Angel Grove Net

i wotreed thisf earliefer tonigte to shared cause you'res gonna wneed it. happy news a year kiddos!

( under thisd cute is avaluable advice, okay? )

American Christmas.

Aka Thanksgiving.

Let's get it straight. It's the day those of you Yanks here celebrate moving to a new land, pretending to make friends with your neighbors, then eradicating the shit out of them? ( WARNING: Politically insensitive and disturbing historical commentary on treatment of Native Populations in the US ) And you celebrate by stuffing yourselves disgustingly, watching people in better shape than you can ever hope to be play 'sports' involving balls but somehow, not your feet, and running the Hell out to the shops to purchase more and more, the day after you celebrate being content with all the crazy shit that you already have?

Yeah, that makes sense. '

Had to do a piece this week about places actually serving the 'traditional' meal in Paris and I was cringing at the end of it, when I thought about everything that goes into the day, so...thought I'd go ahead and share my thoughts a little, air my awful side a bit because I can.

And because the whole thing annoys me, mind.

Let's not forget that bit of it too.

Happy Oppressive Dinner Day!

What's this, how did I get here? It's not logical by human standards. Could be advance tech, alien tech, or magic I have to get back, my friends need me. And apparently people here do too, can occasionally hear someone needing help now And there's a story or two that I need to investigate and write for the paper.

Seems to be a town in America, similar to the city I worked in back home. Guess I can try to fit in til I find a way to get back.

Hey, everybody. I'm here with a not so smug question or assumption as I usually have. There's an actual, genuine problem to be solved here. How in the hell does one make up for sins of the past that were not even committed by you, but by a doppleganger in another reality? Or get someone who blew up at you the last time you tried to post on the internet to realize that they were in the wrong, not you? I'd like the apology that I am owed, but if my so called divine friend would care to step down from his godly, marble pedestal and treat me as the human being I am for even half an hour, I would be happy enough.

Seriously. How DO you get a pretentious asshole to admit that he was wrong, exactly?

Hi Angelnet, My name is R and I'm an alcoholic...

No but seriously. I think I'd like to actually, maybe...look into quitting. How would that go exactly? I think a different group than AA is a good idea for me I've got some objections to the ( standard twelve steps programs I want to talk about (TW: Alcoholism) )

I got a story I wrote published! I am so excited. Maybe I can get my book published too.

Ohhhh my God.

Yesterday was a mistake. A glorious mistake begun at midnight, with only a small bit of the requisite pre-gaming we tend to associate with R and holidays around these parts. My job, after all, only requires that I submit things that are relatively decipherable by deadline and that I avoid public embarrassment associated with the paper itself.

( Mild content warning for R's description of Saint Paddy's hangover experiences. It's about what you'd think honestly. )

A mistake, but not one that I actually regret all that much, in retrospect. More like a fact of life around these parts. I did, however, find out something hilarious that dulls the pain, and seems to be a fairly useful way to spend my time from this point on.

Welcome, then to my new get rich quick venture! . My Queer Industry as they call it, or at least my OTHER Queer Industry that doesn't involve letting people fuck me for cash when I run short. Spiders Grantaire.

There actually ARE a few webs in the flat right now, and a particularly pretty mistress of one that I've named Lottie whom I bonded with in the earlier hours of this morning, in the dark night of my drunken soul when I nearly was too messed up to function properly.

Spiders. Beautiful and glorious spiders. All that I need do now is wait until she's made an egg sac or whatever it was in the cartoon movie with the pig and spider that I've named her after, and to make sure the spiders don't eat too many of each other, and I'll have a lucrative side business worthy of my family name.

And here, my asshole papa told me I'd never amount to anything. But no more. I am now a changed and a new man. This ancestor from the past, and perhaps, Saint Patrick himself, who I always thought was a bit of a pagan murdering ass, has clearly, CLEARLY shown me the way.

My life summarized in my new sweatshirt. Daddy never DID love me and it's all because of math. And being me.

Up for review in the column this week, alcoholic whipped cream, chocolate liquors and YOUR FAVORITE Jello Pudding Shot Contest Recipes as prepared in the shitty test kitchen of my apartment. Happy Valentines Day a few weeks early kids. Let's practice and make plans for seduction now.

Or something along the lines of that shit. Actually, on that note, I'm supposed to review the couple's meal options at a local fondu place this week. Anyone willing to be wined and dined and pretend we're dating instead of the friend option for once. I promise it won't get weird besides the candles and whatever else they drag out.

Answer here or drop an email, I guess?

-R

I find myself really missing Jack home. I really am surprised. I mean, I didn't think I was that attached to my home.

I wish I could still write. I used to write all the time. I liked it. Of course, it's not the same without Jo to read them, but still.

Sooooo.... First and foremost, congratulations all of us on getting through to the start of the Giftmas season with no permanent casualties and seven weeks of long and boring cliches to tide us over until we're giving each other fruitcakes we don't eat, and shitty presents we'll return or re-gift at the first opportunity.

Now that there are no more holidays til December, I've got a problem to run past you, interent, and you just might be my solution!

You know how in the industry, they like to push out new product early, and get it promoted early and that means that about half a season in, reviewers get completely sick and tired of all the wonderful new seasonal shit they've trotted out.

