Two Penguins Cards
June 13, 2013, 7:40 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

Two Penguins Cards

Holy shit! It’s been forever. I have missed you guys. A friend of mine started this really cool Etsy shop. If you have loved our drunken antics, you’ll check this bad boy out.



Alexis off to cause trouble in other countries
May 5, 2010, 1:38 pm
Filed under: this and that | Tags: , , ,

I just wanted to say that I love you all but we are taking a mini break as I head off to cause some trouble in Europe. I’ll be in Paris until mid May and as we all know from my last trip abroad, Anastasia doesn’t fare well while I’m away. It seems that she is always going through major life changes when I leave, so this is a quick letter to Anastasia.

Dear Anastasia,

I just want to make sure that you’ll be ok while I’m gone. I know things are crazy right now and I just love your life. Please don’t do anything too drastic because I don’t know if I’ll be able to contact you while in Europe. Please do, however, leave me many voice messages and text messages like the last time. It was entertaining to get those when I landed back in the U.S. the last time. I’m looking forward to it again. I will miss you and I promise you that I won’t get married. I do, however, promise that I will try very hard to make out with a French person (man or woman.) I will try not to have one of them want to move across the world for me. Apparently that is a problem that I have… why do they always want to move to me? Blows my mind.  Anyways, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… the list is small but here it is… don’t blow anything up and don’t eat lasagna… that’s all I got. Feel free to embark on debauchery, drugs, alcohol and lots of sex. Ok, that’s all.

Lots of love,


For the rest of you, get ready for the stories when I return! Starting with the disaster cluster I got myself into before I left!

A bientot!


Boyfriend for a day
April 29, 2010, 3:11 pm
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: , , , , , ,

Success! I finally have a boyfriend. Who would have thought after eight years that I would actually succeed in settling down? Unfortunately, it lasted barely 48 hours, but still! I got to call someone my boyfriend for one night…until I panicked about my single status and sent him packing.

An old friend came into town the other day out of the blue. I had no idea he was visiting until he was already here. Joe is a friend from college, a very sweet man and someone who I attempted to date back in college. If you think I’m crazy now, you should have seen what I was like then. I was a freaking shit show. I’d break your heart the moment I shook your hand. Well, Joe didn’t know this and unfortunately attempted to tame me. I tried to give it a shot but he was way too nice. Plus I had thought he was gay before he asked me out. I need fight in my men. I need spirit and the ability to go drink-for-drink with me; not kind eyes*.

The one time we actually went on a date, it was an accidental three hour night. He asked me to coffee post-class and three hours later I was lying to get out of dinner. Coffee turned into lunch, then into wandering around a book store… it lasted forever. For the rest of our college careers, Joe secretly pined for me… apparently (he told me this later, I’m not being conceited). It just never ended up working out because I was way too bat shit to settle in a relationship.

Now three years later, I’m still afraid of commitment, but I am trying to give it a shot. Baby steps, baby.

Joe was in town the other day. He came on a day that I happened to be a little depressed. At the bar I work at, some customers were making fun of me for being single… which usually doesn’t affect me, but that day it stung a little. Then, out of the blue… Joe texted me saying he was in town and that he always had a crush on me. BINGO. Definitely needed to hear that.

Joe asked me if I wanted to hang out after work, so I agreed. It was late, so we went back to my place with a bottle of wine and a six pack. He had had a few beers before he met me so he felt comfortable telling me how much he liked me in college and all of that shit. Apparently that is all I needed to hear. I was hooked. A few glasses of wine later… I was game for commitment apparently.

We grabbed some beers and walked around my neighborhood. Two seconds into the walk we were kissing. He was a gooood kisser. We walked hand in hand for an hour and then went back to my place. He lifted me up and threw me on the couch, it was passionate making out. We retired to my bedroom and continued the kissing until he asked me if I wanted him to go down on me. I haven’t had any sort of sexual contact in over a year and I said no!!! Look who’s growing up! I refused sex in my drunken state because I want to start a relationship before I engage in sexual activities. (who the fuck is this girl???)

