I'm still in the closet on teleportation. Granted, the convenience it offers is indisputable, but I struggle with both the "poor thing" sheepish smiles and the "cross the street; this guy's a fucking loon" frightened stares from those with whom I share this ability. Funny how I only ever teleport from my recliner in the den to the local cannibis dispensary. Most times I teleport back as well, although once I was left stranded and had to Uber home.
About three weeks ago I had a fair amount to drink one Friday night, not a whole lot, but a bit more than I usually did, and then ... just stopped, except for a glass of wine when I was out to dinner. I don't know exactly why -- but I was getting to feel like getting a little buzzed every night was kind of limiting me, and likely not helping my cognition, which I'd like to keep humming along for a while.
No weird symptoms from stopping -- it was a habit, and not an addiction. When I read about how much real alcoholics tend to drink, it's pretty horrifying -- I never drank anywhere near that much.
I like a beer with dinner, but I like the taste more than the alcohol I think. I've switched to the Athleta beers since they have a variety, and the quality is good compared to NA beers of 20 years ago.
I sent a general Happy Easter text to Sister, who is the most reasonable and only MAGA adjacent person I know. Her husband texted me that my text of how much that simple message meant to her.
I sometimes use a powdered peanut butter that's pretty good. I'm sure that it's mostly ground peanuts. I'm afraid to look at the ingredients label, though. I don't use it much at the moment because my kitchen is broken.
There aren't any happy drunks in my immediate family. It's a tad frustrating. I'm not any sort of happy dancing silly sprite every time I've had a few but I make an effort to remain a diplomatic drunk.
My mother must be a distant cousin of yours. While she rarely drank to excess when she did it invariably resulted in weepy melodrama.
Who knew that electing Donald Trump meant there would be a Waffle House transported onto every corner.
This is some utter b***s***. It was an IHOP.
Eppur si mangia.
I'm still in the closet on teleportation. Granted, the convenience it offers is indisputable, but I struggle with both the "poor thing" sheepish smiles and the "cross the street; this guy's a fucking loon" frightened stares from those with whom I share this ability. Funny how I only ever teleport from my recliner in the den to the local cannibis dispensary. Most times I teleport back as well, although once I was left stranded and had to Uber home.
Waffle House lives inside us all...fresh eggs, buttery pecans, sweet syrup, and the ability to rage hard at any hour (just like gout...I know, too).
We have gotten to a place where obvious psychos are taken seriously and given high government positions.
One of the first books to be written about the nightmare of the Trump years will be "When America Went Mad".
Are we sure it wasn't a Worfle House?
https://i.chzbgr.com/full/10430545408/hDC345926/worfle-house-worfle-hous
Perfectly logical, amirite?
There should be a cocktail called "The Teleporter"
It's been scientifically proven that the most common teleportation destinations are Waffle Houses and ditches by the airport.
"I knew Galileo. I worked with Galileo. Galileo was a friend of mine. Sir, you're no Galileo."
About three weeks ago I had a fair amount to drink one Friday night, not a whole lot, but a bit more than I usually did, and then ... just stopped, except for a glass of wine when I was out to dinner. I don't know exactly why -- but I was getting to feel like getting a little buzzed every night was kind of limiting me, and likely not helping my cognition, which I'd like to keep humming along for a while.
No weird symptoms from stopping -- it was a habit, and not an addiction. When I read about how much real alcoholics tend to drink, it's pretty horrifying -- I never drank anywhere near that much.
I like a beer with dinner, but I like the taste more than the alcohol I think. I've switched to the Athleta beers since they have a variety, and the quality is good compared to NA beers of 20 years ago.
I sent a general Happy Easter text to Sister, who is the most reasonable and only MAGA adjacent person I know. Her husband texted me that my text of how much that simple message meant to her.
You are a better brother than most of your siblings deserve.
If you like peanut butter, it's tough to beat the Winco brand that you grind yourself. Just dry roasted peanuts and nothing else.
Fresh ground is the best. A jar lasts a year or two here, so I don't buy the good stuff any more.
I sometimes use a powdered peanut butter that's pretty good. I'm sure that it's mostly ground peanuts. I'm afraid to look at the ingredients label, though. I don't use it much at the moment because my kitchen is broken.
A local company that sells nut products have their own in-store brand of peanut butter. The ingredients list reads: Peanuts.
Can't do better than that.
Rik Ocasek got most of the attention, but Benjamin Orr could play . . . and sing.
https://youtu.be/fjeHPLyFZvY
I don't think The Cars get enough respect.
When I first heard them, I immediately thought, "Roxy Music wannabees."
Then, I heard "Moving In Stereo."
My first LP purchase when I got my first turntable back in (Jr. High?) was The Cars.
They all could play really well. They were punching below their weight.
Bonus cool points for David Robinson being the drummer for the Modern Lovers.
Volatile drunks are the bane of my fucking existence. Dammit.
I'm a happy drunk until I suddenly fall asleep. Folks on my father's side were asshole drunks. On my mom's side the drunks broke drown crying.
Irish lols?
There aren't any happy drunks in my immediate family. It's a tad frustrating. I'm not any sort of happy dancing silly sprite every time I've had a few but I make an effort to remain a diplomatic drunk.
My mother must be a distant cousin of yours. While she rarely drank to excess when she did it invariably resulted in weepy melodrama.
We're Irish. What can I say?
I only saw my mom drunk once. She cried AND puked, both. Excellent cautionary tale.
😂☘️💗💪🍻
Do you like potatoes?
Sorry, I'm drunk.
Potatoes are Life 🥔
They ARE.
💯! There are No BAd Things made w potatoes and Every Thing made W potatoes is automatically more delish better for hazzing potatoes (&cheese) 🤩💯