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Monday, July 2, 2012

Blondie Escapades--Let Loose in Savannah

Last week Man-Friend suggested we blow town for the weekend or at least for a night. Now I absolutely love ANY excuse to blow town, but have to admit that I get a bit of anxiety about overnight trips in small hotel rooms with him. I know the logical question, the one you’re asking yourself, “why?”
This is me on a good morning:

This is Man-Friend on ANY morning:
The combination of the two of us together in the morning is very similar to the combination of fire and gasoline, vinegar and baking soda, habenero hands and vagina...it's either destructive, messy or extremely painful. 

However, I decided to put my big girl britches on and go for it.
I like to eat. I know what you're thinking...well, duh, doesn't everyone? Good point, but when I say I like to eat, I really LOVE to eat, but I love to eat good food, not just anything that will fit in my mouth (which could really be gross because I've got a big mouth and I can think of lots of really disgusting things that COULD fit in my mouth, but that sounds like a whole other blog so I'm erasing those gag-me mental pictures now). Anyone who loves to eat should really learn not just to cook but to enjoy cooking.
That being said, after deciding to head to Savannah, an internet search led Man-Friend to Chef Joe Randall's Cooking School. Chef Randall has appeared in shows on The Food Network, HGTV, Georgia Traveler and has been featured in several food articles, renowned for his "southern style" cooking. After looking it over and deciding it looked like a positively scruptious meal and fun experience, we hit the road Friday afternoon, Savannah bound with the promise of a good meal and fun time ahead.
Chef Joe Randall in the Kitchen of his Cooking School
 I'll admit that when we first arrived, it was not what I expected.  It was a small building a bit wore out looking, and the interior was a cramped and cluttered.  However, wine and awesome food made this an awesome experience.

It was about a three hour affair and the portions were big...to big to eat everything so I had them box up my leftovers and desert.  As Chef Randall's wife was boxing my food, it happened.  You know what IT is.  It's the moment when your intestines wake up and say, "Hi asshole, how've ya been?  I think it's time we had a talk with toilet."  Oh NO!!! Not here.  Did I mention that this was a small compact space and the only bathroom in the place was located about three feet behind me, and that could only be a few feet more away from the other diners.  It was time to go!  Luckily for me we'd already checked into the hotel room prior to coming to dinner and the hotel wasn't that far away because it was another full on battle of the buttcheeks being waged during that ride, but we made it in time for that talk with the toilet. 
It was about 10:00 and neither of us were ready to sleep.  The night was hot and muggy and a swim sounded fabulous...however, there were two problems with that...the hotel had a rent-a-cop patroling the property and the pool area was closed and padlocked.  Do you think that stopped us?  Hell no!  We just hopped the fense like teenage pool crashers and jumped on in. Ahhhhhhhhmazing!  The rent-a-cop let us get away with it for a couple passes until finally and very politely asking us to evacuate the pool. 
The next morning the plan to avoid world war three and minimize my morning bitchitis was that happy pants Man-Friend was going to get up, go out by the pool and let me sleep.  So morning comes and Man-Friend gets up, gets dressed then asks me what time I want him to bring me a cup of rich awesome deliciousness sure to jump start the heart of even the sleepiest beast...otherwise known as a Starbucks Venti Quad Cappuccino.  With that in mind my response was anytime, and he was out the door.  A few minutes later he was back, with no coffee and laid back down.  Ok, this I can handle and back to sleep I went.  However it was short-lived and I awoke to him talking to me, asking me something or other to which morning bitch responded in full force..."OK, I'M UP!!!" His reply, "NO!! You don't have to do that!" As I was heading out the door to gather myself and smoke a cigarette I retorted, "Then why the freak do you keep talking to me?!" (I know, I know, filthy, stinky, disgusting habit, going to rot out my lungs, yada, yada, yada, shut the hell up).  I'm outside for about 5 minutes and when I come back into the room, there lies Man-Friend, on the bed, snoring and I seriously wanted to throw a chair at him in that moment but settled for, "Are you freaking kidding me!?!" 
I'm sure I looked WAY scarier than this woman.

It was about to get dangerous.  Sensing the danger level rising I decide to hop in the shower and Man-Friend did the next best thing to interveniously inserting large amounts of caffine into my blood stream before waking me up...he went to Starbucks.
Let the day begin!
We began our day by heading to Kitchenware Outfitters in search of an amazing citrus juicer we'd seen the Chef use the night before.  It was metal and both looked cooler and worked better than the orange plastic one I currently had, so I must have it.  Upon arriving at the kitchen store we were assisted by this very nice, but very sinister looking young lady:
I usually have the butcher remove the heads of the large animals
I eat prior to buying them and I don't cut up people in my bathtub so I don't
 think I'll be needing that cleaver today, but it looks really good on you in a creepy serial killer sort of way.
I absolutely love Kitchenware outfitters.  It's got everything that nobody needs for prices that few can afford, yet somehow I find I want it all.  I mean how about a $53.00 trivet (small metal thingamajigger that holds a hot pot that resembles a metal jacks), or a wisk large enough to whip up a room size bowl of mash potatoes, or for the savy grill master who wants to make sure he doesn't mix up who's piece of meat is who's...I give you the meat brander!

Susie Q likes her meat rare, while Bobby Whogivesafuck likes his welldone.  No longer will there be any question if you're giving the right steak to Whogivesafuck because you can brand it right on the meat!  Add to that it can second as a branding and torture tool for your garden variety sadist, rapist or serial killer and I'm sure this item will be a best seller in no time!
After spending way too much time in the kitchen shop, we were both hungry and decided to go to the mall for a little chow time people watching.  The day was extremely hot, not just miserable hot, but if I had balls I'm pretty sure I'd have sweated them off kinda hot.  The kinda hot that makes you feel sick just from walking from the car to the door.  However, I don't think any degree of hotness could excuse this teenage mom's fashion fiasco.
Why yes, that is her ass cheek waving hello at me as she walks her toddler into the mall. 
We didn't stay long at the mall and were headed back home shortly thereafter,  but I did find a couple things that warrant mention as awesome gift ideas.
Nothing says, "No officer, I don't have any drugs on my person or in my vehicle" like
these pot leaf party glasses, sure to be a great gift item for your teenage son or daughter.
Put a weenie in it!  Nothing says class and elogance like a good Weenie
Linguine.  Sure to be a crowd pleaser at your next business dinner.
And for that special man in your life, it's a Snuggie with shrinkage.
My personal favorite, and equally, um, fiting for Dad, Uncle Joe, your boss and co-workers
is this Gum Job Granny.  No pesky teeth marks from this pulseless princess!
Uncle Bob refusing to go to the proctologist this year cause he didn't like the way the Dr. looked at him when he asked if it felt good last year?  No worries, just get him this handy do it yourself prostate exam and he'll be bending over in no time.


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4 comments:

  1. You're a sick puppy, Blondie. A sick, hilarious puppy. ;) From one "foodie" to another, Hi five! Now, where do I get that linguine?

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    1. Lol. It works for me. As for the Weenie Linguine...Spencers...the perfect place for any sick puppy to shop. God Bless American Enterprise.

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  2. That single mom is workin' it. It's like she's advertising, "Give me 3 more that I can't pay for!"

    I can't decide who I would want to be with less. Her, or gum job granny...

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    1. Yeah, there's definitely no question in my mind about how such a young girl ended up pushing a stroller when you look at her dressed like that. Does get me thinking of a new outdoor advertising medium though. All you'd need is a little body paint and a willing young lady and just paint logos and phone numbers on ass cheeks and boobs and have them walk around the desired venue. I think I'm onto something here.

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