lions and tigers and penises, oh my!
The water from the fountain here tastes like hose. Hose as in garden hose, not Hanes. Because I would never call those things hose anyway, since the full name is panty hose and generally I hate any word close to that word, except maybe the panty rose, which apparently doesn't even exist anymore, but is maybe the funniest product ever to be sold at 7-elevens nationwide. I prefer the word stockings. As in, Silk Stalkings. Did you ever see that show? I think it came on after SNL. But I'm not tasting anyone's panty hose or stockings anyway.
Today started off hurriedly strange. I was up early, but late too since the 'one more minute' snooze caused me to not be the good girl I try to be and fix the coffee on time, but alas, another fatal flaw of mine involves sleep, and loving it a wee bit too much, so what can I say? I was just being ME man, back off! I turned on the television which I never do in the a.m. unless I'm frantically working my way through a DVD addiction, one of which I'm happy to say I've kicked (since there are no more, thank gawd), making way for Six Feet Under which comes out on the 28th. Anyway. I turned on the television, and on CBS they had a program on about Sleep Eating, a modern affliction that is apparently related to Ambien use. It was interesting for about .04 seconds, so I turned to the Today show, and it seems they got the same scoop since it was the SAME EXACT STORY, so I flipped over to ABC, and it was the SAME EXACT STORY. By the time I got to Fox I wasn't miffed in the least that they, too, were broadcasting the SAME EXACT FUCKING STORY. How does that happen? I mean, really? Even if sleep-eating is some breaking news story, which I doubt? How is it possible to flip through the four most popular (?) networks at 7:30 in the a.m. and get the same goddamn story? Needless to say, it bothered me.
So, this past weekend was the bachelorette shindig in Asheville, NC, when I learned the other true meaning of being the maid of honor in a Raised Right Southern girl's wedding, which is resigning oneself to the reality of shelling out a pretty penny. We haven't even done most of the wedding stuff and I'm already pretty heavily into the red. I guess it's just money, though. I wish I sewed. I would totally make my own dress if I could. But I took photography class instead. ANYWAY. Asheville! Such a great place! I was heartbroken to miss Miss tender_inside, would've been LJ meetup #2 not counting momtart who I knew before, and I was looking forward to it. But the phone/chance/ljcomment gods interfered and we didn't get our Saturday coffee tawlk. Such is life I guess. I drank pretty much continuously from the time I got there until the time I left on Sunday. Friday night after I got into town I met Jess, her two pregnant sisters and Catherine and Heather, college roommates, at Tupelo Honey where we had a potato pancake appetizer and then I had some deluxe shrimp and grits, which had goat cheese and roasted red pepper sauce thrown in for good measure, and was DEEVINE. Granted, I'm a sucker for shrimp and grits (who isn't??), but this one was superb. Afterward we went to Stellas, where an Afrobeat band whose name escapes me was playing, got drunk, danced, imitated crazy porn star girl and her posse, met a couple of Cubanos who bought us drinks, danced, stumbled to the hotel.
I don't know how many people who live in Asheville live downtown, but it is the coolest fucking place. I love walking cities, where you can walk and actually get somewhere, and the downtown area seemed to be a veritable cornucopia of locally supplied stores and restaurants. The ONLY chain I saw was a Subway. I guess maybe Sarah can fill me in more on the details of Asheville downtown's resurrection, but I think the way they got it going again was specifically by means of this philosophy, that the city should support itself in that way, that the economy should be self-sufficient and sustainable. As a result there were a ton of arts and crafts stores, cafes, coffee shops, and plenty of tourists to help buy all the shit up. The only place we had to drive to was the liquor store. (ch-ching!)
Saturday we woke up late-ish, 10 or so but didn't get out on the street until about noon. It's hard out here for a pimp. Or at least for a girl trying to rally five women, and coordinate w/ two more. But we made it, went to Salsa's for brunch which was equally scrumptious. Jess and I had a fresh piña colada and mmmmmmmm. I took pictures of my food, that is how good. The rest of the day was a semi bust since at first we were going to go hiking, which is what Jessica really wanted to do, but then it was like 3:30 and we had to wait for something and it was a huge hassle so we ended up just walking around the city.
Antics ensued. We had a party in the suite...there was sort of a theme, which evolved basically from J's sisters wanted to wear wigs that night and in helping me set up the party suggested that I put come to the party and 'wig out' on the invites, or upon one sister calling that cheesy, came back with 'get wiggy with it...' yeah. no. So the invite was an old pulp fiction cover and encouraged disguises...wigs, dark glasses, trench coats and the like. So we got dressed up, I plastered the walls with pictures from Playgirl and Men (which included a most interesting pic of a foursome, all men...) and had a lingerie shower for her. (ch-ching!)
