The following has been rated NC-17. That means I’m “in a mood” and people who don’t like cursing can fuck the hell off and click on something else. Here’s a Rick Astley and Nine Inch Nails remix for you.
Everyone in burger club ditched my sorry ass tonight. Actually, the only person who said she was coming told me she didn’t want to go if it was just the two of us. In fact, it was a little worse than that. Most of the people in burger club knew it would be just the two of us and kept trying to convince me this could be a golden opportunity. I’m not sure where their optimism comes from, but I figure it’s something rich white people just have. Beat down Asian motherfuckers don’t have that sort of confidence. Tonight she asked who was coming and I told her, “Well, me.” She repeated the question as if she didn’t understand what I said. And with my second reply she pulled a face. So I told her that if she didn’t want to go it wasn’t a big deal. You know condescension when you hear it and it was there when she said, “Yeah, maybe next time.”
I decided to go to Paley’s Place to try their hamburger. It’s a fancy restaurant in my neighborhood and quite well known. The chef has won national awards and I’ve heard the food is excellent from trustworthy friends. The acclaimed hamburger can only be ordered in their tiny bar, and so I knew I had to go when I was by myself or with a couple of other people. (As an aside, I actually did ask someone out to Paley’s Place this year and she just blew me off. That’s neither here nor there, but I have been trying to get someone to go there with me for a while. Hell, my friend Matty G didn’t want to go there with me.)
The hamburger took a long fucking time to get to me. They overcooked it the first time, they said, so they made me a second one with a second complimentary order of fries. They must like fat Asian guys so they can rub their bellies. The meat was seasoned quiite well, but the rest of the burger was a let-down. The bacon was thick cut back bacon (Canadian bacon) and was hard to bite through. And the part that completely ruined the burger was a stale bun. I wish I could say it was excellent, but it wasn’t. The fries with the mustard aioli were, however, excellent. (What the fuck is aioli anyway? I bet it’s just a boojie name for mayonnaise so rich white people can eat it. It’s probably just Hellman’s in a smaller jar.)
I had their chocolate souffle for dessert, and they also gave me some tasters while I was waiting (for fucking ever) for my burger and they were excellent. The tasters made me expect a Laurelhurst Market-level of burger that I didn’t get. I think this is just another fancy restaurant that has a burger on their menu to pretend they’re like normal people but they don’t really give a shit about it. Which means they don’t give a shit about me but I’m used to that. As I’ve been saying, THAT’S MY FUCKING LIFE.
I feel better now, but I can’t find my fucking dirty gym clothes so I might have to drive back to look for them. Motherfucking hell. That means I won’t get to sleep anytime soon and I’ll be tired at work tomorrow and Friday is “yell at Todd day”. I fucking love my life. (No, drugs won’t help my attitude, in fact my ex-girlfriend made me take antidepressants and they just made me feel old. I wasn’t able to enjoy sex and I wanted to play with my ham radio. So she dumped my ass. If only I had another pill, perhaps a reverse Rogaine, to facilitate a comb-over I could have just stuck with the fucking ham radio and been happy with my life. As it is, here I am grabbing my ankles for another fucking day.)