…courtesy of that weird site Blingee. I just discovered this today and was messing around with it, but I like this look for us.
Everyone knows that Liz and Laura are fans of the drink, but how did their unholy fascination with alcohol begin?
Let us take a look into the not so distant past…
The first time Liz got faced was a magical day. She was on an overnight train traveling from Moscow to St. Petersburg, a fabulous leg of her high school class trip to Europe. She and a few other innocent friends were politely playing Parcheesi in their car as the train teetered along, when suddenly there came a knock at the door. ‘Twas the drink cart, and in this beautiful land the word “minor” didn’t exist. Cans of champagne were ordered, and soon the innocent ride through the night turned into a party train, Russian style. Let’s just say that Liz and her gang of cut-ups shockingly were not the only high school students who took advantage of such an opportunity. Liz still speaks fondly of stumbling down the narrow, already wobbly hallway to the tiny bathroom at the end of the car and thinking to herself “This is the greatest thing I have ever experienced.”
As for Laura, she and Liz went out to a “my parents are out of town so let’s drink in their house” party, and as it was Halloween she was all gussied up in a Goddess costume. After much dancing, giggling, and innocent high school flirting, Laura partook in one too may shots of Popov and suddenly grasped at her stomach in confused pain. “Yer gonna vom!” Liz declared in terror and hastily headed her pal toward the safety of outside…but alas, Laura couldn’t make it out the doorway before the fury let loose. So there in front of half her class, little Laura had her first drunken puke in their friend’s doorway. A picture of this very night, costume and all, somehow ended up in our senior yearbook.
And so we carry on thusly, liver damage be damned!
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the city,
New Yorkers were searching for restaurants non-shitty.
Liz and Laura were nestled all cozy in Brooklyn,
Their christmas Totinos all ready for cookin’.
Liz in her muumuu and Laura a nightie
Were settling down in their rooms after “Evan Almighty.”
“Why, Steve Carell, why?” they murmured while sleeping,
Dreaming of all the free gifts they’d be reaping.
When all of a sudden, they each woke with a start!
A noise they had heard, and not just a night fart.
There was some kind of psychopath up on the roof,
A burgler they thought, though they hadn’t any proof.
Then Liz and Laura saw something amazing!
Their neighbor had run outside, shotgun a’blazing!
“Take that, and take that!” he shouted with fervor.
“We here in Brooklyn don’t take kindly to perverts.”
Did the neighbor kill Santa? Did Christmas he steal?
Why no, little children, because Santa ain’t real.
So to you, our dear readers, we wish yuletide cheer,
Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good beer!
We now present the third and final chapter of our harrowing tale!
After our delightful stay in Paris, we boarded the EuroStar train for an exciting ride through the chunnel. Oddly enough, we never noticed going through an actual tunnel. We did, however, notice the cocktail menu. And this funny sign.
You’d think they’d want to leave the first aid kit by the disabled bathroom.
It seemed like we were barely into our second round of drinks before the conductor announced we’d arrived at our destination…
As we exclaimed “Big Ben!” “Parliament!” over and over again, we knew this rainy city was full of famous sights.
And so did our high school friend David. It wasn’t long before Liz and David started drunken fisticuffs with the locals. Laura took bets.
We ascended a lofty tower to gain a better view of our surroundings. Our rainy surroundings. In fact, it barely stopped raining the whole time we were in London. It had been sunny for a few days when we were in Cambridge, and we quickly found that that scant scattering of non-rain-filled days were a hot topic of conversation, since it was the first nice weather of the summer. London is kind of like Seattle that way. Except they like tea instead of coffee. And there aren’t so many damn dirty hippies.
While we were walking through London’s quaint streets and back alleys, we passed what looked like a lovely, non-cult-related building. But the L. Ron Hubbard posters in the window and the sign over the door said otherwise.
