Thursday, January 31, 2013

Awful, Just Awful

As is our habit, when we work late, we dine out. Tonight we decided to try a new Italian place. I ordered chicken cacciatore and an appetizer of fresh water mussels.

By far the worst meal I've ordered in years. Both the mussels and pasta were so over salted I couldn't eat either.

A few minutes after our meals arrived the chef walked out and asked if we were, basically, satisfied with our food. I mentioned the mussels and pasta were over salted. Sweet Wife agreed.

Now get this, the chef said it was impossible. He had not added salt to the dishes. I said sorry, but he was wrong and to taste the mussel sauce. He dipped a piece of my bread then said, it's fine. Argued with me.

The chef neither asked if I'd like a replacement nor did he offer a discount or adjustment to our bill. We were his only customers.

Ask me if I'll return.


Bits & Pieces

The construction workers have returned in force. I should just flip the closed sign and drive home. At least this time around they were kind enough to allow traffic to reach my building. As all traffic has been diverted, perhaps I should find a local night club and hire their off duty pole dancers. I'd have them dress skimpy and stand out front in this cold wind and wave to the passing motorists.

Then again the cost of their services would easily nullify any profit. 


Our weather has finally turned cool. Windy as all get out. I like it.

I have a camping trip planned next month. We hope all members of 'The Group' attend. I hope to bottle this weather and release it the night of just after our fire is laid and lit. I hate to camp in warm weather.

If, and it's a big if, the weather cooperates on this future camping trip, I plan to pack my little .410 and do a bit of squirrel hunting. Don't say it. I hear you...shotgun for squirrels. Yes. This dense Florida brush requires it...that's my excuse and I plan to stick with it. You young punks with your baby fresh eyes...


I have a contract with a fire extinguisher service. Once a year, as required by law, they arrive at the shop and take my extinguisher out to their service vehicle and brush the dust off, attach a new tag, and return and charge me darn near fifty dollars for three minutes of their time.

They just arrived.

As much as I hate to pay for this service, guess what happens when the state inspector knocks on my door and the little tag hasn't been properly stamped. Another form of tax at gun point.

Pure rip off.


Here's an old expression - 'just got a hair up my butt.' Google that one. Anyway, with the high volume of noise outside, I thought, hey, target practice.

 Loaded a few CB shorts, stepped out back and placed target and had a few minutes of fun. Kinda nice. Took a cup of coffee and grabbed an old plastic chair and just popped, pop, pop. The squirrels hid.

Talk about breaking a few laws...

Firing a gun within city limits is a big no-no, but I know the locals just think it's area democritters exchanging fire.

I'm a bad boy.

See you later, and hey, be careful out there.