Much ado about matcha : A casual survey on self-care

Okay so while I don’t hate matcha (I very much like it, actually) I am certainly not willing to pretend for one single solitary second that it replaces coffee in any bona fide way.

 We simply cannot get enough of this beautiful cup of #Matcha Latte Art  carefully orchestrated by the talented Ben Lewis @barista_benji using our Meiko™ Matcha . . 「Finally got some matcha from @Matchaeologist ...definitely some of the best I've had! 」 . Follow @barista_benji  for more tips on how to create these wonderful green elixir masterpieces! . #Matchaeologist #MatchaRitual #FreePouring . Matchæologist®


It’s good for you, I get it. It’s better than coffee for you, I get it.

I also get that it looks like a vegan yakked into a cup from which we then drink. It tastes like grass plucked from a field of pure sugar, but if it provides me with any semblance of supplementary energy don’t get me wrong I will drink it.


My attitude towards matcha is that of an optional follow-up beverage to coffee. It is one whose purpose is not to prepare me for the tasks at hand for the day mentally or emotionally, but to complement my afternoon in a culturally relevant way as an opportunity to post a photo on my Instagram.

In this respect I am one thousand percent aboard the matcha train that is 2018. Interestingly enough, there exists no Urban Dictionary definition for a matcha latte although Homo Coffee seems accurate.

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The reason I broach this absolutely riveting topic is that its swift ascent to the forefront of popular culture in the last few years occurred in tandem with this other thing people have deemed “self care”.

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I, for one, would like to discern what self care exactly entails because as far as I can tell it is the justification of any and all enjoyable behaviors. Which sounds fucking amazing and I will take one order of self care please.

So it is here I ask dear readers (aka mom, hi mom!) what does self care mean to you? Asking for a friend.

And please no one say anything along the lines of “practicing gratitude” or a “gratitude journal” because gag me and promptly light yourself on fire thx.

Tips for interior designers: customer personality inspiration

Self care, according to Instagram seems to be a bath, a face mask, a matcha latte, or some sort of bath and face mask combo while drinking a matcha latte.

Self care, according to Microsoft Word, is a hyphenated word which grammatically makes more sense so going forward I will refer to it as such.

Self-care, according to me, involves a lot less bathing and a lot more flaming hot Cheetos.

I am, however, open and actively seeking suggestions. I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I think I have been practicing this all along but in a non-intentional way. For example, I eat and bathe and sleep so BOOM taking care of my-self.

Currently my go to self-care-ish activities involve one or more of the following:


  1. Watching videos of Tina Knowles telling corny jokes on her Instagram. An act she appropriately announces as “Corny Joke Time”

  2. Eating a cultivated blend of frozen Haribo gummy bears and frozen green grapes

  3. Brainstorming baby names, both for animals and humans, for no particular reason and yes I have a list

  4. Demonstrating my affection for my loved ones in the form of meme-sending. My love language is memes

  5. Using one of those head scratcher thingies which gazing into my neighbor’s windows

  6. Going for a walk to nowhere while listening to a podcast for the sole purpose of achieving my goal steps on my fitbit

  7. Sitting in bed and shopping online for items I will almost surely have to return

  8. Binge watching old Seinfeld episodes because I’ve forgotten them all

  9. Googling self-care ideas in hopes of finding some that aren’t dumb, which is harder than it sounds to actually find. I DON’T HAVE A BATH. I DON’T WANT TO DIFFUSE ANY GODDAMN OILS, AND ALSO SIDE NOTE THAT IS NOT AN ACTIVITY. What I want is a breakfast burrito, and what I want is for it to stop raining.



So. That being said, ideas are welcome and encouraged except the oils or gratitude.



Introducing POOG, GOOP for the Non-Gwens


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It’s taken me 26 years to realize I’m less of a Gwyneth and more of the girl Gwyneth called Ham Fingers in junior high, and who to this very day carries the burden of a hatred so acute it manifested in the only suitable way: a double-wide trailer in the forest filled with compulsively collected Paltrow memorabilia (mostly VHS copies of Shallow Hal and wax replicas of G’s head in boxes) scheduled to be burned in a meth fire on the lawn of their 50 year high school reunion.

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(Never forget Shallow Hal)

“That strikes me as an unnecessarily drawn-out revenge plan” some might think, but what can I say, Ham Fingers plays the long game and to be frank she is also not mentally well.

Hating on GOOP and everything Gwyneth Paltrow is certainly not a new topic. At this point, it’s more like an Olympic sport if the Olympics were something that I would watch and/or care about even for one second. She’s basically the girl we all religiously follow on Instagram but talk shit about at parties, which is another Olympic sport I would love.

I, as much as I hate to admit it, don’t entirely hate the premise of GOOP*** mostly in the sense that I aspire to be more like the type of person who has her shit together enough to have a “morning routine” or the patience to make and/or know what “slow juice” is or casually spend 60 dollars on GOOP GLOW powder just because.

***I mean this in terms of personal wellness and sustainability, and aspiring to act in a way that promotes both. I certainly don’t mean the classist, white-washed, and inaccessible to all others than her target market of white, over privileged women who look and exactly like her and have the same income.

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However, reality is I am myself. Yesterday I had sour cream and onion chips and a flat G&T for dinner and I don’t own, nor have I ever owned, eye cream. Gwyneth would be appalled, and I already look old. Who’s the real winner though, and I’m going to go ahead and say it’s not Apple because she must now go through life with the name of the world’s most boring fruit, or had we all forgotten this.

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That poor, poor, disadvantaged child. *eye roll

And on that note, I would like to present today’s POOG post:


People who call use the term “Hump Day”

I’m looking at you, Karen. Always hated it, always will. Unless you are referring to the night you meet with your Kama Sutra swingers group, it’s Wednesday and the worst day of the week. Call it by its name.


The Bachelor, which as far as I can tell is a parade of interchangeable women competing for a guy who looks like a 2002 Abercrombie model who shot one jeans campaign that never ran, but he still kept and framed the photographs on the walls of his bedroom. 

