Slice of Pink

High on Life

I'm the only sober person in this photo.

I signed up to be the designated driver for Mary's birthday party in Downtown Sacramento on Friday night (Mary being second from the right). I took my job extremely seriously and did not have a single alcoholic beverage in the three hours we were at the bar.

I've never really had to be a designated driver. When I lived in Santa Barbara, there were plenty of bars within walking distance, not to mention a bus that would deliver people straight from Isla Vista to the downtown bars. In Washington DC, I didn't have a car anyway, so all travel, drunk or not, was via metro, cab, or foot. And, now in Davis, there are plenty of bars a short bike ride away.

But, on Friday night I was the DD. And, you know? It's not so bad.

First, the bartender made me free fancy fruit juice cocktails.

Second, Katie shared a heaping plate of nachos with me.

Third, the restaurant gave me free coffee.

Finally, Michelle ordered me blueberry french toast sticks.

I spent the whole night out at a fantastic bar for zero dollars. ZERO!*

*Well, maybe the price of a little bit of gasoline, but Will takes care of that so it's almost like that money doesn't actually exist and, anyway, it has certainly got to be way less than the cocktails, the nachos, the coffee, and the french toast I would have had to buy for myself. Plus, alcohol.

I'm now totally down to be the designated driver. It's quite an incredible bargain and completely hangover-free.

Funny thing is: when I called Shannon and told her that I would drive, she responded most enthusiastically by offering to buy me my first glass of wine.

ReFRESSing

What is this Fress soda that I am currently drinking? It claims to be "Kola" but tastes suspiciously like bubblegum. And it has 198 calories per can. Wowza.

Hey, Honey

I eat honey by the spoonful.

Sometimes I even eat those little packets of honey that cafés put out for people to squeeze into their tea. I just tear open the packet and suck the honey right out. Classy.

In other words, I'm pretty excited about the new Honey Latte at Starbucks.

I picked up a nutritional brochure at Starbucks while I was waiting for my latte to be made and found this list of ways to make your beverage have fewer calories:

Say "hold the whip."
Say "skim milk."
Say "sugar-free syrup."
Say "fewer pumps of syrup."
Say "iced."

Seems like an awful lot of things to remember, if you ask me. I'd need a index card to get through my order.

Do you have a long-winded coffee order full of crazy specifics?

Wino

From Matthew Latkiewicz's Stained Teeth: A Column About Wine:

For some reason, I hear this a lot: "I don't know anything about wine." This is a silly thing to say. Frankly, there is nothing to know. People may try to convince you that wine is somehow like skilled labor or a subject in school, two categories full of things to know, but wine is not like that. You can learn about how wine is made, about the regions and the traditions, but none of this is necessary when actually using wine. I don't know anything about how books are printed and bound, but this does not keep me from reading. You see? The doing has nothing necessarily to do with the knowing.

I drink cheap wine. Partly, this is because I am a student. Partly, this is because I can't tell the difference between a cheap bottle of wine and an expensive bottle of wine. Okay, wait. I take that back. I can tell the difference between a $2 bottle of wine and a $50 bottle of wine (mostly by the hangover); but once you get over $8, it's pretty much all the same.

Mostly, though, I drink cheap wine because I do the doing, but I don't know the knowing. You know?

I almost always choose my wine by the label, which is, in a way, like choosing a book by the cover. But, you know, I choose books by the cover. So there you go. I like these cheap wines:

Then again, sometimes I drink my wine with Pepsi, so you might not want to take my word for it.

Tell me, do you have any favorite cheap wines for me to try?

Stuffed: Or, How I Spent the Weekend

+ Eating garlic naan and girl scout cookie cake at the farmer's market, where we purchased zero fruits or vegetables.

+ Eating popcorn and drinking Coke while watching Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street with my friend, Michelle.

+ Eating a pita sandwich, a violet souffle, and drinking Armenian coffee at Café Méditerranée.

+ Eating meatballs, mac and cheese, and soft serve at Ikea.

+ Eating New York Cheesecake frozen yogurt with brownie bits, sprinkles, and strawberries.

