Hot Dogs Give Me Strength to Fight My Demons

As I unloaded the milk crate of frozen lamb into the cambro of water, as I took out the last package of meat, I discovered two hot dogs, forlornly freezer-burned and sadly out of place. How they got there, I do not know. But I did know exactly what to do with them.

It wasn't enough to simply go around the kitchen, tapping unsuspecting co-workers on the shoulder with a frozen hot dog, a rather large bulbous hot dog, so when they turn their heads they come face to face with said hot dog. My childish sense of humor, which knows no bounds, demanded something more.

Thanks in part to my co-workers' similar childish tastes, we decided to plant hot dogs in various places around our establishment. The giant meat pot, the dishwasher's sinks, the sausage mixture I was making that day, inside of the roasting chickens, the dishwasher's gloves, inside the robot coupe... we went a little overboard. But we also spent the entire day cracking up hysterically every time someone made a new hot dog "discovery." Specifically L. Marge, who bore the brunt of the hot dog "discoveries," swearing worse than a sailor each time, vowing to get us back, or to stick those hot dogs in places on our bodies where they should not go.

I can honestly say I had one of the most enjoyable work days I've had in a long time, all thanks to the hot dog.

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We are, of course, they same group of childish late-twenty something men that for a good month or so would draw little tiny "cock and balls" in various places around the establishment.

exceedingly immature: very.
F-ing hilarious: completely.

Especially on the day of the health inspection, when one of the managers came over to me while escorting the inspector around the basement, and whispering, asked me to relabel a certain item that was merely labeled with a rather large representation of the male anatomy.


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Today has been a productive day off. I managed to visit the Secretary of State's office to renew my license. Though I had a little bit of a dilemma, in whether or not to shave off the mutton chops (which I have neglected to trim, so they appear quite fierce indeed), or to keep them for my new photo.

You see, my license has had the same picture for the last ten years. A slightly disturbing representation of myself, a younger me, a somewhat misguided me, that appears to be wearing a hemp necklace that some hippy made me years ago. Also this photo has the first incarnation of my trademarked mutton chops, which sort of has slightly vexed me over the years.

Typically I get two responses when I show my ID. The first being, "Whoa dude! Sweet chops!" The second being, "is this really you?" Assuming I had to fake my ID, I do not think this type of facial hair would be the most convincing manner in which to do it.

So I did it anyway. It is too early to shave off my chops. Besides, they give me power. The tradition must live on. I mean, license photos are supposed to look like shit, so why not have a little fun with it, have some choice in the matter?

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Otherwise, dancing this weekend was a complete success. I had oodles of fun and actually danced with no shame in my game. I've made a couple new dude friends, who according to other friends consider me a cool dude as well.

And I'm pleased to say that I have my first editing/writing job lined up... well, ok, its not technically an actual job. Its more of an assignment, and its for a friend who is putting together a cook book, an amazing cook book that I will go into more detail about a little later. She's also going to give me credit for reading it over. Though I have to admit I gotta brush the dust off my grammar and editing skills, because I haven't used them in quite some time. (Any one who reads this blog can probably attest to that).

Chocolate, Dudes, Beer

For some reason chocolate makes me sneeze. Usually after the first bite, I feel it well up in my sinuses, and then achoo. Not that its particularly troublesome. Only recently have I discovered a new found taste for things chocolate. Though I still tend to avoid most candies and sweets.

I did rather enjoy the chocolate people were handing out on Valentine's day. Loads of Hershey's Kisses, and the little Dove dark chocolate pieces, that had ridiculous sayings on the insides of the foil wrappers.

The first one I opened read, "Go to your special place," which made me chuckle to myself, and I thought, "heh, that's where I keep the bodies." So I hung it on the clip that holds my recipes.

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I have decided I need a new bro-mance. Similar to a man-crush, just a dude to hang out with and get drunk with. Bitch about girls with, tell drunken stories to, hang out and do stuff with. Much like a friend, I suppose. A dude that if we were both gay would probably most likely get with each other...

My last bro-mance ended rather badly; He went slightly insane, started to drink a little too much more than our normal level of intoxication, and literally would pass out at the bar, head down on the table, or would stand there wobbling like a bobble-head, looking as if he were about to drop at any second. He also started to alienate all of us, throwing popcorn around, punching people in the face, acting obnoxious.

We took turns babysitting him, and finally it reached a breaking point, where we all stopped hanging out with him. He moved away shortly after that, with his girlfriend, who none of us really cared for anyway...

I still miss him in some ways.

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I went to the The Bar on Valentine's day. Granted its pretty much the most unromantic place I could think of, which I was definitely going for. I was also wondering if there would be acts of desperation, people flocking there because they were alone and it seemed like a good place to meet and hook-up with someone...

Surprisingly there was an odd assortment of couples there.

I ended up chatting with a fellow that works at the The Bar, who is actually a really rad dude, and I think I may have found my first candidate for a bro-mance. I mean, he bought me shots. A lot of them, and I quite literally stumbled out of there, cuz those shots snuck up on me rather quietly, and suddenly it was time to go.

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Tonight I think I shall attempt the going dancing thing again, though the likelihood of the ex-factor is fairly high, again. This time, however, I shall avoid certain substances, and try not to drink as much. Especially before going to the bar. Don't want to repeat that last time. No can do.

I'm feeling tons and tons better this week. My upset stomach seems to have lessened considerably, and I'm feeling more confident, and am actually smiling now and again. I mean, its the dead of winter, and I'm feeling like a human being again.