Beer me.

Years ago, I casually made a comment on the bitterness of a beer, and now my friends think I’m an expert.  Anytime we go out, I’m the go-to person for beer recommendations. It’s fine though – I’d rather be the person with beer advice than life advice. Like I can help you choose a beer, but for the love of God, please don’t make me think about a real problem you have. The last time I gave life advice a a tiger escaped from the Zoo.

I may possess the most beer knowledge in my friend group, but I’m nowhere near expert status. This past weekend I met a real expert, a certified Cicerone, which is the beer equivalent of a Sommelier. I enjoyed talking with her about beer whilst drinking beer, weaving in what little knowledge I have about beer into the conversation. So today, after doing some important work, I decided to write. And after typing out 400 words about my favorite Thanksgiving tradition (watching all the Friends Thanksgiving episodes), I recalled the conversation with my new friend and decided to kill that post and write about beer instead. Below is a picture of me with a lot of beer bottles. Would someone who doesn’t like beer allow so much beer to be near them? No! I really like beer.

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College was dope

Jack Nicholson was once quoted saying “Beer is the best damn drink in the world.” I would have to agree with my close friend Jack, I’m a fan of beer too. We’re not alone either, as beer is the third most consumed drink, behind water (okay but of course) and tea (GTFO, tea).

Beer is old as fuck. You think PBR is old, well you’re soooo wrong. Humans have been brewing and drinking beer for over 5000 years. If you think about it, PBR is like a new beer when you consider how long beer’s been around. The world’s oldest brewery, Weihenstephan Abbey, is located in Bavaria, Germany and has been in business since 1040! Here’s a to-scale image of one of their beers. Maybe you’ve had it? Or maybe you only drink light beer…in which case, bye.

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She spoke very highly of the brewery, and even took out her phone to show me pictures. It took her a while to find it, but she really wanted to show me. I told her I wanted to tour the Half Acre Brewery in Irving Park, and she told me to skip it and go to Dovetail instead. I said okay, because she was starting to intimidate me. I told her I’d heard of Dovetail, but thought they were small. But much like the time I thought my freshman year roommate was stealing my clothes, I was wrong. Dovetail is actually bigger than I thought. Their tours take 90 minutes, so that must mean it’s big, right?

Anyway, that’s all I have for you today. I’m off to the suburbs to enjoy Thanksgiving with family. Last Thanksgiving I got so drunk I came home and ate an entire container of tuna salad. It was enough to make at least three sandwiches. This year I’m not going to do that.

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12.22.1990

My birthday is 43 days away but who’s counting? My mom, most likely. And Facebook of course. I’m not counting, but I just did the math and 43 is the number of days until my birthday. The thing is, I actually don’t see it as “days until” I see it as “days left,” meaning I have 43 days left in my 27th year or as some people who like to pretend to like science say, it will be my 28th “trip around the sun.” 43 days left being 27 also means 43 days left to match with as many 26-year-old men on dating apps because on December 22nd when I turn 28, I will adjust my age range from 26-32 to 27-33. It’s going to be really sad, but rules are rules, so if you’re a 26-year-old male living in the metro Chicago area, surrounding suburbs and pockets of Wisconsin, you have 43 days to match with me. May the odds be ever in your favor. On the bright side, I’m looking forward to seeing less pictures of guys in frat tee’s. Oh, that never stops? Cool.

My mom was very pregnant with me when she was my age. She had been married two years, but I was not planned. I was an accident or a “surprise” as my mom has repeatedly asked me to call it. I know this because I read her diary…it was in plain sight, what was I supposed to do, NOT read it?  There were a few entries about traveling to Europe and then an entry about being pregnant and then no more talk of Europe. That’s how I deduced I was an accident, er surprise.

I’m not pregnant like my mom was at my age, but sometimes I imagine myself 9 months pregnant using my belly as a table for eating and I chuckle. And then I take a giant gulp of wine from the bottle and chase that with a hit from a bong named Susan. I don’t really have a bong, but if I did I’d call it Susan. So I won’t be with child on my 28th birthday; instead I’ll be “with hangover” from a birthday celebration that will likely continue into the late evening hours. Maybe even past midnight. You’re all invited.

