Last weekend, we stopped over at the Greek festival in our neighborhood to grab some pitas for lunch. Naturally, I could not resist the opportunity to go old school and win my girlfriend a stuffed animal. My game of choice was the dart game with the balloons. Here was the result. His name is Frank, which had something to do with a discussion on hot dogs, but I don't recall exactly why we named him that.
I am happy to report that Frank has been a well behaved penguin so far and has been a great addition to the house. We've learned that we are really good at having pets that don't require any personal attention whatsoever.In much more disheartening news (DON'T LAUGH!!!!), this happened to my bike last Thursday after a really bad day.
So my bike is parked outside the office and someone rips off the handle bar grips? I mean, what the hell?????? Who does that? It's not like they punctured a tire or worse, stole a tire. I can go buy two new grips for like $5 so it's just mean and unfortunately capped off an already bad day. Frank was not happy either and expressed his disdain for this individual with this telling expression.
I can just picture some stupid college kid with floppy, curly hair, as seems to be the style these days, walking past it with a few of his d-bag buddies and saying,
"Hey check this out guys. Because I'm a complete asshole, and because you guys are complete assholes too, which is why we are friends, and because I will one day go to hell anyways for all the dick moves I've pulled thus far in my worthless existence, I'm going to take these grips off a complete stranger's bike. He will never have seen this coming. He's going to be so inconvenienced by having to ride this bike a couple times while using the handlebars with no rubber grips before he's able to make the 0.5 mile trip to the bike shop to get new grips. Though I have no concept of what being a man is, I want to declare that I am such an alpha male for having done this. You will now think I'm super cool. Hey guys, let's go the LaCoste store and buy some pink polos. Then, we can pop the collars, wear aviator sunglasses, and give unsuspecting chicks on the street a taste of the gun show. On the way back to the frat house, we can pick up a couple skim soy lattes from S-bucks, cross swords over someone's car, knock a little kid off his scooter, and light some bags of each other's feces on fire on an elderly couple's porch."
Here's to you douchebag frat boy. I hope you die.
Fast forward to labor day weekend. On Saturday morning, I went to the fish market to pick up a red snapper for date night Saturday evening. That's right my friends, I grilled a whole red snapper. His name was Fred (not to be confused with Frank, who was not grilled). I didn't take a "before" picture because that would have been sad, but here's the after. Fred, you were a delicious, healthy looking fish, which is why I bought you instead of one of your school mates. I'm sorry if the pain associated with removal of your scales was compounded by the copious amounts of salt and pepper I sprinkled on you. I'm also sorry if the rosemary, thyme and lemon wedges stuffed into your sides were uncomfortable in any way but this helped us most appropriately honor your death by eating you and enjoying it. Plus, you were already dead before both of these events so I don't think it was an issue. Regardless, you should know that you did not die in vain. Amen.
Song of the Day:
Illinois - Hang On