Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Random Weirdness: Good joke?

Okay... so here's another site I visit occasionally: Ping Pong Balls

The premise is that they post the punch line, and you have to write the joke. Here's my recent post there.


I went with a friend to a new restaurant, decked out in 80's style, covered in pictures and screen shots from various 80's sit coms. It was pretty wild looking, neon colors against bright white tile floors. I took a look at the menu and saw that all of the food was named after the same characters, celebrities and shows I grew up with as a kid.

The waiter checked in. "Can I get you anything to drink right away?"

"What's the Diff'rent Strokes Shake?" I asked.

"It's half vanilla, half chocolate," he smiled.

We ordered. I got a Cheers Beer and my buddy got a Miami Vice on Ice.

Before long, we got our drinks... and I was still trying to decide on what to eat.

The waiter approached again for our order.

"What's that," I asked, pointing at the table next to us.

"That's the A-Team. It's a half-pound burger with everything, served with a heaping pile of bullet fries and onion grenades."

"And that?" I asked, pointing again.

"The MacGyver. It's whatever the cook can find in the kitchen all put together to look like a homemade bomb, served with M*A*S*H potatoes."

"Oh, THAT looks pretty good," I said, pointing again.

"That's the Dukes of Hazzard. A big slab of Boss Hogg Hamm, Roscoe P. Coleslaw, and we can throw in a jar of Uncle Jesse's Moonshine for five bucks more."

Just then, a tubby, naked man with orange goo dripping from the top of his head ran over and sat next to a surprised customer.

"Holy hell!" I said.

"Don't worry," said the waiter. "That's just the Mr. Belvedere with cheese."

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Random Thought: Ping pong balls...

Last night I had an amazingly funny visual in my head...

A Tyrannosaurus Rex playing ping pong. 

And by the picture, I guess I'm not the only one!

But I'm thinking I could probably beat a T-Rex at ping pong.  I have pretty quick reflexes, and I can also can put some wicked english on the ball.

I think T -- or maybe it's Mr. T -- would have more than a few tactical disadvantages.  With that huge body and those little tiny arms, I'm guessing he'd be fairly slow in the game.

His intimidation factor is fucking huge though.

So maybe the real question isn't whether I could beat a T-Rex.  Maybe the question is, should anyone want to beat a T-Rex at ping pong?

Maybe we should make it best of 3 games.  That way I could kick his ass once and see how badly he takes it.  I'll bet those fuckers are pretty sore losers.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Travel: A little BBQ in ABQ...

So I'm looking around from the tiny bar area, waiting for someone to order a Fruit Loop, and I'm thinking, 'this is actually one of those cool parties you don't see everyday...'

My sister has always been a big pain in the ass.  It's true.  She's my big sister, and helped raise me... even though I'm only two and a half years her junior.  She was the one that stood up to a bully in the playground for me, but I think that was because she wanted to keep the beatings for herself.

And when the parents split up when I was 4, we stuck together a little tighter than normal.  And when she was off being a wild teen, I covered for her when I could.  Of course there were a few years in there where we couldn't really stand each other, but it didn't last too long.

And then, after three years of being mostly apart, we lived across the street from each other in shabby, small apartments in Uptown Minneapolis.  It was weird, but it allowed us to connect again.

And now she's been living in Albuquerque for quite some time.  Sometimes I go back to the days when we lived across the street from each other when we would play hacky sack on a small patch of grass near the sidewalk.  Or maybe relive some childhood adventure, like one of the road trips we took as goofy kids.

Don't get me wrong.  I love her to death, but she's still a pain in the ass.

Because she's my big sis, she's also part mom.  Now that she's curbed her rebellious ways, she's more responsible than ever.  She has two dogs, a wonderful husband, a job she alternately loves and hates, and a great big fucking house.

So when she asked in March when I was coming down to Albuquerque, I gave her my usual noncommittal grunt.  Of course I had just come back from Key West, and I think I was still partially buzzed off of all the booze we drank.

