12 October 2019
966
R. Linda:
Lately, it's been a trip and then some. I had several trips you know about and as you know things have been depressingly crazy, thus, no stories. As Muse of this blog, you did a very good job of providing me with one that was not meant to be humorous but well, it was!
Here I was eating a nacho plate with hot salsa, sipping a tequila and wondering where on earth you had gone off to after not hearing from you. I thought it was because of me own terrible situation you had decided to leave me to sort it all out and you were probably eating burritos and sipping a Corona while watching soap operas.
Imagine my surprise to get a cat email telling me that YOU were in hospital. What did you do this time? Well, I surmise you were feeling pretty chipper and decided you didn't need your oxygen so you took it off, got involved in a soap opera and while munching away, developed hypoxia without realising it. That was me surmising but it could have been your oxygen tube came unattached to your face as you slept?
Only you!
The cat email told me you were delirious (like I'd know the difference) had got the oxygen you needed, were on the mend and probably headed home the next day. Well for crying out loud, that bit of information stunned me, but when I think back on it, I don't know why it did, just seemed par for the course.
That night feeling you were in good hands and not likely to DO THAT AGAIN, I took meself off to a muddled sleep wherein I found meself stranded in Denver, seemed storms had cancelled me flight until the following day, so I rang you up and bribed you with a platter of enchiladas from some famous Denver restaurant if you'd let me crash on your couch. You, thinking more of the enchiladas told me to come on over and not to forget the hotter than hell sauce.
When I arrived I noticed the deadbolt in your door was out. I could see you behind the door hooked up to the oxygen, thank the fates for that, and you had a screwdriver in your hand.
"It be me," I said squinting in the hole and then pulling back when I saw the screwdriver and imagining you poking me eye out with it.
"I can't get the door unlocked." You said. "The handle doesn't open and it doesn't come off."
"Oi," I said, putting the bag of hot food and my suitcase down. "I could help get it open but the deadbolt has to be put back and I would need the screwdriver out here."
"I can't do that because I need the screwdriver to put the deadbolt back in, genius." You sneered.
"What's that all over your face?" I asked perplexed you had these square impressions that made you look like a mummy without the wrappings.
"That's from the tape to keep the oxygen hose on my face dummy." You said getting irritated.
"Well, what the hell did you use duct tape?"
"I used all kinds of tape to keep it on my face and it hurts if you rip it off fast or you slowly peel it you feel the burn. Anything else you wanna know?"
"Call a locksmith then because I can't help you, and the food is getting cold," I said because I could see you were getting feisty.
You stood there a moment weighing something you might want to tell me and then you looked like nah. But then I squinted in the deadbolt hole with a raised eyebrow and you caved.
"Ok, ok, ok! I took the oxygen off just to keep the tube out of my way so I could unscrew the deadbolt and now I don't remember how to dial a phone number. Happy now?" You said all huffy.
"If you knew how to use the screwdriver, you know how to dial a phone," I observed.
"You aren't listening, I SAID I TOOK OFF THE OXYGEN TO GET THE LINE OUT OF MY WAY WHILE I UNSCREWED THE DEADBOLT!"
"So you are telling me you are in slight hypoxia and that's why. Brilliant move! Then I will call one or should I just call 9-1-1?"
"9 Juan Juan?" You said looking at me annoyed.
"NO 9-1-1. You are hearing me in an accent."
"I'm not juan for making fun." You said a sneer readily visible.
I reached for me phone and googled a locksmith in Denver because obviously, you didn't need a ride to the ER, the sass told me you were just fine. I rang him up and lucky for you he wasn't but a few blocks away and would come right over.
Well, that's what happened, the locksmith came and by that time YOU couldn't figure out how to get the deadbolt reinstalled and he couldn't do it because the handle did not work and the deadbolt parts in the door were keeping it locked. Oi, oi, oi! Finally, he got a saw and sawed the deadbolt part of the door off to be able to move the handle (that did really nothing but look nice), leaving him to saw that off too and he got the door opened. So there we were, him leaving, you now had a new look to your door and an open invitation to anyone who wanted to just come on in!
I promised to get a chain lock later but I was ravenous and the food was getting cold.
