by Ryker Suicide

I’m a huge fan of playing with grilled cheeses since there is really no limit as to what you can do with them. Most recently the man and I came up with our new favorite grilled cheese recipe. It’s great for a quick lunch and full of flavor
- Ryker Suicide

Ingredients (enough for two sandwiches):

• 1 avocado
• 1 hunk of brie cheese
• 2 tsp of brown sugar
• Sourdough sliced bread (or whatever bread is to your preference)
• 1/2 sweet onion
• butter

Directions:

1. Caramelize sliced sweet onions in butter slowly. Do not overcook! Let them cook slowly.

2. While they are cooking, butter outer sides of bread with soft butter and slice brie and avocado. On each inner side of the bread, layer brie and then avocado slices.

3. When onions are finished, add them on top of the avocado. Sprinkle with 1/2 – 1 tsp of brown sugar (to taste)

4. Grill sandwich in a buttered pan or press in a panini grill until cheese is creamy and melted.

Eat and enjoy!

[Keep Reading...]

by Laurelin

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I’ve been in a serious rut lately. I don’t know if it has to do with my approaching 30th birthday, my increased responsibility at work, my lack of any romantic interest in anyone besides an ex that I just want out of my head, or a lethal combination of all of these things. Either way, I haven’t been very happy lately, and I really don’t feel like myself. I feel…lost. Sad. Alone. Rejected. Like I’m standing in a crowded room screaming — and no one can hear me, or the ones who can just don’t care.

I know it is nothing more than a temporary hiccup in an otherwise smooth existence, so I have been dealing with this the best way I know how: drinking, reading, working out, whatever. I’m choosing one night a week to do something really fun and taking it to the next level in a vain attempt to forget that for one second, when I go home, I will probably just start to cry about the same thing over and over again.

The one constant in my recent fall from my ever-perfect life is my ex-boyfriend from a few years ago. He was the person who inspired me to start writing this column; first in anger, then as time went on in friendship and in unwavering support. He moved to Los Angeles about five months ago. His leaving made me feel like a part of my life was seriously over. I felt conflicted; devastated and happy at the same time. This city eats bartenders alive, and he was ready for a change. We always said we would go together, and when we broke up I was the one dead set on leaving… but I wound up staying, and months later, he left, and I cried.

He knows me better than most of my girlfriends, and when I call him drunk and crying about another guy at 4 AM, he always answers and he always knows just what to say. Just hearing his voice on the other end of the line is like being thrown a rope, something to keep me hanging on for just a little bit longer.

“You were crying about birthday cake,” he said the other morning, “it was cute, and sad.” Birthday cake, the one that I had custom made for a guy who never showed up for his party I helped plan in Boston, and who shut off his phone when I called to ask what was going on. Instead, I carted the cake home to my apartment and my roommates and we tore it apart; ate half of it and threw the rest in the trash. And I got drunk and I cried, because I was an idiot to care about someone who never cared for me, again.

And then, a few weeks ago, my ex called from LA to say he was coming home. He had had enough of California, and for once, I didn’t cry. He was coming home and finally, maybe, things could get back to normal. He’s been back for two days, and when I woke up this morning I was tangled up in him and for once, I didn’t feel lost.

I woke up, I took his clothes and I washed them with mine. I pulled his old dusty Tupperware container out of the closet and got him new socks and underwear and one of his T-shirts. I made coffee while he slept, and when he woke up he rubbed my back because I had run twelve miles in the rain the day before and I was cold and sore, and we were happy.

We might not be together anymore, and I don’t want to be, to be honest. We’re clearly both lost, but we take care of each other, for now. Sometimes, when you’re in a rut it’s nice to have someone throw you a rope. Other times it’s nice to have someone climb down and sit there with you until you’re ready to muster the strength to get out on your own.

[Keep Reading...]

by Laurelin

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I remember the feeling like it was yesterday, a once sharp pain now only a memory that makes me cringe only because of the way I almost remember feeling. It’s faded now, the sharp feeling of loss from so long ago to be replaced with this new experience, one that’s a bit more bittersweet and almost entirely silly.

I remember the first time. I was standing at the Ocean Mist in Rhode Island at an all ages rock show. The bar was perfect; on stilts that went into the ocean so when you looked away from the crowded stage and sticker covered walls you could see only the blue of the ocean. The windows were open in the summer and you could taste the salt on your tongue while you breathed in the bass from the speakers. As a teenager, it was heaven.

