HUNGOVER PORTLAND

Cheerzaritas! Wait...really?

I've been drinking an awful lot of red wine this week, but no hangovers of bloggable worth.  So tonight I've been reading up on national hangover news and came across this gem.

Apparently, the geniuses in bed (he he) with Playboy Mansion branding have developed a new product called Cheerzaritas.  If you follow that link you'll be presented a recipe for a hangover-free cocktail that includes tequila, curucao, triple sec, some citrus, and what they have dubbed an "intellishot" of this supposedly magical mixer.  Drink approximately one million, and you'll still feel great the next day! 

Additional research has uncovered reviews from boozehounds who vouch for its effectiveness, including comments such as "I put this sucker through its paces over the weekend. I have only one question: how the hell can I get a lifetime supply of this stuff?"  Even the freakin' CEO of the company, who would have no clear reason to misinform, confirms that the stuff leads to responsible drinking.  So not only will you feel physically fine the next day, you will also avoid the shame that is so often present the day after.

I am skeptical.   I've found my own special vitamin for hangover comfort, and have a regular routine for egg sandwich production.  Could this be better?  I welcome insight.  The name cheerzarita in and of itself is reason to not test it.  Anybody else?  Drink it up (responsibly, of course) and tell me all about it!

One motherfucking week left!

My very first day of my first real grown-up job was November 1, 2004.  I spent a couple of days scared shitless by my bosses, trying to learn something perhaps resembling the ropes, and immediately grasping the magic of a desk gig that allows for constant refreshing of my google news page.  I went home early in tears on November 3rd, and like most of us, ever since then I've been dreaming about this week.  And HOLY FUCKING SHIT IT IS FINALLY HERE. 

It's weird, ya know?  It's losing a part of me I never even really liked that much to begin with. I mean, not that I haven't been pumped about Obama for ages, but the election itself. This is maybe comparable to when I was in high school and my mom and I adopted a super obnoxious dog and obsessed about her well-being as much as we could not wait to find it a better home.  [Hope you're happy where you ended up, Bela!]  I already voted and now all I can do is obsess over my fave sites and wait until this awe-inspiring energy drain is over. 

This week I am taking a breather by watching a character inspired by Mr. Obama win an election.  The storyline seemed like a longshot when it aired in 2007 and now appears to be actually happening.  Because some of us are feeling our post-election hangovers a little bit early, please enjoy this cautiously optimistic time with make-believe President-Elect Matt Santos:



"It's not about left or right, it's about doing right." 

Vote.

Boozing with coworkers and an extra-pathetic hangover

On Saturday night I went to a work function.  I got dressed up and wasted.  It was possibly fun, but when I woke up in the morning, I couldn't remember the end of the night.  When dealing with the people who sign my paycheck, that is an exceptionally terrible feeling.  Had I quit my job?  Did I say something to get me fired?  Did I slur nonstop about loving everybody a lot?  Did I fall down? No idea.  My boyfriend told me that I threw up before assing out at 10pm.  I'm not a barfer so this was concerning.

I avoided getting out of bed for as long as possible.  We watched some of the SNL from that week and this clip of the electoral map got me to smile again.



I've always wanted to live on an island.

I eventually let my less-hungover boyfriend leave and I continued to spend that whole gorgeous Sunday watching internet television and stewing about whether to call my coworkers and ask for a rundown on how much of an ass I'd made out of myself.  (I didn't.)

The bad news is that I missed out on perhaps the last nice day of this calendar year.  The good news is that I got into the office today to find out that most people I worked with were equally hammered and I did just fine.  Still, I'm going to rethink the complimentary red wine at future events and never again allow my bosses to see my Saturday face.

You sing me slow songs and I'll drive you crazy tonight

Oh my god, this has been the Longest. Week. Ever.  EVER.  I think that these shorter days are making me feel really rushed and perhaps kinda bummed out.  Thankfully, today has been creeping towards awesome and I'm feeling amped on the weekend.  So what do I do this evening to really shake this hellish week?  This might sound crazy, but I started with a run.  I live in a nice neighborhood and it's all fall-y and pretty and good people are out walking their dogs and being polite and smiling.  I'm glad they're my neighbors, ya know?  Community.  Sure, it might be lame, but exercise makes me happy and is a great way to either boost me up for getting bad or digging me out of hungover self-pity. 

But I'm not writing about the exercise; I'm writing about what I listened to while exercising: The Gaslight Anthem. My brother got me into this band about a month ago, and holy shit, where have they been all my life?!  It's so awesome!  It's like if The Boss and The Hold Steady had a rock and roll baby, and The Old 97s and maybe Small Brown Bike and the cast of The Outsiders were the sometimes-present older cousins from out of town. 

