HUNGOVER PORTLAND

Oh my, don't we love these Saturdays of July....Let's have fun on a budget!

It will be warm and wonderful tomorrow.  How do sunny days make your friends so beautiful, the songs so perfect, and the beer so delicious?  Be hungover, get a hangover, whatever - weekends of Portland summer are fucking amazing. 

And they can be so cheap!

Here are some highlights of my hungover/getting hungover summer Saturdays thus far, and recommendations for my budget-conscious boozehound readers:

Laying in the yard with a book while my boyfriend plays guitar and my cat wanders around, purring.

Supplies needed: guitar, cat, book, and somebody who plays guitar
Cost: free!

Grilling fresh summer vegetables

Supplies needed: whatever veggies you can get for free, some salt, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a hot grill
Cost: free, if you've got a friend or relative with too much ripe produce.  (I do.)  But still, less than $5 for a zucchini, a couple of bell peppers, and an onion. 

Reader submission from our holiday weekend

I don't often check my blog email, but just opened it to find this gem from a kind reader.  Thanks for sharing!  ~Joneser

It was 1 am on the 5th of July, and the keg ran out...

... and thus, a really good hangover got its beginnings. 

SHIT, those Mike's sure do go down smooth on hot days, and damned if those sugary hangovers don't make me feel stabby.  Big hugs, and hope the headache is finally gone!!

Readers, you too can be web famous be emailing hungoverportlandatgmaildotcom.

The world will know...that Newsies rocks.

I settled into yesterday evening with a tried and true method for feeling better.  It is the perfect combination of several excellent movies: "Gangs of New York," "Matewan," "Peter Pan," and "Chicago."




Oh yes. Yessssss.

Cute animal medicine for cold Monday

I am home sick. 

It was a long weekend of sunshine and fun and beer.  I felt good the whole time, but at some point yesterday I ate something bizarre and I woke up feeling sick in a non-hungover way.  I've been on the couch for several hours now.  Oprah is way more boring than it sounds when I'm at working in the afternoon.

Thank you tiny, infant, baby Jesus for this sweet internet video medicine.




Feeling better already ready.

On days like today, if I squint enough, my boyfriend kinda looks like Jeff Goldblum

Or maybe Bill Pullman???

Anyways, Independence day 2009!!!!  Who else wants to punch some fucking aliens?  I tell ya what, let's punch them with ice cold beer, lemonade (for all my homies in AA, and for my homies who like to mix it with their PBR), kiddie pools, mayonnaise-based salads, chips, short shorts, and totally excusable outfits of only red, white and blue. 

I am not being ironic.  Anybody else remember a patriotic holiday in the last many years in which you did NOT say "I'm not really into the USA, I just like fireworks and getting wasted"?  Not this year, guys!

It is a year to celebrate for many, many reasons.  We are wearing shades not only because it is a million degrees and we are Oregonians, but because our futures are so goddamn bright.

Get out there, my bitches, and do it fucking right.

Sunshine in my office and beer on my gigantic brain.

Today at work is torture.  TORTURE.  I know that everybody says that about working in sunshine, and I usually refrain from those inane facebook status updates like "I wish I wasn't at work!" and "it's so nice out!!" So I'm dedicating a whole post to it instead, because I fucking can. 

I WISH WORK WAS OVER ALREADY!!

Whew.  Okay.

This has been a wonderful week so far.  Age 27 is treating me nicely.

PAC, who I believe is kind of a kindred spirit in gleeful posts about alcohol abuse, has been sharing a beer-a-day challenge with readers at Blogtown.  It is to celebrate local brews.  I like challenges, AND beer, and have decided that I will also drink a beer a day this month.  I am kinda poor, though, so many days will just slum it on PBR with a splash of lemonade rather than forking over $4 for a pint of something classy.  Besides, PBR has been a regular hand accessory for just about every summer since I learned about how funny and popular alcohol makes me.  

It is day two of July and I am feeling good!

I am so pumped about this weekend.  I'm leaving pdx tomorrow morning to visit my dads at their farm outside of Eugene.  I will sit in a chair and read and suntan for several hours.  Then Saturday I'll come back to Portland to hang with friends, wear short jean shorts (!!!) and get effing hammered.  On Sunday I will rest and wear jean shorts and possibly also do something rad.  Happy birthday America!

Okay guys, I've got 100 minutes of work left, and will spend them more usefully.  I hope you all have awesome weekends!  Get out there, get drunk, get hungover, make out with somebody attractive, drink hella beer, look good, and stay cool.  If I can do it, you fucking can too.

Hugs and hi-fives from a nondescript office,

Joneser

BBQ. Foot rubs. Dinosaurs. MOTIVATION.

And also truck rental service?

My neighbors from the midwest shared this gem with me.  Just watch the fucking thing.  Then watch it again, because you'll need confirmation that it really happened.

And then we ate and everything good kept happening. EFF YEAH LOMPOC.