I had had a crush on this guy forever, and I had decided that while we were all out that night I was finally going to tell him how I felt. The music faded to a dull pounding in my brain as I walked over to him, and my stomach flipped somersaults. I somehow managed to spit it out, not remembering exactly what I said but distinctly remembering his face, his blank expression that told me that I was wrong, he would never like me back, and I turned and ran. Later a friend told me that he was embarrassed, that I was too tall, disproportionate. I wanted to die.

All these years later, finally comfortable with who I am, how tall I am, my life and my choices. All these years later still struggling with the truth and just finally giving up and telling someone I still have feelings for them even though I know nothing good will come of it. I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know why I felt the need to tell him, it’s not like I couldn’t sleep or live without finally getting this off my chest. I know it was stupid and it does nothing but makes things awkward. (All these years later that still hasn’t changed.)

I don’t feel better. I don’t know if I feel worse. I don’t think things can be the same, but they shouldn’t have to be different. I imagine that in the grand scheme of my life, this is going to be something I look back on and laugh at. A psychic once held my hand and said, “You have already been so lucky, you’ve had two great loves and two great heartbreaks. This thing you hold, this is neither. So why can’t you move on?”

It’s something that now, I can remedy with calling other ex-boyfriends and drinking with girlfriends, where as back then I cried myself to sleep for days. This time, only a train ride home with a bit of smudged mascara, a woeful realization that I’m not as tough as I make myself out to be. I feel bad for myself. I feel bad for making him struggle to find the right words to not hurt my feelings. I feel bad for the past three guys I’ve dated, because I have kicked them all to the curb with a handful of lies and half truths once we hit the one month period. Better off alone until I figure this out, don’t like to be alone so I start things I can’t finish.

“It’s okay, because you know this is silly,” my roommate says as I’m trying not to let anyone at the bar see me cry. “I know,” I mumble, and I DO know. I don’t even notice the guy walking up behind me and ordering shots. “Two please,” he says and passes one to me with a kind smile. My eyes dry almost instantly, and I know how stupid I must look. We cheers and the shot goes down like fire, but I seem to have found my coy smile, and this guy is kind of cute.

“Rough night?” he asks.

“It’s nothing,” I say smoothly, and the lie spreads like butter on warm toast, so well that I almost believe it. Almost.

[Keep Reading...]

by Justin Beckner

Over the past decade Sailor Jerry has turned itself into one of the greatest success stories of the industry while miraculously staying true to its roots. This is largely due to grassroots style underground marketing campaigns and the relentless work put in by people who believe in the product. But let us not forget that marketing campaigns are not what ultimately sells rum, the uncompromised flavor of Sailor Jerry’s is what sets it above its competitors and is fast making it one of the top selling brands of rum in the country.

Our story starts with a man named Norman Collins, known to friends and clients as “Sailor Jerry.” Jerry was a seafaring tattoo artist, musician, and poet, who schooled himself on the Asian art of tattooing during his time in the Navy. Everything Jerry pursued he did with valor and passion, but it was his work doing tattoos that garnered him his iconic and legendary status within the annals of the tattoo industry and beyond. Designers like Ed Hardy have been heavily influenced by Jerry’s work, Converse has put his designs on shoes and clothing, and the use of anchors, compasses, and ships are staples in tattoo shops around the world. Jerry was also very insistent on the sterilization of equipment, especially needles. This helped to decrease the spread of infection and clean up the image society had of tattooing.

The tattoo work of Norman Collins contains a resonance of the passion and valor which he put into everything he pursued. So it makes sense that those who played such a vital role in making Sailor Jerry’s Rum would share those same principles. The rum itself is a work of art. A gentle blend of caramel and vanilla flavors that are so smooth, you can actually enjoy this rum straight on the rocks. It also tastes great with a cola or in any sort of mix which calls for rum.

The following is an interview conducted with Sailor Jerry’s Rum Brand Ambassador and marketing mastermind, Erin Cooper.

Justin R. Beckner: How did the Norman Collins namesake become a brand of rum?

Erin Cooper: A company called CCM owns the Sailor Jerry brand. They bought the artwork and the name and started off as a clothing company. A few years into this, they decided that they wanted to have an alcohol in honor of Norman Collins. They went to William Grant, who are known for their Scotches, and of course Hendricks Gin, and they put together this amazing spiced rum to honor Sailor Jerry.