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But for real, everyone is super obsessed and I am tired of reading about it. All these women look like they once made a bra and necklace out of runts, but actually that was just one of them but I can’t remember whether it was Becca or Bekah or one of the Lauren B’s BECAUSE THERE ARE MULTIPLE. It feels like my fourth grade class roster. Can we get a more culturally relevant dating show plz thx, I miss NEXT and Room Raiders. 


How do I say this and not be gross? Um so during our recent trip to India (something I did not hate) I had some marvellous normal GI days before contracting EXACTLY what everyone tells you that you will contract in India. I felt 100 percent fine for those first five days, I really and truly did not see it coming, but I flew too close to the sun and spent a lot of quality time with the toilet the next five and have continued to do so until this day in case you were wondering.

The part I hate the most is when is you get home and everyone is like OOH TELL ME ABOUT INDIA SO ROMANTIC AND FUN and all I can really tell them about is my nineteen point rating system for the restrooms of Goa (a book I hope to release Spring 2019). If by romantic you mean that my boyfriend didn’t leave me in the middle of the night and block my number, then yes it was romantic. Although I DID have him trapped in a small town in a foreign country to his options were admittedly limited. Giardia: I still feel like shit (pun intended) and I fucking hate it. 

Carrying multiple heavy plastic bags at once

Because I am a strong and independent woman until the plastic begins to cut into my skin and everything is terrible.

Tucker Carlson’s face

Also his entire being and everything he stands for but his face just reminds me of those.  It’s really the whole enchilada if it were an enchilada made of revulsion and misogyny .


When your strapless bra slides down to your stomach as you are walking around with a jacket on and then you arrive to your destination and you have this awkward lump around your stomach that is impossible to fix with any sort of discretion

Need I say more?

 All teenage boys in groups of 2 or more

Need I say more?


My phone has begun to do this cute thing where is now corrects the word “how” to “joe” which is helpful when I am repeatedly typing my boyfriend’s name in every sentence I write (aka always) but unhelpful for virtually every other conversation.

Wait is it St Patricks day?

St Patrick’s Day

It’s dumb and don’t tell me what color to wear and don’t pinch me or I will cut you

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Pennywise, your friendly neighborhood mailman

YOU. GUYS. Just realized the length of time between my last post and this very day. Very long length. The longest. Maybe not the longest in terms of a geological epoch, but certainly exceeding the length of a dragonfly’s average life span. I want to attribute this somewhat notable absence (which I am sure has profoundly impacted so many lives) to a good reason. I desperately want to say that I’ve been ultra busy, doing many important things with important people, and that my commitment to the kind and benevolent works I have tirelessly been performing have left me little-to-no time for writing, but that would be a blatant lie.

No. Please let me be very clear that I have been fucking around in the truest sense of whatever that means.

However, it simply doesn’t sit well with me that my prolific and highly influential online presence, appreciated by so many billions of human and robot eyes, would come to close on a piece advocating voluntary consumption of FOX news.

SO yeah. Turns out I have managed to do one kinda not shitty thing since May 30th!

To which I am sure, you are like wow congrats what an accomplishment. But whatever sarcastic assholes, you can bet your bottom dollar I am giving myself an enthusiastic pat on the back as we speak. I intend the entire last sentence a turn of phrase and not literal way of course, because obviously as we speak I type this, I am employing the use of both hands and my voice not at all.

I have moved, to a place.

A place where my parents do not reside. A bonafide, brick and mortar residence with my name on the lease and my blender on a shelf. It has a dishwasher and great natural light and roommate and a roomate’s cat who will barely look at me and a mailman who I am absolutely convinced is breaking into all of our homes, with nefarious intentions.

Wait what?

You heard me. Despite all reasonable logic pointing to this last observation not being the case at all, that doesn’t mean I’m convinced it is not happening.

“Why would he do such a thing?”

You might be wondering, and to that I have both an abundance and a lack of answers. For the thrills, I would surmise. Perhaps he originally entered in search of valuables, but quickly realized the degree of our poverty. Perhaps he is trying on all of our clothing. Perhaps he is planting spider eggs in our bathtub drain. Perhaps he is enjoying a cold, glass of cream in the hallway. Perhaps he just really loves cream.

“What would make you suspect such a thing?”

You might be wondering, and to that I again have both an abundance and a lack of answers. Perhaps I have a history of paranoid tendencies. Perhaps I see his mail truck parked in front of various homes along the block for extended periods of time and I can’t help but wonder. Perhaps I went to see IT this week. Perhaps the mailman is Pennywise. Perhaps he is in my closet right now.

Image result for pennywise

Well-played, sirs.

These pertinent lines of inquiry have been taken into consideration and promptly discarded. Case closed. He is most definitely Pennywise, and he is most definitely in my closet right now.

You are probably thinking that I am a lunatic. And to that I have no adequate defence because yeah, I am and it is in my personal opinion one of my most useful and endearing qualities, second only to my vast knowledge of Eminem lyrics.

Oh, you know Pennywise? Name one of his songs


Hide yo’ kids, hide yo’ wife because Pennywise is here, to instil fear, and deliver your j-crew catalogues.


When you take the time to think about it more, I am confident you will come to agree with me. I know from personal experience, because I have spent an exorbitant amount of time meditating upon this very issue, and it only makes more sense with every additional second spent doing so.


I wouldn’t use the word “rewarding” to describe this obsessive rumination, because it wasn’t, nor would I recommend it in any capacity. Be that as it may, I have come to the conclusion that there are too many similarities between a clown that lures children down into the sewers to feast upon their fear, and the uniformed men who visit our homes everyday in our absence to deny.

The facts I have thus far accumulated in support of my theory are as follows:

  1. He parks his car outside of our house on different sides every day
  2. Sometimes he sits inside of the car for twenty-thirty minutes
  3. Sometimes he is not inside of the car for twenty-thirty minutes
  4. Where is he?!
  5. We almost never receive mail, so as a starting point for delivering mail our house is not the ideal spot
  6. Dogs do not like mailmen and I trust their judgement
  7. I never see him actually going up to houses to put mail in boxes
  8. The USPS requirements for employment are suspiciously lax
  9. The USPS employment board look like they know something sinister:

I mean seriously

He knows

It’s time we bring to light the silent epidemic impacting us all.