The hike in the early afternoon through Forest Park was, as mentioned, wonderful.  I didn't really force down much food before going - I wanted to really earn the right to pig out on a casual b-day lunch/dinner.  At some point during the walk back down to the car, we started talking food, and by the time we started driving, were straight up retarded hungry.  I wanted a place where I could get a delicious beer and sit outside; I wanted McMenamin's-type food without going to one.

As luck would have it, our drive towards home passed the New Old Lompoc.  OMG, did you guys know about this place?  I had never been, and I could not have dreamed up a more delicious and perfect place to enjoy the afternoon. 

We sat in the shady patio and I asked for a summery beer. The bartender brought me out their gold ale, which was so fucking refreshing and flavorful that I had two.  Remember that: GOLD BEER.  16 oz of summer perfection. 

The food was DOPE.  I got a portabello sandwich with all sorts of northwest-style yuppie accoutrements.  Deliciousville is an apt description of the experience.  My bf got a French dip that he won't shut up about.  He sent his compliments to the chef AND told some stranger outside to go in and order one.  That is how good this shit was. 

I didn't realize when I ordered, but the pub has happy hour drink prices all day Sunday, AND they have a $3.25 bloody mary special.  Say WHA?!  Yes.  That is correct.  Why would you EVER go anywhere else?  I hope I don't.

We had parked near a McMenamin's, and as we got back into the car, I could only pity the suckers at sidewalk tables, most likely silently fuming over their inconsistent service and tired menu.

Summer has technically been here for 1 week, and there have definitely been some sunny weekends here and there, but I now feel like summer is truly starting.  I've got my birthday out of the way, this is going to be a short holiday week in the high 80s, and I have found and appreciated two of the most awesome things in this city in one fucking magical birthday from space.

It is going to be a good summer, my bitches.

On aging gracefully, Part 2: The Forest Park Chronicles.

Being 27 isn't that bad!

I have had THE BEST weekend.  Today is the big day, but I and some wonderful friends celebrated yesterday with a bbq featuring mayonnaise-based salads, kebabs, squirt guns, and a shitload of sangria.  Wasn't yesterday's weather just perfect?  I had no problem at all drinking fruity wine for 7 hours.  I maturely paced myself to not pass out before my guests departed, and I WON.

Surprising nobody, I awoke to my 27th year with a hangover.

But it was great!  My bf and I appreciated the day of my birth with a hike through Forest Park.  Even though I could barely pee this morning and my head ached something wicked, I knew that I needed to recharge with city forest air and some movement.

Isn't it so annoying how good it feels to exercise with a hangover?  I totally could have spent the day drinking and eating and watching tv, and if I had, I am sure I would still feel as terrible as I did when I woke up 8 hours ago.  Instead, having trekked up some steep hills for a few hours, then admired the city from the Pittock Mansion, I just feel much more content with my age, and with my life in this city. 

How have I lived here so long without making such a thing a routine activity?  I'm not sure, but I tell ya - I drank like an old alcoholic fish yesterday, but don't feel a day over 35.  Thank you, city nature and darling bf, for such a wonderful day.

People: get outside and enjoy your youthly hangovers.  There is no way to feel but better.

On aging gracefully...

...does anybody know how?

My birthday is on Sunday.  I'll be 27.  I suck at birthdays.  Well, I've sucked at the last 5 or so.  I remember older people telling me in my teens that birthdays just aren't fun after 21, and I never really bought it, because PARTY WOOOO!!!!! 

Each year is just a confirmation that my teenage self was an arrogant know-it-all punk.

27 isn't really THAT old, but it is older than 26, and a lifetime away from 22 and 23.  I graduated college at 21, had a grown-up job at 22, and haven't really done much since then. I don't have a more expansive resume or a graduate degree or a juris doctor, all of which I'd imagined I'd have by this point in my life.  I didn't really try that hard for them, though.  I loved being 22 and 23.  Those days were good and easy.  I guess I spent 24 and 25 and 26 trying to hold on to it.

Okay, to be fair, the last year of my life has been rather wonderful, what with my dreamy boyfriend and excellent job switch and definite plans for grad school and mortgaging my soul for home ownership and a fancy degree.  That's good, I suppose.  I accept that, by taking on that shit, I am really closing in on actual grown-upness, and moving beyond the non-grown-upness of my early 20s which was nothing but a regular celebration of being legally allowed go to bars and having a little of my own money and not having term paper due dates. 

It's a good thing all around.  Truly.  I am happy with where I am at this point in my life and look forward to the future.  Still, each time I have to stop myself to remember I am a different number, it stings a bit.  This little blog will surely seem less charming the further I get down the path to "maturity," or some semblance of it.  And I love this blog!  So that is sad.

But I'm not there yet. And tomorrow I'm having a bbq in my yard and will get hammered and on Sunday will be a washed-up 27-year-old in search of several sparkling lemonades, a couple of bloody marys, a shower, and a review of my longterm financial planning and credit score. 

Yeah, what?  You're all getting old, too.  Cheers.