Category: Food

Yawn Burp

 I know I am not alone on this. And if I am, I guess that is my luck. Today I had some quiet time for the first time in many a month. But it wasn’t alone time by any means. I was able to sneak away to a remote college coffee shop in Marietta, GA. It was the first time I had been there in years but I was in the area and desperate for free WiFi and Earl Grey. I did feel a little old to be in there but what ever. So what if I was the only guy in a suit?

I found a lone table in the far corner of the cafe, sat down and quietly unzipped my computer bag trying to not draw any annoyed attention to myself. With laptop safely opened, the tea lid off without the end of my tie in it and my bottom resting on the seat I began to feel safely assimilated with the rest. But soon my wake up call of  4:30 am reared it’s ugly head and the need to yawn over took my body.

It was a great stretchy yawn too. The type that peaks every sense in the body, expelling the tenseness of the day, charging the nerves, popping the ears and filling the lungs so full the need to breath again seems an eternity. I’ve never tried heroin but I would imagine if the dragon was caught, the zenith point of a stretchy yawn would be very similar. In other words, I believe this yawn/stretch to be a publicly and sociably acceptable orgasm.

Much like the life I lead, with great triumph come great tragedy.  Right when I was at the high point of the yawn it happened. I burped. I can only describe in words what it sounded like so here it goes.

mmmmrraaaaaaaooorrrruuu*URP* (abrupt stop)

I still had my arms fully stretched to the sides, but my mouth shut as I looked around wide eyed.  No one looked at first but everyone made eyes and began to smile. Even the damn cat that was sleeping on the register picked up it’s head and looked at me across the restaurant as if to say, “what the fuck, man.?”. Soon my ears began to heat as I slowly lowered my arms down. I can’t really explain why but I adjusted my tie and cleared my throat. Then I completely validated what happened by saying way too loudly, “excuse me”. Luckily I was the uncool suit in the room so no one responded.

Oh, well. That wasn’t as bad as what happened later. I tried to shove Splenda packets under one of the uneven table legs and I tipped my topless tea over. I just left. Mess and all. So all in all, today only cost me $2.95 for the tea and 1,000,000,000 cool points. Pretty cheap, huh?

16

Triscuit

There few things more disconcerting than eating your favorite snack and about 3/4’s of the way though figure out that something has been snacking with you. That happened to be my realization last night while I was elbow deep in a box of Triscuits. It’s no secret that my vice in life is reduced fat Triscuits much to the dismay of anyone watching TV with me or sharing an office. It’s not as harmful as smoking and not as fattening as beer but I have accidentally inhaled a shredded wheat fiber which caused me to choke while driving. From then on I only eat Triscuits from the safety of my armchair.

Back to my point. So I was mouing down the crackers when I found this!

It is a cracker with a perfect bite in it. Not what you want to find after consuming about 30 of them. So I sat there staring at the Triscuit, expressionless. Many things ran through my head as I held the cracker to the light. Then I placed it on the table and dumped out the remaining, scavenging for a clue to what could have possibly taken this bite and praying that a mouse didn’t fall on the table as well. After a minute or two I came up with these possibilities.

Not cool, man! I would die if I was sharing a snack with a mouse. But then I asked myself why would a mouse jump into a box of Triscuits and only take one bite of a cracker? I don’t think they stop at one. I certainly can not. Regardless, I doubt a mouse was the culprit because they generally chew their own doors open. Don’t they?

A confused termite, perhaps? I have seen a few termites around the area and wouldn’t you know it? These assholes bite and fly! I am more scarred of a termite than a bee. At least bees pollen-ate and make honey. Termites eat your home and then have the audacity to try and eat you. I am drifting again…back to the point. I am leaning against a termite. Even though Triscuits are as close to wood as a snack can get, it’s freezing outside and I just don’t believe one survived only to take up residence in my box of crackers.