Dinner that night was at Zambra, located beneath the übercool Malaprop bookstore which we had hit earlier that day. (I realize it's called "Malaprop's" but to be honest that bugs me, I think Malaprop sounds better, and actually that any singular name vs. plural name for a bar or restaurant generally sounds better, so since it's possessive I feel I can get away with calling it Malaprop in this entry). We were outfitted and got a lot of attention, and began the 'bachelorette scavenger hunt' with the veil made out of toilet paper, putting our bras on outside our clothes and writing our phone numbers on the bathroom wall. (Sorry Zambra.) In retrospect tapas was a bad idea. Not enough food.
Long story less long, after some bar hopping we ended up at SCANDALS, whose name will never cease to amuse me, a gay dance club, in which we danced the night away, drank for free, ruined my boa by giving it to a huge sweaty guy to dance with, held back J's hair for a good while in the (only) girls bathroom stall, and yelled at the security guard when he was kicking us out. We got into it since the bar had already closed and we were both still in there. I remember ignoring him talking to us, thinking he would go away, but he didn't. After repeated requests for us to open the door, he started banging w/ his flashlight. Loud. I opened it, he grabbed the drink out of my hand, I screamed at him, he told me to leave the stall, I said I'm not leaving my friend, he said something else, etc etc. Somehow (it's hazy) we made it into the taxivan outside where all the other girls were waiting. Poor J. So sick. I told them that 'at least I gave that security guard a piece of my mind!'
I dont remember much after that but I guess I was on the phone some, and woke up in my dress the next day. There was some serious freestyle vomiting that happened throughout the night by various partygoers but I managed to hold off til the next day. Helloooo drinking for sport!
The pregnant sisters had already cleaned everything up (which they did after we got home, at 3 a.m.!)...Nesting?...and I thought it was pretty funny that when they packed up the stuff I brought for the decorations, they put all the pictures of the naked men in the bag. Because, you know, I might NEED them.
Brunch on Sunday was here. I was a fan of the Bloody Mary bar. They just served you the vodka and you got to make your own with the 294562038947 different ingredients they offered. The usual suspects and then some. Like, baby corn and artichokes. (!?!) (ch-ching!)
H's pics are here, I haven't gotten mine developed yet, and the digital ones I took were with J's camera, so hopefully there will be more. If you're interested, that is.
edited to add: yesterday I celebrated one month of quitting smoking, so don't think those candy cigs in the pix are real! they ain't!
Today started off hurriedly strange. I was up early, but late too since the 'one more minute' snooze caused me to not be the good girl I try to be and fix the coffee on time, but alas, another fatal flaw of mine involves sleep, and loving it a wee bit too much, so what can I say? I was just being ME man, back off! I turned on the television which I never do in the a.m. unless I'm frantically working my way through a DVD addiction, one of which I'm happy to say I've kicked (since there are no more, thank gawd), making way for Six Feet Under which comes out on the 28th. Anyway. I turned on the television, and on CBS they had a program on about Sleep Eating, a modern affliction that is apparently related to Ambien use. It was interesting for about .04 seconds, so I turned to the Today show, and it seems they got the same scoop since it was the SAME EXACT STORY, so I flipped over to ABC, and it was the SAME EXACT STORY. By the time I got to Fox I wasn't miffed in the least that they, too, were broadcasting the SAME EXACT FUCKING STORY. How does that happen? I mean, really? Even if sleep-eating is some breaking news story, which I doubt? How is it possible to flip through the four most popular (?) networks at 7:30 in the a.m. and get the same goddamn story? Needless to say, it bothered me.
So, this past weekend was the bachelorette shindig in Asheville, NC, when I learned the other true meaning of being the maid of honor in a Raised Right Southern girl's wedding, which is resigning oneself to the reality of shelling out a pretty penny. We haven't even done most of the wedding stuff and I'm already pretty heavily into the red. I guess it's just money, though. I wish I sewed. I would totally make my own dress if I could. But I took photography class instead. ANYWAY. Asheville! Such a great place! I was heartbroken to miss Miss tender_inside, would've been LJ meetup #2 not counting momtart who I knew before, and I was looking forward to it. But the phone/chance/ljcomment gods interfered and we didn't get our Saturday coffee tawlk. Such is life I guess. I drank pretty much continuously from the time I got there until the time I left on Sunday. Friday night after I got into town I met Jess, her two pregnant sisters and Catherine and Heather, college roommates, at Tupelo Honey where we had a potato pancake appetizer and then I had some deluxe shrimp and grits, which had goat cheese and roasted red pepper sauce thrown in for good measure, and was DEEVINE. Granted, I'm a sucker for shrimp and grits (who isn't??), but this one was superb. Afterward we went to Stellas, where an Afrobeat band whose name escapes me was playing, got drunk, danced, imitated crazy porn star girl and her posse, met a couple of Cubanos who bought us drinks, danced, stumbled to the hotel.