FOX news and chill

It’s safe to say that this ranks highly amongst things I never anticipated appearing in my search history.

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Nor this

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Which evidently seems to be the case for all other Googlers as well, because nothing came up (pun intended, winky face eggplant) but here we are and yes, it feels weird.

Let it be noted that this is coming from someone whose history boasts



Don’t do it, it’s a trap!


Two Mondays ago I enticed my lovely friends to embark on yet another miraculous journey: FOX News and Chill. It’s like Netflix and Chill but instead of being a euphemism for boning, it instead demarcates the soul-crushing experience of willingly exposing oneself to the lie-emporium toting itself as reality to the deranged, and typically concludes in a group ugly cry sesh.



Before you go and feel too bad for them, I did bring snacks! I also arrived more than an hour late, but there was hummus (and PBR). I also proceeded to eat approximately all their banana chips, but I brought hummus (and PBR).



Did I mention the hummus?


I figure seeing as it is the sole source of real news on the entire planet earth, it’s high time some brave soul developed some right proper coping mechanisms for viewing purposes. By coping mechanisms naturally I mean a drinking game. Recently, my dad told me that the best things I write are drinking games, because being the supportive father that he is, he really wants me to aim for the stars and/or shoot for the moon and/or anything involving me ending up in space far away from all human civilization.

Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with the offerings of this fine, fine channel, or what I like to think of as “Eric Balling Reading Off His Phone”, actual news occupies approximately 1/8th of 1/8th of the channel’s programming schedule. In its place are a series of incredibly biased, and intermittently racist talk shows.


I’m not sure what they are trying to pull, but despite the network’s moniker there is a notable lack of news about foxes. Exactly zero foxes, in fact. WTF* FOX?!

How he do that face?:

*Where’re The Foxes

The day I chose to force everyone to embark on this journey was perhaps a poor one, as I was en route, I received the following information.


(Sorry, Trevor for the name of our group chat. Love you mean it and we do need you. Sometimes. Like in emergency rescue mountain situations, mostly)

I didn’t buy wine and it soon became clear we could not watch five hours of coverage about terrorism and/or Ariana Grande, and create a drinking game around it. Instead, we watched the spectrum of available alternate programming to ensure that no matter what you are watching on FOX, you will be drunk.

First up, we have FOX and Friends.

Featuring not-Megan Kelly, Brian whathisface, and the token creepy uncle, this trio of humans who are absolutely not friends (nor foxes) in real life sit on a white pleather couch borrowed from what I can only assume is a low-grade porn from the 80’s and occasionally do important shit like this when they aren’t taste testing caffeinated bagels

The rules for this program are as follows:

When Steve Doocy sits in an uncomfortably awkward position, drink. He can’t help it, he was teased mercilessly throughout his boyhood for his last name and has never been the same.

When Brian Kilmeade says something blatantly racist and or sexist, drink twice.

Anytime a bulleted list is employed to oversimplify, de-contextualize, and thereby manipulate the nuances of complex political and social situations, shotgun a beer.


Tucker Carlson

Waterfall counterclockwise, with each person’s turn ending literally any time Tucker’s expression changes from the exact one below whilst interviewing.

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To understand the mystifying phenomenon of the TC face of which I speak, I refer you to this video:

The Five

This show is the network’s replacement for the Glenn Beck show, if that tells you anything at all. Its mission is to fill the void left behind by Beck, and it succeeds in the sense that I feel like vomiting almost equally as much the entirety of watching it. Luckily for us alcohol exists.

So without further ado…let’s get fucked up.

Anytime Eric Bolling reads something off his phone, drink. Drink twice if it is a FOX affiliate’s tweet, drink three times if it is Trump and he praises it. Drink one more time if you feel like it.

Drink every time Jesse Watters looks like he is actively thinking about cracking open a cold one with the boys

Drink once for every use of the following phrases:

  • “fake news”; “mainstream media”
  • “deep state”
  • “liberals”
  • “Russia”

Take a shot in the following instances:

  • The construction and attack of a straw man argument
  • A flat out lie is told, two shots if it is reiterated in higher octave
  • Criticizing “liberals” and the like for the same thing they are doing at that exact moment, i.e. calling out CNN about only covering a select portion of news to skew the public perception.
  • They deflect an issue about the GOP and their president by making some random and unrelated point about Obama or Clinton


Pals, please go ahead and take 40 shots so you die before you have to watch this.


The only thing missing from the game at this stage is the name. So far the suggestions are all from Colin and include but are not limited to:

“Fox Booze”

“Grouchy Bolling, Hidden Spicer”

“Calling All Uncles” or “How to Turn your Raging Uncle into a Raging Alcoholic Uncle” 

I honestly couldn’t decide so any thoughts, feelings, questions, concerns regarding the name of this game are appreciated.  

One (inauguration) day in Margaritaville: A guide

I don’t know if you’ve heard but we’ve got some BAD HOMBRES out there y’all. These BAD DUDES are out there, they exist, and they are serving some SUB-PAR”so-called” margaritas. When every restaurant in town not only offers, but boasts about the superiority of their house margarita (SAD!) what is a New Mexican to do?

Margarita Cocktail Illustration Print by PaigeClarkPrints on Etsy:

This was a job for only the specialist of all special force teams, one specifically trained in the EXTREME VETTING of all lime and tequila based cocktails, one composed of individuals willing and able to begin drinking on a weekday at 11:30 AM.

Luckily I am #blessed with knowing precisely such a force. A coalition who not only understands the value and importance in a well-executed margarita, but who also possesses the strength and courage to stand up for what’s right and speak the truth:

Not all margaritas are created equal.

And so, we decided to ring in this presidency in the only truly appropriate way: irresponsibly and as inebriated as humanly possible. Don’t even ask how we celebrated MLK day.

clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.


