Guys, I found Liz’s picture!!! I forgot I’d snapped it in my Snapchat camera, and saved it to “Memories” but I a) was buzzed and forgot, and b) don’t really know how to use Snapchat, so I didn’t recall.
Then… one recent sleepless night, dinking around on my phone….
THERE SHE WAS.
And now she (AND LARRY) have been documented forever.
Well played, Bev. Well played.
-Bev
Guys, it was a bit of a rough weekend around here (you know the ones- when you go to a baseball game Friday night, and don’t eat dinner, then head to brunch at 11am on Saturday, are close to puking in the brunch parking lot, then get a heavy buzz of two mimosas, and end up on a patio, and your total day comes out at 12+ hours of drinking. Consequently, on Sunday, you stumble your hungover ass to the gourmet grocery store around the corner from your house, and weave your way in and out of the post-church Mother’s Day grilling contingent. They’re picking out cuts of beef and you’re just sweating [Silver] Bullets and trying not to puke on anyone’s shoes as you pay for your mac and cheese. One of those weekends.)
So, I woke up feeling like a goddamn raisin (#dehydration), but not hungover today. Had a healthy breakfast and lunch, drank copious amounts of water, and am now roasting a huge pan of veggies with a chicken breast. I even put on a face mask this week.
I think I’ll probably wake up looking like Kim tomorrow.
-Bev
P.S.- Because why the hell not?
YouTube Credit: Tiny Goodbites
I just wanted to check in today with a quick shoutout to MamaG (and all the other moms out there). You know, MamaG… the one who told me to “get my money’s worth!” at my all-inclusive last week. The one who, upon finding out I had just met a guy who works for Miller-Coors in Georgia, urged me to “give him a Bev card!” so that I can become famous and take many more all-inclusive Mexican vacations.
Thanks for the support, MamaG! Enjoy your new mini steamer! I didn’t have any Bev cards with me for my new Miller-Coors friend, but when Bev strikes it rich, we’ll upgrade ya to the Cadillac of steamers!
-Bev
Spring seems to have officially sprung, which means I’m retiring my black leather bag for a few months, and loading my wallet, keys, Motrin, and asinine amount of mint Chapstick into my spring bag.
To match the season, you’re probably thinking. No. Because I’m going to a baseball game tonight, and my spring bag has a hole in the lining, and I can sneak cans and mini bottles in there, and they don’t get caught in security, and then I can just buy one overpriced drink at the game before I reach into my magic Mary Poppins bag and refill the ball park’s receptacle to my liver’s delight.
Remember this one, guys. Trust me.
If there’s one thing I teach you, let it be this one. Please.
-Bev
I really didn’t meet or talk to many people on the trip (Bev is kinda known for striking up drunken conversations, but I really felt like keeping to myself this trip…), but I sure met one gem. She strolled up to me at one of the many bars, as I was chillin’ with an ice-cold Dos Equis. I honestly can’t even remember how she started the conversation, but it was one of those sneaky ploys where someone is kind of talking to him/herself, and then, all of a sudden, they’re talking to you. Maybe you’re responding and maybe you’re not, but they’ve gotten your attention (and often, killed your buzz). Well, that’s what happened with ol’ Liz from Toronto. She was honestly one of the most odd people I’ve ever met (goddamn Canadians), and I’m not sure I can portray her here. I’ll do my best to just give you the anecdotal notes, via the quotes I recorded in my Notes app. (Bev’s thoughts and quotes are in pink. I really hope you would be able to figure that out, but to be clear…)
AH! Yes! I just remembered how she sucked me into her vortex of crazy…
“You need a nose stick.”
“Uh… wha…” (not even sure I got that out)
“We’ve seen so many young girls with their noses just….” (gesturing to her nose)
“Oh… is… is my nose burnt?” (knowing full and goddamn well it wasn’t)
“No.”
…
“Larry, would you show this young woman the nose stick?”
Liz’s husband, Larry, pulls a stick of sunscreen out of his fanny pack. Bev acts like he’s displaying the Hope Diamond while Liz babbles on.
(Liz notices Bev’s dollar tucked under her Dos Equis) “Oh, you’re organized. You’ve got your dollar bills. Some people that came this year, they didn’t even know that. So we wrote a nice big thing for ’em.” (This sentence doesn’t even really make sense, but this is what she said- verbatim- because I was literally just typing shit into my notes as she was talking. I will say, I’d love to read Liz’s Trip Advisor review [I assume this is what she means by “a nice big thing for ’em” but we’ll never know, guys.])
