Nevermind about August and everything after. I've got a licence to ill in this tragic kingdom. Ten-Four

Remember the blog post a couple of months ago regarding my musical nostalgia that was completely disjointed and vague? Me neither. So I've decided to revisit this subject in a hopefully more entertaining fashion. The title of this little diddy here might seem a bit ostentatious. It's not though. You see what I've done is take the titles of several of the cd's I own from the 90's and combine it into a sentence. This seems like a good idea for two reasons: a) I came up with it and it's obviously genius. b) I've seriously eaten an entire box of Mike & Ike's, two gigantic hershey kiss and chocolate chip cookies, and chugged three diet cokes. I couldn't lie about something like that.

There's this dude in my office named Jackson. He's a student worker and a pretty cool kid. I say kid because Jackson was born in 1989. Jackson has a lot of hair and one day the girlfriend of a roommate or something pinned his butt down and straightened his hair with one of those straighteners that girls with nappy hair like to use. He came into the office looking just like one of the Beatles. He also looked like the dudes from Oasis so I thought it would be a good idea to nickname him Gallagher. Apparently he didn't get the joke because he kept giving me weird looks every time I'd say the name, point, laugh, and then tell him Don't Look Back In Anger dude, which just made him more confused.

Jackson's boss Jimmy and I are the same age and share the same musical tastes. Jimmy has seen Pearl Jam live 15 times. We both started quizzing him on bands from the 90's that more or less defined our musical vernacular. Come to find out, Jackson and his fellow student workers had never heard Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Counting Crows, 311, Blues Traveler, Beastie Boys, No Doubt, Bush, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Red Hot Chili Peppers, STP, on and on and on. Does that mean that I'm just getting that much older or is it testament to the fact that music and radio is confined to the drivel that is Ke$ha, Black Eyed Peas, and Bieber?

I made it my personal mission to burn as much music for Jackson as I could. I went home that night and made him two 90's sampler cds with a song or two from as many 90's artists as I could find. I own a lot of full albums from that era from the bands that had a little bit of shelf life. I consider many of the albums to be classics but a lot of my self professed 'music snob' friends do not. I added some Alice in Chains, Jane's Addiction, and Candlebox along with the aforementioned menage-a-rock. I proudly presented Jackson with two cd's to blow his mind. I came back an hour later and he was listening to 'Alive' by Pearl Jam. He had that confused look on his face again and told me he'd never heard it. I non-verbally told him to go fuck himself and marched straight to Jimmy's office to let him know that his very own student worker doesn't know one of the signature songs of his favorite band. Jimmy verbally told Jackson to go fuck himself and ordered him to keep listening.

I gave it another hour and walked back into Jackson's office. This is a bold dude, man. He had turned off the cd's and I kid you not was listening to Hall and Oates. I was beside myself and walked out without saying a word. The battle was lost but the war, while probably lost as well, was motivating me to open this kid's mine even if I had to pry it. So here I sit at my computer burning him full albums. This is the list so far: 311-self titled, Beastie Boys-License to Ill (80's yet still classic), Blink 182-Enema of the State, Blues Traveler-Four, Bush-Sixteen Stone, Counting Crows-August and Everything After, Nirvana-Nevermind, No Doubt-Tragic Kingdom, Oasis-Definitely Maybe and What's the Story Morning Glory, Pearl Jam-Ten, RHCP-Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic; Smashing Pumpkins-Siamese Dream, STP-Core, Third Eye Blind-self titled, U2-The Joshua Tree (80's but he'd never heard of this one either and that made me really sad) I might throw an AIC or Soundgarden album on there just to really grit things up but these should suffice.

Those albums I listed are indicative of the type of music I love but are in no way a complete representation of what I wish I could put on there. I've lost Weezer's Blue album and Green Day's Dookie. I never owned a lot of the one hit grunge bands like Sponge, Ruth Ruth,Marcy Playground, Schtum, and Trippin Daisy. I use to have Self's album but it's scratched beyond recognition and me and two other people are pretty much the only one's that have heard of them. I love 2 Skinnee J's but that might be a little too out there for him. I probably should have put Dr. Dre's The Chronic on there but I don't want to send the wrong message.