When she asked in early April, I gave yet another grunt.  April means tax returns and putting your nose to the grindstone to make up for the cash the government took, finishing up your indoor projects and thinking about your outdoor projects.  While time off was probably needed, it just didn't sound good.

But when she asked later in April, I pulled the wife aside and said, "She's having a party."  That's usually all it takes.

What can I say?  I'm a party guy.

I don't know what it is about traveling, but somehow having a purpose works better for me than just hanging around.  And of course a party with people that I have never met before is intriguing.

My sister was having a party in her big fucking house, but this was a special party.

She bought her big fucking house about a year ago because it was a diamond in the rough, because it was going for cheap, because it was just right.  It was, for all intents and purposes, near perfect.  It has the main house part, spacious and airy, a casita (a separate little out building for those that don't speak Spanglish), a pool (unusual for NM), and a pond.  

A pond???  Fuck yeah, my friends.  A mother fucking pond.  Plus about 100 trees.  It's less of a big fucking house, and more of a moderately sized compound.

In Albuquerque they have a series of irrigation ditches that go way back to before the whities came in and tried to take over.  The ditches are still used a lot, and her house has water rights.  In a town that gets an annual rainfall of under 12", every drop of water is sacred.  That is unless you live on the ditch.

Then you can afford to say, "Fuck all y'all.  I have a pool AND a pond.  The pond would be good for you."  This especially works well when looking down your nose at the recipient.

So she bought the place a year ago, and has been working on it non-stop.  It needed quite a bit of McLovin.  The biggest projects were building the casita into a fully functioning separate living area... kind of a mother-in-law suite of sorts.

The other project was remodeling the kitchen.  It had all the original cabinets from the 70's, and I think we all know how good folks were about interior design back then.  This kitchen was... rustic.

Well, now that the major projects are done, we were celebrating.  But here's the thing...

The only people invited were the ones that helped on the projects.  That means that the designer, general contractor, realtor, friends that helped move, ones that house sat and dog sat while they were trying to sell the old house, and family that supported them through it all.  Even the fucking granite counter sales girl got an invite.  I know I'm missing folks, but you get the idea.

I'm not sure which I'm surprised by more: that my sis invited all these "social strangers" into the house, or that she actually worked with pretty damn cool people on these projects.  Either way, I'm impressed.

Of course maybe these people were so cool because I was dumping huge amounts of booze into their systems.  You see, while sis was playing hostess, I was playing bartender.  I had made up a small menu of drinks I was willing to make, and as it turned out, the two "homemade" recipes were the biggest hit.

The drinks of choice?

The first is the Tim Fizz, named after its creator, my bro-in-law.  Think of a good margarita and take away all that sweetened bar sour shit and add some club soda.  That's basically what that is.

The second drink of choice is my own concoction called the Fruit Loop, which is basically a spruced up vodka cran that isn't quite as sweet and has bubbles.  I called it the Fruit Loop because it smells similarly to the breakfast cereal.  Go figure!

Both got plenty of compliments.  Some actually argued over which was better.  Hey, people, they're both doing their jobs, so shut the fuck up and party!

Toward the end of the night, everyone was properly watered... except the granite counter girl.  I could tell what she really wanted to say to me (and everyone else) was that she loved me (and everyone else).  Ah, we were all drunk at 5,000 feet above sea level, but I was more impressed with myself (being a "low lander" and all).  (I wonder how many sentences in a row I can have parenthetical notes without it becoming annoying.)

(Too late.  I'm fucking annoyed.)

But all in all, it was a good excuse to get outta Dodge for a bit and recharge.  Of course, when I got back to Minnesota it was 65 degrees outside, a hell of a long way from the 95 in ABQ.  I called up my sister immediately and told her she ruined spring for me, as I was wearing pants and long sleeves.  Asshole.

Want the recipes for those drinks?  Tough shit.  Invite me over for a party.  I'll play bartender.