Stories about bars! Or, things that Go Wrong when alcohol is involved.

So, in one of my many times at work recounting some bizarre happening in my life, the ex shook his head and said, "You have the most charmed life. How the hell does all that stuff happen to you?"

And it's true. Stuff happens to me that doesn't happen to anybody else. And not just one or two, "You can't make this shit up" moments, but every time I leave the house I feel I need a straight jacket or gun or portable room with padded walls 'coz damn, this shit is nutters.

Let's just talk about the last month or so, because that's weird enough:

So on Monday nights I get together with a couple of dudes. We play pool and barhop. These two dudes happen to work at the same bar that's rather well known in St. Louis. So we're at their bar after close, waiting for another dude to get off work because he's going on vacation and Dude I'm With #1 is housesitting and thereby needs the key. Another bartender, who is also going on vacation, decides we all need to do shots to celebrate their vacation. Cool. I like shots that are free, even when they're nasty nasty gross shots.
They're just about done closing up the bar, so I decide to pee before we venture out. So I'm sitting on the pot, pants around my ankles, when the bartendress who decided we needed to do shots COMES IN AND PUKES ALL OVER MY BARE LEGS.
Yeah, right? Who does that? You're supposed to puke on the bartender, not the other way around.

Anyway, a few days go by of me telling this funny tale, and it's Friday night. I'm off work, meeting up with friends at the dirty bar down the street which we go to every Friday night. I had a complete shit shift and was getting my drink on. 1:30 comes around and I decide I'm not in a state to drive home. One buddy who joins in on these Friday night drinkfests lives across the street from this bar, so I walk over to his house to have some water and sober up. All is well and good until I decide to settle in and hang out for a bit.
I stand up to take off my shoes, and the get caught in the leg of my brand-new-with-apparently-too-long-insea

ms pants. Naturally, I shake my leg to get said shoes unstuck from said pantleg, when I lose my balance and dive headfirst into a wall. Hello concusssion. No really, like, it took me a few days to remember what happened, I couldn't do simple math for a week, and sometimes standing up without falling over is hard because I'm so dizzy, concussion. Sweet.

A couple of days pass with appropriately stupid things going on because I can't get my head straight and we get into the World's Longest Noodle trouble.
World's Longest Noodle?
Oh yes, my friends. My boss, in his insane ways to find inexpensive press, decided that our restaurant, a well known noodle maker, should try to create the longest piece of spaghetti. What qualifies as the longest piece of spaghetti? 11,000 feet. Oh yes. Over two miles of noodle.
So to do this, my boss takes 500 feet of halved PVC pipe, makes a track out of it, and props it up on concrete blocks in the middle of the nearby park. He creates a push wagon for the pasta extruder and hooks that up to a generator.
The plan is simple. Spend the next 48 hours with folks working in 6 hour shifts pushing this cart of RAW POWER around a track 22 times. My job in this braintrust idea is to sit on a rolling office chair and feed the pasta from the extruder into the halved PVC pipe and touch every single inch of the 2000 or so feet of noodle we created on my shift. What we didn't think about was the fact that I was basically crabwalking my way around the track in my rolly chair, so at the end of six hours I could neither stand up straight nor stand with my feet together because my thighs were so worn. And I couldn't walk right for two or three days.
Turns out it rained the next morning and the noodle was ruined at 4700 feet. Fuck that noise.

Monday rolls around again. I'm haning out with my Monday Night Dudes and we end up at a bar that has a weekly goth night or something. We end up staying for the after-hours dance party, having a good time. That is, until some furry dude dressed up as a fox or something, drags me on to the dance floor and will.not.let.me.go.back.to.my.seat. Like, he's manhandling me every time I try to get away from him. I finally break loose, cling on to one of the Dudes and whisper that he needs to act like my boyfriend for a minute. So we're huddled close and the furry grabs my arm and tries to drag me back. And doesn't understand that I don't want to dance with him or anyone else. Monday Night Dude has to finally lay it out to get him away from me.
I don't know, it was creepy.

So a week or two passes, my back finally calms down so I can stand up again, things are fairly normal at work and I immerse myself in mundane things that don't cause pain or hangovers or drama.
It's Friday night and I'm bartending some stupid frat party in our private party room. Alpha delta gamma or some shit. Anyway, it's their Christmas party and they're doing Secret Santa bullshit. I'm bored, not making any money, and have a headache that worsens every time some dude says, "What's up, 'bra?" So I start making a list of things they're giving to each other for Secret Santa. Here are the highlights of this list:

A Snuggie, a dugout, a candle that melts into massage oil, one single condom, a box of Trojan Magnums, handcuffs, a paddle, a shot glass with a naked chick on it, anal beads, a bottle of Jager, a bottle of Johnny Walker, and a pack of naked playing cards. AND A BIG BLACK DILDO.

