pantry say about youMatt and I recently visited my parents for the weekend. Their house is always stocked with food, so the first morning I was there I trodded into the kitchen and quietly opened the pantry door.  I wanted to scour for food but also wanted to retrieve the no bake cookies I hid there yesterday.  (They were delicious.)

I stood there munching on my hidden gems, hiding from everyone else, and couldn’t help but look around at what was on the shelves.  I was pretty shocked at what I found.  Here’s a breakdown.

And please note, these are ALL photos from their pantry.  Every.  Last.  Strange.  One.

1.  Three shelves of liquor

Okay, they weren’t full shelves of liquor, but there were three partial shelves of alcohol goodness.  How many shelves were taken up by cereal and fiber items?   One.  However, I don’t think this is a bad thing. It just demonstrates my parents are always ready to entertain and are great party hosts.

This was perfectly acceptable.

2.  Six flasks

This was a bit more concerning, as they are the only two people who reside in their home.  This large quantity of flasks is a bit more difficult to explain, unless they host parties where they encourage guests to hide their drinks. Maybe they are speakeasy themed parties.

That has to be the reason. It’s the only logical explanation.

Were they really using the flasks to sneak liquor into places?  Maybe, but then again, how many times do you need to smuggle in enough liquor for 3 times the number the amount a normal person would need?

Soooo many places are buzz kills and don’t allow you to bring in liquor, so you have to hide it like teenagers going to prom. And maybe my parents wouldn’t have to smuggle in liquor if the establishments would sell enough for either one or two times your body weight.

Maybe I could get on board with this finding.

3.  One large Ziploc bag of mini bottles of liquor

I suppose this is a backup in case the six flasks of liquor are discovered in a strip search while going to the local cinema. I suppose it’s good to have an alternate plan.

I can say one thing about these people… they’re prepared.  (And may also need to be placed on a liver transplant list more as a precautionary measure.)

4.  Two fans

Fans in the kitchen closet is not what I expected to see. Normally fans are stored in a basement or hall closet.  Not at the casa de mi parents. Those fans are stored in the kitchen cupboard.

Sadly, this makes sense to me.  If they are consuming three shelves of liquor, they’re probably hot.  They need a fan and can’t be expected to share, so a fan for each of them makes sense.

And why would they keep the fans in the basement? That would be too much work to go to the basement after kicking back some cocktails. It’s just asking for an injury. Come on. They’re my parents so you have to assume they’re at least a little accident prone.

This is exactly why the fans are stored with the liquor. I’m actually kind of disturbed that I’m so easily able to follow their logic.

5.  Ten boxes of Jell-0 mix

jello

This isn’t as strange as the other items at first glance but I looked closer. What I noticed were the flavors. Notice anything? That’s right. THEY’RE ALL LIQUOR FLAVORS! There’s margarita, daiquiri and pina colada Jell-o all right there next to the Progresso.

I didn’t know they even made these flavors of Jell-o, but why do my parents have these flavors, and why is there no pudding? Didn’t they know the Jell-o brand also made pudding?

I felt I owed it to my parents to ask about the flavors (and also to see if they had pudding). I assure you that my mom responded with the following after being asked why she had alcohol flavored Jell-o.

Because everyone loves Jell-o shots.”

She said it as if I was a complete moron for asking such a ridiculous question.  As if I was the one with a cabinet full of fans and liquor.  And yet, she had a point.  Who doesn’t love a Jell-o shot?  No one.  That’s who.

Maybe my parents are on to something.

6.  Six containers of peanut butter

JifBefore I go any further, allow me to assure you this peanut butter was in no way laced with liquor.  I checked.

Once again I had to question my mom on the need for such a large quantity of peanut butter and the varying brands.  I could tell she wa growing tired of my questions, but she responded that the generic peanut butter was “for the birds.”

I had to clarify if she meant the peanut butter tasted bad, or if it was  literally “for the birds.”  Apparently the answer was both.  It tasted bad and my mom “wasn’t going to give the birds the name-brand peanut butter.”  (Another direct quote.)

This was said as one of her dogs walked by in a hand-stitched doggie sweater.  I.  Sh*t.  You.  Not.

So in actuality, the two generic peanut butter containers were for the birds, and the two large Jif containers were for them.  The small snack size peanut butter containers were for when a small snack was needed.  I suspect it’s because a bag of almonds couldn’t fit in one’s purse when it was filled with flasks and Jell-o shots.

At this point, I stopped looking at items in the pantry.  It wasn’t so much because there weren’t other strange things on the shelves, but more because I was out of cookies and wanted to find some pudding.

