Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Mrs. Bootleg's Birfday Weekend
Saturday, September 13
10:45 AM - If two major motion pictures and a recurring skit on In Living Color haven't convinced America that the Black barbershop is the home for hilarity, here's an actual conversation between my barber and one of the stylists:
Barber: "You gonna see that new movie with (Al) Pacino and (Robert) DeNiro?"
Stylist: "Which one is that? Oh, wait, is that one with 50 Cent?! All I know is that he's in the one I really wanna see."
11:30 AM - Order ice cream cake for the wife at Baskin-Robbins. The unattended child behind the counter writes "Happy Birthday Missus Bootleg" in the place on the form that says, "message". I respectfully ask if she can change that to "Mrs.", in an attempt to keep the cake from using formally-written feminine titles not seen since 18th century slave trade invitations.
12:15 PM - Stop by flower shop for an obscenely overpriced bouquet. I actually don't mind handing over the Discover Card as this purchase not only gets me some coveted "cash back" points, but it also puts me right around my unwritten, unspoken, wife-knows-nothing-about-it dollar threshold for her gifts this year. (Don't look at me like that. I'd bought her some gifts earlier in the month. Besides, it's not my fault that women classify flowers as "gifts".)
6:15 PM - Smokin' hot 23-year-old babysitter arrives to watch the boy so Mrs. Bootleg and I can go out to dinner. I'm always forced to make awkward conversation with the sitter as it takes my wife two hours to put on jeans, boots and a blouse. I harmlessly ask, "How's every little thing?" She tells me she joined e-Harmony, because she's tired of dating losers. It pretty much goes downhill from there.
6:30 PM - The wife is silently pissed because I "made her drive" to her own birthday dinner. My reasons were threefold: (1) I didn't want to drive. (2) The restaurant is in a part of San Diego (Old Town) that I'm not at all familiar with. (3) The wife always forgets her car has a navigation system, so when I play the "I don't know how to get there" card, she ends up buying that line every time.
7:00 PM - Our reservations are at 7:00, but the wife can't find a parking space. It never fails to amuse me how often she gets on me for my lack of patience with her, the boy, traffic, etc, while after five minutes of traversing packed residential streets, she's turned into the Republican Party's perception of Michelle Obama.
7:05 PM - Good thing we made reservations at Café Pacifica. We're five minutes late and, by my count, only the second seated party in the entire establishment. The host even tells us to "sit anywhere". Awesome. At these prices, not even an escort to our table? Well, whaddaya know – looks like Applebee's finally has a restaurant beat in one quality. I would've lost a few bets on that ever happening.
7:10 PM - My Maker's Mark Manhattan, on the rocks, no cherry arrives with more ice than a sno-cone and a cherry. And, at first sip, apparently not a bit of bourbon. I'm too flustered to drop that classic Simpsons line ("What did I do to deserve such a flat, tasteless Manhattan?") on Mrs. Bootleg.
7:11 PM - I've recovered enough to drop the line on Mrs. Bootleg.
7:15 PM - Mrs. Bootleg's choice of birthday appetizer? Popcorn shrimp. Popcorn shrimp. If I'd known she wanted Long John Silver's, I would've took her to Long John Silver's.
7:25 PM - This is some good-ass popcorn shrimp. It was served with a pretentious "chipotle sauce" (isn't everything served with chipotle sauce these days?) and a second side of plain ol' cocktail sauce – the most underrated condiment ever created.
7:30 PM - Our soups (clam chowder for her, tomatillo for me) are soo-poib! This evening out has rebounded nicely…and, look! Another couple has come inside to eat! Only 98% of capacity to go before the fire marshal shuts this b*tch down.
7:45 PM - How do you know you're paying too much for a meal? When the entrée is served stacked on top of the sides like some "leaning tower of eat-sa". (I can't remember where I'm stealing that from so, for now, I'll claim credit.) My seared salmon was served with this creamy little soy sauce…fusion…of…something. While I couldn't identify it, I'm sure my stomach will know what to do with it. Mrs. Bootleg saved some of her sea bass to make room for…
8:10 PM - …crème brulee. Good ol' predictable Mrs. Bootleg. Crème brulee or tiramisu. If her next husband is out there reading this, there's no quicker way to her heart.
9:00 PM - We're now at a bar about a mile from Stately Bootleg Manor. Just can't take the chance that the boy is still awake. We figure another hour or so should seal the deal.
10:00 PM - After pounding a couple of pints – with even Mrs. Bootleg sucking down a daiquiri – we take our leave. For the first time all evening, I notice the wife is wearing some sexy, big girl boots. I casually (casually) comment on her "f*** me" footwear, to which she immediately responds, "I'll have to take a rain check, tonight." I wasn't even angling for sex this evening and she still shoots me down? Only when you're married, kids.
Sunday, September 14
2:45 AM - I wake up in a cold sweat, as my stomach appears to be having issues with the fish from a few hours earlier.
2:46 AM - I make it to the bathroom and quickly deduce that my intestinal escape plan is proceeding through, umm…the opposite direction of my mouth.
2:51 AM - Hey, now it's both!
3:10 AM - From downstairs, sprawled out on the couch, my body temperature fluctuates from 110 to "corpse" over the next couple of hours.
5:15 AM - Drifting, drifting, drifting….sleep.
6:00 AM - "DADDY, WAKE UP!"
6:00 AM - (What I'm thinking): "G*d dammit, boy, what the hell is wrong with you! It's six o' clock in the g*ddam morning!" (What I actually say): same.
6:30 AM - With only 30 minutes to go until my mother-in-law's annual "no-concept-of-different-time-zones" birthday call, I put the finishing touches on Mrs. Bootleg's birthday gifts.
6:31 AM - Finally! The last present is crammed into the Oakland A's gift bag that Mrs. Bootleg used for my birthday back in March.
11:50 AM - I arrive at Baskin-Robbins to pick up the cake, but find out it's not ready. The ninth-grader tells me to "come back later". I tell her that it was supposed to be ready at noon and then I nonverbally threaten her by crossing my arms over my chest, flashing a militant scowl behind my Ray-Bans. (Yeah, yeah…you know and I know, but she doesn't know…)
11:51 AM - An older child – possibly a high school sophomore or junior – magically appears and begins the cake-making process.
12:01 PM - It's not the prettiest cake in the world, but it's completed and now Mrs. Bootleg's birthday party can commence!
1:00 PM - My wife and son simultaneously pass out on the boy's bed.
My wife. The opposite of this.