+ Drinking half a bottle of Real Sangria.

I think I'm just gonna go and, I don't know, run about 18 miles now. Or maybe I'll just lie down for a minute.

Raise Your Glass

My friend Michelle and I hosted a Wine & Cheese Extravaganza on Friday night. We went to Trader Joe's after class and bought 8 bottles of wine, 8 types of cheese, plus crackers and all the ingredients for caprese, pumpkin dip, and Michelle's delicious bruschetta.

We were expecting thirty people or so and we were worried--as hostesses are prone to worry--that we wouldn't have enough food and drink.

(You know, somehow, men never have this same concern, considering a 12 pack of beer and a bag of chips sufficient to get the party started. You can always order a pizza, right?)

Of course, we had little to worry about because every single guest brought wine or cheese or wine and cheese or wine and another bottle of wine. Before long there was at least a bottle of wine and a chunk of cheese for every person in attendance.

There are currently five unopened packages of brie in my fridge. But, the wine? It is all gone.

One of the top students in the class puked in the gutter, there are several red wine stains on my hall carpet (spilled by yours truly), and I'm pretty sure the neighbors hate us, but there is a price to pay for being hostesses with the mostesses and we bore the burden. And looked cute doing it.

The photos are here. Cheers!

Epiphany

How to have a clean house: invite people to visit.

Anthony and Amanda came to stay this weekend and, after two months, we finally unpacked the last of the boxes, put a shower curtain up in the guest bathroom, organized the office into a livable space, and put some artwork on the walls.

And we celebrated by drinking beers as big as your head. Out. Because why dirty a glass when you finally got everything sparkling clean?

Actually, us ladies drank cheap red wine mixed with Pepsi. Because we were creative with the meager offerings of a pizza joint. Also, we are classy.

Happy 24th to Amanda! And thank you for forcing us to get it together and finally unpack the boxes that, for two solid months, occupied the guest room bathtub.

Party Food

As an undergraduate student, parties were mainly about drinking and involved copious amounts of cheap vodka or cans of bad beer. Now that I'm older, much of the allure of that kind of partying is gone, in large part because I don't want to wake up on Saturday morning with the type of hangover that results from drinking bottom shelf vodka mixed with Sunny Delight.

I am back in school now, but for the first half of the semester I avoided attending parties because I just didn't want to go down that road again. However, for two weekends in a row, Will and I have attended the parties we have been invited to and, I have to say, college parties as a graduate student are much different than college parties as an undergraduate student. Now, the parties are about food. Alcohol, yes, but also food.

The Friday before last, we went to a wine and cheese party where there was wine and cheese. Obviously. But it was good wine and good cheese. And there was also olives and homemade tomato soup and edamame hummus and pumpkin cake.

On Friday, we went to an Oktoberfest party where there was German beer, brats, cabbage, homemade German potato salad, German cheese and other sorts of German foods. Somehow, our resourceful hostess had received money from the German consulate to pay for these treats. I have no idea why the German government would want to pay for thirty college students to drink beer and eat fancy hot dogs in an apartment in Davis, but why ask why?

Sure, it's still about the drinking these days. But it's not just about the drinking anymore. A person has to eat, too, right?

'Tis Hard to Leave

On Friday at noon, when I was sitting in a bar drinking a glass of wine in celebration (or contempt, as it may be) of my first law school midterm, Will texted me asking if I would like to meet Anthony and Amanda for dinner in San Francisco.

We met them at a brewery, where a beer and a lemon drop were awaiting our arrival, and we chatted and laughed and I lamented about law school, the only thing I know how to talk about because it's the only thing I do. Ever.

(Seriously, I went to Target today, and I literally shopped from a list, steering the cart only in the direction of the items we needed. Glass cleaner? Check. Cat food? Check. Lotion? Check. Bleach tablets? Check. People, I did not even look to see what new clothes Isaac Mizrahi has out or whether there was a cheap pair of ballet flats that I couldn't pass up.)

