There’s nothing good about Guy Fieri, except him eating backwards.

27 Jan

Guy Fieri is horrifying. How does his hair do that thing it does? Can he possibly wear more man jewelry? What gorilla crushed his trachea and sinuses to give his voice both gruffness and a nasal tone?

And for fuck’s sake, either stop wearing those fucking sunglasses on of the back of your head or don’t wear them at all you bleached-out, sell-out assclown.

Now that all of the vitriol is out of the way, here’s a great video from Team Coco of Guy Fieri eating things in reverse. Sorry it isn’t embedded. I have no idea what’s going on lately with copy/paste html.

Guy Fieri Eating Backwards

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Never again shall you have to pause your video game to eat.

26 Jan

Hey, Xbox players, good news! If you like Hot Pockets, gluttony, and Halo but weren’t sure how to fuse them all together without coming up for air, here’s the product for you!

(There’s supposed to be a video here, but the HTML is buggered. And I don’t know enough HTML to fix it. So click on the following link if you don’t see the player.)

http://revision3.com/html5player-v10633

So this guy, Ben Heck, mods Xboxes. And he had the idea to create an Xbox 360 (pronounced three-sixty for you non-gamers) controller that holds a Hot Pocket. And dispenses it!

Do you read excitement in my words! Because you’d be wrong. I’m disgusted!

Probably because I’m a PlayStation fan and I think Hot Pockets are just gigantic Totino’s Pizza Rolls. Which are also gross.

Bagel Bites, on the other hand, were genius and responsible for me getting through middle school.

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My birthday is around the corner.

24 Jan

So the big question is, which flavor of birthday pie should I get this year?

“Adult beverages” are for assholes.

19 Jan

I hate the phrase “adult beverages.”

Don’t say “adult beverages” in place of “drinks” or “glasses of wine” or “beers.”

Don’t say, “Let’s go get adult beverages after work.”

And don’t you ever fucking ask me, “Are you drinking an adult beverage?”

Because it’s childish. And I will punch you.

Saying “adult beverages” makes you sound like an idiot who’s trying to sound smart and clever. There is nothing smart and clever about the phrase “adult beverages.”

“Adult beverages” is like “athletic garments” or “intimate wear” or “juvenile activities.” They’re douchebag ways to say simple things.

Like saying “utilizes” when “uses” will work (not suffice).

Ask me to go get drinks if you want to split a bottle of wine, because that’s what I will be ordering. Not an “adult beverage.”

It's a travesty that Googling "adult beverages" turned up so many dickhead images.

Mexican sopa is good. Legislated SOPA is bad.

17 Jan

Mexican Sopa. Yummy. Image taken from tastykitchen.com. If SOPA were to pass, using this image could get us shut down.

UPDATE:

It has come to my attention that not everyone knows how to operate search engines. Therefore I am providing a link to SOPA. Read SOPA, otherwise known as House Bill 3261 here. Be sure to put your legal glasses on. It’s a doozy.

****

Tomorrow, January 18, 2012, several websites all over the Internet are going dark as a protest against SOPA, AKA House bill 3261.

For those of you who don’t know what SOPA (Stop Online Piracy Act) is, here’s a very brief description. SOPA would give the government the right to shut down websites and pages that post copyrighted material. Which actually sounds like a good thing.

What it doesn’t tell you is that sites like this one could easily be shut down. Would they be? Do you really want to take that risk?

Also at risk: Wikipedia, Twitter, Facebook, Reddit … Basically any social sharing site.

It would also greatly impact DNS hosting, which is fancy talk for how web addresses are programmed.

SOPA is bad. If it were an ice cream flavor, it would be Pralines and Dick.

Benjamin ...

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A non-smoker trying an e-cigarette. File this under “Dumb-Shit Ideas.”

11 Jan

Yeah, yeah, yeah. So smoking isn’t eating. Fuck you, I write this blog and I’ll write about whatever I want to write about.

And today, it’s e-cigarettes.

I’m not a smoker. Full disclosure: I’ve never ever smoked a cigarette. Partly because my mom convinced me that I would die since I have asthma. Partly because I’m just to cheap to buy cigarettes. Partly because I worry about the color of my teeth.

So I know nothing about smoking cigarettes. I can’t even hold one without looking like a tool.

But another copywriter friend of mine is working for an e-cig company, so when another copywriter informed me she was an e-cig user, curiosity took over.

Did you know the tips light up? Or the they’re rechargeable? Or that the nicotine cartridges come in various levels (even no-nicotine) like the gum?

