Sunday, February 22, 2009

Thirty is the New Awesome

This may or may not come off as a coherent entry, because I may or may not be super-dee-duper hungover. So hungover, to be true, that after going out to Grandma Sally's for some serious corned beef hash and blueberry pancakes, I drove by an Arby's and decided that the most important thing in my life was a big beef and cheddar. I sat in the drive-thru for two minutes before I remembered not only that I am broke, but I'd polished off a massive late-afternoon breakfast not fifteen minutes earlier.

Last night was Slinger's 30th birthday. Ideally, right now I would burst into catchy Cat Ballou ballad, one where Nat King Cole and I would saddle up into cowboy gear and pluck our banjos while harmonizing about things of drunken legend. Because I love that fucking movie, and I've had it on my brain ever since I watched My Name Is Bruce last Sunday. Twice. So basically, instead of writing about getting drunk and being all around awesome, I think I'm going to watch Cat Ballou.

But I have to say, that Ang and Dainon are my favorite people for letting us destroy their house. It's all cut up into this kitschy swinging ridiculous 1970's bachelor pad, which is odd for a married couple, full of red and leopard print and a fully stocked bar in their basement with more full bottles of booze than half the bars I've hit. But my love didn't escalate just because Dainon played barkeep while he dished out shots and beer.

It was because at six in the morning, Ang busted out a big vat of cooking oil and fried the shit out of everything in her freezer.

I struggled into the kitchen, because when you've been drinking for ten hours, life is a struggle. Ang was standing over the stove, dropping little frozen bits of heaven into the pot of oil. "Wait...are you...are you actually frying things? Not just baking them in the oven and hoping they're not soggy and bullshit?"

"Ross, what the fuck kind of black woman would I be if I didn't force feed ya'll some fried chicken?"

"I do not want to answer that because it confuses me," I had to lean on the counter for support, "but you are the most amazing human on the planet if you're seriously deep frying those jalapeno poppers right now."

"Girl, you know I take care of you."

"You blow my mind. I doan even know how you can fuckin use a stove."

"Here, honey, have some pizza puffs," she pointed toward a basket full of fried goodness. "And there's ranch dressing over there."

I did exactly as I was told, and started struggling away.

"Ross, don't forget your beer."

I looked at her with as much puppy as I could muster. "I wish I was a lesbian and you were my wifey."



derfina said...

I suck at frying. Heh. I said I suck.

paperback reader said...

Wow. I've never been drunk enough to think Arby's was a good idea.

Also, My Name Is Bruce makes me think of They Call Me Bruce, which really wasn't a good movie (nor was its sequel), but now I really want to see it again anyway.

Anonymous said...

Are you going to replace that American Girl (or whatever that shit was you did at Halloween) with a new Ang outfit this year? She so totally sounds like a super hero.
Are you going to beat the shit out of me with a wooden spoon for saying American Girl is shit?

Anonymous said...

birthday parties thrown by Schmee equal success. I rule. And Dainon and Angela throw a mad after hours. they rule too.

Rassles said...

Derf: I can't fry for shit.

Pistols: I had to IMDB They Call Me Bruce, and now I feel inferior. Should I even bother to watch it? It doesn't matter. I probably won't. Oh, and Arby's is delicious.

Mongo: I don't know if I could pull it off. And then her husband would get all confused, and all hell would break loose.

Schmee: You are an excellent party planner. A goddess among lesser gods.

The Ambiguous Blob said...

I know one person with a deep fryer. It happens to be my boyfriend but he just happens to be from the south.
I don't believe that true Californians are allowed to deep fry anything at home. We slink into late-night diners for fried goods.

Le Meems said...

I would marry that woman in a hot minute - liquidifying me and feeding me?


Rassles said...

Ambiblob: Ang didn't even need a deep fryer, she just had a pot full of oil and the will to fry. And I know what you mean, I've never fried anything at home, other than like, eggs. Or bacon.

Le Meems: Exactly. Dainon is a lucky, lucky man.

The Ambiguous Blob said...

I never even thought of that- filling a pot with oil. Duh.
That's a lot of freakin oil.

Gypsy said...

I could murder some jalapeno poppers right now.

Also, I wish I knew how to make a tilda on my keyboard.

Mrs. Booms said...

This is why I married my husband and put a deep fryer on our registry.

We get drunk and he does things like make me the best cheese fries ever.

With bacon even.

And green onions.

Rassles said...

Ambiblob: I was very impressed.

Gypsy: It always pisses me off when I can't add certain punctuation on my keyboard. I had to google "tilda" by the way, because I'm uncultured, and as a result learned many interesting things about Tilda Swinton.

Boomer: Oooohhhh...cheese curds.

Anonymous said...

i made dainon and angela read this blog on saturday night and they were laughing hysterically. just thought you'd appreciate that...

Bluestreak said...

I´m scared to death of frying shit. Every single time I do it I burn the hell out of myself.

When you´re hung over, you can eat a whole meal and it´s like there´s a monster in your stomach that just consumes the whole meal and then you´re hungry right after. Thanks for making me miss Arby´s, beotch. spain is the WORST when you are hung over and just want a giant plate of eggs benedict with fucking tobasco sauce all over it.