These two wanted my camoflauge underwear following last night's show. "I don't have them on tonight," I shared. They wanted to me to get 'em outta my room. "As long as I can have yours," demanded the douchebag. They appeared willing to hand them over, but their boyfriends didn't share the same sentiments.
I guess pulling down their shirts to expose very nice cleavage was okay, though.
With Melissa, Anne and Samantha at the Electric Cowboy in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
Samantha enjoys the shocker on her 21-year-old thigh. She's the daughter and grand daughter of a preacher. I've been to confession twice today.
Fans bought tons of JUST SHAVE IT goodies after the show.
I drove through here on 1-40 in eastern Oklahoma. Jesus took the wheel and Checotah's where I ended up.
The owner's been saved so no 'f' words, Jack Daniel's shirts or panty selling. On the Road with Scott Derenger
Sorry my site was down most of today. I have to pay to write for you schmucks and didn't renew my account in time. All's okay now.
Seems like just yesterday I was here in Topeka, Kansas. In actuality it was around the same time last year. This is my fourth time here. I didn't even write down directions or really consult a map. The Prizm just knows. Navigation schmavigation.
**********
So after reading the headliner's MySpace page yesterday and then checking out the Electric Cowboy Website, I had conflicting thoughts. He had Jesus pictures while the club had half naked pictures of women. Which would prevail?
2 hours before my show, a phone call came to my hotel room. The guy's name was Kenny. He claimed he was calling on behalf of the Electric Cowboy and wanted to let me know some of the rules for the show. Seemed okay to me.
"One of the club owners was saved a few months ago," he began. Because I was in the Bible Belt and Kenny reminded me of that, I knew what saved meant, but I thought I could still be a comedian.
"Saved from what? A burning building? Quicksand? Last call at a gay bar?"
Kenny barely released a sound. "That's what I'm talking about. No jokes about gay people, ethnic stuff, sex or religion." I didn't know what to say, but wasn't totally shocked.
"Well then what the hell. Sorry, I mean heck. What the heck do you want me to talk about?"
"Just keep it real clean. There's gonna be lots of church-goin' people and even Christian fraternities at the show. We're slowly changing over the clientele."
"But isn't it a bar in a college town?"
"Yes, sir. But there's been some trouble in recent months. Someone was killed in the parking lot late last year after being cut off in traffic."
"So I guess I should walk to the club?" Again, silence on Kenny's end.
This Kenny guy went on to tell me about merchandise percentages and what I had to wear. I told him about my Jack Daniel's gear.
"Well, I guess it'll be okay this one time. Just nothing too much. No baseball jerseys or anything like that, either."
"Do you sell Jack Daniel's at your bar or just Kool-Aid boxes? Seriously. There was no mention to me about all these rules and shit. Sorry. I mean rules and stuff."
The call lasted about 20 minutes. When I got to the club in my solid black JD-free shirt, I saw the guys at the front door wearing ties. The extended their arms to seat the ladies. Kenny was right, apparently.
Inside the bar were men in cowboy hats, jeans and t-shirts, all drinking beer and cocktails. It look and felt like any other small town one-nighter.
I asked the headliner if I could sell my shirt, but I danced around the panties. Not literally, although that would've been a hell of an opening bit. He said fine, whatever I had to sell. One of the managers came up to me. I told him about the call a few hours earlier. He seemed clueless. "You mean I can wear my Jack Daniel's shirt if I want?"
"Hell yeah, it's a bar, dude." I went back to change shirts and shoes, the matching bitch that I am.
My show was awesome. Kept it clean for all the 'church folk'. Reasonably clean. After all I had 30 minutes to kill and wasn't sold on reading Genesis the whole time. Maybe Leviticus and First Corinthians.
The laughed hardest at the dirty jokes. Go figure. The headliner cussed like a, well, like a comedian drinking beer and shots on stage. They loved him, too. We both sold our merch after the show. People said they loved us.
I talked to the owner about the phone call. He thought I was bullshitting him, even kicking an office chair as I detailed Kenny's rules. Then the waitresses put on their tiny red shirts, exposing nice tummies.
"Not to cut you off, boss, but do the girls wear those same outfits to Sunday worship? That would sure as shit get me to attended mass every week."
No one knows who Kenny is, where he called from and why he called me. A police investigation starts today, allegedly.
CSI: Fayetteville all because of me.
3/29/2007
your mom
Not sure if she's even of age, butt I love Chicago. And Matt Murton, who's slated to bat second and start in left field Opening Day for the Cubs.
My friend Violet, a die-hard Cubs fan and avid White Sox hater, gave me one of her old license plates to hang on the Sluggo's wall in Mesa. (L-R Fergie Jenkins, Ron Santo and Ryne Sandberg.)
That's Jeremy seconds after snagging Ronnie Cedeno's GW 10th inning 3-run homer Tuesday. Then Jeremy, a White Sux fan, gave me the ball. Thanks buddy!
Our Sluggo's group, including high school classmate Colin and his wife Jessica (black shirt and a big bald head in her way), their two friends to my left, and a guy who recognized me from MySpace - gray Cubs jersey (Dan or Dave I think his name is. Sorry. Being a douche once again), and Jeremy.
50 bucks to sleep for an hour??? On the Road with Scott Derenger
Greetings from Amarillo, Texas. 6:04 a.m. Slept maybe a full hour last night. Guess that means this Super 8 is anything but. The Prizm would've been much cheaper and afforded similar luxury. Not their fault, though. Not sure who or what to blame. Maybe I thought someone would steal my bike. I parked right outside and below my third floor window. All seems in tact right now.
Didn't stop off for a new seat cover in Albuquerque. Should have. Wow! Black beans and coffee peeled the protective coating off my new sunglasses. Sure hope Lencrafters considers that a form of 'breakage'.
And if you think the seat cover needed replacing, my underwear started itself on first before I made it outta Arizona. By the time I got to New Mexico, smoke signals were coming from the Prizm. Not a good thing when most of the locals are indians. Assured them things were under control, and they went back to drinking.
Such a shame; those were a good pair of undies. So were the black running pants. I have them hanging out the hotel window laced with enough Febreeze to choke a rhino.
*********
Forgot to mention that another blind person was at the game Tuesday. It was my third blind sighting, which is fuckin' funny to write, of Spring Training. I'm not picking on the blind, but I wonder what joy they derive in seeing nothing. "They see with their ears," some people claim. I know - you lose one sense and the others are enhanced. Good. Glad the guy wasn't riding shotgun yesterday. He would've smelled my ass before the brewing commenced.