The reason I started writing this post is because I wanted to share a video my mom sent of me opening a boom box on my eighth birthday. But then I started going into being an accident child. Tangents are my specialty. Tangents and spelling. Anyway, my eighth birthday was the happiest day of life because I received the most beautiful boombox. My mom captured it all on tape and I’m glad she did because now whenever I’m sad I can watch it and remember that one day 20 years ago I was just a kid in pigtails on her birthday opening a boombox and loving every minute. Eventually that same boom box, the one that brought me so much joy, ended up selling for 20 dollars at a garage sale. The saddest part about losing that beauty first generation AIWA Boombox Stereo? I left my Ashlee Simpson CD inside it. Sad, I know.

 

 

 

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Halloweeeeeen!

I’m not a good blogger, but I can still do “the worm”, so who cares? This will be my second post in two weeks, and although I’m publishing a Halloween themed post a day after Halloween, it still counts. Rome wasn’t built in a day. It took many days, in fact I think it took several weeks. Anyway, the bottom line is I’m trying. Read on for some chilling insights on Halloween from your favorite witch.

“Halloween is a fun holiday.” This is one of very few statements that the right and left agree on. A couple others are “Reading is good” and “It was weird when Joey and Rachel dated on Friends.” Halloween isn’t tied to any religion, it’s just good old fashioned fun, like a wheel barrow race or a Shawn Mendes concert. Some fun things about the holiday include:

  1. Tricks
  2. Treats
  3. Costumes (I.E. Witch, Ghost, Guy Fieri)
  4. Pet costumes
  5. Scary movies
  6. Pumpkins!

The week of Halloween is great because you can eat six candy bars in one day and no one will say anything, because you’re participating in the holiday through mass candy consumption. So hell yea, give me a break, give me a break, break me off a piece of that Kit Kat Bar x 6. This year I indulged in at least one piece of the following candies: snickers, twix, peppermint patty, kit kat, almond joy (this is basically a super food cause it contains almonds and coconut), reeses, and M&M’s. All other candy is trash. You’ll notice butterfingers were not on that list. There’s a reason for that. One year – it’s irrelevant how recent – I ate like five butterfingers in the span of 20 minutes. Now I can’t look at them without getting nauseous. You’ll also notice three musketeers was missing from my list, and that’s because three musketeers are trash. We have a bowl of candy at the office and we replenish it every day and without fail, by the end of the day it’s just a big pile of three musketeers. A big pile of trash.

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Halloween gives normal people a reason to dress their dogs (and cats) in ridiculous costumes. Weird people dress their pets up all the damn time. Stop that. Some of my favorite dog costumes from this year include a hot dog, a sushi roll, and any costume that makes it appear as though the dog is standing upright on it’s two front legs. Trump can threaten us all he wants, and he can Tweet like a dumbass all day long, but he cannot take away our freedom to dress our pets up.

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I was so excited for Halloween that I decided to celebrate four days before it, on Saturday. I was Miss Lippy from Billy Madison and wore a long denim dress and my hair in pig tails. I got hit on zero times. My friends and I went out to do karaoke to celebrate Halloween and our friend Abby’s birthday. Abby had the best costume by far. Her mom made it, so it’s one of a kind. She was a rotisserie chicken. That’s her below…I mean…come on. She actually entered a costume contest later that night and took home first place and 250 dollars. That’s a lot of rotisserie chickens.

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If I had a billion dollars

Did you hear the news? The Mega Millions jackpot is up to a staggering 1.6 billion. That’s “Billion” with a “B.” That’s a lot of money, or as I like to call it “the stuff I need more of, fast!” or just “cheddar.” The lucky winner will come into a wealth that equates to almost a full Taylor Swift (1.6B after taxes is 87% of what Swift is worth) but it’s about a million times what I’m worth and roughly three thousand two hundred times what Pete Davidson is worth, which makes me feel not much better about my situation, but a little better. But still not much.

Americans don’t run on Dunkin’, Americans – even the 1% –  run on the hope that tomorrow will bring good fortune and be better than today. And when tomorrow holds the possibility of winning a b***load of cash, then that feeling is increased tenfold. It’s like an orgasm of the mind. It doesn’t matter your age, race, class, political beliefs, or whether you heard Yanny or Laurel, humans get off on fantasizing about shit like this. That’s why I bought $20 worth of tickets. Yeah, I came to play.

