My tribute to Jawsdog. This is the wallpaper in the stairway of Julie and Fingertap's apartment building. Totally dark and mysterious 1800's mansion style. We start here on the Friday night of a weekend dedicated to campfires.
Dinner at the CC Club. Ripplechip and Jeff wait for their food patiently, and without a shred of excitement. What a bunch of joyless assholes.
After the CC we head back to Julie's and hang out with her cat named LeBron. The cat is a female and white, but they named it after a famous African-American male basketball player. Talk about po-mo (post-modern).
Further inside the apartment, Julie and Blestos crush brews with a shit ton of crazy paintings looming over them in the background. The best is the Star Trek princess girl painting, found in an alley last summer and immediately made the centerpiece of the whole room, naturally.
Next, we move a block over to Blestos backyard, which is where we spend most of the next 36 hours. Blestos shows us how to really host a party -- complete with a firepit, frozen pizza, coffee mugs filled with vodka concoctions, and some really fucking weird hand-signal-open mouth camera poses.
Big Time Fuller. "Hey, what can I say? I'm drinking Leinie's in a can. You caught me.".
The next afternoon is totally warm and sunny, perfect for an early dinner at the Bulldog patio. McTubbins gets totally real with a bloddy mary.
It doesn't take long for us to wind up in Blestos backyard again. Cam arrives decked out in her finest pearls, ready to get into it.
Nicole and I are trying to quit smoking. FYI don't make the mistake of buying a pack of gross Marlboro Medium 100's with the intention that they would be too disgusting to smoke, cause you'll smoke them anyways.
Nicole and I buy Marlboro Reds, two bottles of cheap red wine, a 6 pack of Bud Light and a Twins coozie to keep the beers cold. Eventually we get wasted and have to go home.
Smoke from the campfire is mad aggro towards Coles. She fights back with awkward hand movements.
Now the smoke from the fire is getting outright brazen with its attacks.
Brenda, once again, is not into this shit.
Late night drive back to St. Paul, Jeff and I decide that we need some food. We accidentally order an entire Crave Case instead of just the usual. There is no way we are going to finish these dudes.
Next afternoon at the Bandbox. Randall explains loudly to us all that this is "the best NBA playoffs ever!" while he's suppose to be cooking our food.
Steve Nash is totally having a heart attack in this photo. Good thing he's Canadian -- they have universal health care so finding a doctor shouldn't be a problem. Score! Seriously look at his face.
Breakfast.
The receipts say "Weed, Grub, Fucktodd, Pay Up." Nice.
It's Sunday, which means that Minnesota is a dry zone. Apparently, our lawmakers, in all their wisdom, have decided that its totes sacrelig' to enjoy a sip of Modelo on the Sabbath. Thanks assholes. But living in St. Paul does have its perks -- we're only 20 minutes from the Wisconsin border, where they have a more progressive mindset. We drive across the mighty St. Croix River to Hudson, a little river town who's economy is built on recreational boating and the Sunday booze needs of bored Deuce Citians.
You know when you're trying to decide what to drink with your friends, and everyone's all like "I dunno I guess we could PBR or maybe a Sparks." Then someone has a bolt of inspiration, an instant of holding the hand of God, and they're all like "Dude, we could have margheritas!" And everyone is so blown away by the sheer audacity, the simple NEWNESS of this idea, the breaking of the shackles of the status quo, the removing of self-created borders and restrictions, that you all at once go "YES!" This is what happened on the way to Wisconsin.
A leisurely afternoon.
We watch Jay Z's "Fade to Black." The best part is when he hears the beat for "Dirt of Your Shoulder" for the first time and gets a wide-eyed serious look on his face cause he knows that Timbaland has just given him the true gift of a flaming hot lava fire burner. I'm a hustla homie, you a customer cronie.
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