One of the Royals players hit a homerun to right, landing in the lawn among a sea of fans. Jeremy and I were seated nearby but not really close enough to make a run at it. A short while later, as I stood in line for beer, I found out that the ball bounced off the blind guy's dog. Yep, his seeing-eye dog. I'd take that fucker back, ask for a refund. I mean - come on! Dog can't see a ball coming right at him? How the hell's he supposed to get the blind guy across the street in one piece?
The train to hell is leaving as soon as I get my coffee.
*****************
I have a show tonight in Fayetteville, Arkansas, home of the Razorbacks. Hold back the applause. Save it for my appearance on The Tonight Show this summer. I played their once before in some dance club trying their hand at comedy. Don't remember much, which means I didn't do well and didn't get laid.
Tonight's venue - The Electric Cowboy. No shit. Sounds like a gay rodeo turned strip club.
I picked up the gig Tuesday morning. A mass email was sent from a North Carolina booking agency. About two dozen dates were available. Generally it's first come, first served. They're the same agency I first worked for back in 2003. At that time I booked some dates in February to go on tour in October. It was my first season at Wrigley Field.
"I work at Wrigley Field," I told the agent. "If they Cubs make the playoffs, I'll have to work here in Chicago." The agent laughed. When they made the playoffs I had to cancel some dates. They were none too happy with me and I've worked for them only twice since.
Tonight will be three.
So what prize does tonight's booking offer in a college town? Opening for a Christian comedian. For real. Never met the guy before but I checked out his MySpace page. He's got Bible quotes and pictures of Jesus. His friends' profile pics even have scripture messages and pictures of Christ.
The JUST SHAVE IT panties should go over like meat lover's pizza at a Vegan pep rally.
He's got tons of bookings and I'm sure is a great comedian, but I was just trying to add a show on my trip home. Turns out I may get lectured for my mouth. Then again maybe Bible thumpers shave their pubes, too. Who am I to judge?
During my drive yesterday I tried writing down all my clean jokes. When the page was emtpy after an hour, I decided to sing all my Christian Day Camp songs from when I was 11.
The Lord said to Noah there's gonna be a floody, floody. Lord said to Noah there's gonna be a floody, floody. Get those children (big clap) outta the muddy, muddy, children of the Lord.
(Refrain) So rise and shine and give God your glory, glory. Rise and shine and give God your glory, glory. Rise and shine and (big clap) give God your glory, glory children of the Lord.
The Lord said to Noah go build me an arky, arky. Lord said to Noah go build me an arky, arky. Build it out of (clap) treeeeee barky, barky, children of the Lord.
And so on ...
This shit oughtta kill.
Stay tuned.
THIS JUST IN ...
From the Electric Cowboy's Miss Carribbean Tan Week. Forget all the concern raised up above. This place is gonna fuckin' rock! Bring on the Jack Daniels and hot southern chicks!
3/28/2007
I left my pillow in Tuscon; A game-winning, extra-inning homerun ball. On the Road with Scott Derenger
No time for pictures or videos today. Sorry. Still in Phoenix. Should've left hours ago. Losing two hours driving back into Central Time to boot.
The Prizm's packed, ready to go. Even the bike's strapped to the back. As I prepped for tonight's stay in the car, I realized I left my pillow in the Tucson comedy condo. Originally there was only one pillow in the feature's room, so now they have two. My contribution, complete with head sweat and God knows what else.
Fuckin' Lulu just scratched the shit outta my right arm. She was tossing around and biting her giant empty water jug. I went out to take it from her and fill it up with fresh, cold water, and the bitch swiped at my arm. It's a playful gesture that always results in me saying, "No. Down. Fuckin' stop it." Followed by a slap to the jaw, nothing that PETA would protest, but enough to let her know that shit ain't cool.
Just for that Lulu, you won't be getting the lone PB&J sandwich I have left. Found it under the Prizm's driver's seat. Now mommy and daddy can sleep well tonight.
I tried finishing off my leftovers in the fridge. 3 pieces of the bowling alley pizza was last night's dinner. This morning's breakfast was a pile of Meixcan food - black beans, rice and three small portions of enchiladas. Now if that isn't a great way to fuel-up for a cross-country drive, I don't know what is.
Plan to buy a new seat cover in Albuquerque.
**********
My buddy Jeremy and I went to yesterday's Cubs-Royals game. He's a White Sux fan from the Joliet area and has been living out here for 13 years now.
The Cubs were leading 6-1 at one point, then blew the lead and even trailed. Douchebags. It was 10-10 in the 10th inning. We were making our way out and decided to stay, setting up shop on the left field lawn, right on top of the hill. Tow runners were on base with two outs. Angel Pagan had flown out deep to right center. I caught it on tape, initially thinking it was gonna be a walkoff homerun.
I then taped Ryan Theriot and Michael Barrett. No homers from them. Ronnie Cedeno at the plate. With two men on, he crushed a towering homerun to left and off the netting protecting the scoreboard. I watched it sail out and over my head. A wrestling match for the ball ensued. Not many fans were left, so it was nothing like a Barry Bonds homer.
And just then, from the bottom of the pile littered with white and gray t-shirts, hats and cargo shorts, appeared Jeremy. With the ball. He had both hands over it, blades of grass poking through his grip. He tossed the ball to me. "Here you go."
I was at a loss for words. Me, speechless. Shocking I know. Sure it was a Spring Training homerun by the Cubs backup infielder, but it was still a Major League homerun. From someone on my favorite of all sports teams.
"Can I have that ball, mister?" a little boy asked me.
"Well kid, this is the first ball I've ever gotten. I've been going to Cubs games for 26 years. So ... NO! Wait your turn."
He took it better than I thought. None of the fans even razzed me about it. I think they could tell I was serious, again even if was Spring Training. And besides, you don't really appreciate shit just given ...
Wait a minute. Jeremy got the ball and gave it to me. What the? How the?
Who cares!!! Maybe I'll walk in with Ronnie to work and have him sign it.
I'll post pictures and videos if I stay in Amarillo tonight. If not, sometime before the weekend.
Off for about 1,000 miles of driving. Sounds like fun, huh?
First I must kiss Lulu goodbye and start the dishwasher.
Call me late to keep me alive. Thanks!!!
3/27/2007
Watch me dance to the PB&J song as Lulu bites me in the ass the whole time!
3/27/2007
Danny - on a chair, our Macayo's waitress and Kevin last night. We closed the joint down, bullshitting mostly about comedy and this alleged career of mine. Kevin and Danny are easily two of my biggest and most loyal supporters. Without them, I'd be even lesser known.
