Burrito Day - 12.26.2011

Hi.  My name is Chris...and I'm a burrito-aholic.  Wow, that feels good to say out loud!


I've been uncontrollably drawn to anything edible wrapped in a tortilla for as long as I can remember.  Granted, I drink and have a foggy memory.  Don't let that cast a shadow on my already dark and very serious compulsion.  This isn't a silly, nonsensical addiction like chocolate or internet pornography or crack cocaine.  People kick that shit all the time.  No, this is something very palpable that I struggle with every day of my life.

Every morning on my way to work, when I lived in Phoenix, I would drive past a Filiberto's - the King of the 'berto's.  My nose would fill with the decadant aroma of fresh breakfast burritos Monday through Friday.  It took every feeble ounce of restraint in my weak-willed little body to deny the impulse of leaping from the moving vehicle, darting across traffic, and kicking in a window like Van-fucking-Damme.

Truth be told, I gave in to this urge frequently (minus the life-threatening heroics).  My floorboard was nothing less than a mass grave of Filiberto's receipts and shame.  I now live in Las Vegas, down the street from Don Tortaco...which is proving to be even more tempting.

What to do...

I figured I would attempt to kick this addiction the same way most of my friends' parents tried to get their children to quit smoking in junior high: over-indulgence.  Seeing as how I can't smoke a carton of burritos (note to self: "carton of burritos"), my brother and I came up with another option.  We decided to have "Burrito Day."  The basic outline was this: have a burrito for every single meal of the day, including desert, being as non-traditional as possible.


Here's a brief rundown of how it went...


8:30am - meal 1

I arrived at my brother's apartment, bearing gifts of Filiberto's and Monster Energy drinks.  We thought this would be a great way to start the day as well as being a good palette cleanser.  By "palette cleanser" I mean, of course, it would completely empty our bowels to make room for all the subsequent burritos we would be ingesting throughout the day.  We like to plan ahead.




After taking down meal 1, we made a grocery list.  My brother had a few errands to run before we went shopping, so I headed home to let my stomach settle.

9:30am

Like clockwork...pallette cleansed.

10:30am

Met back up with my brother and went to the grocery store.  Filled our cart with bacon, ground beef, tortillas, cheese, bread, champagne, orange juice, eggs, Miller High Life, syrup, potatoes, chips, and salsa.  Anything else we needed was waiting for us back at the apartment.

11am

By now word had spread and company had arrived.  We unloaded the groceries and started prepping.  Seeing as how it was brunch, I dealt out mimosas.  Anyone not cooking or assisting sat watching "UFC Ultimate Knockouts" and episodes of "Kenny Vs. Spenny."

Noon - meal 2

This round I had 2 burritos and 4 mimosas (I love 'em, it's like fancy orange juice).  One burrito consisted of French toast pieces, potatoes, and syrup.  Delicious.  The other was a little more traditional (boring).  Just eggs, cheese, and bacon.




Other burritos consumed were similar in style...except one.  Greg (@eelgeelg) decided to "French toast" his tortilla and fill it with a pound of bacon.  Yes...a full pound of bacon.  Nothing more.  While I jealously commend him for such a bold idea, I hear he didn't pass it until 3 days later.

We continued to drink beers and mimosas while watching TV and allowing our stomachs to settle once more.

3pm

With our stomaches expanding to the point of absurdity from burritos and alcohol, we lost track of time.  Not much of a surprise.  Someone pointed out how late it was becoming so we began preparing the building blocks of our next meal.  I continued to encourage the consumption of mimosas and/or beer, thus giving everyone a healthy day-buzz.

3:14pm

We started to notice it was getting a little warm and stuffy in the apartment.  Our concern was quickly justified by the uncomfortably loud smoke alarm.  Who knew that cooking pounds of ground beef and bacon in a small, unventilated apartment could be so disastrous?  Oh yeah, probably anyone who didn't have all the blood in their body rushing into their stomach.

