Stink

I love sauerkraut.

My first pregnancy, my favorite meal was a baked potato covered in fajita steak strips, A1 sauce and sauerkraut.

Even now, it’s all I think about. Like that slutty cheerleader fantasy from American Beauty, except instead of rose petals, I am totally covered in sauerkraut and beer…oh, and sweetarts.

So, anyways, last night I met up with three friends from high school (one of whom tells me she reads this blog like it’s her job, holla Leigh!) for our monthly high school reunion planning meeting at Don Pablos. They could drink, I could not. 

Lame.

And, while I usually just opt for the fajitas, I just wasn’t feeling it last night. Plus, I didn’t need 8 different plates in front of me steaming and burning the shit out of my hand. Nothing looked good.

Waitress: Ready to order?
Me: Do you have anything with sauerkraut in it?
Waitress: This is a Mexican restaurant.
Me: Like a burrito or something?
Waitress: That’s disgusting.
Me: You’re a whore.
Waitress: …
Me: I’ll take the fish taco.

And let me just say, I consider myself a fish taco expert of sorts, a connessoir, if you will. If I were a judge on Iron Chef, and the secret ingredient was fish taco, I would be the best fucking judge ever.

My brother and I can throw the fuck down on the fish taco. Some fresh halibut, pan grilled with some coarse salt and a squirt of lime in a hot corn tortilla with some fresh tomato, red onion and lettuce, topped with a cool avocado, lime sour cream dressing. Get the fuck in my belly right now.

But Don Pablos’ fish taco…the most rank, dry excuse for fish tacos ever. Seriously, they were disgusting, and they smelled so fishy, I literally felt like I smelled like a seaside hooker, just having sat near the plate.

On the way out, I had to pop in the bathroom for a quick whore’s bath, for fear I would vomit in my car from smelling myself on the way home.

However, on a note totally unrelated to the fish tacos, I hit a squirrel on the way home last night…I think. It could have also easily been a cat or a chicken, or even a small hairy baby. But of all of those, I value the squirrel the least, so I am going to use it when retelling this story.

So, I hit a squirrel, but I am at peace with it, and it’s not like his squirrel kin were there to see it. I don’t enjoy taking life, people. But, it was dark and raining. Oh, and I was singing along to A Ha’s Take on Me, which everyone knows is one of the best 80′s song’s ever, anyways, I was just hitting the high note (I’ll beeeeee gone…fuck my range is amazing) when I ran over him, so it was like he went out to a serenade of angels, ya know. Who gets to experience that, except maybe, like, the Pope?

Only, and mind you, as a Catholic, I should totally know this, but I think he goes out to Duran Duran’s Rio, but still, awesome song.

Lucky bastard.