December 11, 2005

The long journey home

Things began rather comically on Thursday night, as I innocently went out for dinner at a place that looked rather kewl from the outside, The Omega Lounge. I thought it had a slightly gothic tinge to it, as it was a dark setting from the road. Perhaps twas the scent of death I smelled upon the place, for after entering, I realized it was a senior citizens restaurant, so let the fun begin I thought. And of course, as fate would have it, the prettiest little gal in the house was the one who waited on me. Having just gotten a new piercing, in the form of a tongue ring, I knew that an interesting conversation lay ahead for both of us.

Explaining to the poor girl that I had trouble understanding her accent, and I was oh so curious as to where she was from, she assured me that she was indeed American born, and from the state of mumbleshanks. I then explained that I was unaware of the state of mumbleshanks joining the union. She repeatedly tried to proudly say her state name, each time only getting out the first syllable, before breaking out into hysterical laughter. I asked her if she wished to sit-down to take a slight breather. She laughingly declined. It was then decided that she would resolve to identifying her homeland as the state that Detroit is in. There was clarity throughout The Omega. A lone dog was heard barking in the distance, and your beloved narrator sought another subject to pursue for humor's sake.

Upon her second visit to my table, I decided to inform Ms. Mumbleshanks what I did NOT want to eat from the geriatric menu. Feeling like a character from a doctor Seuss book, not wanting green eggs and ham, I mentioned the not wanting calves liver with either onions or bacon. I then went onto to say that I was also not interested in a steak butt sandwich on toast. Ms. Mumbleshanks informed me that the steak butt sandwich on toast was one of here favorite dishes. I smiled, and then went onto order the corned beef. A brief tribute to the Nordic gods was paid, as the horseradish had a brand name of Thor.

So after a Pina Colada, Tabasco sauce for the fries, corned beef, horseradish, stadium mustard, swiss cheese and a dill pickle, there were quite a few somersaults in the bed that night, as I was awoken whilst landing head-first on the floor on more than one occasion.

Bumpy-headed, groggy and cursing the very state of Mumbleshanks itself, I felt it best to move a pillow and blanket to the floor for the remainder of the night, as the fall was far too dramatic to experience yet a third time.

So I was of the impression that karma had been paid, and all would go as planned on Friday, and a smooth journey was before me. Well, it did, kinda, but there are a few tales to tell none the less.