I wish I had a musical mentor to guide me when I was young and malleable like young Jackson. I had to do it on my own. Now I keep the dream alive by traveling to different horse tracks and casinos to see my favorite bands of yore; now fat, bald and pathetic, fighting the good fight. Hey Jealousy? Yes please. Cumbersome? Always. Sex and Candy? Whenever and wherever. Here's to you 90's music. And all your flannel and angst. Rock on.

Craft Beer and My Boy Sergio

The night started off innocently enough. I had the noblest of intentions. We were going to meet a friend at a hippy bar called The Pour House so we could grab some food on the back patio and then watch a band inside later that night. Kristen and I got there and the patio was deserted with the exception of the bartender and some creepy looking 50 year olds.

Our friend Colleen arrived and took one look at the patio and agreed with our assessment that it was lame so we decided to head across the street to a Mexican restaurant called Zia's. Now my name is Chris, but once we were at Zia's I became "The Most Interesting Man In The World" because I started pounding Dos Equis while Kristen and Colleen each had a margarita. I knew the beer was starting to kick in because I told every person in the bar at least three times to "stay thirsty my friends." That's all well and good but it became infinitely cuter when I did the same thing seven different times to a table of tweens and their respective soccer moms on the way to the bathroom because I broke the seal. Seriously, seven trips creeping out 12 year olds. Colleen's friend Jeremiah showed up at Zia's and I felt bad because by the time he got there, I was already "That Guy." As an aside, let me apologize for all of the "s but I'm afraid it's just going to get worse. Anywho, Colleen convinced Kristen to order a second margarita which is just not a good idea. Her face was already numb and she did not need anymore alcohol so I did what any husband who looks out for the well-being of his wife would do: I chugged it for her.

At this point I'm lit, Kristen's buzzed, Colleen's feeling pretty good, and Jeremiah is wondering just what in the hell makes me so interesting. We decided to head back over to the Pour House. In order to do this we have to cross four lanes of fairly heavy traffic. The girls and Jeremiah made it with no problem but it looked like I was playing a cross between hop scotch and twister across the highway. The reality of the situation is I couldn't really walk. I persevered though and made it across the street.

Once we paid the cover and got inside, Jeremiah and I headed straight for the bar. I need to say that a reason to add to the list of why Charleston is so great is the sheer number of craft beers they have on tap. I've lost track of all the different beers I've had but I've also gained 15 lbs since I moved here so I know the volume is large. I got a Solo cup of something dark and immediately went over to the merch table to check out this band I would be patronizing. There name was Oregone and they're from L.A. Oregone plays a mix of funk and soul which pretty much defines me. (that's sarcasm) As I'm checking out the vinyl albums, I notice a tall dude with a big ass 'fro and a bushy ass beard. I'm all like hey dude, are you the merch guy? He's all like nahh man I play guitar....and my name is Sergio. I'm like hell yes what kind of gear do you have, and that is a badass name. He reluctantly starts discussing this with me and I'm completely oblivious to the fact that I've just 100% cock blocked this guy. He was macking pretty hard on a hippy chick but I would not be denied. That's how drunk I was. He was in the middle of telling me about his gear setup when I figured it would be a good idea to go tell my wife how incredibly hammered I was so I turned my back on him mid sentence. I'm a real jerk when I drink. That's actually not true but Sergio probably thought so.

While we're waiting for the band to start playing, I continued drinking and Colleen brings up another friend of hers named Paul. Paul is from the Ukraine and has an electrical engineering degree and a law degree. That's what he told us anyway. I was to the point that I'd believe anything but looking back on it, I'm pretty sure he was fucking with me. He even got me to do a fist bump grenade which I don't think I've ever done before in my life. Now that I'm reflecting, that was probably not the coolest thing I've done but it certainly wasn't the lowest part of the evening for me.

