Okay, I had an interesting precursor to the weekend that, given my socially bulimic lifestyle of Man Cave dwelling, was actually vomitously eventful. In a good way. I had dinner with Hobbit (a.k.a. my buddy Dave) Thursday evening at the Old Harbor Inn on the lake. They renamed it On Tap, but it’ll always be The Harbor to me. Of course, we contemplated openly whether the “G” in gyro was a hard “Gu” sound or a silent “G” pronunciation. This will be an open discussion for the ages. It gives us something to discuss in between our feasting delight and blowing the froth off a few pints. Then, I had lunch with Taarna on Friday (a.k.a. my friend Cheryl who has kind of white hair like the Heavy Metal character chick) and I hadn’t seen her in years. Just up for the Summer, but she’s one of those friends that you just kind of pick up where you left off as if it were yesterday. We went to the Winking Lizard in Montrose. And, they literally had a lizard in an aquarium. At first, I thought it was kind of like a lobster tank where you got to pick your lunch and they had a run on lizard sammiches because there was only one left. I later realized it was more of a mascot. My friend, Stew, has a pet lizard named Miss Sally and I warn her that it will eventually eat her toes in her sleep because it’s getting pretty large. She doesn’t heed my warnings. Hey, there was Shoeless Joe Jackson, she can be Toeless Stew. I think Taarna/Cheryl wasn’t wearing open-toed shoes, so she was safe while we gorged on twin cobb salads and beer. Hers, of course, was some sort of foo foo beer while I just had a Miller Lite, but thanked her for ordering hers because I was able to boob ogle the waitress as she poured the beer into a special glass. Oddly enough, after I returned to the Man Cave, my mother called. She had a simple request. “I need an egg.” I like eggs, so I typically have some looming around my fridge. She was returning from my niece’s abode after watching Enzo the Magnificent (my great nephew) and didn’t want to stop and buy a whole carton of eggs having the need for only one, so she said. Low and behold, I had two left in a twelve pack carton, so I told her that she could have them. The debate over needing more than one egg took a couple poor man’s bloody mary’s (V8, vodka, and some pepper) before I finally convinced her that two eggs are better than one. Plus, I had to go to the market anyway. Bye Ma. Love you. Hugs and kisses. Smoochy, smoochy. Then I actually do go to the market and get some poultry products and some cheese and bread and such, along with some milk. I know some folks think milk is taboo, but I dig me some udder juice on occasion. Upon my return, I feel a tad parched. Again, this is over the span of two days. Thursday and Friday. I do believe that I would crumple up like that cool, slinky garden hose I see on late night infomercials if I tried to condense all this activity into one day. Nevertheless, I’ve been talking to a politically similar minded fellow online here and there who is the Uncle of some folks I went to high school with and we meet up at Tonix, a bar about a block away from the Man Cave and right across from super chicken market, Lakeview, that I had just returned from. We have some beers and chat up Eric and Sharon, a nice married couple that sat down next to us at the bar before “Tie Guy” arrived and started plotting something with them about something that seemed irrelevant. I think it was pretty harmless, but I kept my eye on them. Well, Sharon was wearing a low-cut shirt. Nonetheless, it has taken two days to recuperate from my Man Cave-less social foret. My calves are sore for some reason. Oh, and I fed the squirrel brood in between all of this malarkey. I’m surprised it’s not just my calves that are sore.
Posted on: Sun, 23 Jun 2013 23:01:42 +0000
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