria, you had me at "lesbian" and "enema."
Emily Clark
"...So to recap: we're at dinner having discussions and reminiscences of early marriage and how all the married folks met each other. The newly engaged couple start telling HILARIOUS (not) stories of how they just moved in together and it's so crazy learning all these things that you didn't know about the other person like zomg did you know Frank uses q-tips to clean his nostrils every morning upon waking??? etc. etc. Everyone chuckles and my mother turns towards me and says "Don't worry honey, you'll learn all about this when you move in with your husb--- I MEAN PARTNER." (caps/italics/bold added by me but seriously that's what it sounded like in my head). This, of course, halts ALL conversation, every head whips in my direction because HOLY SHIT, SHE'S GAY?!?! Whereupon I practically shit myself trying to swallow the food I had in my mouth and say Haha it'll be a husband fyi just in case you are all wondering ha ha fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
And, uh, there you have it. A long-winded telling of how my mom informed me that I was a lesbian in front of my family and 10 odd neighbor-folk. "
True or false...your mother and my mother go to I Think My Daughter is a Lesbian Anonymous (ITMDLA) meetings together?
Emily Shepard
"...I dated a guy about nine months ago (coincidental number, no this is not a story of how I have a lovechild.) We were not super serious. We were never bf/gf. And it lasted about 6 months total. I broke it off because I thought neither of us cared enough to try any harder at it, and I was done. Have we got an image in our head of how this 'relationship' was? Good..."
You just perfectly described 78% of every relationship I've had in 24 years of life. Tip of the hat to you, Ms. Shepard.
Lilly T.
"First, I have to warn you that this is a story that is disparaging of someone who is dead. So, reading it may secure you a place in hell. I don't know for sure, but I suspect it."
(Honorary win for best introduction ever.)
Holly Phillips
"...The year after, I got gymnastics Barbie for Christmas—a gift I specifically asked for. When I opened it, I was super pumped! I mean, her joints were like all crazy and crap. But my excitement was quickly deflated when my grandpa immediately asked, “Holly, why did you get the black one?” I guess you should know my grandparents are typical southern conservatives—they mean well, but in the end it doesn’t always work out. When I was accepted to Louisiana State University, my grandmother merely said, “Were there a lot of blackies there?” She refers to homosexuals as, “the gays” and thinks I’m a lesbian after I laughed at something Ellen Degeneres said..."
Andrea Koebbe
"...It began one Christmas evening when I was 15. The presents had been unwrapped, the food eaten, and my family and I sat around the room in almost silence whilst the realization that though we only see each other twice a year, Christmas and Easter, we still have nothing to say to each other slowly crept into my mind. Enter my mother. After putting away the leftovers she sat down and said, “I was watching this show the other day and it said it’s the aphrodisiac in turkey that makes everyone so sleepy. That’s why you are all so lethargic and quiet.”'
God, if only. That would justify why I eat so much turkey quite nicely.
"Wannabe McBlogger"
"...Well, either I drank far more than I should have or the weed was a lot better than I thought because the next thing I know, I'm staring at the empty seat at the table and ask...."Where's Bruno Seabass???!!!1" Where's.Bruno.Seabass. The whole table turns and stares at me with the expression just screaming "what in the fuckity fuck fuck?!!?!"
Anna Fulmer
Full disclosure, I'm half Spanish, am pretty tan in the summer, and have dark hair and eyes. However, I in no way look like Trevor's 65 year old, grey-haired, squat, Mexican housekeeper."
Christine O'Brien
"...I then proceeded to tell my entire extended family about my friend Landon who had just been released from max security prison (after 4 days due to overcrowding in the regular jail) for serving alcohol to minors. I later told my mother that I had slept with this boy freshman year, in a handicapped bathroom, though I didn't find out about this fact until literally years later, when he tried to reignite the fire. Also, I used to cheat on my high school boyfriend with Landon's roommate, Alex. My mother was, how do I say this...not impressed."
I appreciate that my note on Christine's piece simply says: "Sex in a handicap bathroom. Christine, you are a girl after my own heart."
----------------------------------
Thanks again to everyone who submitted, thank you to jagershop.com for contributing the tap and make sure to check out the blog tomorrow for Nate's full story! <3
Just kidding, that's not Nate Hinners. That's Nate Dowse, UW-Patville mechanical engineering major and All-City Swim Champ, who's picture comes up when you do a google image search for Nate Hinners. And while I'm sure Nate Dowse is a totally nice guy, one hell of a swimmer and a maven with a wrench, he's not the winner of the Jäger Tap Dispenser—Nate Hinners is. So congratulations Nate! We loved your story and it will run in all of it's awkward glory tomorrow! Enjoy the tap dispenser and take a (few) shot(s) for us.
(And for the record, yes, that really is me on the right. Told you my boobs were big.)
Honorable Mentions (in no particular order):
Toria Johnson.
"When I was twenty, I met my first lesbian. Wait, what? I know what you're thinking. Was this girl living under a rock? I'd really love to say yes, because that would make me feel better about myself. Except...I lived in Bellevue. Which is essentially Seattle. And Seattle regularly hosts things like naked bicycle races. It's not exactly hetero-palooza. But whatever you guys, I am an embarrassingly oblivious person. So when I say that Louise was my first-ever lesbian acquaintance, what I really mean is that this is the first person who was explicitly labeled as a lesbian. But I can pretty confidently say I would have clocked her even without the debrief, because she spent 76% of her time hitting on my grandmother..."
Toria, you had me at "lesbian" and "enema."
