Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Sit-down breakfast

Molly was real nice to me the other day and got me the Muffuletta sandwich from Pullardi's, which is a sandwich that is extremely extravagant. I think it is over twenty dollars and feeds like eleven people, and normally I would have talked her out of it and just had us get the steamed ham sandwich to share, but she was completely in charge and I went with the program. She seemed to like being in charge and it was interesting to see where she took things.

Anyhow since she did this nice thing for me I naturally felt like I had to reciprocate so as not to appear unappreciative. I decided that I would cook a sit-down breakfast for us, using the fancy kitchen at Ray's. I think a sit-down breakfast is a pretty classy event, as in the past breakfast used to be a much bigger deal than it is now (a man presses a whole Krispy-Kreme into his mouth as he falls into his lowest-trim-level Pontiac Grand Am and drives to work at Edward T Jones Investments, where he will have instant coffee in the microwave).

I think a classy breakfast of the old school has poached eggs, Hollandaise sauce in a silver gravy boat with a ladle, sausages, bacon, crumpets, English muffins, home fries, French toast, chopped fruits, and tea with milk. I got up around four AM to get all the stuff ready and transfer it to these nice silver chafing dishes Ray had out in the garage cupboards.

Dang but do you even know how hard it is to poach an egg. I thought it would be easy but the damn eggs would just plop into the water and expand over the whole pan, making like an egg handkerchief. About thirty eggs later I had two that looked reasonable, so I set those aside just as Molly showed up with a pretty bad hangover (she works at The Smoke now and I guess she stayed up doing Jagermeister shots with her workmate Kelly after they closed).

She said she needed to go lie down and went to the living room to nap while I finished the rest of breakfast. Her breath smelled pretty bad, and she hadn't changed clothes, so maybe she didn't even go home. Anyhow, I got the French toast nice and crisp the way I like it, and cooked up a nasty-fine batch of my well-known home fries, and browned the meats all nice. After forty-five minutes Molly was still passed out, though, and she had dumped out this vase to use as a puke bucket, so I started to formulate Plan B. I did not want all the good food to go waste, so I set up a pretty nice tray to bring up to Ray.

I knew that he would not budge from sleep unless I made him a fogcutter of some type, so I set that on the tray and brought it on up. He wasn't in his bed, so I had to look around a bit and found him buried in his walk-in closet in this huge pile of all-Fila track suits. You never can tell what exactly he was thinking the night before when he decided where he felt most comfortable going to sleep.

Long story short, nobody ate any of the food I cooked except me, and it all cost like forty-five dollars, so on that day I had literally thrown away forty-five dollars before breakfast. I sat in the living room with Molly until she was able to get up again, and read old copies of People, which is about the brightest magazine Ray gets.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Holy Jones can you even believe what I did

Man uh so I guess it ain't no secret that I like to read on the pot ever since Ray went and told the whole world that time he mentioned it in his old advice column (third letter down). Well anyways I was chilling in his room using his G5 to try to isolate some cross-platform CSS issues I was having with this one page I had been coding. It turns out I had to do B.M. so I went into his master bathroom can and got about my business. When I was starting the business I saw that the toilet paper dispenser was empty and I kind of freaked out because it was too late to put on the brakes, you know, but fortunately I looked to my right and saw a little basket with some new rolls in it. While I was sitting there transacting business I took the old cardboard tube off the dispenser and loaded the new roll on. I dropped the spent tube into the basket lining of this pair of swim trunks I had on, for temporary holding so I could throw it away when I finished up (I could not reach the trash can).

Ray had this copy of Penthouse in the magazine rack by the toilet. Tucked inside it was a German magazine called BBW KüchenFückers, which was weird, but whatever, you know. It was all these pictures of chubby ladies grinding on cakes and smiling into the camera. Anyhow I got kind of caught up in the Letters section of Penthouse, reading all the sexual escapade stuff like about a dude who was laid by hot twins after he taught his art class, etc. I estimate maybe twenty minutes passed, during which I did a quick statistical analysis and calculated that the average Penthouse Letters contributor claims that his penis is 9.5" long. I guess the average guy wants a penis that would stick out the other end of a 7-Layer Burrito.

Anyhow when I got done I stood up and drew my shorts up real quick and forgot that the cardboard tube was still in the middle of my drawers. It felt kind of creepy and when I looked at myself in the mirror the tube kind of made this shape like Darth Vader's triangular mouthpiece and so I said "It looks like your father made a mistake, Luke."

Anyhow, I'll leave that little scene to play out in your own head because I have got to hit the hay. I have this hunch that Mt. St. Helens is gonna erupt for real tomorrow morning at 7:26am and I have $5 riding on it with Ray.