I saw these yesterday and wanted them for work at Wrigley. No dice. "Are they non-slip?" my manager asked. "They have to say it right on the bottom. And they have to be predominatly white." Obviously the latter wasn't happening.
"Are you serious? These things are awesome. So what if they're not the non-slip kind. The ones I wore last year weren't non-hernia. How 'bout if I write it on there? Will that be good enough?" Sometimes the corporate giants rules the roost and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Right now.
A final fun day in Fhenix? On the Road with Scott Derenger
Not sure why I've been up since 5:30 a.m. It's a work-vacation and some rest is required. I'm a little ansty after talking with Kevin and Danny last night. It was the same bullshit that centers around me every year - when am I gonna get my shit in gear?
Honestly, I have no idea. Therefore I'm leagally insane. I keep doing the same things over and over, expecting different results.
But let's veer off the road of negativity for just a minute, and try to humor you faithful, deranged readers.
When we bowled Sunday night, the towel machine in the bathroom boasted a NO TOUCH SENSOR. I waved my hand up and down, side to side, changing speeds even. Then I did the same thing with my palm facing me. Still nothing. The light didn't go on. Not a single inch of paper was dispensed. There I stood, two clean dripping hands dangling at my sides.
And then the unthinkable. I touched the sensor. Like it was a button or something. And presto! Out came the towels.
Sometimes it pays to be smarter than the machine.
*********
Yesterday the errands took precedent over the Cubs. The same Cubs who announced that Kerry "porcelein doll" Wood won't start the season with the team for the fourth straight year. Maybe it's only three but at this point who cares really. He's a fuckin' bum, and all those innings he threw in high school, including both games of a double-header, has gotten him where? In rehab again.
His shoulder hurts. A few weeks ago it was his triceps muscle. And right outta the Spring Training gate, poor Carrie (since he's more of a bitch than a ball player) fell outta his hot tub and hurt his chest.
But his arm is worth millions. And Cubs fans have paid for it to have two decent seasons in a 9-year career. I'd like to find his high school coach and fuck 'em in the left eye socket with a rolling pin while shoving an ice pick in his right eye. Top it off with some lemon juice and Tabasco sauce, and Cub fans will be almost even.
Now back to the errands. I had my tux fitting for Tony and Gellie's wedding. It's the fourth wedding I've been in, the third time as a groomsman. Once an usher. First tux rental in 5 years. The lady fitting me wasn't the dream girl I'd envisioned wrapping tape around me and down my leg. Guess you can't win 'em all.
Then off to the huge outlet mall in Tempe called Arizona Mills. There was a Virgin Megastore there, but most of the women looked like anything but. Sluts running around with CD's and DVD's. False advertising if ever I saw it.
So now it's come down to this, my final day in Phoenix. When I first planned this trip, it seemed like too long. I've only done 6 shows here, none of which actually in Phoenix. Two more this weekend in Topeka, Kansas. I thought I'd have more time to visit with old friends as a result. That's my biggest regret, spending too much time going to and from ball games and then sitting at the bar afterwards. Throw in some typical Scott Derenger drama, and you have a typical Scott Derenger work-vacation, comprised of poor decisions, a soon-to-be hospitalized liver, two depleted bank accounts, a phone that's been nearly thrown out the car window twice in fits of rage, a suntan lotion and sweat-induced pimply cranium, and more shit to pack in the Prizm than I arrived with.
But on the bright side ... Hmmmm. Lemme think.
Still thinking.
Ah yes, the time spent with good friends like Kevin, Danny, Gellie and Tony, Lisa and Joe. Today is a Cubs-Royals game with Jermey and hopefully Colin and Jessica.
Tucson was fun, too. Met some cool people, took some nice pictures, had a few good shows, sold some panties and shirts. Met up with childhood and high school friends once back in Phoenix. It's never as bad as I make it seem.
Joia treated me to an awesome night at the Suns game, but now she hates me once again. I just have a way with women. In the worst way, I guess.
Every year I leave here saying to myself that next year will be better. I'll have more shows, do better networking, get my writing out to the Spring Training fans, spend more quality time with friends, be in better shape, have brand new jokes.
Oh well. There's always next year, right?
Spoken and written like a true Cubs fan.
3/26/2007
My first You Tube video! If you can't access MySpace at work, you should be able to see this.
3/26/2007
With Mike and the lovely Jade at Friday's 6-2 Cubs win over the Giants. Mike's company, Section 8 Industries, makes the shirt I'm wearing.
Erin thought enough of me to order this shirt and then send it to Arizona for me to show off. Now which bald Britney are we talking about? The war-torn genital region OR the cranial one? That's Christine with me, a Famous Sam's waitress from Saturday night in Chandler.
A 25-pound lighter Kerry Wood warms up in the bullpen before allowing the only three Angels runs yesterday. The worst outing I've seen from him this Spring.
After drinking at and after the Cubs game, and after two softball games where I tested my hernia recovery, why not bowl three games? Tony, Greg, a very pregnant Michelle and Gellie. And my suprisingly tasty bowling alley pizza. Made fresh even.
Do you really care if these things have a title? On the Road with Scott Derenger It's 8:53 a.m. in Phoenix. Just finished a great radio interview with The Jason Lee Show, a morning show in southwest Michigan. I guess their listeners enjoy hearing about a Wrigley Field waiter who moonlights as a thong-selling comedian.
I played two games of softball last night on Mike's team, back to back. (Mike, the t-shirt guy.) Right field for the guy nobody knew. I felt like little league, where the worst kid stands around, picks dandelions and eventually pees his pants.
It was my first time running around post-Larry. I stroked what should've been a long out that eventually ended up being a homerun. Or maybe a 4-base error, but in softball, who cares, right?
With thoughts of sliding into home since the play was close, I began my decent to the earth. No one was telling me to stand or slide. Or maybe they were and I was just too outta breath to hear 'em. Down I went. But not all the way. My ass stayed up while my hands slid over the rough dirt. It looked more like I was falling and trying to stay up. At least that's how it felt.
My feet made trenches down the baseline. I resembled that of a giant, bumbling triangle. Somehow my right night knee landed and suffered a minor scrape. I couldn't stop myself. It was easily the ugliest slide of my ball-playing career. Excluding any alone time, however.
I had two other hits and made five outs, 3-8 on the night. In game where a big ball is tossed underhand. Nothing overly impressive but enough to help us split the double-header. I may call that slutty girl's conquest from last week (remember - the masseuse she banged in the living room) and see if he can squeeze me in. I'm one sore mofo.
