Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Here's Mustard in your Eye...
Last night, i was preparing delicious food. I went to open the spice cabinet...and...and the mustard powder fell out and spilled all over the counter and the clean dishes...and while I was cleaning it up...i blew some of it off one of the mason jars...and...and ended up blowing most of it into my left eyeball...and...and needless to say my eyeball did not appreciate it too much... and...and little did I know that mustard powder and eyeballs do not go together none too friendly-like...and......and boy you should see my eyeball today...i frightened children on the bus to work this morning...I had to cook the rest of the food holding my hand over my eye and swearing a lot.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Young Urban Punks
Today as I was making a few house-calls to various "ladies who lunch" Brooklyn brownstoners, I drove the little blue bastard (1994 Ford Ranger) past a mother with her I would say 8 year old son walking on the sidewalk. This little punk saw me driving by, formed an imaginary I would guess either "rifle" or "AK-47" with his hands, and "fake" shot at the car - multiple "rounds" worth. I thought this was amusing until he saw me, pointed his "gun" at my face and proceeded to rat-a-tat-tat a few rounds at yours truly until I drove off in the distance. What a bastard child.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Good Morning!
Man guys, 2009 is really shaping up to be a year that makes me question all manner of things.
The other morning I saw myself entering/running into the E.R. of Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. Here's why:
Two nights ago I met up with Juliet, Kipp and Sarah for dinner at Sarah's place. It was delicious. We had all sorts of cheese and bread and a souffle and an aioli and veggies and a pie that would kick God's ass.
However, now I suspect that one of them wants me in a pine box - because the following morning I woke up earlier than usual with a weird feeling in my throat. "Calm down Kyle..." I told myself, "you're probably just having one of those delicious panic attacks. You're about due anyways, just get comfortable and enjoy the show..."
About an hour later, I shot out of bed with the quickness and looked at myself in the mirror. My throat was about the size of two large grapefruit and it [my throat] was also fire-engine red. I looked like one of the creatures at the bar in Star Wars. In as calm a manner as one would allow upon this discovery I threw on pants and made a f**king bee-line to the hospital. The waiting room was of course filled to the brim with all manner of weeping adults, screaming children, people lying on the floor - waiting for what looked like the entirety of their lives just to get looked at by an overworked physician. (All of these people were of "brown" skin tone, but that's another post).
Once the front receptionist saw me she said something to the effect of "Let's get you to a doctor and deal with the paperwork a little later!" and I was off.
The Doc was nice and kind of a wise ass, which helped. He asked me the usual questions:
1. Have you ingested something you normally don't? (get your jokes in now, people)
2. Are you allergic to anything?
3. Have you tried to harm yourself? (my personal favorite, and get your jokes in now, people)
4. Have you ever had any similar skin reactions in the past?
Did I mention how hard it is to answer "No" when your throat looks like a bullfrog's? It must have sounded like "Moo" or "Myowl"
He got all doctoral afterwards and gave me pills that you just can't buy anywhere else. Read: pills that actually do things to help you. The swelling went down almost immediately thereafter.
The paperwork was a cinch and because I cold sport the insurance; I paid next to nothing, which is a rarity in these situations. Basically it would have been $400 for: two pills, a receptionist that got me through the door quickly, and a smart-ass doctor.
The other morning I saw myself entering/running into the E.R. of Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. Here's why:
Two nights ago I met up with Juliet, Kipp and Sarah for dinner at Sarah's place. It was delicious. We had all sorts of cheese and bread and a souffle and an aioli and veggies and a pie that would kick God's ass.
However, now I suspect that one of them wants me in a pine box - because the following morning I woke up earlier than usual with a weird feeling in my throat. "Calm down Kyle..." I told myself, "you're probably just having one of those delicious panic attacks. You're about due anyways, just get comfortable and enjoy the show..."
About an hour later, I shot out of bed with the quickness and looked at myself in the mirror. My throat was about the size of two large grapefruit and it [my throat] was also fire-engine red. I looked like one of the creatures at the bar in Star Wars. In as calm a manner as one would allow upon this discovery I threw on pants and made a f**king bee-line to the hospital. The waiting room was of course filled to the brim with all manner of weeping adults, screaming children, people lying on the floor - waiting for what looked like the entirety of their lives just to get looked at by an overworked physician. (All of these people were of "brown" skin tone, but that's another post).
Once the front receptionist saw me she said something to the effect of "Let's get you to a doctor and deal with the paperwork a little later!" and I was off.
The Doc was nice and kind of a wise ass, which helped. He asked me the usual questions:
1. Have you ingested something you normally don't? (get your jokes in now, people)
2. Are you allergic to anything?
3. Have you tried to harm yourself? (my personal favorite, and get your jokes in now, people)
4. Have you ever had any similar skin reactions in the past?
Did I mention how hard it is to answer "No" when your throat looks like a bullfrog's? It must have sounded like "Moo" or "Myowl"
He got all doctoral afterwards and gave me pills that you just can't buy anywhere else. Read: pills that actually do things to help you. The swelling went down almost immediately thereafter.