It was all going quite well until I was on me third enchilada when I noticed you had taken just one tiny bite of yours while I was chowing down like enchiladas were going out of style.
"What?" I said to you my mouth full.
"You must be into fitness, and by that, I mean being able to fit a whole enchilada in your mouth." You said smugly. "I don't know how you can eat that."
"Eat what? The enchiladas?"
"Yup, they are filled with snake meat." You said very seriously.
"WHAT?" I nearly shouted. "These are chicken."
"I know you think that but chicken tastes like snake. Those are snake enchiladas."
You were smug about that. I stopped chewing and spit the contents into a paper napkin all the while feeling rather queasy.
"Wanna tell me how you know these are made with snake meat?"
"I don wanna taco bout it." You said laughing at your own joke.
"Well, you're nacho me friend anymore," I said throwing it right back."I will be back." I said grabbing me wallet.
"Where are you going?"
"I be going to that Homenaje a los Gordos restaurant I passed a few blocks away and getting tamales, no meat in those, and I'll pick up a lock on my way back." And off I went as you sighed like it was a waste of time and if I wasn't mistaken you were stifling a laugh. I did see you stick a chair against the useless door to keep anyone out. I did hesitate wondering what was so funny you didn't want me to know, but my stomach got the best of me and off I went.
I came back loaded down with hot tamales and they smelt so good. Of course, it took you a while to un-wedge the chair from the door, you were still not fully recovered, so the food was getting cold as I stood there watching the painful scene of you not sure in what direction to move the chair back. I put me hand through the door and knocked the chair out from the door. "See there, anyone could have done that and I'd come back to you entertaining a burglar."
"Yeah well, I had a vision of my own . . . I prayed to holy Cheesus Christ of Mexican food that you would get lost, but hey here you are loaded down with what looks like tacos but you think are tamales." You went and sat down on the couch.
I served you a lukewarm tamale and I took one for meself, and once again I noticed you took a single bite and rolled your eyes, then pushed your plate away.
"Now what?"
"That is not the right filling that is turnip paste and yams masquerading as masa filling or to you corn filling. But for you . . . que aproveche!"
"You're nuts," I said taking a huge bite and to be honest the tamale tasted off and not like what I was used to. I had to wonder.
"I could have saved you a trip, but no, you ran out of here like gangbusters listening to your stomach and not reason. Homenaje a los Gordos is a Mexican fusion takeout (if such a thing exists) and they don't use traditional ingredients. Lots of fats and transfers . . . " and your voice trailed off, "for fat people." And your shoulders began to shake in self-mirth as it all dawned on me.
"Now you tell me. What does homenaje a los gordos mean?"
"The name means 'Let's hear it for the fatsos.' Eat your cold enchiladas, snake meat is good for you." You said with an evil grin.
I was so finished with eating anything that I grabbed the paper bag with the new lock and your screwdriver and went to the door. I stood there looking at it for quite a while.
"Eggs-actly!" You shouted. "There is a giant hole in the door and nothing to attach that lock to. Not only that you put it too high I can't reach it and too low and anyone can put their arm through the hole and unlock it."
"Do you have to quote the obvious?" I turned around and then looked around the place. "Over there, what be that?" I pointed to a square piece of what looked like wood.
"Oh THAT, that genius is the wood from the door. Would you like me to hand it to you with some nails?"
"You have nails? Yes please." I said turning me attention to the door frame. And of course, the nails were brads, no bigger than a mosquito.
While I was trying to figure out the angle I'd need to nail in the broken piece of door, it seemed you took an inordinate amount of time to get me the hammer. This tool completely baffling you as to its last known location.
"Ok that's it," I said putting down the block of wood. I rummaged through the kitchen drawers and found the hammer. Back I went and after hammering my fingers instead of the minute nails you gave me ("Whadda ya want? Those are all I have in the way of nails."), I got a few in at weird angles but as I'd go to nail another the top would move and the nails would come out.
"You got glue?"
"If I had glue I'd have this stupid tube glued to my face." You were being snide and smug all at the same time and I hate that.