“They won’t serve me. I’m a woman. You probably know how that feels.”
“Oh… no. I’ve had great service the whole time I’ve been here.” (I mean, come on, Liz- Mexico is known for a lot of shit, but I’m not sure that treating women poorly is one of them.) Within minutes, Bev has a fresh Dos Equis without having given any kind of signal to bartender- take that, Liz! And thanks, Enrique!
“Well, I can’t even pronounce this one. How could I drink it?” Please leave.
“Do you have a banana drink?” (after she looked at the menu for at least five minutes) “A banana drink without alcohol?” Please leave. “My doctor warned me. But then my pharmacist warned me, I thought, oh, this must be serious!” Oh, because I totally asked, Liz!
Liz’s drink is coming, and Bev is counting down the seconds until the old broad walks away. “Oh there it is. There’s my Beachcomber.” Oh, dear God. She ordered a virgin Beachcomber. Am I back on the frickin’ kids’ side?!?!?!
“Well, Beverly, maybe we’ll see you again. We’re over there by the pools. Oh, yeah, in the Hideaway area. We’re by the pools.” Super descriptive at an all-inclusive resort in Mexico, Liz! I’ll see you there for happy hour.
Jesus.
-Bev
I’ve been at my resort for nearly 24 hours now, and I wanted to give you all an update. (AKA: I wanted to let MamaG, Nan, and Ardith know I’m alive because I know they’re all waiting for news of my beheading).
First of all, I had some good luck on my flight. The couple next to me was packing heat in the form of 6-8 mini bottles of Smirnoff, and offered me one should I need. I certainly considered buying one of Frontier’s drink “specials” where you get two adult drinks and a mixer for $16. I planned to get two Silver Bullets and whatever they wanted for a mixer, in hopes of a shooter in exchange. (Yes, I put vodka in my beer. That’s another post.) Then I decided to go rogue, save myself $3, and just get the 2 adult beverages for $13. I even changed up my order to include a Silver Bullet and a pear cider, because I am classy, guys. Well, this turned out to be a very positive decision, because my pear cider wouldn’t open. Like, I pulled the tab, but the little button didn’t enter my drink, creating the hole from which I drink. (This probably makes no sense but I’ve been drinking, and who would’ve ever thought describing the components of a can would be so technical?) Anyway, I alerted my flight attendant, to which I was given another and told, “I’ll let you keep it if you can open it.” I replied, “Challenge accepted,” and immediately asked my vodka-carrying friends to my right for tips. Husband got that baby open for me, and I accidentally (but on purpose) enjoyed 3 drinks en route. Note: this became slightly problematic when we encountered “some bumps” and I wanted to throw a Xannie down the hatch, but thought against it with the 3 drinks. This is probably one of the smartest things I have ever done. Literally. (MamaG, Nan, and Ardith are all breathing sighs of relief right now).
Fast forward to arriving at resort after a short ride in a van from the airport, being greeted with a glass of champagne as I stepped off the van, and the bubbly hasn’t stopped since. I was extremely tired last night and after a kick-ass dinner of scallops and mini baked potatoes, followed by a few more glasses of champs at the “poolside champagne party” hosted by the resort, I turned in pretty early, as my life is basically a poolside champagne party, and I didn’t have any FOMO. (MamaG, Nan, and Ardith are breathing again)
This morning, I woke up pretty early, and was at breakfast by 8:30. Actually a little later than I would’ve been, because as I was preparing my little beach bag, I realized that I lost my headphones (4 beers, 8ish glasses of champagne, and going 8 hours without eating will do that to ya…). After checking the two places I had been yesterday with no luck, I sat down for some eggs, fruit, and orange juice…. and… like 10 other things when I realized it was another buffet after I’d already ordered… but that’s beside the point.
Moral of the story is that I had my ass parked on a beach bed by 9:15am, and it was only a matter of time before the beach bar (less than 10 feet away) opened. Life was (pretty) good. You see, I downloaded like 4 audiobooks and a bunch of podcasts, planning on that being my entertainment for my beach days. Until I lost my headphones. But life was still pretty awesome. I spent my morning bouncing around pretty much any type of beach lounge chair available. Beach bed with a cover if I needed it? Sat there. Chaise in full sun a stone’s throw from the water? Sat there. Swim-up barstool? Sat there. My own swim-out pool? Sat (more like stood) there. Lounger just above the pool water, so I could dip my feet in if I wanted to? Sat there.