Then three games of bowling - while drinking four pitchers of beer - didn't help matters, either. All in all, it was a pretty fun-filled, injury-plagued day. Aside from the Cubs losing and my Tarheels forgetting that overtime means you have to score to win.
Cubs play in Tempe today vs. the Angels. I had thoughts about going to the game, even riding my bike there. Instead I may call the couch home for a few hours. But it's vacation, right? I'll end up going.
Then I'll need that slut-hungry masseuse to rub my taint tomorrow.
In case you haven't read enough bullshit from me, there's a rather lengthy story about A Day in the Life of a Cubs Fan at Spring Training. I basically chronicled my entire day last Friday. Check it out in the Wrigley Field journal.
------------------------------------------------------ And if you wanna see my first shower 3some caught on tape, check out my ShaveYourHead.com journal.
3/23/2007
With some Jack Daniel's girls in downtown Phoenix Wednesday night. Photo courtesy of Myra with ABDC-AZ.
Home of the NFL's Arizona Cardinals, the monstrosity that is University of Phoenix Stadium. The place is ridiculous, sitting in the middle of nowhere, in an area that will soon be quite an attraction. They host the Super Bowl in January, 2008.
First Gellie tried washing the muddy Lulu after a day of playing in the grass-less backyward.
Then I was brought in to literally get dirty and clean the puppy. Lulu seems to be lovin' every minute of it.
At yesterday's Cubs-Padres game in Peoria. Rained out in the 5th. This picture doesn't do the girl in the white justice. Simply amazing. Then the rain came down and my prayers had been answered. For a split second. It all happened too fast and I couldn't score another shot. Everyone left and this is all I have to think about what might've been.
Click to watch my report in the Arizona rain, complete with the white shirt girl and also a slutty roommate.
My first 3some in the shower. On the Road with Scott Derenger
I like to start the day off positively. Usually. However, one of my emails read: Please take my name off your list-I was disgusted by your pictures and don't know you. Thank you.
Sometimes I send emails to anyone who's ever sent me one, or anyone who's in a mass emailing with someone else, directing them to this Web site. People need to laugh and look at drunk chicks exploited for your pleasure. So tough shit, folks. It's email. Get the fuck over it.
Then there was a nasty email exchange with me and a comedy club owner. Sometimes there's no need to wonder why I'm floating in mediocrity. I need some coffee to settle down. Yes, caffeine to take the edge off.
Washing the dog was as non-glorious a way to end a vacation Wednesday as possible. Raining in the dessert got me soaked at 3 p.m., so why not don the swim trunks and shower with a four-legged face-licker come 7 p.m.?
I carried her up two flights of stairs. Lulu's giagantic muddy paws brushed against the white walls in Monet-esque fashion. In the tub she went. On came the water. And out came the smell of a wet dog. A big, muddy wet dog. It filled the bathroom worse than any burrito-induced beer shit. Barf-o-rama.
******
The game was fun. While it lasted. We sat in the lawn. I showed up just as they sang the National Anthem. The girls placed a blanket in foul territory. I stood or knelt to actually watch the game, something unheard of when tickets are 5 bucks.
With tales of a slutty roommate who meets guys on Craig's List, through the handle "cute face, chubby waist," stories were told right up till the first rain drop.
"She even brought home a masseuse once. The guy pulled her hair while rubbing her back, and she melted. I walked in on them doing it right in the middle of the living room. On his massage table, no less."
At least he brought his own table. Gotta get credit for that.
When something like this is shared, I can't help but prod for more info. I have questions - lots of 'em - and want answers. While some people appeared entertained at my inquiries and comments, I didn't know any of them. It could've been a front, laughing on the outside but wanting badly an internal cleansing.
"How does she spell waist?" I asked, hoping she would've said W-A-S-T-E. Cute face, chubby waste. Now that is some funny shit, my friends. Then again, if she's pawning herself off on-line, I guess nothing's getting wasted. Except the guy who's replied to her post.
"Whatta ya do for a living?"
"Play poker."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Been doing it for 5 years now."
"Do you have your own table?"
"Why on earth ..."
"My roommates prefer that when I bring back a guy, that he has something on which we can fornicate. Oh wait, you play poker. That means 'to have sex.'"
The white t-shirt girl was far better looking that my shitty camera depicts her. When the rain got heavy, my eyes directed themselves in her direction. Plus I'm a sucker for a girl who pulls off the hat look really well, which she did.
"She's a really nice girl, Scotty. And she's Mormon. Don't say anything ..."
And before the pleaing finished, I made mention that it's a shame her shirt is white and it's raining. Some shuddered. I simply shrugged my shoulders.
"What was with the Mormon comment you made?" I asked. "I've been to Utah and really liked Jim McMahon when he played for the Bears. In 5th grade I was even him for the Super Bowl Shuffle we performed in Sr. Ann Barbara's class. I love me some Mormons."
*******
Time to go see if I can snag a ticket to the Cubs-Giants game today in Mesa. Wish me luck. Have a great weekend.
3/22/2007
Her tat reads SCOTTY.
Yet another set of horrendous pictures of a beautiful girl. Sorry, Emily. (She really put my shirt on backwards in the first shot. It's the luck of the Irish, not their brains we like.) I know you can't read the shirts, but you know what they say. Besides, are you really looking at the shirt?
Laffs waitress Sierra at the St. Patty's party.
Headliner Rob Sherwood along with Sierra and the boobalicious Brooke.
How dare it rain in the fu&%ing desert!!! On the Road with Scott Derenger
So much for my tan today. And the Cubs game. I woke to a thunderstorm early this morning. Clouds still fill the sky, dark heavy clouds. A perfect day for running errands has resulted.
I've cooled off since my whiskey-aided post 7 hours ago. I even removed all the 'c' words from the written rant. Sorry if you read it in its purest form. At least my mom and grandma didn't. Maybe my sister. Sorry Lauren. Then again you know me well, and probably laughed.
To add insult to the injury of yesterday's camera debacle, I learned that the Cubs didn't win 7-6 as I thought. I left the game after the 8th Inning, Cubs having just gone ahead in their half of the 8th. I wanted to catch the bus instead of walking my lethargic ass back to Sluggo's.
Standing, waiting for the bus was a group of older folks, mostly in their 60's and 70's at least. There were some drunk younger people, but I was easily the youngest. Our pickup was right at the cemetary. I think that's mean. The driver even said, as he dropped us off before the game, "I'll pick you folks up at the cemetary between 3 and 4:30." Because half of them already had one foot in the grave, he got a lighter load on the way back.
