New Orleans is where livers go to die

My liver has participated in many marathons but none like the night in NOLA-a 13 hour binge marathon that spanned 3 neighborhoods…complete with a hand full of one-liners from my fellow drinking connoisseurs that I’m probably going to repeat from now to the day I die of liver sclerosis…an up-and-down roller coaster of a spree that can only be summed up as an AA Recruitment Drive.

Realistically, the only classy things present on this cross-country bar crawl was the cottage we were staying in and our wardrobe…and one of those is debatable.

NOLA cottage

Most notable memories from New Orleans that I can actually remember:

  • Local guy at a dive bar with a handle bar mustache: “You probably shouldn’t go to that bar. I got in a fight with a coke dealer after I rammed his escalade. I said to him, ‘You and me. No insurance. No cops. Mano a Mano.’… kicked my flip-flops off and beat his ass. Kicked him in the fucking head…barefoot. That shit hurt.”
    Me: “I definitely want to go to that bar.”

overly manly man

  • What do you think is behind that door?

Photo Nov 17, 5 21 00 PM

  • JT: Daylight savings time really fucks-up my drinking schedule I thought it was like 10:30! (as we get kicked out of a bar at 6:30)
    -I was chatting with a prostitute and she said she LOVES daylight saving time because she can start her night at 5:30.
    -Is a prostitute ever really off-duty?
    -You right. If she got propositioned at the grocery store, it would go down…or she would.
  • Can I jump on your back right now? -me
    Oh you a bad bitch! Yeah, you definitely from Memphis! Come on white girl! Jump on the gorilla. –gorilla man (As you can see, I was so happy that my head exploded.)

Photo Nov 17, 6 52 03 PM

  • The more you drink…the better you think we sound.-trombone player
    -As we sat on the curb…taking a flask full of vodka to the cranium. They sounded really good.

off-bourbon blues

  • Stop shaking your ass. Honey, you look like you’re giving birth.-random MC to drunk bitch on stage
  • I love you. I just love you.-girl in the group that never gets drunk <international symbol of white-girl wasted>

white girl wasted

  • Started a rave in a pizzeria…while eating a granola bar I whipped out of my purse. Fuck Lord of the Rings. Crank the bass.
  • Ugh man, you’re smoking menthol!?! 50 million black people die every year from that. -W


  • I sent that picture of the trannie to my mom last night and said, ‘this is my date for the evening.’ Don’t remember that. -JT


I colored to pass the time on the road. Literally, drove 400 miles. Got drunk at a bar. Slept. Got drunk on Bourbon and Frenchman. Slept. Drove 400 miles back. And all I have to show for it is this fucking coloring book.Photo Nov 17, 6 15 52 PM

When the night ends with three twenty-somethings stumbling through the streets on a scavenger hunt for the lost car, only one conclusion can be made: definitely going back to New Orleans.


P.S. Who dat!


Oh my God! Look at that giant baby!

You know what? I feel like fucking “blogging” right now…I’m semi-drunk, watching my carnivorous roommate cook a fucking pork chop right now. ITS FUCKING 1:00 IN THE MORNING.  Got damn….Its nasty…real nasty.  Also, I just discovered that my so called $4 a fucking package “vegan” cheese is NOT FUCKING VEGAN.  What a waste of money and how much of a joke is my little vegan diet… lezbehonest… it’s a joke.  I ate fish tonight and I don’t even feel bad.  Just writing that I realize how fucking weird/pathetic the whole situation is.  So as the pork chop cooks and I recognize the completely pathetic nature of my entirety, I just sit here, and let it happen.  Being in your mid-twenties is a whole lot of just “letting it happen” and the “it” that I stated is a whoooolle lot of BULLSHIT.  Bullshit being current/future careers, bi-sexuality (we’ll get more into that one later on), veganism, people awkwardly playing guitars and singing in the middle of a party, etc, etc.  You know what I’m saying.  Ya’ll…I’m out.

Peace jiggas.


8 Experiences at the University of Memphis that I am still pissed about

8. Parking at the U of M. Watching someone try to find a parking spot for a 9:10 class on the first day of class is a prime example of animalistic behavior.

7. Fuck those bullshit tickets  you get when you can’t find a parking spot. I’m not saying I approve, but it is definitely impressive how creative drivers get when there is no parking spots to be found…and then they get a ticket for it. Fuck you! If I want to park on the grass, I will! There is a special place in hell for people that give out tickets. Especially ones that put a hold on your transcript!

6.That is one spiteful-ass train. Let’s be honest. That train only runs when you are running late for class. If you are running late for a test, it will be twice as
long and potentially stop on the tracks. This picture makes me cringe just thinking about it.






5. Get the fuck out of my way…I just want a chicken sandwich. Who has time to just stand around at the University Center? You aren’t doing it right. By “it,” I mean life.UC









4. To hell with those stairs outside the theater building.steps









3. Freshman, get your shit together. No one cares about senior prom or frat parties. Go ahead and detach from your mama’s tit. You can speak to me like an equal once your resume is comparable to mine…that might be awhile.

2. Still love you D. Rose 😉 You are still a Memphis Tiger even if it was only one year…that had serious repercussions. If you have to ask what those repercussions are, get the fuck off my page. You know what? If you don’t know what the initials CDR stand for, get the fuck off my page. Bleed blue.

1. Die Coach Cal. If you feel the need to explain to me that I should not blame Coach Cal for leaving, get the fuck off my page. Bleed cal


Who the fuck writes a blog?

Who actually starts a blog?  Someone who seriously believes that people care to read their cynical thoughts and opinions on the politics, relationships and the bullshit of everyday life that people genuinely believe matters?  Or perhaps a twenty something, lost in the drone of the day to day frustrations of “who the fuck am I and what the fuck will I do with my life?”, well we’ve all been there…and who really cares.  The truth is that no one gives two shits to hear your “knowledgable” opinions on the world, and no one likes THAT girl wearing yoga pants, drinking wine and starting her own blog just because she fucking can…but you know what?  That typical girl watching ‘New Girl’ and getting drunk by herself…that’s me.  I can recognize the hilarity of the consistent bullshit that comes along with the ”quarter-life crisis” known as being a twenty something, and thus that is what this ‘blog’ will consist of- the humility, embarrassment, drunken-ness, semi-professionalism that is a twenty something.  -S