Emily Clark
"...So to recap: we're at dinner having discussions and reminiscences of early marriage and how all the married folks met each other. The newly engaged couple start telling HILARIOUS (not) stories of how they just moved in together and it's so crazy learning all these things that you didn't know about the other person like zomg did you know Frank uses q-tips to clean his nostrils every morning upon waking??? etc. etc. Everyone chuckles and my mother turns towards me and says "Don't worry honey, you'll learn all about this when you move in with your husb--- I MEAN PARTNER." (caps/italics/bold added by me but seriously that's what it sounded like in my head). This, of course, halts ALL conversation, every head whips in my direction because HOLY SHIT, SHE'S GAY?!?! Whereupon I practically shit myself trying to swallow the food I had in my mouth and say Haha it'll be a husband fyi just in case you are all wondering ha ha ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
And, uh, there you have it. A long-winded telling of how my mom informed me that I was a lesbian in front of my family and 10 odd neighbor-folk. "
True or false...your mother and my mother go to I Think My Daughter is a Lesbian Anonymous (ITMDLA) meetings together?
Emily Shepard
"...I dated a guy about nine months ago (coincidental number, no this is not a story of how I have a lovechild.) We were not super serious. We were never bf/gf. And it lasted about 6 months total. I broke it off because I thought neither of us cared enough to try any harder at it, and I was done. Have we got an image in our head of how this 'relationship' was? Good..."
You just perfectly described 78% of every relationship I've had in 24 years of life. Tip of the hat to you, Ms. Shepard.
Lilly T.
"First, I have to warn you that this is a story that is disparaging of someone who is dead. So, reading it may secure you a place in hell. I don't know for sure, but I suspect it."
(Honorary win for best introduction ever.)
Holly Phillips
"...The year after, I got gymnastics Barbie for Christmas—a gift I specifically asked for. When I opened it, I was super pumped! I mean, her joints were like all crazy and crap. But my excitement was quickly deflated when my grandpa immediately asked, “Holly, why did you get the black one?” I guess you should know my grandparents are typical southern conservatives—they mean well, but in the end it doesn’t always work out. When I was accepted to Louisiana State University, my grandmother merely said, “Were there a lot of blackies there?” She refers to homosexuals as, “the gays” and thinks I’m a lesbian after I laughed at something Ellen Degeneres said..."
Andrea Koebbe
"...It began one Christmas evening when I was 15. The presents had been unwrapped, the food eaten, and my family and I sat around the room in almost silence whilst the realization that though we only see each other twice a year, Christmas and Easter, we still have nothing to say to each other slowly crept into my mind. Enter my mother. After putting away the leftovers she sat down and said, “I was watching this show the other day and it said it’s the aphrodisiac in turkey that makes everyone so sleepy. That’s why you are all so lethargic and quiet.”'
God, if only. That would justify why I eat so much turkey quite nicely.
"Wannabe McBlogger"
"...Well, either I drank far more than I should have or the weed was a lot better than I thought because the next thing I know, I'm staring at the empty seat at the table and ask...."Where's Bruno Seabass???!!!1" Where's.Bruno.Seabass. The whole table turns and stares at me with the expression just screaming "what in the fuckity fuck fuck?!!?!"
Me: You know, that huge black guy (please note, all 4 people sitting at the table were the whitest whities in Whitieville)
Them: umm...who!?
Me: BRUNO SEABASS!!! YOU KNOW! THE HUGE BLACK GUY?!?!?!?!?!!!! He was sitting right there!!!!
I even created a themesong for him...
Seeeaaaaabass du du dududu
Smoke some grass du du dududu
Kick some ass du du dudududu
...and so on....
Yup. I was hallucinating. In front of my boyfriend's mother. The first time I met her. I think I blacked out after that because I'm not sure how I talked my way out of it. All I know is that 6 years later I was married to that boy. His mother and sister-in-law STILL ask me where Bruno Seabass is. And a little piece of me dies every time they do."
I loved this story. Not to mention the points garnered for the pen name and for citing the classic Nokia game, Snake.
Mike Spurill
"...3) Holiday Party 2005: My good friends Ian and Colin were throwing a Christmas party which I was super excited about. They always had plenty of booze and were good company. The party turned out to be a hodge poge of Marys all shoved into a small two bedroom apartment taking turns lip syncing "Defying Gravity" and talking about who ever wasn't in ear shot. So overall it was a success. I should probably preface this story by saying that I am kind of the drunk mother of the group which usually translates into really aggressive cock blocking. About a half a bottle of vodka into Holiday Party 2005 I became uncomfortably irritated with one of the other gays. It's no secret that gays sometimes have a problem with any word that ends in the letter 's' and that we move our wrist fast enough to keep every light in New York on for a solid hour. This guy didn't talk a whole lot but when he did it was nothing short of un nerving. If Macy Gray had a stroke and then was asked to sing at the Grammys only days later out of sheer pity (and if she was ever asked to sing at the Grammys it would be out of sheer pity anyway) that is what this kid would sound like FUCKING AWFUL. Three quaters a bottle of vodka into Holiday Party 2005 we decided to go to the bar. It was about this time that I noticed Gay Macy Grays stroked out self was pawing at my good friend Ian. I could tell that Ian was getting frustrated and somewhat uncomfortable and I totally understood. Then I noticed that this kid had something in his hair. I am not usually a nice person I am a self described 'hater' but it was the Holidays and I thought I would help the kid out. So I walked over and said " HEY KID! YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN YOUR HAIR COME HERE!" He looked at me perplexed and terrified as I reached for the side of his head. My friend Colin happened to look over and shouted "NO!!!" I reached for the side of his ear and proceeded to pull what looked to be a string. It was then that Gay Gray began to honk....not scream HONK. As it turns out this kid was actually deaf and I had just yanked out some tube and a hearing aid. Everybody looked at me like I was the only Jew in the room. Everybody was shocked and I have to admit that I did feel mildly bad about the whole thing. I felt like I had just sucker punched Helen Keller's great, great, great, great, great nephew or something. A few people helped him get everything situated and everyone began to play it off ....awkward."
In the words of the great Rachel Zoe: I die.
I loved this story. Not to mention the points garnered for the pen name and for citing the classic Nokia game, Snake.
