Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Hotdogs and headtrips

Hokay, so I was supposed join some of the Mission Folks at Beth's house for dinner one Sunday last summer before we went to see Jeremy's performance. Due to a very obnoxious coworker, it took me a 1½ hour longer to get home than it usually does. I missed dinner, had almost no time to unwind and made it to the show with mere minutes to spare, still tense.

To expedite the relaxation process, Iona gave me one of her brownies during intermission. Now, I'm not a smoker, nor have I ever been. I'm not opposed to it, and if it's offered, I may or may not take it, but I don't seek it out. Which is to say that my tolerance is most definitely on the low side.

Still agitated and hungry, instead of joining the group for cocktails after the performance, I wandered off to Cala where I roamed the aisles aimlessly, picking things up and putting them back down, unable to find anything appealing or appetizing. This fascinating state of ravenous ambivalence lasted the better part of 20 minutes before I reached the deli section.

There, I came around the far corner of the deli reach-in and found these packages of hot dogs – beef franks, to be exact - that were the longest motherfuckers I had EVER seen. They seemed to defy physics, logic and comprehension. They were astounding. The only thing I could do was walk past them, staring; look over my shoulder, staring; bump into the deli guy, because I was looking over my shoulder, staring.

Admittedly, this doesn't really make much sense, but somehow, I thought that if I went to the produce section and shopped for lettuce, I would be able to clear my head of the insanely long wieners. But they were like a fucking event horizon. The only thing I could do was return to the deli and stare in awe at the wieners and whisper, "My...gawd!". It was at this point that I saw the 'BIG BUY' pack and, God's honest truth, I think I cried out audibly. It was a pack of 12, count them (I did), 12, and they were EVEN LONGER than the first ones I saw.

HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT.

Once again, I tried to leave the area, but something even stronger than trainwreck fascination – sheer and utter disbelief, perhaps – drew me back two more times before I finally purchased the 'BIG BUY' pack. I'd put money down that the guy at the cash register chuckled when he asked me if I needed anything else. Walking home, I was certain that I would wake up to find that they were, in actuality, little cocktail sausages and be forced to face the fact that I'd finally dipped more than just my toe into the pool of crazy.

*Fast forward to Monday morning*

I hear one of my roommates yell, 'Holy SHIT!!' I come into the kitchen and find her pointing and staring in a familiar state of disbelief at the open refrigerator, "Did you see the size of these fuckers?!?"

5 comments:

  1. HOHOHO!!! Excellent story, Friz. :D Great "Monday" morning fodder.

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  2. okay, *I* felt like i was high just reading that. i couldn't stop giggling. prolly i've been *there* at some point in my lie. like you, i'm the "i don't seek it out but i may partake if offered" person right now, but it didn't always used to be this way. (reference my loss of eyebrows story in your mental catalog.)

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  3. holy shit! indeed ;-)

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  4. Ha! Thanks guys!!

    Of course their size leads me to covet them for bacon wrapping, so we may have to have a group introduction to the joys of the 'BIG BUY' bacon wrapped beef franks.

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  5. scary.

    but in a good way.

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