Loyal readers, your patience has been tested. And, today, it is rewarded.
I have awaken from my slumber. I am back. And you reap the benefits.
So many topics. Where do I start? Well, how about some random thoughts so I can catch you up on things in my world.
After all, isn’t that why you’re here?
Is Thanksgiving really next week? I love Thanksgiving. Why? Because I love cranberry sauce in the can. And here’s the thing about that. It’s not sauce. If it were sauce, why would it be like jello? Don’t you pour a sauce? That’s my judgment on whether or not something is a sauce. Try it. You can’t poor cranberry sauce (the smooth kind, I’m talking about) out of a can. But, that’s the name. And I love it.
I’m sick and tired of the “mid-season” or “fall” finale in TV land. What’s up with that?
I love my son. Can’t love any more than I love him. We’re potty training. (He’s 2 and 1/2.) We’ve got the nighttime thing down pat. So now we’re working on other times during the day. So this morning, I’m eating breakfast, mom’s already at work and he’s playing with his trains in the other room without a diaper.
Next thing I hear is, “Daddy get potty.”
I’m pretty excited at this point. Wow. He could feel it and he told me. He knows what’s coming. Well, almost. I get over there to find him with soaking wet sweat pants, a pee puddle on the rug and big ‘ol smile on his face. “A went potty.” Yes, he did.
I’m 37. I shouldn’t get zits.
I understand why construction guys where hard hats when they are on the site. But, my god, why do they where them all the time — even when they are nowhere near the site? Someone just walked by my window with a hard hat. The site is probalby a half-mile from where he is. Is he afraid of things falling out of the sky and bopping him on the head? Weird.
I’m hungry. Fish and chips at the Portugese Club. Nobody makes fish and chips better than them. Well, except for me when I was the fastest (and best) fry cook in the world 20 years ago.
It’s weird that I can say, “20 years ago.” Makes me feel crazy old. But I don’t feel crazy old. Does that make sense?
That’s all for now, I think.
What else? I got nothin’.
I’m always up for a quickie. So here goes:
I was crazy thirsty this afternoon. So, I coined a phrase. Think about it. If you are starving, you say, “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
Well, if you’re thirsty, what do you say? See what I mean. There’s nothing.
I know it’s horrible, but it’s what I came up with on the fly and I’m going to the copyright office on this one.
“I’m so thirsty I could empty a reservoir.”
Don’t like it? Give me your best effort.
NEWSFLASH — Britney is divorcing Kevin.
Her career sky rockets. His plummets.
And, Brit, I’m here if you need a shoulder to cry on. (I’m sorry, I’m a fan.)
What else? I got nothin.
Did you vote yet? What are you waiting for!
My son is 2 and 1/2. He said today that he doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up. That’s OK, I told him. Daddy doesn’t either. I’m 37.
Had a vanilla shake today. Only problem was, it tasted like chocolate. It’s like getting french fries that taste like onion rings. Hate that.
I think I’m addicted to eBay. I’m buying Thomas the Tank stuff for my son. Stuff I can’t wait to play with! Everything I’m buying is brand new. And I haven’t paid anything near regular retail price.
Kirstie Alley in a bikini? I’m sorry. No interest in that.
Cindy Margolis not in a bikini? Much interest in that.
Why aren’t you watching Brothers & Sisters?
90210 and Melrose Place are out today. To those of you buying me Christmas presents — hint, hint.
Why don’t they paint lines on the street at night, as opposed to 7:30 this morning in the middle of the morning rush?
What else? I got nothin’.
I’m sick of it. Really. I never thought it would get to this. To a point where I had to appeal to you, loyal readers, for support. But, here we are.
I am fed up with the discrimination.
Not because I’m white.
Not because I’m Catholic.
Not because I’m straight.
Because I drink orange juice.
Yup, I, and others like me, am a victim of discrimination.
Here’s the scenario. You’ve seen it a hundred times. I’ll play the starring role.
I’m in a restaurant, let’s say it’s my and my better half out for breakfast. She orders coffee. First of all, unless you’re going to Fourbucks, it’s usually only $.99 or something silly like that. In addition, it’s always a bottomless cup.
Think about it, how often when you’re out to dinner does the waiter/waitress come by and ask, “More coffee?”
Well, no more coffee for me. I don’t drink it. I drink orange juice.
Back at the table, after my better half orders coffee, I order a glass of juice. The first problem is the price — it’s at least $1.75, but these days, it’s not a surprise to find it more than $2 and sometimes even higher.
But that’s just the beginning. There are two more major elements in play.
First, the size. And, ladies (and gentlemen), here’s where size matters. I just paid more than $2 for a glass of juice and it’s 8 ounces or something foolish like that.
That’s just for the one cup. There will be no waiter or waitress coming around asking if I’d like to “refresh” my juice.
See what I’m saying?
Juice drinkers of the world, we must unite.
It’s bad enough I always have to answer the question about why I don’t drink coffee. But now, I have to, more than ever, defend my choice to drink orange juice. Or, god forbid, defend my choice of asking for a second glass — of which I know I will have to pay.
Do you feel my pain?
What else? I got nothin’.
The whole purpose of the drive-thru is convenience.
Be it at a bank, drug store, fast food restaurant or, in some places, even a package store, the point is providing the customer (me!) with a quick experience. No need to get out of the car if you don’t have to.
For this rant, we’re focusing on the fast food drive thru — McDonald’s in particular.
It’s rare that I stop under the golden arches for breakfast. But, this morning was different. Junior woke up late, which threw our typical morning routine off, which meant I didn’t have breakfast. So, after dropping him off, I started contemplating breakfast options.
And then it hit me. I hadn’t had the world’s greatest breakfast sandwich in quite a while.
I’m talking about the Sausage McMuffin with Egg.
Take that back. It’s not the greatest breakfast sandwich. It’s better than that. In fact, I’ll go so far as call it the best fast food sandwich — breakfast or otherwise.
So, I pull into the drive-thru lane. And then I change my mind. I never change my mind. But, today, I did.
I opted for the McGriddle. Have never had it, so figured why not give that a try. Live on the edge. Think out of the box. Push the envelope. You get the idea.
I pull up to the window, give the guy my money and take my bag (I got the hashbrown, too) and my juice (just wait until you read my rant on the unfair treatment of juice drinkers).
I get to the office, settle in, call up the local daily on the web and start to read while finishing off my hashbrown — which, for reasons I don’t really have, I always eat first.
Then, I reach in my bag and pull out a hefty sandwich in a labelled wrap that says “bacon egg and cheese bagel.”
You’re kidding me. I didn’t order a bagel. I ordered a McGriddle. I should have ordered a Sausage McMuffin with Egg, but on this day of great adventure, I go for the McGriddle.
But it’s not there.
At this point it’s too late and too complicated to drive back. Ugh. Another drive-thru meltdown at the hands of someone who doesn’t care about customer service.
I wanted it to taste good. But it didn’t. How could it? Not only was it something I didn’t want. It was something I would never order. But, I was hungry. So I ate it.
And as I was eating it, I thought about checking the order at the drive-thru. But who does that? Really. Do you? I don’t. But I probably will now. Doing that, though, defeats the entire purpose of the drive-thru. Fast service. Not getting your stuff and opening the bag to check it while everyone is sitting in their car behind you.
Ugh. I should have stuck with the stand by. See what happens when you try and mix it up?
What else? I got nothin’.