San Francisco was as fabulous as always, and for the first time I didn't feel like I needed to rush around to see as much as possible in the limited time associated with a place that is too far away to visit with any regularity. Now, it is a mere hop, skip, and jump away, plus a $4 toll to cross the Bay Bridge.

After drinks, we ate at an Italian restaurant and then visited City Lights, a fantastic independent bookstore. At the end of the night, we were standing outside the bookstore, ready to go our separate ways. Although it was getting cold and we were tired, we couldn't seem to stop the conversation, and we continued to chat and laugh.

The story is so nice up until this point: the pasta, family, conversation, books, laughter. We probably would have stood out there all night--in fact, there's a possibility we could still be standing out there right now--but the party was broken up by a stream of pee that was flowing downhill, right in our direction, sprung from a bum that was using the wall of the bookstore as his personal urinal.

Walter Cronkite once said that "leaving San Francisco is like saying goodbye to an old sweetheart. You want to linger as long as possible." But just not long enough for the pee to get you.

The World's Most Beautiful Vodka

Sink the Pink
The Ultimate Party Drink

2 Parts Pinky
1 Part Ruby Red Grapefruit
Garnish with 2 Raspberries

I'd say.

Beer Run

Living in a hotel has its definite benefits--maid service, free breakfast, clean sheets--but there are also disadvantages to hotel living. Obvious disadvantages include the exorbitant cost, the small square footage, and the lack of adequate closet space.

Other not-so-obvious disadvantages are those that only become apparent when you are actually living in a hotel, when insignificant daily tasks become real life obstacles that must be overcome using extreme measures.

We forgot to buy twist tops.

Watermelon Crawl

On Friday, we had our first test, a pretty easy introduction week multiple choice review. To celebrate the end of our first week of law school, the Law School Association organized an opportunity to drink beer and socialize at a local bar, The Graduate. The Law School Association had also organized events at bars on Monday night, Tuesday night, Wednesday night, and Thursday night, which is hopefully not an indication of the rest of the year. I do need to get some sleep.

Because we are all so, you know, smart and detail-oriented, many of us had researched The Graduate to see if there were any drink specials, find out what it would cost to get in to the joint, and when, if ever, we would need to arrive to avoid cover charges altogether. This research led to the unsettling information that Friday night at The Graduate was line dancing night.

I present: Friday, a Timeline

4:00: Take test.

4:30: Finish test.

4:35: Complain about test.

4:36: Complain about location of social event. Country line dancing at The Graduate sounds lame.

4:38: Someone suggests creating alternative plan.

4:44: No alternative plan reached.

4:50: Decide to meet at The Graduate at 9:00 and develop plan at that point, when all parties are present.

(Fast forward to 9:00pm)

9:00: Arrive at The Graduate.

9:05: Complain about country line dancing.

9:10: Beer.

9:11: Complain. Suggest moving to a different bar.

9:20: Socialize. Complain.

9:22: Beer.

9:25: Socialize. Complain.

9:27: Beer.

9:30: Socialize. Complain.

9:35: Talk crap regarding seriousness of line dancers.

9:40: Wait a second. Line dancing to Michael Jackson? Maybe not so bad?

9:50: Electric Slide. Well, we might as well do one dance.

10:10: Get kicked off dance floor for having drinks in hand.

10:11: Complain.

10:12: Consider going to another bar.

10:13: Discuss alternative plan.

10:14: Wait for someone to make decision regarding alternative plan.

10:13: No progress reached in alternative plan.

10:20: Fuck it.

10:25: Learn the line dances.

10:30: Attempt to line dance.

10:45: Line dance.

11:00: Line dance.

11:15: Line dance.

11:30: Dance.

11:45: Dance.

12:00: Dance.

Yeehaw, y'all! I learned the Tush Push.

Pudding Cake

Yesterday, Will and I went with our friends Zanon and Kelly to Venice Beach and Santa Monica. Zanon and Kelly are both from Washington and, although they have lived here for almost two years, they had not yet been to a beach in California. They were both pretty excited and they had packed a backpack and a bag full of stuff--sunscreen, apples, water, sweaters, and other paraphernalia. I had my purse. Will had nothing except the clothes he was wearing. This is so typical us.

