Camel Exotic Blends and Good Eats

Camel Exotic Blends and Good Eats

Today was a good day. I re-heated our Indian food leftovers from our dinner last night with Mike J and Girlie. We almost got kicked out of the restaurant for being loud and obnoxious but we ate a whole damn lot. We were so full after, Girlie tried to get me to eat the last smidgen of naan and I couldn't even do it. I just hid it in my leftover rice. She picked up the tab (since it was "Take Your Friends Who Have No Money Right Now To Dinner Day") and she ordered two bottles of beaujolais. Luckily for us, it didn't have that much effect. Because we were sober and yet loud enough to clear the place. I can't imagine how it would have been if we were drunk. I normally hate people like us, but in our defense that restaurant was TINY and they fricken turned the music off. All the wailing in the Indian music was doing a great job of hiding comments like "Why don't you get on your knees and eat SPAM out of my ass" and "Yeah he was psychotic and all but he was a really good lay." Not to mention the sight of Girlie pantomiming a blowjob and Aud trying to lick her own tit. Thanks for dinner and the tiramisu G!!!

But back to this morning. So anyway, we ate our leftovers for brunch. Any day that starts with paratha, korma chicken, tandoori chicken, rice, mashed chickpeas, that creamed spinach thing with the cheese-tofu and that yogurt sauce is pretty much always going to be a good, even if you sat at home and picked your butt all day. Which we didn't. After that meal, I knew it would take something big or an act of God to get Aud out of the house. I seached my brain and the light bulb flashed. I'm always good on a full stomach. She's been OCD-ing over those Camel Exotic Blends cigarettes but they've been difficult to find. So I Googled some Jersey tobacco shops and started calling. 10 calls later and still no dice, so I called the RJ Reynolds corporation and asked them where they'd shipped some to North Jersey. The customer service rep gave me the number to a few gas stations. I called them up and hit paydirt. They had both the flavors we wanted. Aud wanted the Kauai Kolada which is a pina colada-flavored smoke and I wanted the Crema, which was a mild vanilla one. We were pretty giddy over this, so we packed our stuff (my girls) up and headed out in high spirits.

15 minutes later we pulled into the promised land. Aud got out of the car, but the door was locked and a crude sign was taped to the glass, written in what looked to be wet paint. Naturally, the sign itself said "Wet Paint." I paused to reflect the subtle humor in this as Aud started pounding on the door. Some random guy told her the store was closed for an hour, because they were painting. At 2 in the afternoon. She was trying to argue with him but he kept walking away. I could see where this was headed (people who are OCD-ing do not take attempts to thwart their purchases lightly) so I told her we should just go putz around Target for an hour.

We walked around and did our usual thing, dumping stuff into our carts and then removing them when we got tired of them. You might think this is a horrible thing to do but I figure it keeps the stock people employed. If every customer who ever set foot in Target returned everything to its rightful location, the corporate office would be able to reduce their staff by at least 15 associates. That's an inexact number though, because when using Fake Math it is difficult to be precise. By the way Girlie, they don't make Justice League boys briefs for boys over the age of 8 or 50 lbs. Sorry!

After Target we headed back to the painted gas station to pick up our Camel Exotic Blends. On the way home, we laughed at ourselves because we were obsessed with looking at these neat little tins. We kept opening and closing them and postulating on what the cigarettes themselves might be like. We agreed that it wasn't that important of course, because the tins themselves were worth the extra dollar over the price of a regular, cardboard-wrapped pack of smokes. Maybe as a going-away gift, I'll get Aud some of the other tins she keeps logging online to eyeball. Namely the Margarita Mixer and Mandalay Lime. And of course I'll pick up the Basma and Samsun tins for myself. It's best not to OCD alone. We walked through my door and almost immediately housed a tub of guacamole that Geo so thoughtfully picked up for us. I mean HOUSED. We were completely silent while eating, because conversation would delay the actual process of dipping the tortilla chips into the guacamole, then the sour cream, then the pico de gallo and then shoveling them into our mouths. Hey, all that dipping and maintaining (the art of keeping the crap you already scooped up on the chip while you scoop up other stuff) takes some level of concentration. Not a lot, but it's there.

After we had taken the edge off our hunger (translation: there was no guacamole left), the woman that has the audacity to (accurately) refer to me as a food whore ordered me into the kitchen to make some Filipino spaghetti. Which I did, but only because I knew Geo would appreciate it too after a long day of work. If I do say so myself, that shit was good as hell. I love those days when the food planets are in perfect alignment and every meal tastes as if it were sent down by the Chef God.

It was a good day.

Oh, and I put on my wig, took pics and got all Halloweeny with my weblog. You likes?