Maybe a very young Seth Green. You’ll have to watch this clip from Tales From the Dark Side to see why that popped in my head. Seth turned out to be a normal looking guy but back in the day I remember him having one mega tooth. He could definitely open a few cans of Juicy Juice concentrate, I tell you. If it wasn’t for that whole time/space theory he may be a suspect into the matching one-tooth bite from my Triscuit. (it’s a good thing I am not a detective by trade)

So, I was left with only one possibility. I crossed my arms, leaned back in the chair and sighed. Why didn’t I think of this before? Looking at the pile of Triscuits I became aware that the culprit had been there the entire time, just staring at me from the kitchen window. They didn’t eat Triscuits, they just liked to mess with me and it worked. I think I may leave the sprinkler on over night. Then we will see who is laughing.

Stupid Gnomes.

6

Newton Can Freakin’ Hang

I don’t know why things like this happen to me but they do. Maybe they happen to everyone else and maybe I am more apt to share my follies on here but lately I feel like I was born under a bad sign. Most people know that I am a big believer in karma almost to the extreme that killing a spider is tough for me. In the back of my mind there maybe a chance that in the next life I will be a spider. I know that sounds crazy but so is my life. I’m a Catholic and we don’t even believe in reincarnation but I am taking no chances. Spiders repulse me so unless one is chewing on my ear I will probably just leave the room and make up the excuse that he will eat all the flies which I hate 1/10000’s of a percent less. But I digress. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I would have no luck at all.

So, I was at the grocery store yesterday picking up a few items for the week. I try not to eat out for every meal but as many know it is almost impossible so my list was short only including breakfast food, coffee, and a few Healthy Choice meals for odd nights. I also had a two liter of Sprite on the list because nothing will make a fresh out of the microwave, 900 degree on the outside, -32 degree on the in side, fettuccine alfredo chicken meal go down easier then to be complimented by lemon and lime. So while carrying six items in my arms, (because getting a cart means the temptation to buy 30 more items) I reached for the three liter Sprite perched on the top shelf when all Hell broke lose.

Maybe this was in God’s plan? Maybe the other five three liters where making a mad dash for an escape? Perhaps Newton was just an asshole? Regardless the reason, five three liters of Sprite seemed to leap from the gated barrier and crash to the floor, 6 feet below. But three of them didn’t bounce. Their hulls were breached and they took off in different directions like missiles. The other two bounced face level causing me to instinctively to drop my items in the hopes to catch the already armed sodas before they too would initiate the launch system. Of course I had eggs that were now scrambled.

This happened in about 2 and a half seconds. In that time most would drop an F-bomb or two. That would be appropriate for this circumstance. I, on the other hand, never have the right word to say. Instead I scream the only thing that pops in my head and it usually is a little more embarrassing than the event itself. Prime example: I slipped and fell in public. Instead of shouting something cool like “shit” or “damn it” I screamed “NOOOOOO!” As if I refused to accept the fact that my feet where parallel to my face.

So while the soda rockets where streaking down the isle, my groceries where in a pile on my new shoes and I was involuntarily drinking Sprite, I shouted the only thing that popped in my head. I yelled in a panicked voice, “GRANDMOTHER!” Grandmother? Who says that? I’ve had a day to digest this and my theory is that I was about to say “mother f*cker” but I was trying to be reserve and my data bank went straight to “grandmother”. That’s my theory.

Well, after the mist cleared there was an eerie quite. The others who had been in the soda and chip isle had bolted from the scene as if to say “not my mess”. I could feel the trickle of Sprite dripping from my chin, the last exhaust of CO2 leave the bottles as soda drained from the cracked tops and that unmistakable warming sensation of pure humiliation as blood rushed to my face. There were only a few options.

  1. Fake a seizure
  2. Get pissed off and mask the embarrassment through blame of someone else
  3. Just run
  4. Suck it up and wait for the poor kid to show up with a mop.

I waited. I collected the half drained soda bottles as the chatter from the neighboring isle began to resume. I could hear their conversations. I couldn’t tell if they were laughing but I did hear some mention of “grandmother”. I assume I am being talked about right now around at least four office water coolers.

Soon the mop and bucket arrived and the kid assured me he had it under control. I held my breath and did the walk of shame to the check out isle and explained the incident to the cashier and she told me it was alright. I left quickly and sat in my new car all sticky. Feeling mission unaccomplished, I went home and showered trying to laugh the past hour away. It wasn’t as funny as I had hoped but I am sure one day it will be. For now though, screw three liters, screw Publix and screw Sprite. I’m now a Fresca man.