Mike Spurill
"...3) Holiday Party 2005: My good friends Ian and Colin were throwing a Christmas party which I was super excited about. They always had plenty of booze and were good company. The party turned out to be a hodge poge of Marys all shoved into a small two bedroom apartment taking turns lip syncing "Defying Gravity" and talking about who ever wasn't in ear shot. So overall it was a success. I should probably preface this story by saying that I am kind of the drunk mother of the group which usually translates into really aggressive cock blocking. About a half a bottle of vodka into Holiday Party 2005 I became uncomfortably irritated with one of the other gays. It's no secret that gays sometimes have a problem with any word that ends in the letter 's' and that we move our wrist fast enough to keep every light in New York on for a solid hour. This guy didn't talk a whole lot but when he did it was nothing short of un nerving. If Macy Gray had a stroke and then was asked to sing at the Grammys only days later out of sheer pity (and if she was ever asked to sing at the Grammys it would be out of sheer pity anyway) that is what this kid would sound like FUCKING AWFUL. Three quaters a bottle of vodka into Holiday Party 2005 we decided to go to the bar. It was about this time that I noticed Gay Macy Grays stroked out self was pawing at my good friend Ian. I could tell that Ian was getting frustrated and somewhat uncomfortable and I totally understood. Then I noticed that this kid had something in his hair. I am not usually a nice person I am a self described 'hater' but it was the Holidays and I thought I would help the kid out. So I walked over and said " HEY KID! YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN YOUR HAIR COME HERE!" He looked at me perplexed and terrified as I reached for the side of his head. My friend Colin happened to look over and shouted "NO!!!" I reached for the side of his ear and proceeded to pull what looked to be a string. It was then that Gay Gray began to honk....not scream HONK. As it turns out this kid was actually deaf and I had just yanked out some tube and a hearing aid. Everybody looked at me like I was the only Jew in the room. Everybody was shocked and I have to admit that I did feel mildly bad about the whole thing. I felt like I had just sucker punched Helen Keller's great, great, great, great, great nephew or something. A few people helped him get everything situated and everyone began to play it off ....awkward."
In the words of the great Rachel Zoe: I die.
Anna Fulmer
"...Wife: You know who she (me) looks like? Honey back me up, who does she look like?
Boss: I dont know babe, who?
Wife: Trevor, come on, who does she look like
Trevor: I dont know...
Wife: LIKE CONSUELA!! TREVOR, YOUR HELP, THE ONE WHO MADE US THE ENCHILADAS AT YOUR PARENTS HOUSE!!! RIGHT???
Christine O'Brien
"...I then proceeded to tell my entire extended family about my friend Landon who had just been released from max security prison (after 4 days due to overcrowding in the regular jail) for serving alcohol to minors. I later told my mother that I had slept with this boy freshman year, in a handicapped bathroom, though I didn't find out about this fact until literally years later, when he tried to reignite the fire. Also, I used to cheat on my high school boyfriend with Landon's roommate, Alex. My mother was, how do I say this...not impressed."
I appreciate that my note on Christine's piece simply says: "Sex in a handicap bathroom. Christine, you are a girl after my own heart."
----------------------------------
Thanks again to everyone who submitted, thank you to jagershop.com for contributing the tap and make sure to check out the blog tomorrow for Nate's full story! <3
12.15.2009
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
It's hard to believe that the holiday season is already upon us. Hanukkah is already underway, Christmas is next Friday, and Wikipedia tells me Kwanzaa starts next Saturday. Wacky.
I don't know about you all, but 2009 has been a whirlwind of a year for me. It just went by so fast. It seems like just yesterday I was blacking out at Arctic Bar or some other ludicrously overpriced watering hole for New Years' (my goal this year is to remember the ball dropping...I have no memory of this last year). Not long after that, I was listening to Celine Dion's "All By Myself" and crying on Valentine's Day. Then pretty soon came Arbor Day and Flag Day, which were celebrated with copious amounts of trees and flags, respectively. Next, the first 4th of July I haven't spent with Meg in five years (and therefore the most depressing. See Valentine's Day.), followed by Bastille Day, Labor Day, and before you know it, it's Halloween and I still don't have a costume, so I threw one together in 5 minutes that definitely did not involve pants. Three short weeks later, I gave myself a hernia from eating too much turkey, and now, here I am trying to get into the holiday spirit.
In the olden days, it was never hard to get into the Christmas spirit, because as a child, you don't have to concern yourself with gift giving/decorating/sending out cards/etc. All you're concerned about is what the flip is going to be under that Christmas tree/Hanukkah menorah/Kwanzaa fruit when the time comes. And if it's not a pony this year, you're going to throw the most epic tantrum on the planet. This could apply to any year while you are still living at home, with varying levels of tantrum. Once your mom trots out the holiday decorations/traditions, you know it's on. Even after you move away to college, it's still fairly easy to get into the swing of things. A full month off to do nothing but celebrate the holidays? Yes and please.
Once you're out there in the world on your own, and you have to make the holiday happen for yourself is when it gets a little tough. The days between Arbor Day and Bastille Day are no different than the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas when you're doing the same thing for 8 hours a day. "Christmas is here," you say to no one in particular, because all of these spreadsheets are driving you crazy, "I had barely noticed. Powerpoint. Synergy. Conference call. Dilbert. Dunder Mifflin. More office buzzwords." This past weekend, I finished all my shopping, put up/decorated my tree, I even filled out all my Christmas cards, but I'm still finding the holiday spirit lacking. Maybe this is because I have yet to watch It's a Wonderful Life with the fam. (Which, if you think about it, a horrible Christmas movie. A movie about a failed suicide on Christmas Eve? Really, George Bailey? You're going to off yourself on Christmas Eve and ruin the holiday forever for your wife and kids?) All of the traditional methods of getting into the holiday spirit thus far have failed, so to help me help myself get jolly with it, I put together this short list of:
Co-Blogger Chris' Alternative Holiday Spirit Ideas
1. Take a tip from Buddy the Elf. Who better to help you feel the joy of Christmas than Buddy the Elf? (Who also talks to narwhals!) The trick with Buddy is to get rull rull simple-minded. Take a spin in a revolving door! Eat spaghetti with maple syrup! Spook a coworker in the bathroom by joining them in an impromptu duet! Literally any activity will get you in the Christmas spirit with the help of Buddy the Elf, because everyday is like Christmas for him. Sending a package via interoffice mail? Wow! It's like someone in your office is getting an early Christmas present, in manila wrapper paper! Listening to a voicemail at work? Santa sure could use that fancy machine, that would save space over all those pesky letters! See? If you believe it hard enough, even you can make Santa's sleigh fly.