 

How wineries are just like strip clubsMost adults have spent at least one day and/or night of their lives experiencing the debauchery of too much alcohol and too may scantily clad women dancing to bad music.  Oh, and they’ve also been to a strip club too.

Wineries and strip clubs are a lot more similar than we’d care to admit, and not just because both typically result in a marital argument and someone sleeping/passing out on the couch.

Since it’s the season for wineries, and it’s always the season for strip clubs, I thought it would be a perfect time to point out the ways wineries are exactly like strip clubs.  Exactly.

1. Everyone ends up dancing to hair bands from the 80s

From Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” to Erasure’s “Respect,” you’ll rock out to jams from the best decade ever.

2. Bad decisions are made at both places.

One involves an entire block of cheese and the other involves blocking out the memory of that one less-than-attractive dancer.

Reason #3 for why wineries are like (1)3. Someone ends up showing their ass…or boobs…or both.

This is not specific just to women. People at both places tend to be equal opportunity flashers.

4. You leave both with regrets.

…and with something sticky on your hands.

5. Neither have enough restrooms.

…which is why someone always ends up “watering the bushes.”

6. Both places have bottle service

One just costs a little more and comes with a lap dance.

7. You don’t want to be barefoot at either place, but you always end up that way.

It’s a phenomenon no one can explain.

8. The ride to and from the location is always hazy.

This is probably for the best because both are off the beaten path.

9. Someone always leaves in tears.

It’s usually a woman.

Reason # 10 wineries are like strip10. There’s a constant danger of stepping in vomit.

The only difference is the strip club vomit has remnants of the day-old buffet.

11. You end up spending much more than you intend to.

It always seems like a good idea to buy an entire case of wine because you might “need it later.”  You also typically feel bad for the previously mentioned ugly stripper, so you do your best to fund her college education via tips.

12. You’d prefer to forget what transpired there, and you usually do.

Alcohol is a beautiful thing because it makes you do stupid things and then makes you forget said stupid things. It’s why it’s so wonderful.

Now, get to planning your day trip to the wineries followed by your night trip to the strip club.  It’s family fun for everyone and you’ll barely notice you’re in a different place.

Cheers!

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Where else you can find me this week

The Fat Girl’s Guide To The Pool

Top 10 Excuses To Get Out Of Exercise

What Marriage Vows Really Mean

If Humans Were More Like Dogs

A Helpful Guide For North West On How To Deal With A Horrible Name

A Guide To Packing For A Weekend In Las Vegas

Matt in ER

In the hospital one of the times I was there for shingles. He’s probably calculating how much this will cost us.

It’s time for everyone’s favorite segment:  Funny Crap My Husband Says.

No matter what clever posts I come up with, you guys love these posts the best.  Please don’t tell my husband that.  I don’t want him to think he’s actually funny.

Sixth Sense

Your breath smells bad. It’s like you ate Shitflakes by Smellogg’s.”

Advertising Genius

You know that law firm that advertises it represents only men in divorces?  They’re one step away from just saying ‘bitches be crazy.'”

Alcohol Connosseur 

Lisa: “You’re a pussy when it comes to drinks.”
Matt: “Yeah. I’ve never claimed otherwise.”

Thjs puzzle was kicking his ass.

Thjs puzzle was kicking his ass.

Fashionista

That vest looks like it’s denim and leather combined. Like a cow f*cked a pair of jeans.”

Food Critic

Matt: “This makes every other bruschetta before this taste like dog shit.
Lisa: “I’m concerned you know what dog shit tastes like.”
Matt: “I had a life before you.”

Dr. Diagnosis

If your immune system was something we bought, I would return it even without the receipt. It’s a lemon.”

Wino

I drank an entire bottle of wine last night and was at the gym at 7am this morning. Hashtag beast.”

Since I’m always on the cutting edge of fashion, allow me to introduce you to the next new fashion craze: eye patches.

Ok. Maybe the fashion world hasn’t been made aware of this new trend but they’re sure to catch wind of it soon. Hopefully it’s a pleasant wind when it blows their way.

As some of you may know, shingles bitch-slapped me across the face.  Yes, my face. Most people get them on their hip or back, but I prefer to wear my afflictions on my face. 

Unfortunately, the shingles spread to my eyes and it was actually quite serious.  I’m still recovering but it’s a painfully slow process, mostly because I have a large bandage on my forehead and I’m caught up on all the episodes of “The Mindy Project.”  

This guy knows what I'm talking about.  Check out that white eye patch! photo credit: madabandon via photopin cc

This guy knows what I’m talking about. Check out that white eye patch!
photo credit: madabandon via photopin cc

The worst part  is that it’s all over the cornea of my left eye. What does that mean? It means I feel like someone is stabbing me in the eyeball and I have a headache you can’t imagine.

