United States of Oblivious

I’ve noticed that some companies and brands in the USA have names and wording that could be considered…well…downright inappropriate and fucking hilarious in the UK.

Case in point…

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Delicious, right?

Now, the dictionary definition of a growler is:
1. a person or thing that growls.
2. a small iceberg that rises little above the water.

To Americans, a growler is some kind of bottle with a handle that is usually used to hold beer.

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A growler (snigger)

In England, the word ‘growler’ is slang for vagina.

Over here it’s entirely acceptable to say “Hey, check out her growler” without getting a slap.

In England it’s deemed a bad chat up line to use.

And it gets better.

In the UK we have a verb that is slang for, erm, ‘obtaining a beer foam moustache from partaking in a growler’, if you know what I mean.

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Know what I mean? ūüėČ

This verb is ‘Mott’.

For my English brethren who have ever seen Celebrity Juice on UK TV, you will have heard (and seen) Keith Lemon talk about ‘motting a lady’.

This is usually met with raucous laughter as he demonstrates it on one or more of his celebrity guests – more often for an American who has no idea what it means.

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Mott mott mott!!

So imagine my joy at seeing these in Walmart last night.

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Take a sip, you know you want to.

Although I do have some concerns about these.

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The tale of apes and alcohol

Yesterday (Friday), was a pretty amazing day at work.

Firstly, it was the last day of training at my new job which meant it was ‘graduation day’.

As part of graduation day we were asked to collectively choose a theme. As there were almost 60 of us, we all pitched in ideas and then put them to the vote.

Considering the date of this post, you wont be surprised to read that the consensus was the vastly unimaginitively unoriginal theme of ‘Hallowe’en’

Or ‘dress up in whatever the fuck you want’ day.

I wanted to represent the British sense of humour, so I went as a Whoopie Cushion.

No, really.

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What’s even better is that my co-worker and friend Trevor (the guy in the picture with me) decided his costume would be ME!

Yes, that’s right….his Hallowe’en costume was ME!

He even had tattoos drawn on his arm.

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They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Personally I find it to be a really good blow job.

But Trevor wasn’t swallowing it.

Also, it’s worth noting here that us Brits don’t use the word ‘costume’ when it comes to dressing up like a bunch of idiots.

We call it, ‘fancy dress’, and we wear ‘fancy dress’ to a ‘fancy dress party’

It was my wife who made me realise that fancy dress is a stupid way of saying it.

“I say Nigel, your attire is positively fancy”

It makes us sound like prancing twats with lace handkerchiefs in our hands and thumbs up our arses.

Anyway back to graduation day.

As a Brit I didn’t realise the sheer magnitude of the word ‘graduation’ here in America.

In England it’s not a big deal and conforms to the dictionary definition of ‘receiving an academic degree or diploma’.

In America it means ‘A celebration that is batshit crazy like rabid gibbons in a banana farm’

Seriously, it was lunacy at its best with over the top celebrations for (essentially) turning up every day and learning what you were taught.

I’d heard that people had failed training in past training groups¬†but the quality of the training and the sheer determination by the trainers that you actually LEARNED the content only suggested that these cockwombles were either asleep, dead or too busy masturbating in the toilets to pictures of gibbons in banana farms.

But that’s not why I’m writing, although I hear http://www.bananafarmgibbonlove.com is getting some traction, as is Kleenex.

No the reason I’m writing is because I made an interesting cultural discovery about my American chums, particularly when it comes to bar etiquette.

After the graduation ceremony had finished and all the gibbons had been rounded up, we all decided to celebrate by wiping off the remnants of confetti, silly string and mashed banana and going to a local bar.

We piled in and made a beeline for the bartender.

Straight away I got the first round in.

“Right, who wants a drink?” I asked.

I received requests for 2 Bud Lights, a Jack Daniels and Coke, a pint of Guiness and a some vodka cocktail thing that was far too complicated to be a drink; I think there were body parts and aviation fluids mentioned.

Anyway, the round came to about $40 which I was happy to pay.

My co-worker who had ordered the complicated vodka monstrosity kept offering to give me the money for her drink. I found this to be a little odd and slightly insulting.

Did she think I couldn’t afford it? She’s usually so lovely.

I blame the booze.

Anyway, my beer was downed in about 3 minutes and after about half an hour I was getting thirsty for another, but no one had offered to get the next round in.

Fuck it.  I headed to the bar again and joined some of my fellow graduates.

Like before I offered to buy them a drink.

This round was about $30.

‘No biggie’ I thought, ‘at least I’ll have a few drinks come my way later’.

About an hour passed and one of the guys came over with a bottle of Bud Light and said “this is because you bought me a drink earlier”.

Well obviously.

And that was it.

We were in that bar for almost 4 hours and no-one other than one person (thanks Justin) bought me a drink, or even offered.

I found this to be a little weird. I thought these people liked me.

Later that night I told my wife about it and she enlightened me.

Americans don’t do rounds.

Seriously, they dont do rounds…they only buy drinks for themselves – or for a friend or someone they’re trying to shag.