The paperwork was a cinch and because I cold sport the insurance; I paid next to nothing, which is a rarity in these situations. Basically it would have been $400 for: two pills, a receptionist that got me through the door quickly, and a smart-ass doctor.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
This is One Great Sandwich Shop!
So, this story is one of the more fairly depressing things to happen to me in quite some time. I was pulling into a sammich place (a glorified deli with a parking lot) on my lunch break in Brooklyn today, and as I was making the turn into the lot rather slowly because of the traffic trying to get in, I noticed a rather erratic-walking youngish (maybe mid 20's) girl heading towards me. As I was checking how fast she was moving to make sure I wouldn't hit her with my car (!) she gives this quick/bizarre nod to me. It was so strange a gesture to make at the particular time (what, did she want to acknowledge that the place makes a good sandwich?) that I kind of did a double-take and looked at her again just to make sure I wasn't missing something. And lo and behold she nods at me again super-quick with this kind of look in her eyes. We've all seen that look before - and usually it's the "Do you want to purchase illegal drugs?" But no it wasn't. This time it was "Do you want to pay me money for sex? I need it because I am addicted to drugs."
I don't think I've ever been solicited for sex before - and if I did I must have successfully blocked it out. And I can't even remember the last time I've seen a prostitute or whatever the handle she chooses to go by.
Needless to say, it kind of started to sink in after I found a spot to park. I just sat there puzzled, kind of depressed at a humanity that would need to break people in such a fashion. She just kept pacing the sidewalk back and forth, searching for that certain anyone.
After I get my sandwich and head back to the car I decide that I don't want to sit in the car in this particular parking lot, eating, while this lady is combing the streets a couple feet away. I decide to find somewhere else to park. I drive a block or so away and find a spot on the street, park, turn on WNYC and prepare to eat when Sweet Bride who should walk around the corner but said lady. One can only surmise that as I was reaching for my sandwich and chips on the passenger seat, that it appeared that I was clearing the seat for her to sit in because she quickly advanced the block and stepped right in front of the passenger window.
Not acknowledging her in the slightest, I tried to look super busy, intent on eating the fuck out of my sandwich, but I think that it only made me look like one a them "nervous customers" so she stayed right there. I could only tell she was there because of my peripheral vision (which I was using the fuck out of).
When it was clear she wasn't going to move on, I quickly put the car in first and high-tailed it back to the office.
I don't think I've ever been solicited for sex before - and if I did I must have successfully blocked it out. And I can't even remember the last time I've seen a prostitute or whatever the handle she chooses to go by.
Needless to say, it kind of started to sink in after I found a spot to park. I just sat there puzzled, kind of depressed at a humanity that would need to break people in such a fashion. She just kept pacing the sidewalk back and forth, searching for that certain anyone.
After I get my sandwich and head back to the car I decide that I don't want to sit in the car in this particular parking lot, eating, while this lady is combing the streets a couple feet away. I decide to find somewhere else to park. I drive a block or so away and find a spot on the street, park, turn on WNYC and prepare to eat when Sweet Bride who should walk around the corner but said lady. One can only surmise that as I was reaching for my sandwich and chips on the passenger seat, that it appeared that I was clearing the seat for her to sit in because she quickly advanced the block and stepped right in front of the passenger window.
Not acknowledging her in the slightest, I tried to look super busy, intent on eating the fuck out of my sandwich, but I think that it only made me look like one a them "nervous customers" so she stayed right there. I could only tell she was there because of my peripheral vision (which I was using the fuck out of).
When it was clear she wasn't going to move on, I quickly put the car in first and high-tailed it back to the office.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Does the DOW have any more points to lose?
On Tuesday night I made my way over to Beer Table for some...beer...but also for some delicious food.
On the menu that night stood one particular dish that did a number on my interiors that I have not experienced for quite some time. I don't mean I got the "drama pipes", I mean the dish was so good that I was moved to tears. To tears. It got me all misty-eyed. Maybe there was something Fruedian going on but who gives a frick? I have since spent some time trying to figure out why exactly that happened - and there has been a lot of noise of the sentimental variety as of late - and dang if I can pin it down.
The dish in question turns out to be none other than "Pickled Sardine Salad"; comprised of pickled sardines, watercress, toasted hazlenuts and some other ingredient(s) that I am now forgetting like the dipstick that I am.
If you ever see this salad crawl your way, pounce!
On the menu that night stood one particular dish that did a number on my interiors that I have not experienced for quite some time. I don't mean I got the "drama pipes", I mean the dish was so good that I was moved to tears. To tears. It got me all misty-eyed. Maybe there was something Fruedian going on but who gives a frick? I have since spent some time trying to figure out why exactly that happened - and there has been a lot of noise of the sentimental variety as of late - and dang if I can pin it down.
The dish in question turns out to be none other than "Pickled Sardine Salad"; comprised of pickled sardines, watercress, toasted hazlenuts and some other ingredient(s) that I am now forgetting like the dipstick that I am.
If you ever see this salad crawl your way, pounce!
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