Ugh. Sobriety and a caffeine-free lifestyle both blow.
My liver is punctual and began the alcohol filtering process at the usual 5pm hour last night. Four sober hours later, I’d imagine my liver started thinking, “What? What’s going on here? Where’s the alcohol? Why aren’t I working? I’m sad.”
I’m sad too, liver.
Holy shit is Alexis being a nasty caffeine-free son of a bitch! Everything she says is smeared with a condescending, miserable, heartbroken tone. Not only has she threatened my life for interrupting her, she also called me a “dumb fucker” for not knowing something about the Orient and accused me of sabotaging her latest post. She abruptly ended our last phone call by telling me I had to go because I gave her a migraine.
Needless to say, we’re both feeling pretty down on ourselves. So for this Friday’s post we’re sharing an instant ego booster blog. Take a look at the picture below and tell me it’s not good enough for a trip over to the totally safe for work Sexy People blog.
Be sure to send your old yearbook photos and family portraits from the ’80s there as well, so I can laugh at you while I’m sober.
Alexis and I after Lent is fucking over.
-Anastasia Beam
PS-Alexis just called. She’s alive but she told me “not to test her.” She almost picked a bar fight at yoga because a woman “eyed her mat” the wrong way. My friends are so cool.
Sort of confused, I was unsure why there was a scooter in our living room, until it all came rushing back to me.
The game day had started out like any other. Our college was a big football college, so home games were outrageous. The roommates and I met in the kitchen at 8am to cheers and then went off to our respective bathrooms to enjoy a shower beer followed by the getting ready beer and the dancing around the living room to “The Deuce” beer. Drinking games began around 9am, then kegs and eggs at a neighbor’s house and then we left for the tailgates around 11am to do more power drinking.
This was the big rival game and we had many friends in town so it was an above average beer-drinking game.
It’s safe to say by kickoff I was three sheets to the wind. So then came the arguing with the roommates, the first quarter hangover setting in and my dramatic solo exit by the second quarter. Apparently I decided it would be a good idea to walk the 5 miles back to my house.
It was a beautiful fall day so drunk walking wasn’t too bad. Of course I was drunk dialing and texting everyone I knew the entire walk, until I saw it: The beautiful, shiny, silver razor scooter on the sidewalk. It was literally begging me to pick it up and give it a scoot. Smiling at me and taunting me with it’s black padded handle bar and sturdy foot pad, I just had to pick it up. It was like a gin and tonic on a hot day. Like a bloody mary post hangover, it was meant to be.
I was moments away from this kind of glory.
I do feel bad that I couldn’t return the scooter, but lesson to all: don’t leave your belongings near the sidewalk when there is a chance that a crazed drunk football fan might just enjoy using it as a method to get home.
I’m “Catholic.” I use quotes because I don’t go to church anymore and usually only think about god as I board a plane. I have broken seven of the Ten Commandments and all the Deadly Sins. Multiple times. I’m likely to be a repeat offender as well.
Completely oblivious of the basics of Lent (example: it ends on Easter and lasts forty days, who knew?), Alexis got me up to speed. Call that religiously ignorant, but I’ve never actually given something up long enough to celebrate the big Easter finale. Since I graduated from a religious university and used to attend church every Sunday for the first sixteen years of my life, I feel compelled to give Lent a solid effort this year.
So, in honor of whatever Jesus did to spawn this liturgical season of miserable fasting, I’m ending the only relationship that has ever been good to me, breaking up with the only boyfriend who has never let me down: I’m giving up alcohol for forty days and forty god-damn-long-ass nights.
Fuck me, just writing that hurts.
You may be thinking to yourself, “How pathetic. She can’t give up booze for a little over a month?” But it’s not that simple. This effectively ruins many important parts of my life: socializing with friends, dating and sex life, and will almost guarantee a broken promise of a threesome by the end of March I made to a friend of mine. I don’t like breaking promises.
Let’s be honest, I only have a few more years left of acting like a complete asshole with no responsibility. It’s only a matter of time before I either have to start paying off those college loans or get knocked up. Nine months of sobriety? No thank you, I’ll adopt.
Going sober for forty days right now is huge. I dare you to find a handful of 24 year olds willing to even try.
