Let Me Be Frank With You

At the gate area which is full of about 100 people awaiting a flight. The gate agent announced to this captive audience the first and last names of the two people who were upgraded to first class. I looked around and began a loud slow-clap (like they do in the movies). One guy laughed. The others looked at me like I’m a moron.

I had the Starbucks Thanksgiving blend this morning. The taste hinted of Pilgrim deception masked in goodwill with a robust smallpox blanket aftertaste.

As we gather together in fellowship for our respective Thanksgiving feasts this week, let us not forget to thank growth hormone scientists who have injected these scraggly birds with serum that made them so big, buttery and tasty.

I was mistakenly assumed to be a pharmaceutical sales rep conference attendee this morning! That’s like being mistaken for being one of those shirtless Abercrombie models. I must be getting ridiculously good looking and gaining in business fashion sense in my old age.

This week I delivered a presentation with a colleague and friend of mine who, at 6 feet 7 inches, is one of the largest honkies I know. It’s not too often that I feel like the ‘before’ picture in a before-and-after commercial for growth hormones.

You know how women get together at one of those places where they drink wine, paint a picture or piece of pottery and have all that lady talk? I want to host one of those at my house – only instead of doing all that lady stuff, we’ll drink malt liquor, eat fried chicken gizzards and paint my basement along with touching up some spots in various rooms. None of that lady talk either.

I want to do this every morning of my life. By ‘this’, I mean sit in a fully loaded minivan parked in an affluent area, wearing a suit and sunglasses, sipping coffee and listening to Van Halen’s Runnin’ With the Devil at a volume that rattles the windows. There is something magical in all of that together.

The guy sitting next to me on this flight has seemingly done everything he can to unknowingly annoy me. It’s like I’ve just won the Triple Crown of Disgust. 1) he took his shoes off; 2) his breath could knock a buzzard off a gut wagon and 3) he’s coughing like he has tuberculosis. I’m elbowing him in the temple if he ups his game with a fart.

Just passed a wedding chapel/ hotel with “lovers hot tubs” in each room.

I’ll bet those rooms smell like DNA and regret. Pardon me while I go off to blow chunks (which makes me wonder if some biker lady with a boyfriend named Chunks has been in one of those lovers hot tubs?)

I’ll use this sparingly for advertisements but I feel the need to tell all residents of Oakbrook, Carter’s Mill and Hearthstone that there is a culinary treasure right in our backyards.

There’s no longer a need for Buffalo Wild Wings when The Village Market is open. It’s a small convenience store in the strip mall on Oakbrook that serves buffalo wings and soup. Go there immediately to order as many spicy garlic wings as you can eat and wash it down with a cup of homemade Mediterranean Chicken Potato soup. You’ll be very glad you did.

Whodathunk this place would put out world class wings and soup?