HUNGOVER PORTLAND

It is too hot out today and I was thirsty.

My attractive and intelligent boyfriend turned 29 on Thursday (OLD!) (love you Sparkles).  We celebrated while camping last weekend, and then all this week, but especially last night at the Alibi. Our posse claimed a couple of booths by the KJ and quickly littered our tables with pitchers and platters of fried food.  I got wasted fast.  Elton John, Kiki Dee, Annie Lennox, Salt & Pepa, and The Little Mermaid had featured roles in taking the night to the next level, and then a couple of levels after that.

Amazingly, when I woke up this morning I didn't feel too much karaoke shame, or even much of a hangover.  Confident, I settled into the yard with a book, eager to color my pasty Oregon complexion.  And then - it happened.  A gross, stinky, sweaty, bad-breath-y shitty feeling that gained strength as the day turned from pleasantly warm to stiflingly hottttt. 

Because I live with a sober dude, our fridge is always stocked with stuff that isn't beer, thankfully including this:

Combine the shit into one glass - I usually go about 85% sparkling water to 15% juice - less sugary, more refreshing. 

Oh HELL yes.  Repeat many times, and not only have I been able to pee again, but I've been saved from the heat I'd been awaiting for months.

The takeaway messages here, folks, are the following: 1.  Remember that, as a Portlander, you don't do as well in heat as you'd like to think you do; 2. You shouldn't be out there when your body is already dehydrated and probably emitting stinky odors; 3. You must be prepared for such Sundays by having cold fizzy things at the ready.

I feel great now, guys.  But do you?

A circle of fabric can make things right!

I know, I know - I've been lazy lately.  I had tech problems, and then an engaged best friend and a boyfriend's birthday keeping me busy. 

But today is a new day, and a gorgeous one at that!! I plan on drinking in the yard for a good chunk of it.  I'm dressed for summer success/excess in a boobtastic tube top, which always makes me think of this appropriate clip:



Have fun, Portland!  Love you.

Nachos squared. (It works on a lot of levels - think about it.) (I'm bad at math.)

A couple of hours ago I awoke feeling less than awesome after a night spent downing beers and crazy nachos at the Florida Room's patio. The menu said the nachos came with "queso sauce," which had the potential for being disgusting or rad.  Lucky for us, they were rad!  And plentiful.  We ate as much as we could, then moved on to chowing candy (like, a LOT of candy) right before falling asleep to Dolemite. 

This morning, with a tummy making all sorts of sounds, I drank coffee and wandered aimlessly around the house wondering what kind of breakfast would take away the pain. 

And what did I turn to?

If you answered "more nachos," you are fucking correct.

My dude had expertly crammed our leftover bar nachos into a very small to-go box at the bar.  When we tore into it this morning, the nachos remained in box form.

If that is not one of the most awesome-looking hangover breakfasts you've ever seen, get the hell away from this blog.

Verdict?  Um, too soon to tell.  My insides feel weird for a lot of reasons, and what's happening now is either a dramatic improvement or severe heartburn/rapid-onset diabetes.

Let us now move on to more important things, like riding bikes and shopping.  This day can only get better.  Or, also possible, it is already ruined beyond repair.  Let's find out, shall we?

xoxo

HI HI HI HI HI!

I'm practically famous now after a wonderful hyperlink from my favorite functioning alcoholics over at Blogtown.  For newbies, welcome to my blog.  You look sexy...sexually.  Allow me to modestly fill you in on a few things.

This blog is freshly relaunched after a somewhat sober hiatus.  I lightened up on the sauce over the winter after some holiday-related alcohol crappiness, but booze and I are working things out over some stiff drinks. And smokes (um...whoops). 

Shit.

What I'm trying to say is, thank you for being a friend.  I'm off for a cocktail (bunches of them!), but we'll chat more later, mmkay? Maybe tomorrow?  This weekend is going to be NICE. 

I'd like to kick shit off with a repeat of one of my FAVORITE animal clips (and coming from a woman who spends a gross amount of time watching such things on the internet, that's saying a lot).  This is especially relevant today, thanks in large part to the gross amount of PBR I drank last night.  (Farts.)

FRIDAY!!

BLOODY MARY: Miss Awesome is a little more like it.

On Friday night I got really drunk, as documented by my rambling Saturday photo updates.  In a bold shift in drinking habits, I started the night with a bloody mary.  But wait - let me explain.

