September 12, 2005

Here’s a tip for you…

If you drink twelve bottles of Stella Artois and play high stakes poker with these guys you will lose your money. I speak from experience. My old lady did better than I did and I consider myself semi-pro.

It was a distracting game in many ways, what with most of the crowd drinking some nipple drink that looked like a BJ without whipped cream, and the total disregard for my dignity.

At one point I was peeking at my cards when a shrill, deafening siren erupted from the other side of the room. It sounded like a burglar alarm going off.

Binx threw his cards down and started yelping.

“It’s the weather station! It’s the weather station!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I asked.

Everyone was frozen in their seats wondering if it was some kind of toxic mold detector gone off or if we needed to pull out the gats.

Binx, beside himself with excitement, jumped from his chair and ran across the room. He was staring down at what looked like an answering machine.

“Severe storms! Dime sized hail!”

I realized he was reading off of some kind of ticker tape that the machine was printing. No one had the gumption to actually get up and go see.

“It’s the weather station,” Mrs. Binx said. “He likes to monitor the weather. It almost never goes off…this must be something serious.”

The rest of the crowd seemed nonplussed.

“Shit,” said. Binx. “It’s two counties away.” He seemed genuinely sad about that.

The evening is foggy after that point, but I distinctly remember losing and eating an entire bag of Chex Mix which substituted for my dinner. I seem to remember declining the offer of a bowl and pouring the contents into my mouth.

Sunday morning we had to pick up the kid from the rents. I still hadn’t had a meal so we figured we’d go to out to lunch at a Mexican place I like that serves extreme margaritas. We arrived at the rents to find the kid wearing makeup. The kid’s only five and I realize they like to play dress-up and what not, but she looked like she had black eyes. I also smelled something foul but couldn’t put my finger on it. The look on my face must have said it out loud.

“Oh,” Nanna said, “She really stinks. You’re going to have to drive with the windows open.”


“You have to drive with the windows open. She put on perfume. A whole lot of it…all different kinds.”

And right she was. We had to drive with the fucking windows open because the kid smelled like the inside of a termite fumigation tent.

We gave her two baths, used every kind of soap we had, every shampoo. It barely made a dent. This morning when I got in the car to go to work I was overwhelmed by the remaining stench. There’s no getting rid of it.

Not only that, but now I think I reek of it because people have been looking at me funny since I walked in the building. I hope these fumes aren’t fucking flammable.

Posted by Paul! at September 12, 2005 10:32 AM | TrackBack

Oh man! Your kid is going to be the stinky kid at school.

Posted by: shank at September 12, 2005 12:49 PM

I'da set my kid on fire. "There, that'll teach ya, little missy!"

What's that beer cost for a six pack? Any beer with a website as pompous as theirs is must be awesome. I love the Belgian Lambics, but they go for like six bucks a bottle here.

Posted by: Bane at September 12, 2005 03:18 PM

It's a fine brew that I fell in love with overseas. Around here it goes for $6.99 per six pack, probably a little less if I drove a few miles.

Posted by: Paul at September 12, 2005 03:23 PM

Potential storms in my area tonight. I'll be on the porch staring at the sky.

Posted by: Binx at September 12, 2005 04:46 PM
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