Ghislain’s Blog

Here's the back story.

Had an early appointment with my cardiologist so I pumped up on drugs and alcohol. If you don't do this to mask the other symptoms they tend to feel obligated to give you nasty life-saving meds or, worse yet, do a procedure. But, you'll be glad to know that I passed with flying colors except for the breathing problem. However, I had that covered with some psychiatric mumbo-jumbo about other problems of mine. Fortunately the cardio guy had never even heard of RSBD. He even joined me in some convivial laughter about flying out of bed in the night and unconscious wife beating. God is good.

So I got me out of that medical facility on top of the world. Put the top down and decided to take myself to a quaint and reasonably priced French restaurant on the way back. I was all alone which is how I discovered (it came to me all on my own like a bright bulb in my head) a new meet-a-person line.  But we'll get to that. The place is Le Central for those of you from the area. Best lunch deal in the world. And everybody is nice and sophisticated, but not in a bad way. My hair is way long and I had just trimmed my beard (part of the doctor ruse), so I was good to go.

Recently, I read in a Robert B. Parker detective noir book with the character, Spenser and his Jewish psychiatrist lover, Susan, about a drink that Susan (the book Susan} ordered. I have no resistance to anything a person with Ashkenazi eyes does or says. Even fictional characters. So in this book Susan orders pepper vodka warm (personally I recommend Absolut) with a plate of olives. I have not done this yet though, because they had not pepper vodka (damn Frogs), although they offered to bring me a plain vodka mixed with regular pepper). There is a lot I do like about #@*&%%!+ French Americans, always trying to please. Anyway this seemed like a cropper, so I went with my usual Sapphire Bombay, chilled, straight up, barren. Civilized. To the brim, only $4.50.

I went with a cup of French onion and ordered the omelet of the day, spinach, mushrooms, cheese and chorizo. Voila! I'm sitting alone at this very French table with a white tablecloth and fresh flowers and reading the paper. Then after 2-3 sips of the gin, the idea jumps at me. I DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE. Just never thought of this before? So, I go up to the maitre d', it is a French place n'est ce pas, and say this, "Hey, I ain't tryin' to get you to pimp for me, but if something single walks in and would care to sit with me, I'll buy her lunch. I made no other spec demands. I'm a conversationalist for Christ’ sake not a player." He said, "Fine, I'll see what I can do." All cheery like. Later, he said it was not a common request, but he's had 'em and sometimes it works out.

Actually, and for some strange reason, I had started to speak French after the first sip of gin, which is strange because I don't speak French or at least not since high school? What the hell, it's been a French kinda day although it has moved to Bulgarian as you'll see below.

Well, I never did get the girl, but I will someday.  What a great way to meet someone for a nice meal and conversation if your wife is out riding a horse. I don't know that it would be a good idea to try this in a biker bar, but I see no reason it wouldn't work in any civilized place. Think about it, they are there to serve. They bring you everything you want, menu, drinks, appetizers, food, bread, wine, dessert, coffee. etc. and behave like your best friend. Hi, Dan, I'm Jeff. So why not have them bring you fresh vajayjay?  Me bad.

So after a lot of fol-de-rol, my soup comes and then after that the tini is gone so I have Jeff bring me a nice Syrah. Don't know the brand he selected, but it was an exquisite choice. I moved on through a very delicious omelet and straight into coffee and a house dessert waiting for the vajayhay. Aucun peut faire. But the maitre d' does come over to extend his condolences. I'm telling you guys (and girls) this is a terrific idea for meeting interesting people.

Ok, I leave a $563.27 tip and wobble out to my car. Put the top back down and off for home. The cop pulls me over near Kipling and I'm doin' about 95 mph in my hot little roadster. I wanna cop to a plea - old, sick, veteran, help poor people, blog a lot....., but then he finds out that not only was I drinking, I have a concealed weapon permit and it is a bad crime to drink, drive, and shoot at the same time. Who knew? Also, I was sure that I read recently that if you were the lead car by 5 lengths on the three lanes of 6th avenue going west and not during rush hour, that you could use all three lanes at the same time. The cop said no, that was only on Mondays and Wednesdays. So, I told him the pick-up trick and he was about to let me go when the cocaine fell out of the glove box.

I am writing this from county lock-up and only have a few more minutes. My new buddy and cellmate is Cramass 'Big Dog' Johnson and he is sitting here along side of me at the one computer the county has for inmates. I just emailed my lawyer who is on vacation in Bermuda, but will get back to me. Cramass wants some help emailing his grandmother before we go back to the cell to see his new curtains. Which he sewed himself…right Cramass???  Oh, he wants to say a word.

"HI DERE FREINDS OF DANNIE. WE GONNA GIT ALONG SWELL. MY LAST CELLMATE HUNG HIMSELFS. UNCONSCIENLY.  I BE GUD TO DANI."  LUV CRAMIT

So I gotta move along here. See ya in 6 months.

Frang Keeeeeeeeeeeeee !!!!!!