100th Post

Wooo hooo!!! 100th post!!

[cheer] [scream] [fireworks]

Okay, now that the celebrations are over and the crowd subsided, we can move on.

I think sundays are going to be my 'out to the bar' day. This time, it was Hero's in Fulleton, CA.

It's a nice bar, very cozy. Peanut shells on the floor (as they serve 'em oldstyle, from those cool red, white and blue bags) and the drinks very good.

As you may know, I like to go it alone to the ol' bars and taverns.. unless I'm hanging with the few friends I do have, it's all about experiencing the activities solo.

Other than the bartender not being able to serve a decent martini, it was all good. The beers on tap are numerous (over a hundred, I believe) and the food is top-notch (beef brisket sandwich for me this time).

The next time a girl starts talking to me at the bar, I'm going to ask for her number. Damn it - being the shy type doesn't help me in social situations. I could tell she wanted to talk but I wasn't really paying attention. It was the San Diego/Cleveland game, which was going pretty good.

But back to the martini. Gin martini, STIRRED not shaken VERY dry. Was it dry? No. Too much vermouth. The girls next me kept saying I should have a dirty martini. This, my friends, is sacreligious. And, I will NEVER have a dirty martini again. EVER. Between now and the day that I die I will not purposely ingest a dirty martini. There is a reason for this.

And why stirred? Because I heard it's better for gin not to be shaken as the complexity of the spirit is broken up when shaken.. so was it stirred? No. It wasn't stirred.

I couldn't drink it all, especially after the barkeep added more gin. I just couldn't. I would have fallen over if I had. But, I liked his style, his courtesy. He was a funny guy. Just enough conversation without being bothersome. That's a good bartender.

Bill came out to thirty bucks. I gave him a 10 dollar tip.

Are you still stuck on that reason? None of your business. :-)

McDonalds, You Are My Foe!

McDonalds be damned. Oh, you fiend, it is not your french fries or your pathetic Big Mac. No! It's not your stupid parfait or chicken McNuggets or your worthless salads or even your health conscious fare.

It's your goddamned McRib. The McRib sandwich that has a pre-processed pork..whatever..drenched in BBQ sauce and placed between two buns with a few pickles and onions. It is this thing you call a 'sandwich' that has me fevered.

Why, you ask? Oh, I'll tell you why.

It's because it's sooo fucking good. Have you tasted one of these gems?

I, like many millions of people, avoid the Arches like the plague. They are the symbol of an obese nation, a beacon of unhealthy choices and a gateway to the land of gluttony. But it is this time of year that the satan of foods brings upon me temptation that cannot be denied.

The McRib.

Oh the juicy, processed pork. You cannot just eat one. You have to eat two. And if you're really hungry, you can probably scarf three. This must be a ploy by McDonalds. A ploy to say, "yes, I still control you. I STILL HAVE YOUR STOMACH WITHIN MY POWER." And they do. Without even a commercial (which I've now seen, by the way), we know where these delightfully forbidden morsels are and when to expect them so that we may devour them without remorse.

If I were a god-fearing man, I would pray for forgiveness. I would repent my sin.

The only thing even close to this on any scale is, of course, McDonalds' green Shamrock shakes. And Saint Patty's Day is quickly approaching.

Oh, you have once again made life unbearable. But you will crush me, like a girl with my heart who has decided that the girl she met in yoga class is the one for her. How, you may ask?

When those delicious little sandwiches cease to be sold, again, as they are only for a limited time. And once again, I will be left in withdrawl only to have to go through this again next year.

DAMN YOU McDONALDS! DAMN YOU!