Calhoun Street Bedroom

Purty.

Random Sketches on Restaurant Stuff

Cock-a-doodle-do

Drawing on a bar napkin from the Upper Deck

I envisioned a Roman marble bust while taking the Deck's everyday special, a shot of whiskey and a PBR. I always manage to lose bar napkins after I doodle on them. Sort of makes it feel like a miscarriage, losing the napkin. Well, a miscarriage of artistic gestation. This is one of the few babies that has survived. Sometimes, the mood to create artistic whoopi can occur on something as random as the styrofoam lid to my Mexican leftovers after a few cervezas.

Seated woman and hot sauce

Career Counseling

One day after work, not too long ago, I popped over to a friend's house to sit a spell and have a refreshment. A grand southern tradition to say the least. Little did I know that I had gone to a career counselor's office instead. It initially didn't start off that way but you better believe that's not how it ended up being.

I was just sitting on the couch trying to enjoy the roast of Bob Saget when my friend John decided it was time for me to get serious about my life. Then a barrage of questions came flying my way. What'd you go to school for? What do you want to do? What's your objective? What does that mean? Why aren't you doing this? Why aren't you doing that? Of course! He must have known that I prefer my Budweiser in a coozy with a heaping helping of shame on account of my living up to being most likely to succeed in Coolidge 2002. Ugh.

Like I said, this happened during Bob's roast which meant I was forced to miss Suzie Essman and Cloris Leachman dole out the insults. I love those bitches. So there I am, sitting there getting schooled on how to be an upstanding career professional and loving every excruciating moment. You have to keep a few things in mind while all of this was taking place. First, he is damn drunk. Secondly, there he was, Charleston's Lee Iaocca, giving me this big lecture on life while he is was in a speedo at 1:30 in the morning.

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?

Recently, a friend sold one of his paintings to someone in North Carolina looking to furnish their summer home. What a rewarding feeling to have someone wanting to purchase your art. It's much more rewarding than selling your semen but not always as lucrative as harvesting your eggs.

"I have a black tongue"

That got me to thinking of a time when I was giraffe-like, all thanks to some damn Canadian assholes that managed to infiltrate American television. I'm talking about Sharon, Lois and Bram! Who could forget that irritatingly infectious music that closed the show every episode!

"Skinnamarink e-dink e-dink

Skinnamarink e-doo

I love you"

Sharon, Lois and Bram.

How fucking stupid was that show? Seriously! I also never realized that Bram looked so much like Harry from Harry and the Hendersons! Bram's mom must have fucked Bigfoot. Anywho, one morning, when I was about five or six, Bigfoot Jr. really fucked with my head good. Bram thought it was a good idea to show the kiddies how to chew like a giraffe with the whole awkward side to side smacking. Before I knew it, I was chewing my cereral as if I were grazing the Serengeti. It wasn't just that meal, it was every one thereafter. It's like I couldn't control it. Mary did not take too kindly to that. She set out to stop me.

A few days later, fresh from school, she poured me a bowl of cereal. It's not pertinent to the story but I wish I knew what cereal it was. I digress. She sat and watched me take my first bite and immediately put a stop to it. She made it quite clear that I was not going to be chewing like a camel. This was very upsetting. I wasn't chewing like a camel. I was chewing like a damn GIRAFFE! My mom sat there and held my jaw in place as I chewed. What was she thinking attempting to tame the wild beast. Now Mary was no Dr. Spock but she sure did know how to cure a terrible case of the giraffe chews.

Take a look below at Bram's vacation photo to historic Tombstone.

What Church Ladies Talk About

Once, when I was in high school, my mom and I took a trip to the local Safeway grocery store and it proved to be most informative. There we were, Mary and I, strolling through the produce section en route to the dairy section when something caught my eye. To my knowledge at that time, I had never seen a Brazil nut before. So, I asked my mom and she told me the name. She stood there for a moment and mentioned that when she was a little girl they used to call them something else but couldn't think of what they were called. At that moment, my friend Bernadette and her mom walked by. Our mothers were also friends, church ladies at St. James Roman Catholic Church. Bernadette's mom leaned in and whispered to Mary NIGGER TOES and kept walking by. I could have passed out from shock. All Mary did was nod her head and walk on. Obviously neither was advocating racism but rather making a reference to the past. I think they could easily be called Mexican Toes depending on how tan Juan is.