Was that when I was boffing the bi-sexual Baptist Republican babe? - Mi brunchero Marco
[[UPDATE]] Most, if not all, of the subtext running through a good part of my post below is expressed 1000 times better by Mr. Otis - go read A Drunkard's Dream. It can't be said any better than that.
A week ago I went to Denny's for lunch and ordered from the Senior Citizens menu. I wasn't carded.
This evening I discovered that last evening, I'd put the soy milk on top of the refrigerator instead of in the refrigerator.
This morning I found the bottle of perfume I'd been seeking for three days on the sink counter right in front of me, where it'd been and hadn't moved since I put it there just as I always do.
I'm just saying...
My house is in disarray, teetering between annoyance and disaster. I haven't reached Deal Breaker status (whatever that is) on the BG Scale of Fastidiousness (see chart below), but I reckon someone might find my stuff and organizational skills.... interesting.
My external world is an apt illustration of my internal world at the moment. Disorderly and without focus. I could spend a few paragraphs agonizing over the whys and the wherefores, but I won't. You are spared.
Suffice to say, I know pretty much what the whys and the wherefores are and I pretty much know what I need to do about it, too. However, the stubborn brat who resides just beneath my psyche is in full "I don't wanna!" mode, which means it'll be another few days before I beat the crap out of the monster and get my proverbial shit together.
In the meantime, I do have some bright spots warming up some of my days. This past weekend is a good example.
Friday night there was a spontaneous girl party on YIM that had me cracking open a bottle of Tequila and talking tattoos with She of the Verb. That was followed by a call from he of the fucked donkey. We had one of those conversations that trails all around, discovering neat things under rocks and behind trees.
Saturday, Los Bruncheros convened for the first time in a couple of weeks, although we were still missing 1/3 of our bandeleros who were off furnishing the house they just built. Sheesh.
I arrived a tad late, my companions already into their breakfast entrees. It took a full three attempts for me to get waited on at the counter for my order. By the third trek up to the counter, I'd transformed into the customer from hell.
But I got my oatmeal with creme breche and berries. The pic is for Daddy.
Saturday night was a Maudie 'n Myrt girl-date. We dined at a swanky Italian joint in downtown OKC then went to see our friend Mr. Mark strut his stuff as Brutus in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Afterwards, we ripped the director to shreds over hot-wings with Mr. Mark and our other actorly friend, Darryl.
And if there's anyone out there nearing apoplexy because I haven't finished the Tulsa Tale... well let me quickly sum it up:
Wednesday Night: 4.8 Limit, Table 9, Seat 2, Cherokee Casino. I turn to take a drink, only to see what looks like Scotty Nyguyen heading right toward me. He smiles and says, "Hey, baby, how are you doing?" as he extends a hand to me. I shake his hand and say, "I'm doing fine" in a manner that connotes familiarity because I'm not too sure that he's who I think he is and not just someone who thinks he knows me.
A second later he's moving around the table, greeting and shaking hands with everyone and my brain catches up to the fact that he is, indeed, Scotty Nguyen. Nice guy. Soft hands. And a magnet of a personality.
Thursday Night: 4.8 Limit, Table 8, Seat 2, Cherokee Casino. The table is populated with guys clad in every brand of poker paraphernalia possible. Complete with card cappers from the WSOP. I left some money there.
Friday Afternoon: 4.8 Limit, Table 9, Seat 7, Cherokee Casino. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was in Vegas at a table filled with fellow bloggers. I hung out for 12 (count em) 12 hours playing with a group of guys in one of the loosest, craziest games I've had the pleasure to play. I was fortunate to only've been down about $40 when I left around midnight.
The funniest you-had-to-be-there moment was during a conversation regarding mini-vans. These manly guys were bemoaning their necessity when the Hoss-sized fellah to my right, with impecable timing said "I cart the family in the mini-van, but when I want to cruise babes I break out the Focus."
I terrorized the kid behind the counter at the Holiday Inn Express into finding an available room for the night. I slept in a huge king-size bed with pillows that were labled "Soft, Medium, Hard." It seemed appropriate. After 3 days, 3 rooms, 3 poker sessions, Goldilocks settled into "just right" and drifted into a satisfied sleep.
That's where I'll leave it. Whatever inner turmoil that's coursing through my sensibilities at the moment is tempered by friends who's company, whether it be across the restaurant table, via the virtual inerweb, or relayed by a network of cell towers, is as welcome as a hot bowl of oatmeal with creme broulet.