A few of us frantically opened up the front door and sliding glass back door, waving and blowing smoky air out into the world while someone else continued to cook.  Those not helping in any regard - namely the Mellinger children - continued watching TV.

3:30pm - meal 3

As would be expected, we started slowing down at Meal 3.  A few hours of drinking and face-fucking yourself with burritos will do that.  Please don't pity us and shed no tears, concerned readers, for we did this to ourselves.

I don't remember what everyone else had, but I believe it was of similar style to what I ate.  Unfortunately yes, I only ate one burrito this round.  I can't complain.  It was magnificent.

Round 3 yielded a bacon cheeseburger burrito.  It consisted of ground beef, bacon, cheese, and French fries.  The fries were cooked in the bacon grease.  Even as I type that sentence out...I am misty-eyed with nostalgia.  You simply have not had French fries until you've had them cooked in bacon grease.




Sorry, Vegans...but not really.

Of course we rounded out the meal with more beer and the last remaining dregs of mimosas (which I am now calling "RO-J" or "Royal Orange Juice").

The next hour and a half was spent veg-ing out enjoying a good afternoon buzz and quality, albeit illegally downloaded, television programs.

5pm - workout

By now our stomaches had settled a bit, but were still pushing maximum capacity.  In an attempt to expedite the eviction of our morning's meals from Hotel Colon, we felt a workout was in order.  At the very least it would help avoid becoming a sweaty, drudging, bloated mess by morning.

The apartment complex had an exercise facility, so we took a little field trip.  Not everyone seemed to share our ambition though.  I believe only 4 of the group made it down to continue physically punishing their bodies in a slightly different manner.

7pm - meal 4

After a moderate-to-intense workout, a few more beers, and another 20 minutes of resting...the group dispersed towards their respective dwellings.  Burrito Day was now just my brother and I.

As the last men standing on a sinking ship, and with our bellies distended like that of starving African children, we decided we were not quite done.  There were still burritos to be consumed!  So, rather drunk on food and alcohol, we prepared our final meal.

Our dinner burrito was penne and meatballs with homemade sauce.  It was by far, and for reasons beyond my knowledge, my favorite of the day.  I'm still conflicted as to whether it had anything to do with knowing that afterwards I could stop this ridiculously delicious ritual.




I propose, conversely, that it was prepared and placed in my mouth by The Flying Spaghetti Monster himself (RAmen).




7:30pm - desert

While the first annual Burrito Day was quickly coming to a close, we realized something: No self-respecting food-a-holic will eat dinner without a tasty desert.  However, no full-blown "yum junkie" will eat dinner without TWO tasty deserts.  Naturally...we wrapped and ate two desert burritos.

The first was a Long John donut...wrapped in a tortilla.  Simple.  Delicious.  And just to round it out with a bit of class, I washed mine down with the remainder of the champagne.




Finally, like a marathon runner with the finish line in sight, we readied ourselves for the last desert burrito.  Our breath was running short at this point and exhaustion was taking hold.  Despite a million reasons to throw in the towel - including rational thought - we gave ourselves one last push for...




...a Ben & Jerry's ice cream bar...wrapped in a tortilla.

8:30pm - fin

I looked at the time on my phone.  The clock read "8:30."  My brother and I gave each other an affirming nod.  With twelve hours of fat kid pigout under our belts, Burrito Day had ended.  It was a success.

I slowly peeled myself out of a chair that was hugging me like a womb.  It was so comforting and inviting I didn't want to leave.  But all good things come to an end...and I didn't live there.

I staggered to the door and then my car, as if my body was re-learning how to be a biped.  As I drove myself home, only one thought consumed me..."I'm going to take the angriest dump of my entire life."




*Update - A second annual Burrito Day took place on 12.26.2012, though completely under the radar.  We are expecting the take things up a notch for Year Three.


