Monday, April 30, 2007

i guess thats what happens when you drink too much

Here are the results of the booze census. Well, most of them. I only wrote down the first couple days. I hope my memory is as good as it used to be.


  • 3 Curveballs (pryamid seasonal beer)
  • 3 Bud Lights (bottles)
  • 1 Jager Shot
  • 3 Strawberry Margaritas
  • 1 Fat Tire (16oz draft)
  • 1 Gordon Biersch Marzen (bottle)
  • 1 Pabst Blue Ribbon (can)
  • 2 Bud Lights (16oz cans)
  • 1 Red Headed Slut
  • 1 Bud LIght (bottle)
  • 4 Bud Lights (Bottles)
  • 1 Full Sail (bottle)
  • 3 Budweisers (24oz cans)
  • 3 screwdrivers
  • 1 Tire Bite(?) (bottle)
  • 1 Negro Modelo (bottle)
  • 2 Sake Bombs
  • 1 Sapporo (glass)
  • 1 Cabo Wabo shot
  • 1 Fat Tire (32oz draft)
  • 2 Bud Lights (32oz draft)
  • 1 Mickey's (40oz bottle)
  • 3 Buschs (Can)
  • 2 Jager shots
  • 1 Gin Gimlet
I should be dead. There were two birthdays and two shows this week, so that should account for some of it, right?

Friday, April 27, 2007

as the hair goes, so goes the nation

There is an epidemic. It's raging. It has reared it's head and taken from us. It has taken the form of blades, scissors, razors, and clippers. Haircuts, EVERYWHERE! Gabe, myself, Whit, Robby, Danny, and probably you. Beards are even falling victim. beware.

Monday, April 23, 2007

the great booze census, 2007

I was trying to figure out an activity to do while I do what I do best, drink, and I decied to keep a written log of all that I drink over the next 7 days. In high school we did it with food, so I will do it with booze. I'm gonna get a tiny little pocket sized notebook thing and keep track of everything I drink from today, Monday to Sunday. I will post the results and pictures and fun here in one week.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

is that a hernia in your pocket or are you happy to see me?

So, I live with Whit. And Tricia. And their two kids. It is a cozy little arrangement and I love it. So thursday the youngest put a tinker toy in the toilet and Whit flushed it. No big deal, did a little plunging, everything was fine. But the next time I went to the bathroom I had to plunge too. With that in mind I skip my usual pre-shower shit and go about my routine getting ready to work. On my way to Chili's I tell myself "No big deal Anthony, just shit when you get there. It will be slow." I was right, it was slow. About 2 1/2 hours into my shift I get the most intense stomach pain I have ever had in my life. Not a slow build, but an all out ninja-sneak-attack on my insides. But not my insides, it feels like a knife is getting shoved through my belly button. I go into disaster mode, ITS A HERNIA!!!!! IN MY BELLY BUTTON!!!! NO INSURANCE!!!!! I'M FUCKED!!!!! I tell the manager I am dying, I get someone to stay and close for me, I tell everyone I work with I have a hernia, I start thinking what good organs I have left to sell to cover the operation. Then glorious Whit asks me about the poopoo situation. I HAD FORGOTTEN TO SHIT! I do it, I feel a little better. I leave work, get some generic gas-x, poop a little more, and OH GLORIOUS DAY! No hernia for me.

I was thinking about it, and I think I did actually have a hernia, but when I verbalized having a hernia it healed itself. Usually when I talk about something great/horrible out loud it doesn't happen. I might be right on this one. Or I might not.

Friday, April 20, 2007

thursday night's alright for fighting

I live across the street from a wonderful drinking establishment called THE SILVER SPUR. It's a place of glory previously unknown to me. There are spankings by spatula, an occasional opportunity to wash glasses for beer, and more often then not breasts. Last night none of those things happened, at least that I saw. Last night there was a fight. If you listened to the participants afterwards there were chariots and bears and flaming honeydew melons and Rasputin rose from that water grave to help the mob secure victory! But as an biased bystander, with part of the story, it goes like this: Guy 1 gets mouthy, Lady 1 tries to throw him out, Guy1 comes back in, Guy 1 kicks Lady 1 in the back, then runs outside Guys 2-9 run out after him, I mosey out to watch, Guy 1 is on the ground, Guy 1 is up, Guy 1 takes off his belt, Guy 3 kicks him 3 times, 2 times falling on his ass, Guy 1 runs down the street, I go inside. Everything else is here say from that point on, but I am pretty sure I saw Guy 1's belt in possession of Guy 4, like a trophy. In honor of the fight I went to the jukebox and with the help of Tony put together a quick mix. The whole point of this story is to show you the mix. Our table appreciated it. Everyone else was to busy patting Rasputin on the back.