On the other hand though, I’m going to try and be positive about this decision. Less time spent at bars inevitably means more time spent at the gym. I’ll probably read a few more books than normal. Maybe I can even learn a new language, or feed the homeless or some shit. A personal alcohol detox will be a good thing. At the very least, I can look back one day and tell my kids about Mommy’s forty days of sobriety. It will be a very, very good thing.
Rrrrrrrrrrright.
See you in forty days.
I’m already imagining myself weeping in the back of my closet while suckling on an alcohol-free O’Douls one lonely Saturday night.
-Anastasia “Sober” Beam
ps Alexis is giving up caffiene, so it’s safe to say we won’t be talking for the next few days.
Filed under: alcohol, birds and bees | Tags: alexis, guns, hangover, humor, marine
What do you get mix a Marine, alcohol, firearms, religion and an elementary-school temper tantrum?
My Wednesday night.
I had a truckload of alcohol resulting in a two-day hangover. In the span of a few hours, with the help of the dreadful elixir of gin, tequila, whiskey and beer, I witnessed a man behave like a child and experience a little physical and emotional damage.
My long time “friend” came to visit. I haven’t seen him in over a year so it was a nice little reunion; until he threw a fit that I talked to Anastasia on the phone, packed his shit and threatened to leave. It was the most unequivocally middle-school girl move I have ever seen.
So of course I calmed him down by putting on my little red slip and luring him into my room.
How I welcome men into my home.
The night started out well, just your average reunion: an all out wrestling match on the living room floor, an accidental head butt to the collar bone, a game of 52-pickup with my DVDs, and copious amounts of alcohol which then soon turned into arguing, pouting and eventually make up sex.
My roommate probably hates me right now.
In my drunken state I realized that Anastasia would be getting up for work, so I decided to give her a little jingle, which apparently pissed off my friend. I don’t remember the conversation with Anastasia but I do remember laughing a lot and squealing like a little girl. She clearly knew I was shitfaced.
“So, how much alcohol does it take to fuck your pastor’s son?” She asked.
“A church-load.” I said. Totally inappropriate.
A little background about my friend, Guns, he’s from high school and his father is the pastor of the church I used to attend. I call him Guns because for the last four years he has been in the Marines, has wicked huge arms, can bench two of me, is extremely toned and just hotter than ever.
Oh and of course he always carries his handgun with him.
While I was conversing/giggling to Anastasia, Guns decided to pack up all of his stuff, get dressed and walk towards the door. I was exceptionally shocked that he pulled a jealous-girl move on me. I know sometimes when I talk to Anastasia it sounds like I’m talking to my boyfriend, but really she’s my go to, my pal, which I guess can be threatening? He felt threatened by her so he behaved very poorly. After much arguing and having to describe that I have not had to be accountable to anyone in a long time, I’m just used to doing what I want, Guns apologized profusely and thus the slutty part of the evening ensued.
I’m very bummed that I don’t remember the sex, because I feel like it was really good. I do remember him waking me up like four hours later because he couldn’t sleep. My head wanted to explode. He offered me a bath and an IV, because of course he had an IV. I refused both. Things were good the next day, aside from me wanting to die slowly. Guns and I did the ole post sex — high five and parted ways. A little too much drama for me, but whatever can you really call yourself a woman without making a marine almost cry?
First time violent sex hasn’t ruined a friendship for me. I guess there is a first for everything.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: anastasia, ellen degeneres, estelle getty, golden girls, humor, wet hot american summer, zack and miri make a porn
I fully believe there is money to be made in old people saying funny shit. So to pay homage to my geriatric buds, here’s a few of my favorite old-people moments.
1. Gladys Hardy
If you haven’t seen this Ellen Degeneres video…no wait, let me rephrase that: if you haven’t seen this Gladys Hardy video featuring Ellen Degeneres, you’ve been living under a damn box. Gladys stole the show. If you’re grandma doesn’t support your alcoholism, you can always adopt Gladys Hardy because she loves Jesus but she drinks a little, too.
2. Zack and Miri’s Porn-Crazed Oldies
Five seconds in and we have three older folks saying the following:
- Jerk my cum crayon and let me color you white.
- I need cock and I need it now.
- I’MA FUCKIN’ YOU IN THE PUSS!
So long as these actors are not your grandparents and bear no resemblence to poppop and nonna, it doesn’t get much fuckin funnier.