Lying in bed, he talked about wanting to be with me and be my boyfriend. I said yes. He talked about moving to where I live (he lives two states away….) and I actually called him my boyfriend!!! What???!!

(Writing this story now, makes me want to vomit a little bit. You all know I’m not a mushy relationship person… so I’m feeling a bit queazy!)

The next day I drove him back to the hotel, we texted that day and the next day we hung out again after work. I was sort of regretting my hasty decision to be in a relationship so we avoided that conversation and he left with just one kiss goodbye. It was fun having a boyfriend for a day, but I still don’t think I’m ready for any sort of commitment. He is coming to visit me in a couple of weeks though! What is with these men wanting to move across country for me? I seriously must be an amazing kisser!

*Anastasia speak for gay eyes.

-Alexis Patron

Anastasia gets drunk and wraps up the week
April 16, 2010, 4:39 pm
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: , , ,

Is it bad to assume that what the drunk heart wants the sober heart agrees with?  I think most of my friends would say, “Yes! Anastasia, get your head out of your ass!” and talk me down from this Blue-Moon intoxicated state I currently find myself in. However, I can’t help but think that those close to me want what is best for me but don’t necessarily understand what that is yet. I‘m guilty of this same fault with my friends. My best friend on earth and I engaged in quite a heated textual conversation the other day about ex-lady friend.  He, somehow, missed all the signs I gave him regarding my ex-lady friend, and finally said to me…”Well, you have to follow your heart because I know you need to.”  Did he really miss those blatant signs, plastered across his phone with neon lights and bold font, or is he allowing me the opportunity to learn from mistakes? I think the latter trumps the former because no lesson is really learned until one experiences it for themselves.

It doesn’t even matter though. Arguing this point is merely semantics, because in my experience (whether you agree with me or not) no matter what anyone tells me, I need to follow my heart. Believe me, I know my heart has lead me astray many times. But that’s how I learn, right? You can have the utmost educated and life-experienced people on earth tell you not to touch the stove top when it’s hot, but you never really learn until your fingers burn.

My fingers are reaching towards that hot burner and simultaneously begging it to singe off skin to teach me to learn.

It’s true. I see it happening in slow motion and every piece of me that knows better is praying that I pull my hand back, but we all know I won’t. Because it’s those damaging third-degree burns that deliver irrefutable evidence of our poor choices. And my skin has not been scarred enough for me to make the right choices, believe it or not.

In this infinite wisdom,  I find to be true that days, weeks, or months that start in chaos often end in chaos. I’m tired of experiencing this repeatedly, yet can’t help but assume these experiences are what keep us sharp, alive and pushing forward. Because if we trap ourselves between four walls in a vain effort of protection, ultimately the only person who is at a loss is ourselves, right?

Let’s talk about my week.

Monday was like the calm before the storm. Unseasonably warm NY weather led me to attempt to grill chicken and peppers in my backyard. For fear of burning down my apartment and consequently the rest of Astoria, I called my father dozens of times to confirm I lit and managed the grill correctly. However, ill-prepared Anastasia decided to spark the grill at 7 and ultimately ended up grilling by flashlight once the sun went down.  Lesson one: beware that it takes a grill roughly forty minutes to heat up enough to cook (or burn, in my case) your food; plan accordingly.

I think the night would have been fine had some of my friends stepped up to the plate. But unbreakable plans resulted in their absence from my grilling, with the exception, obviously, of one crucial player: my ex-girlfriend.

Lesson two: don’t invite your ex lover, significant other, fuck buddy, et cetera to come over and grill unsupervised. What will ensue is easier to predict than a Nicolas Sparks novel: you’ll drink a lot, drinking will lead to talking about sex or , sex will lead to either practicing the act, or, in my case, your ex asking you ridiculous questions that ultimately are none of her business. Cue weirdness and general un-comfort all around.