They come in different lengths and colors–true cigarette being the most popular, I’m assuming. And you can “smoke” them almost anywhere.

The copywriter friend who uses it smokes it in the office at her desk.

Anyway, as she was showing it to me and I was holding it and staring in virgin wonder, she said, “Try it.”

Try it? But I couldn’t. I’ve never smoked.

But it looked so … I don’t know … like a cigarette. Dirty and forbidden and it would make my mom cringe.

But it WASN’T a cigarette. So she WOULDN’T cringe. So it would be okay.

So I awkwardly held it between my two fingers. Then thought better of it. Then I held it with my pointer finger and thumb, like I was holding a joint. Then I thought better of that and did the two finger thing again.

“You have to pull on it like a real cigarette,” she told me.

Pull? What does that mean?

I pretended it was my trusted asthma inhaler. And I inhaled. And I coughed. (What a puss, right?)

But it was interesting. Warm. Tasted like … tobacco? Apples? Vapor shot out of my mouth and nose.

And then I felt dizzy. I guess she has the high-level nicotine cartridges? I have no idea.

But it’s been about fifteen minutes and I literally want to run around the building. Is this what smoking is like?

No wonder it’s so damn hard to quit.

I want a cookie. I need some water. I need my pulse checked.

Faking it.

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I’m a grown-ass woman. Which is why I eat peppermint sticks like a kid.

9 Jan

I bought a box of soft peppermint sticks this past weekend.

And every time I eat one, I can’t help but pretend that it’s a cigar or a big cigarette.

I’ve been able to legally smoke for ages now (which I don’t). Yet I still childishly fantasize about smoking with my candy.

So this weekend as I offered my box of peppermint sticks to my husband or friend, I never asked if they wanted a peppermint stick. I always offered them a cigarette.

Why? I can’t explain it. But every peppermint stick will cease being candy just long enough for me to hold it between two fingers and place it like a Marlboro between my teeth. Then after that initial taste, it will once again be peppermint and not tobacco.

And as if on cue to justify my behavior, not an hour ago while a peppermint stick dangled from my lips—sans smoking pantomime, mind you—a co-worker said, “Looks like you’re smoking a cigarette there.”

I was, good sir. I was.

I wonder if someone makes a peppermint patch.

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Hey, Dallas, Trader Joe’s is coming to Lakewood.

4 Jan

Well, Lake Highlands couldn’t woo Trader Joe’s, but lower Greenville Avenue did. And that’s not too shabby.

After all, Lake Highlands and Lakewood are neighbors, so it won’t be too terribly far away. I do have concerns about traffic and actually getting there. As fun as Lower Greenville can be, it sucks to drive on that street any time of the day. Especially around dinner time and later.

But that’s neither here nor there. We’re getting a Trader Joe’s. Finally.

Although now that the news is official, I can’t help but wonder … do I even care any more? Is it one of those I-only-want-what-I-can’t-have things?

Besides, the Dirty Canadian is great about sending me my favorite treats.

Anyway, read the Lakewood Advocate story about Trader Joe’s coming to Dallas.

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Whoa, so 2012, when did that happen?

2 Jan

If you’re a devoted enough Yummy Awesome reader (which let’s be honest, there are like four of you … and we sincerely love you with chocolate-coated kisses), you may have noticed a lapse in posts over the holidays.

For that, we’re sorry. We’re very sorry. But as you can imagine, we were too damn busy gorging on candy and mashed potatoes and more candy to type.

Have you ever tried to type with sticky candy fingers? It isn’t pretty. My keyboard looks more like a toddler teething toy than a MacBook.

Anyway, sometime within the last 48 hours or so, 2012 happened. And it’s common to make a resolution every new year in order to better oneself.

However, I think we’re all pretty fucking perfect around here. So our only resolution is to eat less bad food. And by “bad,” I mean “not tasty.”

Happy fucking new year, readers. Here’s a picture of my Trader Joe’s gingerbread house for you. You see my husband, the King of Awesome, on the roof hanging lights. My Dog of Awesome is on the side pooping, see the candy poop? And to up the ante, there was actually a flame coming out of the chimney thanks to some Southern Comfort, but the blue light didn’t show up in the picture. Just believe me that it’s there.

What you don't see is the candy orgy inside of the house.

 

 

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The Flying Saucer screwed the pooch. But eventually made nice.

28 Dec

Introducing Dr. Brew, PhD. She’s a beer snob, a PhD student, and one of the Queen of Awesome’s sexiest friends.

She’s been pursuing her Golden Saucer at the Flying Saucer for the last couple of years. And like all marathons, the final miles were the hardest. Hear her tale of suds, but no Buds.