Did I mention I was three sheets to the wind? Oregone finally started playing and it was my time to shine. The Pour House is a bit of a hippy bar. If you've ever gone out in Baton Rouge, it reminds me a little bit of Ichabods. Since my hair doesn't really work anymore, I had a hard time pulling off the nappy haired hippy look but I had something they didn't have...fratasticism. Picture if you will, Chris Noland in Polo shirt, cargo shorts, and Sperry's. Yes sirrreee, I was fratastic. I stepped up to the stage, toe to toe with the singer and mere inches from the bongo player with the flat billed cap....and I danced. Nay. I hippy danced. Head staring straight at the floor, both fists up around my ears, shoulders swaying, and Sperry's firmly in place. I did this for an hour and a half without stopping. The only time I looked up from the floor was to make eye contact with my boy Sergio. Sergio looked pissed but I know that's because he wished he could be down at the foot of that stage dancing along with me. I say I had both fists up and that's true but I didn't realize I had a beer in one of those fists until Kristen pointed out that my shirt was soaking wet. Apparently in my meditative dance I spilled the beer all over my shirt. That's cool man because the music and I were one.

The rest of this story pretty much had to be told to me because I don't really remember it. Kristen managed to get me in the car and we started the drive back to the Creek. As some of you no doubt know, I'm a bit of a drunk dialer. Apparently I called my sister. She didn't answer and I let her know how much I didn't appreciate her not being at her phone. I've since had the message played back for me because apparently she wants to hold on to this one for posterity. I didn't know I had the ability to use the word 'motherfucker' in so many different ways. Verbs, adverbs, adjectives, proper nouns, formal names, locations, pet names, cars, my friend Richard W's mom, Sergio's guitar playing ability post stinkeye, etc. To make matters worse, after I hung up with my sister's voicemail, it made complete since to call my mother. Kristen was powerless because I'm so adorable when I'm on blackout. So yeah, I called Reva and I did the only possible thing that made sense to my inebriated brain when she answered. I talked about real estate. I don't really know the details of the discussion and quite frankly I've tried to pretend it didn't happen and haven't broached the subject since. I think some things are better off buried.

We made it home and apparently I wasn't ready to go to bed. Kristen feel asleep pretty quickly but the only thing I really remember was a flash of me sitting in the car and then blinking and sitting up in bed in the guest room, fully clothed, all the lights on, OD's ass in my face and the clock saying 8am. Needless to say I felt awful. I drank a bunch of water and then walked out my back door. I literally walked six miles because something deep inside me was telling me I needed to sweat out the alcohol. I don't know why that urge always comes because I don't think its actually possible/beneficial/sensical but never-the-less, six miles I walked. I spent the rest of the morning listening to my sister laugh at me about the message and then laugh even harder at the fact that I drunk dialed my mom. I'm 31 years old. This shit isn't suppose to happen.

When I started writing this I was aiming for some sort of epic comedic story. I think I waited too long to type it up because it sort of turned stream of consciousness. We all had a blast that night but man, Sergio was pissed. I sure hope that dude got laid.

Hippies and Pizza

We're looking for a house in Mount Pleasant, SC. Those that know me fairly well know how much I hate it in the Creek. I'm just really tired of seeing dragon tattoos on fat women's boobs. I know you probably can't picture that and think I'm just exaggerating but I assure you it's true. There is a dragon-on-fat-boob epidemic going on where I live. Mount Pleasant is much more my speed. It's two miles from the beach, has a Whole Foods that Bill Murray frequents and most importantly of all, has a Mellow Mushroom.

