I just hate craving that damned chinese food from that damned yummy place over here by the office. 

I mean, I get a craving for it and I decided that, despite the fact I know that evil ass munch won’t give me the fortune cookie without a square off in the middle of the parking lot, I was going to go have me some tastey morsels of saucy goodness.

So, as usual, I go in, get my little styrofoam container, proceed to the buffet of happiness, load up my choices and go to the register to pay.  I set my container on the scale, as they charge for buffet to go by the pound.  This is where it the ugly gets on.

So, everything seems to be going smooth.  I’m mentally preparing for the fight for the fortune cookie.  I intend to win this time. 

“You need sauce or fork?” he asks me all smug like.

“Nope. But I want a Diet Pepsi,”  I tell him.

“Diet Pesi!” he calls out to the chick at the waitress station.

She totes it over and sets it on the counter as he rings me up. 

“That be $4.62,” he tells me.

UH OH!  Houston we have a problem.  Diva don’t carry cash.  Just something I don’t do.  It’s way too easy to use my debit card to have to fool around with dollars.

This ass munch “only takey the credit cawd fo ova fi dolla.”  Hasn’t he seen that VISA commercial that shows the world is officially going plastic???

Still yet, I try to slip it by him.  I pull out my debit card with VISA logo and push it toward him.

“We only take cawd fo purchase ova fi dolla,” he reminds me.

“Look guy, I don’t have any cash.  Well I have a handful of change in the bottom of my purse, but not enough,” I tell him as show him my empty wallet.

“You always can get another drink take wif you,” he tells me.

“Uh, no. You can run my card or I’ll have to leave it,” I tell him, now pissed.

“Well, I not running cawd.  You get cash, come back,” he tells me.

“OK, fine!”  So, I walk out the door.  No lunch, no friggin fortune cookie, and definitely no balls to tell him what he could do with his no useless carton of to-go.

God Bless Taco Bell.  They’ll takey my debit card for an eighty-nine cent bean burrito.

There is a tasty little Chinese Food place here in Oak Ridge that does take out from the buffet.  It’s very good; it’s always fresh, and super-dooper tasty! (Not to mention they always score well when the pesky healthy inspector happens to drop in unannounced).

Now our office has been in Oak Ridge for a many moons and my boss and I have traveled many miles, many times to partake of this sweet and sour plethora of tastiness.

They have garlic beef w/broccoli, sweet n sour chicken, general tsao chicken, and my personal favorite - mixed spicy vegetable. 

I go so often that when I walk in the door, the little dude says, “Ahh.  To go, right?”, and hands me my little environment-killing-Styrofoam container with which I am set free into the pasture of goodness.

I’ll graze for a few minutes, making my choices wisely.  I wander over to the sauces and get a nice ladle full of that hot-ass mustard (yah, that stuff that when you get it in your mouth it makes your eyes water and your nose run… that stuff that makes you beg Jesus for forgiveness for eating something so friggin hot).

All sounds like a beautiful lunchtime excursion in the making, yah?  Well, no.  I love the food at this place.  It’s marvy, but the folks that run the place and work there make me more nervous than a cat in a room full of rockin chairs…

So, my selections are made, my mouth starting to water. I close up my little lunch box that still has steam pouring out the sides.  I carry it to the front, so as to pay for it.   Let the uncomfortable state of affairs begin. 

FLASHBACK…

Now I don’t know if I’m just traumatized from being married to a man who’s mother and all of her friends are Korean and you know they talk about you in their language while you’re standing there… All the while they are looking at you, nodding their heads, laughing and smiling as the chatter on…   Bring on the cold sweat… I know those bitches were talking smack and plotting my untimely demise by way of extra spicy food.

Anyway… I am going towards the front to obtain my chopsticks, Diet Pepsi to go and to pay.  When I notice the gaggle of them standing there… looking my way…. giggling like school girls…    The skank at the cash register keeps covering her mouth and saying “sorry, sorry.”

Now the next phase of pissing me off at the tastiest place in Oak Ridge is as follows:

Don’t you expect to get a friggin fortune cookie when you have Chinese food?  I mean, you eat in, they bring you the bill with a fortune cookie.  You call for take-out, you go pick up and pay, in the bag you get your fortune cookie.

Well, not here. I think it’s just this guy’s way to annoy me.  A kind of battle of the wits.  He ain’t giving me no fortune cookie unless I ask for the fortune cookie.  And even then, it’s iffy if the fucker puts it in the bag. 

I’d start screaming to give me my fortune cookie or I’m going across the street to Wok ‘n’ Roll.  But those guys suck big balls and I hate their food, generally greasy as hell and cold…. but they give Diva her fortune cookie without her having to beg.

