It’s Holly

I always leave my iTunes on random at work, so all of us listen to my music (suckers). Almost every day, Cherry Wine comes on by Jermaine Stewart:

… and every time he says “… and drink some Cherry Wine”, I think to my self “Manischewitz?”

Do you think Jermaine n’ them was gettin’ crunk on a Jewish Kosher favorite?

I was debating whether to call this entry “The Real O.C., like, FOR REAL for real”, or simply what it is… “The O.C. for black folk”.

This weekend Patrick and I stayed in Laguna Beach, with plans to go to Catalina on Saturday. Unfortunately, due to weather, we never made it to Catalina (I wasn’t tryin’ to get stuck on an island in the rain), so we just slummed around Laguna for the weekend. We weren’t in the city for an hour before we felt how “white” Laguna Beach is. Some examples…

PCH
The first thing I noticed is how little of the beach you can actually see from Pacific Coast Highway. There are houses right up against the coast, and they (note: and by “they” i mean “the white people”) plant large bushes and build big ass walls to keep their privacy. That’s understood. But dang, can I see some coastline from PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY? I guess not.

Rubys
We end up at Ruby’s Diner for a late dinner, where we sat in the corner of the restaurant overlooking the entire place. We were seated immediately. After waiting for about 5 minutes, a lady from another table comes up to us and says “Have you been helped yet? I’m waiting for my food, they haven’t even given you drinks yet?” Now, Patrick and I weren’t really trippin… but this lady was – real hard. Oh, she’s white (just for reference). So she gets up, all huffy n’ shit, and takes the first waitress she sees by the arm and says “My waitress disappeared, we don’t know where she is, and those people, those people over there ::shaking her index finger at us:: don’t even have drinks yet!”

The waitress explained that a large party came in late (we could see them, they were like, 30 deep, 20 of them kids) and that they had already let most of the waitresses go for the night, hence the slow service. The waitress apologized again. The crazy lady went off and said “You know what, I don’t need to talk to you…” and started walking over to the manager. And, again, said “Where’s my waitress? Those people don’t have drinks yet! ::pointing at us, again::”.

At this point, we decided that she works as a teacher at an inner city school, and she just happens to have a soft spot for the blacks. She just cared SO MUCH about our drinks and that we got good service. Thanks, random white lady. You’re not all the devil.

Chronic Tacos
As we drove up PCH, we kept passing this place called Chronic Tacos. Chronic… and tacos? Like, my two of my favorite things in one place? Heck yes!

Unfortunately, Chronic Tacos was neither the Chronic… nor the Taco. The set up was similar to Chipotle (which I refer to as “clean mexican food”, as opposed to somewhere ending in “-bertos”, which i refer to as “dirty mexican food), where they make the food right in front of you. The only problem is that they were trying to use dirty mexican ingredients in a clean mexican restaurant fashion. No bueno. So, Patrick and I came up with a list of ways to know whether or not you’re in a real taco shop.

1. Rolled tacos must be on the menu, and they MAY NOT be called taquitos.

2. A California Burrito must be on the menu, and it must be referred to as a California Burrito.

3. We’ll let Carne Asada Fries slip, but Nachos does not equal Carne Asada Chips.

4. Real taco shop cooks don’t use gloves to prepare your food, nor should you see them actually preparing your food. If gloves are worn, they’re “part of the uniform”, as Patrick put it… meaning they don’t come off FOR SHIT. You put on the gloves when you get there, and take that same pair off when you leave. The dude at Chronic Tacos was changing his gloves every time he touched something new. Pussy.

5. 3 tacos and a burrito should NOT be $17. Anywhere. Ever. Oh, except at Chronic Tacos.

6. There should be a green salsa and a red salsa. Red salsa must not be “salsa fresa”, or, as it was at Chronic Tacos, “Pace Picante”.

So, they’re trying real hard to be a taco shop, but it’s just not working. The customer service was excellent, but the food just wasn’t on point. He explained to us how the shrimp taco is “baja style”, with cabbage and lime. I’m like, dude, that’s Rubio’s style, and you’re just frontin’. Disappointing. Very, very disappointing, Chronic Tacos.

Overall, Laguna was fun. Well, making fun of some of the white people was real fun. But that’s always fun. There’s just so much material to work with in Laguna!

I really liked Ne-Yo’s last CD. We have a few songs on rotation here at the office. Then I listened to Maxwell’s snippet of Pretty Wings, and realized how absolutely trivial R&B music is right now. I listened to this 1 minute and 36 second snippet on repeat all the way to work today. No matter how many times I listen to it, I find something new… find a new way to listen to it, to decipher it. All I could keep saying after hearing it was “it’s just so pretty”. Take a listen:

Tell me that’s not the shit, yo! I’ll even give you the lyrics:

time will bring the real end of our trial
one day they’ll be no remnants
no trace no residual feelings within you
one day you won’t remember me

your face would be the reason i smile
but i will not see what i cannot have forever
i’ll always love you i hope you feel the same

oh u played me dirty
your game was so bad
you toyed with my affliction had to fill out my prescription
found the remedy i had to set you free

away from me
to see clearly
the way that love can be
when u are not with me
i had to leave, i have to live
i had to lead, i had to live

if i cant have you let love set you free
to fly your pretty wings around
pretty wings your pretty wings
your pretty wings around

I’ve been cooking again. You remember the cupcake kick? Now it’s mac and cheese. Two batches later, and I’m still working on it. First it was too dry, but good flavor. Now it’s a little creamier, but the flavor wasn’t as good. Either way, it looked fantastic.

Today, Natalie brought her Yorkie into the office. Meet Brutus, or as I’ve nicknamed him, Bruticus Maximus:

He’s hella cute.

i’ll leave them nameless and save them the embarrassment.

Holly’s Friend: i think im dying
Holly: it’s probably gas
Holly’s Friend: i had diarrhea this morning
Holly: ooh, it is gas
Holly’s Friend: and felt like i needed to throw up
Holly: stomach gas? hmm

I love music. Y’all know I love music. I love music more than I love most people (except the important people, you know who you are). Ever since I can remember, music has been a very important part of my life, from playing instruments to going to shows. I was thinking back this morning, and I remember in 4th grade we had Show & Tell, and I printed out song lyrics and brought in a tape and made everyone sing along. For the life of me, I can’t remember what song it was, but as soon as I do, I’ll update. On to this week’s Friday Four… long overdue, I know.

1. What’s your theme song?
2. Well, that’s what you think of yourself. What would your closest friends say your theme song is?
3. What song gets stuck in your head? (You just started hearing it in your head, huh? Sorry about that)
4. You’ve died of dysentery. What song is playing when/if we mourn you?

Answer in the comments. I know it’s been a while, but you remember how to do that, right? Right!