I also wanted to title this Chili, Chilies or Chili’s but only had so much space.
To fast forward to the end of my evening, I’ll start by saying that yesterdaytime ranks right up there with some of the worst I’ve had in a long time. I don’t want to say worst day of my life but I might say worst day of my life.
Back to my evening. I ended my lame as shit day at Sushi Axiom, where I probably eat once a week (it’s downstairs and I’m shmlazy). You can never question my allegiance considering I’ve had food poisoning from there twice but I don’t hold grudges, so if you want good sushi (go to Piranha’s) neither should you.
I guess I don’t know what sushi really tastes like because I view smoochies the same way I view chips at a mexican restaurant. It’s a means in which to eat something else. I don’t like tortilla chips and I don’t think I really care for smoochies all that much but both enable me to eat Sriracha (also called “Kickin’ Chicken” but that’s dumb so we’re going to call it chili sauce) and hot sauce (this is a point of contention between my other half and I. I say hot sauce and he says salsa. I say you’re from Louisiana and don’t know what you’re talking about. He says I’m from Texas and never know what I’m talking about- if it’s hot sauce, then what is Tabasco? Well, Tabasco is also called hot sauce you just need to be able to derive what I’m talking about from the clues in the sentence. When I say “chips and hot sauce” who is going to bring me chips and a bottle of Tabasco. No one. Maybe some idiot from Lousiana…) in bulk.
Anyway, I ordered my chili sauce with a side of Avocado Roll, but at that point, let’s be honest, I was actually there for the wine. Random story: my boyfriend and I, along with the couple I swore I would never hang out with again, are going to the Wine & Chili Festival in Santa Fe in September (good god watch out). I said, “first of all, I don’t eat chili. Second, that seems kind of gross. Who eats chili and drinks wine?” You would have thought I had asked them if we were going to go eat at Chili’s while in Santa Fe from the looks I got. So to clarify, just in case I wasn’t the only one, it’s green chilies. Not meats chili. Simple mistake apparently only idiots make.
So if anyone is still actually reading this, here is the story that led to my evening of wine and chili sauce frenzy. Although someone once told me that all blog posts need to be short. Well, this is my blog, I do what I want.
MY HORRIBLE DAY by margo
My mom went out of town on Sunday and within 5 minutes of her leaving the person in charge of letting her dog out (not me) lost him. He’s a little Yorkie (ugh) and goes apeshit on anyone who comes close to him. So yesterday, I had some time and thought I would go find him before she comes home. Actually, I made that sound too easy. Not go find him, I would go look for him.
Well let me tell you a little something about the Animal Control Center, you have to REALLY want to find what you are missing to go out there.
I drive across town to Animal Control using directions from my iPhone. Well, apparently iPhone is mad at me because it took me to what looked like an abandoned building. So, of course, I walk in and am greeted with several blown up pictures of Osama bin Laden dead with his eyes scratched out. And while I don’t doubt their patriotism, I was a little caught off guard but I am not to be deterred, so I politely ask where Animal Control is located. The lady (the scary lady) tells me it’s a block away and inquisitively asks if I am dropping off or picking up. “Everybody’s always droppin’ off. Never pickin’ up.” Today was our lucky day, I informed her. I was pickin’ up.
So the waiting room at Animal Control looks a lot like a waiting room for a drug testing clinic. Why were all these people with no animals sitting around? Anyway, I read on Facebook the other day (so obviously it’s true) that certain states are looking to drug test before giving welfare. They should look into throwing adopting a dog into that legislative mix. This was like sitting on the set of Breaking Bad.
They send me back across town to the Humane Society (not much better) and I am greeted with a sign that says “Humans are rarely reunited with their pet loved ones” which is incredibly reassuring but I also found it odd that they refer to people as ‘Humans’. And with each stop, I increasingly smell like animal feces.
Well, I get home, defeated, and about to start looking for a bottle opener so I can take my wine in the shower with me, when I get a phone call. It’s the vet clinic two and a half blocks from my mom’s house saying they found Andie (I know but it suits him) from his microchip. WELL, if I had known there was a fucking microchip in this animal I might not have gone to the three hour trouble of smelling like dog shit.
Moral of the story: if you like your pet, don’t let an idiot take care of it when you go out of town. Oh, and put a microchip in it.
(I had a pic of him in his pajamas but didn’t want to embarrass him. So I went with sweatshirt)