I don't know how many people who live in Asheville live downtown, but it is the coolest fucking place. I love walking cities, where you can walk and actually get somewhere, and the downtown area seemed to be a veritable cornucopia of locally supplied stores and restaurants. The ONLY chain I saw was a Subway. I guess maybe Sarah can fill me in more on the details of Asheville downtown's resurrection, but I think the way they got it going again was specifically by means of this philosophy, that the city should support itself in that way, that the economy should be self-sufficient and sustainable. As a result there were a ton of arts and crafts stores, cafes, coffee shops, and plenty of tourists to help buy all the shit up. The only place we had to drive to was the liquor store. (ch-ching!)
Saturday we woke up late-ish, 10 or so but didn't get out on the street until about noon. It's hard out here for a pimp. Or at least for a girl trying to rally five women, and coordinate w/ two more. But we made it, went to Salsa's for brunch which was equally scrumptious. Jess and I had a fresh piña colada and mmmmmmmm. I took pictures of my food, that is how good. The rest of the day was a semi bust since at first we were going to go hiking, which is what Jessica really wanted to do, but then it was like 3:30 and we had to wait for something and it was a huge hassle so we ended up just walking around the city.
Antics ensued. We had a party in the suite...there was sort of a theme, which evolved basically from J's sisters wanted to wear wigs that night and in helping me set up the party suggested that I put come to the party and 'wig out' on the invites, or upon one sister calling that cheesy, came back with 'get wiggy with it...' yeah. no. So the invite was an old pulp fiction cover and encouraged disguises...wigs, dark glasses, trench coats and the like. So we got dressed up, I plastered the walls with pictures from Playgirl and Men (which included a most interesting pic of a foursome, all men...) and had a lingerie shower for her. (ch-ching!)
Dinner that night was at Zambra, located beneath the übercool Malaprop bookstore which we had hit earlier that day. (I realize it's called "Malaprop's" but to be honest that bugs me, I think Malaprop sounds better, and actually that any singular name vs. plural name for a bar or restaurant generally sounds better, so since it's possessive I feel I can get away with calling it Malaprop in this entry). We were outfitted and got a lot of attention, and began the 'bachelorette scavenger hunt' with the veil made out of toilet paper, putting our bras on outside our clothes and writing our phone numbers on the bathroom wall. (Sorry Zambra.) In retrospect tapas was a bad idea. Not enough food.
Long story less long, after some bar hopping we ended up at SCANDALS, whose name will never cease to amuse me, a gay dance club, in which we danced the night away, drank for free, ruined my boa by giving it to a huge sweaty guy to dance with, held back J's hair for a good while in the (only) girls bathroom stall, and yelled at the security guard when he was kicking us out. We got into it since the bar had already closed and we were both still in there. I remember ignoring him talking to us, thinking he would go away, but he didn't. After repeated requests for us to open the door, he started banging w/ his flashlight. Loud. I opened it, he grabbed the drink out of my hand, I screamed at him, he told me to leave the stall, I said I'm not leaving my friend, he said something else, etc etc. Somehow (it's hazy) we made it into the taxivan outside where all the other girls were waiting. Poor J. So sick. I told them that 'at least I gave that security guard a piece of my mind!'
I dont remember much after that but I guess I was on the phone some, and woke up in my dress the next day. There was some serious freestyle vomiting that happened throughout the night by various partygoers but I managed to hold off til the next day. Helloooo drinking for sport!
The pregnant sisters had already cleaned everything up (which they did after we got home, at 3 a.m.!)...Nesting?...and I thought it was pretty funny that when they packed up the stuff I brought for the decorations, they put all the pictures of the naked men in the bag. Because, you know, I might NEED them.
Brunch on Sunday was here. I was a fan of the Bloody Mary bar. They just served you the vodka and you got to make your own with the 294562038947 different ingredients they offered. The usual suspects and then some. Like, baby corn and artichokes. (!?!) (ch-ching!)
H's pics are here, I haven't gotten mine developed yet, and the digital ones I took were with J's camera, so hopefully there will be more. If you're interested, that is.
edited to add: yesterday I celebrated one month of quitting smoking, so don't think those candy cigs in the pix are real! they ain't!