( ((trigger warning for off color joke about suicide. Not cut for characters who read)) )

Drunken Giftmas media rant aside, although I'm working on a better one that might actually make editorial, and cutting to the chase, seasonal shit. The industry likes things to get out early, send over a shit ton of samples I can't actually finish because if I so much look at anything pumpkin flavored until next Fall(of man), I seriously will flip out on someone, and I've got a stash of every kind of pumpkin alcohol known to man. These range from good to bad, to mildly in between, but I can't drink any more of them. At all.

Since you're the people who found me dining partners for my on the street reviews, I figure you can help me out again, if you're interested. Please come and take my pumpkin beer, and pumpkin mead and pumpkin vodka and infused rum, and fuck all knows what else, since I've lost trace. I'd offer to have some kind of bizarre post season pumpkin party, but it's probably a little late for that. If I start getting peppermint booze other than schnapps we'll talk about it.

Anyway, for the moment, let me know if you want to take this stuff off of my hands, and I'll be really grateful, though if you're below 18, and don't have a real looking fake ID, I can't give you any. Legal ones though? Take as much as you want, seriously. Let me know, and I'll get you coordinates.

Awkward network question, but does anybody want a date, or, a series of dates, or as one of those things where we hastily let everyone know we're friends, not dating, if you're really uncomfortable with the whole issue of "looking gay"? ...Actually come to think of it, I'm not all that thrilled to take out any bigoted assholes so let's scratch the last part.

See, I've gotten a couple gigs reviewing, and it's all a little too suspicious if I'm sitting there alone. I mean, I COULD just be the kind of loser who heads to restaurants alone, but it also means I'm limited in what I order, or I just look sad and pathetic.

While I AM actually sad and pathetic, I really hate for complete strangers to notice that without even taking time to confirm their suspicions. I'm really, really okay with being a disappointment, but it's the kind of disappointment I usually like to string somebody along into finding out, really gradually. Sometimes I'm even allowed to stick around as the depressing asshole friend who gets pity invites to shit.

I'd sort of like to keep it on those terms if any of you are okay with that.

So, that.

That was a thing.

Does anybody else feel like the entirety of this network should get together somewhere and have some kind of 'Thank Fuck I Am Alive' party? Because I'm thinking we should hit up somewhere decent, I don't know what there IS decent out here that's not some kind of gimmicky chain place with no soul, but whoever suggests the best place possible gets to have me pick up their tab. I'd do you all, but I don't actually have the euros to rub together for more than dinner and drinks for me and for one lucky lucky person who can find me somewhere genuine to get a decent meal. Still, the rest of you are definitely invited to join in.

We'll sit for hours, trade horror stories, play Cards Against Humanity and I don't know, shoot the breeze a little. Caveat: If you're under about sixteen and look it, I'm not going to be able to buy you actual drinks, but over that, it shouldn't be an actual problem.

So, uh, suggest a place, then, yeah?

Okay. So. What felonies have I missed out on whilst I was slumbering? I mean to that end, what the fuck's actually going ON? I mean, this can't all be hangover, can it?

Please advise.

Hi! My name is R and I'm an alcoholi...wait, wrong meeting there.


So one minute you're staggering out of the Musain toilets, and the next you're walking into somewhere completely new. I've woken up in a few places that I didn't remember going, sure, blacked out a lot of shit in my day, but after a couple bloody marys and my brain getting back to its usual fuzzy haze instead of the David After Dentist moment, I've got to conclude this place IS real life, and that I'm probably fucked as well as everything else goes.

A whole new world to inject with my personal brand of fail. Yeah, that oughta be a lot of fun. You all can experience the hell that is my mundanity (it's a word now, it's happening), same way all of my social justice warrior friends at home have done. Aren't you a lucky city, Angel Grove? I feel like I should throw myself an ironic parade instead of announcing the glory of my presence has arrived. I don't know, does this world have those foam fingers I could wear as I'm driven through main street, smell of horse shit fresh in the air from the group a couple floats ahead of me? Maybe all of you should actually get on that. Welcome me and love me as the ascended being from another world of shitty dives and decent upscale cafes I am.

All bullshit aside, I've had worse in the way of living situations than this, I guess. Probably a lot worse if you count the condemned House of Bros I got myself stuck in in my last year of college, and you can call me R. That's aire to all of you non French speakers out there, because yes, I'm coming at you straight from the glittering metropolitan, bourgeois ridden, shitty king (but decent guy besides the throne, I've gotta say. I'd hang out with him at a barbecue or something)ruled hell of modern Paris.

Properly, I'm Grantaire, but I've never done well with propriety honestly, since it seems to mean sitting down and shutting up and pretending that I'm not as think as people drunk I am. All of which is pretty hard to do on any kind of normal basis, so I go with R. Grantaire. Full of Grand Air, I don't have such Grand Hair, my existence in this world is ultimately some kind of Grand Error I'm way too lazy to bother changing now.

I like pina coladas, brandy, absinthe, wine that doesn't come in boxes or with screwtop lids, food, and generally being a nihilistic pain in someone's ass. Maybe I could be yours. I do come in models preferable for both men and women, though I've been laying off the ladies these days, really.

Actually, there is something that all of you here can do for me. What's your favorite place to eat, your favorite bar, and favorite clubs? Let's just say I've got reasons, and I'll leave you with that thought.