I’m also extremely sensitive to light and sometimes my eye swells completely shut.  In light of this, my doctor suggested an eye patch to protect my cornea and let me heal (and to spare others from seeing my gross eye).

Because I’m frugal, I decided to fashion my own eye patch out of a scrap of yarn I had from when I tried a new crochet stitch. I connected it to a headband and had an adjustable eye patch for free. I was pumped!

My husband, however was not. He bought me a real eye patch, which lacks the creativity and pizzazz of my original creation.

Not too bad, huh?  It's adjustable!

Not too bad, huh? It’s adjustable!

I hate the eye patch but it’s necessary. So in an effort  to make me feel better about my new accessory, I looked for inspiration from others who wear eye patches.  

Knowing there are others out there suffering helps me get through this.  

It doesn’t take away the pain, but Percocet does that.

Here’s a few.

One-eyed Willie:  I’m not sure why he needs an eye patch at all. He is a skeleton who doesn’t have eyeballs. I’m not sure what purpose the patch serves other than to make him look like a badass.   If that is its purpose, it’s a success.

Captain Morgan: He looks pretty good in his patch. I suspect he suffered an injury while on the high seas, which is why he has the “captain” moniker. I also suspect he suffers from my eye pain as well. Fortunately, we both handle it the same way: with liquor.

Not nearly as cool

Not nearly as cool

Patch Adams: Okay, he doesn’t have a patch but it’s in his name so I had to include him.

Patch from “Days of our Lives”: I remember him from when I was a kid. He was covered in leather from eye to toe. He made women swoon and cattle fear for their hides.

Captain Ron: He’s everyone’s favorite captain (second only to Morgan). Perhaps his lack of boating skills is because he only has one good eye. It’s either that or he uses the patch because he lost his sunglasses.

In light of these characters who also wear eye patches I’m feeling a little better about my new accessory.

But really, it’s going to be the next big thing. Just you wait.

the (1)It’s the most wonderful time of the year!  Actually, that’s totally not true.  The most wonderful time of the year is summer, when it’s 100 degrees and I’m sporting a glowing tan (and a margarita).

I’m not sure why people think Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, but I’ll go with it.  It’s an excuse to go to a bunch of holiday parties and stuff copious amounts of desserts from the buffet in my purse.

Don’t think I also don’t do that with liquor.  I totally do.  A flask works nicely to accomplish that task and it’s unassuming when shoved inside your coat pocket.

How did I learn this trick?  My parents.  Duh.  You recall what I found in their pantry.  If you don’t, please read about it.  I’m still chuckling.

Anywhoo…

I know you’ve been fretting about the holidays and what you should buy your favorite blogger.

Me, a-hole.  I’m talking about me.

Because I’m so selfless, I’m going to tell you all the things you should buy me.  I’m  so caring like that.

photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

Before I give you my list, you’re probably wondering what I’m going to give you in return.

Um, this blog isn’t enough?  A few times a week I write random posts about absolutely nothing.  Isn’t that enough?

It should be.

Without further babbling, here’s a few things I’m demanding requesting for Christmas.  Note:  You don’t have to get just one thing.

Go crazy and get the whole list. The joy it will bring me will be worth it.

A book deal

Lipstick_Co-Author

Okay, so I’m IN this book, but I want a book all to myself! But seriously. You should still buy this one.

Yeah, I’m shocked I don’t have a book deal either.  It isn’t for lack of trying.  I’ve been writing sub-par content for two years now.  You’d think publishers and book agents would be knocking down my door.

If book agents and publishers are pretending to be people putting Chinese take-out menus on my door, then they’re definitely knocking down my door. Otherwise, not so much.

Pajama work pants

Why can’t I dress up yet still be comfortable?  They’ve somehow managed to do this with jeans yet I can’t get a pair of wool blend pants that don’t dig into my belly button?

Someone needs to make that happen.  That someone is you.

Vodka

This is a no-brainer and I’m sure you’ve already purchased this for me.  Good work.  Now go buy another bottle for me.  You know one won’t be enough.

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups eggs

Yeah, it’s Christmas.  I know, but that’s why I want these eggs so badly.

A sweater for Jerry and his Gangsta Gnome Boyz

gangstas in the snowAs you know, I have a gang of gnomes protecting my house and running illegal activities from behind my hydrangia bushes.  It’s the middle of winter now and those thugs are cold.

Jerry, the head gangsta, told me he’d like a hand-knitted sweater for him and his boyz.  Even though they’re dealing hot merchandise, they still get cold at night.