  • Street Fighting Man - The Rolling Stones
  • Mama Said Knock You Out - LL Cool J
  • Hurricane - Bob Dylan
  • Fight the Power - Public Enemy

Realizing today we should have put Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting on there. Next time.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

We were perfect when we started...

Whit brought it to my attention in the dining room today I haven't updated in a week. A bunch of fun stuff happened, so we'll start with this and move on.

This saturday (April 14th) was the wedding. I didn't take many pictures, but I did take this one of the first dance of my cousin Amber and her new husband Ryan. I got to meet the family, see my parents, I danced a little too. I ended up going stag, which was fine. There were no white drugs, no sex in bathrooms, no knocked over tables, nothing more embarrassing than an average night out with me. It was just the way it was supposed to be. Now don't get me wrong, there were shots with my dad and a dozen or so free beers and the requisite hitting on taken women, but not on the Katrina level that was predicted. There is definitely something that runs in a Booth's blood that makes for quite the party participant. The youngest of the 3 cousins was the maid of honor and well on her way to vegas drunk before the food was even served. My aunt was running around trying to round up single girls to introduce to me. It was exquisite.

More to come.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

I can party, it's the blogging that is suspect

I am always looking for new opportunities to get Vegas Drunk in places that are not Vegas, so in that pursuit I will be attending the LA Blogger Party with Whit. It should be very exciting for all parties involved. I will be wearing a short skirt and no panites.

Friday, April 06, 2007

in case of rapture

As a child, many of my days were spent going to school; a private, non-denominational, although attached to a baptist church, christian school. Actually, every day of education from when I had my own nap pad to a diploma were spent there. We can talk about what it did to me as a person another time. One thing it did hook me up with was a fear of the rapture. Now that fear has pretty much left my mind now, but when I was kid it was in full effect, especially the first couple of years in high school. If there was non-school day when I didn't hang out with anyone, and I called a couple of friends and they weren't home, I would immediately start worrying the rapture had happened. Everyone got picked up and I missed the boat. I had my own rapture test though. His name was Dustin Schramm. If I thought the rapture had gone down without me I would call the one person I was friends with who I knew would have been picked up. If he was home, good, no rapture, I was safe. If he wasn't I would go to my second source, CNN.

Needless to say the rapture didn't happen any of those times I did.

The point was yesterday felt like a rapture day. Not that I thought anyone had been raptured, I don't think many of my friends would fall into that boat at this point in our lives, but that after I got off work I couldn't get a hold of anyone. So instead of tracking down Dustin Schramm I went home and drank a beer. Then I went to bed.

A small part of me still wondered though.

Monday, April 02, 2007

Each time you turn a corner, you are right back to where you were

I read a book over the last couple of days. Life After God by Douglas Coupland. I broke a tooth in half eating a salad. I remember hearing about existential crisis (<---definately my head right now) when taking a class and reading The Stranger by Camus. The book reading and the tooth breaking have put me in full crisis mode. The pain from the tooth is minor. I don't even miss it. I don't trust my body, and it doesn't trust/like me. We have an understanding. Maybe. But minutes after the tooth breaking I realized that I had to figure out a way to do something with my half tooth still in my mouth. I could leave it and embrace my future as quality Antelope Valley resident, or I could go to a dentist and spend money I don't have to reach some sort of healthier alternative. So I have that going for me. I keep going over and over in my head how I am going to take care of this and at the same time I finish reading this book. I'm fucked, mentally. I flip-flop from walking out of the house getting in my car and never coming back, taking the 300 bucks and hole in my mouth to a new place or falling in line. Going to college, getting a career, buying a car, buying a house, getting married, having kids, smoking cigars, hanging myself. I woke up with a brand new exciting stomach pain. It must be the ultimate me trying to get out, ripping my insides to pieces in the process. I have never hated myself so much before. I have never been happier. I am going to the dentist.