Red Letter Saturday

It isn't often one has a day that takes you to the extremes of human behavior. And I barely eased my foot off the 7 pedal; you can imagine what sort of torturted metaphor I'd be coming up with in County if I'd hit full throttle.

Beginning with the beginning...

I'd just started the shift when they walked in. At the time, I didn't realize it, but at the end of the conversation their comment would be the third to take its place in the Panthenon Of Stupid Things I've Heard At Work. (First one was "Starbucks coffee?", second was the whole "Do you make $100,000 before taxes?" standup routine.)

I'm working some sort of interior design/art show, and I'm really superfluous; pretty much pointing left for six hours. They walk up, a pair of cute blondes whose legality is an issue (and during such times the Chris Rock 20-16-12 rule is in the fullest of effects) and ask where the cheerleading competition is. I'm thrown for a second because sometime in the last two Saturdays we actually had one; however, it's reverted to the old Convention Center this week down the street. And that's when they hit the mark.

"Oh, no! We just bought tickets!"

It doesn't even register right away. It's that stupid. I look down at their hands and sure enough, one of them is clutching two red tickets to get inside the design show.

Have you ever walked up to the movie theater, waited patiently in line, and then when it was your turn walked up to the window and gone "Surprise me?" Some fun things to think about while you wait for the three minutes to be up and blood to shoot out your nose:

1. Wouldn't the absolute lack of anything else resembling a cheerleader have tipped them off?
2. Did they not realize the seperate convention centers are in different locations given the new one has been in business since the start of Bush the Elder?
3. Did they just see a line and get at the end of it?
4. Did they fail to see the three signs posted outside stating this was the interior design expo?
5. Aren't they fortunate they're attractive, as otherwise they would starve and/or accidentally kill themselves?

So I send them on their way. They end up selling the tickets outside. And as they walk away, I think to myself: If it weren't for my horse...

Needless to say, nothing else happened that got within a time zone of that moment. A shame it happened in the first hour, but then again it gave me plenty of time to run around retelling the story. As I said, "A dumb blonde cheerleader--way to break the stereotype, sister!" So, if you hear me use the phrase "I just bought tickets!" at any point during the next, say, millennium...ya know.

After work I met up with Danny. I get to tell him the story over dinner. He started thinking about it, and would stop, and just start breaking up. I Can't Possibly Imagine Why. By the way, dinner? FOODGASM. We went to a Mexican place and I had one of the greatest creations to come out of Mexico since Salma Hayek: bacon-wrapped jumbo shrimp. So many things could've gone wrong: shrimp too tiny, shrimp undercooked, bacon undercooked, bacon overcooked, bacon tiny. But the smell is awesome and pungent, the shrimp are the size of my fist and at least a whole slice of bacon is wrapping them up to the tail. I'm literally almost hesitant to eat, as I know once I sink my teeth into this there will be no going back; merely a line of demarcation between the pre- and post-days. But I do it.

You know the orgasmic payoff to Tantric sex? It's like that only the orgasm is internal. I roll it around in my mouth, getting surprised. For every taste of shrimp, bacon follows or vice versa or it's a bbs sbs ssb sort of misasma that just falls apart in your mouth. And I know what you're thinking, that with a metaphor like that it can't get any better.

My ass.

Shove it in a hot tortilla, add some beans, cheese and salsa. Yes, the only thing better than bacon-wrapped jumbo shrimp is a bacon-wrapped jumbo shrimp BURRITO. And the rice underneath even tasted like bacon! I would've settled for the bacon-flavored rice, let alone the shrimps!

So when we finish that and there's a wait for our pool table, I make a run and wash down that heavenly goodness that actually made me stop making Corona with its only dessert equal: Oreo Blizzard.

Pool went great, as Danny sucks as much as I do and some guy kicked it with us and bought us a drink. It's weird being in the club so often and then getting adjusted to being outside at 12:30.

So, PB. Giving me good dates, hot girls on the dance floor, Glenda & Brenda, bacon-wrapped jumbo shrimp.

This summer is going to blow up like Paris' phone book.

Ambient music: #14, T.I.'s "You Don't Know Me"