The Way Things Are






There’s a restaurant here in San Antonio
2005-05-25, 12:35 p.m.

There’s a restaurant here in San Antonio that advertises on the right-wing hate-filled talk radio station that I listen to every morning. It’s a nice restaurant, fancy even. I’ve eaten there a time or two, and it’s not too far away from our office.

I swear to God, they just advertised a baby Coho salmon lunch special with bilge sauce. I kid you not. And if it is not in fact swimming in bilge sauce, they might want to re-record that spot so that folks like me with fertile imaginations don’t hear “bilge sauce” when in fact it is something innocuous like “swill sauce”.

Y’all, at the end of this week, I’ll have completed 4 weeks of Power 90. I understand from years of reading that regular exercise and taking vitamins can reduce the nasty, pea-soup vomiting effects of PMS, and I am happy to report that yesterday’s descent into the lake of fire was short-lived. Won’t y’all be glad when the PMS is completely R-U-N-N-O-F-T from my body and you don’t have to listen to me present you with an entree comprised of carp covered in swill sauce? Yes you will!

Lil Guy has decided he thinks he wants to go out for football next year. The good thing about a small private school is that everyone who suits up gets to be on the football team. Y’all just show up, mmkay? So he is determined to get into shape over the summer. One, because he is a little concerned over how small he is (hey, his mother is 5 foot 1, and his dad is lanky, so LG is short and skinny) and he hasn’t hit his growth spurt and is hopeful that he can put a little bulk on (good luck, son), and two, because he doesn’t want to puke on the first day of practice.

I was in the kitchen last night fixin’ dinner, and saw him out of the corner of my eye as he dashed back and forth through the yard. He’s practicing his sprints, you see. Then he came in the house did some curls. Sweat pouring off his face, pink cheeks. So proud of himself.

The thing is, I don’t think he’s even all that interested in football. I believe he has seen the fun, camaraderie, and female admiration that come from being on the football team. We’ve told him he’ll be fine in football despite his size. Little guys have to be fast and smart, that’s all.

I am using this opportunity to get him to eat properly. Salad every night. You and I both know that iceberg lettuce with Ranch dressing has zero nutritional value (except lettuce makes you poop), but he doesn’t have to know that. He eats his salad first and fast, like medicine.

Oooh, y’all Jennifer “Crazy Eyes” Wilbanks has been indicted for making false statements and reporting false crimes. Maybe now the psychiatric help she so desperately needs will be made available to her. Y’think?

As I am fresh out of anything interesting, funny, or newsworthy to share today, I am going to cut my losses and get on outta heyah.

UPDATE: I saw the most kick-ass thing in traffic on my way back from the bank. Sitting at a light, I noticed that the girl sitting in the car ahead of me was jamming out. Dancing BIG in her car, and she didn't care who saw her. She leans over, reaches into the backseat, and what does she have in her hand? Why, her tambourine, of course. Don't you carry one around? She drove up Blanco Road, dancing, bouncing, and wiggling, and PLAYING THE TAMBOURINE. It makes me want to dig my clarinet out of the storage shed in the backyard (white trash much?) and carry it in the car just in case.

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