Sunday, January 13, 2013

I shouldn't have...

I'm really quite good at starting something on this ol' blog and not continuing it, or continuing it with a lack of frequency (try this thursday, things I don't know, etc). So, to encourage that streak, I have come up with another series of posts entitled "I shouldn't have..." in which I will share things that I shouldn't have done (or did you reach that conclusion already?).

I shouldn't have ever started drinking beer. Before you get huffy and tell me that almost everyone has said that at some point in their life, let me explain. When I was a fresh faced twenty one year old, I found out pretty quickly that I didn't like beer. I was a Texan going to school in Oklahoma and didn't drink beer. My roommates, my friends, everyone in college drank beer and believe you me, I tried, it just wasn't happening. The first time I had beer, we were playing quarters, that terrible game where you bounce a quarter into a bowl (who thinks of these things?). Well, I lost. And had to chug a cereal bowl of Michelob Ultra. Let me interrupt by saying even now, in my very bias mind there is no worse beer than Michelob Ultra. So, I try to chug this bowl of light beer and immediately have to stop to catch my breath and hold back heaves. Everyone cheers me on, telling me it's "just beer" and "it's so light, it's like water" while I just roll my eyes and hold my breath, attempting once more to drink. I never finished that bowl of beer.

Fast forward to my time spent studying abroad in gay old Paris. Everything is more expensive in Paris, and couple that with the exchange rate for the dollar, everything is even more expensive in Paris. As a young woman living abroad, I went out. I encouraged friends to venture to The Hideout, as they had 4 euro mojitos and I would actually enjoy sipping those concoctions, but I couldn't always win. Then one, life changing night, we ventured to bar where Stella Artois on tap was 2 euros. 2 EUROS. I couldn't believe my eyes - an alcoholic beverage so cheap in the heart of Paris? I would make myself like it, gosh darn it. So I drank. And I drank. I was surprised to find it tasted so light, so watery. Could it be? Was I finally a beer drinker?

No, I was not. There must have been something special in that keg of Stella that night because, for the remaining 5 months I spent in Paris, I never found a Stella I liked. Then, I returned to the United States and to my college for my senior year. I was determined to take my experiences with beer from abroad and put them to use, and boy did I ever. I found that Bud Light was even lighter than Stella and now, it tasted like water. Like a sweet, heavenly water. So I drank. And drank. And let's be honest, I haven't stopped since. I love beer and I hate that I love it so much. I wish I had stuck to vodka and girly drinks, because then I'd never have to worry about beer calories or beer drinking the guys under the table. I shouldn't have ever been so eager to drink beer.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Try This Thursday

First off, let me say this blog post was never intended to be written. It was never even an idea until today, approximately two hours ago. Moving on. Today I want to share the best stain remover. Ever.

I do laundry like all males in that I don't separate my whites from my colors because hey, I'm washing everything on cold anyways so why does it matter? Well, now I know to never wash anything light with a red blazer. That practically brand new white button up shirt that goes with just about everything emerged from the washer with splotches of red, matching the color of my face as my blood began to boil. I have literally worn this shirt twice and now it was donezo? Absolutely not.

Immediately, I threw some bleach into a bowl with some water and let that shirt soak. Three minutes later, submerged it in a bowl of water and smushed it around a bit to get the bleach off. Then I threw that bad boy into a bowl of water + hydrogen peroxide to help get all the bleach off. Ten minutes and another rinse later, I was fully expecting to see a perfectly white shirt. No dice.

Dish soap, just like these!
Then I remembered my mother sharing her infinite wisdom last year when oil spilled on my white jeans after their first outing (I'm seeing a pattern here...). She told me to rub dish soap on the spot and it would come out. So I opted to try this method once again, and much to my chagrin, it worked. I was then left to scrub the crud out of my shirt for a good 60 minutes before I finally gave in. Everything came out, or lightened up, but leaning over a sink for an hour resulted in me dying to sit and leave a few spots still slightly visible.

So the next time you have a pesky stain that won't come out, or you're freaking out because you just bought that dress, use some liquid dish soap and your hand to scrub that sucker out. And the next time you see me in a white button up, tell me it looks great and shockingly white.