Aaaaand we get to Friday late night. It's a friend's band's last show and we're at the venue, hanging out and drinking brews. It's close to the end of the night and some of us are a little saucy. I'm sitting at a booth, talking to another friend, when I need a cigarette and can't find my lighter. While searching my coat pockets, I ask the friend across from me in the booth if he has a lighter. He searches his person, says no, and then realizes I have a lighter on my keychain that's sitting on the table and proceeds to try to light my smoke.

You think you know where this is going, don't you? That my lighter's all cracked out and I end up not having eyebrows or something? Oh no, friends, you're dead wrong. See, I don't have a lighter on my keychain. I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY. In a big red holder that in said friend's twisted brain that's likely fairly well lubricated with alcohol somehow looks akin to a lighter.
So at this point of time I have a mouth full of mace, my chest and neck are also covered, and a new white sweater covered in brown mace goo. After a good bout of coughing, I run to the bathroom to soak my sweater in hot water in hopes of saving it.
AND THEN COMES THE BURNING. And holyshit, does it burn. The girls at this musical soiree do the proper girl thing of gathering in the bathroom to make sure I'm okay and lend their two cents to what's going to cure the HOLYFUCK IT BURNS LIKE HELL IS BEING CREATED ON MY SKIN ITSELF. One girl decides I need some milk on my skin, as they tell you when you eat something spicy having a glass of milk can ease the burning. Dutifully she goes to the bar, procures a cup of half and half, and announces she has the cure to the hellfire on my neck and chest. I try to lean forward while this magic tonic is being poured but someone else things I need to be leaning backward, so I end up standing straight up and have cold milky goodness poured over my entire front side.
So here I am in the bathroom of this bar, with six girls around me, I'm down to my bra, and it looks as if I've wet myself because I have half and half pooling in the crotch of my jeans. My bra is soaked, so I grab my boobs and have a squeeze and suddenly I'm a milk cow with half and half splashing everywhere. Awesome.
In case you were wondering, vinegar helps settle pepper spray on the skin. Vinegar, not milk.

Two days later, I go to the range to play with things that go boom. Nothing happened and it was a completely normal experience, except maybe it was cold.

Debbie, my BFF who lives in Southern Mexico, and I have been talking about the swine flu a lot recently. Here are our correspondences from today:

Debbie writes:
Now, we got the pork and chicken down. The real question is when is the beef flu gonna kick in? We finally got a case in Merida. The whole country is paralized, it really sucks. Just when everybody else is starting to get on their feet again, we in yucatan are late as always. We had to close the gallery... we probably wont open till almost june again. They´re really anal againt people getting together. This weekend they crashed 4 parties and thank god we weren´t one of them.
Meanwhile, in the states there are 5 times more cases of confirmed pig aids than in mexico, but nobody cares! Why can´t mexico be irresponsable too?!?!

My response:
It's insane that they're closing everything down. I know up here they're closing down any school with a case for two weeks. But the news media are finally saying that maybe things were blown out of proportion.
By the way, I'm waiting for the tofu flu.
Hopefully they'll back off from shutting things down soon enough. Who is allowed to work? How are you all supposed to get food or toilet paper?

Debbie:
Food and toilet paper? At Wal-Mart! Supermarkets aren’t shut down, but they do disinfect you at the entrance. All the employees where masks and gloves and shit. You can’t find mouth covers, latex gloves, antibacterial gel or soap anywhere!
But movie theatres, clubs, gyms, bowling alleys, billiards, museums, ruins, malls, department stores or any "unnecessary" business is closed. In Mexico city it’s a lot worse because they shut down restaurants there too. It’s just crazy. The chamber of commerce is just really pissed off. You know, were still in a huge recession and they close everything down for two weeks. School is out till next monday in the whole country. It’s been two weeks already of no school.
Guess what business is profiting the most out of this? Blockbuster! (for real) You can´t find a single movie in the country! By now, I´m pretty sure that the swine flu was made in some hollywood set to get movie sales up again. Damn piracy! (And man, don´t we love piracy down here)
My mom got an email from Ian´s school today saying that on monday all the kids had to wear mouth covers and bring antibacterial gel and wetnaps. Dude! It´s so sci fi, everyone with mouth covers. Anyway... that´s what happens... right now a person with a runny nose is a bigger threat than one with a gun. Funny.

It's been a long time, my friends.
I guarantee it's not all for naught-- there are things in the background brewing.