Wow.  I just asked for something that wasn’t even for me.  I’m so thoughtful.  This is yet another reason you should get me everything I want on my list.

What are you waiting for? Get on it.

Until then, I will continue to entertain you with my antics.  Isn’t that the best gift of all?

 

I’m not a huge hockey fan, but what I am a fan of is dimples and a sexy butt. (This is one of the primary reasons I married my husband.) I don’t follow hockey regularly.  If I want to watch two people beat each other up, I’ll just watch my neighbors get into it across the street.

Plus, the hot dogs and beer are cheaper at my house.

However, as a St. Louis resident, I know I should at least be able to identify the regular players on the St. Louis Blues hockey team. It’s not so much to talk to them about hockey, but to reserve judgment if they talk to me and (1) sound hoosier and (2) are missing teeth.

One of the most dreamy of the St. Louis Blues is the assistant captain, Alex Steen. Yummy.

I feel like I should insert some lame joke here about how I wouldn’t mind melting the ice with that hottie, or make some inappropriate comment about a word that rhymes with puck.

But I’m classy, and you expect more from me out of a blog post, so I won’t stoop to that level.

steen.pngI don’t mean to brag, but last week I went on a date with Alex Steen.

Okay, maybe he didn’t see it as a date, but I did.

I talked to my husband about it, so don’t think you need to keep this dirty little secret for me (although that would be a great way to find out if he reads my blog).

The date occurred last Monday night. I realize Monday night isn’t a typical date night, but I’m no typical girl.

It started out as a meeting for an animal rescue group where I volunteer.

The location was at a restaurant/bar and after our meeting a handful of people (the dedicated ones), stayed to drink more. We’re really good volunteers.

Later in the evening is when my date, Alex Steen, stopped by. Although I was a few drinks in, I can assure you it was him. Other people saw us together and they can corroborate.

I promise.

Granted, we were sitting around with a group of about five of us, but I’m pretty sure this evening counted as a date with Alex Steen. Here’s why:

1. He paid for my dinner and drinks

photo credit: sarah_connors via photopin cc

photo credit: sarah_connors via photopin cc

Okay, so he paid for everyone’s dinner and drinks, but whatever. That’s just the kind of guy he is. I secretly think he paid the tab because he heard about the kind of girl I used to be, and was hoping to get some over-the-shirt boob action. (He totally could have).

Why does this make it a date? How many dates do you go on where the guy pays for the meal and drinks? If you’re a smart dater, (and I am), those are the only dates you go on.

If a guy doesn’t pay on the first date, then I don’t return his call for the second. Any guy I go out with needs to learn early that I like to eat, and he has to support that habit.

Picking up the tab on a first date is customary when the guy is interested in the woman. This is obviously what happened here.

steen and dog

2. He touched my leg more than once

Yeah, that’s right. He touched my leg.

I shall never wash those pants again…if only they were my Pajama Jeans! Several times throughout the night his hand and arm brushed upon my leg.

I’m sure he will say it was an accident, and we were sitting so close that it was inevitable that he would brush up against me. But we both know the truth.

He sooo wanted me.

3. We talked about our common interests

Here he is rescuing a puppy with the rescue I work with.

I love dogs. Shocking, right? Guess who else loves dogs? Alex Steen!

We are a perfect match! I mean, how many people on this planet share a love of dogs?

Wait…um…that might be a lot…but he shares my love of this particular rescue. Doesn’t that equal a love connection?

Sure, many of my friends also love this same organization and I’m not planning our weekend getaway together (it would be at a Four Seasons resort and spa), but Alex and I share a true bond.

Just ask him.

4. He laughed at my jokes

Isn’t that another sign of a good first date? He regularly laughed at my jokes and even engaged in discussion with me.

Okay, maybe they weren’t so much jokes, as just sentences I made; and maybe they weren’t so much sentences as incoherent comments with a string of conjunctions strewn inbetween.

Whatever the reason, he was laughing at the same time I was, which is fine with me. Whomever said “as long as they are laughing with you and not at you” is an idiot and has clearly never laid eyes on Alex Steen.

5. He looked longingly into my eyes

photo credit: sarah_connors via photopin cc

photo credit: sarah_connors via photopin cc

Yes, he looked longingly. Okay, maybe it wasn’t longingly so much as he was looking into my eyes to see if I was sober enough to drive home, but either way, he looked into my eyes.

Can you say that about the dreamy Steenster?