Check out how the guy inside is looking suspiciously at us. This led Liz to make a most important phonecall. “This just in! England is funny”
We started to run low on funds, so we took a job as British guards. We weren’t so strict about smiling or laughing though…or drinking on the job…or being British.
They had these weird public port-o-potties on the street. They had literally no privacy…your privates are the world’s entertainment when you use these things. David refused to pose in it so Laura had to cowboy up and pose like a drunken London bloke.
While paying full respect to the sacred institution of being an important guard guy, we also had equally welling within us the desire to get that essential tourist photo of us with a stern Englishman. At least we said thank you, which is more than most of the bloated American tourists had the sense to do. It’s not like these guards are deaf, or robots, or deafbots. They just have an institution to uphold. And I’ll bet they know how to party.
And so my friends, our trip came to an end. We experienced a bit of culture. We consumed, we stereotyped, we drank. Then we went back to the sweet beckoning shine of America and ye olde NYC skyline, a little bit older, a little bit wiser…and a whole lot hungover…er, worldly.
The adventure continues!
After a peaceful few days in the English countryside, we were ready to stir things up. And we knew precisely where to go to do it…
Paris! (cue accordion and smoke machine)
We managed to find a fantastic deal on a nice hotel in the Montparnasse area. Check out our sweet courtyard view.
Entirely free of both gypsies and the vertically challenged, the Notre Dame Cathedral was splendid indeed, and super gothic. It was funny to see people hanging around lazily while such an historic, stunning thing towered in the background. That, and the ever-looming threat of pigeon splatter.
There sure are a lot of churches in Europe, huh? I think this religion thing might be catching on.
Next we trotted on over to one of Paris’ many impeccably manicured parks. Not only a place to lounge with your peeps or stroll with your sweetie, these gorgeous expanses also provide spots for the display of fine art, which we appreciated wholly.
And speaking of public programs, look at them fancy city bikes they have for rent! Just swipe your card, load your baguette and wine into the handy basket, and pedal off to Convenienceville! We pondered the reasons why our fine city doesn’t offer such services, and decided it was poor funding, and bum urine.
Next stop, the Musée d’Orsay! Both having attended the Louvre on previous visits, we opted for this smaller but equally fantastic mecca of Impressionism, housed in a stunning former train station. We saw more than a few paintings that were, like, famous.
“I get it!”
After a long night of baguette-, brie- and booze-filled revelry, the following day found us at the Centre Georges Pompidou, that awesome-looking contemporary art dealy. They wouldn’t let Liz in because she had a pint of brandy in her bag, but it sure did look kickass from the outside.
A stop at the Virgin Megastore on the fabulous Champs-Élysées proved hilarious as we noticed something peculiar about their DVD packaging.
“Les Griffin”! Makes it sound right dignified.
But in order to truly understand how the French live, we made our way to a certain structure known as the Eiffel Tower. Another fancy park surrounds the thing, so there was plenty of room for the taking of wacky pictures.
This one, just, wow.
Before facing the millions of stairs to the top for the view of all views, we took a moment to rest our weary feet and contemplate the awesomeness of friendship and concealed flasks.
Oddly enough, although we’d soberly passed by dozens of people drinking legally in public, this was one of the few places we really stopped to swig off our brandy, and as soon as we leave the park, we notice the giant “no drinking” sign. Good thing we didn’t get harassed by a sassy French cop. As the crazy bum in the train station ranted at us, “Merde!”
And then we took the elevator. Stairs are for suckers.
Thank goodness for this helpful sign, because way up there the urge to destroy our expensive cameras grew quite strong. There was, however, no danger of us wasting our ice cream.
We did such a good job of being tourists!
As the sun went down in the city of lights, we noticed a most unsettling sight. At first the Eiffel Tower was just lit a somewhat gaudy shade of blue. Not so bad. But then it started beaming a huge searchlight around, and all of a sudden, disco fever overtook the massive structure as it convulsed with glittering white lights. Hideous!
After three days of Parisian fun, we had to say au revoir. It was time to move on to our final destination…