Now I'm pissed. What the fuck does someone have to do in this town to get the food they ordered? This happens to me ALL the time. J'adore spicy foodstuff! You name it... if it's hotter'n hell, I probably will enjoy it. So, I took Cam to this Tai place down the street from my house. I order chicken curry... "extra, extra, extra, extra spicy". I even gave our extremely pleasant asian waitress a little wink and said, "you know... traditional style... extra hot... with hopes that she would understand, "make it so hot that it would kill the average whitey with unaccustomed tongue". I wasn't worried. When it comes to eating spicy food, my tongue has ninja skills like a pissed off Yoda (see previous post). Fucking don't-wanna-be-liable-for-throwing-out-plate-of-too-hot-for-customer-food cook decides that my order was too spicy and bumped it back to mild-enough-to-spoon-feed-the-gerber-baby hot. I can think of FIVE other Tai food instances of this happening in the last 18 months. The only thing about these recurring scenario that pisses me off worse than them changing my order to begin with is when they honestly believe they can make it all better by giving you this little alien auotopsy dish of mystery juice with a couple of jalepeño slices and some crushed black pepper floating in it... oh yeah, that's gonna patch things right up for me. FUCK YOU.
Pfft! I just returned from
SWEp2. I only have two things to say: first, it was notably better than SWEp1… second (and much, much more important to remember), don’t fucking piss Yoda off. If you see the flic, you too will agree with my theory that Ozzy Osborne is Yoda. Think about it.. Ozzy is this cane carrying mumbler that you have trouble understanding most of the time, but when he gets on stage he transforms into this animated rock legend that does shit you wouldn’t think possible based on his age and normal behavior. Let’s just hope Ozzy rides the crazy train over the mountain with a dime bag of the force in his pocket to keep Lucas from fucking up SWEp3. Ok, I'm hungry now.
Harry Connick Jr. is so damn money.
Where’s the dick you ask? It’s over at
Undisturbed. It’s ironic that the dick browser is located on a site named undisturbed when the
original pic was quite disturbing (it’s just not as impressive when cut, cropped, and rotated I suppose). LOL. Dwayne received the proper congratulatory treatment last night… ceremonial inebriation. Before too long,
Patron shots were flying around like tracer bullets in the jungles of Vietnam. Camron even dove off the deep end and started talking with the dolphins. Uh, oh yeah… “talking with the dolphins” is the phrase that my friends (the ones that know my sister) and I use to describe this 4 octave jump that occurs in her voice when the buzz sets in… absolutely hilarious. I mentioned the band in last nights post… very good. ‘Nuff said. So I was thinking of taking Cam to
Moody Gardens this weekend since she’s rollin’ out on Monday. No set plans yet. I am being a complete bum this morning. I should be a better host. Slack me.
Ok, due to utterly shitty weather, the Bacchus celebration that I thought I was going to have to cancel on, cancelled on me. Well, it moved to a later “to be determined” date. I ended up working later than planned (big surprise there) and going to a mini-happy-Dwayne promotion party after I left the office. It all took place at friendly neighborhood Blanco’s Bar and Grill. This place is evil. There is nothing to do but drink there… and for us professional drinkers, it is done well. Later in the evening there was a band… Davin James and his crew. I must say that these guys were INCREDIBLE. When it comes to southern blues as expressed by guitar and emotional vocals, there was no one that did it quite the way Stevie Ray did, but if there were some no-names floating around Houston that could step up to the plate, these guys are it. I had fun. It was also cool because I had spent part of the day pimping the “yeehaw-Dwayne” extravaganza so there were A LOT of people from work that showed just to give him props. I am gonna grab some left over Camron-cooked-goodness while she’s in town… nighters!
Uh-oh! I’m running late for my 1:00. Afterthought worth mentioning:
Ketel One also rawks.
I was just reading my friend Greg’s online journal. He was also making a comment this morning about Fridays and how they were special to him due to the weekly “martini lunch” he and his friends started up (obviously, this is a Friday event). Excellent idea Greg. However, in Houston, we don’t believe in petty discrimination amongst weekdays. Every day of the the week can be “martini lunch” day. Amen.