11

Life Lessons

It is amazing to me that in an instant the very way we view life can change forever. It can happen at the oddest time and from people we would never expect. A few months ago my Uncle Mark (left) and his best pal Jim (right) took their annual vacation to see me from Philadelphia. Now I love these guys but I will be honest when I say that I was looking forward to their visit much like my semi-annual visit to the dentist. They definitly march to their own beat and by the time they left to go home I was grateful to them for allowing me to be in the parade.

Growing up Uncle Mark was definitely the “cool” uncle. He lived in the basement of my grand parents house that was a 12 year old kids paradise full of BB guns, cable TV, candy, a police scanner and a computer. This was heaven sent when the only thing to do upstairs was watch CSPAN, PBS money drives and God forbid read. He also taught me how to punch, never hit a girl, what poison ivy looked like, every line up the Flyers had since ’77, the need to study hard, carrots equal good eyesight, milk makes you tall, spinach equals muscles, don’t smoke (he still smokes 2 packs a day), girls hate guys that are smelly, and some day the Russians will invade so be prepared. See? All good things and I have retained it all even 20 + years later.

Well, Uncle Mark still lives in the grand parents basement and now when I go up there, I find myself giving him lessons and advice. He has never settled down with anyone and that is with reason. Ninety percent of the advice I give is about women. It’s not that I know that much, it’s that he doesn’t. Here’s an example.

Last Christmas I was visiting in Philadelphia and after dinner he took me to his Friday night hang out. It was a dance club for seniors and between Jim and Mark it was more like a potential chance to meet some strange. I went to the bar to get us a couple of beers and as I was walking back I noticed that Mark had no intentions of approaching any women. Actually if you didn’t know him, he kind of looked like a stalker. Well, I decided to help him out and a noticed a younger lady sitting by herself and I asked if she would like to come hang out with us. After bribing her with a seven and seven she came and I introduced her to my “rich and single” uncle. Things went pretty well and they were hitting it off right up to point when his cell phone rang. I swear to God this is what Mark said next.

“We have to go. That was my mother and I told her we would be home before midnight. Do you camp? I like to camp so maybe we can go camping?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him she might not call. Actually I did they opposite. I said he was smooth and she would definitely sleep with him but next time, leave the whole “Mom called” thing to yourself and for Christ sakes stop calling her mother.

Jim is a cool guy. He is the typical blue collar Philadelphia Eagles fan that will kill you in a bar if you say anything derogatory about McNabb. He too is 50, single, living at home still. (These guys have a lot in common.) The one thing about Jim is his child like amazement for the most ordinary things. A few years ago on another holiday trip up north, all three of us took a trip up to Allen Town to spend the day at a Bass Pro outlet. I like Bass Pro so I went along. Little did I know we would take a six hour detour and tour the UTZ Pretzel packing factory because we passed it on the highway. If I knew earlier that day I would be wearing a hairnet and safety goggles I would have stayed home.

So now you know them. They have hearts the size of Kansas but socially they do their own thing. Well before I knew it the week had come for them to visit. I actually had been so busy I forgot until the night before but if anyone could entertain themselves they could.

After they arrived we caught up for a few minutes, ate dinner and watched a little baseball. Upon inquiring what plans they have for the week, Jim and Mark made it apparently clear that they needed to first find a Walmart and stat. Apparently on they made the decision when packing to leave the underwear at home to make room for other things. I have never heard of anyone making a cognitive decision to leave the underwear at home. That’s the first thing I pack. Well, I took them to Walmart and you haven’t lived until you see two fifty year olds argue over brief or boxer. Another thing that I didn’t know but every Walmart these guys are at they collect as many plastic bags as possible. After check out they stood out side and compared who had the most bags much like kids comparing Halloween candy. I think this was an omen for the day that followed.

So it was Saturday and their first full day of vacation. I took the day off to show them around before they left to spend the rest of their time in the Everglade. I figured we would go to waterfront, charter a boat, fish off the pier, or take a ride down to South Beach. When I asked what they had in mind Jim piped up and said he saw an add for a Flea Market that’s open and we should check it out but first they needed to stop at another Walmart that was having a grand opening in Stewart an hour north. Ok then. Off to the Flea Market.

