Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
In the interest of not rubbing it into the faces of those back in CA(nada) it is now raining again with a terrible ferocity that could only be caused by God punishing the chronic masturbators. You know who you are. Stop diddling your piddle so we can get the sun back.
On to San Fran today! I hope I don't leave my heart there, I've got some blood circulating to do later!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Tonight's restaurant of choice was rated number three in the city. Looked up some reviews on the internet, four and a half stars out of five, family run Italian eatery, good, good. The pasta came with soup or salad and after the waitress listed the dressings I chose the house vinaigrette. Salad arrives...the house vinaigrette turns out to be a creamy dill ranch. Huh. Plus it's so thoroughly coated in it that you wouldn't even know the lettuce was green. Hell it maybe it wasn't. Double hell, maybe it wasn't even lettuce. Maybe it was some genetically modified hybrid plant made by cross pollenating lawn grass with cardboard and made crispy by deep frying it.
On a more positive note I saw a bottle of Merlot for $2.21 in the Safeway. God Bless U.S. All.
No epic sunset's today, just rain, followed by rain, with some more rain and, wait, oh yeah rain. But enough about that, let me talk about some of the food I've had so far on this trip. I'll preface it by saying that I enjoy 'bad' food. I have frequented thisiswhyyourefat.com on multiple occassions, I love butter so much that I'll admit to licking the excess off the knife from time to time, I've had deep fried oreo's before and I'd do it again. That being said, I do have some standards in relation to my lifetime goal of keep my arteries clear of large chunks of lard.
First off, there was the aforementioned glutinous excuse of a clam chowder. It was so coagulated that it fell off the spoon in chunks and one piece of 'clam' was so unchewable that after attempting to masticate it for several minutes I spit it out into the napkin.
Next, at the same fine dining establishment, I ordered a water. You've heard of it, the healthy, hydrating alternative to soda? Right, so the water arrives and from the first sip I can tell something is off. It tastes like something familiar. Something like...Sprite. Like watered down Sprite. Naturally I assume this is the crazy talking, so I pass it to Kyle who confirms my original suspicion. Definitely, definitely tastes like Sprite.
So afterwards I go to the grocery store to get some vegetables to make some amends for any intestional wrongs I might have committed. Green peppers were on sale, two for one, so I figure that'll do. Get back to the hotel, cut it up, eat a piece and choke back some vomit because it tastes like it was grown in a septic tank. Not the outside, because I washed it, but like it was infused with a little bit of something nasty. Again I pass to Kyle because I asume my tastebuds are just messing with me but he confirms. Definitely, definitely shit pepper.
Then today, I ordered the blackened fish sandwich, salad instead of fries, with the raspberry vinaigrette. The item in question was not, in fact, the fish but the salad. The salad! How do you screw up a salad?? Well, for starters the 'vinaigrette' was thick, like a syrup, and sweet, also like a syrup. It was almost as though some crazy, CRAZY person took raspberry jam and added just a smidge, A SMIDGE of vinegar. Because who wouldn't want slightly tangy raspberry jam poured all over their salad?
Finally, and this one is the kicker: the croutons were deep fried. This just blows my mind wide open. Generally people substitute a salad for fries if they're trying to choose the healthier option, to keep their pants under size XXL, to offset early onset diabetes and generally maintain a sizeable portion of dignity not afforded to the super morbidly obese.
That being said, I bought a block of havarti for $2.50 and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon for $2.97 so fuck it, they can do whatever they want in this blessed country.
Friday, January 15, 2010
After six hours of driving today in various degrees of torrential rain I think we're beginning to realize some things about each other. For example, apparently we're both afraid of each other's driving. Except the difference is that his fear is completely unjustified because I'm a good driver. Not that I'm saying he's bad or anything...but my leg's a little tired from pumping the imaginary passenger side brake. However, we're both easily amused by small things (hey-o) and there is much excitement in the car each time we see a funny license plate or a bridge or by small town 'merica in general.
In any case we made and our hotel room has wireless. Thank fuck, because I got winded after two minutes of jumping on the bed. We pulled into Cannon Beach just as the sun was starting to set and saw a street called Sunset Road. God doesn't just wink and point his hairy finger at you like that any old day so we took it and found this:
Thursday, January 14, 2010
We're doing this trip without a GPS, to maintain a sense of wonder and excitement, and also to test his tolerance as I scream at him to leap across three lanes of traffic to make our exit. Actually we just don't have a GPS, and I wish we did, because I can yell at robot ladies all day and not feel at all bad. Maybe I'll ask him to give all directions in a robot voice. Turn. Around. You. Idiot.So I'm in charge of maps. Should be easy enough, google maps is the best, true dat, double true. Except not, because I'm computer challenged and otherwise functionally retarded. Notice how I started blogging after printing off only the maps to Oregon. Also, I missed the part of the map that included Seattle, so instead I drew a circle at the bottom where the map cut off and drew a picture of a Starbucks. I actually did that. I hope he doesn't read this until after we get back, when it's all just a funny memory. Remember that time we broke up halfway through Washington? Hi-larious.
