Nacho Bar Night

Juice puts on quite a lovely nacho bar on Thursday nights. I went this time because I needed to perk up. Being around Juice and Hole will perk ANYONE up, I don't care if you are on death row. I wasn't my usual self, but it was really nice to have another night out. (This is becoming a habit!) She did not tie Hole and I down to watch "Ugly Whores in the City", we just talked and stuffed our little pie holes with much queso. Which brings me to some great observations I had last night.

Hole is quite anal-retentive about putting a nacho plate together. Let me explain. She methodically and systematically lines each and every tortilla strip up on the plate. She then proceeds to put individual clumps of cheese on EACH chip. It was explained to me that it is of the utmost importance to have cheese on ALL tortilla chips evenly. She then re-layers. Then, she puts the plate in the "MIKE". She does not "nuke" her nachos, or put them in the microwave, she "MIKES" them. Also new for me. She does not have the patience for stove-cooking nachos, nor knows how to use the stove. LOL. I have to get cultured somehow. I have documented the photographic evidence of such behavior. You have not experienced nachos, until you have experienced nachos with Hole. ME? I grab a handful of chips, throw them on the plate, grab cheese and fling it on the chips (no tongs, people, big handfuls), NUKE them, then smother them with sour cream and the hottest salsa I can find. End of story. She brought me Reses peanut butter cups, however, so the love is flowing all over for her right now.

You should have heard us singing (and we weren't drinking). Harmonizing is hard. Especially when you forget the words or laugh too much. I had to leave, and I missed a rendition of the "Macarena". It was very unfortunate; I really would have liked to have seen those two attempt that.

I stayed up WAY too late. It was a work night for me, and Juice lives a good hour to an hour and a half away from me. It turned out OK though, I flew down the freeway with hardly any other cars on the road (rare). There is something about driving a dark, empty freeway at night. Something soothing about it. Especially when you have peanut butter cups.

My gas light came on about halfway home. I still had at least 30 miles to go. Sweet. Someone upstairs was looking out for me, though, because I made it all the way to the Sultan gas station! It was closed and all dark, but the pumps were on if you had a credit card/debit card. Thank God! As I was gassing up, it was spooky. It's like the town was deserted, but then all of sudden some drunk idiots came stumbling out of the bar across the street yelling obscenities and whatnot. Great. That's all I need right now. What am I going to do, throw peanut butter cups at them? I hid behind my truck a little bit hoping they wouldn't spot me. I kept coming up with psycho survival plans like pouring gas on them and threatening to use my lighter. But then I realized that would blow all of us up. OK, not a good plan. They didn't approach me, but then something worse happened. I saw the final total. SEVENTY DOLLARS for gas. HOLY CRAP! Now I wish they had come and killed me. Gas is $4.25 a gallon. My mom is still in California and said it is $4.45 down there. This is scary. I think we're on the verge of some kind of economic crash, what do you think?

Oh, btw, apparently, according to Hole and Juice, my new nickname is "SPF 36". It means "Sugar Plum Fairy" and my age is 36. Hmmm. Okaaay. I guess I dance in your head, as sugar plum fairies do, are you good with that? You can call me whatever you like. I don't mind.