The Gaslight Anthem is super artful, fist-pump-inspiring rock about the people and Jersey and booze and getting into trouble and old-timey items described in modern ways.  My fave song is the title track, '59 Sound, with the simple (but so applicable to my blog) chorus: "young boys, young girls ain't supposed to die on a Saturday night."  Repeat several times and it only becomes more rad. 

It would seem like a young-ish band with such a clear Springsteen influence would be destined for contrived lameness, but that isn't the case here.  It just fucking rules.  And much like my fave band, The HS, this album, much like my little jogs, works equally well for getting ready to live hard and trying to want to live again.

Listen to it.

And unrelated but hilarious to me: when I was copying the myspace link, their songs started up, meanwhile my iTunes had moved onto George Harrison's "I've got my mind set on you," so it became an accidentally awesome mash-up.  Just sayin'. 

Have fun tonight, guys!  FRIDAY WOOOO!!!

A love letter to The Internet

Dear Internet,

Hello there.  How are you?  I'm okay.  I'll be honest, there was a while earlier today when I wasn't so great.  I felt bad.  I went to my awesome book club meeting last night and got a bit tipsy.  Oh, okay, I can't lie to you, Internet - I got drunk off red wine.  I had a headache today and just couldn't shake my funk.  And then you came along, Internet, and reminded me that - even though you can make me so mad sometimes - you more than make up for it with things like this:




http://view.break.com/592648 - Watch more free videos


NOW THAT IS A FUNK I CAN GET BEHIND!

Anyways, Internet, thanks for this afternoon, and all those other times you let me love you.

Stay sweet,
Joneser.

Spring Awakening: Everybody has boners!

I totally won tickets to see Spring Awakening last night.  It's a touring musical described as a "groundbreaking fusion of morality, sexuality, and rock & roll."  I'm now going to tell you how I feel about it.

For the record: I am a total sucker for musicals.  No matter how glitzy or lame, my eyes gloss over and I can't stop myself from thinking it's so impressive that these characters can't stop themselves from singing.  It isn't something I brag about, but it's true.  My folks often took me to plays at the Civic often as I grew up and one drawback of my feel-good job is that I don't make enough money to afford such a luxury.  So I was pumped to get to go for free.  So was my boyfriend (or at least he pretended to be.)

Now, I wasn't exactly hungover at the play.  Maybe I was by intermission because the wine and cocktails I'd downed before-hand were wearing off, but whatever. 

The play takes place in either "days of yore" or "olden days" - it was never made clear.  The cast wore old-timey outfits.  The twist: modern rock-esque songs!  One of the main singers sounded like an All American Reject reject and I had a hard time feeling sorry for him.  The direction and choreography was clever in that it was all pretty minimal but still interesting.  Then the boners: they made sure to present lots of stereotypical "budding sexuality" issues, which included (score!) exposed nipples AND buttcheeks, plus plenty of air-romping and masturbating.  Contrived, sure, but foot-tappin'!

I liked it.  I mean, musicals are silly, but as a person who rarely gets to go, it was a nice Tuesday evening.  I think the statement that "Broadways will never be the same" is a little bit of a stretch.  I mean, how will Broadway change?  I don't know - maybe the old theatre-goers just blush a little more. I don't that future musicals will prominently show a teenage girl getting her ass whipped with a stick. 

My boyfriend, who isn't necessarily a fan of the genre, had opinions that varied from "I don't know if I get musicals" to "I hate the rich."

Also relating so Spring Awaking: a real local review, a real snobby review. 
Also relating to boners: today's dinosaur comic.

Is it November 5th yet?

This election is killing me.  There have been too many weeknight parties. 

Ugh.  I'm so fucking hungover today.

Last night's debate was fun - definitely the most interesting one yet.  I had friends over and I thought it would be fun to drink each time the McCainosaur said "my friends." He must have unlearned that one and replaced it with all the crap about Joe the Plumber.  I really would have appreciated it if he announced at the beginning he intended to run that into the ground.  "Everybody: I am going to give Obama some shit about a plumber named Joe he talked to.  I'm going to say 'Joe the Plumber' at least 500 times, so you'll probably want to make it a rule in your drinking game." 