I was excited for my regular Tuesday night dodge ball game until I realized ex-lady friend and I had, at some point, agreed to stop talking. By this, I mean she decided to stop talking to me, not inform me she would not attend the game (despite promises to come) and mention needing space to a mutual friend. Shocked isn’t quite the best word to describe my sentiment when I realized we were “fighting” but confused sums it up fairly well. When had this happened? Was it a result of our awkward conversation that was unfair on her part to bring up? Was I not allowed to hang out with her roommates (who I had befriended before we started sleeping together) as a result?

Well, fuck answering these questions. I did what I do best: got drunk that night and fired off ridiculously stupid and blatantly passive aggressive texts. I thought throwing balls at people’s faces would cure my blues, but ended up heightening my imaginary testosterone and heightened up my animosity even more.

Lesson three: avoid drunk texts. Seriously.

Wednesday was not too bad, with the exception of ex-lady and I getting into a semi-heated fight via gchat while she was at work. I hit the city for drinks and made a tentative date to reconnect with her later that night. I knew I didn’t want to have a drunken conversation, but fuck if I give up drinking for anyone. I got back to Astoria around 10:30 and met her on her stoop for a chit chat.

It was, hands down, the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with an ex. First, I threw almost all of my cards on the table. They say honesty is the best policy and in this case I decided to practice what my mother frequently preached to me. It’s difficult for me to be vulnerable in front of people I’m sleeping with. I don’t like putting myself out on the edge without knowing there is absolutely no way I will plummet to the bottom. But this time, I walked right up to the edge, stepped over and landed on both my feet with a Shawn Johnson dismount. As a result, we probably had one of the best and most constructive conversations in the year that I’ve known her.

If you’re wondering why I’m being vague about what happened and what we discussed, it’s because we paused the conversation for now. Now is the time for processing and digestion. We’ll finish the conversation at some point, and when I know where we’re going, I’ll split that can open so fast with all the gruesome details my alcohol-swelling mind can remember.

Thursday started to simmer down, I met Carol Burnett, smoked too many cigarettes, and wrapped up grad school applications. But by Friday, I was so emotionally drained and exhausted, I needed to let fucking loose. A few friends decided to head to Brooklyn for a potluck: boring. Ex-lady friend started working on a show that will, thankfully, keep us out of each other’s hair for a little bit. My friend and I were alone for the night and both itching to get cray-cray.

We decided to hit up a big old lesbian bar called the Cubby Hole in the village. Tentative, after a shot of tequila, a beer, half a gin and tonic and lots of convincing, I decided to give it a shot. What could it hurt? We got to the bar around eleven, and the place was crawling with lesbians and a line halfway down the block. We wait for no one, so we headed to an equally gay and fantastic bar down the street ironically located next to the bar Alexis and I had our first awkward date at.

Lesson four: wait for no one.

We walked down the street, passed the bar where Alexis and I had our first date, and hit up another gay bar bouncing techno beats and male strippers. It took me about two minutes for me to finish my potent Beefeater and tonic. The rest that ensued is practically a dream that I barely remember. I feel like I blinked, looked up and found various gay men assaulting my good-looking friend. I expected this, to some extent, but boys, please let me finish my second drink before I have to start imagining reasons why my friend is unable to dance with you.

Then a drag queen, whose name I wish I had caught, entered our lives. Immediately, my friend warned her of our inability to pay for a reading. She insisted, spewing off some line about Karma, and took our hands nonetheless. To be honest, I was too busy texting ex-girlfriend to pay attention to what she said to my friend. Once her hand grabbed mine for a reading, I was struck by two things: first, her breath smelled like fresh mint and heaven; second, I could not tip based on her assessment.

I mean, if you read my story about The Alchemist, it goes without saying that I have issues with god and or religion. I knew right off the bat that the shit she said to me came from the religious source of getting paid rather than spirituality, despite what she said. She told me to keep a journal, which I do. She asked if I see my ex frequently, which I do. So far, she’s said two things that are fairly common for most New Yorkers. Then she told me that my ex will come back into my life.