2. Kill Santa. Whoa, morbid, right? But it worked for Tim Allen. One minute he's all "Santa doesn't exist and it's tool time and what have you," and then the next minute he offs the big man, and literally becomes Santa. It's sort of sink or swim in this situation, you are either going to get your jolly, fat ass into the Christmas spirit, or you're going to take a nosedive off some poor schmuck's roof and foist your responsibility on him. It's probably infinitely easier and far less dangerous to your health to go for the first option. Also, as Santa, you can a) eat all the cookies you want without having to worry about gaining weight, because it's sort of expected of you, b) see the world, even if it is at breakneck speed, and c) go home to Mrs. Claus, because have you seen how fine that woman looks in her red velvet negligee? Damn girl, don't hurt 'em.
3. Steal someone else's Christmas. Chris, back the truck up. First, you want me to kill Santa and now you're telling me to steal from other people? What kind of list is this? Well, my friends, the only real way to understand Christmas, is to understand that Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if, Christmas, perhaps means a little bit more? (Don't try telling this to 10-yr-old Chris, because he was dead set on getting a Talkboy.) Think about the Grinch. That ugly, lonely bastard is deadset on destroying Christmas. But all it takes is one verse of "Dahoo-dooray" (or whatever song the Whos sing, this always baffled me) to turn him into the most Christmas-y bitch on the planet. This could work for you, too. Try throwing a trash can through the plate glass window of a Best Buy and making off with a digital camera. Or poaching the Salvation Army's collection jug. Once you're arrested, you'll realize that Christmas was never about getting a new plasma screen TV. The only downside is that your cellmate, Spike, doesn't celebrate the holidays, so your good cheer will most likely go to waste.
4. Defend your house from the Grinch. If only the Whos were as resourceful as Kevin McAllister. Coat the insides of their chimneys with Who-pudding, or break with Who-ornaments and strew them in front of the hearth. You can bet if Kevin McAllister were Cindy Lou Who's big brother, the Grinch would never have stolen Christmas. And the Grinch would also probably have tetanus and a dire need for a doctor once he left Who-ville. I wouldn't say that Kevin McAllister didn't have the holiday spirit in him, but he was kind of a bratty little kid. An ingenious little brat, but a brat nonetheless. If I were in his shoes, I would have nonstop peed my pants in the attic while Marv and Earl ransacked my house. Tying up paint buckets and setting up booby traps? Eh, that's way too much work. I want my mom. But boy does he appreciate his family/Christmas after having defended himself and their home all night long.
5. Switch up your holiday traditions. Just look at Jack Skellington. No one went at Christmas with more fervor than Jack, simply because it was something new and different. If it's Halloween every Christmas, eventually, you're going to wish it was actually Christmas. Sure, maybe he didn't get it 100% right, but you can't blame him for trying. If you're hesitant to wear a Scream mask for the birth of Jesus, maybe decorate an Easter egg or plant a tree or champion civil rights. Holiday spirit doesn't have to come from eggnog and making out under the mistletoe. It can some from Oktoberfest beer and making out over a romantic candelit love-themed dinner. But Halloween at Christmas doesn't seem like a bad idea. Trick or treating for Christmas presents. Haunted Santa's houses (with ghost reindeer and zombie elves!). Halloween caroling? Eh, it's a work in progress.
So there you have it. Some different ways for you to get into the Christmas spirit. Though I suppose they aren't for everyone. I guess you can just drink your eggnog and sing your traditional carols like everyone else. That works too. I guess.
I don't know about you all, but 2009 has been a whirlwind of a year for me. It just went by so fast. It seems like just yesterday I was blacking out at Arctic Bar or some other ludicrously overpriced watering hole for New Years' (my goal this year is to remember the ball dropping...I have no memory of this last year). Not long after that, I was listening to Celine Dion's "All By Myself" and crying on Valentine's Day. Then pretty soon came Arbor Day and Flag Day, which were celebrated with copious amounts of trees and flags, respectively. Next, the first 4th of July I haven't spent with Meg in five years (and therefore the most depressing. See Valentine's Day.), followed by Bastille Day, Labor Day, and before you know it, it's Halloween and I still don't have a costume, so I threw one together in 5 minutes that definitely did not involve pants. Three short weeks later, I gave myself a hernia from eating too much turkey, and now, here I am trying to get into the holiday spirit.
In the olden days, it was never hard to get into the Christmas spirit, because as a child, you don't have to concern yourself with gift giving/decorating/sending out cards/etc. All you're concerned about is what the flip is going to be under that Christmas tree/Hanukkah menorah/Kwanzaa fruit when the time comes. And if it's not a pony this year, you're going to throw the most epic tantrum on the planet. This could apply to any year while you are still living at home, with varying levels of tantrum. Once your mom trots out the holiday decorations/traditions, you know it's on. Even after you move away to college, it's still fairly easy to get into the swing of things. A full month off to do nothing but celebrate the holidays? Yes and please.