Jim rented a pretty nice sports car and we took that to find this crazy mystery place called a flea market. I must admit that Jim is a pretty aggressive driver. I take that back, he’s more crazy than aggressive. After 30 seconds in the back seat I decided that seat belts were pretty pointless when you hit a Crown Vic going 90. If I’m going to die then I’m coming through the front seat and taking one of them with me. I think this guy had a safer ride than I did.

So after we broke the sound barrier three times, honked the horn 400 times, flicked off random elderly couple 250 times and ran 30 red lights we pulled into the South Florida Flea Market. It’s amazing how fast you can get around town when you totally disregard the law. The market was what I thought it was; half shopping, half circus. But no matter, I was there because Uncle Mark and Jim had their hearts set on it. And then I found out what they were there for. They needed gym bags, socks, a new watch with an alarm, pecans and the ultimate sausage sandwich. Wait…what? Sausage sandwich? I have never hung around anyone who has gone on a quest for a sausage sandwich. There’s always a first.

Just browsing around the different kiosks I felt almost overloaded with the amount of ninja swords, personal designed hats, airbrushed T-shirts and homemade jewelry. Jim and Mark were pigs in shit, though. I was there for the people watching but I found myself just watching them. Mark got his socks and watch while Jim haggled with an Indian guy for a couple of Nikie gym bags with an upside down swoosh. Onto lunch!

Holy shit they found sausage sandwiches! I couldn’t believe it. They must be flea market pro’s because they didn’t even question whether or not sausage sandwiches were available. I declined to eat one and it’s not that I’m a snob when it comes to eating food at a flee market. It’s just that I had food poisoning once, which is why I will never drink chocolate milk from a gas station again. I think getting food poisoning from a sausage sandwich may indeed kill me. I just watched in utter amazement as Jim dropped most of it on his shirt and Uncle Mark chewed with his mouth opening while flirting with the raffle ticket chick. From then on I stayed twenty paces behind them pretending to be on the phone.

We came, we saw, we concurred the South Florida Flea market. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. Actually just watching these two guys made the whole trip worth while. I’ll never think about sausage without linking it to the smell of pony rides and pleather. Now onto the new Walmart and it’s grand opening! This one I did skip and stayed in the car. I can’t tell the difference between one Walmart and another.

They went in and came out relatively quickly. But not without a inordinate amount Walmart bags of course. While they were in a kind lady gave them the idea that we should go to up to Fort Pierce to look at the manatees that hang out in the marina. Sounded fine to me. I have only seen a few since living in Florida so why not?

After we pulled out of the Walmart parking lot Mark turned down the radio and hushed us because it was just about 3:00 and he had to test his new alarm wrist watch. We listened intently and at at the stroke of three an audible vioce chimed, “The time is three PM and you’re an asshole.” Holy shit it was a novelty gag watch and the look on Uncle Marks face was to die for. I haven’t laughed that hard in a while. You know the laugh. The laugh that makes your mouth muscles ache. I must say that Uncle Mark didn’t find it too funny and that made it all the more hilarious.

Well, we got to Ft. Pierce in less than 20 minutes which is pretty amazing because it was over 60 miles away. And sure enough the lady was right and there were sea cows a float’n. I’ve never seen two 50 year olds go shit house mad over floating fat mammals. I can still hear Uncle Mark yelling, “Look at his snozzle, look at his snozzle!” I can only assume that a snozzle in the mouth of the manatee. It was pretty priceless.

After that picture opportunity we hopped back in the death machine and took A1A, which is the beach side highway back down to West Palm. On the way we passed a nuclear power plant and for what ever reason they had to pull over and get an outside look. Knowing the history of these guys what do you think happened next?

  • They looked at it from a safe distance and we drove away?
  • They heeded my warnings and just kept going?

  • They walked up to the front gate and decided to take a few pictures?

Of course they took a picture. And not even 30 seconds later two cops pulled up and gave us what we had coming. I think they figured out the harmlessness of the situation but made it a point to make me feel like an idiot and I didn’t even leave the car. Now I was ready to go home.

