|And Everyone Got Laid and Married and Had 1,000 Babies, the End. Okay, Not Really.
||[Apr. 2nd, 2007|05:00 am]
Thanks, joethecabdriver. Talking about Stone Temple Pilots has made me put that frigging meaningless "Sour Girl" song on infiniplay, probably due to the fact that it reminds me of the fun and the drinks I had last night. Also, the song sounds pretty.
I spent Sunday playing taxi driver, but I didn't ask anyone or any mirror if they were looking at me.
I picked up Heidi from Metro Airport, and then we drove back to Detroit and then went up to Mound and Hall to eat at Max and Erma's. I told the waitress that I wasn't a fan of "restaurants like these" because "they were all waaay too expensive." That didn't bother her, since she kept serving us more drinks and gave us great service, overall.
In fact, it was amazing that I could basically write off a decent-sized sector of the GNP, the Corporate American Mid-Level Overpriced Franchise Restaurant with Flair, and I didn't get any spit in my drink. The double-cheeseburger that I ordered didn't get burned when I asked for it medium-well, and I couldn't smell ass from when the cook wiped the patties in his crack, either. I know this because I checked. I don't trust people. They're God's children, not mine.
Double in fact, it was amazing that after I told her that these restaurants suck, she actually helped me find this double-cheeseburger that I ordered. It was in the "A.K.A. Burger Heaven" section of their menu. Since if this was the closest I could get to heaven at this point, then I was gonna get something from God's menu. Oh wait, that was supposed to be some sort of clever shit about how great their burgers are. Now I get it.
For the record, I ordered the 11.59 10 oz. "Big Bad Double Cheeseburger*."
For the record, the transparent "&" looking symbol encircled in maroon is to denote a "Signature Item," of which such item is supposed to be something Max and Erma's does that no one else does or something. Or maybe they just really like that item and gave it a fancy stamp of approval, straight from Erma and Max. Also for the record, the "*" symbol is to denote, quote:
"this item may be cooked to order and may contain raw or undercooked ingredients. Notice: Consuming raw or undercooked meats, seafood or eggs may increase your risk of food-borne illness. You might actually get food poisoning, crap yourself, possibly go to the hospital, find out you got mad cow disease, and then die. Or, you could get ass-cancer. Or whatever."
Okay, I added that last part past the sentence ending in "food-borne illness." But if I created their menu, that's exactly how I'd have wrote it.
I noticed that they had an "Erma" sized 6 oz. burger among their several choices of the same burger, and then there was the 10 oz. "Original" size. Essentially, that's gotta be the "Max" size. Get it? The smaller sizes are for women, because they eat less or something. Yeah, I don't get that either. I think that creates a problem in a couple of respects.
The first problem is that there will be some macho men out there who will absolutely overpay for the 10 oz. burger because they don't want to identify themselves with a feminine burger. But that's just a problem for macho men who think they can't eat the Erma size meal because someone will call them a pussy. Actually, that's shrewd cock-taxation on Max and Erma's part.
Then there are the midgets who won't eat there because Max and Erma's is essentially calling all women a bunch of midgets, but Max and Erma's is really calling all midgets a bunch of women. As if it were all bad, being a woman, midget, or a lady midget. Seriously, Max and Erma's has got some height-elitism they're trumpeting with all the "Erma" sizes. Somehow, that's really offensive to midgets. Okay, I apologize to midgets. I mean, that's offensive to the "height-challenged." But I don't mean you shorties any disrespect. So get over it.
But then I saw this 10 oz. double-cheeseburger, right, and it had the same 6 and 10 oz. size choice, and there's no way in hell I'm getting a 10 oz. double-cheeseburger when it's the same size as their single patties. All that means is that I'm ordering extra bread, lettuce, tomatoes, and all that shit that I just don't care about in favor of more meat. Meat. MEAT. I wanted more. So she tells me that it's two 10 oz. patties. At the time, that was mind-blowing to me. So I said that I'd take that double-cheeseburger, and I ordered a 5.99 side of onion rings with that. After I ordered those rings, I asked her if the burger came with anything besides the burger. She informed me that it came with seasoned fries. And then I noticed that the menu stated this in plain view, right there for me to see immediately after she answered my question. I told her I was retarded. That's probably not a lie.