He obviously cares about me if he didn’t want me to drive home if I wasn’t sober. He has my back because he obviously wanted to see me again. I’m sure it didn’t have anything to do with the fact he’s training for the season and didn’t want to be associated with scandal that would result in his “girlfriend” getting in a car accident.

He probably just didn’t want the stress of worrying about me. He’s such a caring guy.

So there you have it; all the reasons why last Monday I had a date with Alex Steen. Don’t be too jealous, as you can watch him on TV as you root for The St. Louis Blues in the playoffs.

But hands off the Steenster. He’s mine.

small_3622334673 (1)

No dog ingested beer or alcohol in conjunction with this photo or this post.
photo credit: Amarand Agasi via photopin cc

Dear beer,

I know I ‘m the last person you’re expecting to hear from.  Normally, my heart (and my liver) belong to vodka.  He’s always been my one true love and I’ve never hidden that fact from you.

I’ve passed you up a million times before last night.  I’ve walked right by you at bars, at parties, and even at BBQs.

I feel a little guilty about that but you’ve never been what I needed and I’ve never felt a desire to stray from my betrothed…until now.

Maybe it’s your curves, or maybe it’s your intoxicating smell, but something changed.  I’m finding myself drawn to you and I’m not sure why.

Maybe I’m getting tired of vodka.  He’s never been a cruel mistress (or mister), but perhaps I’m bored with him.

The alcohol is always colder on the other side of the bar.”

Isn’t that what they always say?

Maybe it’s true.  I’m not sure, but what I do know is I’m finding myself wondering what it would be like to spend more time with you and I’m wondering why we haven’t been closer before.

Sure, it’s most likely my fault.  You’re more than available.  I never have a hard time finding you at a sporting event, a wedding reception, or even the grocery store.

You’re not elusive like my dear vodka.  You’re everywhere.  I suspect that’s what pushed me away from you before.

But now…now it’s different.

beerI had a temporary moment of weakness last night and I gave into my urges and I just wanted to tell you thank you.  Thank you for last night. I had such an amazing time.

You were incredible.

Especially now that I know what we can be together, I’m sorry I initially resisted the urge to see you, but I’m glad I caved to peer pressure.

I had a long day yesterday and needed to relax. All the other beverages told me not to turn to you, which was mostly the cause for my hesitation.

They said you wouldn’t treat me right.

My stomach even chimed in, saying you were too rough on her sometimes.  She’s finicky so I didn’t take her pleas too seriously.

Dear beerVodka screamed the loudest.  He can be a needy sonofabitch.

Like the ever controlling paramour, he tried to point out that sometimes you make me feel like I hit my head repeatedly against the wall.

I promptly reminded him that feeling doesn’t come until the morning after we hang out, and it’s only if I spend a lot of time with you.  I told him I wouldn’t do that.

Just a taste.  That was all.  We both knew I was lying, but it was a lie I was willing to make.

Don’t get me wrong. Vodka has his faults too.  He can be bitter at times, and he doesn’t always get along with my stomach.

Then again, no one does, especially since my evil gallbladder Stan tried to kill me.

Either way, I knew I didn’t need bitter last night.  I just needed you.

I practically ran to your cold embrace, holding you ever-so-tightly by the neck.  I know that’s how you like to be held.

Don’t deny it.

Our time together was perfect, and although we had to part too soon, I want you to know I will cherish what we shared.

I’m looking forward to our next get-together.

Love Lisa

(RECIPE AT THE BOTTOM OF OF THIS POST)

Back CameraThis Memorial Day, my friend St. Frick (not his real name), invited us to his house for a pool party.  St. Frick is known for his ability to throw amazing parties (and his ability to shove five profane words into a sentence comprised of only three words.  It’s a talent).

We knew we would be in for a good time and we knew the only logical answer was to tell him we would be there.

We arrived at his place and discovered he and some other friends were already in the pool.  Judging by the various beer cans strewn about, they also appeared to have started the party without us (although I still contend a party doesn’t start until I arrive).

I immediately headed to the pool house to grab some libations and catch up with our friends.  I opened the refrigerator and this is what I saw:

At first I thought they were sliced lemons, which would go nicely with my Grey Goose, but upon closer inspection I realized they weren’t lemons, but Jello shots in a lemon rind.

Is that what it’s called?  A rind?

I was beside myself with joy.

Back CameraI decided to try one of them immediately.  After all, I didn’t want to be rude.  I was his guest and I was raiding his fridge to see what free stuff I could find.

What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do a Jello shot (or three)?

They were delicious.  I decided to have a few more and bring them poolside for others to enjoy.  They were refreshing and alcohol laden, which are two of my favorite things.