I spent most of the workday gazing out the window imagining my life without credit card debt. Then my boss told me I should sit at my desk because I was starting to weird everyone out standing by the window. Statistically, there’s a higher chance of getting struck by lightening and bit by a shark simultaneously than there is winning the lottery. No one in the history of time has been bit by a shark AND struck by lightening. I think I have a higher chance of marrying Ryan Reynolds AND Chris Hemsworth simultaneously with Jimmy Fallon as the officiator. This goes back to the fantasy thing. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the idea of a billion dollars. I won a $25 Amazon gift card at a work event last week and almost cried of happiness – can you imagine my reaction if I won the 1.6 billion? Engage dream sequence….

The first of five balls cascades into place. 70. I check my ticket, hands shaking. Please be 70. Holy cow, it’s 70! I can win this! It’s my destiny! The second ball falls in line next to 70. It’s 32. There’s no way. The first two numbers are 70 and 32 and so are the ones on my ticket. My heart is beating faster than when I accidentally double tap a photo of someone I’m insta stalking. I am moments from blacking out from the shock, but then I remember there are still three more numbers. These go faster than the first two. 24, 34, 46 – wow what a coincidence, the measurements in the classic Petey Pablo song Freek-a-leek and THE LAST THREE NUMBERS ON MY TICKET. My mind goes completely blank as I collapse  to the floor with the perfect amount of drama to match the circumstances. I lay there in silence trying to convince myself this has all been in my imagination, but it can’t be because I peed myself a little.

UPDATE: I didn’t win. But that’s okay! As long as a Trump supporter doesn’t win it I’m good.

 

 

 

 

 

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I’m back – did you miss me?

Happy Friday and Happy 4/20!

It just occurred to me the other day that I purchased the domain name “xtinamistakes” so I should probably post on it more than once every six months. It’s just plain lazy, really. Not a single post in six months? Who am I, the laziest person who ever lived?

Let’s see…well a lot has happened since September. Nothing life-altering; however, I did contract a nasty skin rash over most of of my body after using a cheap body wash. It was Dial, if you were curious. Some other things worth mentioning: I successfully completed Whole30 (yes, you read that right), and I started doing stand up around the city. I also started meditating. Wait, no I didn’t. I don’t meditate, but I’ve heard it’s great for you. Maybe I’ll give it a try!

But, back to stand up. I can’t believe it took me this long to try it, because I’ve been wanting to try since the first time I made someone laugh. But as the saying goes, better late than never. This blog used to be the one creative outlet where I attempted to make you laugh, and now I get to flaunt my amazing sense of humor all over the city in front of strangers, and for me, there are few things more satisfying than making complete strangers laugh out loud and laugh out loud hard. I feel like we need comedy more than ever right now, because let’s be honest, this time in history won’t be remembered as a time where the human race shined bright like a diamond. My goal each time I get on a stage is to make the audience forget their troubles and the fact that the world is going to shit, even if it’s just for four minutes. If I can keep doing that, then I’ve just made the world a little less shitty.

If you’re dying to listen to my stand up I have a few videos on  this neat site called YouTube. Remember, the camera adds ten pounds. The videos have less than 10 views, which will look pathetic when I submit them to bookers, so if you could just play them on a loop that’d be great.

 

 

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Fantasy Football

South Africa has cricket, Mexico has soccer, China has ping-pong, and the US has Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Excuse me, I meant football. Just like that sick f*** who broke the world record for most hot dogs consumed (70 if you were curious), America’s love of football is downright unhealthy. We’re Fast Food Nation and we’re Football Nation and not the other way around.

I recently bought a baseball hat that simply says “SPORTS” because I’m constantly looking for inventive ways to get attention. I actually really like sports. Whether it’s playing, watching or actually talking about them, I’m pretty much the epitome of a “sports nut.” Despite being a natural-born athlete, I’m not good at all sports. I was the first ever female to be cut from a rec league volleyball team. Okay, so I wasn’t actually cut, per se – I just stopped going to games. I did suck though. Just ask any of my former teammates.

I like watching sports almost as much as I like playing them. I will gladly set aside 4+ hours to watch a football game because I can engage in four of my favorite activities: eating, drinking, sitting, and yelling at a TV. A statistic from 2011 says that among adults who watch football, six in ten say they spend between 3 to 5 hours a week watching it. I imagine this has changed since ’11 and the statistic people should probably do another study. Either way, I plan on watching upwards of five hours a week this season because unlike last year, this year I’ve got skin in the game. That’s right, I’m talking about Fantasy Football.