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Sober Fun - 10.31.12

When you're a seasoned partier, like most in our group, it can take a fairly brutal toll on your body.  Couple that with a burning desire to look good naked and you have a pretty good idea of the motivations behind our workout regimen. We have a fairly consistent gang of four to five rageaholics that meet for an hour of Gym Smash roughly five days a week.

We're also a bunch of goofballs who enjoy a good time.  That being said, and I can't recall who mentioned it originally, but about two weeks before Halloween the following conversation was had in the parking lot of Gold's Gym:

"Are we taking an off-day for Halloween?"

"Probably not.  Why?"

"We should all dress in costumes and work out."

"That is a perfect idea."

As the date quickly approached, we just became more and more excited about the idea of fucking with a bunch of meatheads.  Most gyms wreak of sweat and insecurities.  Vegas seems to be even more so.  Everyone takes themselves too seriously, they retreat into a world of solitude within the confines of their headphones, etc.  I rarely see anyone crack a smile, despite the ridiculous faces everyone makes while putting up their final rep.

The morning of Halloween, however, we came to a startling realization - we had spent the last two weeks telling everyone we were gonna dress in costumes and go to the gym...but didn't have a single fucking costume.  We panicked.  Not the kind of panic where you fart and think you're gonna shit yourself though.  More the kind of panic like, "the joke isn't funny if we don't actually DO IT." 

After a few moments of "racking" our brains, we settled on some outfits.  DJ and Nick were gonna be gay cowboys.  I went with "Batman on vacation."  It looked like this...

With our fires relit by the flame of hilarity, the three of us hopped in the truck and made our way to Gold's.  We couldn't wait to see what the other guys had planned and revel in our own comedic brilliance.

Unfortunately, we received some disappointing texts on the drive.  Nobody else was going to dress in costumes...or even go work out.  We were all alone on this one.  Not to be dissuaded, we cranked the music and continued on towards the gym.  Funny is funny and no one was gonna bring down our mood.  Their loss.

Approaching the parking lot, our nerves were a bit rattled.  You see, we exercise late at night.  There's usually never more than 2 or 3 other vehicles in the parking lot.  We like knowing that we won't have to wait for any machines, benches, free-weights, etc.  That was not the case this particular evening...

The place was fucking packed.

We parked along the periphery of the lot.  There was a brief moment of tense silence before someone spoke up.  "You guys wanna wait a few minutes and see if it clears out?"  "Sure, sounds good."

The three of us sat in the parking lot for about 20 minutes, chatting.  We breathed a pleasant sigh of relief every time a car would exit the complex.  However, the burden of embarrassment returned in waves as new patrons entered.  We quickly realized that this was happening.  We would be working out with our asses protruding from what can hardly be described as shorts in front of a very busy gym.

With a resounding "fuck it," we were crossing the parking lot and making our way towards the door.

Crossing the threshold, we greeted the gentleman working the front counter and continued on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.  None of us had to look around to know that every pair of eyes in the place were burning holes into our heads like ants under a magnifying glass.  We could feel their disdain, almost tangibly.

As we prepared for our first set of the night, something extraordinary happened.  All care, worry, stress, and embarrassment vanished like a fart in the wind.  We...didn't...give...a fuck.  It was Go Time.

Our workout that night was relatively brief compared to our normal routine - only about a half hour.  Partway through this half hour we decided to ham it up.  We did exercises based solely on how hilarious the pictures would look.  Moves like Romanian Dead Lifts, Spider Pull-ups, etc. look pretty ridiculous to begin with.  Try doing that in a costume that includes Daisy Dukes and you get this:

I can't recall a time where my friends and I got more scornful, disgusted looks from strangers since high school.  It honestly only made us laugh more.

We finished up our final set and took a look around.  In the half hour since we stepped foot into that gym, looking as we did...the gym cleared.  I'll go ahead and say that again, in case it's not registering with you.  We emptied out a fucking gym, based solely on our attire.  It was perfect.