Well, I was surprised momentarily after having a conversation with her roommate in which he confirmed that she might, in fact, come back into my life in a romantic manner.

However, the drag queen’s fatal and tip-less mistake was assuming that my ex was a man.

“Make HIM buy you flowers,” she said, “Make HIM be nice to you”

Which would be all perfect advice if my ex had a penis, which, mind you, she does not.

After that, I flirted with a Hawaiian girl who was FAR above my league and introduced my friend to the English equivalent of George Clooney.

I mean, the whole night, I’m having an amazing time. I love spending time, drunk or otherwise, one-on-one with friends. That’s when their true colors shine and you are able to fully understand where they come from and how they feel. That alone made the night worth reliving as much as possible. But I couldn’t get that idea that the conversation ex-lady friend and I had might possibly result in round two of our romantic relationship or sleeping together out of my mind. It haunted me like a Poe ghost. Because Maybe I’ll wait for her; maybe I’ll keep her up when she’s down; maybe I’ll flee like a child. Or maybe I’ll hide.

Maybes are funny because we can base our lives around them when we want to, but if you’re speaking maybes than you already know the answer. My answer is glooming in the near future.

-Anastasia Beam

Happy hour with Alexis Patron
April 7, 2010, 2:38 pm
Filed under: alcohol | Tags: , , ,

Happy hour is a wonderful period of the day where you can go to your local pub or lounge and sip on your favorite drink for a little less money than usual. It is that blissful time right after work before you have to head home where you can escape for a couple hours. A time to meet with fellow members of the M-F world and share conversations over a mutual love of drinking. Happy hour is a wonderful time. That is, unless you are the bartender.

The best hours of the day

Two things I don’t enjoy about the happy hour period:

Happy hour to a bartender = more drinks + less money

Happy hour to a bartender = more people and less conversations

I’m not saying this is the worst part of a shift but it certainly isn’t the best. If you are a quantity bartender, then you may enjoy the happy hour time. A quantity bartender is someone who enjoys slinging drink after drink with no pause for conversation. I enjoy quantity bartending from time to time, but I also enjoy the quality bartending, where you get to know your clients.

There is one place where I worked that I thought happy hour was the best time of the shift.

The Beach House.

This was my first working/bartending experience. It was a magical place to learn. Happy hour was my favorite part of the shift and something I looked forward to every day. It was mainly because of the clientele. I would have the same 20 or so people come in every single day M-F and get their usual drinks. It wasn’t overwhelmingly busy so I was able to have conversations with them and they always tipped very well.

I loved the Beach House. I worked there for eight years through high school and college. I had to quit when I moved away, so I haven’t worked there in almost three years. I could still tell you to this day what everyone drank though. That is an ideal happy hour.

A not so ideal happy hour? One where the bar gets jammed pack with penny-pinching, rude, robust customers who just want a cheap drink. A happy hour should be a time to relax after work with a cheaper drink reward for your hard day. Not a time to load up on cheap drinks before going out on the town. Patrons who come to have one or two drinks after work are the perfect customers to have at happy hour.

Here is what you get when you come to happy hour with Alexis Patron:

*You will get your drink within one minute of sitting down, less if you are a regular and I already know what you want

*Once all of the drinks are served, you will get quality “therapist” time with your bartender, where you can discuss your hard day at work and how you don’t want to go home quite yet to the family

*You will get a refill before your drink is finished

*You will get some mild form of entertainment: a.k.a. bar tricks or trivia

This is the perfect happy hour and I do not understand why some places have yet to master this quality time of day. It seems more and more that happy hours have just become a time to get shitfaced for less money. Not to enjoy a slightly cheaper reward for a hard days work.

One day I will open my own bar and then the world will be able to enjoy happy hour Alexis Patron style.

