04 October, 2010

Laundry detergent, the greatest drink special ever, and a return to my happy place.

This kind of shit happens to only me. Really. You know how you find SD&A? You Google the words "super herp fetish".

Possible new slogan: Satisfying your craving for super-herpes since 2007!
ANYway, there are few odors in the world I find more repugnant while in the throes of a hangover to any degree (today's is "slight") than the odor of laundry detergent. Since we ran out of powder detergent yesterday, I walked down to the bodega and picked up a couple of bottles of the liquid stuff. Knowing Georgie will piss and moan should I procure "Apple Blast", "Citrus Heaven", or "Lilac & Balls" or whatever - and she does, too. Whatever you do, don't buy apple or orange-scented dish soap, you'll never hear the fucking end of it, despite the fact that it takes an act of congress to get her to do the dishes - I pick "Fresh Linen Breeze" figuring that it makes sense. I'm washing linens. This shit is supposed to smell like linens. I wasn't aware that linen had a distinct smell but this seems like a winning scenario: Wash your linens in linen-scented detergent.
Tell me that I'm not the only one that makes sense to.
Regardless of how much sense it makes, that shit is potent and the entire basement smells like a cross between a laundromat and the detergent aisle at SuperTarget. It is completely overwhelming and just repugnant.
ANYhoo, so I'd already put back a twelver yesterday when Carson called me up and told me that Oktoberfest was going strong at the Black Forest Inn and shit was off the chain. 75¢ half-liters off the chain. You picking up what I'm putting down, here? 75¢ half-liters were being served at one of the most expensive watering holes in the neighborhood. Let that sink in: 75¢ half-liters.

This. For 75-hellin'-damnin'-ass-¢.
Naturally, I can't recall any key points of the conversation I had with Carson, though I did tell an old hippie that whatever tree he was talking about was arrogant. His reply?
"Oh and what about you, man? You gonna get one over on mother nature?"
Yeah, probably.
Otherwise, I recall eyeing plenty of waitresses last night and making definite concrete plans to charm the pants off them and take them out for tacos. Next time I go. When I am sober. 'Cause, nilla, I wasn't capable of jack shit last night and I knew it. When midnight came, because Black Forest is a restaurant and not a bar, they politely kicked us out and we were now left with nowhere to go.
Except...
We've established that it was late but not too late.
We've established that I was drunk.
We've established that I was contemplating flirting with the wait staff.
We've used the word "tacos" in this post.
You know where this is going.
... right next door to Little T's.

Where my wallet goes to die!
Even at Little T's, the place I vowed not to return to for an extended period of time to avoid running into Peaches, where I had developed a crush on Bettie Fey, where a prospective hostel employee found work after I turned her down, where I had met and dated the Waitress, and basically have just made it known to everybody who works in that establishment that really all I wanna do is a zoom zoom zoom and a boom boom - sorry. Sometimes I remember the 90s and I lose my train of thought. No, I was saying, though, that I've doubtlessly proven to Little T's that I don't even go there for the food. I go there because I regard them as my own personal stable of fuckable miscreants that appear to be severely less fucked in the head than your average Suicide Girl.

If she believed in truth in advertising, that tattoo'd say "Daddy Issues".
I get a vibe off of our waitress, a tall number with black hair and I drunkenly recall two lip piercings, that she might be acutely aware of who I am somehow. Now, certainly coworkers are going to discuss the weird guy with the beard that just asked one of them out. That's a given and I accept that I probably should've waited longer than less than a month to show my face in there should I wish to avoid weird vibes. Or maybe we got weird vibes because Carson brought his sausage from Black Forest in with him.
Either way, I finised my meal, tipped my usual 20%, and Carson and I left.
One of these days, man, one of these days, I can knock all this off because I'm going to meet a nice young lady... who works at a restaurant outside of my neighborhood.

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