Once you're out there in the world on your own, and you have to make the holiday happen for yourself is when it gets a little tough. The days between Arbor Day and Bastille Day are no different than the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas when you're doing the same thing for 8 hours a day. "Christmas is here," you say to no one in particular, because all of these spreadsheets are driving you crazy, "I had barely noticed. Powerpoint. Synergy. Conference call. Dilbert. Dunder Mifflin. More office buzzwords." This past weekend, I finished all my shopping, put up/decorated my tree, I even filled out all my Christmas cards, but I'm still finding the holiday spirit lacking. Maybe this is because I have yet to watch It's a Wonderful Life with the fam. (Which, if you think about it, a horrible Christmas movie. A movie about a failed suicide on Christmas Eve? Really, George Bailey? You're going to off yourself on Christmas Eve and ruin the holiday forever for your wife and kids?) All of the traditional methods of getting into the holiday spirit thus far have failed, so to help me help myself get jolly with it, I put together this short list of:
Co-Blogger Chris' Alternative Holiday Spirit Ideas
1. Take a tip from Buddy the Elf. Who better to help you feel the joy of Christmas than Buddy the Elf? (Who also talks to narwhals!) The trick with Buddy is to get rull rull simple-minded. Take a spin in a revolving door! Eat spaghetti with maple syrup! Spook a coworker in the bathroom by joining them in an impromptu duet! Literally any activity will get you in the Christmas spirit with the help of Buddy the Elf, because everyday is like Christmas for him. Sending a package via interoffice mail? Wow! It's like someone in your office is getting an early Christmas present, in manila wrapper paper! Listening to a voicemail at work? Santa sure could use that fancy machine, that would save space over all those pesky letters! See? If you believe it hard enough, even you can make Santa's sleigh fly.
2. Kill Santa. Whoa, morbid, right? But it worked for Tim Allen. One minute he's all "Santa doesn't exist and it's tool time and what have you," and then the next minute he offs the big man, and literally becomes Santa. It's sort of sink or swim in this situation, you are either going to get your jolly, fat ass into the Christmas spirit, or you're going to take a nosedive off some poor schmuck's roof and foist your responsibility on him. It's probably infinitely easier and far less dangerous to your health to go for the first option. Also, as Santa, you can a) eat all the cookies you want without having to worry about gaining weight, because it's sort of expected of you, b) see the world, even if it is at breakneck speed, and c) go home to Mrs. Claus, because have you seen how fine that woman looks in her red velvet negligee? Damn girl, don't hurt 'em.
3. Steal someone else's Christmas. Chris, back the truck up. First, you want me to kill Santa and now you're telling me to steal from other people? What kind of list is this? Well, my friends, the only real way to understand Christmas, is to understand that Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if, Christmas, perhaps means a little bit more? (Don't try telling this to 10-yr-old Chris, because he was dead set on getting a Talkboy.) Think about the Grinch. That ugly, lonely bastard is deadset on destroying Christmas. But all it takes is one verse of "Dahoo-dooray" (or whatever song the Whos sing, this always baffled me) to turn him into the most Christmas-y bitch on the planet. This could work for you, too. Try throwing a trash can through the plate glass window of a Best Buy and making off with a digital camera. Or poaching the Salvation Army's collection jug. Once you're arrested, you'll realize that Christmas was never about getting a new plasma screen TV. The only downside is that your cellmate, Spike, doesn't celebrate the holidays, so your good cheer will most likely go to waste.
4. Defend your house from the Grinch. If only the Whos were as resourceful as Kevin McAllister. Coat the insides of their chimneys with Who-pudding, or break with Who-ornaments and strew them in front of the hearth. You can bet if Kevin McAllister were Cindy Lou Who's big brother, the Grinch would never have stolen Christmas. And the Grinch would also probably have tetanus and a dire need for a doctor once he left Who-ville. I wouldn't say that Kevin McAllister didn't have the holiday spirit in him, but he was kind of a bratty little kid. An ingenious little brat, but a brat nonetheless. If I were in his shoes, I would have nonstop peed my pants in the attic while Marv and Earl ransacked my house. Tying up paint buckets and setting up booby traps? Eh, that's way too much work. I want my mom. But boy does he appreciate his family/Christmas after having defended himself and their home all night long.
5. Switch up your holiday traditions. Just look at Jack Skellington. No one went at Christmas with more fervor than Jack, simply because it was something new and different. If it's Halloween every Christmas, eventually, you're going to wish it was actually Christmas. Sure, maybe he didn't get it 100% right, but you can't blame him for trying. If you're hesitant to wear a Scream mask for the birth of Jesus, maybe decorate an Easter egg or plant a tree or champion civil rights. Holiday spirit doesn't have to come from eggnog and making out under the mistletoe. It can some from Oktoberfest beer and making out over a romantic candelit love-themed dinner. But Halloween at Christmas doesn't seem like a bad idea. Trick or treating for Christmas presents. Haunted Santa's houses (with ghost reindeer and zombie elves!). Halloween caroling? Eh, it's a work in progress.
So there you have it. Some different ways for you to get into the Christmas spirit. Though I suppose they aren't for everyone. I guess you can just drink your eggnog and sing your traditional carols like everyone else. That works too. I guess.
11.25.2009
Drinking Game Friday (sort of) has got CHARISMA!
As is becoming a Drinking Game Friday tradition around here, I'd like to start out today's post by apologizing to our Twitter followers for the obnoxious spam messages you may have received from me last night. My account was hacked. Again. I, as a human being, have a cold and my Twitter account has a virus. EVERYTHING IS FALLING APART! What kills me the most is that "I" sent a spam-tastic DM to our most important contact at Jäger and now she has the spam virus. So, great. I'm sure we'll totally get that Jäger deal now that I gave their PR director Twitter scabies. Super. I don't even know how this keeps happening. I don't click on any shady links and my password isn't "password123" (...anymore.) Shouldn't they be targeting more lucrative people like Kim Kardashian or something? UGH, I'm so pissed. If Suzy Soro is behind this—im'ma fly to Hollywood and cut a bitch personally. In conclusion: I apologize to our Twitter followers and if you don't follow us on Twitter, you should because I'll give you all sorts of fancy online diseases!