We walked the boardwalk in Venice and, in the evening, drove up to Third Street Promenade to have dinner. We ate at Ye Old King's Head and spent nearly two and half hours in the British Pub ordering lots of drinks and more dessert items than necessary. Kelly and I both ordered traditional English desserts--treacle sponge pudding and sticky toffee pudding--while Will and Zanon each ordered plain, old, everyday hot fudge sundaes. Boys are weird.

During dinner, Zanon was quizzing us on all of our favorites in life and asked the typical question: if you were being sent to the electric chair what would you request for your last meal? We answered that and then he asked what our last dessert would be.

Zanon quickly decided that it would be some dessert his mother makes that involves peanut butter and chocolate, Kelly would choose crème brûlée from a restaurant in her hometown, and I would go with decadent and dense Marvelous Market brownies. My husband? He would go with a Fatburger Oreo milkshake.

We want to know, what would be your dessert of choice?

Joy to the World

Saturday night was our staff Christmas party. It was hosted by a nice Christian couple who live on a delightful street that is all maxed out with lights during December, much like the house on that National Lampoon Christmas movie with Chevy Chase. Times about 50. I wasn't totally sure which house on the street we were looking for when we arrived because I forgot the invitation. I called my friend, Anna, and asked if it was the house with the giant Joy to the World The Lord is Come message emblazoned on the roof. Anna told me that would be the one.

I will point out here that I brought my own bottle of wine because lots of good Christians don't drink alcohol even though Jesus himself turned water into wine and got so drunk that one time that he said that the wine was his blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant, which will be shed for you. And to drink it in memory of him. Which, okay.

And, so, I spent most of the staff party at the bar area with my Shiraz, except when I ventured to the food area for more rocky road and spinach dip.

I am pouring wine! With the cork on!

I would like to point out that last year I brought homemade candy cane cupcakes to the staff party; this year I brought a cookie tray from Vons purchased on the way to the party. Things are going steadily downhill at the Wallace Holiday Headquarters. Lord, help us.

Lively! Long! Luscious!

This is the extent of my wine proficiency: If it is champagne, I love it. If it is red, I really like it. If it is white, I kinda like it. If it is pink, it is gross.

I buy bottles based on the label design. I order at restaurants by saying "house red" which I guess is typically the cheapest glass they have and sometimes comes out of a tap. If I ordered a more expensive glass, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference, so what's the point.

Is it earthy or buttery? Sharp or round? Chewy, clean, coarse, complete? I have no idea. Did I have to look up these terms by googling "wine glossary"? You bet, because obviously I have never considered any of this before 15 minutes ago.

I have no class.

Last weekend, while in San Luis Obispo, I met up with several of my former students and some of their friends and roommates, a couple of whom are Wine and Viticulture majors at Cal Poly. In other words: 18 year olds who know far, far more about wine than I do, despite the fact that they aren't even of drinking age. While on the trip, I took suggestions from the waitresses on what wine to order. One suggested Shiraz. I like Shiraz. It tastes like Merlot. But costs about $8 more per glass.

It's been decided. This winter, we're learning about wine! We're talking about taking the Sideways Tour because, hi, everything we know about wine tasting we learned from the movies. Be prepared, I will soon be able to tell you if the wine is velvety or vigorous, spritzy or silky, noble or nutty. Or else, I will just get totally drunk. We'll see how it goes.

Multiple Choice

After school today I

a.) trained for a half marathon

or

b.) watched Monday Night Football at a bar while drinking three glasses of merlot and eating a basket of fried pickles with onion rings

Totally 50/50. Except kinda more 10/90. Take a guess.

Truth

Driving past a mexican restaurant in town:

Me: Oh! Rocamar! We haven't been there in forever!

Will: Oh, yeah. Great burritos.

Me: Their pina coladas are deeeelicious!