  • First up on our panel, to the left to the left we have Ms. Jennifer Wright. Hailing from Tucson, AZ she enjoys a well-balanced margarita and vibrant lip color. As the day progressed, we learned that by well-balanced what she meant was sour-as-fuck.
  • Next is Melanie “Salt-Hater” Aragon. My notes specify that she is an alcohol polygamist, which I think was somehow supposed to convey that she holds no strong opinion about margaritas in particular…but I cannot be sure.
  • Our third member, Colin “we aren’t drunk, we’re just obnoxious” Baillo is our resident Anti-Tequila advocate and lime aficionado. He prioritizes all existent flavors other than tequila in his margaritas, and nurses a chronic low-key obsession with limes.
  • Last and definitely least, Kallie Red-Horse just came for the chips and sweeping generalizations. But mostly the chips.

In honor of the day’s events (namely the disintegration of our country’s political and moral infrastructure and dignity writ large) we placed our scores of each establishment’s beverage along the Trump-tastic scale for thematic cohesion’s sake (something I personally prioritize over virtually all else. Except chips. And limes.)

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Additionally, it bears mentioning that there was tangential criteria that played into our evaluations. Namely, limes and chip proficiency. Ole!

El Patron

We began our day as arguably no person should: drinking an alcoholic beverage 11 am. El Patron was our first stop. Little did we know that despite touting quite an extensive selection of tequilas and drinks to put said tequila in, El Patty’s self-proclaimed award-winning marg was to be unequivocally the group’s least favorite of the day.

The Casa De Patron can best be described as the finest, aged Fresca blended with a sugar-heavy simple syrup and topped off with a few drops of tequila or as Jen oh so eloquently phrased it: “Mine fucking failed.”


felicita sala illustration: cardnest                              …:

The drink is listed on menu as containing Patron silver tequila, triple sec, and a splash of OJ. All of which sounds delicious, so I can only surmise that the sickeningly sweet quality of the beverage comes from the highly-toted, house-made margarita mix.

Furthermore, and perhaps more importantly, there was non-existent lime squeezing action: “It looks more like a cockroach than a lime” -Colin 

Final Scores

Jennifer: 2.5

Melanie: 0 SAD!

Colin: 2

Kallie: 1



Our next stop was the tried and true NM classic, Sadies. We decided to branch out a bit and all get different margarita variations for our second beverage of the day.

Silver Coin: silver tequila, Cointreau, lime juice

A little too sweet for our fair Jen, but she liked it more than the previous one.. which says pretty much nothing. Colin couldn’t taste the tequila, so in that respect was pleased. 

Santa Fe: silver tequila, cranberry juice

a.k.a. the margarita for the person who doesn’t like margaritas. While Mel enjoyed this, it in no way looked/tasted like a margarita.

Prickly Pear: Casa Amigo silver tequila, prickly pear nectar, sweet and sour, lime

Didn’t like it, drank it anyway. VERY SWEET.


Across the board it was agreed that the limes, chips, and salsa were miles better than the previous establishment but you could have probably guessed that.

Final Scores

Jen: 3.5

Mel: n/a

Col: 3

Kal: 2


El Pinto

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Just one really heinously expensive slash awkward Uber ride away, we arrived at El Pinto where an undecided amount of presidents have visited for some reason. They have yogaritas on SUNDAZE which is pretty damn sweet.

House Margarita

Pretty standard, delicious (it IS a margarita after all) butttt nothing to write home about.

Avocado Margarita 

Basically a smoothie, but with alcohol (or in other words, the perfect drink). FAIR WARNING: If you don’t like avocados it should be obvious to not order this, but even the avocado ambivalent crowd should stay far, far away because it you are consuming ten avocados minimum and it tastes exactly like it sounds. 

Jalapeño Margarita

Just spicy enough, this was frankly just a damn good margarita my friends. If you are planning on having more than one perhaps it is not the ideal choice but the one I had was amazing. 

Final Scores

J: 3.5

M: 3

C: 3.5



Albuquerque, New Mexico. My favorite New Mexican  food!:

A personal fave of mine, I expected to C-town to straight up blow all the others out of the water. The swanky, velvet-walled back room is what I can only assume is like a trip straight back to the 70’s. And while they certainly delivered, honestly it was not as mind-blowing as I expected.

There is one thing for certain however, when you come to Cervantes ask for Carl Kyle, because “Carl’s Kyle’” when it comes to marg suggestions and providing free chips. *It bears mentioning that while chips had to this point been graciously provided free of charge, at Cervantes you have to pay for them and this impacted the score. Our decision to take tequila shots also impacted the score*

We stuck to two classics, recommended by out pal Carl Kyle.

Silver Coin: Herradura silver tequila, Grand Marnier, lime juice

This one was fairly standard, it is a solid option if you are looking for a good margarita. We had nothing to complain about per-se but it wasn’t anything particularly interesting.

Grand Gold: Not sure what is in it exactly but can safely assume it involved Cuervo gold.

Carl’s Kyle’s recommendation, would and likely will order again

Final Scores

J: 2.75

C: 3

K: 3



Indisputably the crowd favorite, which may or may not be due to it’s placement on the day’s agenda. Whatever the reason, they kept the chips flowing and the margaritas..also flowing. Ali was there too.

Aguamiel: Cazadores resposado tequila, st germain, fresh lime juice, and muddled cucumber

This one was across the board decided as the best of the day, the cucumber is refreshing and the st. germain zippy and it was just amazing you guys. I want one right meow. 

Zacarita: House margarita mix made with Sauza blue 100% agave tequila, triple sec, and fresh lime.

At  4 dollars a pop if you are a student, or say that you are student and really aren’t, it is without a doubt the best bargain. It was sour enough for Jen, and had just the right amount of tequila for Col. The price tag was a welcome sight for our band of wayward drinkers at this point in the day.

Mezcal Manhatten: Vida Mezcal, Solerno Blood Orange Liquer, Aztec Chocolate Bitters and Sweet Vermouth

This was Colin’s first choice, before switching to something…else which I conveniently forgot to write down but am pretty certain was the Zacarita because we were all slowly diminishing what little cash we had to our names. 