So the opportunity cost of her putting up with my pithy comment was an extra side of 5.99 onion rings that she wouldn't have received for an order, had she chose to use this moment as some Clerks-inspired revolutionary rant-retort. Remember that, waiters and waitresses.
And then I ate that Big Bad Double Cheeseburger, and then I ate the side of seasoned fries, and then I ate the 5.99 side of onion rings, and then I drank about 4-5 Cherry Cokes. I'm six foot one and 190 lbs. of American Monster that truly received one tasty meal. Jules provides an example, for the image-impaired:
But I think that Max and Erma's should alter their menu to denote that the Big Bad Double Cheeseburger is, in fact, two 10 oz. patties, or two 6 oz. Erma patties, since the rest of that Burger Heaven A.K.A. Menu shows burger choices that are just one patty, and that's very misleading to some people maybe.
But if they're serving up genetically-cloned Ermas in those 6 oz. patties, then someone in the executive offices of Max and Erma's probably shouldn't have watched Soylent Green. And if you haven't watched that film, then apologies to you because I just gave the ending to that. But it's still worth watching and I don't give a shit about spoilers because I study this shit because someday I don't want to be a failed writer before I'm dead, but maybe that's not your aspiration, so yeah, that sorry sticks. But I really am not sorry, just like Howie Hamburger wasn't from that Nice Dreams film.
And then we watched the rest of the Pistons / Heat game on ABC on their HDTV, the waitress who helped me got a nice tip, and then we left Max and Erma's to head back to my mom's. When we were there, Heidi and I took naps from a Max and Erma's induced food coma.
But then I had to go with Heidi to pick up her dad and his partner, Tim, who were also flying back from vacation. Heidi took a separate flight home because it was cheaper or something, but they all went on that same vacation down to Florida to visit some relatives that they rarely ever see, plus they went to see a new relative, a small baby. I'm pretty horrible because I forget the small baby's name, but I rarely, if ever, see these not-yet-in-laws because I'm in Michigan, and I'm broke, and I already saw some long baby of Heidi's friends from last week, and that's enough baby-viewing for right now.
But their flight arrived earlier than expected, so I woke up earlier than I expected from my nap and Heidi and I drove back down to Metro Airport to pick up her dad and his partner. On the way, there was a rainstorm, and that was not interesting to you or me.
Heidi's dad and his partner live in Windsor, Ontario, so we picked them up from Metro, took I-94 back into Detroit and took the Ambassador Bridge over to Windsor to return them to their home. And then they were sort of hungry, and we went to this place I only know of as "Annie's," but I think the name of it is Szechuan Garden but that doesn't matter because Heidi's dad and Tim know Annie, the proprietor. We received another great meal, and we also received more great conversation from Annie, and that happened again for us and that was great. I ordered the sizzling hot plate of curried chicken, and I don't remember what anyone else had because I'm selfish.
By now I was really tired, and Heidi's dad had to get up the next day for an early morning flight back out of Detroit to somewhere for work, and Tim had to get up to go to work at noon, and that was pretty much their night too because they were really more exhausted, all of them, than I was because they just got home from Florida. By the way, the community of Windsor does not appreciate the loud and overeating nature of Floridians. They went out to restaurants down there, and those people were all really loud and they saw this one kid at a buffet just load up his plate with a heaping mound of gummy bears. That's what they told me. So Heidi and I left.
We returned via the Windsor Tunnel, and the getting-back-to-USA line clogged up with agents running drug-sniffing dogs past all the cars, while everyone in the booths gave everyone in every car the third degree. They didn't find drugs or suspicious activity from Heidi and myself. Your borders are not safe.