Will: Forgive me for saying, but you think every pina colada is delicious. You think that the free pina coladas in Vegas are deeeelicious and they are made with cheap, watered-down, bottom-shelf ingredients. You've never met a pina colada you didn't like.

Pop Us Another Round

As the school year comes to a close, I've been allowing the kids to bring in food for a "cultural experience." We can't officially have parties, so we just change the name to "cultural experience" and party on. There's not much cultural about doughnuts, Cool Ranch Doritos, and Pepsi, although one girl brought in tamales, totally validating our educational soiree. Thank goodness.

Yesterday a student showed up with a huge box of Otter Pops in an ice chest. We were enjoying the Louie-Bloo Raspberrys and Poncho Punches (see? cultural!) but we were not eating them fast enough and they started to melt. I was on my third pop when they all turned to pure liquid and I began referring to them as Otter Shots, since you could now drink 'em down in one big, sugary gulp.

Every time a student would ask for another Otter Pop, I would remind them that they were no longer Otter Pops, but Otter Shots. When a new student would arrive, I’d ask if they’d like an Otter Shot.

The kids all laughed and rolled their eyes at my increasing silliness, but I seriously think I’ve stumbled on the greatest idea since the mojito: Otter Shots. An adult-only version of the Otter Pop. Kinda like Jell-o shooters, only packaged in little plastic tubes with cute little characters and a theme song! It's pure genius.

(I am so fired.)

Of course, the Otter Pop people won't listen to my amazing suggestion, much like the Eggo people did not listen when I wrote to them suggesting they make Eggo waffle mix in a box, like Krusteaz only with a less crusty and gross sounding name. The very important people at Eggo wrote back saying something about liability and not taking suggestions from the public and blah, blah, blah. But, when the Eggo waffle mix appears on the shelves, it will have been because of my brilliance legally stolen from those jerks at Eggo. I will still buy the mix because Eggos? Yum.

Anybody for a Poncho Rum and Punch?

Grizzly

Stephanie, Lauren and I are hanging out in our pajamas in our hotel room in Fresno with Malibu Rum and pineapple juice in little paper cups. We've been out shopping and drinking and have eaten 50 tons of food and gossiped all day long.

Stephanie brought Lauren and I some of her famous cookie bouquet cookies. They were adorable butterfly and daisy cookies, which we originally were going to keep forever and take a million photos of, but then Lauren dropped them on the floor causing them to break, so we ate them up which was totally fine by me because they were lovely to look up, but even better to eat.

Gotta get back to the gossip before the gossip becomes about me.

Chillin'

The hat does not belong to me, but I kinda like it.

Sweets

Our 4th Annual Valentine Open House

What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas

My cousin Katie (on the far right) turned 21 on January 1 and, in Johnson family tradition, we all went to Vegas to celebrate. Just before this picture was taken, we had finished off a lively, 2-deck game of King's Cup. King's Cup is one of those college drinking games designed to provide hours of fun based on the consumption of large amounts of alcohol. This is basically the center of college life and I have provided the rules, after the jump, in case you have not had the great fortune of playing Kings. I'd be happy to invite you over for a round.

Although my cousins and I have played King's Cup on many occasions, this was our first experience playing King's Cup with the rest of the family. Including aunts and uncles. Including Grandma. If you have never played King's Cup, that is sad; if you have never played King's Cup with your Grandma, well that is just downright terrible.

In King's Cup, if you draw an Ace, you have the fortune of making up a new game rule that everyone must follow. Grandma pulled the first Ace and required everybody to put their left hand on their head before taking a drink. I pulled the next Ace and made it a rule that everyone had to make the sound of an animal before drinking, thus turning the room into a big, head-patting barnyard. We were using two decks of cards, 8 Aces, so plenty of new rules were coming into effect. If you fail to follow the rules, you have to drink. Mr. SoPink could not seem to follow any of the new regulations and was getting drunker by the second.

In college, one of the best rules to implement is the No Cussing rule. As soon as the No Cussing rule goes into effect, everyone gets blitzed because no one can remember not to say any bad words. It's actually pretty ridiculous considering we are supposed to be intellectuals at institutes of higher learning. But whatever.