Headed back to my room for a slight sun break (I’m being very strategic about getting the best tan possible but no burn. Literal scientist right now, y’all). AND THEN I FOUND MY HEADPHONES.
High on life, and headphones in tow, I headed out to try another restaurant for lunch (as you may have noticed, I am trying to see and experience all that I paid for). This particular excursion took me to the family section of the resort where I hadn’t been yet… You see ol’ Bevvy G here paid for the adults only section (thank God) and when I arrived at the new restaurant there was a group of people there asking for a passport that had been lost the night before. That made me feel really, really good about the fact that I had only lost (and found) my $20 headphones (EVERYONE KNOCK ON WOOD). (Note: my passport and important paperwork are locked on my safe, guys. [cue MamaG, Nan, and Ardith breathing again]).
I’ll leave you with a few thoughts and observations as a singleton on vaca in Cancun:
*teenage girl gangs are way more terrifying than large groups of adults. I haven’t felt uncomfortable or intimidated at all on this trip until I came to the family side and saw all these little packs of pre-pubescent girls in their braces and bikinis. I nearly jumped in the pool and out of their way, because a) I’m afraid of them, and b) they couldn’t be bothered to look up from their devices to see my fat ass in front of them. Ya know what, ladies? You have fun in the midst of your frog slides and mushroom sprinklers, and as soon as I finish a few glasses of champagne and some beef carpaccio, I’ll get the hell back to the adults-only area, OK? (And yes, I’ll sneak you in for 100USD apiece. Contact me here.)
*apparently, traveling singletons are more rare than my beef carpaccio, because I have been accosted like I’m smuggling in 50kilos of coke everywhere I’ve been. Just you? You aren’t with anyone else? Are you here for a wedding? Are you joining someone? And the list goes on. People: I am here alone. Now, if you could leave me alone (sans taking/bringing my food and drink orders), that would be fabulous.
OK, guys, I gotta post this and get outta here. I literally think they’re having a swimsuit competition right now (yes, on the fam side), and I’m almost certain I’ve drained them of champagne. Adults only section calls.
-Bev
P.S. Please forgive any typos or weird font, etc. in this post- I have done all of it on my phone. Also please google the scene in Bridesmaids when Kristen Wiig gets in a fight with the teenager at the jewelry store… Because that’s me with these teen gangs.
Instructor: “Does anyone have any injuries that I need to know about?”
Me: “I just ate 5 mini cinnamon rolls…
That totally counts.”
-Bev
YouTube credit: dbchristensen
Now, where did we leave this story? Oh, yes! With Smoke in the middle of our yard, pantsless! (note: he had a flashlight, not a gun. Totally less exciting.)
Anyway, after determining that he, MamaG, and Maude were in no immediate danger (and after snagging the license plate number), Smoke headed back into the house to call the cops. After making the report of the suspicious vehicle, he was asked to stay on the line with the dispatcher until police arrived. Please remember, this is essentially in the middle of nowhere, so this is no five-minute wait/conversation. So, now, it’s 3 or 4 a.m. and he’s standing in the dark kitchen, making small talk with a 911 dispatcher (presumably still pantsless).
Smoke: Where are you from?
Dispatcher: Willis.
Smoke: Oh, my niece and nephew went to school there, etc. I thought you must’ve been from the south because you said, “y’all” (turns out, she did live in Texas for a while).
Then, when the small talk ran out, Smoke broke out the big guns (big flashlights?). Being the good small-town citizen that he is, he tried to get the dispatcher to tell him the quasi-trespasser’s name (she had it pulled up from the license plate number). Clearly, the dispatcher can’t do that, but Smoke talked her into letting him play a new game- a unique mix of Who’s Who and 20 questions, and was able to figure out that the perpetrator is!!
Their over-served neighbor.1
Eventually, the cops showed up. Due to the fact that Smoke and MamaG live so far from the “cop shop” and the cops didn’t think the man would “blow” after the drive there, they allowed the inebriated man to drive the short distance home.
Which is fortuitous (one of Smoke’s favorite words).