Speaking of downers: Co-Blogger Chris and I will be taking the rest of the week off to go back home and stuff our faces with turkey, play with our respective parent's cats and do some general lolling about in the spirit of our Native American brothers. I'll be making a casserole for Thanksgiving dinner this year and given what an obvious shit show that will be, I've decided to live Tweet the entire process. (@2birds1blog! Sure I'll give you Twitter AIDS, but I'll also give you a few LOLZ in the process!)
I am so unbelievably excited about this week's drinking game! It's taken Ex-Co-Blogger Eddie and I years to perfect it. You see, back in the day when Eddie and I we were both awkward (well, more awkward than usual) freshman at AU, what bonded us as insta-biffles was our mutual love of crappy pop-culture. One of the biggest "OHMYGAWD, ME TOOO!!!!1" moments in our friendship came when we discovered that we both have the same favorite Thanksgiving movie—Son-in-Law. Son-in-Law is the ideal major motion picture: it has action, comedy, romance, Pauly Shore, Tiffany-Amber Thiessan (post Saved by the Bell; pre dropping of the Amber) and ROLLERBLADES, ROLLERBLADES, ROLLERBLADES! This past Saturday night, Eddie and I sat down with our laptops, signed onto g-chat, poured ourselves a mighty drink and from 140 miles apart, tested this week's drinking game. (God bless technology.) (And yes I did say Saturday night. She was going out after and I was nursing my cold. DON'T JUDGE US!) It is a privilege and an honor to present you with (the very potent) Meg & Ex-Co-Blogger Eddie's Ultimate Son-in-Law Drinking Game!
You can drink whatever you want for the majority of the movie (we both went with Bacardi and Coke Zero) but there's a specific part of the movie where you're really going to need to utilize a delicious and refreshing Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler. So, have that on deck.
Rules
Drink When:
- The "EEEE-EEEEEEE, EEEEE-eeeee!" music plays
- Walter says, "DAMNIT ZACK!"
- Walter says, "Oh shit."
- Walter calls Crawl by the wrong name (i.e. Crotch or Crap)
- Crawl says "Beck-kuhhhh"
- Anyone says "buuuuuu-dddddddy"
- Anyone says "charisma"
- Anyone says "mingling"
- Anyone besides Pauly Shore talks in that bro-kennnn syll-a-bleeee style of talk-iiiiiing that became so synonymous with the nine-tiessssss
- STEVEN TYLER PJ'S! STEVEN TYLER PJ'S!
- There's a totally meta reference to another Pauly Shore movie
- Rebecca's butterfly tattoo is shown or referenced
- ANYONE ROLLERBLADES (drink twice if Rollerblading solves an everyday problem like filling troughs with animal feed)
- Animals are widdled or a widdled animal is shown (this rule gets you surprisingly fucked up)
- Boobs are referred to as "cones"
- God knows what is referred to as "nugs"
- You can easily see one of Rebecca's outfits being in any given Urban Outfitters right now
- You see naked butt
- There is an uncomfortably open dialogue between Crawl/Rebecca/Walter/Connie about Walter & Connie's sex life (i.e.: "I'm not going to lie to you Mrs. Warner; you're giving me a total semi right now" or "Becca, check out the wood I created for your dad!" or when Becca tells her mom that she could hear them have sex last night and everyone is like HAHAHA, yeah.)
- "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" plays
- The following exchange goes down:
Walter: DAMNIT! What's that kid's name?!
Theo: SOMETIMES HE ANSWERS TO ASSHOLE!
And just for me and Eddie, chug your Bartles & Jaymes when:
Crawl: [sees Walter Sr. widdling on the porch] Oh, my God, it's Bartles or Jaymes. Dude, which one are you?! [I don't know why we thought this scene was so hilarious at the time, but it's became this huge inside joke in our friendship. One of my favorite HAHA—college! pictures is of Eddie in a giant purple sweater deep-throating an empty Bartles & Jaymes bottle at her Wet Hot American Summer themed 21st birthday party. It encapsulates the entire college experience into one concise photograph. Ah, Memories!]
And now I leave you with today's Everything You Ever Wanted to Know... question and answer. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday! Unless you're not in the States...in which case, have a great rest of the week at work! Ha ha...awkward. We love you guys and don't forget about Jäger Ball NEXT SATURDAY NIGHT! AH, HOLY SHIT! We'll see you Monday! Buh-bye!
Dr. Reuben's Question and Answer of the Day:
If a girl is pregnant, wouldn't she be better off without one of these abortionists?
Sometimes it doesn't make any difference. A self-induced abortion can be just as dangerous. The traditional do-it-yourself method hasn't changed in the past ten thousand years. The primitive tribes in Africa use the same technique as the most up-to-date swinger in Greenwich Village. Only the instrument is different. The disconsolate African housewife uses her abortion stick. It may be an intricately carved family heirloom or just a sharpened branch she pulled from a tree. It doesn't matter because she only needs it for a moment.
She squats in front of her hut, pushes aside her bark-cloth skirt, and slides the stick into her vagina. She then guides it more or less carefully through the cervix and into the uterine cavity. Then she pushes it around vigorously, pulls it out and hopes for the best.
Eight thousand miles away her light-skinned sister is sprawled on her queen-sized bed. She brushes aside her expensive nylon underwear, spreads her carefully shaved and powdered legs and with the aid of her cherished magnifying mirror guides her abortion stick toward its final goal. Only she uses a coat hanger.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Speaking of downers: Co-Blogger Chris and I will be taking the rest of the week off to go back home and stuff our faces with turkey, play with our respective parent's cats and do some general lolling about in the spirit of our Native American brothers. I'll be making a casserole for Thanksgiving dinner this year and given what an obvious shit show that will be, I've decided to live Tweet the entire process. (@2birds1blog! Sure I'll give you Twitter AIDS, but I'll also give you a few LOLZ in the process!)