I grabbed a couple more and sat on the edge of the pool.  It was like I was being healthy and eating fruit by the pool…if fruit was made of three parts gelatin and two parts vodka.  (If it was, I would eat a lot more fruit).

What kind of person comes up with this idea?  Obviously an awesome person.  I just didn’t know who would be brilliant enough to come up with this recipe.

Normally, if I’m motivated enough to make Jello, it’s done in a dirty bowl with cracks at the bottom courtesy of the time one of my dogs used it as a chew toy.

Don’t judge.  The bowl still works…just think twice about eating Jello when you come to my house…and watch for dog hair.

Back CameraDo you see these amazing Jello shots?  Look how perfectly sliced they are!

Upon closer inspection, I was amazed to discover there were no slices of skin on them, nor were there bloody lemon peels (or rinds.  Are we calling them rinds?).

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m pretty sure I would slice a finger straight off if I was going to slice up these lemon Jello shots.

Naturally, it would be my husband’s finger I sliced, and not mine.  After all, he would be the one holding the lemons while I sliced them.

After several Jello shots, a girl can’t be expected to hold the lemons steady.

Oh yeah, I may have forgotten to mention that when I make Jello shots I’m usually wasted on several of the shots by the time we get to the slicing portion of the recipe.

But everyone is like that, right?

recycleAs if these delicious gems of goodness weren’t already perfect, I realized there was another plus to them.  They are environmentally friendly!

You know my love of animals and of this beautiful planet (which is made even more beautiful by the presence of Jake Gyllenhaal and Andrew Garfield).

So with this recipe I can load up on liquor without feeling guilty about the environment.

I don’t need to be worried about filling the landfill with little Jello shots cups (mostly because when I eat these I will be too blitzed to think straight).

Actually,I’m probably helping the environment by doing Jello shots this way.  I am using biodegradable material for good use, while also supporting recycling.

I’m so considerate.

This is yet another way to give back to Mother Earth while drinking to excess.  Who knew being an environmentalist would be so fun?

The best lemon jello shotsDoes this mean I can stop shaving my arm pits?

Another bonus to these shots is that neighbors going through my trash (or just looking out their window to see me sprawled out on the lawn), won’t judge me for the large amount of plastic containers strewn about me and my body.

Rather, they will assume my drinking caught up with me and my liver finally gave out.  This makes for a peaceful afternoon nap on the front lawn…the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

What’s that you say?  Your neighbors don’t go through your trash?  Sure.

Whatever.  Keep telling yourself that, but do yourself a favor and go outside some night and see if your Us Weekly magazines are still in your trash can.

My guess is they’re not, as the nosy neighbor down the street wants to keep up with the Kardashians but can’t afford a magazine subscription (or cable…or the internet….those fricking Kardashians are everywhere).

So since I’m totally awesome and you guys are just dying to know how these Jello shots are made, I will tell you.  It’s actually fairly easy.  Here it goes:

RECIPE

1.  Cut several lemons in half. (You can also uses oranges, limes or watermelons)
2.  Scoop out the insides of each half lemon so it’s hollow.  (I suggest dumping the insides of the lemon into a large container of Grey Goose and water.)
3.  Make Jello as per the instructions.  (If you are making this for a party that I will be attending, please multiply the alcohol content by two.  Who am I kidding?  Multiply it by three.)
4.  Pour the liquid Jello into the halves, making sure not to overfill them.
5.  Place the lemon halves in muffin pans to hold them upright.
6.  Place the lemon halves in the refrigerator and allow the Jello to set.
7.  Once the Jello is done,  remove the lemon halves and slice the halves into smaller pieces.

Yes, it’s that easy.  I know.  Can you believe it?

And if you make this recipe, I will require you to bring over the equivalent of three whole lemons of Jello shots.

You didn’t think you were going to get this recipe entirely for free, did you?

Party like it's 1999For some reason, my husband and I have amazingly fun friends.  I have no idea how we got so lucky to have so many fun people in our lives.  I like to tell myself it’s this blog that makes me so popular, but I’m pretty sure it’s only popular in retirement homes and prisons (or at least so says my Google Analytics statistics).

So when we were invited to a pre-rehab party at our friends’ new house, we immediately said yes.  Our friends purchased a house and are going to rehab it before moving in.  The party was a christening of sorts, and I couldn’t have been more excited.  A pre-rehab house party is my kind of party.  I could spill wherever and whenever I wanted to.  Perfect.

Because they hadn’t yet moved into the house, we knew it would be a bare bones party.  Don’t worry.  I checked beforehand to make sure food would be served.  Otherwise, our RSVP would have been quite different.  This wasn’t only a BYOB kind of party, but also BYOC (bring your own chair).