The Cubs did win the game, but not before some 9th Inning drama. The Rangers tied it up at 7. Then, with the bases loaded, first baseman Daryl Ward, a big lefthanded bat that may prove to be a huge acquisition, belted a grandslam to win the game 11-7.
And I missed it, instead sharing a stretch Hummer limo with people alive when the Cubs last won the World Series.
3/22/2007
It's 3:06 a.m. in Phoenix and I could eat fuckin' nails. Irritated, annoyed, frustrated, disgusted, ashamed, embarrassed. You name it - I'm it. I had what should've been one of the best nights of my life. But it sucked. Totally and completely, which are the same thing. I guess that makes me Dane Cook, right? An over-energized comedian who mistakes hand gestures and facial expressions for being funny, and then repeats words three, sometimes four times. In the end you're left with saying, "Why the fuck did I pay to see the same shit I can see on-line for free? And why is there 45 minutes of 'material' stretched into a 90 minute show?"
Because America is fuckin' stupid, that's why.
I was invited to a Jack Daniel's event. MLB Hall of Famer Orlando Cepeda was presenting an award to fellow Latino-born Bert Campaneris. Current Mariners pitchers Miguel Batista, who once dated someone I 'dated', was given an award as well. It was like Kevin Bacon's 6 degrees but in a sick and twisted sorta way. Did Miguel tap it first or did I? I think he did, which means I ultimately tapped some ass that was tapped by a World Series Champion. And that's fuckin' cool on some disturbing level. Do I at least get a ring? Or just famous and sloppy seconds?
Tony drove and I rode shotgun. Only my shitty water-logged camera was with us. I knew this would haunt me. Tony looked at his watch a few times as I adamantly regretted his not grabbing their camera. "And I have a really good camera, too," he added, helping matters not in the least.
Within seconds of our arrival I could see the Jack Daniel's posters, banners and signs adorning the entrance to Amare Staudomire's downtown bar, directly across from U.S. Airways Center, home of the Phoenix Suns. Gorgeous girls welcomed fans and guests, clients and millionaires alike. And there I was, one of a dozen non-Latinos in attendance. Just a camera was all I wished for. Just a fuckin' camera that worked. Such a pathetic, unprepared douchebag, further cementing my legacy of never amounting to a lick of anything worthwhile. The poorest excuse for human existence.
Inside the bar were shelves of Jack Daniel's products - the actual whiskey and then shirts, key chains, CD's, bandanas - you name it, they had it. The Jack girls were falling outta their shirts something fierce. One after another. Cleavage for all the world - or just downtown Phoenix - to enjoy genuinely. And there I was, simply to stare at it and wonder what could've been.
I posed with a few of the Jack girls, but I know that those pics have a better chance arriving in an Ethiopian crate to the Sudan than to my email's in-box. People are horrible about sending pics in an email. It's literally like pulling teeth for some people. I'm waiting on pics from three years ago for fuck's sake.
Flashes went off around me the whole night. Simply ridiculous-looking Latino women covered the bar and dancefloor. Since only a few of you lazy, illiterate fucks will read this far, and I know that pictures are what keep you coming back, I won't vent much more. That's such a sad but real state of today's world. Just like the double Filet-O-Fish, you fat asses. Stop eating that shit already, will ya?
Not only were the Jack Girls an impossible capture due to my ball-sucking camera, but so was Chicago Bears linebacker Lance Briggs, who joined the party 45 minutes before closing time. He was with two other football players, or at least they were large enough to be. Tony snapped a shot of Briggs and I just before heading to the after party. I aked Lance if he would be back next year, and he simply said, "We'll see what happens." I wasn't exactly in journalist mode, but I'm guessing from his answer and body language that he won't play the 2008 season in a Bears uniform.
At the party I snapped a few shots and got nothing from them. Fuckin' nothing. I was hoping that something would be on the memory stick when I came home. In the stick went. And on the screen appeared nothing.
I removed the battery, too. I then slammed the camera in the street, shattering it into oblivion. Or into about 1,897 pieces. I have no choice but to get another camera now.
Fuck Mother Nature, the bee-otch who rained on my camera and the months of photographic ineptness that's resulted.
Best Buy here I come.
3/21/2007
Camera ineptness at its finest. Strike a pose anyway, ladies!
One of the box dancers from Martini Ranch put JUST SHAVE IT near her box.
While another girl wore 'em out the same night.
Fans and friends from last Saturday's Cubs-White Sux game in Tucson.
The gang of suiteness from St. Patty's Day who eventually became great drinkin' buddies.
Free tickets, food and booze at a Phoenix Suns game! On the Road with Scott Derenger.
Last night was awesome! Our seats were great, the Sun kicked ass, beers flowed freely along with tons of outstanding Levy Restaurants food. Of course I have some pics but not on my shitty cameras; they're all on Joia's. Hope to get 'em soon. Shots of back-to-back MVP Steve Nash and some Suns cheerleaders. I was pretty overwhelmed, to be honest. Didn't know where and when to shoot. Had a beer to hold, too.
After the game we hit a snooty Scottsdale bar called 6. People were dressed to the 9's, though. I said my name to the door guy, told him we were on the list through one their bartenders. He looked at page one and then flipped it over to page two. He didn't ask me to repeat my name as he glanced up and down. Allegedly.
"Even people on the list are being charged tonight. It's usually $10 but tonight's half off. 5 bucks for guys. Ladies are free."
I'm not a big fan of all the fakeness - the tits, the wardrobes, the cars. The joint was crawling with million dollar thousandaires, people who appear to have money and instead have credit spilling viciously from their pores.
A girl approached Joia and I. I blamed Joia for this since she was the one smoking. The girl asked to bum a cigarette, and weebled and wobbled the entire time. At one point Joia had to hold the pathetic diva up, keeping her from fall backwards into the table. But somehow the girl managed to talk about real estate.
"I can make your townhown a million dollar home," the wobbler began. I was ready to puke. The woman was giving us unsolicited info, but since Joia owns her townhome, she leaned in closer. Meanwhile, I turned every which way but loose at the short skirts and tight dresses. The guys were ever so pretty as well, their hair messed up to look stylish, their watches costing more than my annual income.
The woman then invited me into the conversation. I was still not giving a shit. "You look like you're not interested in our firm," she slurred my direction.
"I'm not. I don't care how much money you have or who you work for. I'm on vacation." She handed us each her card anyway. I used it to pick the beef tenderloin from my teeth.