Also, he giving me these weird looks when I say I want to find a museum somewhere on the way where you can pretend to pan for gold. Doesn't that sound like the best kind of fun you can have without abusing substances??? Also, I've already found a cheese factory I want to stop at and I'm fully prepared to pull over in any town that has a funny name. Gaylord, CA? Can't wait. Whiskeytown National Recreation Area? Our health insurance doesn't cover alcohol related injuries, but I'm willing to sober up before they put my arm back in its socket.
If anyone has any recommendations on places to see or things to do in the San Fransisco area, please let me know. I've already picked out some bakeries and restaurants and we've lined up a scene from Full House to recreate in front of the Painted Ladies. I've also got my fancy new camera on standby so there'll be a lot more pictures around this here blog.
On the road again, I just can't wait to get on the road again......
(Tomorrow's post will likely be about how sick of driving I am.)
Thursday, January 7, 2010
One recent obsession is Peak Season. It's Canadian, it's low budget (go figure), it's trashy...it's great. A group of 20 somethings get wicked drunk at all hours and say stupid things in their terrible west coast accents. Then they go snowboarding, they get drunk again, they get in fights, they break-up, make-up, hook-up, episode over. What I like most is that they get black out drunk at least three times a week, but they never get high. It's simply not done in such an upstanding town and home of the 2010 Olympics. I don't why you'd think otherwise.
To say that they say stupid things is an understatement, but one guy in particular stands out for his ability to be so super serious that you know he has no idea just how functionally retarded he sounds. Each of these quotes are directed towards his on again-off again girlfriend Amanda who once got so polluted that she bit him in a bar after he told her he didn't love her. They hooked up again at the end of the episode. Enjoy:
"There’s not a day where I wouldn’t not think of you." Dre, Peak Season
A double negative makes you sound dumb, but a triple negative is just a whole new level.
"When she’s sober, she’s the one." Dre, Peak Season
Rehab is for quitters honey, don't believe a word he says.
"There’s no girl that’s like, like you." Dre, Peak Season
Ok, I gotta go, Blanche is giving Rose advice on having an affair and I just know Sophia is going to stick her nose in with a witty comment. She always does! And that's the beauty of it.
Check out Peak Season on mtv.ca unless, like, you have something better to do.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Arriving in the Great White North, Father picks me up from airport and on 1.5 hour ride home describes to me, in detail, Little Brother's new found 'experimentation.' Apparently he's been blatantly leaving cigarettes and condoms around the house. I can't tell you how many times I've told my parents that I have just absolutely no desire to hear about these exploits, but still Father proceeds to describe to me how he told Little Brother about the dangers of these things, "You know, there are dangers, you know, diseases and, you know, nothing is a hundred percent, you know, pregnancy and you know, he just doesn't listen." If there was a god he/she would have struck me down right then and there.
Christmas Eve Eve, Fat Brother (not presently fat) gets loser drunk (or in his case, simply drunk), gets kicked out of his friends house in the middle of the night without his coat for god knows what reason. He decides to drive home, regardless of inebriation (has previous 24 hour DUI), puts truck in ditch, tries to walk home (15 km, no biggie) calls home screaming that he's going to freeze to death but cannot explain where on the back roads he is. Which is cool because my mother handles things like that really well (not).
At Christmas dinner Fat Brother called Father a "fucking faggot." The context of this is just not worth the effort of explaining, but suffice to say it was unnecessary (you probably guessed). Little Brother and I succeeded in going the whole meal without saying a word.
On the bright side, the notion that I've lost some weight recently was confirmed by my mother's silence. Whence previously she would have commented about my size, this time she kept mum. Or rather, she kept some other kind of mum, but not my normal mum. Nagging = normal. Silence = golden.
On the ride back to the airport my dad's pickup truck contained one recently deceased cow caucus, with its hind legs flapping out the back of the box. When the airline told me I wasn't going to make it onto my flight I said, "Please, I can't take another day with my family." And the Air Canada whore laughed, and I laughed, and then I cried a little, and prayed to the gods who control the airplanes until I got onto the flight. I now have to sacrifice a virgin, but I made it out alive.