I am so unbelievably excited about this week's drinking game! It's taken Ex-Co-Blogger Eddie and I years to perfect it. You see, back in the day when Eddie and I we were both awkward (well, more awkward than usual) freshman at AU, what bonded us as insta-biffles was our mutual love of crappy pop-culture. One of the biggest "OHMYGAWD, ME TOOO!!!!1" moments in our friendship came when we discovered that we both have the same favorite Thanksgiving movie—Son-in-Law. Son-in-Law is the ideal major motion picture: it has action, comedy, romance, Pauly Shore, Tiffany-Amber Thiessan (post Saved by the Bell; pre dropping of the Amber) and ROLLERBLADES, ROLLERBLADES, ROLLERBLADES! This past Saturday night, Eddie and I sat down with our laptops, signed onto g-chat, poured ourselves a mighty drink and from 140 miles apart, tested this week's drinking game. (God bless technology.) (And yes I did say Saturday night. She was going out after and I was nursing my cold. DON'T JUDGE US!) It is a privilege and an honor to present you with (the very potent) Meg & Ex-Co-Blogger Eddie's Ultimate Son-in-Law Drinking Game!
You can drink whatever you want for the majority of the movie (we both went with Bacardi and Coke Zero) but there's a specific part of the movie where you're really going to need to utilize a delicious and refreshing Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler. So, have that on deck.
Rules
Drink When:
- The "EEEE-EEEEEEE, EEEEE-eeeee!" music plays
- Walter says, "DAMNIT ZACK!"
- Walter says, "Oh shit."
- Walter calls Crawl by the wrong name (i.e. Crotch or Crap)
- Crawl says "Beck-kuhhhh"
- Anyone says "buuuuuu-dddddddy"
- Anyone says "charisma"
- Anyone says "mingling"
- Anyone besides Pauly Shore talks in that bro-kennnn syll-a-bleeee style of talk-iiiiiing that became so synonymous with the nine-tiessssss
- STEVEN TYLER PJ'S! STEVEN TYLER PJ'S!
- There's a totally meta reference to another Pauly Shore movie
- Rebecca's butterfly tattoo is shown or referenced
- ANYONE ROLLERBLADES (drink twice if Rollerblading solves an everyday problem like filling troughs with animal feed)
- Animals are widdled or a widdled animal is shown (this rule gets you surprisingly fucked up)
- Boobs are referred to as "cones"
- God knows what is referred to as "nugs"
- You can easily see one of Rebecca's outfits being in any given Urban Outfitters right now
- You see naked butt
- There is an uncomfortably open dialogue between Crawl/Rebecca/Walter/Connie about Walter & Connie's sex life (i.e.: "I'm not going to lie to you Mrs. Warner; you're giving me a total semi right now" or "Becca, check out the wood I created for your dad!" or when Becca tells her mom that she could hear them have sex last night and everyone is like HAHAHA, yeah.)
- "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" plays
- The following exchange goes down:
Walter: DAMNIT! What's that kid's name?!
Theo: SOMETIMES HE ANSWERS TO ASSHOLE!
And just for me and Eddie, chug your Bartles & Jaymes when:
Crawl: [sees Walter Sr. widdling on the porch] Oh, my God, it's Bartles or Jaymes. Dude, which one are you?! [I don't know why we thought this scene was so hilarious at the time, but it's became this huge inside joke in our friendship. One of my favorite HAHA—college! pictures is of Eddie in a giant purple sweater deep-throating an empty Bartles & Jaymes bottle at her Wet Hot American Summer themed 21st birthday party. It encapsulates the entire college experience into one concise photograph. Ah, Memories!]
And now I leave you with today's Everything You Ever Wanted to Know... question and answer. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday! Unless you're not in the States...in which case, have a great rest of the week at work! Ha ha...awkward. We love you guys and don't forget about Jäger Ball NEXT SATURDAY NIGHT! AH, HOLY SHIT! We'll see you Monday! Buh-bye!
Dr. Reuben's Question and Answer of the Day:
If a girl is pregnant, wouldn't she be better off without one of these abortionists?
Sometimes it doesn't make any difference. A self-induced abortion can be just as dangerous. The traditional do-it-yourself method hasn't changed in the past ten thousand years. The primitive tribes in Africa use the same technique as the most up-to-date swinger in Greenwich Village. Only the instrument is different. The disconsolate African housewife uses her abortion stick. It may be an intricately carved family heirloom or just a sharpened branch she pulled from a tree. It doesn't matter because she only needs it for a moment.
She squats in front of her hut, pushes aside her bark-cloth skirt, and slides the stick into her vagina. She then guides it more or less carefully through the cervix and into the uterine cavity. Then she pushes it around vigorously, pulls it out and hopes for the best.
Eight thousand miles away her light-skinned sister is sprawled on her queen-sized bed. She brushes aside her expensive nylon underwear, spreads her carefully shaved and powdered legs and with the aid of her cherished magnifying mirror guides her abortion stick toward its final goal. Only she uses a coat hanger.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
12.12.2008
Drinking Game Friday you're what the French call "Les Incompetents"
Happy Drinking Game Friday gang! Guess who has an appointment with DC’s Reiki Grand Master? Yep. This guy. Thanks for everyone’s votes; I’m glad the idea of me getting felt up by a stranger is as exciting to you as it is to me. Although it came in second place, I might go to the psychic studio in Trinidad this weekend as well. We’re dealing with a curse here people…I have to cover all of my bases. Plus I have a houseguest staying with me and Martha Stewart defines being a good hostess as dragging your guest to the hard-core ghetto for a chakra re-alignment session and a possible chicken blood drenching. It’s a good thing.
