on thursday i drank one of these because some advertising genius had included the word "salt" on the label. frankly, you could sell me a snack-sized bag filled with scabs if i saw the word salt anywhere on the packaging. i'd be picking the debris out of my molars 2 minutes later, licking my fingers and poking in the corners for more! more! more!
so, yes. i let a table tent pick my drink. you'd think i would have learned my lesson the time i let my table tent pick my drink and my table tent picked a mike-arita.
"you'll have to tell me how it tastes," some bitchy blonde bartender from aces asked after ignoring me for 15 minutes in favor of strolling back and forth boredly without making eyecontact. this would have been fine, but some chris and johnny [storyhill] derivative was celebrating sidewalk days in the corner via guitar and john mayer hair.
"i'll tell you NOTHING!" i said to myself.
the first one was fine. like most variations on beer-beer that have cropped up since the early 1990s, it seemed to have been funneled through a sweating bottle of zima.
"how is that?" asked the waitress when i moved to the table. by now i was enjoying it, but i wanted to stick with my zima comparison so i had to pretend i hated it.
"it's like zi---" i started to say. then backtracked. "it's a little like this drink called 'zima' that some people liked to drink while you were still getting weepy over zach morse and kelly kapowski."
"hmm," she said. "i think i've maybe heard of zima ..."
eventually i graduated to blueberry stoli and a diet coke. if, like franzia, this drink came in a box, the box would look like this:
jcrew: chuck, do you think i'm a bitch?
chuck: well. ... yeah.
MAULED IN TIJUNANA
afterward we went to taco john's. i inadvertantly spent an extra six dollars when i was duped into paying for a medium-sized meal and a handful of 75 cent condiments. to taco john's i say: nicely played, tj. but gas station burritos it is, for me, from now on.
then we watched an episode of 21 jump street and went to bed.
i'm not that easily grossed out. i mean, i can like watch almost an entire episode of nip/tuck without barfing. but yesterday i was encountered with three things that made my bile churn:
1. little wormy creatures living in my apartment. [this has turned a simple closet reorganization task into a full-fledge scouring, sanitizing of my space. even now, i feel like i have bugs crawling on me.]
2. the line was long at the ghetto spur. the man in front of me was wearing a boot cast. i accidentally looked down at his foot and saw long brown curled toenails. i gagged and left without making a purchase.
3. a skeevy man left the unisex, one stall bathroom at the laundrymat. i vowed to not void until i was safely home at my worm-infested apartment. but i had to go and my clothes weren't dry. so ... he hadn't flushed. while it was just yellow doing the mellow, it still was yucko. i flushed for him. then i sat down to go and my entire heinie got wet.
i raced home and took a bath in bleach.
WEEKEND FOOTWARE UPDATE
i'm now accosting your sensibilities with these gems, which i bought in a moment of high-heeled blister and four hours to go at the mall of america and then ikea angst. i'm celebrating life in these cheapos.
doh! sometimes i become interested in doing something that happens before noon. for instance, last weekend i thought it would be fun to, this weekend, go to kinney, minn., for the town's celebration and parade.
i totally forgot about it. just like i totally forgot there is a greek festival going on. my friend blitz, however, made the trip to this small town and brought me back a souvenir:
a kinney, minn. passport! sweet.