If You're Shrewd Enough To Be Underlined.

          I didn't really mean to get so drunk last night.  I guess.  Maybe I did, I don't know, I don't remember.  I remember being on the phone with a longtime pal (that's a shout-out to you, Kennen) and I have some kind of fuzzy memory of eating a pickle for a late snack, unless that was a dream, and then I woke up this morning and it was time to get ready for work.  And boy was i pissed.  So I had decided that today I would take a nap after work and then not drink at all... I can hear all of you lol-ing already.  But I'm serious.  Of course, one of the reasons I wasn't going to drink today was because I didn't have more than $1.38 in my checking account.  I mean, I have a little under half a bottle of vodka here at the house, but I was planning on not speaking to vodka after what she had apparently done to me.  So I went to work, reluctantly but no more than usual, and when I got there I checked my account online.  To my pleasant and much-needed surprise, my state tax return had come in.  And, as evidence of how funny the universe is sometimes, not five minutes after seeing that I got an out-of-the-blue text from Lacey, one of my little schnookums from the bar (Bullfrogz, if you remember), which said something like "I'm working at the bar all day if you wanna stop by!"  Well, how can I say "no" to that face??  Yeah yeah, I wouldn't have seen her face until I was actually at the bar, but hey...so she didn't have to do much convincing.  Also, it had crossed my mind that I should go to the bar and beg all my girlies to feed the mongrel while/if I'm in Seattle next weekend, since Jeremy won't be here either.  The mongrel.  The hungry hungry hippo.  Loner.

          And by the way, since we're again on the subject of Bullfrogz being my favorite place ever, I have to add this:  what bar do YOU go to where you can get any of the staff to feed your cat??  Yeah, I thought so.  I asked to take a picture of Lacey, but she wouldn't agree to it when I wouldn't tell her what it was for, which now I guess makes perfect sense.  Instead I'll just settle for this:

               That's my hand after being at the bar.  My other hand has something about vag1nas and a lot of orange on it.  That one was decorated by Haze.  I have yet to see what kind of Lacey/Haze argument will build from this.
               Anyway, that's not all that happened when I saw that I had some slight moneypapers.  I also decided that I would treat myself to a meal that wasn't just the plain old pot of rotini with tomato sauce I had waiting in the fridge.  I thought that I deserved some french fries.  Plus, a pregnant coworker was saying something about how bacon at the moment was "gag-errific" and I said, "I'm going to Wendy's today; I'm going to have the new Asiago Ranch Chicken Club."  And I meant what I said.
          When I got home, I decided that since I was going to the bar later, and would thus be giving out plenty of hugs, I should take a shower so I wouldn't stink from a hot, grueling workday--at a law firm.  It wasn't until halfway through my shower that I realized by the time I got to the bar I would already smell like vodka and french fries, and that the bar would be full of cigarette smoke.  Nevertheless, I bathed and put on a shirt that, inside the shape of Africa, says PROCEEDS FROM THIS SHIRT BENEFIT MY IMAGE.
              I felt somewhat strange when I, shirt donned, stepped out of my house and found myself being stared at by a large thug in a dopeboy Oldsmobile that had a set of metal testicles hanging from it.  Luckily I was wearing my aviator sunglasses so I could pretend that I didn't notice or wasn't bothered.  The thug drove away.  As of now I'm still quite confused by what happened.
          Before I hit up Wendy's, I stopped by Home Depot to take note of prices of some supplies for an upcoming project that I can't describe here.  Perhaps I'm building a gazebo??  Sure!  Just think that that's it.  Then I swooped into Wendy's and slapped my debit card down for the Asiago Ranch Chicken Club (spicy) combo.  But I was strategizing also.  See, that is a new sandwich, and new sandwiches like that one always have some kind of sauce on it, in this case a ranch sauce of some kind.  Well, look, I'm telling you here, a new fastfood sandwich with a sauce on it is usually NOT GOOD.  Sandwiches don't need all these sauces, and that's what the industry hasn't figured out yet.  Honestly, all they need is lettuce, because lettuce is awesome.  This one though seemed simple enough to work--ranch--but I still had a backup plan so that I wouldn't end up with a shitty dinner; I also got a Double Junior Bacon Cheeseburger.  If the Asiago was no good, I would still finish my meal with a sandwich that can do no wrong.
          Bag in hand, I rushed home.  And that is not writer's embellishment, I mean I literally rushed home to eat it; I am that serious about my fastfood.
          And at this point I want to throw relevant references out here of two of my favorite movies.  Michael Douglas in Falling Down takes a bag full of guns into a fastfood restaurant and throws a fit about not being able to order breakfast, then after agreeing to order from the lunch menu, throws another awesome fit about how his burger is a total let-down compared to the giant poster of the same burger.  Great, great movie.  Also, one of my favorite parts in (500) Days of Summer is the split-screen comparison of Tom's "expectations vs. reality", because it is really so true to life, and boy I am not going to tell you why that movie is so true to my life.  I told you before, this blog is for many topics, but not that one.  Anyway, I have attempted to do this with the Asiago blah blah sandwich.

          It may look bad, but my reality picture was taken with a phone.  So come on, give it a break.  It could be much worse.  I'm not here to necessarily speak of aesthetics, I'm here to tell you what an awesome fucking sandwich that is.  For real.  You know how I said I usually hate new sandwiches with some kind of sauce on them?  This is not one of them.  That sandwich is...I really want to go get another one right now, now that I'm thinking about it again.  Now, granted, you have to note this, I got the spicy version, so it likely had more flavor than the homestyle or grilled versions, due to the paprika and turmeric (yeah, I learned that today).  But I'm telling you, if you go get this sandwich and are disgusted by it, it must be a fluke of some kind, or you must be at this Wendy's in Statesboro, Georgia I visited once on my way out of town, one of the reasons why I hate going through drive-thrus.  I ordered a #6 (Spicy Chicken Sandwich combo) with cheese and bacon, and when I'm like a couple miles down the road, what do I have?  A cheese and bacon sandwich, with no chicken.  Are you fucking kidding me??  But hey, I can't hold that one incident against the entire company, and you shouldn't harbor feelings like that either.  If you have ever liked Wendy's, then you should do yourself a favor and try the whatever sandwich I've been talking about.  If you don't like it, well, don't ever read my fucking blog anymore, and go order something else, because most everything on the Wendy's menu is delicious, according to me.
          So, see you next time.  We'll have fun.