From Sea to Shining Sea

bprize with the assist.

Social Drinking Excellence: Carolee Bildsten

I have no clue how I missed this story when it first broke. I'm actually a little upset with my crew for not bringing it to my attention sooner (especially TJ, who I know will see this and say "Oh yeah, I read about that a while back"). Not only is Bildsten clearly a Rummy Award winner, I may have to create a lifetime achievement Rummy just for this one tale. This one reads so well, I have to quote nearly the entire article.

From the TribLocal:

A Gurnee woman charged with aggravated assault for threatening a police officer with a sex toy was supposed to be reaching into a drawer for money, but instead pulled out what a department spokesman described as a “clear, rigid feminine pleasure device.”

Carolee Bildsten, 56, was with the officer at her apartment on Nov. 9 when she allegedly “approached the officer in a threatening manner,” according to Gurnee Police Cmdr. Jay Patrick.

Police had been called when Bildsten allegedly left a nearby Joe’s Crab Shack without paying her bill for a second time in a few weeks, Patrick said.

The officer saw her lying in the grass along Grand Avenue near the entrance to Six Flags Great America, Patrick said.

When the officer told Bildsten she’d either have to pay her bill or be arrested, she told him she didn’t have any money with her, but she had some cash at her nearby apartment, Patrick said.

The officer escorted her there, where Bildsten went into her bedroom, saying her money was in a dresser drawer, according to Patrick.

But instead of pulling out money, she pulled out the sex toy, and went toward the officer with it held over her head, Patrick said.

The officer was able to knock the device out of the way before being struck with it, and placed Bildsten under arrest. She was transported to the Gurnee Police Department, where she was processed.

She was charged with aggravated assault against an officer, a misdemeanor.

Bildsten was also charged with theft of labor or services for walking out on the Crab Shack bill, Patrick said. She was also charged being under the influence while walking on public roadways.

Yesterday, Ms. Bildsten told the TribLocal that she acted in self-defense. And I'm sure there are many women out there who truly believe that nothing will scare off a man more than a dildo (ladies, if that's the case, all I'll say is this: You ain't fucking with the right one). But let's apply a little logic to this self-defense argument:

1. She says that a recent report of a Gurnee officer being convicted of sexual assault had made her nervous, and led to her fearing the same of the policeman with her in her apartment. But, if this is true, then why did she even invite him into her place at all? Without her permission, he would've needed a warrant to get in there.
   
2. If the man in your bedroom is there to sexually assault you, the last thing you want to do is encourage him. Producing a sex toy from your dresser wouldn't be a deterrent, it would be an announcement that you're ready to "get this party started".
3. Bildsten says that she didn't charge towards the cop, as was originally reported. Instead, she claims, "The officer walked over to her, grabbed her arm, and the toy fell to the ground." So let me see if I've got this straight: Your attacker, standing several feet from you, sees you raise a dildo over your head, and instantly rushes toward you to knock it from your hand? Why, exactly? (In fact, this version of events wouldn't even make sense if Bildsten were to openly admit to being on the offensive. If you're a cop and this drunk woman suddenly raises a rubber dong in the air, your first reaction has got to be laughter, followed by confusion. Panic and fear don't enter the equation until she starts explaining how she intends to pay off the Crab Shack tab.)
4. Your "attacker" has clearly identified himself as a police officer. Police officers carry guns. And you never bring a dildo to a gun fight. That's just "Thugging 101".

Her side to the story, though, does seem plausible, up until the point at which she and the cop get to her apartment. In the end, I think Bildsten would be better off if she were to (a.) admit that his description of events in the second half of the incident are accurate; (b.) confess that she's a crazy drunk who loves a good dildo; and (c.) plead guilty, apologize, and move on with her life. Hell, maybe she could even get an endorsement deal with Adam & Eve. "When I'm playing 'Cops & Robbers', I beat them off with Adam & Eve."

Carolee, your Rummy's in the mail. It may not be very useful in the "feminine pleasure" department, but at least a potential attacker will take you seriously when you brandish it.

Weird Science

Pouring beers is soooo 2010...




My boy T.C. with the assist.

Drunks Say the Darndest Things 3

I may be the only one who loves these quote posts so much—and I don’t care. I’m totally fine with the fact that this is all for me.