The only laughs we got were from the single employee working that night and the two gentlemen who entered just as we were heading out.  That was more than we expected, so we thanked them.  The lone employee was even nice enough to take this photo for us:

We celebrated in the parking lot with a round of high-fives and protein shakes.  The night was a success.  And we did the whole thing sober, no less.

Oh...so immediately afterwards we went to Rounders for beers.

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GWAR/ETID/Warbeast - 11.14.11 Marquee Theater

This originally appeared on Missconstrued.com, but has since been taken down. I assume it was an accident of the website overhaul. Nonetheless, here it is for your amusement/derision...




I don't subscribe to fairy tales or superstition. However, I can't help but think that "the gods" have welcomed me into their good graces any time I'm able to find a spot in the parking lot of The Marquee Theater AFTER the doors have opened. I'm pretty sure you have a better chance of being struck by lightning twice in the same open field on a sunny day.

Pass the plate! We've got a believer!

My two friends and I rolled up to the venue around 7pm. The lot was surprisingly sparse. No line for tickets or entry. I know...weird. We quickly got our tickets and suffered the shoeless pat-down. I understand the need for security, but come on - it's GWAR and Every Time I Die.

A) everyone will probably be too drunk to even start an argument by 8:30pm
B) GWAR will have more weapons onstage than anyone in the crowd -- hey, a plastic sword is still a sword

After an emergency bathroom run (yeah, I'm that guy that forgets to go before leaving the house) we do the standard merch parusal, making mental notes of what we're gonna buy before the sweaty masses descend upon the t-shirt counter, coalescing into one fleshy mess, slurring cries of "THAT ONE! NO, THAT ONE!"

Upon entering the main room I quickly realize we've broken the cardinal rule (which I've made up) of an Every Time I Die show. We didn't properly pre-game. This isn't so much a concert as it is a party. So...a round of Kiltlifter to kick things off. It's got a high alcohol content to jumpstart that buzz and is locally brewed so Arizona residents can say, "I'm not an alcoholic, I'm a small business promoter." Oh, and it's delicious.



The first band to take the stage was Warbeast from Dallas, Tx. I had never heard their music before, but they clearly made an impression on me, as the first note I wrote myself regarding the show was "Warbeast - holy fucking thrash!" If you don't like beer, beards, and Slayer you definitely won't like this band. If you do, congratulations on having a clue.

Between bouts of neckbreaking headbanging, the vocalist would introduce the band to the crowd. Imagine if Phil Anselmo were a proffessional wrestling announcer. That's what I heard. And despite the fact that Warbeast is from Texas, I swear the bass player spoke like a Gaelic pirate.

They played a great set. A little short, but sweet. I'll definitely be picking up their album soon. I didn't purchase it at the show, because I had already promised that all of my money would find a good home with ETID and the Marquee bar.

In the spirit of pacing, we switched to PBR (one of my favorite cheap beers) before heading over to purchase ETID merch. I went against my better judgement and only purchased ONE t-shirt. Pretty sure my buddy bought three, putting his closet total somewhere between 12-15. He is a good man.

We finished our beers and made sure to grab another on our way into the main room. Apparently everyone else decided to hit the bar right after us. We were able to casually stroll right to the front of the stage, as easily as we found our parking space earlier in the evening. We slammed the remainder of our beers while ETID's techs finished sound check. The only way to properly enjoy Every Time I Die is to go completely ape-shit and we didn't wanna spill our drinks.

I've said this before and I'll say it again: if you don't like Every Time I Die, we probably aren't friends. I know a lot of cool people, so I'm not afraid to lose a few of you. Just saying...

The venue had filled up pretty good behind us by the time they hit the stage. And holy shit, did they come out swinging in all their southern-tinged hardcore/punk rock fury! This performance was clearly for their longtime fans/superfans. They opened up their set with "Bored Stiff," a track off their second LP (or third if you're a superfan). The first few notes sparked a circle pit like flash paper in a forest fire. I was pleasantly surprised at how much of the crowd knew the song.

