Masticating with Mellzah: The Strawberry Shake Ya Booty

June 24, 2014 Comments Off read Everything is Terrible, Masticating With Mellzah

In June 2011, I went on a trip to Vegas where I made fast friends with some strangers there on a poker tour and I got hammered with them at the Treasure Island bar across from the pirate show, because that’s the sort of thing I do. Put me in a room with a bunch of strangers and eventually I’ll know their life stories and have made plans to vacation with them by the end of the night. While there, I had one (well, two) of the most delicious drinks I’ve ever had in my life: a strawberry lemon mojito. It was so perfectly summery and refreshing on a hot and sticky night that I hounded the bartender until he told me what was in it, which I wrote down, shoved in my pocket, and never saw again.

…until this week. I don’t know where it went, and I don’t know where it came from. One minute, I was sorting papers and the next minute it was in my hand. I was so excited about finding it again, not only to make for myself, but to share with you. How fortuitous that it’s strawberry season, I thought. I’ll make it and photograph the steps like a food blogger, I thought. This is going to be easy. This is going to be great.

There was only an eensy problem in that the list wasn’t all that specific in terms of proportions or, well, anything. It reads:

Cruzan strawberry rum
mint
strawberry lemon juice
soda water
pinch sugar water
shake ya booty

I was going to have to improvise.

I don’t know whether shake ya booty was the name of the drink or my drunken way of saying that the drink needs to be shaken. The whole “voting liquor into the grocery stores” thing sounded like a great idea until it turns out that nobody stocks this specific strawberry rum on their limited shelf space. Did sugar water mean simple syrup? What kind of strawberry lemon juice? Would strawberry lemonade work? I could feel my confidence waning already. This was starting to sound like something on Pintester: one of those ones where she subs all of the ingredients and the preparation and wonders why it didn’t turn out. But I still had some hope that I could create something that bore some resemblance to the drink I’d enjoyed so much, and could tweak it from there, so I attempted to make it with standard mojito proportions, muddling some lemon, mint, and strawberry, adding white rum, simple syrup, and club soda, with a splash of strawberry lemonade.

…It did not look good. It did not look good at all. The taste was no better. It looked and tasted like nothing so much as what came up after the long night of drinking and room-spinning. That’s right. It looked, smelled, and tasted like liquid vomit. I’ll spare you the picture.

It looks like perhaps food blogging is not in my future.

Twilight in Forks, WA

May 19, 2014 2 Comments read Attractions, Everything is Terrible, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

Initially I planned on reading the Twilight books to see how the fictional town of Forks, Washington compared to the actual town of Forks, Washington. I tried, repeatedly. I just can’t do it. I suppose, more accurately, I really, really, really don’t want to do it. Levels of anti-desire equivalent to not wanting to be audited, to not want a spinal tap, to not want to lick a NYC sidewalk. I made it about twenty pages into the first book, taking a break every couple of pages to get up, wander around, get a glass of water, go to the bathroom, let the dog out, paint a room, clean out my closet, dig a hole in the backyard…basically anything I could think of to avoid the task at hand. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m good at avoidance. I’d get my black belt in avoidance but I just can’t seem to find time to make the meeting; I don’t understand why they can’t just mail it to me. They might have, actually, I haven’t checked the mail in a while. The point is, I’ve been on this self-assigned task for something like three years and I still have not made a dent in even one of these damn books.

When I admitted as much to Jason, he said, “You didn’t even make it to the werewolf part? I hear that’s where the story really picks up.” “Do you want to read them and report back?” “Well…I’ve got some other stuff to do. And I should really read the prequel first: the entire Bible, including the dead sea scrolls and the stuff they only let the pope read. But once I become the pope, my first order of business will be to read the Twilight books, I swear.” So he was basically no help.

I don’t know if the series gets more complimentary toward the town later on, but the part I read stopped just short of calling it a dismal trash hole full of translucent circus freaks, so it’s all the more sad that Forks has embraced Twilight as its sole identity. Nearly every business I saw offered Twilight souvenirs, banners for Twilight tours were plastered everywhere, and even potted plants were emblazoned with the logo. If you lock yourself out of your car while in Forks, try Jerry’s Lock and Key–and while you’re there, browse their available Twilight souvenirs! Obviously everyone wants to capitalize on the tourism this mania has brought to the town, but as the years pass and Twilight tourism dwindles, having all of this outdated grab for relevance everywhere will only serve to make the town sadder than it was originally. Forks is literally a two-intersection town, only one with an actual light. Blink and you’ll miss Forks entirely. On each corner of the lighted intersection is a Twilight-related business. On one corner is the Dazzled by Twilight store. On the second, a pharmacy with “Bella’s First Aid Station”. On the third, a hardware store where you can “get your picture taken in Bella’s work vest!” On the fourth, a Native American and Twilight art gallery.