Final Scores








I am not sure which drinks we had at Andaluz, our last stop on the Tour de Margaritaville 2017.  I do happen to recall they were delicious, and that the bartender is an alright guy I guess. They will craft whatever you want to your taste, which is ultra nice. Be prepared to pay for their swanky atmosphere and alcohol knowledge, and there was a notable absence of chips.


Happy hours and deals and specials and fun things:

El Pinto 

Happy hour Monday thru Friday from 4:30 – 6:30. Enjoy $1.00 off all drinks served in the lounge.

Happy Hour Appetizer (barely even know her) menu ranging from $3 – $5.

THEY ALSO HAVE THIS THING CALLED YOGARITAS! For 5 bucks (donation, but don’t be an asshole), you can do a yoga class WHILE DRINKING A MARGARITA. They are on Sundays, weather permitting.


Happy hour M-F,  4-6


T-F 4-6 happy hour.

Oyster happy hour every day 4-6, which I remain skeptical about in NM but follow your hearts.

Students get 4 dollar Zacaritas



But did you die? A series of unfortunate dating events

For whatever reason it just seems the opposite sex is not ready for this jelly. Which as it happens is no jelly at all, because even though I am more of a jam girl at heart, the only sugar-based gelatinous substance we currently have in our fridge is some expired chutney. For more information on the difference between jam/jelly/preserves/chutney I refer you to this page that I penned on the subject (in my dreams).


For all my single peeps out there, please take comfort in the fact that despite whatever unfortunate dating related misfortunes you have endured, you are not only not alone, but more than likely surpassed in mortification by yours truly. This little thing I like to call “acute social anxiety” affords me the unique and entirely unhelpful ability to discern the most inappropriate action to do at a given moment, and then the compulsion to perform that action. It’s great.

For the purpose of your amusement, I have identified some of my fave dating related moments from this past year for the dual purposes of public amusement and what I am pretty certain is called coping.

In case you were wondering, right now I am nursing a pretty significant crush on our UPS guy and my days are structured around timing my presence at home to correspond with package drop-offs. On the plus side, he definitely knows where I live without me providing this information, which is basically all I look for in a romantic partner. Resourcefulness is a level 5 a turn-on.

And so, without further ado I present to you a sequence of cringe inducing dating tales. It’s cool, it’s just my life.



The Real Housewife

Have you ever been late to a date? Have you ever been two hours late? Well, please don’t. Less of that. A guy I have henceforth thought of as The Real Housewife, for reasons that will soon hopefully become clear, was MORE than two hours late for our second date. Which honestly wouldn’t have been such an issue if we hadn’t been supposed to be going to a party that was at lest 45 minutes away. His reason for being late bears mention because it was that he decided to walk so as to avoid paying for the bus or metro. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for walking as a means of transportation, but there are appropriate times for a stroll and a time sensitive date is perhaps not. Especially considering he lived two metro stops away, it somehow took him over an hour to walk this distance.

By the time he arrived at my place, the party was no longer a feasible option. So I did what any future murder victim would do: I invited him inside. Unluckily for us, my laptop had broken the week before so we couldn’t even Netflix and chill. Instead, he brought out the WHITE WINE AND SPRITE he had brought to mix into a singular beverage and we proceeded to awkwardly watch Youtube clips on my phone. The weirdest part was not even that he could only drink white wine (which I hate) when mixed with sprite (which I am ambivalent about at best) but was instead that he kept going to the bathroom for incredibly long periods of time. All I wanted was this human out of my apartment immediately, and all he wanted was to ignore all social cues indicating my preferences and to keep drinking his sprite and wine concoction despite the fact that I was not. While he was in the bathroom all I could keep thinking was what he was DOING in there?! Maybe adjusting his one contact, which he informed me he only wore one of so as to cut his optical expenses in half.

I mean, finally I had to blatantly say “get the fuck out of my apartment” in the most cordial way possible. He seemed genuinely confused, as though he thought it was going well. I wanted so desperately to ask what he was doing in the bathroom all that time, but did not and I regret it to this day. Maybe the housewife connection isn’t so clear after all, but that’s always how I think of him. I never saw him again but he did send me a really nice message when I told him we would never under any circumstances date.


The Great Ca-toe-straphe

I have come to think of my absolute favorite dating experience from this past year affectionately as The Great Ca-toe-straphe. This ultra clever title refers to a freak toe incident slash date night which in retrospect is hilarious, in my opinion anyhow. Picture this: It was a cold and rainy Wednesday evening, as most Autumn evenings tend to be in Stockholm, and I was on my way home to quickly drop off my belongings at my apartment before heading over to meet up with a date-friend-pal-acquaintance-dude with whom I had something I quite frankly don’t know how to label. But let it suffice to say I was on my way to his place, and in a bit of a rush because we both had to be up early in the morning but wanted to hang out.

In the three minutes I was inside, I somehow managed to locate the hopefully single shard of glass hidden within my rug, and lodge it directly into the top of my toe. Being human and all, blood immediately began to spill everywhere. Being irresponsible and all, I had exactly zero bandaids in my home.

Lying on the floor, elevating my leg straight into the air I vividly remember reflecting upon the state of my life as I texted this un-labelable guy to ask him if he owned bandaids. (Which for the record he did, five different kinds to be more precise, one of which was liquid. Also spray antiseptic.) But he definitely thought it was a weird text to receive, since looking back I realized I offered no contextualization for this question.

I crudely wrapped the offending toe in toilet paper, and hobbled over to his place where I immediately went into the bathroom to perform Grey’s Anatomy style renegade toe surgery. As if this wasn’t sexy enough, I remained hyperaware of the blood spill potential post-surgery, and may or may not have asked if I could leave my single sock on during hanky panky. (For the same record as before, I did not.) Furthermore for this lengthy record, I am 90 percent certain that no further toe blood escaped out of it’s bandage jail. I am more than 90 percent certain that whatever semblance of swag I ever may have possessed was lost the moment I asked if I should leave my single sock on.