Of course, my friends and I immediately realized that the gentleman playing bass was NOT Josh Newton. Upon tweeting him my confusion, he replied that he had left the band. Bit of a bummer...but I digress.



In what seemed to be an attempt to up the "old school" ante, the band followed with "She's My Rushmore" - a song they released 8 years and 3 albums ago. They, in fact, played around 4 or 5 songs from their first record (or second, again, if you're a superfan), "Hot Damn!"







About halfway into their set, ETID announced that they were gonna play a brand new song. Amidst my jaw-dropped shock and awe, my friend simply said "watch." Apparently he'd seen all the wonder and glory of this new tune performed live via YouTube.
The song was called "Underwater Bimbos From Outer Space." I can't even type that without smiling. If this song is any indication of the type of material that will be found on their upcoming album, it's gonna be the best record they've released so far. I'm calling it now.

The band continued to kick ass, playing some old, some not-so-old, and some not-at-all-old material. Their song "We'rewolf" was dubbed by frontman Keith Buckley as, "the official party song of 2011...and probably 2012." Can't argue with you, sir. ETID ended their set with the fan favorite, "Floater." Yes...another classic nearly a decade old.

With Joker grins tattooed across our faces and dripping with sweat, my buddies and I headed in for a refill. We were all quite hoarse from screaming along for 40+ minutes. So we felt we needed to whet our whistles. To our dismay, they were SOLD OUT of PBR. I'll repeat myself. Every Time I Die played...and The Marquee ran out of PBR. Did they mistake us all for hipsters who would only drink a single beer in hopes of looking uber ironic? No! We're frugal and thirsty!

Had to settle for Bud Light...eh.

As the stage was set for GWAR, we realized we were pretty exhausted from ETID. So we hung in the back and drank our beers.
Oh...if you've never heard of GWAR (what?!), here's what they look like...



Yeah...

Since this is a lengthy entry already, I won't go into as much detail with GWAR's performance. Let me just say that if you ever get the chance to see them live...do it. Don't even question it. If you enjoy metallic punk rock music, horror films, and watching pop culture figures being disemboweled and/or beheaded onstage, you will love this band. They put on one of the best shows I've seen. It's entertaining as all hell. You don't go to a GWAR show for intellectual stimulation or emotional catharsis. You go to a GWAR show to drink beer, bang your head, and laugh your ass off! And we did exactly that...



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bros being bros

This is just a rad picture.

AirBored

Went to Florida recently. Got bored on the plane(s) on the way...so I started documenting the flight. Here ya go.

Oct. 13 - 1:38pm

I'm on a plane from Phoenix headed to Atlanta where I'll then board another plane to Orlando. The signs on the outside of the plane, inside of the plane, as well as the in-flight pamphlets, assure me that free wi-fi is available. I want to check Facebook and Twitter (not sure what I'm actually looking for), but can't connect. Thirty-three thousand feet and no wi-fi. These are First World Problems. Well, not so much problems as grievances. Poverty is a problem. Searching for empty recognition on the internet from my phone is hardly even a grievance. My itchy patchwork of a beard on the other hand...

I'm sitting, cramped, next to my brother and wife. The folks in front of us smell. Like, authentically European smell. Almost a moist sack stink. It's giving me a bit of a headache. I've never sat in First Class, and today isn't anything new. I would imagine they have some kind of quality stench control. Next time I'll save a little extra for the leg room and breathable air.

This flight has no row 13. As if they're actually fooling anyone. When did we ("they") become such a culture of superstition? It's a fucking number, get over it.

Maybe I'll start a rumor that the color Purple is Satanic. Get a Facebook campaign going. Perhaps a humorous Twitter account. By 2130 it'll be fucking gospel.

I need a beer...

They have a pretty decent booze selection for moderately reasonable prices. I can get a Beck's for $5. About what I'd pay at a bar. Of course, I'm not sure I wanna spend $30 on a buzz. However...some of my fellow passengers have begun conversing and I forgot headphones. Shit...

Beer me?