After 6, it was off to the Big Bang, the dueling piano bar in Tempe. I turned Joia onto it back in 2005, and now she's an addict, even dating one of the players for a while. I could watch that shit all night long. There's just something about people have a good time via live entertainment that gets me going. Sure most of the stuff is as unoriginal as a frat boy's pickup line, but the banter between players and someimes between the crowd is better than the acual music.
They played the Ohio State fight song and of course someone from Michigan paid to stop it. I didn't know what the Joliet Junior College fight song was, and felt alone. Joia went to Michigan State and the piano guy played it for her. I cradled my JUCO memories and sighed.
Tonight is a Jack Daniel's-sponsored event. A Hispanic one, no less. Should be a hoot. And a lot of questions.
3/20/2007
That's Bobo, Lulu's new friend she met last night.
A litterbox-cleaning house guest. On the Road with Scott Derenger
This Great Dane puppy is all over the place, chasing me up and down the stairs. I have to pin myself against the wall or else the horse will knock me over. I can't do anything without startling her. I cough - she gets up outta her soft cozy bed that she outgrew three months ago. I set down my mug of Diet Green Tea on the table - she gets up. I walk to the bathroom - up she gets. And then she comes over, her big-ass head leading the way, and puts that head directly under my armpit as I write at this computer. It's hot outside so in here she sits with me.
Tony and Gellie are meanies. Lulu doesn't get any people food. At least not from them. If only they knew how much she likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And Girl Scout Cookies. What's mine is hers, simple as that.
Last night they brought home a dumptruck-size bag of dogfood, Tony carrying it on his shoulder like a forrester with a tree. There was also a toy for Lulu, Bobo its name is. Or was.
I awoke this morning to find Bobo on the kitchen counter, his chest torn open. I figured this still would be okay for Lulu. After her morning helping of bacon and eggs, that is. I threw Bobo in the middle of the floor and returned to my comuter. 10 minutes later I saw what remained of Bobo scattered about the living room. White clouds of stuffing serving as reminders of the fallen yellow friend.
Bobo is now back on the counter and, unless he gets sewn up and protective armor added to his fuzziness, there he'll stay. Lulu and Bobo are no more.
********
Yesterday I took it upon myself to clean the litterbox. Mia and Domino, Tony and Gellie's two cats, dislike Lulu with a passion. Together the feline sisters lived for 6 or so years with nary a dog around. And then, outta nowhere, comes a dog the size of a dinosaur. Loathing is better than disliking. The other day Mia grew brave and walked right in front of Lulu on the way upstairs. Lulu sat and stared for a minute, and then the light went off: "Hey, I'm a fuckin' dog. A big fuckin' dog. I'm supposed to chase cats. I'm not even a year old yet. Let's go get 'er."
Mia ran up the stairs and Luly after her. Until I yelled NO, and Lulu stopped. Only because I didn't have my camera ready.
It's Tony's job to clean the litterbox. I guess it's dangerous for women to do it if they wanna have kids. All the bullshit happening with NASA and technology and we can't make litter so chicks can handle it? Gimme a break.
The box hadn't been changed since Lulu was three days old. In my estimation, at least. At first I tried scooping the poop, but when I realized that there was no loose litter left, I dumped the whole thing in a garbage bag. Of course Lulu had her nose literally in the whole ordeal.
"Go lay down! Go! Now! Down. Down. Down." And down she went. For 14 seconds and then back in the kitty bathroom. Lulu stood beneath my legs to sniff the cat shit, of which there was a ton. I checked under the bed to see if a leopard had snuck in to use the facilities.
When all was said and done, I litterally had 20 pounds of shit in a 30 pound bag. Out it went to the trash, making my crown as the best house guest ever shine even brighter.
Time for Lulu's and my afternoon nap. All the playing and PB&J devouring has made us sleepy.
R.I.P, Bobo.
Hey mom and dad, Uncle Scotty let me lick the knife. I told him you never let me do that, but he inisisted I try it. He's the best Uncle around. I've told the dogs in the hood about him. If I behaved better I bet Uncle Scott would take me for a walk. Watching him sit at the computer has gotten old. I don't think he eats the crust and since there's no chocolate in bread, I'm gonna try to get a little taste.
Sorry I killed Bobo. See him on the counter. He looks peaceful, at least. See you tonight. Off for my 7th nap of the day.
xoxo Lulu.
3/20/2007
Ray, Jenelle and Sean at Salty Senorita in Scottsdale. I went to high school with all of 'em, and even to grade school with Jenelle.
Click on the video below to watch the brunette in the sun glasses take off her bra. I love my life. Occasionally.
Any time you can get a crutch and an Asian-looking guy wearing an Irish t-shirt, it's a good day.
Some comedy fans from Laffs Saturday night. I met the bald guy out during the day. He's dating the girl pictured above in the white shorts. He and his friends talked about his smooth head and how he doesn't have to shave it. "It's alopecia, right?" I asked. "No, just cancer."
I felt like a dick. For a minute. Then I saw that he was smoking and drinking.
"Well you must have the good cancer. Let's smoke a bowl and do some shots!"
How much is that douchey in the middle?
It looks like George is licking the bottle. Why he and Sweet Lou have mouths agape is beyond me.
I'm writing something right now but I wanted you to see these pics first. Come back later today to actually read it. Please? Thanks. 3/19/2007
Some lovely and lucky Irish ladies at Bob Dobbs in Tucson.
Ray and Sean, high school buddies who now live in southern California, don the JUST SHAVE IT shirts as Emily rests a thong on her chest. She chickened out on the real photo shoot, but wore them last night. Greg feels left out and shows his disapproval.
The question next to my face made me laugh for 10 minutes as I waited in line to pee.
The box dancers shook their money-makers - literally - at Martini Ranch in Scottsdale.
DON'T FORGET ABOUT THE FREE MOVIE SCREENING TONIGHT IN CHICAGO!!! CLICK ON THE MOVIE POSTER FOR MORE INFO.
A TV-licking dog and another attempt at pot smoking On the Road with Scott Derenger
So much has happened in the last few days. My head, my liver and the rest of my body has reached 'fun with females' overload. How 'bout I just bullet point some of the last few days? Okay? Good.
**Friday night's first show in Tucson was awesome. I wore my promo-heavy Jack Daniel's shirt and now need to edit the video and send it to the whiskey gods. As a result, the Jack Daniel's comedian will officially be born. Hopefully.
**After the late Friday show, a guy invited me and the headliner to the Saturday game, Angels-White Sux. He said he could get us in the suites. And he did. Rob and I sat in the lawn at first and by the fourth inning, we had free beer and chicken wings. "I thought you said you weren't gonna drink?" Rob gestured as a cold Bud Light replaced my bottled water. "I make exceptions for free shit."
