I have long meant to write of this. I have a confession to make... I am crazy for Buffalo wings. Big, meaty, hot, spicy Buffalo wings. Fried. Deep fried and crispy, not this Dominos Pizza bullshit where it is flabby and filled with springy skin. I want it crispy, I want it hot, and I so want it now. I don't want celery, or carrots -- FTS! I want chunky bleu (yes, bleu not BLUE) cheese to go with. I want my eyes to water. I want to eat a bucket and a half. I want to sweat and bite and enjoy. I want me some Buffalo wings.
Which brings me to Hooters.
Hooters has the best Buffalo wings this side of the Anchor Bar in Buffalo itself. And here is where I meet my demise.
I'm a gal. A fat gal. I can't just go to Hooters and like, order wings and sit there and eat them myself... You know why. There are these Hooters Girls who are hot and spicy themselves, wearing this awful panty hose stuff under these 3 sizes too damn small shorts and little bitty T-shirts which are about the size of the Scott Tissue I just used to wipe my ass.
I, as a fat chick, feel uncomfortable going in and ordering the 100 wings bucket from someone hot, tiny, spicy and sexy like a Hooters Gal. But I so desperately want me a pantload and a half of them there wings.
Does Hooters do Take Out?
Can someone order me up a batch and like, swing by the house? I'd so appreciate it.
Thanks. I feel much better now.
Final note -- Do you think it would be cheesy of me to ask for Hooters Wings to be brought home for me for Mother's Day this Sunday? Hmmm.
I have a Buffalo Wing anecdote.
In the summer of 1993, we went to a wedding in New York State. One of Doug's High School friends was getting hitched.
There was this inn where we all stayed, and the inn had a bar/restaurant in it. I was sitting at the table with a bunch of Doug friends from back in the day, and this guy Mark (aka Booger -- Smitty will know who that is) was all braggy about how he can eat ANY Buffalo wing on the planet. Nothing is too hot. He can handle it. Blah blah blah.
The bartender hears him and says "Well buddy, I can make a wing that will kick your ass. If you can eat it, the drinks are all on me!"
Well.
Mark accepts the challenge, and a few minutes later, three wings come out of the kitchen.
I'm sitting across the table from this guy, he's wearing glasses, I can see his hair perfectly dark brown/black and parted in the center, winged back in a kind of Pittsburgh haircut without the long mullet in back, and his eyes are watering before the wings even hit the table.
My eyes are watering, and I'm about five fee away from the wings. Holy shit -- is this nuclear waste in front of us? What has this poor boy gotten himself into!?
He picks up a wing, he takes a bite, the tears are rolling down his face and his nose is running. What is in these things. He's gagging. He's choking. But... he's eating. He's suffering, but he eats one fully, gulping about 10 gallons of water and beer -- any liquid he can set his hands to. His finger tips are swollen and red.
The bartender congratulates him. Drinks are on the house. Everyone cheers. Mark eats a second, just to prove it wasn't a fluke.
That was the second time I'd ever met him. And I think it was his proudest moment. I don't know what happened to the third wing. I sure as hell wasn't going to eat it.
My best guess is it ended up in a nuclear waste landfill in New Mexico. Or Nevada.
We had a great day at work. M had a date last night with a new gal. We decided before C got to work that we'd tell her it was horrible... better yet, we'd tell her that the girl didn't show and that M himself sat there and waited.
I was in the midst of writing up a fake "Runaway Bride" kind of email message for him to read to her, where the gal was all sorry for not showing and let him know her secret fears of relationship and whatnot, when C walked into the office and immediately wanted a report.
M told her that the girl didn't show.
C was --- crestfallen. Devastated. She said "Shut UP!" and was all dejected for M.
M couldn't keep the ruse up, and he cracked -- he told the truth. The date went well. And C was bullshit that we punk'd her ass.
Heh. It was a good one, even if it only lasted 30 seconds.
I'm such a goner. C is so going to punk me right back at some point. And I do know revenge is a dish best served cold ... I'm ready for it though. I can punk and be punk'd. Ever the gracious giver of punkage, I am equally comfortable receiving.
Bring. It. On. As John Kerry would say.
We had a lot of fun, and I got several thousand tons worth of work done, and it all ended with Beverage Friday, where we enjoyed beer and played with MB's baby.
That, my friends, is why I love my job. Barefoot, drinking beer, playing with a baby, productive, throwing a good punk in, and getting shit-tons done. I'm a happy girl. Love my job right now. Love it.
I got home from work and hurriedly readied Geoff for Cub Scouts. Not sure why but there were only four boys there, including Geoff. The den meeting went perfectly, sweetly, wonderfully, and I loved watching them work together on their little projects (they were studying the new food pyramid and weighing what 3 ounces of meat a day would come out to. All four boys were like "Yeah, as if!")
We came home and Doug had dropped Jessica off at the middle school where the 6th graders were doing their big play. I'm glad I checked the machine -- Jessie called right after he dropped her off, and she reported that the play was sold out and she and a friend E were there, sans ticket, and planned on going back to E's house to hang until she could get ahold of us again.
But she didn't leave us E's number.
Why do really brilliant 12 year old kids with incredibly high IQs forget the single most important detail? These folks were not listed in the phone book, so I had to wait for her to call me back.
And she did. Eventually.
I sat by the campfire (Yes! There was a rocking camp fire going when I got back from cub scouts, indeed!) and waited for her to call. I chatted up my mom and got the report back from her after I'd turned her on to a Buyer's Broker to help her buy her house. She had such a negative experience with the real estate lady that she'd been working with, that she was not sure what she was going to do next... so I did some research and found a Buyer's Broker, and my mom talked to her for over 2 hours tonight. So hopefully her plans are back on track.
The camp fire was lovely, and I hated to leave it, but my parenting duties called and I went to get the girl. I like this girl E and her mom and dad -- they're really funny, and E is in the drama thing at school so that's how Jessie met her.
So far, Jessie has only made one slightly shady friend, and I like her keeping this friend because I think Jessie is a good influence on her. And I'm getting to know the parents, and they're cool and nice, so I have higher hopes for this slightly shady girl. I learned some background information, and my heart has softened to her. I like her more. She's funny as hell.
Jessie has good taste in friends.
Anyway -- after I got back with Jess, the campfire re-embraced me and it was good. I was very sad to take the hose to it at about 11pm. It's bed time. It is supposed to rain all damn weekend. I may go for a walk out to hide a geocache even in the torrential rain, because, damnit! Someone has to.
I guess that's about it. God, I'm rambly. Must be the tired creeping in. Chow.
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