Arizona Sweet Tea

So yesterday, I was making simple syrup for the bar at work and it got me to thinking about my little brother Ralph. When I say little brother, I mean my 6'2'' 220lb college football player brother.

As we all know, simple syrup, is nothing more than sugar and water. Try and have a margarita without it, go ahead. Anywho, Ralph and I used to make sugar water and drink it all the time when we didn't have anything sweet in the house like redneck holy water, or, rather, mountain dew. It just seemed a lot faster and fatter than going to the corner store. Fast and fat? Now, if that's not an oxymoron, I don't know what is y'all. When I stop and think, sugar water is just like sweet tea, only, sans the tea. That explains fat southern, for sure.

One thing not surprising about this situation is the fact that Ralph and I wore "husky" jeans for a few years there in the early '90s a.k.a the Era of Andrea Zuckerman. Remember her? The editor of the West Beverly Blaze. That liar didn't even live in the school district! I digress. Wearing your shirt while swimming doesn't make anyone feel smaller but rather makes you stick out like a fat thumb. Thank God, he and I were able to get out of that shame spiral before we ended up shirtless in our underwear on the Maury Show, flopping around like Baby Jessica.

VW Cabriolet or 5 year old girl?

Notice the opposite use of acid wash jean shirt to pants.

Found Off of Morris Island

This is the remnants of a tree that was on the beach that I found while doing a photo shoot for Julia Faye's swimwear line in which I looked like a dark Adam Lambert. So basically a hot tranny mess. Anywho, it never ceases to amaze me how beautiful nature can be even after it stops living.

98 Degrees of Separation

So this past Sunday, some co-workers and I celebrated the departure of Trevor and Tim from the Fuel Family. Naturally, this meant a lot of carousing around town, bar to bar, in a limo while getting into some shenanigans. What is a limo but just a fancy school bus driving over two dozen drunk adults around acting like children. I had no clue the night would led us down Celebrity Lane but Allah must have been smiling down on us.

scene of the crime

Before we shuttled off to the strip club, we made a fateful pit stop at Social Wine Bar on East Bay Street. Upon entering, one of the first people I see was Nick Lachey. (that dude from 98 Degrees with the thinning hair who used to be married to Lane Bryant covergirl Jessica Simpson.) Accompanying Lachey, was current girlfriend Vanessa Manillo who grew up here in the lowcountry. It may have been the champagne or maybe it was the tequila that compelled me to walk over and talk to Vanessa Manilla just as Nick Ass-ey headed off to the pisser. We make small and just before our conversation ends she asks me my name, again, and then rubs the back of my hand to her cheek. That was very sweet and all but who the hell does that? She doesn't know me. I could have had shit on my hands!

whoops!

So I go back to join the others when, to my surprise, Nick Ass-ey comes storming by in a giant huff. Following behind him and his Ohioan cronies were two friends who were, as hip-hop types would say, crunk. Apparently, during their piss break they got into a pissing contest and it was clear that both sides were pissed. In no time flat, there he was, Mr. Chicken-of-the-Sea, angrily posted up outside, cursing, flipping them off & yelling at them to come out. It's no surprise that this city has been ranked #3 for both attractiveness and friendliness by Travel+Leisure Magazine.

Fairy Tales

I loved finding this in the gutter a few months back. I guess even Barbie is in the gutter these days. This is exactly the story that little girls need to be taught especially in this city. Where's redneck prince charming when you need him?

Southern Living

Overheard at the Roller Derby last month:

My husband said that this is a nice combo of NASCAR and Hooters.

The bitch said it very matter of factly too. Only in the South.

Kudos from Khina

So I was driving down Society trying to find a parking spot for the gym when I found a sweet little gem that required some parallel parking. I have dramatically improved my PP skills since living in Charleston so I thought, "Piece o' cake!" As I'm parking I look to my left and sitting across a large segment of curb and sidewalk were a slew of Asians. I mean, what are seven Asians doing sitting on their Chairman Maos at this time of the afternoon? Was someone filming something that required so many slanty sams? I didn't see a tour bus anywhere. But at that moment, I couldn't help but feel as if they were my audience as I performed open-park surgery. I pictured them being very pleased with my park job, seeing that Asians can't drive. As I got out of the car I imagined them all standing in cheer and disbelief. One even grabbing the arm of another saying, "Hey, howa he do thata tlick?" The reality of it all is that they all continued to sit there as I parked. No fanfare. No one gave me a fortune cookie that said something asinine like GRAND RICHES AWAIT YOU or THIS IS HOW YOU SAY SEX GAG IN CHINESE. None of that. So this is being 25?