JB: Tell us a bit about Norman Collins, the original Sailor Jerry.

EC: He was the grandfather of Americana style tattooing. A lot of people don’t know that and are somewhat jaded because of Ed Hardy and how they blew up that form of artwork into this commercial thing rather than a respected artform. Norman Collins actually taught Ed Hardy how to tattoo, so many of the things that Ed is known for were learned from Norman Collins. Norman traveled a lot, especially around Japan, and learned their tattooing styles and techniques and made them his own. Around the time of Norman’s hayday, during World War Two, the pinup culture was booming. So that’s where we get the pin-ups incorporated with the anchors and compasses and other symbols of Americana.

JB: I’m told that the recipe for this rum is kept under lock and key.

EC: What’s great about William Grant is that we are a family owned company and our Scotchers will talk your ear off about how our Scotches are made and the distilling process. But with Sailor Jerry, the recipe and the process are kept under lock and key, and even the Ambassadors aren’t allowed to share them. I can say that we do our blending in New Jersey. Of course the flavor is no secret; it’s got a rich vanilla flavor with some caramel and a hint of lime. A lot of people assume that because Sailor Jerry is 92 Proof that it’s really sharp and you can’t get any of the flavors. But in spite of the high proof, you can really pick out the flavors and see the scope of the awesome profile of the rum. One of Sailor Jerry’s mottos was “My work speaks for itself.” That’s what we like to say about the brand. When you mix it with cola or have it straight up or however you choose to drink it, you’re going to taste it for what it is. We make it the way it’s supposed to be made.

JB: The marketing strategy for Sailor Jerry is very grassroots. How did this brand grow so quickly to rival some of the more commercial rum brands?

EC: We started underground with Sailor Jerry and we hit the dive bars where we thought would be a great place to put it. We gave bands the rum and they promoted it on tour – it was definitely a snowball effect from there. We won’t put advertisements on TV or magazines and the brand has gone further than they ever imagined it would. We still want to stay underground and we want to stay true to the people who know Sailor Jerry’s for what it is. We want to stay true to the punk rockers and the rockabilly geeks and the people who made Sailor Jerry’s what it is today. But at the same time, it is a rum for everybody and we want to make it available to the general market. What’s cool is that recently we’ve been seeing Sailor Jerry’s in high end bars here in Las Vegas and many of the casinos and it’s been getting picked up by corporate beverage programs, and it’s not because of the label or because of Norman, it’s because of the liquid inside. It’s the same way with music; the bands that who drink Sailor Jerry and help promote it are always a natural fit.

JB: I think Sailor Jerry’s philosophy fits quite well with the philosophy at SuicideGirls.

EC: I totally agree. I think that when Missy and Sean started the site it was very underground and it was based on this alternative lifestyle and the art that goes with it. Sailor Jerry’s stated out the same way. I also would like to say that Amina is fantastic. She’s a great photographer and if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I started out in modeling and she was a great inspiration for me and it’s been so amazing to have her and AmberLynn on our staff at SJ.

JB: Let’s talk a bit more about how you got your start and how you came to be the Ambassador for William Grant.

EC: I started out modeling here and there and did some work with Inked Magazine. One day I got a phone call from one of my friends who knew an agent who was looking for tattoo models for this company called Sailor Jerry. I had never done modeling for a liquor company before and I was super nervous but I did it and pretty soon I was working at all the Sailor Jerry promos that were going on in Las Vegas. Then when New York decided that they wanted a brand ambassador for Nevada, my name came up and I went to New York, interviewed, and got the job. Around that same time they were doing a casting call for the 2011 Sailor Jerry Calendar, so I sent my picture in and crossed my fingers that I would get it and I got a phone call like a week later saying that I was going to be in the SJ Calendar. All these great things happened all within a short span of time. I love my job and everything that the company it. I’m very glad to work for a company that fits me so well because I am a terrible liar. When I worked in retail, it was hard for me to sell things if I didn’t really like the way it looked. With Sailor Jerry’s, it’s so easy for me to sell because I believe so strongly in the product.