People all over the world have been playing fantasy sports for over 50 years, with approximately 40 million people participating in one or more fantasy sports every year. Many do not know where Fantasy Football even came from. I think it’s important that we sports watchers know the origins of this beloved tradition. Fantasy Football was conceived by three men at a Manhattan hotel in October of 1962. Wilfred “Bill” Winkenbach AKA Wink was the brains behind it, and is given most of the credit. The official name of the first Fantasy Football league was the Greater Oakland Professional Pigskin Prognosticators League (try saying that three times fast. LOL). Mr. Winkenbach is also the brains behind similar games for golf and baseball. Little-known fact: Winkenbach’s life was the inspiration behind the phrase “Ball is Life” because sports consumed every waking moment of his life. Don’t be Wilfred Winkenbach.

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Now everyone can play! You don’t even have to know what football is or like sports!

So far my team is off to a rough start. I have one player that is suspended after getting a DWI, two are “questionable,” and one is IR, which stands for injured reserve, but might as well stand for “Immediate Regret.” The Patriot’s loss cost me my first match up against “Cry Me a Rivers.” I guess that’s what I get for choosing players based on level of attractiveness over skill. Basically unless I pull off some smart trades, I’m SOL. But who doesn’t love a good comeback? I know you’re all dying to know my team name. It’s “Tina’s Team.” Now that I know all about the history of fantasy, I think I might change it to The Winkenbetches as an homage to the game’s roots.

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I don’t deserve a car.

I didn’t think my life could get any more glamorous until I found out that my new role at Conagra came with a set of wheels (that’s cool guy talk for a car). Did I really need a car? Probably not, but I’m a “yes person,” so on May 5th, 2017, I became the proud owner of a 2015 Ford Fusion and, subsequently, the most eligible female on the 1500 block of Western Avenue.

When commoners buy a new car they go to a dealership, test drive a few, listen to a sales pitch about why the car they like is perfect for them, and finally, drive off the lot in a pre-owned Kia Sorento straight to the nearest Wendy’s. My car was specially delivered to me at my home. Now that’s what I call employee appreciation. My car was delivered by a larger man – somewhere between Rob Kardashian and Ruben Studdard.  He then proceeded to “thoroughly inspect” the car, and I put that in quotes because he literally kicked the tires as if kicking a rock down the sidewalk, and opened and closed all the doors. So I now knew that they brought me a car with working doors and wheels that hold up after being kicked. Rob Studdard dropped the key in my hand and told me to be safe. I told him I would.

I climbed into my new whip and put the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, much like I do when I hear the word tacos. I made sure my mirrors were in the right position for maximum #safety, then turned on my favorite radio station for maximum #fun. What could possibly go wrong?

I don’t know if this is some kind of record, but I managed to fuck up the car within three days. I’d probably driven 20 miles total. I got into a crash with a telephone outside my apartment. The last time I felt this stupid was freshman year physics class. I built a bottle rocket for a class project, but I built it completely upside down. This was 1,000 times worse. Basically, I was trying to park in the super cramped spot behind our apartment and failed. There wasn’t enough room, and I hit the telephone pole. And then I hit it again. And just to make sure, once more. The damage was pretty significant. I’m not longer the most eligible female on my block.

About a month later I got into an actual accident with another car. This wasn’t my fault. I repeat, THIS WAS NOT MY FAULT. I know this blog is about making mistakes, but this was not one of them. This was an XTINAACCIDENT. Here’s a play-by-play of what went down: I was pulling out of a spot on North Avenue with my blinker on like a responsible motorist. I pull out and out of nowhere comes a speeding mini-van and it clipped the side of my car. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” That’s what I said after the car hit mine. My heart was racing as I got out to assess the damage. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, but it would still require a mechanic to fix. The driver and I exchanged a few words, but in the end I let it go because he was Mexican and barely spoke English. I did tell him to be more cuidado (that’s spanish for careful) and he promised he would. Now I have this piece of shit car that is a constant reminder of my failures as a car owner. I wish I could leave it in an abandoned lot and set it on fire…I won’t do that, but I can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind.

How does one go about returning a company car? “Hey, Conagra, what’s the return policy on cars? Can we just pretend this whole thing never happened and I can go back to taking ubers everywhere?” Oh and I forgot to mention the two parking violations I got. If this experience has taught me anything it’s that I do not deserve a car.

 

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