Pulling these together is never as easy as it would seem. There’s a wealth of material, sure; but often I neglect to make note of quotes as they happen, and therefore don’t have it at the ready when writing out the story (it may be shocking to read, but sometimes I tend to forget things when I’ve been drinking). Of those I do remember, I try to save some for a DSTDT post, but inevitably a lot of quotes are told as parts of other narratives. Typical of this new age of social media, though, I did manage to collect a couple from my friends’ Facebook status updates (that’s right folks—nothing’s sacred anymore). And, as usual, I have also included one of the many random moments of brilliance from years past that have sat in my crew’s vault, dusty and unpublished—until now.

• During our pre-Brewski, Friday-night-on-the-town in Johnstown last April, Dupa was in rare form. He put on a one-man show, dancing with the girls, wearing Shannon’s earrings, and spitting out zingers left and right. Far more than the alcohol, though, what seemed to inspire his verbal mastery on this night was our favorite doctor’s revealing attire. During one pause in the group’s convo, he turned to Dr. Kelly and—saying, “Let’s pretend I’m an ostrich and your cleavage is a sand pit”—buried his face in her chest.
  
  The best of his best, however, came not much later. The girls and guys had momentarily dissolved into separate conversations, and during a small break in ours Dupa looked over again at Dr. By then he was merely the dummy to the booze’s ventriloquist act, and didn’t seem to realize that his thoughts weren’t being restricted to his head. Barely loud enough for her to hear, he said, “I’m BP, and you’re the Gulf Coast; wanna see my oil spill?”
  
  
• The following night at Seven Springs, after a long day of Brewski pregaming, Brewski Festing, and Brewski after-partying, our cast of characters found themselves pushed to their limits. By the end of the night we were a broken and battered platoon administering battlefield triage throughout the sprawling mountain resort. When he dragged himself over to the bar to get a beer at last call, Entertainer found LRG standing there alone, finishing a drink.
  
  Within seconds they were approached by a bouncer who was visibly unhappy. Pointing at LRG, the bouncer barked, “He’s cut off!” Entertainer, stunned, assured the bouncer that he would keep LRG from causing more trouble. “Look, it’s last call, so he’s not drinking more anyways,” he argued. The bouncer relented, and walked off. Despite the confrontation, LRG had remained decidedly unfazed.
  
  Entertainer: “What did you do?"
  LRG: “I don’t know. Kicked a table? Hit a girl? *shrug*”
  
  
• My manager may be a grandmother, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hang. I’ve seen this firsthand on a few business trips; the years, however, may finally be catching up to her. Last month her daughter got married, and among the dessert items at the reception were cannolis filled with a cream made with three different kinds of liquor. And it seems the baker used a liberal amount of each alcohol in the creation of these On the Rocks-worthy pastries, to the point where my manager told me, “I didn’t drink much at the wedding; but then when I went to bed…the ceiling fan wasn’t on, but it was moving.”
  
  
• Last Memorial Day, TD was out of hand. She bounced around without stoppage at her and Baby Joey’s annual party, dancing, yelling at people randomly, and kissing her girlfriends in true barsexual spirit. Late in the night, she and her friend Leah were the subject of a fantastic picture, in which Leah sat in shock as her friend performed an impromptu lap dance on her. Leah’s facial expression as TD’s sundress is thrust at her in the photo is priceless. After I showed them the picture, TD summed up the moment captured by the digital eye. “Everything Leah does with her face, I do with my crotch.”
  
  
• One weeknight last spring, her girl 2Ls popped up in my Facebook news feed with a quick message to a dear friend. “hangover, I'll meet you in the morning, 8am, give or take... until then, have a good night..”
  
  
• How in the name of Jack Daniels do you ever begin a serious drinking session knowing you haven’t eaten within the last several hours? I just can’t imagine another drinking rule as clear-cut and painfully obvious as “drinking on an empty stomach will destroy you”. And yet, one recent Tuesday morning I had the following conversation with a friend who had been sending me drunk texts at 6 pm the day before.
  
  Me: “So how you feeling today?”
  Him: “All good. A little lightheaded this morning, but I think that's because I haven't eaten in 24 hours. I puked twice, and I should not have driven home last night.”
  Me: “So, explain to me exactly how you say to yourself, ‘I haven't had any food all day. I should ingest some alcohol.’"
  Him: “Silly... I didn't start talking to myself ‘til drink #8 or so.”
  