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by Blogbot

Earlier this year, SG radio presenters Nicole Powers (SG’s Managing Ed), Lacey Conner (all round rockstar and recovering VH1 reality TV star), and Darrah de jour (SG’s Red, White & Femme post-feminist sex and sensuality columnist) were joined in studio by actress turned lifestyle guru Mariel Hemingway and her partner, stuntman and fitness expert Bobby Williams. Together they have developed a holistic regimen, which they call The Willing Way.

The pair spent a full two hours in the SG Radio studio explaining their all-encompassing mind, body, and soul philosophy. Going from yin to yang, we discussed the importance of getting enough sunlight in your life (Mariel and Bobby like to watch the sun rise and set each day, though they avoid the burning midday rays), and how to keep darkness at bay. With her life having been touched by several suicides, Mariel spoke about how she battled her own depressive tendencies, and how she has empowered herself to find a sense of wellbeing.

This being SG Radio, there was also plenty of laughter, and lots of conversation on our favorite subject – sex. Thus, the first hour of our show was devoted to talk of orgasms – and the importance of having a healthy diet of them, in order to achieve a truly balanced life.

Whatch the video above to see edited highlights from this very special SG Radio show!

For more information follow Mariel and Bobby / The Willing Way on Twitter.

by Laurelin

The old woman cupped my hand in hers. Narrowing her eyes and making a clicking noise in the back of her throat she looked up and smiled warmly. “You are untrusting in love,” she said. “Why? What is there to worry about, you have had two great heartbreaks in your life and they are over, it’s time to put the past behind you. I look in your eyes and see such warmth, too bad you cannot speak with your eyes.” She lets my hand go and it falls into my lap. I guess that lady gets paid to say those things, but at 2 AM in New York City it suddenly seems so real, and I walk back through Times Square to my hotel wondering about what she said. Was she right? Was I totally untrusting?

I went on a date the other night with a bartender from a trendy bar downtown. He wasn’t anything like me, and while once that would have really frightened me, now it seems really appealing, challenging, intriguing. I had a great time, and at the end of the night back home at my apartment I found myself smiling stupidly, wishing my roommate was home so I could talk her ear off about it. I never heard from that guy again, and it was a bit unsettling for a few days. What did I do wrong? This was so typical.

After a few days of not hearing back I moved on; not everyone gets an explanation as to why something doesn’t work out. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself a little bit — here I was wondering why everything seemed to click when it didn’t really. Who does that? “You do that,” my roommate points out. “You do that all the time. Have a great time and then freak out and run away and never tell the guy why. That’s like, your favorite thing to do!” I think about it and I can’t help but laugh, at myself, at the poor guys I have dated in the past five months, and at the whole situation in general. She’s right, I have an inability to tell the truth when it comes to wanting to end something before it really starts; I just slither back to my bar scene life and immerse myself in work. One can always trust the reliability of a 45 hour work week. Does that make me untrusting? Easily bored? Non committal?

I have always considered trust in relationships to be something that is created over time once you find someone who doesn’t drive you nuts. All of a sudden I realize that I’m looking at the cell phone you left on my nightstand when you were rushing to work and I roll over and go back to bed – instead of flipping through your texts. I’m left alone in your apartment and your computer is right there with your e-mail up on the screen, and I sign out and into mine without even a second glance. You want to go out with your friends to the strip club with an eight ball of cocaine in your pocket? Sure, have a good time. I trust you. See? I can be trusting.

That old lady was wrong. I have trust in a lot of things. I trust that my friends will get me through anything. I trust that I’m a good judge of character, and that even if something doesn’t work out that I chose that person or that path because I saw something good in it, because I thought that it would make me a better person. I trust that I will not always do the right thing but that I will know the difference between the two, and that I will do better next time, be stronger and able to learn from my mistakes. I might be untrusting in love, but that is only because a lot of times the way it’s ended up for me has left me feeling like I trusted something that wasn’t real, or that was only real for a little while and that is devastating. I was never mislead, nor was I ever misleading to anyone I ever called mine. If I mislead you, you were never mine, nor I yours.

Untrusting in love seems normal to me to an extent; it’s good to be cautious with your heart after you have spent so long learning to trust yourself. I’ll open up when the time is right. For now, the only trust I need is from the bartender shaking my martini or muddling my mojito. It’s almost summer time, and I smell some really poor life choices on the horizon. If there’s one thing I can trust in, it’s that.