And then Heidi and I returned home, and she's asleep, and I received a phone call from my buddy Brad, and we talked about how April Fool's Day happened and how he really didn't care for that sort-of holiday and then I realized I wasn't tired anymore, probably because now I could do whatever I wanted because everyone was asleep and there was a full moon rising in the sky and the world was mine, and instead of going up and snuggling with Heidi or doing anything else, I decided to write this. Yeah, insert punchline here. No, she really does love me. Mia Wallace demonstrates probably a little of the smoking that I did:
I probably won't become a woman soon, and I didn't do any drugs and then overdose and have some gangster bring me to a guy's house to shoot a needle of adrenaline into my heart, but I did smoke some Winston Lights. Don't smoke. It's not going to make you a woman, soon, or anything.
I remember back in fall of 1994, I was a young strapping lad in my senior year of high school, and I went with all of my buddies to see Pulp Fiction. I remember we all loved this film so much that it was the most amazing motion picture that we had ever viewed at the time. At least, it really made the highlight of our film watching during our high school years. Tarantino is okay, but to be honest for one second, okay, second's already passed.
Anyway, I'm not excited about probably losing the opportunity cost of this new Tarantino / Rodriguez homage to double-feature B movies, complete with intermissions, advertisements, and digitally-inserted grainy-shitty picture quality for the price of about 9-10 dollars saved. You tell me why I'm possibly retarded. Make my day.
We were talkin' about opportunity costs last night at the bar over drinks, my cousin and I. This is what I normally talk about over alcoholic beverage(s), among theoretical shit like the butterfly effect and maybe some comment about how Grant Hill is a horrible human being. Carl Johnson, REMEMBER THAT.
That actually was a great night on Saturday though, as great as Sunday was, and I wanted to note that I must thank Michelle for that great evening at a local bar in Michigan because I think I walked away with a slight bit of motivation to write some stuff and maybe organize some of it.
But what was funny to me about that night was everyfold because at one point the waitress there took my 5 dollar bill for a 1.75 Labatt Blue draft, and she never gave me back my change. So I told her that she never gave me my change back, and then she said to me that the total was 6 dollars including Michelle's drink, and that I owed her another dollar. I laughed and said, "She's paying for her drink."
The waitress looked at me, and then I was slightly amused and Michelle was slightly horrified because the waitress thought we were dating and that I was paying for her drinks because that's what guys do. Boy, was that waitress retarded.
I like this bar sometimes. This bar's got a men's bathroom that has those piss-trough urinals that used to be in Tiger Stadium's mens bathrooms, back when the Tigers didn't play in a shitty stadium named after future financial absentee landlords.
And then Michelle and I received the benefit of Kenny coming over to our table for chit-chat for random moments during that evening because Kenny thought that Michelle was single, and she was good-lookin' to Kenny. Kenny works at that particular bar, and he's the brother of Frankie, and they're my friends and first friends through my good friend Jason, and none of us but Kenny work at that bar. When Kenny found out that Michelle wasn't single, he advised her to come back when she was single. Anyway, Kenny rules, but I really didn't tell you much of how he rules, but you just gotta take me on my word for that. You will rarely meet as entertaining and genuinely awesome people like Kenny, and I advised him that he needs to find some good-lookin' girl like I did at my job, but his job's at a bar with alcoholics, and I don't want to see Kenny all miserable and shit because he's done nothing to me to deserve the fate of Grant Hill. But yeah, Kenny's awesome, and he's not to be confused with that cartoon poor kid from the "South Park" TV show, so you freaks respect Kenny or he'll find you and put you down like a sick dog.
I went out for a smoke, and the night sky is beautiful. It's full of stars, but I can't see them because there's that big frigging full moon lighting up that beautiful sky. But I've seen those stars in Death Valley on I-15 north from Los Angeles to Las Vegas, and I definitely suggest you do that sometime, if you haven't done that already.
Don't get me wrong, Detroit can be beautiful sometimes, but most of the time, I just want to flush it down the toilet.
Part of my meaning in life is to make the mentally challenged look well.
This is my world, and suddenly, you're in it.