If there is one combination that I love, it is hippies and pizza. Throw in a little high gravity beer that they serve there and I'm a happy man. Kristen is not happy about the beer part though. I'd never had high gravity beer before and didn't know what that meant. Now I do and so does Kristen and I'm not suppose to talk about it. Let's just say that it's no fun being the lone sober person around the drunk guys but I thought I was rather charming. I bring Mellow Mushroom up because we went there after looking at a couple of houses in Mt. P tonight. You know what else rocks? It was trivia night. I don't care that the hostess put us in the section that was farthest away and apparently closed so that I witnessed three separate servers arguing over who would take care of us. Kristen was both annoyed and embarrassed when I'd yell out the answers even though we didn't have our electronic trivia pad. I sounded like Timmy from South Park. The hippies didn't mind though because they're far out and cool. That's how you have to be to work at Mellow Mushroom. They LOVE me.

Since we both came from work, we'd taken separate cars. Kristen left and I decided to be chivalrous and stop at the cupcake store and get her something for dessert when she got home (shut up and don't be dirty). However it was closed so that had to wait. I did however stop and get gas. While I was pumping (shut up) I saw a man with the top of his head completely bald but the rest of his head was a beautiful flowing mullet. Top that off with the fact that he was walking directly towards a sweetass, old school Camaro. I thought HELL YES, if you only had a jean jacket and an REO Speedwagon shirt on I'd walk up and shake your hand. Then he walked directly pass the Camaro and got into a full on 1970's porno van. I immediately thought Fuck That, he's a pederass. Freaked me out and made me want out of the Creek even more.

Going to see Aziz Ansari on Thursday night. Should be awesome because I love Indians.

I'm So Tired Of Losing My Man Card...

Since I work for College of Charleston, I get to use the gym facilities for free. I go during my lunch break since it's right next door to my office. The only drawback is that there aren't any showers on site so I come back to the office sweaty. That's no fun because a) I still have to work and b) I make a giant sweaty heart on my chest every time and everyone finds it necessary to point it out. While nothing can really be done about the heart shaped awesomeness, the girls that I work with told me about a sure fire way to de-funkify myself....baby wipes. So picture me in my office pulling the wet wipes out of the tube and rubbing them everywhere. I must admit its refreshing but dammit they stink and they make my office stink and up my creepiness factor. So to recap, I grew a mustache, drank water from the crotch of an angelic statue, and work in an office smelling of eau de moist toilette. I'm officially creepy.

Sunday night was the final episode of Lost. The show got me good. The next day I was sad since I've been watching it for six years and now its gone. Really weird feeling. I was talking about it with my buddy Michael O'boyle and he agreed. That show is powerful and kind of how he and I got to know each other. We worked in the same place for a short time but would talk all about the show and throw different ideas off of each other. Very cool way to build a friendship. Now the show is gone and I am facing some rather severe consequences. By that I mean one consequence and by that one consequence I mean Glee. I no longer have an excuse not to watch that damn show with Kristen anymore. I hate that show. I hate that show because it is catchy. I hate that show because now I think I'm becoming a fan of Lady Gaga. The song Bad Romance was on the show last night and it stayed in my head all day long. I'm pretty sure I didn't sing it out loud but I'm not 100% positive and that scares me. I don't want to be a performance artist but it might be unavoidable.

Since I watched Glee, Kristen agreed to a man movie tonight. That man movie was Macgruber. Go see this. We both laughed till we cried. Probably the stupidest movie I've ever seen but it was stupid smart and therefore actually funny...really funny. I want a mullet to go with my baby wiping, crotch sipping, mustachioed ass. Hell yes! (first and only time I'll ever use an exclamation point on this page)

Dragging Ass On The Cobblestones

I haven't jogged in a long time. Before we moved, we were regularly running 5-10 miles at a time and considered ourselves in great shape. When we got out here, that changed. Moving is extremely stressful and didn't really leave me wanting for any more exertion, mentally or physically. Not to mention the fact that the running trails around the Creek are often clogged with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle-toothless-tattooed-woman-in-wife-beater-tank-top-and-jorts as they're chain smoking while I'm trying to exercise.