Yeah, that kind of party.  I considered bringing bean bag chairs but figured they would be hard to transport and I knew if I sat in one of those after a few drinks I would never get back out again. (They seriously suck you in…like a cult, or True Blood.)

My husband and I packed our cooler full of libations, grabbed our portable chairs, and headed to the party.  We pulled up to the new house and had to check the address more than once.  Was this really the house they bought?  It was huge and glorious.

Before we even got out of the car we deemed our friends “assholes” for buying such an amazing house.  Part of me wanted to go back home in protest of their new mansion, but I already knew what appetizers were being served and I’m a girl who can be persuaded by french onion dip.  (Always. I can always be persuaded by french onion dip.)

When we walked in the door the house’s awesomeness pretty much punched us in the face. It was a home built in the early 1900s and was enormous.  It had a glorious staircase and a beautiful sitting room with an old time stove.

There were massive windows that were open and bare, without curtains cluttering the view.  The only things missing were Mammy and Miss Scarlett.  (Since there were no curtains, I assumed this home was Tara after the war.)

We took a tour of the house, cursing our friends with each new room we saw.  Almost every entrance to a new room started with one of us emphatically shouting “God dammit!”  It was especially painful when we discovered their master bathroom was larger than both of the rooms in our 2 bedroom house.  Ouch.

After realizing we aren’t doing anything with our lives, we headed back to the main floor to drown our sorrows in alcohol.  By that time, the music had started and my friend Trainwreck (not his real name) was on the mic (and by “mic” I mean he plugged his iPod into the speakers).  Trainwreck has music ADD.

I’m not sure if that’s a medical diagnosis, or something we made up after a few cocktails.  Either way, the bottom line is that he can’t listen to an entire song without changing it. I’m sure on a long road trip this type of characteristic would be annoying, but for a house party, it was awesome.

He knew how to jam and soon there was a circle of people in a room hanging out and screaming the lyrics to “Gangsta Paradise.”  Of course, we weren’t in a circle dancing, we were in a circle sitting in our comfortable chairs.  After all, we aren’t kids anymore.  We have back issues.  (Okay, maybe not everyone has back issues, but this girl’s sciatica can be a real bitch).

dancingIt felt like it was the 90s and we were back in high school and someone’s parents were out of town.  We rocked out to Snoop Dogg and sipped our gin and juice, checking bedrooms occasionally to make sure two couples hadn’t snuck off to get frisky.  Considering nearly everyone at this party was married, we realized it was a slim possibility but we wanted to live like high schoolers again so we pretended.

The dance party raged on, and although Kid n Play didn’t make an appearance, we had a great time anyway.  My husband and I  left the party with mixed emotions.  We were happy to have lived like high schoolers for a night, but we were also bummed to leave the mansion and head back to our 2 bedroom home.  We got in the car and blasted TuPac.  It took away most of the sting.

***CONTINUED FROM A PREVIOUS POST***

After finishing our strenuous day of napping, Matt and I decided we needed to get ready for our Saturday night plans. For some reason, we manage to have amazingly awesome friends. I have no idea how this happens, but somehow it does.

We try not to understand it, but just go with it instead. It’s one of the world’s greatest unsolvable mysteries, like how Stonehenge was created, or how the Kardashians remain famous.

No matter the reason, we count our blessings that we have such amazing friends, and go to whatever events they invite us to. This past Saturday, we were invited to a large party at some friends’ house. They have a group that goes to fish frys every Friday night during Lent and eats and drinks heavily during that time (and in between that time…and before that time…and after that time…)

They call themselves The Tilapia Mafia and they are awesome.  They even have t-shirts and sweatshirts for those lucky enough to become “made” into the group.  Since Lent recently ended, our friends threw a Tilapia Mafia Last Supper at their house.

It was complete with a large fish fry, several kegs of good beer and tons of food. Since our friends are classy, there was also flippy cup games and beer pong. I know, classy, right?

We pulled up to the party and I gave the pep talk I give my husband before every fun event we somehow get invited to. It goes something like this: “Don’t fuck this up. Seriously. We don’t want these people to realize we aren’t cool, and if they do, I’m blaming it on you. So put your game face on and don’t be a bitch about it.”

Inspiring huh?

scoldWe headed inside and were greeted by the smell of alcohol and fried food…two of my favorite things.  The food spread was amazing and laid out in the kitchen, where we immediately went to stuff our faces.  No walk around the house to say hello to people, no chit chat about the weather.  (It rained that day.  What’s there to discuss?)