Loads of alcohol + dive bar + threesome proposal = horrible hangover
April 1, 2010, 11:29 am
Filed under: alcohol | Tags: , , , ,

You know you are getting older when you party like a rock star on Friday and still feel it well into the next work week. Not too long ago one of my best friends, 24-year-old male, said to me: “I was going to go out tonight [Friday] but I have to work on Monday.” So true, my friend, so true.

I don’t know what happened to the days when I could party for a week straight in college and still wake up looking young and fresh. I’VE ONLY BEEN OUT OF COLLEGE 3 YEARS. For god’s sake, I didn’t know it would happen that fast. I’m 25-years-old. A baby in the eye’s of most seasoned alcoholics. Last year I even noticed I was starting to get wrinkles under my eyes. When did this catch up with me?

Being how I was a shit show post-college for about year from drinking every night, I guess I have matured a tid bit since. I no longer drink until my face falls off and wake up having no idea what I did the night before. Yes, my friends, I have matured… a little. But don’t be mislead, this of course doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drink any of your under the table, I just don’t feel so good about it the next day. I guess it is good that I have slowed down on the partying. It is about time for me to settle down with a stable job and maybe start dating? Who knows.

Enough reflecting… I went out on Friday. And the scraps, bruises, busted phone and sad liver are still haunting me this week.

I accidentally got shitfaced. My good friend and I decided it would be a nice evening to get a bottle of wine and watch a movie. At the store, we opted for the turbo large bottle of wine, thinking my roommate would be home to help us out with the load. Well she never showed up… so we drank the whole thing. Which was about a bottle each. We definitely were feeling tipsy and wanted to continue the drunk.

My friend and I decided to visit another friend at his bar downtown, but we couldn’t figure out the bus schedule on my phone so the next best thing was to walk to the nearest bar, which is a total dive. The bar was having a late happy hour. This is when things turned south. Bombay Saffire was on special for $4. I can’t turn that shit down, even though I have two full liter bottles at home.

I asked for a Saffire martini with olives. I should have known that it was a mistake when the bartender asked me – “do you put dry or sweet vermouth in the martini?” What the fuck?! Don’t you learn that on day one when you start bartending or when your dad teaches you about martinis at age 12? My goodness I’ve known that since I was a child! I finally get the martini, which was giant, and take a sip. It was sweet tasting. A gin martini should never be sweet. She asked me if it tasted all right, I said it was weird, she said she put triple sec in it. Apparently she thought since cosmo’s and other “girly” martinis get triple sec, then so should the ever-classic gin martini! Who the fuck is this girl?

I must have been hammered because I didn’t make her re-make the martini, I just told her to add more gin and called it good. I drank the whole thing. I still shiver when thinking about it. Oh I forgot to mention that on the way to the bar I drank a beer. So here is the progression of alcohol – wine – beer – sweet gin martini… of which I followed up with another beer. This is when the night got interesting.

Reminder: we were at a dive bar. Halfway through my martini a woman comes up to my friend and I. A woman who was missing a few teeth, had dirty clothes, wild hair and smelled like the butt-end of the uptown 34th street stop on the N train in New York. First thing she said? “Would you two want to have a threesome?” I was with my guy friend, who happens to be interested in men, mind you. A little shocked, I simple replied, “No thank you, my husband and I aren’t interested.”

The proceeding conversation took place:

Drunk lady: “Oh how long have you been married?”

My friend: “Three years.”

Drunk lady: “Well I’m married too, so we can still have a threesome, right?”

Me: “Oh where is your husband?”

Drunk lady: “Jail.”

My friend: “Oh shit, why?”

Drunk lady: “Drugs.”

She proceeded to tell us all about how her husband beat her and was involved in drugs. Me, being semi-ignorant about drugs, was like, wow I don’t even know what being addicted to those types of drugs would do to you. The drugs topic got her off the threesome topic… thank goodness.