The Toothbrush


This one is less of an event and more of a self-imposed mind fuck which if you were my friend at the time, your ears are already bleeding from endless analysis of this goddamn toothbrush so please feel free to scroll through this next section.

The toothbrush debacle came arose when the individual mentioned in the ca-toe-straphe spent the night one evening, and I gave him my spare toothbrush to use. I had been planning on switching to this toothbrush soon, but being the generous and dentally hygenic person I am at heart, I gifted it him. This is where the trouble began, but out of it bloomed a beautiful metaphor for our relationship or lack thereof. I do love a good extended metaphor.

Following the next morning I did not hear from him for a week. And before you ask, yes, my pride prevented me from reaching out. SIDENOTE: I am very much in the camp that if someone likes you they will make it happen, and if they don’t they wont. I will in the meantime obsess secretly over why or why not someone likes me, but can never seem to take things into my own hands. If it’s meant to be, it’s easy, etc. Which brings me nicely to the obsessing portion of the story, which TBH is the central plotline of most of my life, dating or otherwise. SO the way I saw it I had a dilemma, and this dilemma was as follows:

  • First, that morning I moved the toothbrush from the counter into the cabinet with mine. But somehow that seemed a bit too intimate.
  • So I relegated the offending toothbrush to it’s own Ziplock, and threw it into a drawer that same evening.
  • However, five days into radio silence I began to question why I was keeping this toothbrush when he wasn’t even calling me. Angrily, I threw the toothbrush into the trash but still inside of the Ziplock so technically it could still be retrieved.
  • Seven days out it began to dawn on me that I could still use this toothbrush! Why should I waste a perfectly good toothbrush when he had only used it once?!
  • But at the same time, what if he DID call, and stayed the night again, and I had to tell him I had begun using that toothbrush. That would be weird. So weird.
  • But this was all operating on the assumption that he would call me back, which it had been 9 days so I was pretty sure that would not be the case.

The metaphorical aspect of this whole thing, which I now see is a stretch at best, was the uncertainty of our status. If I knew he wouldn’t need it then that would be fine, but at least I would know. I obsessed over this for nine days before texting him happy birthday (on his actual birthday) and finding out that he had a dental emergency the entire last week and was definitely not thinking about this toothbrush. I felt relief, embarrassment, and also hoped this emergency was not caused by the toothbrush which I had at this point used.

Call Me Maybe


One of the most perplexing dating scenarios I have experienced recently came in the form of what I thought was a really great date. He was a Health Ledger look alike and I was into it. We stayed out until four, and parted ways with the verbal agreement of a follow up date. I was pretty confident this would happen, but it never did.

I asked him out once, and he said he was otherwise engaged that night. He did call me again, but did so while thinking he was calling his mother. Which he wasn’t, and it was awkward. I wrote it off and went to Texas for Thanksgiving. I should have saved his name in my phone, or deleted it entirely because I ended up getting it mixed up with a vendor for an event I was organizing. My colleague asked for the number for this vendor, and instead I gave her my date’s digits. She texted me saying it was definitely the wrong number, at which point I looked back into my messages, realized what I had done, and then curled up and died inside.


WELP, this concludes the Alone Forever portion of this Sunday. I’ll be here petting my cat if you need me! Just kidding…he lives in Florida like the lush little princess he is.


2017 and counting: a subpar soundtrack to your resolutions

So I guess it’s 2017, and operating off of the assumption that some of us are actively making resolutions to make this a better year than the previous (PLZ SWEET BABY JESUS THAT WOULD BE GR8 THX), I would greatly like to be of assistance.

Not that you asked, or that I am even in a position to offer advice in any capacity. To be clear, I say “some of us” whilst explicitly avoiding the inclusion of myself, because undertaking a resolution would require a semblance of follow-through, and that simply doesn’t sound like me. Also, perhaps I should work on contributing to society in even a single way and not living with my parents before taking on any additional obligations.

Screen Shot 2017-01-09 at 13.22.46.pngDisclaimers about my qualifications and/or lack thereof aside, to assist you on your quests for self-improvement I have created a list of inspirational jams individualized for your specific undertaking! Unless your resolution is to not listen to shitty music, in which case this list is not for you at all.

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Not texting while driving:

Last Kiss by Pearl Jam

Slow clap for safe drivers! Not while driving obviously, keep those hands at 10 and 2 baby. Coincidentally, this tune is also the name and theme song of my future strip club slash stir fry restaurant so don’t even think about stealing because I have watched all of the Good Wife and I will fuck you up with patent litigation. Or I’ll just run for State’s Attorney and cheat on my wife, it could really go either way at this point. Anyway, Pearl Jam’s saddest hit is basically 101 for what happens when you operate a motorized vehicle while swiping right, so…don’t.

Finally cleaning out your goddamn closet:

Trapped in the Closet by R. Kelly

r kelly trapped in the closetSome of us are hindered with parents unsympathetic to our unhealthy tendencies regarding the acquisition of and unwarranted attachment to paper products. I speak from deeply troubling personal experience. I moved home this month and my loving mother welcomed me with open arms, and the immediate request to fucking throw away my math homework from fifth grade already. Joke’s on her, because I kept it as proof that at one point in my life I knew my multiplication tables. Something positive did come out of this experience, however, because to assist me with this task I created a mix I like to call Closet Purge Deluxxx, and which is actually less of a mix and more of R. Kelly’s entire Trapped in the Closet album punctuated with the occasional Eminem.

Eating so fresh and so clean clean:

Broccoli by D.R.A.M


This seems fairly straight forward, but if someone named Lil Yachty produced an entire song about broccoli and the radio is actually playing it, then it seems doable that you can eat a stalk or two. Or stalk a broccoli or two. Or just become a stalker with an affinity for fresh and local produce. Follow your heart!

Learning the art of parallel parking:

I Try by Macy Grey

“Try” being the operative word because parallel parking is an ability that is 1) elusive 2) evidently not genetically transferable. Point in case: my father is the best parallel parker I know, while I as his spawn am forever working on not having a panic attack during any and every attempt. May Macy’s slow jam give you the patience to learn a skill that quite honestly should be required for us to receive driving licenses in the first place.