So there you have it. It was the neighbor. With the BAC. At the gas barrel. (No harm, no foul, man… #MayberryMania)
-Bev
1Yes, Smoke and MamaG know 80% of the entire town of Mayberry, and 99% of their close neighbors. Not this one, as he recently moved in. Ya know, when Kenny and Linda moved off the farm.
Fawn’s husband is out of town for the week, and they recently moved into a new house, and she wasn’t super wild about staying there all alone. So, doing what any other red-blooded (scared) American woman would do in this circumstance: she called in her muscle… Fawn and Brawny Bev are having a week-long sleepover, and I kind of couldn’t be more excited. We’re going to watch Big Little Lies (Bev don’t have HBO, y’all), drink wine, make dinner, and I’m going to practice French and Dutch braids on Fawn’s hair, as I’d like to be able to braid my hair for my upcoming Bevsico trip, because my topknot won’t fit under my sun hat. And, no, I promise we aren’t carrying on a secret lesbian relationship. We’re just two ladies in our mid-thirties, hanging out. Totally normal, guys!
Anyhoo, Merle and Fawn’s recent move brought them really close to Bev’s house (yay), and I am in the midst of packing for Cancun, so I am most likely just going to wake up at Fawn’s and then come home to get ready in the mornings. This means I’m really only bringing the bare essentials with me each night to Fawn’s… arriving in my PJs with a little Nordstrom bag of my nightly necessities. What are those nightly necessities, you ask? Well…
*1 toothbrush
*1 retainer
*1 half-to-full bottle of wine, depending on the evening
*1 plantar fasciitis boot
*1 iPhone charger
*1 sleep mask
*2 Xanax that Fawn and I are going to try recreationally before I potentially pop one on any upcoming turbulent flights
*hand cream
*Chapstick
Her new neighbors are so impressed.
-Bev
It’s been a while since we’ve had a good Smoke story, hasn’t it? Well, brace yourselves, because I have a good Smoke story.
A few weeks ago, MamaG got up in the middle of the night, as she couldn’t sleep (a regular occurrence in the Goldenstein home). She walked through her pitch black house to the kitchen to get a glass of water when she noticed a strange pickup parked at the gas barrel in our yard1 (you probably want to check out that footnote). MamaG was obviously spooked, as this was between 3 and 4 a.m. and she didn’t recognize the vehicle. She crept back through the dark house to fire up ol’ Smokey G, who, I can only assume, was sound asleep and snoring like a legitimate goddamn freight train. Once she got Smoke into a lucid state, they both walked back out into the kitchen to check out the strange vehicle. There didn’t appear to be any activity or person moving about, but ol’ Guess Who wanted to go check things out and make sure there wasn’t someone out there stealing gas2.
As you probably know by now, (maybe from the original Smoke Goldenstein post) Smokey G isn’t one for pajamas. One would think that he would put on pants in order to walk across his yard toward a potentially dangerous situation. One would be wrong. One might also predict that he would have the wherewithal to put on matching shoes. Again, one would be misguided.
If you know Smoke well, you can literally picture him inching across our (very wide open) yard, in a black Carhartt hoodie and his whitie tighties, wearing two different boots (one “work”, one cowboy, if I remember correctly), carrying a shotgun.
If you don’t know Smoke well, I feel like you still don’t have a hard time with the visual.
Now, I am going to leave you with a little cliffhanger here folks. I want you to know that Smoke and MamaG (and Maude, who happened to be there for the night) are all alive and well. Nothing was taken from them, and the situation has been resolved. Which, as you may or may not have already assumed, is a whoooooooole other story.
Check back in the next few days for the conclusion to this Mayberry mystery!
-Bev
1People have gas barrels in their yards. They’re called farmers. It’s the best thing ever, and I didn’t know how to run a real gas pump (like, at a station) very well until college. Obviously, the gas barrels are there for farm equipment (and teenage daughters driving the entire tri-county area because there’s nothing else to do… Driving. Just driving. No funny stuff…), and are not uncommon at all across the midwest. Smoke and MamaG’s house happens to be on a “highway” and the gas barrel is literally a stone’s throw away from it, so there is always the concern that greedy passerby may stop and try to smuggle some fuel. I believe this has actually happened on occasion- True? Smoke? MamaG?
2Don’t worry though, guys. It’s not like these drivers can just pull up, flip the handle, and fill their tanks. Ohhhhhh no! Smoke’s got a system out there. I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you. But there’s a system, man. #SecretSwitches