My personal favorite:
Grey Goose... so beautiful... so pure. One's lips must continually visit the glossy, smooth rim of the fragile glass to convince by taste that there is actually liquid in that small cup of heaven. I don’t do vermouth however, I will allow a bottle to be in the same room with my martini providing distance is respected. Olives are optional, but they can occasionally be fun if your tongue gets bored. Tongues usually like to play with things. Drinking a martini should never be about the destination (because you’re going there anyway)… it’s the journey that makes the ride so satisfying. Have one at lunch for me Greg!
I love Fridays. I especially love this Friday. It’s been such a long week. I didn’t sleep very well last night. I tossed incessantly and ended up waking several times. I had an early meeting, so I eventually gave up and got ready for work early. Dwayne got a promotion yesterday. I am so proud of him… he deserved it. I’m still lingering in the homemade enchilada bliss from last night. If I had more time this morning, I was going to have some for breakfast. I imagined it would be right up there with cold pizza, but I guess now I’ll never know. I was invited to the Baccus bash tonight. Bacchus (also known as Dionysus or Bromius) was the wine god in Greek mythology, born from Zues’ thigh, that provided mankind with a gift as important as grain: relaxation, escape, liquid refreshment that also made water potable, and, not least important, the truth that's found only in vino. Whatever. The French celebrate Bacchus (the god of wine) annually… dieu du vin et de la fertilite. Sounds like a good excuse to get your drink on, eh? I’m down. Anyhoo, it’s at
http://www.seabrook-sailing.org/”>Seabrook Sailing Club. I have already RSVP’d, but I need to get these proposals done on a major project and will probably not go. Besides, there was talk of mass skinny-dipping at midnight (apparently traditional for the French celebration) and I don’t think me being buck-ass naked and hammered is a good combination at a public establishment. Bad things could happen… ;-)
The Curves of my S
The curves of my S are perfect at best
keeping me warm and protected
from the darkness that surrounds me
The curves of my S rejoice in their smoothness
soft and forever, they smile at me
gracefully dancing beyond my reach
The curves of my S circle closer through time
their laughter lifts my spirit like
a feather on a morning mountain breeze
The curves of my S hold the jealousy of roses
enchanted, I am caressed by their scent that
surely and secretly escaped from the heavens
The curves of my S leave my lips in reminiscence
longing to find once more the sweet, tender
kiss of an Angel
The curves of my S have opened my eyes to a world larger than this...
______________
goodbye "S"... you know who you are...
OMG! My sister is a fucking culinary genius! Ok, it’s not like enchiladas are magret of duck martiniquaise with caramelized leg confit and banana tempura, but Mexican food is the staple of the south Texan diet. If you got that down, what else is there to add to your recipe resume? Anyhoo, I think I’ll watch a movie while still in the afterglow of my TexMexgasm. Toodles.
Homemade enchiladas kick ass. I truly believe that I am addicted to Mexican food. There is no getting around it. Refried beans and flour tortillas are like crack cocaine. Did you notice the little
TagBoard bullshit on the left side of the page. Yeah, that’s right… the one I obviously can’t seem to get looking right. At least
Sean is making good use of it. ;-)
Oh yeah, another reason to start riding a bike to work... parking. Obviously, this
woman has it down. Don't piss her off.
I just finished a meeting with my boss and some of the consultants and engineers I work with regarding design strategies. Dry. Boring. Necessary. I only mention it because it was absolutely the most productive meeting I have been to in eight fucking months. I go to a lot of meetings. “Let’s have a meeting to talk about meetings.” WTF? Enough of that… so, before the shameful night of decadence and debauchery that we won’t discuss (wild for the group, but alas… my participation was 14% champagne, 78.927% Tanqueray and tonic, 6.634% nicotine, and 0.439% miscellaneous), I went to the bike shop to price bicycles. I think I am going to try to ride a bicycle to work. I know… crazy. I’m just searching for a creative way to exercise while tricking myself into not thinking that I’m exercising. Does that make sense? Shiesty, eh?
I should write a thesis on the medicinal (read: mystical) healing properties of caffeine when delivered in the form of coffee. Patch Adams in a sippy-cup. My morning caterpillar is now a beautiful butterfly… with a heart rate of 120 beats per minute. I love coffee. Coffee loves me.