That changed today. Melanie is a girl I work with who also runs a variety of 5K's, 10K's, half and full marathons. Being the unabashed badass that I am, I volunteered to go run around Charleston during our lunch break today. As it goes, it seemed like a good idea at the time. The long and short of it is she kicked my ass. As an aside, when we started we ran by my buddy Richard. The dude didn't even notice me. I was literally three inches from him and I started screaming and flailing my arms like an idiot. Apparently he had his headphones on and was oblivious to me making a fool of myself in public while I was trying to get his attention. Boy did he pick the wrong dude to make enemies with. He's completely blacklisted. I spent half the run trying to convince Melanie that the guy was actually my friend.

We ran by Colonial Lake and down Murray Blvd. which runs along the brick ramparts overlooking Charleston Harbor. We stopped in White Point Gardens for a water break. I've never had such an awkward time trying to get a drink of water before. The water fountain was either a statue of an angel or a little kid, I couldn't really be sure. All I know is that the water was coming out of it's crotch. I don't think there's any way to write about this tactfully. I'm either a sacrilegious ass or a reiteration of the guy people thought I was in my mustache blog. This time I didn't have aviators on though. I bent down and went for it because I was thirsty. To my knowledge, nobody was staring or reporting me. Twice in a week would really suck. Melanie and I didn't really talk about it after that because some things are better left unsaid.

We started on our way back and I'd held my own up this point. However, the sun was out in full force and I started feeling it. As much as I didn't want to, I had to stop. I begged Melanie to keep going so as to save me the shame of getting my tail whipped by a girl. No go. She stopped and walked with me. My head was low and hers was held high in triumph. This happened at least two more times after I started running again. My dad was right, they should have named me Susie when I was born.

We eventually found ourselves back at the admissions office. I looked like our three-legged cat dragging himself across the floor. Melanie barely broke a sweat which made me feel even worse because I can't begin to describe how funky and sweaty I was. I'm seriously hoping she didn't see my tears when she said we could stop. At this point, I needed to find something to drink and she had this Coconut water thing and told me to go to this place called Caviar and Bananas around the corner to grab one. I did this in all of my sweaty glory. Yeah apparently the people at the hippy store don't like it when you come in sweaty. The check out girl LITERALLY curled her lip and threw my credit card and slip at me. I'm honestly not embellishing that at all. I am with this part though: I punched her in her blonde-ass face.

Overall I felt great albeit humbled and ashamed to have my ass handed to me in such dominant fashion...by a girl. But hey man, its 2010 so it's okay for that to happen. F you if you disagree. That's all I've got going for me right now. Hopefully I can start this running kick again and get back to where I was again soon. Also, and how badass is this, Melanie put me in touch with a dude who is going to teach me how to surf. Kristen doesn't know this yet, but we're watching Point Break this weekend. I don't know whether I should call myself Bodhi or Utah but I'm going to start talking about Fiji, and Bali, and the Pipeline. Noland on a surfboard will be the coolest thing EVER since my mom let me dress up like a ninja for Halloween in Kindergarden...which was awesome except for the battery-powered glow in the dark pumpkin she made me carry for safety. All blacked out ninja uniform plus hood and a bright orange pumpkin. Ain't nobody messing with my mama's baby boy. But I digress. I wish I wasn't balding so I could grow my hair out and let it get sun bleached so I can hang out with my new bros while I'm catching tubes and shit. This place is fun.

Sam Elliott Eat Your Heart Out

I slept late on Friday so I didn't shave before work. Didn't feel like shaving on Saturday because its the weekend and I'm a dude therefore I do what I want. Sunday was heathen/beach/mother's day or as I like to look at it, an opportunity. I wanted to see if I was sly enough to walk out of the house with a mustache. This is one of those things that girl's can see even if they're three rooms away. They know when the stache is present because it exudes absolute awesomeness. Apparently the awesomeness on mine had petered out a bit or not quite reached it's potential depending on if you're a glass is half empty/half full type of person. I actually made it out of the house and into the car fully muffed and I had a decision to make. Do I tell Kristen now or do I fully commit? I committed. Hindsight being what it is, I now wish Kristen was more intuitive.

