It's Sunday night, man, and we tubed down the river all day. It was so much fun the first time that we went again. Except the second run took forever.
Beers, sun, water, tubes, turtles, ducks, fish, cherries, fried chicken.
Then after almost six hours of tubing, we had to get home, pound out a quick shower, pound a quick one out in the shower and meet our friends downtown for the much heralded Indian restaurant, Shalimar.
Our friend just loves the place. Says it's the best Indian he's ever had, goes once every couple weeks, just goddamn loves it.
I love Indian food too, but my palette is not refined enough to differentiate Indian culinary experiences (read: I love Indian buffets). In a past job I worked almost exclusively with Indians as customers. And let me tell you, Indians are far from ideal customers. Unless you're looking for a customer that will lie, steal, and not pay you. Fucking scumbags.
Cultural swarthiness aside, their food is nothing short of astonishingly delicious.
Just thought I'd share my little Sunday Funday with you, fine readers. Honestly though, I have a pretty funny story from the gym on Saturday and I really didn't want to just PUMP out a couple crappy paragraphs and be done with it. So I added a little extra weekend detail to bulk this bad boy up.
So yeah, had a great workout Saturday afternoon, and it ended even better. Read on.
As I arrived in the locker room to change, grab my stuff and bust, I noticed two obviously foreign guys having a somewhat heated, yet muted, debate. They kinda had that Eurotrash facial structure, you know what I mean - kinda handsome (bitches dig Eurod00fs), but a fucked up chin here or a fucked up cheek bone there makes you look, I don't know, kinda foreign. Good news though - they were both fully clothed (thank you), kinda sweaty and probably around fifty.
I also noticed some skinny little schmuck slink into one of the shower stalls, but whatever.
Back to the Eurosquabblers: standing so close to each other, literally face to face, I assume both of their faces were covered in cheap-wine-and-workout-breath-spittle. Very unsavory. I was just changing clothes quick, and didn't catch anything specific.
The crown jewel though, as I was heading out, I heard the fatter, balder dude say, in his ridiculously foreign accent, "don't make me say this again". Not sure what it was exactly that he not to be forced to repeat.
Also, not sure what was less intimidating: the overall middle-age feel the little exchange had or the back and forth of two grown men with indecipherable accents. Due to the non-hostile vibe those two Euroturds were puttin' off, I'm gonna hedge my bets with French origins.
Either way, thinking of the blogworthiness of what just happened, a smile spread across my face as I exited the locker room.