Potluck, what’s good.
Been watchin’ you guys from a distance out here in LA and I like what I see. The stuff is almost so good it’s intimidating, because I wanna write stuff too but I ain’t got it like you guys. I’ve been drinking and living a life for crying out loud, so sorry if my participles are off.
But I had an idea.
Seems like you guys at Potluck are going for that whole free form thing, so how about this: I’m going to write down and elaborate on the most recent notes I have on my phone. I don’t have any social media thing except Facebook and I just use that any time I wanna check out my ex girlfiend’s new boyfriend who does MMA (I may have “hurt” you but that dude might like ya know, hurrrrt you).
Anyway, so instead of tweeting or taking pictures of food, I write shit in my phone. Real original, right? But what has happened as the years have accumulated with the ol’ Samsung Galaxy (Sidenote; if you wanna get made fun of at a party, or any social gathering for that matter, just blurt out “Hey, does anyone have a Galaxy charger?” because the answer is always no followed by a ten-minute phone condescending session by the guy with the cardigan) is that my phone now has a catalogue of drunken rants, a few blurbs from various trips (not the kind with miles and roads) and general thoughts that I have throughout my days.
Why do I feel like one of you is making fun of me for all the parenthesis so far? Well, get used to it, because semi colons confuse me and just saying the word colon makes me lose my appetite and reminds me of my dad for some weird reason.
SO! Here are the last nine entries in my phone. It’s a highlight reel of creativity and alcohol abuse, mostly just alcohol abuse thinly veiled in a creative manner. Here goes:
“Selma Hayek VS. Penelope Cruz, Susan Sarandon VS. Sigourney Weaver, Taye Diggs VS. Tyrese is a Battle Royale of Who’s Who.”
This one’s pretty self explanatory. Close your eyes. Now, think of Sigourney Weaver. Did you imagine the lady from Alien? Bullshit you thought of fuckin’ Stepmom because Susan Sarandon and Sigourney Weaver are the same person! Same formula works for the other two.
“We all should stop people that at the end of the meal with a cleared plate in front of them go 'Oh well I didn’t like that all! Absolutely hated it.'"
This situation primarily presents itself at chain restaurants and with mothers. Everyone has heard it, and sadly a lot of us, family and friends, have said it. It’s a crime against humor.
“I’m gaining weight.”
Who knew that when you drink enough, you can get very honest/self loathing?
“Download Liquid Dreams by O-Town.”
The fact that I wanted to remember to download this song obviously bums me out. BUT, I believe my intention behind the download was to have the song on me in case the right situation presents itself. What situation calls for "Liquid Dreams," I have no clue. It’s kinda like a delusional young girl’s view on love, when you know you just know.
“I never have to defend myself again for not seeing Annie Hall.”
You know how the old saying goes: one man’s grotesque child molestation allegations are another man’s treasure. Thanks Woody.
“I hate you” and “you’re weird."
If you’re a straight male, then there is no sweeter sound than those words slurred from the mouth of daddy’s biggest regret. It was said to me by a nice young lady who, if my mother ever met would say, as she did during Miley Cyrus’s VMA performance, “We have failed our daughters." It’s drunk girl code, the green light, the conversational jackpot that guarantees a) she in fact DOES NOT hate you, and boy oh boy, is she getting better at sarcasm or what, and b) she doesn’t mean weird, she means FUNNY.
Now, go buy her a whiskey sour even though she thinks whiskey is gross and ask her the one question that seals it: “So are you a Beyonce girl or are you team Riri?” I’ve hated myself and had to swallow a lot of pride to utter that question but it works under the right circumstances.
“If you compiled the ways I have killed spiders in all my days, I’m pretty sure you’d think I was a serial killer.”
I once got a fucked up Snapple fact that said the average human eats like 8 spiders in their sleep during their lifetime. Don’t know if you’ve ever gotten that one, but thanks Snapple for the nightmares! I think it got to me and ever since, I’ve kinda gotten a little dark and intense with my spider slayings. It started with the put-a-glass-over-them-blow-smoke-in-it-watch-‘em-die-slowly move; ya know, the classics. But I think as the body count builds, I’m starting to feel a tinge of guilt.
“If you’re an American guy who loves European soccer, chances are I don’t want to talk to you”
I got nothing against soccer. It is what it is: handsome under 6 feet tall dudes, running around with different cool hairstyles. I get it. But if you’ve come across a Brad or an Evan at a bar who engages you about “The Premier League” run, because he’s gonna be loud, probably a little sweaty and do a whole bunch of name dropping that you will not care about! He’s also the same guy who can’t jerk off anymore unless the Fifa soundtrack is playing softly in the background.
"'Lemme put your panties to the side, Im gonna make you feel alright'" for about thirty seconds until you yell “you’re gonna ruin my underwear” or until friction ruins my ability to wear jeans for the next year.
This obviously was the result of drunk cab ride in which the song “Put your panties to the side” came on, unleashing a drunken rant about how that in no way is cool or fun for anyone. Next there will be songs “Let’s Not Kiss During This” or “I Ain’t Gonna Make Eye Contact With You” or who could forget the timeless classic, “Leave Your Bra on”.
So there you have it, the last nine entries in my phone, none of which I remember actually typing in my phone. God bless you Potluck.
Andy Ottenweller is a social entrepreneur.