We made it halfway to the beach before she beheld me in my full, facial glory (I will thank you not to make a sick joke out of that but if you do, then bully for you). She slapped me. At least that's what she says she did. Felt more like an elbow to my jaw but I'll yield to her on this one. At this point, I feel pretty cool and pretty confident. Let me also mention that I have my aviator sunglasses on. We make it out to Isle of Palms with Kristen walking quite a few feet ahead of me so you can't even tell we're together. From the parking lot, you have to walk past a children's playground on the way to the beach. We set up our stuff and then I ran back to use the rest room, having to pass the playground again. I take a look in the mirror, sunglasses still on. Good God Almighty, I look like a cross between Lt. Dangle from Reno 911 and Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. I'm in trouble and I have to walk past the damn playground for a third time to get back to my beach chair. I'm not saying that the parents were necessarily staring, but I sure wished Kristen and her flying elbows were a little closer when I was walking by to defend my honor. Maybe if I would have taken off the sunglasses, it would reduce the impact of the stereotyping going on but then people might know who I am if they saw these beautiful blue eyes.

Once I made it back to the beach chair I didn't move and I didn't look at anyone. I kept a book around my face. When we finally decided to leave, I thought I'd play it cool and act like I was scratching my nose the whole way back. I don't really recommend that because you wind up looking like your picking your nose for 100 yards as I walked by the playground AGAIN. Needless to say, the mustache experiment came to an end the second I walked back into our house. I'm back on my neckbeard quest because that will must make me look even bad assier. We shall see.

On a completely different note, might I point out that the best beach volleyball movie ever made was on tv Saturday night. Side-Out rivals only the shirtless, blue jeaned volleyball scene from Top Gun as the imagery most likely to get Chris Noland to play volleyball.

Excuse me Flo? What's the Soup Du Jour?

We live in one of the must culturally diverse, cuisine rich cities in America. When Kristen got home from work we decided to go out to eat because we were both starving. Whatever did we choose to sample from this fine dining mecca? Hell Yes we went to Denny's. I've never been to Denny's before. I moved 1000 miles across the country to go eat at mf'in Denny's. And you know something? It wasn't bad. I sure didn't know what I was in store for but my expectations weren't huge. I was pleasantly surprised when I only saw one customer with a wife beater tank top with ubiquitous gaudy shoulder tattoo. He was missing most of his teeth and had cutoff shorts on. Basically I'm telling you he was the total package. If he would have had a bandanna on his shaved head or a jean jacket I would have gone up to shake his hand and thank him for making my initial Denny's dining experience the tits.

I had a turkey sandwich and it rocked. Kristen had a grand slam breakfast with cheesy hash browns which rocked even harder. I finished them for her. She didn't necessarily appreciate that but I don't care because I had my toothless wonder as my wingman and I would receive no backtalk from her with him by my side. Kathie our waitress was on the ball. She greeted us at the door and offered our pick of tables. We could even have a booth by the window. Hell yes please. She kept our glasses full with our tasty beverage of choice. She let us know that they only serve Coke products therefore removing the otherwise inevitable anxiety of ordering a Diet Coke only to be asked if Diet Pepsi was okay. That made sense in my head but I have no clue if it translated well. All in all it was a great experience. Good food, good service, and the best company you could ask for in a 24-hour restaurant. This might be weekly date night central for the Nolands.

On a side note: Until we move, we are f'ed. The only gas stations anywhere near us are Sunoco's and BP. Do we support the jerks who talked about my nuts or the jerks who destroyed the Gulf of Mexico. Your thoughts are welcome.