Posts Tagged “Mouths”

My daily work commute requires me to drive a fairly uneventful (most of the time) 64 miles. 32 miles from my house to work, and 32 miles back. Approximately 14 of those miles (28 if you count both ways) are on good ol’ I-64. I drive a ‘92 Toyota Celica that gets about 36 miles to the gallon so all of you environmental freaks just keep your mouths shut.

This certain stretch of I-64 has roadsigns that call it the “Nick Joe Rahall, II High Technology Corridor.” Unless rusty old bridges and fields full of cattle are considered high tech, I have a feeling they put that sign in the wrong place.

As I said, most of these miles are fairly uneventful. I have hit a deer or two, seen a few wrecks, and ran out of gas once. Not to shabby considering I have been driving this same stretch of highway for close to twelve years now. (Time for a math break. 260 working days in a year. Subtract vac. time, holidays, sick time, etc.. let’s say that I worked on average 240 days per year. 240 days multiplied by 12 years is 2880 days. 2880 days at 64 miles each day is 184,320 miles. HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT.)

Back to the subject at hand. Let me talk a bit more about this certain stretch of I-64. There is hardly a flat stretch anywhere on it. There are several very steep and fairly long hills. The speed limit is 70mph. There are a lot of tractor trailers on this stretch of road. After all, it does connect the West side of the state to the East.

These tractor trailers, box trucks, and moving trucks can’t quite go 70mph up these hills. In fact, by the time they get to the top, they are barely going 30mph. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem because they could easily be passed. But sometimes, while one truck is going 30mph up the hill, another truck comes along going 30-1/2 maybe even 31 mph and decides that he should pull out and pass the “slow” truck which really messes things up for everyone.

Once they get to the top of the hill, it’s a fucking race to the bottom with neither truck giving an inch. By the time they get to the bottom, they are going what I would estimate to be about 912mph. Any vehicles in their way have been shoved over in the median or lay flat in their wake.

As they start up the next hill, they are still side by side. They begin at a fairly good speed, but the farther up they get, the slower they go… until they reach the top.

( I really expected this post to go somewhere, but it just kinda died right there. Damn. )

Tags: Celica, Commute, Days In A Year, Days Per Year, Freaks, Fucking Race, Fucking Shit, High Technology, I-64, Messes, Mouths, Race To The Bottom, Rahall, Roadsigns, Sick Time, Speed Limit, Technology Corridor, Top Of The Hill, Toyota Celica, Tractor Trailers, Twelve Years, West Side, Wrecks

Random Unrelated Image: Dimples!

In Italian restaurants, there are usually three areas: smoking, non-smoking, and the darkly lit area where they put people on dates when they suspect they’ll be eating Spaghetti out of each others mouths Lady & the Tramp style after a few glasses of wine. That is where the wife and I like to sit.

When I eat with her, I usually screw things up. I either eat with my mouth open, or talk with my mouth full. Going out to a fancy place to eat is especially stressful. There’s something about sitting down in a really fancy place where the entrees alone cost almost as much as your entire monthly food budget and you realize there are a million things you can do wrong.

There are all those little formalities you have to perform often without a cue from the waiter. Like there are twelve forks sitting in front of me and each one of them is for a different course of the meal. I’m supposed to know the use of each one of them based on their size and length. This small one over here, it’s the coffee fork. Wait a minute, why do I need a fork for my coffee?

Then there are all the things you’re not supposed to do. Don’t try to reuse anything. It will be replaced by a new one in a moment. Listen politely when the waiter reads the wine selections and pretend to be interested even if you don’t want any. And yes, you want pepper on your salad because the waiter showed up at the table with this really elaborate ivory grinder and you don’t want to disappoint him, do you?

And what will I order? I’ll have the ‘Herb Roasted Atlantic Monkfish Tail’ just because it sounds cool. And the waiter is going to say ‘Excellent choice, sir’ when I order it.

I’m not sure why it is that when you order at a fancy restaurant, the waiter always pretends to find your choice of entrees ‘excellent.’ I think it’s supposed to make you feel like a culinary professional.

Tags: Cue, Dimples, dinner, Entrees, Fancy Place, Fancy Restaurant, Food Budget, Formalities, Grinder, Italian Restaurants, Ivory, Lit Area, Million Things, Monkfish, Mouths, Non Smoking, Pepper, restaurant, Screw, Spaghetti, Waiter, Wine Selections