I woke yesterday with intentions of giving this house a fucking wash. With all the travels recently and having to work late more days than not, including weekends, I have been neglecting my good wifely duties and this joint needs a’scrubbin’.
I actually like to clean. I don’t think when I’m cleaning. My mind completely blanks out except for the next splatter spot, next hair ball, next dust bunny. I can’t focus on work problems or home problems or family and friend problems. Nothing.
So anyway I’m scrubbing the kitchen, moving at tornado speeds, ammonia and bleach filling the air, and Michael goes, “You know what might be more fun than cleaning the kitchen? You wanna take a ride to get lunch?”
“HELLZ YEH!”
We gear up, we take off towards downtown, Michael giving me a good run weaving and flying through traffic. The sun was brutal and of course halfway there is when I remember sunscreen.
Our destination was Pizzorali’s. It was cozy, had a young hipster playing guitar and cast the feel of old mobsters. I loved it even before our food arrived. When it did, sweet baby jesus, it was incredible! The owner came to talk with us, total mobster but sweet, and brought us “dessert” of ribs to try.
NEXT TIME WE GET RIBS!
After the ride back to the house, we were both whooped. So we took a nap that wasn’t pleasant. You know those naps where you have to force yourself to sleep and then do nothing but sweat through nightmares, waking with a pounding headache?
A nap’s a nap however so you take what you can get.
After a long, hot bath [have you seen my tub, size of Ohio and luxurious like a motherfucker] we go looking for a bar with a pool table, the game on HD and food. I know, I know, a lot to ask but after a bit of driving in circles and listening to GPS that don’t know shit, we found it.
BLT for me, big ass burger for Michael, crown and diet cocktails, watching the Saints rip the Texans a new one and a few marathon games of pool.
All in all, not a bad Saturday.
