Now that we have been released from house arrest and the tree branch has been freed of its icy weight and has lifted itself off our essential power line, we are free to move about the cabin. We dined at one of the "for realz" taquerias in our neighborhood. For realz, meaning that they are operated and patronized by actual Mexicans and have at least one organ meat available as a taco filling. I wasn't terribly happy with our food tonight, but whatever. The chips tasted like someone's gas fireplace. I ate several, as did Bob. We might have ingested a good number of carcinogens. I have no idea where those chips were being stored, but again, whatev. I'm sure we've eaten worse.
This place was also showing the 1990s Tom Hanks career vehicle "You've Got Mail" on a pull-down screen. Film night at a taqueria? I'm a huge fan of Mexican TV and if I'm going out for organ meat tacos, I better see some titties and some Don Francisco, or some weepy overly-made-up lady on a telenovela. Crap American film fare will not stand. I observed that in the 1990s, it was okay to make an entire film about e-mail that was essentially a huge ad for AOL.
I went to the stripper supply store to purchase yellow-and-black striped tights for my upcoming monologue performance and they didn't have any, so I walked out with some Velvet Goldmine-looking gold lamé stockings instead. There were some actual strippers ahead of me in the cashier line, and they took advantage of the 15% discount extended to "entertainers." I'm an entertainer, but I'm pretty sure that means "adult entertainer" and not "improv comedy entertainer who keeps her boobs in her shirt," so I didn't ask for it. I don't work as hard as those ladies.
Everytime I go in there, I am invited to join the Thong Club. And everytime, I decline.
Posted by Zerd at January 18, 2007 09:03 PM