Category Archives: boxed wine

Textual Feeling: B’s B-Day!

in trying to honor b on the day of his birth and his cursed existence in my life since i encountered him however many years ago – i give you these:


me: i had asparagus with dinner last night and my pee has smelled alllll day.
b: i love when that happens.


b: why aren’t we supposed to cry over spilled milk?  if not cleaned up properly, spilled milk can get pretty nasty.  that seems like something to cry over.

—— (this is me ignoring him)


—— (this is me ignoring him again)


—— (me ignoring him)

me: those are old news bitch.
b: la dee da.  i just had them sent to me.  sorry for thinking you’d enjoy them too.  now answer my question.
me: i guess my answer would be that i wouldn’t give a shit because a dog or cat would lick it up and it wouldn’t be my fucking problem anymore.
b: why are you so bitchy today?
me: i need a drink.


b: well, it’s what she wants.
me: all that she wants?
b: you got it.
me: what about another baby?
b: that’s me.  duh.
me: quit being obtuse and acknowledge my ace of base reference.
b: nope.  i refuse to give you that satisfaction.


so here’s to b.  on his fucking bday.  

here’s to many more times we get hammered and make poor choices while shitler judges us, to hours spent watching “my cat from hell,” and to discussing books and how much we love them in front of shitler till his head explodes.  

to vodka presses (with lime -because if you prefer them without – odds are you’re a fucking communist) and john daly’s, and ranch dressing on the thighs of hot girls.

to daring me to steal shit when i get drunk out of my skull, to encouraging you to drunk dial people and leave embarrassing messages, and most importantly – here’s to poor-decision making (especially on your bday).

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The Fucking Trepidation Takes Over

today is the day.

the day i eat and drink my fucking face off. 
and while i was initially very excited – i’m now terrified. 

terrified for how shit-tastic i will feel.
terrified for the hangover.

bear with me.  i’ve been eating shit like this for the last 75 days:


i’ve been fantasizing about this each and every day since i’ve started this diet:


i’m not even exaggerating about thinking about tacos everyday.  just ask lincoln.  if i remembered what i dreamt about every night i bet it would be about tacos.

so tonight i feast. 

while i’m sure it will be partly glorious, i’m convinced it will be mostly awful on my body and liver and i’ll want to die.

so to recap.
orginially, i felt like this:

i'll see you soon vodka!!

now it’s more like this: 

hold me. i'm scared.

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Textual Feeling: Menace 2 Sobriety

i was bored this morning – so i perused my textual conversation with B.

here’s a rag-tag bunch of shit that doesn’t go together other than that it’s all ridiculous:

me: mmmm.  redzone
B: fuck you.  thanks for rubbing it in.  i’m about to eat quiche!


B: i’m a little disappointed in you right now.
me: i had to give people balls.
B: you should have dyed the frosting blue.
me: fitting.  the next batch.


me: i just saw the delorean.
B: wait, THE delorean?
me: it could very well have been.
B: could you see the flux capicitor?  that’s the only way to know for sure.
me: i couldn’t.  it was going too fast.
B: fast enough to time travel?
me: i’d like to think so.
B: me too.
me: because if you can’t believe in the delorean, what can you believe in?
B: nothing.  besides, maybe back to the future was based on a true story and we don’t even know it.
me: we should watch it.  for scientific purposes.
B: of course.  sometimes you have pretty good ideas.


b: happy new year slut.
me: happy new year asshat.
B: go fuck yourself.
me: done.
B: amen.


me: next weekend.  cancel all your plans.  i’m getting “i need to get my stomach pumped because i have alcohol poisoning” drunk.
B: let me check my schedule.


with all due respect to my liver – i’m going to punish it this weekend.

i make no apologies.

here’s hoping that this weekend will simultaneously turn out to be the best and worst one of my life.  lincoln told me to be reasonable –
but i can’t make any promises.

my weekend consists of:
binge eating
being hungover
making bad choices

here’s a picture of what i think is my game face:

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The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It’s that time of the year again.  Time for togetherness and merriment.  For drunkenness and debauchery.  For beer-bonging boxed wine.  For destroying the natural landscape.  For getting beat-up, black-out drunk.  It’s PINEWOODS time.  2K11.  Third annual.

Here are some photos from yesteryear Pinewoods events:



Jack will be in attendance. #AMERICA


An artistic representation of what we'll all feel like come Sunday morning.

I expect nothing short of bad decision-making to abound this weekend.  But what do you expect when you wake up and brush your teeth with peppermint schnapps?  Can we count on a visit from the park ranger?  Cross your fingers, they’re always a delight.
Farewell friends. 
I will return with stories and pictures that will hopefully make you cringe and/or blush.
Seacrest out.