That's when the door started to jiggle all on its own and something kicked it. The wood square that I sort of had nailed on with a wing and a prayer flew off and these dark eyes peered in followed by a voice that said, "Kindly open this door. I have groceries and they are heavy."
It was your daughter the woman of the cat email. I pulled the door open and took a bag from her as she and I made our way to the kitchen.
"And who might you be?" She asked me.
"He's a bad bandito trying to rob me of my oxygen tank." You said, helpful as ever.
It took a few minutes of me fast-talking, you being no help and your daughter finding the hammer and holding it in a threatening manner.
"How many intruders do you know that bring food?" I asked her pointing to the take-out bags.
"Homenaje a los Gordos? Really? So it is really you. Ok then." She put the offending weapon down and started to put the groceries away. Then she looked at you and said, "El pirate?"
"One and the same and when it comes to Mexican food he's el gloton."
It didn't take much for me to figure out you were both talking about me and what you were saying. I did explain the holes in the door to your daughter since you were busy taping the oxygen tube to your face with duct tape. I remember she kept telling me she didn't believe a word of it and I found meself defending the breaking and entering charge being lobbed against me as she made TACOS from SCRATCH! I was salivating by the time she was done and yes, I paid the price for stuffing me piehole full of rich beefy deliciousness and of spicy sauce dripping down my chin. I was in taco overload and the last thing I remember was passing out from the sheer joy of authentic Mexican food and you duct-taping the holes in the door!
Now I have to wonder was that a lucid dream or did it happen? It seemed so real that I still can't figure it out. Did I get out of Denver, well I must have I be home. But just when and how and was it real? You need to tell me because I be driving meself batty trying to figure this out. I did look and I do have cat emails, so . . . ?
Gabe
Copyright © 2019 All rights reserved
966
R. Linda:
Lately, it's been a trip and then some. I had several trips you know about and as you know things have been depressingly crazy, thus, no stories. As Muse of this blog, you did a very good job of providing me with one that was not meant to be humorous but well, it was!
Here I was eating a nacho plate with hot salsa, sipping a tequila and wondering where on earth you had gone off to after not hearing from you. I thought it was because of me own terrible situation you had decided to leave me to sort it all out and you were probably eating burritos and sipping a Corona while watching soap operas.
Imagine my surprise to get a cat email telling me that YOU were in hospital. What did you do this time? Well, I surmise you were feeling pretty chipper and decided you didn't need your oxygen so you took it off, got involved in a soap opera and while munching away, developed hypoxia without realising it. That was me surmising but it could have been your oxygen tube came unattached to your face as you slept?
Only you!
The cat email told me you were delirious (like I'd know the difference) had got the oxygen you needed, were on the mend and probably headed home the next day. Well for crying out loud, that bit of information stunned me, but when I think back on it, I don't know why it did, just seemed par for the course.
That night feeling you were in good hands and not likely to DO THAT AGAIN, I took meself off to a muddled sleep wherein I found meself stranded in Denver, seemed storms had cancelled me flight until the following day, so I rang you up and bribed you with a platter of enchiladas from some famous Denver restaurant if you'd let me crash on your couch. You, thinking more of the enchiladas told me to come on over and not to forget the hotter than hell sauce.
When I arrived I noticed the deadbolt in your door was out. I could see you behind the door hooked up to the oxygen, thank the fates for that, and you had a screwdriver in your hand.
"It be me," I said squinting in the hole and then pulling back when I saw the screwdriver and imagining you poking me eye out with it.
"I can't get the door unlocked." You said. "The handle doesn't open and it doesn't come off."
"Oi," I said, putting the bag of hot food and my suitcase down. "I could help get it open but the deadbolt has to be put back and I would need the screwdriver out here."
"I can't do that because I need the screwdriver to put the deadbolt back in, genius." You sneered.
"What's that all over your face?" I asked perplexed you had these square impressions that made you look like a mummy without the wrappings.
"That's from the tape to keep the oxygen hose on my face dummy." You said getting irritated.
"Well, what the hell did you use duct tape?"
"I used all kinds of tape to keep it on my face and it hurts if you rip it off fast or you slowly peel it you feel the burn. Anything else you wanna know?"