***

I had my first drink when I was 21.  Yeah.  My first drink ever.  No all night High School Keggers or un attended punch at a family gathering.  My first drink was at 21, and it was a Beer.  Miller Lite to be exact (followed by a slew of shots during my Fry Street crawl in Denton, Texas), thus starting my love affair with the brewski.

At 22, I walked into the doors of the Flying Saucer for the first time in Addison, Texas.  For those of you who aren’t hip to the game or haven’t picked up on the theme of this blog entry, it’s a beer joint.  While they sell some wines, the drink of choice is beer—close to 240 beers for your choosing.  The ceiling and walls are plastered with gold plates engraved with names and quotes.  Being the inquiring soul that I am, I found out that the people mentioned on the plates are members of their famed UFO Club.

The UFO Club is their frequent beer drinker club, where once you drink 200 beers (of different kinds), your get your plate and the Saucer throws you a party with a 250 dollar tab.

I love beer enough and I LOVE a free party.  So in the winter of 2007, the gentleman I was dating at the time got me a card to drink with him.

The first year I ran into minor problems.  First, the nearest Saucer was 24 minutes away from me. As a graduate student at UNT in Denton , it was hard getting my friends to get drunk with me in Addison when they could do it for half the price in Denton.  Overcome by my over competitiveness, I would often go to the Flying Saucer during the afternoons by myself, books in tow, to make my way to 200.

In the spring of 2010, I was accepted to Southern Illinois University’s Ph.D program for Speech Communication.  It was a dream come true—I was on scholarship, it’s a prestigious program, I’d leave in August.

And the nearest Flying Saucer from Carbondale, IL, is 3 hours south in Memphis, TN.

I had 100 beers left at the time of my acceptance.  Also, you should know that on your quest for 200 beers, you are only allowed to drink 3 beers every day that count to your goal.  You do the math.

I kicked it into high gear. Along the way, I made buddies with the waitresses and bartenders, who would protect me from drunken males who’d hit on me, give me free loot like glasses and shirts, and on rare special occasions would comp a beer or two for me.  I felt like the bi-racial Norm of the Flying Saucer. Bouncers and managers alike knew my sprint for the plate between March and July of that year.  Friends who were reluctant to go now willfully joined me for a pint.  I studied for my comps there, wrote my thesis there, and said goodbye to my DFW life and Texas there.  I got down to 38 beers before I left.

The past year has been a frantic race to the bar anytime I was within 20 miles of a Saucer.  I went my first trip home for Chirstmas. My Illinois friends went to Memphis for the weekend, so we went.  There as a national conference in Little Rock, AR, and I dragged my colleague there every DAY.  In September of this year, I had exactly 3 beers left.  On a quick visit to the Ft. Worth branch, I proudly swiped my card and told the waitress this was it.  I asked her sweetly to please make sure they count!

She didn’t.

We went again the following day.  And I asked the waitress sweetly, telling her that I didn’t live here and this was my only chance to finish.

She also didn’t.

So in December, I went with my good friends the Queen and King of Awesome to get my final three. Again. Now begging the gorgeous girl in plaid to make sure my beers counted.  She stated that she would but that I would need to return tomorrow to fill out a card for my plate.  Fine.

On December 24, I walked into their establishment and swiped my card.  I had one beer left.  Meaning, she only allowed 2 of the final 3 to count.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!???

Luckily when I walked to the bar, Brandon, a handsome bartender who knew me when, recognized me and upon telling him my plight fixed the computer so that my beer would count and my party would happen.

So if you are free, Jan 7 at 8, you can come to my party that I worked so hard on.  Hot Brandon will be there.***

What’s the lesson here you ask? In academia, we always look for a conclusion or something close to it to answer the questions and soothe the desire for epistemologies fulfilled to occur.  If I liken this to my quest for a PhD, I can give you lots of quotes like, “It’s the journey, not the destination,” or, “It’s a marathon, not a race,” or some shit like that.  And while that is true, the real thing in my to-go cup here is that it pays to be nice, on both ends; customer and employee. Sure things happen, people forget, and years down the road I may not be a massive beer fan as I am now. But to have a document, a gold plate for that matter, that indicates how I spent my 20s is awesome.  And the fact that I spent it drinking really great beer, and practically grew up in that bar, is nice.

***Come now. Getting free booze ain’t that easy, readers. If you want to celebrate, you’re going to have to come knowing Dr. Brew’s real name. And say hi to the Awesomes, of course. Cheers.

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