Return of the BBCC

A few days ago, I revealed Momma J's tendency to send me random gifts at the office (a proclivity of hers that I happen to love... and always encourage).

Today, I shall reveal (sorry mom... ) her tendency to share TMI. Of course, I guess this makes me guilty of TMI-infringement also, but oh well here goes.

Momma J: Ok, so yesterday we enjoyed our Bourbon Bacon Caramel Corn. That afternoon I had such horrific gas I had to step outside several times.

This morning one of my co-workers told me he had to leave early yesterday because he was about to explode from a burrito he’d eaten at lunch. I asked him if he was sure it was the burrito, since I too was having a terrible problem - I was beginning to suspect the BBCC.

You can help us get the “bottom” of this…. Did you notice any gas after eating your BBCC?

Me: Not that I recall. And I'm pretty sure I would recall.

Also, you know that this very may well end up on the BLOG now.

Mwaaahahahaha.

Dinner Party 1C Style.

Tonight is calzones and Gossip Girl Season 1 (or XOXO as one of the Rooms calls it) at Apt. 1C.

While the calzones are long gone, the XOXO is just about to start. First, I wanted to take a moment to memorialize our delicious, hard work. Betcha can't guess which calzones belong to the girls, and which to the boys.

(And yes, the boys are as excited for the Gossip Girl portion of the evening as we are. Err... maybe that's just all the beer and Old Crow talking...)

Score one more for Jersey Shore...

Thank you Jersey Shore for giving me - in addition to hours of mindless entertainment - the guidette nickname generator, the urge to giggle every time someone says the word "situation," a reason to throw one of the most hilariously tacky theme parties of all time, an overall boost in self-esteem, AND ...

the perfect pop-culture comparison for our IT Guy at work.

There have been many times that I've tried explaining the situation (ha) that is ITG. But it wasn't until last week's two-hour J Shore special that I realized ITG IS The Situation. It was quite an epiphany, let me tell you.

I'm not saying that I've never resorted to the word "guido" whilst explaining the glory that is ITG. It's just not seemed descriptive enough until now. Now, everyone gets it.

Yes, ITG looks and talks remarkably like The Situation. His body may more closely resemble The Situation's sister, Melissa (minus the boobs...), but lack of muscle hasn't stopped him from going after the ladies just as hard as The Situation and his situation.

My top 5 fave things about ITG include:
1. He goes to Miami for "Spring Break" ... and is in his 30's
2. He spends weekends in "AC" scoping out house music (and most likely "fist bumpin' like a champ")
3. He's so tan, LD thought he might be half black (he's not)
4. He's always in "prime creep mode" ... even at work
5. He wears D&G jeans that look a 'lil somethin' like this ... even at work:

PS, ladies - he's single (shocker). Let me know if you want me to hook you up.

The Enabler

Recently, I went on an Amazon book-buying spree. I'm pretty positive that the guys in the mailroom have gotten tired of delivering packages to my desk. I have not tired of receiving them, however.

Now that all of the holidays are over, and effing Valentine's Day is the only thing we have to "look forward to" as we serve out the rest of our winter sentence, I need something that elicits a little excitement in life.

And if packages that I have ordered for myself - that I already know the contents of - elicit said excitement, imagine what the arrival of an unknown, slightly-larger-than-book-size package did for my day.

After receiving my third glare of the morning from Mailroom Man as he dropped it off, I remembered that Momma J had mentioned the purchase of an impulse-presie, which she'd sent to my office.

I wasn't sure what the appropriate reaction should be as I recovered this gem of a present from the depths of the box:

Hilarity and heartburn are, naturally, where I've netted out with this one.

Upon calling to thank her, she ended the conversation with: Have you gotten that pool membership yet? I saw those new pictures posted on your FaceBook page and I think you should really start thinking about ways to get enough exercise with that knee of yours.

Because Bacon Bourbon Caramel Corn really says, "I'm concerned for your health and the ratio of your diet-to-exercise level."

And that is the story of my life - I've gotten this from 3 generations of women on my mom's side of the family since I was old enough to understand the word "diet". (Probably like, 1st grade or so. Ya know, the norm...)

Just wait, unborn daughter that I may or may not someday have - I will probably do this to you, too.

Passion Pit is the Shit.

IMO.

-Terminal 5; January 8, 2010

You come beating like moth's wings

Spastic and violently

Whipping me into a storm

Shaking me down to the core

But you run away from me

And you've left me shimmering

Like diamond wedding rings

Spinning dizzily down on the floor

(I love this because it speaks to me of most every relationship I've had ... )

Power Box

Even though my first bromance-making endeavor was technically a failure, BrewSkee-Ball has totally come through for me.

-Team moniker-

Not only have I added a few bros to my roster, I've picked up a few new girlfriends as well.