Of course, at this wholesome family gathering, there was no cussing going on because, hello, Grandma was in the house. But, when the last Ace was pulled, my cousin Mike, a UCSB grad, put the Must Cuss rule into effect. As in, you Must Cuss or you Must Drink. Chaos and laughter erupted with the F-bombs.

Poor Grandma, whatever happened to your sweet, innocent grandchildren?

Happy 21st to our favorite New Year's baby!

Christmas Party Recap #2

I wore the same jeans to this party, but there were (mostly) different people and I washed them.

What I wore: dark jeans, black heels, a black sweater with a black satin bow and a new rhinestone bow ring

What I drank: champagne, and lots of it

What I ate: too many potstickers, too many little pieces of garlic bread with pesto, too many cookies, too many stuffed mushrooms

Hostess gift: wine

What I gave for the gift exchange: scarves

What I got from the gift exchange: porn

Summary: champagne, potstickers, and porn. I’d call the night a success.

Christmas Party Recap #1

The Staff Party

Where the party started: the boss’s house

What I wore: dark jeans, black heels, black tank top, and a thin, cream cardigan with rhinestone buttons

What I drank: 2 large plastic cups of wine, 2 Malibu and pineapples

What I ate: 2 servings of lasagna, a slice of chocolate cream pie, and 5 (seriously, 5) servings of that green fluffy Jell-o salad, which is deeeelicious

My side dish: candy cane cupcakes

My hostess gift: a poinsettia

My gift exchange: I did not participate because it took too long to find the thin, cream cardigan with rhinestone buttons, leaving no time for other, less necessary shopping.

Where the party ended: a karaoke bar

Summary: my voice is gone and I spilled wine on the thin, cream cardigan with rhinestone buttons (but it came out, hurrah)

Eat, Drink and Be Merry

We are officially entering the Christmas Party season, the pre-Christmas period where you need to dig out a glittery top, whip up a side dish, pick up a poinsettia for the hostess, find a $20 exchange gift that a man OR woman would enjoy (what the hell would that be exactly?) and stand around eating too many buttery cookies and (hopefully) drinking large quantities of wine until the first person to drink too much does something awkward thus ending the festivities. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Shout It Out!

If you are wearing a 100% silk, baby blue, dry clean only skirt at a wedding reception, you should not order five glasses of red wine at the hosted bar. White wine, yes. Red wine, no.

Cheeky

So today, for the first time this summer, I got up before 8am, which is good practice because in one short week I will have to get up at the ungodly hour of 6am. For the past two months I have gotten up around 11 and I drink a Coca-Cola around 12 because it’s already lunchtime. Today, I was craving a Coca-Cola at 9am, which is not a good thing because I don’t want to be buying a Coca-Cola at the vending machine in the teacher’s lounge at 7am next week. It’s not really great when you need a Coca-Cola to get the day started.

I know it is annoying, but I have to clarify that it is Coca-Cola (and not simply Coke) because I don’t want to confuse my mom and get her all frazzled and distressed thinking that I have a drug abuse problem.

At least I’m not starting off the day with a gin and tonic.

The one picture in the universe in which I have cheekbones! Cheekbones, I tell you. Also some serious red-eye. And maybe a little too much lip injection going on. But, ah, the cheekbones. This is why I drink everything from a straw.

More photos, although none with quite so much cheekbone.

Pink, yo

bloggers. drunk. many. champange. tired. sparkles. everywhere.

The Post Where I Misuse a Five Dollar Word

Here’s how to create stress.

I need to make 59 invitations for the baby shower (we are not really going for an intimate gathering). I went and bought the paper today. I was standing on the paper aisle and, wouldn’t you know it, the paper comes in packs of 50. So I bought one pack.

I need 59 invitations and I bought 50.

In a miracle of Jesus Christ proportions, I guess I just expected the 50 sheets of paper to miraculously turn into 60 sheets of paper, along the lines of that whole 5000 fish from two fish deal.