Fall in love:

No Scrubs by TLC and Breakfast at Tiffany’s by that one band


First of all don’t do it, it’s a trap! Maybe it’s just me, but dating is the worst and Netflix is absolutely a suitable replacement for human contact*. However, for those of you alive with the hope of romance in the new year, I would like for you to keep in mind that you don’t want no scrubs. Also that if all you have in common is kind of liking Breakfast at Tiffany’s, then you should hold tight to that person because most people (with souls) LOVE and do not merely only kind of like that film.

*AKA the title of my MA thesis and forthcoming autobiography


Work Out by J. Cole, anything by Missy Elliot


Travel somewhere, anywhere, even once:

I’m on a Boat by Lonely Island

On a boat or otherwise, I again speak from personal experience when I say traveling companions really love it when you repeat only the line about Pashmina afghans from this song for hours, because that’s all you can remember. You can’t not nail it.

That’s all I got, may 2017 suck a little less for us all and may I learn to spell license and decision without the assistance of spell check. Peace, Love, and Merry Monday to you all.


Greetings my fair Americans and merriest of voting days to you all!


I know people are deeply unsatisfied with the available candidate selections this time around, and it seems to me that this dissatisfaction stems from a collective frustration about things not being what they appear or promote themselves as being. This is a common problem, I mean let’s be real we have all accidentally chugged a jar of semen we found on a street corner thinking it was free buttermilk. We have all been fooled before, in this exact and very specific way. Who could say no to free buttermilk? We aren’t savages.

So before you cast your vote at the closest middle school, I thought I should be the one to tell you two important things. The first is that the numbers on the toaster correspond to the minutes in which the bread will be toasted for and not the degree of toasty-ness. The second is that I have been hearing some things about Mrs. Clinton from a credible source that we should discuss (this crab):


Now we all know her pantsuits are full of secrets, but wait until you hear just to what degree.


Oh you would like that wouldn’t you.

I mean yes Trump has said this


and this


and this.


He might be the just about the biggest asshole in the entire world, not to mention a delusional, creepy, bigoted, racist, sexist, mentally inferior, pompous piece of lying shit.

But what about CROOKED HILLARY?! She has like…deleted emails and strategically altered political stances throughout her 30 years of service, and then deleted some more emails. She might look like a nice enough lady doing the best she can in high pressure, impossibly delicate situations all while nurturing her adoration for balloons and deleting emails but how can we trust anything ever again after the buttermilk?!


Does “Crooked Hillary” sound like someone who we can trust? Someone whose very nickname refers to that time she was praying and driving at the same time with her eyes closed and ran into that Pizza Johns killing five orphans on a field trip and destroying at least as many pizzas. Pizzas are a right, not a privilege!

screen-shot-2016-11-08-at-16-39-08Could we trust someone whose body was crushed in this accident from the waist up, making it necessary for a full torso and face robotic transplant?! She may be able to hide her robot eyes, but there is no camouflaging those robot arms or that cold robot heart. How else could she have ever deleted emails? I would never do such a thing.



I hear that what she doesn’t want you to know is that the whole email debacle resulted from her vigorous and repeated attempts to unsubscribe from Audible. A task not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. They say her robot eyes render her unable to read actual books, so she subscribed to Audible not knowing the ingenuity and perseverance of character required to cancel that herpes of a service. However, upon realization that her subscription put her at risk for exposure not as the first woman president, but instead the first robot one, she knew something must be done. Silly Hillary, deleting all your emails will not unsubscribe you from shit. But really, how do you unsubscribe from Audible?

The emails aside, the crab has told me some other things that Hillary has done which totally make her way worse of a candidate than that guy who said this:



I have compiled them below so that you can have all the super very true facts before committing to a vote. WE HAVE THE BEST FACTS ABOUT THIS NASTY WOMAN, everyone says so. Where do we even start.


Remember Harambe? She is responsible.


Heard Coldplay’s new album? Also responsible.


please god, no make it stop.

Brad and Angelina’s break-up? She seduced Brad away from Angie with her special blend of hot cheetos and meth.


One time she was kicked out of Walmart for stuffing $172 worth of steak and lobster down her pants.


oh wait, this wasn’t her.

But she definitely developed Hepatitis after binging on energy drinks, which was the true cause of her seizure. She has 6 months to live.


In exchange for a lifetime supply of free sausages and paper towels she did Benghazi.


Her most notable contribution to the Illuminati agenda has been to ensure that guacamole is extra, always.



So my dear friends, all this to say, think long and hard before you vote today because clearly it is SUCH a hard decision between these two totally equal in suckiness candidates.









Halloween 2015: Spook me maybe

Hiya party people! It’s now past mid-October, to state the obvious, and that means we are all doing two things: drinking hot beverages and frantically googling clever halloween costumes. Fear not brave souls, for I have applied the vast scientific knowledge I have acquired by studying literature to this very issue and performed what most call a miracle.

I call it Monday.

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Here’s how it works, simply locate your hot beverage of choice this fall on this list, and your perfect costume suggestion awaits! Thank me later, preferably by shipping green chile to Sweden in a mass of hot air balloons. kthanksbye.


Ah, the most non-committal of espresso drinks. Fifty-percent of you desires pure caffeination while the other fifty is a little bitch. That’s cool though, I support your indecision. You know who else has difficulty sticking to one thing? That’s right, Taylor Swift. Whether it be musical genre or sexy time partner that gal is not known for continuity. SO for you, indecisive consumer of halves, might I suggest the embodiment of a T-Swift song this Halloween.8aa07db684ef486e10da090827650db4.

Some options

Blank Space: Wear all black with a blank white piece of paper/posterboard/sticky note, etc.

Shake It Off: Carry a shake weight with the word “it” written on it. Done.

Teardrops on my Guitar: Carry a guitar, with fake tear drops on it.

Decaf coffee

Who do you think you are?! Jared, that is who you are. Get yourself some enormous pants to walk around in, a subway sandwich, glasses, and a posse of underage girls.