I didn't watch much of the game. Since it wasn't the Cubs and because I work in suites at Wrigley, I enjoyed sitting on the couches versus sitting outside and watching the game. Wrigley's suites don't have comfy leather couches, so I was having my own suite fun.
We met some of the funniest guys around in the suites, four friends, one of whom knew everyone in town. The mayor, they called him. We joined them at Bob Dobbs after the game for green beer, basketball watching and girl gawking. Then, in a drunken stupor, they came to my 7 p.m. show. I was in rare form. Quite possibly induced by said drinking. Maybe 10 minutes of written material was uttered; the rest was crowd rap. And it all worked well. Didn't record it, though.
**After the late show I met some friends at a Tucson bar. A gay guy was outta control and obnoxious, yelling at the girls I joined there. He even tore off his beads and threw them, with a very limp wrist of course, all over the place. I guess that shit always happens, so they claimed, but I wasn't having any of it. I left and went to the comedy club party.
Figuring what the hell, why not get more fucked up, out came the dope. A lot of them actually, followed by some pot. I tried a hit of a joint, but I coughed like lung-less douchebag wasting someone's weed. "Sorry, man. I'm not good at it, I guess." They laughed, the way all pot smokers do at anything.
Then a kitchen guy puked on a waitress. It was pretty cool, actually. I watched through the kitchen window, the 1000 Island-looking goop slide down her shirt and arms. They're all friends and co-workers, yet the line was crossed when dude's girl got yakked upon. The pot smokers really began laughing.
***Sunday morning I drove back to Phoenix at 8:30. Amazing that I was up and functioning. Stopped by to take back my sandals that've left my feet looking like a leper. One problem - place didn't open till 10. It was 9:30. Fuck that. Maybe I'll find a place up here.
My Joliet friends were hungover and wanting food. They really wanted Krispy Kreme. I drove to the only one I knew of. Nobody there. Literally, no one. Closed, soon to be some taco joint. All the KK's in the Valley are closed. Still, there are tons of fat asses out here, getting there donut fix somewhere else, apparently.
"How 'bout Jack-in-the-Box?" Sean tossed out. "Fine. See you in a few."
Yet another dilemma. No fast food places near where they were staying. And on top of that, I was buying fast food while not being able to eat any of it. Amazing how my conscience works. I drove for 30 minutes in search of good, bad food. Of which I could have none. That's what friends are for, right?
$22.19 at Burger King. 2 Whoppers, 2 spicy chicken sandwiches, 2 large fries and a 12-piece chicken tender. Nary a single fry came near me. That is being a good Catholic. Even though I didn't go to mass yesterday. Woops. Sorry JC. I fed your children, though.
***We BBQed in the afternoon after shopping for the goodies at Super Wal-Mart, Emily, Ray and I. He wore my JUST SHAVE IT shirt and I took pictures of him walking throughout the store.
Ray used to live with me in high school. He's been through a lot of shit and now is a very successful regional director for a fitness equipment outfit. You couldn't keep the guy off the phone yesterday. He was like a sorority girl on Spring Break. Minus the hot arse and supple breasts, of course.
I had great fun just sitting and talking with them: Greg, Sean and his Irish girlfriend Emily - really from Ireland, and Ray. We played catch in the backyard like we did as teenagers.
They all hang out with others from high school quite a bit. I've lost touch with most of their crew, though. Ray, Sean and Greg regaled me with stories of drunkenness gone terrible bad, occasionally at weddings or on Tuesday nights.
Greg's girlfriend's dog, Baxter, was a hoot. He watches Animal Planet and licks the TV when any animal appears. Fuckin' outstanding television. I'll post the video of it later this week.
Time for a nap. Much more happened but my head needs its pillow.
3/16/2007
There was some kissing last night ...
... and then some more.
And then some hugging ...
And then some licking ...
And then a disappointed look after the chicks left and I went home with the other bald comedian, Vegas' own Rob Sherwood.
Click on the Frank Show logo to listen live on-line! We'll be on at around 8:15 or so, west coast time.
Not much time to write anything else. Cubs play the White Sux today in Tucson, 1:05 Arizona time. I'll be there, nice and sober to ... Probably not. Going with some of the Laffs crew. Count on some great photos and video shots!!!
Have a splendid weekend!!! Go Cubs Go!!!
Click on the movie poster for more info on their Web site. YOU HAVE to see this movie whether you like or hate sports, love or loathe the Cubs, or if you just like some drama and some great laughs.
3/15/2007
Ladies from Chicagoland, Cubs fans no less, visiting Tucson for some Spring Training baseball. One of their mom's took the picture. And notice the chick's ass through the blonde's teapot stance. The boner from this shot is just now wearing off.
Jenna and Patti, White Sux fans and tasty brunettes from Ilinois State U, sat right in front of me yesterday. The milfs and cookies, which is what I call their daughters, sat just to my right. T & A overflowing in the lawn. I was in pure heaven. Aside from seeing the Sux play the Brewers. I've seen 5 games this Spring, and the Brew Crew has been in 3 of 'em.
The ladies and their two guy friends - I'm a dick for not remembering their names, especially after they bought my drinks last night - came to my show at Laffs. A comedy show, not a gun show.
My head's throbbing, I'm hungover and it's gorgeous outside, so ... On the Road with Scott Derenger.
... I hope you appreciate this.
Coming to you live from my THIRD Starbucks in 38 minutes. Before that I tried to find this Internet cafe I drove by yesterday on my way home from the game. After driving all over the place, completely outta the way, there it was. Not open till lunch. And it was a Chinese food place to boot. Fuckin' douchebag.
So then I remembered there being a Starbucks near the comedy club. I went there, ordered my venti green tea latte and apple fritter, and sat down to get on-line. But one minor glitch - no T-Mobile WiFi till April 15. Fuckin' tax day they're waiting for? A giant WTF rang through my head. But on the outside I said thanks to the cute young blonde who had just found this out from her manager.
I packed up shop and headed down to a Barnes & Noble. With my backpack in tow, my head throbbing and my hot tea no longer hot, I walked through the B&N parking lot. My eyes magnetically attached themselves to the sign. Yet another glitch - no T-Mobile WiFi, only At&T. Catherine Zeta-Jones-Douglas, or whatever the fuck her name is, better do something about this. I expect all Starbucks to have T-Mobile, whether in a big mall, a strip mall, a strip club or a bookstore. Leave the viagra-ridden hubby alone and get to work, Cathy. Pronto!