So the day came to an end. I was never so glad to be sitting on my bed staring at the TV. Even if it was off. I had to share the days events with someone so I called a dear friend of mine and we were rolling with laughter just by the readers digest version of it all. Then I got the outside perspective of what I missed. Uncle Mark and Jim are not sad characters at all. Actually they have what most strive for their whole life. They are truly happy. It doesn’t matter that sausage sandwiches decorate their shirt or the fact that they are oblivious to wearing brown socks with white Stride Rites. In their world Walmarts are Mecca and finding a flea market can make or break a Saturday.

After I got off the phone I walked downstairs and ordered us a few pizzas . At dinner I looked at the atrocious table manners they had with a sense of awe. I had a whole new appreciation for who these guys were. They held the secret to personal happiness. It wasn’t obliviousness or lack of intellect but rather their complete view point on life. Happiness comes in the small things. All I need to do to realize that was take the stick out of my ass and see them for what they are worth and there is no price on that. I needed to learn more from them but soon their trip was over and I find myself missing the strange adventures. I can’t wait to see them for Christmas and maybe the zest for life will inspire me to throw caution to the wind and seek out sausage sandwiches from a random vendor. I think about that every time I find Walmart bags around the house. Thanks guys.

7

Beer, Polka and Pumpkins Part 2

 

So there we were following a trail of slow movers (elderly) down the sidewalk to the festival center. I should have known this may be a little above our age because there was a giant bingo sign above the entrance. Never the less, there was  live accordions playing, dogs on the grill and I was sure kegs of beer inside. I’m kind of like a shark when it comes to beer. If sharks can smell a drop of blood per a million gallons of water than I can smell a drop of beer per one hundred people dowsed in Ben Gay. I know I am ripping on old people but hang in there. They actually rescue me at the end of this story.

Now that I am almost thirty I really feel that I should take full advantage of these festivals. Who cares about being reserve or what others think? When we walked into the festival I saw a sea of people all sporting German clothing, dancing, singing along and just having a good time. Damn it, I’m getting a hat! So that is what I did. I let my my guard down, bought us food, beer, a program, an awesome hat and introduced myself to the strangers sitting next to us. Of course they were as nice as they could be and just like that we were knee deep in Oktoberfest 2007.

I must admit that the fact our hotel was a mere fifty yards away made it hard to turn down my 7th beer and before I knew it the draw of the Orlando based Polka band was too much. We caught the end of a conga line that led right to stage center where it segwayed into the famous Chicken Dance-off. After that I tried my hand at real dancing and what looked simple really was not. I was 35 years younger than everyone there and I was getting my ass kicked on the dance floor. I returned to our seats a little sheepish but it was ok. When I was dancing like I had my legs on backwards a table full of old ladies from a Illinois charter line was watching and took pity and was able to give me guidance while the drummer of the band took my girlfriend on a real polka dance.

It only took a few lessons to really get the hang of it. I learned the two step, the waltz and the polka in less time than I learned I hate black licorice. It took me a few tries to be sure I really didn’t like it. Anyway, I had a blast learning and when I took the girlfriend back out on the dance floor I really turned it up a notch. Mainly because I was sure I wouldn’t break her hip if I had a polka mishap. I rule!

Well, soon the band was finishing up the encore and a bottle of Maalox was being passed around. I have to admit that hanging with these old ladies was the most fun I have had in a long time. They smoke, drink and cuss just like people I love. Too bad that they live so far away but that is always the bad part of vacations. You meet some of the greatest people in the world and at the end all you have is the memories. Better than nothing I suppose.

Well, soon the Oktoberfest was over and we had a blast to say the least. After saying our goodbyes, meeting the band and getting the to-go beer we made the trek back to the room. But I wasn’t ready to surrender yet. It was only 11pm and there had to be after party somewhere! And then I heard it. Someone was rocking Karaoke STYX and that is all I needed to keep the party going. We went into the bar and found a few barfly’s and a DJ that used to be in a KISS tribute band. He and I rocked a duet to “Rock and Roll All Night And Party Everyday.” Perfect end to a perfect day.

Part three is tomorrow and it is all about a quest for the annual pumpkin. It was strange and unusual but something to never forget.

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