Random stranger enters the mix upon hearing the mention of opium, which apparently was this woman’s husband’s drug of choice, and decided to give me the run down of what opium does to the human body’s nervous system.

I just wanted to get back to my martini. And then it happened: drunk lady lunged at my friend in an attempt to kiss him. I believe I pulled her off/might have hit her and said. “PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO KISS MY HUSBAND.” I think she felt bad. We left shortly after.

On the walk home I managed to trip over my own feet, land sprawled out on the sidewalk and used my $300 phone as a cushion. I cracked my phone, bruised/bloodied up both knees and a few fingers. I’m still pissed about the phone. I knew I wasn’t responsible enough to own a stupid smart phone. Damnit.

Lesson learned. I cannot drink like a 21-year-old anymore. I spent all of Saturday thinking I was dying.

– Alexis Patron

Drunk texting: Anastasia’s favorite pastime
March 25, 2010, 11:00 am
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: , , , ,

Why? Why, why, why do we embrace destructive actions? Why do we allow ourselves to walk down a path that is lit by fire with signs only pointing to misery. Why do we do this most especially with relationships? I’m inclined to believe we choose this journey because of our thirst for moments of intimacy and can justify every bad decision with hours and hours of superfluous “answers” that frequently mean nothing.

Why do we award emotions to those who neither deserve our time or intimacy? Because it feels good in the moment? Probably. But how long do those moments really last?

I’m asking a lot of questions here because they keep jogging through my mind and unfortunately I have not a single answer. I’ve been at this blog for a year now. In that year, I’ve written about subjects that I tend to keep  from people who are dear to me. This is a sad habit but also explanatory. I went through so much shit that I thought would break me but managed to learn from it. But I bottle it all up from the friends who want to help me and care about my happiness. I hide it in a back room in my brain and heart and hope it dissipates over time. I don’t think it ever really does. With all those feelings stewing  in you, they are bound to burst.

This blog is taking a total 180 because of this. When we started posting our stories online, they centered around poor decisions fueled by alcohol that often involved men who we sacrificed ourselves to. Because neither Alexis or  I cared about sharing ourselves with people who would never return such emotions, so long as we got a good story out of it. This is part of what your early twenties is all about.

Now that I’ve hit mid-twenties, I’m fucking bitter about it. Because intimacy comes in any form that you allow: a touch, a smile, a kiss; waking up to an empty bed and hoping, beyond all hope, that the one you want is next to you; or waking up and praying it was all just a bad dream.

I had a really great night up until about ten. I met a new friend of mine for drinks who has been down the lesbian-nasty-break-up-road a few more times than me. She gave me great advice about how to handle this situation but also handling myself with future endeavors. Despite summing up my entire break-up story to her, I didn’t think about ex-girlfriend like I usually do with four drinks in me.

I could her my voice sharing the facts to my friend and each feeling tied to them but it wasn’t me. It was like a narrator in a book speaking through my vocal chords and for this reason, I didn’t miss my ex as much. I was listening to my own story without noticing that  it’s actually mine.

After another friend met us, we headed back to Astoria for more drinks. Then it happened: my ex’s first drunk text message to me post break up. Not a big deal, right? I thought so, at first. But with all the shit I just spewed out at two in the morning, I think it affected me more than I care to admit. Our conversation was fairly average but felt like flirting, even though we probably weren’t. It brought me back to when we deliberately used to flirt via text message before we actually slept together, what a comfortable feeling.

Then I thought about what I was actually doing: hiding how I actually felt about the deterioration of our relationship to have a fleeting conversation that made me feel comfortable. None of my friends knew who I was texting all night, so it felt secretive and special. But she doesn’t make me feel comfortable anymore. It was the farthest thing from special. If I were smart, if I chose to avoid self-destructive decisions, I would have ignored that first drunk message instead of embarking on a two-hour texting session.

When have I ever done what’s actually best for myself in a relationship? Never, because I put partners first.

And there’s the first answer I’ve given myself all night.

-Anastasia Beam