What now? I was thoroughly frustrated. 0 for 2 in my pursuit of WiFi. But I waged onward. I knew a nice mall was further down the road. "There has to be a Starfucks in this yuppie joint." And there one was. I drove the Prizm by slowly. People enjoying their morning java outdoors stared with reasonable concern.
"Fuck yeah, bitches! Let's fuckin' go!" I yelled from my car, the windows down and my voice echoing off the nearby mountains. Catherine ZJD had come through. T-Mobile access in the hizzie. (Is that the correct Snoop Dogg spelling of 'house'?)
***********
My show last night was anything but. I went on last. But not like any last. Last after 22 amateur comedians, some their first time on stage. A few were actually pretty good, having worked the craft for a couple years. But still, sitting through 22 comics and then being told 'this next guy is a professional from Chicago' doesn't make you a believer. Most people had left by the time I hit the stage. Those who remained must've been doing community service.
I did my stupid regional joke about the Four Corners. You've probably heard it before. "It's the part of the country where the states of Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona all come together. I tell my friends that I drive through there every year, but they always forget which states. I tell 'em to forget the states and instead remember what they're most famous for - Mormons, mountains, Mexicans, margaritas. Mix 'em up. They don't give a shit."
It usually kills in all four states, which I've played. Except Utah. But last night, they weren't impressed. I told 'em they should be laughing harder. Then a lady screamed out 'indians'. I guessed she was an Indian and wanted to be included. She had a good point, of course. I yelled back 'cowboys'. That made me laugh, and at that point, that's all that mattered.
"Thanks for the help, ma'am, but 'indian' doesn't start with an 'm.' Do you know how alliteration works? Or are you too busy gambling and drinking?" (Most casinos out here are built on Indian reservations and their people are known to drink a fuckin' lot.)
That was mean, but I didn't care. I was tired and had already stumbled over a few lines. Plus comedians before me had talked about fucking retarded people among other things. One even talked about sure-fire ideas for Barbie Dolls, a bit as old as the hills. "Divorced Barbie. Comes with half of Ken's shit." I wanted to pour anti-freeze directly into my dick hole. But I couldn't because I am a professional. Plus I knew some would spill on my jeans.
I found out later in the evening that the Indian lady left soon after I talked to and about her. She paid nothing to get in and probably had a tee-pee to clean anyway.
3/14/2007
Cubs first baseman Derrek Lee. A portion of the proceeds from Chasing October will go toward PROJECT 3000, a mission to eradicate the blinding disease known as LCA - Leber congenital amaurosis.
Cubs # 4 starter Rich Hill and LF Matt Murton at Upper Deck Sports Bar in Scottsdale following the Chasing October screening. I'm such a tiny, old-looking douchebag next to the Cubbie kids.
Jim (L) and Danny O'Donnell joined me for dinnier, the movie and then drinks afterwards. I'm missing their St. Patty's Day/Laughing For Charity event this Saturday night. Surely I'll be able to ring some Jameson's from their clothes Sunday morning.
I need another dream analysis, please. On the Road with Scott Derenger
Last night's dream was not quite as weird as the night before. Sunday night I dreamt that my ex-girlfriend's mom wanted me to throw her an alley-oop ... with a football, no less. She also was critcal of both my Web site and my act for being too vulgar. Now that actually happened one time, when the mom wanted to come to my show and asked me to "Try and clean it up for us, would ya?"
In my dream I also remember thinking that she thought I was kind of a pussy because I was smaller than both her husband and her son. I wanted to show her. So I fired the football to her as she stood near the basket, not a toss but a rocket throw. She wasn't ready for this and missed the ball completely. It crashed into her sternum, breaking it upon impact. An ambulance was called.
I remember nothing else.
Then last night. I forget about a comedy show at a church. I was supposed to do like 45 minutes and tons of people were there waiting. I arrived with my mom, completely unprepared for a show, especially a 45-minute chuch show.
Initially they wanted to me do it from the altar. "No way is my act for an entire church congregation. And no way can it happen on an altar." We went back and forth about the alleged agreement. They claimed we talked about it, shook hands, and that was that. I contested that nothing was set in stone and asked why no one contacted in recent weeks. Disgusted, I walked outta the side door and into the night.
So what's the deal with those dreams, you interpreters out there.
**********
I BBQed last night as Tony and Gellie folded, stuffed, labeled and sealed their wedding invitations. Their good friends, Michelle and Greg, who are each in the wedding and also expecting their first baby in June, helped out, too. Michelle's the one expecting, although Greg admits he may have twins within his tummy.
I'm not much of a cook, especially when it comes to the grill. You'd think with all my years in the restuarant biz, I would know a thing or two. Not really. I can make pasta, oatmeal and the most retarded omlette around. Aside from that, you're all fucked.
Over the weekend I bought a feast of grilling groceries - pork chops, chicken breasts and ribeyes. Margaritas, Bacardi and Jack Daniel's, too. I was stoked to have a cook-out. Not necessarily to do the cooking, but simply to booze it up and taste-test when called upon.
Not the case. Okay, boozing is always a given. I poured some seasoning on all the meats, added some Mojo marinade - that's what it's called - and also lathered the chicken breasts in Jack Daniel's BBQ sauce. For the alcoholic poultry lover. I really had no idea what effect the spices and such would have. From all my Rachel Ray and Everyday Italian gazing, you'd think I'd retain some valuable info. No way. Perhaps watching said shows in only a bath towel isn't the cheffy way to do it.
I left the Jack alone last night. Pre-made margaritas, on the rocks with salt, sounded awesome. No limes in the house or in the grocery store, though. Kinda leaves something missing from the whole equation. Oh well. They went down nice and smooth. All four of 'em.
The chicken and chops turned out pretty good. But as they neared readiness, the gas went out. No back-up to be found. The steaks would have to live to flame another day. Tony claims that freezing the steaks and cooking them when I get back from Tucson will make them even tastier. We'll see.
I cut up the pork and poultry in tiny pieces, stabbing them with toothpicks. They were working in assembly line fashion and couldn't be bothered with a real meal. It wasn't anything special, the meat presentation, but it seemed appreciated nonetheless.
After the grill gassed out, I joined the assembly line. Exhuasted from not much sleep and riding my bike for two hous earlier in the day, and from the quartet of margaritas, I was nothing but a whiny bitch. With horrible tan lines. I think I added some lotion on some parts and totally missed others. It's even out before I get home. I hope.
My ass hurts from bike riding, so this wooden chairs isn't helping matters.
Tonight is a screening of a Chicago Cubs documentary, Chasing October: A Fan's Crusade. Click to see the movie trailer and tons of background info.