Boyfriend and I had a wonderful camping trip in June. July and August brought adventures in both real life and the legal system.
September- sweet sweet September- brought the knowledge that I am now a homeowner. This knowledge is not as terrifying as people promised it would be. In fact, I am excited about what's to come, be it new discoveries of this house I've seen twice or finding out that the wall is caving in(heaven forbid). I'm ready.
October has brought sci-fi conventions, a vacation to Colorado, still waiting for news from the house, and the anticipation of another glorious Halloween with wonderful friends.


A reminder, as I prioritize time to edit pictures and spend time with boyfriend and appliance websites:
It is far too easy to look at the day-to-day and remember few, if any, memorable moments. But when you look back over a period of time-- where you are now versus four or five months ago-- it's amazing to see how many changes you find within yourself.

This house was a pipe dream to me. How on earth could I justify a home on a known bad street, beautiful as it was? I spent a lot of time talking with friends, asking what they thought of the neighborhood or living in the area. I talked to mothers raising children within city limits on their thoughts, this being important to me as I was a child of city schools and want to have children of my own.
And you know what I learned? That everyone's experience is different. One person will love it for every person who hates it. All I can do is experience it for myself to see the results.
You know, I can move in a few years if the house doesn't work for me. But that's not why I bought the house. I bought it because it makes me happy. I can imagine spending my entire life there. I can imagine raising my children there. That's important to me. I won't let anyone affect my opinions from street name bias. This is my decision to make. This may be my mistake to make, but it's mine. Not anybody else's.

I look forward to painting, installing appliances, making this place my own-- although the second story bathroom having a beautiful red on the walls and jets in the tub makes it easier already-- in the near future. I look forward to the moment where I plop down on the couch and look around. This isn't my parent's basement. This isn't my boyfriend's and my place. This is my home. I don't have to keep certain boxes in reserve thinking I won't need them until I move again.

I don't want to move again. That's the point.


Stay tuned, dear readers. My excitement, my adventures, my life... it's only beginning.

Cuppa Two Tree

Just a few choices ones today:

Another one from last year's trip to the Coal Factory. I've heard the buildings have all been torn down.




The most delicious pasta in the world. Oyster mushrooms, butter, white wine, chicken stock, balsamic vinegar, soy sauce and truffle oil. So delicious.

The true story of Wayne St. Wayne

Most people in South Saint Louis know of Wayne St. Wayne. His mural at Mangia Italiano has been a work in progress for well over 10 years. His painted records, bottles, and horror movie murals can be seen in many other businesses and homes.
Always looking for a can of Schlitz or a little "inspiration" from onlookers, he entertains potential customers with stories of monsters or his own life. And he has stories. A regular on the wrestling circuit in the past, one wouldn't expect much from the timid, less than six feet tall man, but who knows. I never saw him in his prime.

One day, last July I believe, maybe the summer before, Wayne came in to work on his mural. We all thought it a normal thing until we noticed the large, dark black eye on his face. The whispers started. Wayne must have been jumped recently. I wonder who he pissed off.
Unable to stand the suspense, I asked the question while refilling his drink.
"I got hit by a plane," Wayne said almost nonchalantly.
You could imagine the raised eyebrows that occurred from this comment.
"You know the air show for the Fair St. Louis? Well, a friend of mine was flying the biplane and we decided to recreate the scene from North by Northwest. I was running away from the plane and I looked back to see how close I was, and then SMACK! I was hit by a plane."

This, my friends, is the story of how Wayne St. Wayne got hit by a plane.

New stuff!

Just a few things for now. I've been snapping a lot of photos since I got my Olympus Rebel XT, but a lot of them are for marketing and not very artsy.

This is Sofie, the boyfriend's niece, at Easter. She is, in case you were wondering, the most beautiful little girl in the world.


Spices at the Mercado in Oaxaca, Mexico.


Mama Sarah and Baby Evan, 14 hours old, at the hospital.


The brilliant cupcakes of Superman onomatopoeia Cate and I made for my birthday.

More things will be coming. A trip to Europe is planned for late August, and I can't wait to get out of the country with the Rebel!

Carondelet Coke Factory

Here are some of the photos from the Carondelet Coke Factory, known to many as the Coal Factory:

This is, I think, my favorite shot from the trip.

If you follow a certain path, you are led to a large crane that overlooks the river. Unfortunately, we did not climb the crane on this day because it was rainy and the steps were slippery.

You can find a lot of information about the place here.

It's funny to think about all the times I've visited this place and never thought to bring a camera. My group of friends discovered its glory around 2002; it was our place to drink, shoot off fireworks, and cause other sorts of random mischief. It has turned into my favorite place in Saint Louis to which I love to introduce new friends.

Rumors of its impending doom has affected my group of friends hard. We always thought it would last forever and whispers of the contrary only make us enjoy our time there more.

Expect more to come from the Factory when I have the time to visit once again.