Without direction, I drank nervously and frequently. Then we went out, because shit, it was only 8:00 and we were already hammered.  It sucked was awesome, but I feel soooo crappy now.  I feel like I am oozing alcohol out of all of my pores.  I had to interpret first thing in the morning, too, and I think my boss doubts my Spanish fluency a little bit.  I wonder if she's made the connection between the periodic reductions in my language skills and the election event schedule.  I sure hope not!  And then I realized that I totally wore this sweater on Tuesday.  My lips are all poofy from a wastedly passionate makeout sesh with my bf.  My eyes are a little bloodshot.  I'm going straight from work to dinner at my boyfriend's parents' house.  That will be funny.  I don't know what it is going to take to un-retard myself, but I better find something soon. 

This is one of those hangovers that is hilarious in its inconvenience.  Just wanted to let you know.

Jon Voight and the Bible: you owe me a Sunday evening

Saturday night I got all sauced with a bunch of friends and had a wonderful time. Again, no real reason.  There were drinking games and way too many cigarettes.  (Whoopsie!  Still trying.) 

On Sunday, not only was I hungover as shit and hating smoking once again, but I did not have shit to do.  Some friends were going to the pumpkin patch at Sauvie Island, but I really wasn't ready to go back to that place.  My bf had to do chores around his house so I pretty much sat around and distracted him from work.  Eventually, it was feeding time.  He and I picked up Hoda's (highly recommended) and watched some motherfucking television.

He has one of those magic future television boxes but for some reason the only thing we could find worth watching was the 1999 made-for-tv-movie "Noah's Ark." 

AAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! 

It was terrible.  I mean, we kept watching it for hours because we couldn't believe how bad it was.  We were all "Uh, hey God, could we have some fire and brimstone in our eyes please?"  But instead we just sat, transfixed by a clusterfuck of biblical proportions.

I'm writing about this just to let you all know that if you are channel-surfing and see Jon Voight wearing a long white wig and carrying a staff and you think "I liked Mission: Impossible and Zoolander" (who the fuck doesn't?!) change the channel.  It is not worth it. 

I tried to find a clip to share but could only find the trailer in Spanish, which does not truly convey its awfulness.  It's actually kinda awesome.  Enjoy!

Pabst + eggs = gas

[It is established fact that girls do not fart, but I am ignoring science momentarily for the purposes of writing this post.]

I got super drunk last night with my boyfriend and his roommates.  No reason.  We went to Side St and The Vern, I caved and smoked cigarettes (quiet, I'm trying), and then I hella scored.

So, with this 21st Century Depression I've been pinching pennies as much as the next drunk.  I now stick with PBR when I'm out, thus doubling the amount of beers I can buy without busting the bank.  It rules, because I get all wasted and stuff, but then the next day I am reminded of PBR's magical power to make me have to fart constantly.  What's up with that?  It doesn't seem to happen with High Life or any other cheap domestic.  So that's happening today.

As I'm getting ready for a fall day of Halloween shopping and spooky houses, I ease my gassy soul with hangover breakfast go-to: the egg sandwich.  I did the eggs over-easy today, with some cheddar and salsa on whole wheat toast.  Delish, right?  RIght!  Then I remember: eggs make my burps stink, as well as the farts. 

I have a hard time believing that I'm the only boozer suffering Pabst farts in these harsh economic times, and I will not judge you for letting one slip at one of the many great events happening around town this weekend. I expect the same understanding from you.

And this post reminds me of one of my favorite hangover movies:

Crying at work with Alias

Last night I went to see Weezer.  One of my co-workers offered up free tickets yesterday afternoon, and I didn't have shit else to do last night, so my bf and I headed to Drexler's stomping ground for some $8 beers and sell-out rock.  The opening band was the side project from the guy from Blink 182 and it was hands-down one of the crappiest, lamest, most cringe-inducing "rock" acts I've ever seen.  We had to hide in the most distant beer garden to avoid it.  Then Weezer played, and it was okay.  98% of the crowd, however, was not, and the dude and I bolted about halfway through the set for the comfort of a neighborhood bar.

It's not that I got wasted last night, but I did drink a bit and barely slept.  That feeling, combined with an ulcer-inducing workload, makes me a bit stressed out and sensitive this morning.  So when one of my bosses makes an unnecessary comment reminding me to get something done, I couldn't stop the waterworks.  In front of him.  In the opposite side of the building.  After his frantic attempt at an apology, I buried my face as best I could, raced back to my office, closed the door, and turned up my stereo. 

Thank you, iPod-on-shuffle, for knowing that I really, really needed to listen to Alias' hit song "More Than Words Can Say." I didn't know it until those first gentle chords.  Now, some 45 minutes after my emotional breakdown, I've listened to the song three times and think I might be able to make it to 5pm.

Ladies and gentlemen: you should not cry at work.  But if you do, I hope you've got this song at the ready.