We figured we would cut to the chase and immediately begin gorging ourselves on dinner. After all, we didn’t want to be rude to our hosts and not eat.  Since one of the hosts was a chef, we figured it would be a slap in the face to her if we didn’t gobble up everything she set out to eat.  We’re considerate friends that way.

After eating a plateful of food (or two plates full…don’t judge), we decided to walk around and mingle a bit.  We filled our drinks and headed to the back yard to chat and pretend as if we weren’t both wondering when the dessert would be revealed.

We started chatting with a woman on the deck who was drinking beer and chatting about the “good ole days” of getting drunk in college.  I loved her immediately.  After chatting about our favorite fast food restaurants to crash at 2:00 a.m. (Del Taco and Jack in the Box).

I asked her what she did for a living.  She looked at me dead serious and said “I’m a microbiologist.”

Um, what?!  Who says that?  I kind of chuckled and made some comment about how I was the inventor of the push up bra,  and then I realized she was serious.  She was actually a microbiologist.  Frickety frick!  I knew that profession existed but I didn’t know anyone who actually did such a thing.  It was like meeting a Muppet!

I feel like a microbiologist is one of those professions kids say they want to be when they grow up, but don’t really know what it is or that it requires studying and a coke habit to get through school.  No wait…that’s a lawyer.  (Who would fathom being such a ridiculous profession as a lawyer anyway?)

I couldn’t believe I was talking to a real microbiologist, and I commented something to that effect.  I looked to the people standing around and asked what the chances were of actually meeting a microbiologist at a party.

Two of the others standing in the group chimed in and said they were also microbiologists.  What?!   This was getting freaky.  I immediately scanned the room for other professionals I didn’t think existed, like astronauts, or honest politicians.  None of those were found.

I slithered away from the conversation with the microbiologists, as I didn’t want to put myself in a situation to look even dumber than I already did.  Who knew I would be surrounded by people who had what I believed to be fictional jobs?

086

I walked around and located my husband.  He was at the flippy cup table trying to explain to the German national how to play.  My husband was several beers in and at that point couldn’t tell you what brand of beer he was drinking, let alone how to play a drinking game.

The fact the guy he was speaking to was from Germany and spoke broken English didn’t help.  It was like watching Paris Hilton try to understand anything at all.  Seriously.

After my drunk husband proceeded to stumble (literally) through the explanation, the German (not his real name), gave the flippy cup game a try.  After a few rounds of trying, and my husband yelling profanity in the German’s ear in an effort to motivate him, the German became frustrated and yelled in a thick German accent “I’ve never been flipping these cups before!

At first I thought there was going to be a smack down between my husband and the German, but it appeared as if my drunk husband had a bond with the German and they were determined to make it work.

They practiced a little longer and then got a group together to play flippy cup…the way that all young professional people in their 30s do at a party inspired by religious events.

beer steinAfter several rounds of flippy cup, and what I can only assume were curse words from the German, my husband retreated from flippy cup defeated…and drunk.  My husband doesn’t get drunk very often, but when he does, it’s a sight to see.  Everyone else loves Drunk Matt, except for Sober Lisa.

Sober Lisa isn’t so much a fan, as she has to watch him all night to make sure he doesn’t pee on something he’s not supposed to, or punch someone in the face.  It’s like babysitting a 5 year old, only most five year-olds don’t randomly yell profanity and dry hump anything that moves.

As the night wore on, the drinks continued to flow for my husband, and I knew it was time to go when he kept randomly yelling “Damn it German!” whenever the German entered the room.  I gathered my drunk hubby and said goodbye to everyone.

We headed to the front of the house to gather our things from the living room.  We walked into the room and discovered a drunk man sitting on the couch staring at the wall.

When we entered the room he immediately said “Damn it!” quite loud.  I looked around for the German, as I figured my husband’s trend of offensive yelling had caught on, but I didn’t see him.  I asked the stranger if everything was okay, and he said it wasn’t.

He said he had farted and did so in the living room because no one was there, and that we messed up his perfect farting spot by entering when we did.  He seemed legitimately pissed about it.

We apologized and advised we would hold our noses and retreat immediately without telling anyone about his secret spot (as if the permeating smell of rotting pumpkin mixed with Stetson and Jim Beam wouldn’t alert others to his farting locale).  I grabbed my husband and headed to the car, doing my best to convince him to stop yelling “Heil the German” as we walked down the city street.

Fortunately we made it to our car safely, which was a bit of a miracle considering most people would probably take my husband’s yelling offensive instead of endearing comments about his new friend.  I like to think criminals were deterred from approaching us because my blabbering husband appeared crazy…but it also could be because we probably totally reeked of crazy guy’s farts.