When the guys introduced me to their teammate Mad, I fell instantly in love with her (as people are apt to do). Luckily, the feeling was mutual – hence the birth of the homance, as coined by one of my all-time fave bros, Skeazy E.

We’re well into our second skeeson (a.k.a. season) of [insert appropriate pre-fix]-mance, and things couldn’t be better. Returning to Full Circle after the holidays – the “national home of BrewSkee-Ball” – was more exciting than returning to my actual family during the holidays (sorry, Mom).

Side-note: Ironically, there's also an off-shoot league in Austin. I’ve checked out some of the pictures (and though I’m admittedly biased) have concluded that my NYC fam looks way more fun. No offense, Austin.

Anyway, Mad and I were talking resolutions after the holidays, and I told her about my goal to, err… make some goals.

Which is when she mentioned the Power Box, a concept that one of her friends has apparently successfully employed. Supposedly, the box will work for anything – goals, resolutions, hopes, dreams, wishes – however you’d like to frame it.

Mad’s friend, for instance, really wanted to be in a committed relationship. So she spent time thinking about all of the qualities she’d like to find in a significant other. She then spent time choosing the type of paper and the type of box that she wanted to use to record and store her thoughts.

She wrote the traits down on her paper, folded them neatly and put them in her box. She put the box underneath her bed. A few months later, she met someone with 90% of the characteristics she had identified and stored in the box.

Crazy.

I don’t know – you may be one of those people that think these types of things are a crock ‘a shit. I used to be, until The Family Psychic.

But I think you have to believe in it for it to work. Because ultimately, what it makes you do is believe in yourself.

It forces you to put thought into the things that you want to accomplish. The act of writing them down and putting them out there commits you. It’s like keeping a food journal.

And if you put them out there, you’re more likely to accomplish those goals than if you’d just left them swimming around in your subconscious.

Mad went out and bought her box – she said the one she chose was on sale because it was kind of broken. But that she had to have it, because she thinks she’s kind of broken as well. I was impressed with how much thought she put into it and am susbequently sucked in.

I’m going to make a Power Box.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Drunk Brunch

For me, brunch is a verb unique to NYC. I can't actually recall a time in Austin when I called up my lady friends and said, "Let's brunch."

Which is actually quite a shame, as brunching is one of my favorite weekend activities. Without it, my weekends would - surprisingly - be less productive.

Brunch is dragging my hung-over (read: still drunk) ass out of bed when all I really want to do is sleep in 'til 3. Brunch is catching up with friends. And, brunch is just plain delicious.

Even though we have our go-to places (ahem... Cafe Orlin), we've decided to make more of an effort to branch out lately. I feel like the possibilities are endless - we could choose a different restaurant every weekend until the end of time with no overlap.

And this past Saturday (after marathon nights of drinking on Thursday and Friday) a gaggle of us girls met for noon-time brunch at Primehouse.

I believe I've mentioned the drastic lengths Momma J once took to ensure that my New York family enjoy a bit of BBQ during my first trip up here - a testament to the fact that we Texans take our meat seriously.

So needless to say, I was excited for some steak & eggs action at Primehouse, and couldn't pass on the Surf and Turf Hash when I spied it on the menu: braised short rib, shrimp, poached eggs and pommerey mustard hollandaise sauce atop a pile of hashbrowns.

Sounded like a good choice to me.

Wrong.

There was only one itty-bitty, puny, baby-sized piece of short rib hidden in the entire dish. As there were 10 of us sprawled out in the middle of the restaurant -and 6 of us threw down cards - I (graciously, IMO) waited until we had paid and were leaving the restaurant to play disgruntled diner.

My friend L-Squared volunteered her moral support while I went to confront the waiter.

Me: I don't mean to be obnoxious, but I just wanted to let you know that I ordered the Surf and Turf Hash, and there wasn't really any turf with my surf.

Waiter: Huh?

Me: There was only one itty-bitty, baby piece of turf in my "Surf" AND "Turf" Hash.

Waiter: Uh... [lengthy and confused pause]... which one is the turf?

Really? Really waiter at a renowned STEAKHOUSE? You don't know the difference in definition between SURF and TURF?

Me: Uh... the beef? You know, like land vs. sea...?

Waiter: Oh. Right. Thanks for letting me know - I mean, it's not my fault, but I guess I could... like, tell the chefs or something so I don't get this same complaint again later.  

Really? Really waiter at an "upscale" restaurant? You think I thought you were back there in the kitchen neglecting my steak addiction? And you're not going to offer to comp anything - that is, if I ever even decide to bestow my patronage upon you again in the future? Not even a free cocktail on the house?

Nope, apparently not.
It pains me to say this, but Primehouse: Fail.

In the end though, even if the location lets us down from time to time, the actual act of brunching never will. Cocktails + Friends will always = Success.

Ladies: can't wait 'til next weekend!