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Flat white

Look at you, hip little thang!  Ironically endorsing pop culture tops your C.V. Hobbies include Keeping up with the Kardashians, but only jokingly. It is only appropriate that you embody north west, the direction not the person, this Hallow’s eve. Are Halloween and Hallow’s eve the same thing? Or is Hallow’s eve the day before. Either way–be north west, not North West, ahem.

P.S. this

Screen Shot 2015-10-19 at 11.46.14 AM


What a classic drink! I say this in the least personally biased manner, but drinkers of this beverage clearly have exceptional taste and must excel at all things life related. Except Microsoft Excel because I mean there are limitations to genius, after all. Based on my research, consumers off this particular drink obsessively love podcasts and crosswords (guilty). I proclaim the podcast “Limetown” as the suitable costume for you. For the rest of you, listen to Limetown immediately.

Oprah Latte

Ayayay mamacita! You need a costume as spicy as your fall drink. I don’t even think there is one, so why not dress up precisely as this concoction?

Pumpkin Spiced Latte

First of all, how dare you. Second of all, how dare you.

Kidding, really it’s fine. We are all super judging you, but it’s fine.


Screen Shot 2015-10-19 at 10.37.47 AM

Clearly you don’t enjoy and/or respect all that is coffee and I will super key your car later, but not before suggesting you dress your trendy crossfitted little body up as a sexy iPhone for Halloween. This will aptly showcase your ability to slut-up virtually anything! Coincidentally this happens to be my specialty, so if you need any tips I got your back.



You love breakfast, I am guessing, and your google calendar and sweaters and practicality. All on board with those. I deem breakfast as your 2015 Halloween attire. Do with it what you will, felt seems like a useful tool. You will, however, never surpass the following dog or child in cuteness.

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Single Espresso

Studies show this market to be politically relevant, intellectual devils. Sipping on your tiny drink, the most efficient of coffee drinks. Enjoyment of coffee is for the homeless. You prefer to get your fix ASAP, and proceed to kicking ass all day. Have you heard of Donald Trump? He is this super great guy with super great political suggestions. How about you dress yourself up as one of them this 31st? You would look mighty fine as “the wall”.

Extra points if you somehow work a window in there. OR IF SOMEONE DRESSED UP AS A WINDOW AND YOU DRESSED UP AS A WALL. Okay. Greatest idea ever. Couples costume.

Instant coffee

You are a ghost. And traitor to humanity but that is neither here nor there.



BREAKING NEWS! The canines have been released, who is responsible? Stay tuned.

It has come to our attention that a matter of international security has arisen. It has been reported that the dogs have, once again, been let out.

First and foremost, it is of utmost importance that you do not panic. The proper authorities have been alerted and are doing their best to maintain the situation. Please do your best to keep your families and loved ones safe in this dire moment in history by keeping them away from areas of potential dog interest. Shoe stores and post offices have henceforth been temporarily closed for employee safety.

If you have any information regarding the dogs’ whereabouts or who might have let them out please call 1-800-SEE-DOGS


International Political Expert Donald Trump released the following statement,

The concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make U.S. manufacturing non-competitive.”

It wasn’t about this, but it remains applicable.

Investigation of this event will be supplemented with video evidence of this terrible occurrence.

The escape occurred early this morning, as the guard of Manoe Hills Doggie Day Care was inattentively watching television. He was informed of the escape moments before it happened, by the very program he was watching.

Speculation of inside assistance follows the evidence, which shows the doors opening seemingly by themselves. The first escapees out of the door are far too small to have turned any sort of handle, indicating the help of a mechanization device, a ghost, or most likely, inside help of humans.

The (Baha) men, leading experts in dog forensics, have been called in to solve the case.


They began by identifying the very necessary, though obvious, question concerning the crime—

Who let the dogs out?





The female dog-catcher vehicle contingent has been dispatched with binoculars in tow, cleverly camouflaged in animal print hats and sunglasses.


The dogs are very much on the run, with one canine reportedly knocking over an unattended fruit stand. Let the evidence show that the pup known as “Alfredo” must serve additional time for emotional distress for the owner of this fruit stand.

The terrier, “T-Bone” is additionally charged with sexually harassing a woman, causing her to clutch a pole in fear.

But never fear, the Baha squad is here!They are on the case and continue to confer, in a language spoken by no other than themselves. In an interview, member “Breaka” Butler released the following statement;

Say, A doggy is nuttin’ if he don’t have a bone
All doggy hold ya’ bone, all doggy hold it
A doggy is nuttin’ if he don’t have a bone
All doggy hold ya’ bone, all doggy hold it”

Reports indicate the dogs are running through fields and wreaking havoc on beach communities around the globe. Or just Miami, it’s hard to tell.

We have just been informed mail man Rick O’Leary is the first victim of the dogs. They cornered him by a building and viciously attacked him. He is in critical condition. Needless to say, mail may be late in many households today.

Who let the dogs out?! Who? Who? Who?


Rik Carey blue-shirt Baha has officially entered the manhunt, through his blue house, with a blue window, and blue corvette. When questioned about the incident he responded,

“Blue is the colour of all that I wear.
Blue are the streets and all the trees are too.
I have a girlfriend and she is so blue.
Blue are the people here tat walk around,
Blue like my corvette, it’s in and outside.
Blue are the words I say and what I think.
Blue are the feelings that live inside me.”

The sexual harassing terrier, T-Bone has found Anthony “Monks” Flowers Leroy  red-shirt Baha in the junkyard!

It seems the tides have turned against the Baha crew! A chase is currently occurring of the men through the field, and the female backup is close behind.

Agents are changing strategy, employing the age-old dance party sting operation. The criminals will not be able to resist such a get together: there is enthusiastic line dancing and colorful shirts. Fact. The female agents are on the prowl for any canine guests, throwing down the gauntlet with a dance off.



Take that dogs!


Dancing is still actively occurring.


The dogs have been safely deposited back into their rightful location, the security guard has not moved.