Lost In Translation

PJ and I go way back. Way back. A few lifetimes back, in fact. And at one point, its possible we might have been one person... but that could just be the drugs talking. Who the fuck knows.

Yesterday, I busted him out of his solitary confinement for an evening of food (which we both have problems with), talking (which we both enjoy), and no booze (which is sad on any occasion, but especially sad for us. Although we did gaze lovingly at a couple of bottles).

As I pulled into the authentic Mexican Restaurant, where "Little Mama" would be serving us, I was greeted by Peej complete with his straw island hat, hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, and unlit cigar. You'd think he was Anthony Bourdain. And when he ordered (in perfect Spanish) for both of us - Tacos de Linga and Tripa - I thought perhaps he was schizzing out on me, thinking he was Bourdain. If you don't speak Spanish, Linga is tongue and Tripa is intestines.

But God, they were yummy.

I would try to explain our conversation here, but I doubt anyone would really follow and understand. Or find it as hilarious as we did. Two crazies sitting alone at a table, contemplating the world - yeah... it probably was a garbled mess. But it sounded fantastically brilliant at the time.

It was a wonderful evening. And I promised to come back another day for Karaoke and sushi. And next time, we swear we will have the booze.

It'll be in June, so everybody save up some bond money to bust me out of jail...

(P.S. That is actually his hat in the picture above. Its customized!)