While I didn’t try on Bella’s work vest or receive Twilight-themed first aid (I know, what sort of half-assed investigative journalism is this?), I did thoroughly check out the Dazzled by Twilight store. I can’t say that I was dazzled, befuddled might be a better word. Dazzled by Twilight had every piece of Twilight-related merchandise a person could possibly imagine, from shot glasses to license plate frames to vampire-scented soap to creepy dolls to “Edward is my boyfriend” magnets to one-of-a-kind furniture to blacklight underwear. Twilight t-shirts? Check. Twilight posters? Check. Twilight toilet seat covers? Probably, I can’t remember anymore. If it had even a tenuous connection to Twilight, they had it.

What they didn’t have was working shingles.

Creepy doll Jacob, keep your shirt on!

I’ve always wanted a table with my favorite book’s title written on it in mixed case in Sharpie, how did you know? The rocks hot glued around the edge really make the piece.

I pressed a penny to mark the occasion, and since Jason and I were both hungry and didn’t want to make the three and a half hour drive back around the peninsula on empty stomachs, we decided to check out the “Dazzled by Twilight” recommended Twilight Lounge and see if they had glitterburgers. …oh. We ended up at Sully’s Drive-In a bit further down the road. Inside, the walls were festooned with grease-spattered dusty Twilight posters; their advertised special was the Bella burger, topped with pineapple, which came with a side of fries and plastic vampire fangs. Obviously, we had to order it.

As it turns out, it’s rather difficult to eat a burger with a mouth full of toy vampire fangs, but a milkshake is somewhat manageable.

Finally, what you’ve been waiting for: Twilight in Forks, WA. The road to Forks is narrow, twisty (especially around Lake Crescent), and requires your full attention while driving, even in broad daylight. The drive back was terrifying: it was now dark, one of my headlights was out, a thick fog covered the road, and logging trucks paid no attention to the speed limit and grade, screaming by with inches to spare on blind curves. I genuinely believed I was about to die in the ass end of nowhere. Should you feel the desire to take a Twilight trip, definitely plan so you’re back on the road before dark to save yourself some white-knuckle time behind the wheel. I checked the Google Maps streetview and as per their 2013 drive-through, it appears that they’re already starting to pare down the Twilight references; only 3 out of the 4 corners mention Twilight now (apparently the work vest didn’t boost the hardware store’s business as much as they’d hoped, because from what I can see of their windows, it’s evidently gone). The banner proclaiming Forks to be the Twilight capitol of the world is similarly gone. The Dazzled by Twilight store location has been knocked down so they are not properly on the corner anymore, but they’re still close by.

The Worst Hair Day

April 29, 2014 2 Comments read Everything is Terrible

While at the Buffalo Bill museum, I couldn’t help but notice his son Kit’s extremely unfortunate hairstyle, which, even for the time period, he looks very unhappy about. Kit, I feel your pain, as this reminded me of the worst forced haircut of my youth. In the summer of 1994 before 7th grade, my mom, unhappy with her own short haircut, badgered me into getting my own hair cut short so we’d “be twins”. At twelve, I was hardly the paragon of obstinacy that I am today, and eventually I was dragged into “HairCrafters” (don’t think elite master of a craft when you see the word “crafters”, instead picture the hodgepodge glitterglue kind and you’ll be more on track) with a picture of Ellen DeGeneres. I was parked in a chair, my mom pointed at the picture and instructed the stylist to “give [me] that” and eighteen dollars plus tip later, I was just at the beginning of a three year long nightmare hair journey, although I didn’t realize it at the time.

Mom, proud of what she’d wrought, proceeded to take me from house to house in the neighborhood to show off our new twin status. I stood there in the summer sun while my mom chatted with the neighbors and the kids, normal kids, splashed in the pool and had fun. Although I was invited to join, my mom told me I shouldn’t because she didn’t want me getting it wet and ruining “the cute style”.

She had me so convinced that I looked great that the rest of the afternoon, I rode around on my bike with my helmet carefully strapped on, the better to surprise reveal to my friends when they came to their doors. Publisher’s Clearing House, I wasn’t, and I couldn’t quite understand their nonplussed reactions. Later, when I arrived at home, I’d found that in a hot afternoon of summer bike riding with a helmet, the sweat and immense amounts of hair product had plastered my new short locks onto my head, like a shiny, sticky skullcap.

Short hair and I were never meant to get along: my hair has that natural sort of half-assed wave, is possibly sentient, and if so, is definitely an asshole, and what looked cute on Ellen looked horrific on me. This was also the period of time when the crunchy bang wave hit Wisconsin, and I really, really wanted to fit in with my peers, so each morning, I carefully hairsprayed and gelled my bangs into the crunchiest wave I could muster, the humidity taking its toll on the style no fewer than five minutes later, allowing random pieces to escape and curl across my forehead in a particularly uncool manner. Add to this the fact that I had braces, owl glasses, and my mom still dressed me (to this day I cannot look at a pair of patterned leggings or a beaded vest without breaking out into a sweat), and we had the perfect storm for yearbook photo day. That is the oldest looking twelve year old I have ever seen. When I signed my friends’ yearbooks that year, I actually drew on more hair to hide that solitary forehead bang, like they couldn’t see my solitary forehead bang glaring at them in real life at that very moment. It took three years to grow that hot mess out, and then it started falling out, so where there was once a crunchy bang wave, I now have a bald spot. Hair, you are SUCH an asshole.