"Call a locksmith then because I can't help you, and the food is getting cold," I said because I could see you were getting feisty.
You stood there a moment weighing something you might want to tell me and then you looked like nah. But then I squinted in the deadbolt hole with a raised eyebrow and you caved.
"Ok, ok, ok! I took the oxygen off just to keep the tube out of my way so I could unscrew the deadbolt and now I don't remember how to dial a phone number. Happy now?" You said all huffy.
"If you knew how to use the screwdriver, you know how to dial a phone," I observed.
"You aren't listening, I SAID I TOOK OFF THE OXYGEN TO GET THE LINE OUT OF MY WAY WHILE I UNSCREWED THE DEADBOLT!"
"So you are telling me you are in slight hypoxia and that's why. Brilliant move! Then I will call one or should I just call 9-1-1?"
"9 Juan Juan?" You said looking at me annoyed.
"NO 9-1-1. You are hearing me in an accent."
"I'm not juan for making fun." You said a sneer readily visible.
I reached for me phone and googled a locksmith in Denver because obviously, you didn't need a ride to the ER, the sass told me you were just fine. I rang him up and lucky for you he wasn't but a few blocks away and would come right over.
Well, that's what happened, the locksmith came and by that time YOU couldn't figure out how to get the deadbolt reinstalled and he couldn't do it because the handle did not work and the deadbolt parts in the door were keeping it locked. Oi, oi, oi! Finally, he got a saw and sawed the deadbolt part of the door off to be able to move the handle (that did really nothing but look nice), leaving him to saw that off too and he got the door opened. So there we were, him leaving, you now had a new look to your door and an open invitation to anyone who wanted to just come on in!
I promised to get a chain lock later but I was ravenous and the food was getting cold.
It was all going quite well until I was on me third enchilada when I noticed you had taken just one tiny bite of yours while I was chowing down like enchiladas were going out of style.
"What?" I said to you my mouth full.
"You must be into fitness, and by that, I mean being able to fit a whole enchilada in your mouth." You said smugly. "I don't know how you can eat that."
"Eat what? The enchiladas?"
"Yup, they are filled with snake meat." You said very seriously.
"WHAT?" I nearly shouted. "These are chicken."
"I know you think that but chicken tastes like snake. Those are snake enchiladas."
You were smug about that. I stopped chewing and spit the contents into a paper napkin all the while feeling rather queasy.
"Wanna tell me how you know these are made with snake meat?"
"I don wanna taco bout it." You said laughing at your own joke.
"Well, you're nacho me friend anymore," I said throwing it right back."I will be back." I said grabbing me wallet.
"Where are you going?"
"I be going to that Homenaje a los Gordos restaurant I passed a few blocks away and getting tamales, no meat in those, and I'll pick up a lock on my way back." And off I went as you sighed like it was a waste of time and if I wasn't mistaken you were stifling a laugh. I did see you stick a chair against the useless door to keep anyone out. I did hesitate wondering what was so funny you didn't want me to know, but my stomach got the best of me and off I went.
I came back loaded down with hot tamales and they smelt so good. Of course, it took you a while to un-wedge the chair from the door, you were still not fully recovered, so the food was getting cold as I stood there watching the painful scene of you not sure in what direction to move the chair back. I put me hand through the door and knocked the chair out from the door. "See there, anyone could have done that and I'd come back to you entertaining a burglar."
"Yeah well, I had a vision of my own . . . I prayed to holy Cheesus Christ of Mexican food that you would get lost, but hey here you are loaded down with what looks like tacos but you think are tamales." You went and sat down on the couch.
I served you a lukewarm tamale and I took one for meself, and once again I noticed you took a single bite and rolled your eyes, then pushed your plate away.
"Now what?"
"That is not the right filling that is turnip paste and yams masquerading as masa filling or to you corn filling. But for you . . . que aproveche!"
"You're nuts," I said taking a huge bite and to be honest the tamale tasted off and not like what I was used to. I had to wonder.
"I could have saved you a trip, but no, you ran out of here like gangbusters listening to your stomach and not reason. Homenaje a los Gordos is a Mexican fusion takeout (if such a thing exists) and they don't use traditional ingredients. Lots of fats and transfers . . . " and your voice trailed off, "for fat people." And your shoulders began to shake in self-mirth as it all dawned on me.