[Keep Reading...]

by SnakePlissken

Fuck breakfast. Not breakfast foods, just breakfast the meal. It’s too goddamn early to be awake, let alone eating. And who can eat anyway when their guts are rolling harder than Andy Dick at a rave from last night’s bottle of bottom shelf whiskey? Not me, not usually anyway. But sometimes you just have to get some goddamn grease in your system to keep your stomach from eating your asshole. And when I think grease, I think about the golden arches.

I grew up poor. I know this because we called McDonald’s a restaurant and we went there for breakfast on Sundays like it was high fucking tea with the Queen mum. And the star of this meal was always the Big Breakfast. A fuck-ton of grease-laden mornin’ death all crammed into a big styrofoam container that’ll outlive you by a few hundred years. And it all comes with a tub or two of caramel colored high fructose death sauce, aka “syrup.”

And that’s still what it is. Except now they only use half the environment killing Styrofoam. Instead of a lid with proper thermal preserving properties we get this weird clear plastic lid embossed with the McDonald’s logo. Holy shit, it looks like the Lenin of fast foods all splayed out and sad. Come to think of it both probably decay at similar rates. But as bad as that mental image is the worst part is it lacks insulation leading to inevitable and undesirable side-effects.

Cold flapjacks. Fuck shit ass cock piss bitch cunt fart. Now I love the environment, don’t get me wrong. Trees are awesome and shit, but I’d sacrifice our children’s and their children’s children’s future for piping hot, butter-melting pancakes first thing in the morning. God I miss that top layer of Styrofoam. Fucking Captain Planet.

This biscuit isn’t too bad. But it isn’t too good. It’s just sort of there, but somehow you know you’d miss it if it was gone. This biscuit is to breakfast what a hand job is to casual sex. You don’t really need it, and it’s really not that fulfilling, but you’d sure miss it if it was gone. On a side note, both sometimes are in need of butter.

I love hash brown patties like this. I know they’re the bologna of potatoes, but I still love them even if they are made from bits swept off the floor and smashed together in a factory press operated by an immigrant laborer with questionable at best hygiene. That being said, when it comes to shitty hash browns McDonald’s wins the gold goddamn prize. Greasy and golden brown, they’re like eating the cast of Jersey Shore. Well almost; the hash browns don’t give you herpes.

Ok, so these patties have always worried me. Not because they look like a mole that was removed from Larry the Cable Guy’s gooch, but because of how they react within the gastrointestinal system. To put it gently, McDonald’s sausage is an investment; eat one in the morning and you’ll know it all day long with every foul-tasting belch that gurgles up from your grease-laden stomach. Work on that shit, Ronald, or at least throw some Tums and breath mints into this combo.

I’m not sure what to make of these eggs. Mostly because they seem to be exuding a sort of liquid. Normally I like things that exude liquids when hot *winkwinknudgenudgesaynomore* but I’ve never seen a scrambled egg sweat before. And given the flavor of these suckers I imagine they were included merely to soak up the grease leaking from the sausage patty. Sort of like a paper towel that came out of a chicken’s ass. Personally I’d rather eat that. Welp, time to break out the one sure cure for bland bullshit.

Ahh, that helped. That helped a lot. Now, I know a lot of you are thinking “you’re putting hot sauce on fast food eggs?” right now. It may seem as risky as shitting in a public restroom in New Delhi, but let’s face the facts here and realize that there’s not really any chance of it making me poop more. The McDonald’s alone will be adequate to make my colon reach critical mass. I will admit the spiciness could make things interesting, but I like to live dangerously. That’s why I don’t have health insurance. Well, that and poverty.

So they might be a little cold, but these cakes really aren’t too bad. Sure they’re packed with more chemicals than Charlie Sheen, but I kinda like them. The syrup is another story. It tasted like diabetes and kissing Wilford Brimley. That said it was high time these suckers got some doctoring as well.

And here’s where the strawberry preserves comes in. Sure they contain roughly as much fruit as a tall glass of Kool-aid, but it works with the syrup to make these rather ordinary cakes into a magically shitty taste treat. How do I describe the experience? It’s like going down on Strawberry Shortcake.

So, all in all, it’s not really that different than what it was twenty five years ago; a grease and chemical-laden platter impersonating a real breakfast. Not something I’d have again given the fact there are a million greasy spoon diners that serve far superior breakfast food, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected it to be. Basically, if you wake up drunk and need to eat somewhere within stumbling distance it’s not a terrible choice.

7/10

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