3. Estelle Getty
Estelle Getty, God rest her soul, everything that came out of this woman’s mouth was gold. Pure gold.
4. Michael Showalter as Alan Shemper
This clip is from Wet Hot American Summer, hands down, one of the funniest movies ever. In fact, the movie is so damn funny I can’t think of anything funny to write about it. Just watch it.
5. Rascal Racing
Legalized weed and electric rascal racing?
Fuck it, I’m retiring in Holland.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: Friday | Tags: alexis, anastasia, bartending, seattle weekly
It’s 5:37 am and I just woke up. Let me paint a picture for you: My face is the smeared remains of mascara and beer drool.
similar to this, sans weapon
My hair looks like it was assaulted by a crimping iron but I assume that’s natural when you wake up with a towel half on your head and half draped off the side of a futon. Clearly, it was vital for me to shower after I got home from happy hour.
Alexis is struggling even worse. She’s still recovering, so the whiskey damage has yet to be calculated.
She called me yesterday, ironically, at 5am and spoke in soprano pitch rather than understandable English. That is not an exaggeration, her voice literally reached and maintained a pitch I have never heard before. At one point, completely out of the blue, she said, “ohhh fuck me. All intelligence went out the window three shots of whiskey ago,”
Thursday nights/Friday mornings tend to be rough for us. So on Fridays we’re going to post some of our favorite articles, videos, etc, that we found/wasted time at work with the week before.
Read Alexis’ introduction below and head on over to Seattle Weekly to read Maggie Savarino Dutton’s article and get a feel for what Alexis goes through every night at work.
-Anastasia Beam
Sometimes it’s hard to say no.
-Alexis Patron
I totally took one for the team when I played wing man for Anastasia one night. She mentioned her side in “Don’t Shit Where You Eat,” but I feel it only appropriate to share my side of what I had to deal with, with “chain boy.”
Free drinks from 9pm-11pm is never a good idea for anyone. Live music, assloads of booze… just needed the men. Anastasia was off making out with red backpack for most of the night, so that left me alone to try and find someone to talk to. I found a wicked cute English man and flirted shamelessly with him while playing pool. However, I had a leech I couldn’t shake. Red backpack’s roommate had latched onto me early in the night ruining any potential of a hot steamy make out session with the English gent.
Chain boy was slightly chubby with not a lot of hair, but he was very nice. He was sporting a blue colored shirt with a white wife beater underneath and a very visible gold chain dangling over his hairy chest that was peeking out of the wife beater. I didn’t mind chatting with him since Anastasia needed me there for support. What I didn’t like is when I did find a beautiful man that I wanted to throw me against the wall and ravage my body, I had chain boy following me around like a lost puppy.
After several rum and cokes and vodka tonics, I gave into chain boy. Anastasia wanted to go back to red backpack’s apartment and I couldn’t in good conscious let her go alone! I live in Brooklyn and they all live in Queens so I just planned on staying at her place if we left red backpacks. I wasn’t too pleased when people started pairing off into rooms for the night; I guess that meant that we were staying. I was stuck with chain boy.
We made out a bit but when he asked if I wanted to have sex, I said no thanks and went to bed. He kept the gold chain on, it was hot. Groggy and hung-over, chain boy woke me up at 6am because he had to go to work. He offered to give me a ride all the way back to Brooklyn, which I felt was adequate payback for staying with him that night, so I accepted. Then he kind of side swiped me with this one…
“So I’m going to take a shower, do you want to come with me?” in a tone that suggested he had been listening to Color Me Badd all night long:
Trying to wrap my head around what he was asking… I said, “I wouldn’t sleep with you last night so I’m definitely not going to shower with you, thanks.” Instead I tried desperately to wake up Anastasia so we could walk back to her house. She wasn’t having it. So I let him give me a ride home. Gave him the “peace out” kiss and didn’t answer his phone calls after that.
Last time I wing man for Anastasia.
-Alexis Patron
In the spirit of Lady GaGa’s anthem “Just Dance“, I got fucking hosed this Friday. The beers are starting to add up real quick as I mentally tally the damage I did to my bank account (and liver).
The night started out celebrating a coworkers last day. While we drank in the back part of a bar that might double as a torture chamber after hours (red lit with whips, chains, saws on the wall..random.. see picture below), a couple of young English guys started chatting with us.