Oh god, do my co-workers think I was trying to get in their pants? Do they now feel that it was a blatant attempt to throw one up them?

This might explain why my lovely co-worker and friend was desperate to pay for her drink. She must’ve felt guilty and was worried she might have to, ahem, ‘flatter’ me later on.

It’s OK, I’ll tell her it was Trevor all along.

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United Steaks of Hamerica

I’ve been in the U S of A almost 5 days, and already I have SO many notes compiled on things that I’d love to blog about.

That said, I don’t want to blow my load on one post, so I’ve decided to drip feed them in an attempt to look like I’ve thought long and hard about each and every post.

I probably haven’t, just so you know.

Today’s entry is food related.

Last night my wife and I went to a restaurant called Brio in Tivoli Village. Great restaurant with the usual oversize portions and suspiciously joyful staff.

When the waitress (I don’t like the word ‘server’ [1]) took my order, she said “super salad?”

“What?”
“Super salad?”
“Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Super?”
“Is what ‘super’?”

“The salad?”

There was a pause….

My wife tapped me on the arm and said “Soup or salad”

Yeah, that made more sense.

It seems that choice with your meal is a big thing in the United States.  If you want eggs, you can have them sunny side up [2], over easy, scrambled, boiled, poached or the waiter can bring the chicken out and you can suck the egg directly from its arse.

If you want chips (fries) you can have them regular, curly or seasoned.  Alternatively you can have them boiled, baked or mashed; not to mention the option of hash browns, wedges or having them peeled and inserted rectally to save yourself the calories.

And if you’re¬†having breakfast you can have pancakes, waffles, French toast, English muffins and all sorts of artery clogging carbohydrates….with or without cinnamon frosting or powdered sugar.

Oh, and by the way America, ¬†French Toast isn’t French; nor are English muffins English.¬† Both are American.

Crepes are French, but oddly you don’t call those French pancakes.

Also, smothering anything with Marinara sauce does not make it Italian.

But I digress.

Going back to the subject of¬†choice when dining, you also get free refills on a lot of things.¬† Having visited America a lot in the past I am fully aware that you get free refills on coffee and soda (yes, I use the word ‘soda’ now)…but imagine my disappointment when I once declined another bowl of delicious soup at Olive garden only to find out afterwards that it was, in fact, a free refill.

On soup!

This morning I saw an advert on TV¬†(amongst the many, many, many, MANY adverts) for a restaurant called Applebee’s in which they offer free refills on fries.

FRIES!

But, to be fair, you only got these free refills on fries when you order one of their massive, supersized, over the top burgers that includes meat from every species known to man, topped with 8 cheeses and sugar, or something.

It’s like the Heart Attack Grill found on Fremont Street who give free meals to anyone weighing over 350 pounds.¬† This is a place where they have a burger called the Quadruple Bypass which totals 10,000 calories.

My wife¬†told me that a guy once had a heart attack in the Heart Attack Grill on Fremont Street and, considering the ‘servers’ are dressed like doctors and nurses, all the other diners though it was some kind of show.

Well, it’s Vegas after all.

But¬†going back to Olive Garden for a second, they offer a “Buy one, Take one” deal on entrees [3].¬† You order your main meal and they give you another one free.

Seems normal, right?

Well,¬†this second dish isn’t¬†for¬†your dining partner;¬†it’s for you to¬†take home to presumably eat¬†naked and alone in the dark, sobbing with shame.

Lunacy.

But it’s not all bad, they have twist off bottle caps on their beers.¬†¬†That’s something they’re getting right.

Oh, and they have Spinach and Artichoke dip.

That’s a thing here.

It needs to be a thing everywhere.

Now.

fat uncle sam

[1] Although people in I.T. swear by them ūüėČ
[2] Also known as ‘half cooked, slightly raw and snotty’

[3] Main course

To your health!

Have you ever walked past a bench or tree surrounded by empty beer cans?

Me too.

It’s a sign that, at some point last night, there was a social gathering which no doubt pissed off the occupants of the surrounding houses. Either that or a lone drunk having dinner.

So can someone explain to me what it means when you see a tree surrounded by 10-12 bottles of Actimel and Yakult?

I can understand an addiction to alcohol; but L. Casei Immunitas?

Is there a Probiotics Anonymous?

Bitter Sweet…

So Nick and I take our seat at our table on the train and wonder who’ll be sat next to us. Then 2 young attractive ladies join us. We exchange a look that says “result!”.

Then they open their mouths.

It’s all ‘yah yah..” and “absolutely daaaahling”. And it’s non stop. Theres not a microsecond gap of silence at all! And they keep saying “L&D” and “strategy”.

Nick and I exchange a look that says “oh for fuck’s sake, really?”

We have this for 3 hours. I swear I just saw Nick kiss his knuckles.

Add to this the gravelly voiced toddler behind us who clearly smokes 40 a day and our disappointment is complete.

Oh, hang on…a screaming baby.

Where’s the beer carriage?