Once that phenomenon occurs, I am going to round the corners of the paper with this handy corner rounder. Straight edges? Straight edges suck! Rounded edges are so much, uh, rounder.

Because I have to go get on with the rounding and the thaumaturgic workings, I am going to amuse you with some boring photos that I would never print out and put in a photo album. I have to put them somewhere.

This is a picture that I took right after Will said, “That is my favorite weather pattern!” Don't y'all have a favorite pattern of weather?

This is a picture of a chicken sitting on a beer can.

This is a picture of how much you can screw somebody when you are the only gas station for a hundred miles and somebody has really, really, really got to pee, now.

This pretty much sums up the trip Laughlin.

And, there you have it.

Good Night

When you drink half a bottle of champagne and three shots of Grand Marnier at Harry’s Restaurant in Santa Barbara, there is really no point in ordering the $30 steak. By the time your steak arrives, you’ll be so engaged in lively conversation with your cousin’s girlfriend that you’ll totally forget about the meal in front of you and, suddenly, the table will be cleared of everyone’s plate but yours which will have to be boxed up for later.

I Talk Trash

Rated by Playboy magazine as one of the top 10 party towns in the nation, Isla Vista rocks. I visited my old stomping ground yesterday for my cousin Mike’s graduation and it hasn’t changed one bit. Adjacent to the University of California at Santa Barbara, Isla Vista is teeny tiny town (2 square miles) with an inordinate amount of people (about 18,000) crammed in like sardines. (I lived in a house with 11 girls. Sardines, I tell you.)

There is really no way to describe Isla Vista unless you’ve been there. And by been there I mean utterly sloshed, slopped-up, carrying a plastic keg cup, stumbling down Del Playa at two in the morning with 8,000 of your closest friends been there.

Yesterday, in addition to being graduation, it was move out day---the day when the leases are up and the students have to move out a year’s worth of secondhand furniture, empty vodka bottles, and unread textbooks. The streets become a giant garage sale. Whatever you can’t fit into the back of your Jetta, you leave on the curb. Whatever you leave on the curb probably gets burned because, despite having prestigious college educations, boys still think it is fun to light things on fire and watch them burn.

The yards and streets were littered with beer bottles, office chairs, George Foreman Grills, Woodstock pizza boxes, and the ashes of old couches that ended their long tenure in IV this weekend. Nobody gets a deposit back. Nobody. Nobody even tries. And, yet, despite the filth, Isla Vista is absolutely fabulous. It’s one of the few neighborhoods in America where you can put two kegs, a stripper pole, and a broken recliner on your front porch and be the most popular guy on the block.

Raise your glass (or Coors Light). Congrats to a fellow Gaucho!

Sometimes You Wanna Go

I guess we are going to have to create a new category in our budget for Maxdon’s Bar. Except we don’t have a budget. Or anything remotely close to a budget. We have no idea what we spend our money on. (Oh, mom, it is fine. Really.)

But back to Maxdon’s. Maxdon’s is about the size of my living room, it is filled with smoke (totally illegal as we are Californians and highly snobby about the effects of secondhand smoke), and it is, you know, the place where everybody knows your name and all that shit. (Oh, mom, it’s my blog and I’ll swear if I want to).

Maxdon’s makes great food. Like fried pickle spears. And if you think that sounds disgusting and bizarre, just wait until you’ve had 3 beers. You’ll want those spears like nobody’s business.

They’ll microwave you a baked potato. They just tell you that with no shame. The waitress will say, “Potato? Sure, let me go nuke one for ya.” And it will be one of the best damn baked potatoes you’ve ever had.

Maxdon’s has a grill right in the bar, totally open to the patrons, where they will cook you up a steak. Or you can bring your own slab of beef from the Vallarta across the street and throw it right on the grill. They are cool with that.

There’s a patio, but the waitresses won’t serve you out there unless the weather is nice and they feel like it. This is the desert, so that’s all of about 5 days a year.

And in case you are keeping score, I have the best damn hair in the place. (I will shut about the hair soon. I will.)