Justin Bobby Brings Me Back

I'm embarassed to say that I had a brief moment of deja vu while watching the latest episode of MTV's The Hills. And no, unfortunately it was not during one of the more glamorous scenes at Area or Brody Jenner's beach house in Malibu. Instead, it was during Justin Bobby's pathetic attempt to talk his way out of Audrina breaking up with him. For those of you who do not watch this show (shame on you, it's high comedy), Audrina claims to have seen boyfriend Justin Bobbby kissing another girl at the club - and so did all her friends. During the "break up talk," JB gets angry that she believes her friends because [direct quote], "Of course they are going to say that, your friends don't fathom me whatsoever." Really JB? Fathom? Was that you just now attempting to use semi-big words? What I cannot fathom is how you could F up the usage of that word. I'll put my grammar gear on for a second and say that while technically a synonym of fathom could potentially work in that sentence, it's still a huge stretch and I'm guessing genius JB was going for the more commonly used word "favor," which, confusing as it may be, also starts with the letter F. Anyways, it brought me back a few years to a simliar "dealbreaker" dating moment of my own. I was having dinner with this guy when we somehow got on the topic of sweeteners (yes, clearly a scintillating date already), and said boy began to pontificate on how he can't use artificial sweeteners or drink diet soda because he can't stand the aftertaste: "it's that aspartame (pronounced ass-part-a-MEE)," he said very assuredly. Yes, asspartamee. I was expecting "pardonmeimanass" to follow, but it didn't - nor did another date obviously. I know it sounds totally petty, but he was just so cocky about his distaste for something he couldn't even pronounce! Plus, it was really more the straw that broke the camel's back, as was the case with Justin Bobby (who has exhibited far too many red flags to mention, but for starters there's the story behind his name; his vehicle of choice is an El Camino; he tries way too hard to be Johnny Depp; he has an extreme penchant for burping in people's faces; he wears combat boots to the beach and he once abandoned Audrina in Vegas).
I'm a little bit dissapointed that both http://www.tvwithoutpity.com/ and http://www.imbringingbloggingback.blogspot.com/, two of my fave entertainment/celeb gossip blogs, failed to call Justin out on this comment, so I felt it was my duty. But I'm still holding out hope that Joel McHale will chew up Justin Bobby and spit him back out in the most hilarious way possible on the next episode of The Soup (fingers crossed).

A Dairytale Ending in Death Valley

Saturday was spent in Clemson, South Carolina for the Clemson/Boston College football game. My housemate is a BC alum, and I went along to support the cause. Yes, I could regale you with tales of tailgating and touchdowns, but, while the first half left us rather hopeless, Boston College came back to win (20-17) and that's all that really matters...and we stumbled upon the sign pictured above on our way to the stadium and it is a far more intriguing concept at Clemson than the college's football culture. Now, while I am not "fresh" out of college, it hasn't been THAT long - at least not long enough for two new cafeteria food groups to have developed. Notice that this isn't some temporary, laminated notification sticking out of the lawn - it is legit, long-term signage complete with a metal post and directional arrows, because God forbid students miss the turn for ice cream and cheese and wind up in line for simply just a sandwich or slice of pizza. Suddenly, the formerly satisfying food options at my alma mater seem so limited. Although I did not make it to the new Hendrix Center to sample the selection of cheese and ice cream products that constitute such a wayfinding display, I can only imagine the spread. Is this the new Atkins?

Perhaps it's this massive amount of dairy fuel that gives Clemson fans their spunk. And spunky they are; I must give these Tigers credit for both the volume level and expenditure of physical energy behind their cheers. In fact, were it up to me, I would dub Death Valley "Deaf Valley."

Caramba Cafe: The New Birth Control

In an attempt to take it easy on Friday night with the prospect of three parties taking place the following day, a couple of friends and I decided to grab a quick and casual dinner in our 'hood at Caramba Cafe. Never having gone on a weekend night before, we were unaware that there would be nothing quick nor casual (at least not mentally) about it. First of all, do not go here if you are hungry because you will wait for an hour to sit down, and then another hour to get a server who will maybe take your drink order if you're lucky. Go about three hours before you think you might be hungry and that should be perfect timing. Secondly, do not go here unless you have children - or are ready for a GIANT dose of reality. Walking into this place gave me an extreme oh-my-god-I-truly-will-not-be-able-to-handle-kids-EVER panic attack. While I firmly believe in family-friendly establishments, this one gave me heart palpitations. They are everywhere, in every nook and cranny (and note that the restaurant is jam packed as it is), running through your legs, rolling around on the dirty floor and throwing things over the booth partition at your table. If this doesn't ruin your time in the sack, then their pitchers of margaritas certainly will because ain't no way your man will be able to get it up after that much tequila. This is the first time I have ever and probably will ever complain about a heavy handed bartender (those who know me can attest to this), which should tell you how undrinkable these are, but at least we got our money's worth. Next time I'm just going to sit on my couch with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. On to the food, which I should warn you, is not edible for at least 20 minutes after it hits the table due to some sort of extreme nuclear reheating process - my enchilada gave me third degree burns, and yes, I had to be THAT girl and spit out my first bite. While my companions' fajitas and poblano relleno were much more appetizing, the enchilada sauce looked and tasted much closer to A1 steak sauce and had a somewhat suspicious consistency by the end of the meal.

I have to quote my dear friend Sarah Kate who said to me the next day, "Can we vow to never go there again, unless it's to get drunk?" Enough said.

Please note: there are no photos from the meal with this post because a food-related blog should not make you want to lose your lunch! Additionally, after those margaritas, I can't imagine that the photos would be in focus.