My boyfriend and I celebrated 11 months of coupledom with a date at Miss Delta, conveniently located by our new digs up North. We were seated at the bar and saw some expert booze-slinging.  Before I could say it was insanity to drink a BM in the pm, I found myself ordering one.  Then I immediately changed my order to a mojito - I wasn't ready to be that person. 

BUT THEN THE BARTENDER MADE ONE ON ACCIDENT AND GAVE IT TO ME FOR FREE.  Fuck yes is right.

And it was good.  Spicy and full of flavor, but it didn't get close to the marinara territory that some overly-crafted bloody marys end up in.  It was perfectly garnished and served in a large goblet.  I was surprised by how easily it washed down my red beans and rice, and by how easily I gulped the whole thing down.  By the time I finished the cocktail I'd actually ordered, I was tipsy, and the date night was just beginning.

Well, the rest is not worth getting into (another bar, two rock shows, and some serious car necking), but I tell ya, starting the night with my favorite morning beverage got my Friday on with a peppery bang, and I look forward to making it a part of a weekend day.

The verdict, clearly, is that you ought to make that shit happen, boozers.

Outside.

Pretty fucking nice out there, isn't it?  My bf and I went for a long walk.  After the brutality of the morning's hangover and the getting stoned and eating, it hit the spot. 

Lovely.

And we had a good giggle fest over this:

Somebody built a fence right over their steps.  Freaking weirdos.

Off to enjoy some more of the day.  Next order of business: apple pear crisp!

And then this happened.

You're looking at potatoes, oniony eggs, cheddar cheese, tomatoes, and sour cream on a corn tortilla, dark coffee, sparkling lemonade, hot sauce, and the lovely flowers JR bought me. 

It's one hell of a day.

And now this is happening: I'm really stoned. 

This is a hangover for the books, guys. 

More later.

Sunshine! Spring! Hangover!!

I was absolutely shitcanned last night.  This morning I woke up in so much pain, yet feeling ohhh sooooo gooooood.

This is what my morning has looked like so far:

More to follow.

Taco Tuesday on Thursday. Today.

Last night was book club, which obvs meant a shitload of wine, pizza, and ice cream.  Deliciousville, population 7 drunk literary-type girls.  Party, right?  Yeah, for sure - until I got to work today.

Thankfully, my roommate/boyfriend had picked up a bunch of fish tacos while working out in Seaside yesterday.  This place, Casa del Sol, is totally unnoticeable when heading up 101, but I'll be damned if their fish tacos are not the best ever.  I'm not one to just throw around hyperbole, so you can fucking believe that shit.

I allowed myself an extra 10 minutes this morning (in addition to the 30 minutes behind I was already running) to fix up some leftovers.  The morning at the office was essentially a blur of photocopies and forms and staring at the clock until it wasn't embarrassing to be digging into my lunch.  I made it to a proud 11:30. 

YUMMMMMM.

The grease of the fried fish with the crunch of cabbage and fresh lime was, metaphorically, off the fucking hook.  My only regret was that I'd left my considerate boyfriend some of the food, too.  I certainly could have eaten 200% more than I did.

That pesky red wine headache?  Yeah, still there.  But it was different.  Instead of being like "I want to crush your temples and pop your eyes" it was like "oh, can we be cool?  I'll be nice, I just really want to chill while you're working on those tacos."  By that point I was all "it's cool, hangover, we're all mellow now."

Remember this: Casa del Sol.  Seaside.  It's on the right if you're driving north up 101 on the outskirts of Seaside.  Hangover.  Fish tacos. 

Fuckin' a.

I fucking need this more than ever.

Okay.

Deep breath.

So...umm...HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN THE VIDEO FOR TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART?????

My boyfriend and I were recently singing the song with sock puppets on our hand and realized we'd never seen the video.  Simple youtube search over mac and cheese, nothing life-changing about it, right?

WRONG.

I think "life-changing" is the only way to describe this video. 

Robots.  Angels.  Dancing ninjas - oh, excuse me, dancing arabic assassins.  A wet male swim team.   Fencing.  Football players with their shirts off.  Dudes in bondage gear.  Doves.  Robot chorus.  Stair-dancing teenage greaser gang.  Perhaps the most dramatic use of scarves in a music video ever.

Things are different now.  Join us.