"Now you tell me. What does homenaje a los gordos mean?"
"The name means 'Let's hear it for the fatsos.' Eat your cold enchiladas, snake meat is good for you." You said with an evil grin.
I was so finished with eating anything that I grabbed the paper bag with the new lock and your screwdriver and went to the door. I stood there looking at it for quite a while.
"Eggs-actly!" You shouted. "There is a giant hole in the door and nothing to attach that lock to. Not only that you put it too high I can't reach it and too low and anyone can put their arm through the hole and unlock it."
"Do you have to quote the obvious?" I turned around and then looked around the place. "Over there, what be that?" I pointed to a square piece of what looked like wood.
"Oh THAT, that genius is the wood from the door. Would you like me to hand it to you with some nails?"
"You have nails? Yes please." I said turning me attention to the door frame. And of course, the nails were brads, no bigger than a mosquito.
While I was trying to figure out the angle I'd need to nail in the broken piece of door, it seemed you took an inordinate amount of time to get me the hammer. This tool completely baffling you as to its last known location.
"Ok that's it," I said putting down the block of wood. I rummaged through the kitchen drawers and found the hammer. Back I went and after hammering my fingers instead of the minute nails you gave me ("Whadda ya want? Those are all I have in the way of nails."), I got a few in at weird angles but as I'd go to nail another the top would move and the nails would come out.
"You got glue?"
"If I had glue I'd have this stupid tube glued to my face." You were being snide and smug all at the same time and I hate that.
That's when the door started to jiggle all on its own and something kicked it. The wood square that I sort of had nailed on with a wing and a prayer flew off and these dark eyes peered in followed by a voice that said, "Kindly open this door. I have groceries and they are heavy."
It was your daughter the woman of the cat email. I pulled the door open and took a bag from her as she and I made our way to the kitchen.
"And who might you be?" She asked me.
"He's a bad bandito trying to rob me of my oxygen tank." You said, helpful as ever.
It took a few minutes of me fast-talking, you being no help and your daughter finding the hammer and holding it in a threatening manner.
"How many intruders do you know that bring food?" I asked her pointing to the take-out bags.
"Homenaje a los Gordos? Really? So it is really you. Ok then." She put the offending weapon down and started to put the groceries away. Then she looked at you and said, "El pirate?"
"One and the same and when it comes to Mexican food he's el gloton."
It didn't take much for me to figure out you were both talking about me and what you were saying. I did explain the holes in the door to your daughter since you were busy taping the oxygen tube to your face with duct tape. I remember she kept telling me she didn't believe a word of it and I found meself defending the breaking and entering charge being lobbed against me as she made TACOS from SCRATCH! I was salivating by the time she was done and yes, I paid the price for stuffing me piehole full of rich beefy deliciousness and of spicy sauce dripping down my chin. I was in taco overload and the last thing I remember was passing out from the sheer joy of authentic Mexican food and you duct-taping the holes in the door!
Now I have to wonder was that a lucid dream or did it happen? It seemed so real that I still can't figure it out. Did I get out of Denver, well I must have I be home. But just when and how and was it real? You need to tell me because I be driving meself batty trying to figure this out. I did look and I do have cat emails, so . . . ?
Gabe
Copyright © 2019 All rights reserved
7 comments:
finally! i kept checking for a new story and no gabe. you allude to some drama of your own i take it thats past and more stories soon? what are cat emails? you and your muse are funny together and now i want mexican food.
ROFLMAO THZT sir was fricking hilarious! Snake tamales? And its true duct tape was being considered. I really was that loopy the day I went into the hospital. So it sounds like you were right there watching !
So IT WAS all real and I wasn’t dreaming! Oi.
Ah my man! Never a dull moment! Enjoy your snake meat yum yum yummy! Ha ha.
Reading between the lines it seems you and your muse have been having situations? I hope all is cleared up because I enjoy the hell out of your stories.
You two are a pair, LOL. Snake meat does taste like chicken Gabe, um um good!
You got the loopy brain spot on!
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