Seriously, wtf.
They asked heartfelt questions about the States and our customs. I should have been able to smile and give them honest answers, but I was drunk and thus had to fight the urge to scream “BLOODY HELL! RUBBISH! BOLLOCKS! QUEEN MUM!” in my best English accent.
I’ve never been abroad and never expected there to be much of a difference between the two countries, but apparently there is. They had their first Burrito ever in the states. They dined at such five star establishments as McDonalds, Taco Bell and KFC. They smoked miniature unfiltered American Spirit cigarettes since they apparently missed all 6,000 bodegas that litter NYC with Marb Reds. They tipped $5 per drink and then blamed us for making them spend all their money. Their biggest culture shock came when they showed us a picture of Times Square and were stunned that we not only knew what it is called but also where it is located.
As we walked to a second bar, my mind raced with questions to ask. I needed to know where they kept their monocles and top hats, if they are friends with such English icons as Mr. Bean and Austin Powers, and if their mums are like the women from the BBC show Absolutely Fabulous:
But most importantly I was the asshole who reminded them the whole night the they lost the Revolutionary War. Fuck yeah, America.
At the second bar we found, my friend and I felt it our my civic duty to teach our English friends one of most well-known and favored american pastimes: beer pong. They thought throwing ping-pong balls into plastic cups to be ridiculous, but they valued binge drinking as much as we did so our game commenced.
My ego still has not recovered from the beating it took when we lost.
For my next great American lesson, I took one English boy to the back of the bar and gave him a hands on demonstration of American slutty. When I moved his hands to my boobs, he actually apologized! Have not experienced that one before.
He texted me this morning, while I tried to caffeinate before work and asked, “Did you just use me for my Englishness? I honestly don’t care, you can use me all you like…”
Yes, guvnah! I certainly did.
Good to know I can get laid in London now.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: this and that | Tags: alexis, dating, france, valentines day
I have to admit I do enjoy a good romance from time to time. Since Valentine’s Day just passed I’d like to share a story of one of my favorite dates.
Living in Paris, the majestic city of lights, I dated a very lovely French man. I met him through my host family, in a very traditional set up. He was a gentleman, dark and handsome, and he spoke to me in both English and French.
One of my favorite dates with my French love was just plain classic.
I wish our love affair had ended like this.
We began the afternoon strolling through historic district of Le Marais, where he told me of his background, his aspirations and his studies. He then took me to this little studio near La Bastille where he volunteers helping children and we listened to poetry readings that some of the children wrote.
A short promenade along the Port de Plaisance de l’Arsenal and La Seine, we ended up at a sushi restaurant near Hotel de Ville. The restaurant on the top floor of the building overlooked Notre-Dame and La Seine, it was breathtaking.
Post sushi, mon amore and I walked along La Seine, seeing the beautiful city lights begin to gleam, we made our way to Le Tour Eiffel. We sat in the grass on the Champs de Mars and listened to musicians softly play their music while we watched as Le Tour Eiffel sparkled for ten minutes on the hour. It was out of a dream. Just wonderful.
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If this love affair could have lasted a life time, I would have been content. Sadly enough with our differing religious backgrounds, we could never actually date. But I will always mark this date down as one of the most classically romantic dates I’ve had.
I know that I am going to come off as a little cynical when I say I don’t like Valentine’s Day, but aside from the fact that I think Valentine’s Day is commercialized and impersonal, I had a very bad/entertaining experience that has hindered forever Valentine’s Day.
Clearly I don’t do relationships very well but back in the day when I tried the whole “boyfriend thing” I was a horrible girlfriend. I never did well with rules of dating or monogamy. Anyways, the first time I was in a relationship during Valentine’s Day I was away on vacation the week before, so I gave my boyfriend his gift a week early. I gave him this cute little white teddy bear that was holding a red heart in its hands that said “I love you.”
He must have found out that I had accidentally kissed a couple guys one drunken night a few weeks earlier…
Because he responded to my gift with a very affectionate public display of love. During class, he sent me a note ordering me outside to his truck to see the gift. He had tied my teddy bear to the front of his truck, slashed open the heart with a knife and then went mudding. A note on the dashboard said “this is what you did to my heart.”
Ooops.
I don’t do Valentine’s Day or relationships anymore.
-Alexis Patron