  
• Pakistanimal’s birthday was last June, and we decided to keep it somewhat reserved. TJ, Dupa, and Pak pregamed at my place, and then we all hit the ‘Side to make the blurry happen. We were soon joined at the William Penn Tavern by a murderer’s row of LRG and a few of his homies, Jay Swag, and Mitch Canada. After several rounds of birthday shots and various drinks, Pak was dazed, and found himself in a moment of defiant truthfulness while staring at a random bar slore nearby. “Yeah, I’m fucked up,” he announced to her, “and I’m looking at your tits.”
  
  
• A few days before St. Patty’s Day 2010, my buddy Weatherman was looking for a pair of smiling Irish eyes on Facebook. “Any Irish girls want to hang out? I'm drunk off Captain, and we could make one hell of an Irish pirate.”
  
  
• A couple of Fridays ago, several of us took part in a bar crawl organized by one of TD’s friends. TJ and his girlfriend, who was in town visiting, were in attendance. Since “Racktacular” (TJ’s own turn of a phrase, not mine) lives in Tampa, it took until that night for her to finally be introduced to TD. It wasn’t long, though, before she and the crazy little blonde girl had become good buddies. At the second stop on the tour, a moment of beer-fueled jubilation took hold of TD, as she said to Rackt, “We just met—let’s bump boobs!”
  
  
• Tony, also taking part in the crawl (by the way: all proceeds were going to charity, so it would’ve been socially irresponsible of us to not get sloppy drunk that night), found himself engaged in conversation with two random guys at one of the bars. After he finally pulled himself away from his new fan club, Tony then had to deal with TJ, Dupa, and I, who of course made many comments and unfounded insinuations about his true sexual orientation and the intentions of the two strangers. His immediate response, though, did little to halt that line of thinking. Waving off our jokes, he countered, “Dudes fucking love me.”
  
  
• One night several years ago, BlahBlahBlah, myself, and a few others met up at Hooters in Station Square (which has since closed) for happy hour drinks and food. The Hooters Girls were running a sports trivia game, wherein each table competed against the others to be the first to correctly answer questions. Midway through the contest, the sexy waitress in charge of it read aloud a question involving Earvin “Magic” Johnson. BBB found himself unable to hold back his mouth, instantly (and quite audibly) shooting back, “I’ll give you a ‘magic’ Johnson.’”

No Good People -- "Chug"

I think On the Rocks may have just found a new theme song.

*sigh* I miss college.

Mainstream Moonshine

I may live in the North, but I'm no stranger to moonshine (and, let's not kid ourselves; Western Pennsylania's a lot more "Kentucky backwoods" than "uptown Manhattan"). For some time, Finn & Genoa kept a large jug of moonshine in their basement. When we would occassionally convene at their house for a night of beer pong and drunken fun, the jug would inevitably be passed around, and then we'd all wake up on the floor the next morning. And no matter how many times this happened, the amount of moonshine in the jug never seemed to lessen. It was like a bottomless pit of hangovers and sorrow.

This past Xmas Eve Eve, Dupa brought a mason jar of homemade hell with him. True, it tasted like apple pie, but it was not the stuff of sweet little grandmothers. When I awoke the following day, I found the mason jar sitting in my fridge, with some of the brew still left in it. That jar has sat in the same place ever since. We have an understanding of sorts: I don't disturb it, it doesn't lead me to wake up naked in the woods next to the carcass of a freshly-killed deer.

There are now micro-distilleries popping up all around the country, where drinking "moonshine" is not only legal, it's given the same treatment as a wine tasting trip to a vineyard would. Which is giving me a great movie idea—think Sideways meets Road Trip. NBC's "Today Show" took a look at this new take on the good ol' boy staple (bonus lol's come at the end, when the reporter starts taste testing, and is about a shot and a dare away from dancing on a table).

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Wifey Material: Scarlett Johansson

There's irony in announcing Scarlett's wifey qualifications, seeing as she just recently filed for divorce from Ryan Reynolds. But her phenomenal attributes don't disappear just because he failed to make it work (or, more likely, realized he would be insane to limit himself to just one woman—ridiculously hot though she may be—at the pinnacle of his career). On the contrary, I think those of us not annually named to People's 50 Most Beautiful list would play a game of Russian Roulette with an Uzi for the chance at spending some quality time with Miss Johansson's attributes.

And now she's the new face of Moët & Chandon, which only inflates her stock higher. After all, if you have to be wifed-up at a party, who better with than a gorgeous chick who can get a free case of the best bubbly with a mere phone call?