Open All Night

Well, I was stuck in my hotel room Friday night and was ready to be all blogtastic. Instead, the internet went down, like some cosmic sign saying “Yo, loser, take in the surroundings of Menomonee Falls, WI.” I ignored the sign and continued waiting at the desk. I finally got PO’d, wrote down what I wanted to say, and went to sleep. Since my linguistic mojo oozed out over the weekend, allow me to at leats hit on a few of the key points from then.

- Wisconsin continues to amaze me with its prevalent use of personalised licence plates. The worst part is that most are as obnoxious as the GoDaddy.com commercials or my continued usage of the Queen’s English. Two offenders from last week – PRSLZD (really – a personalised plate to say personalised???) and CHZ ETR. Nice. Having a plate like that should be grounds for your medical insurance to cancel coverage when your cholesterol test comes back off of the charts.
- I cannot say I have seen anything funnier recently than watching a balding Indian guy in his 50′s going up to every car at a gas station and asking for directions and then watching him drive directly to the strip club up the street 1/4 mile.
- Speaking of places where catty women work, I had an experience with that at dinner the other day. I went to a restaurant where the server helps make your sauce selection for whatever is being grilled. I have been there multiple times, and always had the same waitress. I actually had a different waitress last time, but came to find out my normal one was working. The normal one came up to help me, despite me not being her table, which drew the ire of my waitress that evening. Upon mentioning that this was perturbing the other one, Normal Waitress replied spitefully “Don’t worry – she knows.” What the hell does that mean? I couldn’t really spend that much time worrying about it though because I was in the midst of trying the “spicy” sauce I had asked her to make and had proceeded down the wrong pipe. I kept it down though without choking. What a trooper I am.
- I learned a new term at work that has me mesmerised. The term “cougar” has made its way into the lexicon, riding smoothly on the coattails of such esteemed terms as “MILF.” It was brought to my attention that there is such a creature as a Puma. I denied its existence, but was shown a website that explains it. According to the source, a cougar is a woman between 30-45 looking for a younger man. A puma is one between 22-29 that goes younger for fun. And then the most dangerous of them all apparently is the sabretooth, which is above 45. This both baffled and intrigued me. I like the idea of breaking them up, especially as I feel MILF has to undergo the same treatment. All I know is that I need to start using this term more often. Although I will say that the puma seems awfully young. I cannot even get a puma! Now that really makes me feel old.

Now, where the hell are my pills?
-Michael