Given this week’s darker subject matter, I was going to write this week’s drinking game about an occult related movie, but then I realized, it’s the most wonderful time of the year! Eff my curse! You’ve got cocktail parties to go to! Trees to trim! Rinks to skate on! Office Christmas parties to attend! Open bars to drink! Co-workers to make out with! Decisions to regret in the morning! So let’s all get in the holiday spirit with what I’m sure is Jesus’ favorite Christmas movie: Home Alone. It's time for The Home Alone Drinking Game!
Drink When:
- Someone knocks over the McCallister’s lawn jockey
- Someone alludes to Fuller wetting the bed or being a bed wetter
- The word “pizza” is said
- Uncle Frank delivers the powerhouse line, “Look what you did, you little jerk!”
- Harry’s gold tooth is shown
- Angels with Filthy Souls is on
- Kevin talks out loud to himself
- Buzz’s tarantula is shown
- Marley salts the sidewalks (even though there are totally dead bodies stashed in his salt bucket, duh)
-
BUZZ YOUR GIRLFRIEND—WOOF!
- Marv get hits in the head or face with something
- Harry or Marv fall down the stairs
- John Candy says the word “polka”
- You inevitably weep like a child when Kevin is reunited with his mom on a snowy Christmas morning. I dare you, dare you, not to shed a tear.
Thank you so much for reading and we'll see you bright and early Monday morning!
www.twitter.com/2birds1blog
Given this week’s darker subject matter, I was going to write this week’s drinking game about an occult related movie, but then I realized, it’s the most wonderful time of the year! Eff my curse! You’ve got cocktail parties to go to! Trees to trim! Rinks to skate on! Office Christmas parties to attend! Open bars to drink! Co-workers to make out with! Decisions to regret in the morning! So let’s all get in the holiday spirit with what I’m sure is Jesus’ favorite Christmas movie: Home Alone. It's time for The Home Alone Drinking Game!
Drink When:
- Someone knocks over the McCallister’s lawn jockey
- Someone alludes to Fuller wetting the bed or being a bed wetter
- The word “pizza” is said
- Uncle Frank delivers the powerhouse line, “Look what you did, you little jerk!”
- Harry’s gold tooth is shown
- Angels with Filthy Souls is on
- Kevin talks out loud to himself
- Buzz’s tarantula is shown
- Marley salts the sidewalks (even though there are totally dead bodies stashed in his salt bucket, duh)
-
BUZZ YOUR GIRLFRIEND—WOOF!- Marv get hits in the head or face with something
- Harry or Marv fall down the stairs
- John Candy says the word “polka”
- You inevitably weep like a child when Kevin is reunited with his mom on a snowy Christmas morning. I dare you, dare you, not to shed a tear.
Thank you so much for reading and we'll see you bright and early Monday morning!
www.twitter.com/2birds1blog
12.26.2007
HISTORY NERD
I had to work today (the day after Christmas) and Christmas Eve. You might be asking yourself “Why Eddie, Why do you have to work?” The answer is simple, homelessness is persistent, and people don’t magically have jobs or homes or food or showers because it is the birth of some random baby. (I just made your job seem self absorbed and pointless right?!? GOOD THAT WAS THE POINT.) The reality is I hate using my precious vacation days on days that are easy to come into work. No one is going to call or be in the offices besides me so I can leave early and play around on the Internet. 
Cuba , Florida , and New York
In other news; I live across the street from a busy pub. In a relatively quite city this establishment is known for being a bit rowdy. But that’s what I get for choosing to live in the 20 something’s area of town. On Christmas Eve after the bar closed one man filled with holiday joy (and I am guessing the deadly whisky beer combination) he decided to make a priceless choice. The man stood in the middle of a traffic circle and yelled “HELLO NEIGHBORHOOD…HOPE YOU ALL WANT TO HEAR CHRISTMAS CAROLS” and started to sing shout several songs. For some reason I found his slurred drunken serenade adorably sweet.
How desperate are you when you are paying twenty-five cents for cologne in a truck-stop bathroom. And how exactly does this work? You put twenty-five cents in and pull the little lever on your pulse points? I am willing to bet several people have positioned their necks towards the nozzle where the cologne sprays they get a stinging eyeful of cologne.
NOW I am all for safe sex. And if you are getting highway lovin’ it is less embarrassing to buy condoms in the bathroom then from the toothless the 75+ truck stop employee. What cracks me up is the name. I bet Theodore Roosevelt thought when he picked out is team of Ivy League studs, farm hands and talented horse men to fight Spain he thought “I WILL CALL THEM THE ROUGH RIDERS AND ONE DAY A PROPHYLACTICS WILL BE NAMED AFTER THIS TALENTED TEAM OF MEN!” I wonder if anyone else thinks of the historical connection before thinking “hahah bathroom condoms in a redneck truck stop.”
I wish I could quit you,
Eddie
12.24.2007
LET THEM KNOW!
I love the 80’s. Actually, saying I love the 1980’s might be a bit of an understatement. I am perpetually in awe of western culture in the 1980’s. I’ve studied the time period; I wear it, watch it, and listen to it and at night I use 1980’s culture as a nice warm blanket.
Eddie
12.05.2007
Chia's Come in Waves
I have an important issue to discuss with our 2birds audience. It is about a holiday advertisement that we all know (and probably hate) the Chia Pet commercial.
My favorite part of the Chia Pet ad is not the jingle, it is the fact Chia Pets are sold at “fine retail outlets” like K-Mart, Woolworth, and The president of the Chia Corporation in Eddie’s list of "Semi-crappy gifts that are better than Chia Pets because they are under $25:” 
Meat Mitt (who doesn’t want to pick hot meat right off the grill?
These are just a few ideas…feel free to comment and if I enjoy your ideas I will add them to the “master list.” This way no one has to resort to a Chia Pet for the office White Elephant.
11.22.2007
I wake up to Al Roker
I woke up at 7am, brewed some coffee, took a shower, tamed my wild mane and made a few thanksgiving side dishes.
Why am I so bitter?
I wish I could quit you,
Eddie
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