Wednesday, January 27, 2010

The Night Before the Day After

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Day ??

This morning I woke up in Cotati, CA and walked outside barefoot in my pajamas. The sun hit my face, the sky was blue, it was glorious.

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

Day Three: Fuck it.

More rain. Today was actually torrential. Last time I said torrential I was blindly misusing it because I didn't know we were about to drive into monsoon season. Also, the hole in the bottom of the car's floor from my passenger side braking has been joined by claw marks in the Holy Shit handle. It wasn't entirely Kyle's fault though, to be fair, I'm going to blame this on the whack nut engineer that decided to carve a shoddy excuse for a road on the side of a mountain while on PCP, making it barely wide enough to accommodate my ass, let alone a car. Looking out the passenger side window I was unable to see the white line due to the sheer drop off 200 feet down into the jagged cliffs of Northern California. Luckily motion sickness is a quick cure for anxiety and after an hour of hairpin turns I was feeling totally relaxed. And nauseous. Actually not relaxed. But really nauseous.

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.

Day 2: Foodie Nightmare

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 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

Day One

Day One is in the books and we're in Giabraldi, Oregon, home of the best clam chowder on the west coast! Especially if by 'best' you mean it came from a can and you didn't add the water. Nice and thick down the gullet.

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:

On a slightly less wonderful note, the wall between our room and the next is shaking and someone is definitely fucking a hooker on the other side.

California tomorrow! I'm going to drink Sonoma dry!

Thursday, January 14, 2010


Tomorrow begins what will surely be an interesting road trip from Vancouver to San Francisco with myself and my directionally challenged significant other. That's not to say that I'm not also directionally challenged, perhaps even more so than he, but I'm the one writing this blog, while he's booking rooms at at Motel 8 like a sucker.

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.

For future reference, there it is. Follow the green squiggly and keep an eye out for the needle.

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.

Blue Heron Cheese Factory has a miniature barn. I can't wait to crawl inside of it for a novelty photo shoot.

What's also funny is that I don't even like being in the car on highway's like this, let alone driving. On family road trips in the mountains I used to pitch my whole body against the side of the car that I thought needed more weight to keep the wheels on the ground.

We're also stopping in the Sonoma Valley to visit some friends which is really exciting. Plus, let's just say that when it comes to wine tasting, I don't spit.

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

Peak Season

I have many guilty pleasures. Currently I'm watching Golden Girls and knitting, and I'm not ashamed to say so. My name is Brittney and I like reality television, daytime television, and re-runs, I like to watch them in bed, usually while eating, and I usually fall asleep at odd hours because of it. I rarely watch the news, but I never miss the Hills. Or The City (god bless Whitney Port). Shows about little people who live in a big world, or make chocolate, or otherwise have gotten themselves on TLC are killing my brain cells, but I. don't. care.

One recent obsession is Peak Season. It's Canadian, it's low budget (go figure), it's'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
Like, thanks.

Tots hottie.

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 unless, like, you have something better to do.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

New Nerd Goggles

I will have you know that these are the exact ones Tina Fey used to wear. Exact, I stole them from her hilarious garbage and wiped off the wicked funny eggshells and now they are mine. Another step completed in my 257 part plan to become her. Tomorrow I'm going to slash my face up with a knife? Too far? I'm still not Tina Fey so I guess it's not far enough.

Who's over there? Are there clowns to the left of me?

Is there someone else on my right? Jokers? Are there jokers on my right?

Stuck in the middle with a Sears catalogue ad for mediocrity. That's all they sell baby.

Every self photo shoot needs an awkward outtake. Here's one of 25,000.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Holiday Nightcap...I mean Recap

The holidays are officially over now, if you are not among the degenerates of society (me) you're back at work by now. Suckas. Now that the pain of holiday time has eased I'll share some of my favorite memories from '09.

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.