--

2:27pm

Decided I couldn't afford the booze. Well I didn't decide, my bank account did. Instead I opted for reading selections from Bukowski's "Notes Of A Dirty Old Man." Inspires me to continue striving for a life worth reading about.

I'm floating in a haze somewhere between tired and wide awake. Can't sleep, but my film is missing frames.

A stewardess got on the PA asking for a medical doctor or EMT. She repeated. A black woman, 40's (?), got up to help. Looks like an elderly woman just a few rows in front of me and across the aisle is being administered oxygen. Only about halfway into this flight. Seriously reconsidering a cocktail...

--

2:39pm

My wife's talking in an old-timey southern accent. Kind of vaudevillian. I think all the recycled farts are getting to her. Either that or she's possessed. What's the difference at 33,000 feet?

Old ma'am "I can't breathe" is still on oxygen. Don't think she's gonna make it. Just kidding. Everyone is still smiling so it can't be that bad.

The stewardess has been holding the oxygen tank for like 15 minutes. I wonder how much that tank weighs. Can't she set it on the ground or something? Or at least give it to her husband to hold? I assume it's her husband. Do old folks date?

Black Savior is heading back to her seat and the stewardess has left as well. I think this concludes their adventure. Back to sudoku and "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" paperback for them...

- FLIGHT 2 -

*note: at this point I was becoming too enraged and/or tired to record the time of my entries

Just boarded the connecting flight to Florida. Turns out the vacant, knuckle-dragging characters you see on The Jersey Shore exist in real life. Sitting behind us are three shitbags of similar stock. Apparently, they've never been graced with the invention of headphones or told that:

A) they're white

B) Dubstep causes brain damage and they don't have much left to damage

C) nobody wants to hear their lame rhymes

D) they're white

Debating choking out the lot and storing them in the overhead bins...

--

Dear hollow sacks of fuck,

...die.

--

Holy moly, raped with a canoli! Your "music" is unlistenable. And I can actually hear it over the (much more pleasant) roar of the FUCKING JET ENGINE!

Maybe if I tell these guys we're flying over an Axe Body Spray outlet they'll jump out of the fucking plane. Eat shit, pricks...

--

I hope these three ghosts-of-House-Party-passed get corn-holed by a fucking pack of rabid, methed-out Juggalos upon exiting the plane.

--

I hope I see them on the news as the "tragic victims" of a Hostel-esque torture marathon in Berlin.

--

Shortly after that last entry we landed. My brother and I showed remarkable restraint by not murdering the three of them on site.

Pallbearer

If you like Sunn O))), Boris, or Black Sabbath and you haven't gotten the new Pallbearer demo by the time I see you next...you're dead to me.

Click HERE to download it.

These guys are fucking great and I really look forwarded to seeing them live sometime.

VacayDay

Decided to take today off from work, so as to side-step insanity. So far...so good. I'll be sure to keep all of you who read this (nobody) abreast of my mental health should anything go awry. Not sure if my new routine of waking at 5:30am and putting in 45 minutes of cardio while watching David Lynch films is helping or hurting that...

Today I believe I will completely negate my 6:30am workout (slept in) with a breakfast burrito from Filiberto's. I have to say...it's my favorite of the "'Berto's." First off, I'm pretty sure there is little to no chance of the kitchen staff bailing out the backdoor in the event of an immigration raid. I like that in a Mexican food restaurant - being able to get the same delicious food a second time. Also, there are no stray cats in the vicinity. Which means no stray cats will be found in my combo plate. There have been rumors in other...more urban dining settings.

My lip began bleeding uncontrollably - and for seemingly no reason - at lunch yesterday. So in the spirit of turning lemons into lemonade, I found some paper and made a little blood art. I'll post pics of these "self portraits" soon.

Ok...I'm off to stuff my face with Mexican food only to follow it up with lunch at Hula's Modern Tiki (probably my new favorite restaurant/bar). If you're in the Phoenix area, do yourself a favor and check it out.