I’m not immoral.  I’m not just not ashamed to admit that I am human and that I possess human wants, needs and desires.  Just like everyone else.  Even after reading and re-reading and re-reading again my post about Lust, I’ll still stand by my honesty.  Be careful before you cast stones.

Today I’ll admit to my gluttonous nature.  Gluttony, as defined by dictionary.com, is excessive eating and drinking.  From all of the various definitions out there, I’m taking it to mean any habit in which one has no control over.  Whether it be food, alcohol, illicit drugs, ciggies, sex… whatever.  You know it, I’ve got them all covered.

Admittedly, I am a total fan of Taco Hell.  When Diva went on a diet last year and cut all fast food out of the diet, Taco Hell took a major hit and their stock dropped immediately.  Yes, I am a serious Taco Hell glutton.  No mas.  No mas.  I am a burritoholic.  My willpower sucks.  Gluttony at its finest.  Too bad there isn’t a Del Taco in Tennesse.  It would really be on then.

However, also encapsulated within the definition is excessive drinking.  BINGO.  That would be me again.  I admit, I partake of my fair share of intoxicating beverages.  I’m a hard working, professional in the biomedical equipment business all week long, with the exception of the occassional Wednesday outing.

MMMMMM….. beer!

On Friday night, I tend to dive to the bottom of the Michelob Light (and more recently Mich Ultra Amber) and take an evening long swim. 

Maybe it will get me elected to public office one day.  At least nobody could dig any bones out of my closet.  They’ve already been exposed.

[ Blogged in realtime, Wednesday, 20-Jun-2007, kinda like that stupid TV show 24, but without that asshat kid of Donald Sutherland's... ]

Here we are folks.  It’s a wonderfully balmy Wednesday night at CatScratch Jane’s.  I’m sitting with a bird’s eye view of all the going’s on.  Karaoke is getting ready to kick off and it looks as if all the regular crowd (good and bad) has started peppering in.

The Twin Blow Out is starting here tomorrow, but the biker boys on their motor-scooters are plentiful.  The patio’s a-buzzing, the inside is buzzing.  We’re looking forward to an eventful night.  Bring on the singers.

A real blow-out, right?  Uh. No.  It’s another train-wreck.  That’s what I get for being all amp’d up for a party!  Thus far we have heard a not-so-right-on rendition of “Live and Let Die” (help me!).  Now we are on to the worst drunken interpretation of “You Look So Good In Love” that I’ve ever heard… whining included.

The place is packed.  Folks are piled up everywhere, inside and out.  I’m dying for a beer.  But dammit, it’s busy.  I’m going to wither up and fall in the floor from lack of alcohol.  But as I sit here, waiting for Cutie Pie (our beer wench) to surface, I think to myself “Damn, girl!  You’re hair looks gooood!”

Finally!  A hot guy is getting up to sing.  I missed his name, but he’s wearing a polo shirt and baseball cap.  He’s singing Toby!  You go, boy!  Mercy me, yes.  He sure should have been a cowboy.

I’m still waiting on my beer.  It’s nearly 10pm.  Through the open windows I hear the clank of the triangle being busted by a gaggle of pool shooting biker boys.  Now and then a loud, orgasmic burst of noise comes when one of the bikes fire up.  

Ya know, Christmas is coming up.  Harley.  Under the tree.  Big red bow.  Thanks in advance to whomever decides to make this purchase for me.  I’m obliged.

Finally, at 9:55pm, Mark drags his ass in.  ”Log the time, Scotty!”  He has mercy and goes to hunt Cutie Pie for my beer.  Bless you, hon.  I was withering.

By 10 I’m thinking, “I thought this was going to be the kick off to a bad ass biker weekend party… it’s more like B-97.5 night in the local geriatric ward.”  Never has an hour seemed more like ten.  Never have I wanted someone to shoot me in the ears worse than I do right this very minute.  “Log the time, Scotty!”

10:01.  Scotty is so excited to be here that he’s taken to watching the drag queens on the t.v. above the bar.  *snicker*  You dirty boy, you.  But wait:  Here comes Nike!  He’s belting out some bad ass Lionel Ritchie love song,  The boy possesses the ability to wake up a bored and otherwise depressed drinking crowd.

Oh my, what’s this?  The heavens have opened up and some good singers with some happy ditties are now on a roll.  Joe hops up and belts out a soulful blues number (he really rocks the hell out of the blues).  Now if we can talk him into losing his “Bat Outta Hell” CD… *wink wink*  You know I love ya, Joe.

I belted out some goodies too, if I do say so myself.  I dueted with Cowboy Billy-Joe-Tom-Bob and sang “Dontcha.”  He kicks ass on the rap part.  Freestyle baby!

I then attempted to do the night justice, with Nike’s help, by belting out “At Last” … the Etta James classic.  Choice.  Very choice.

My news reporter skills are being diminished by the amount of cold beer and Jack Daniels I have consumed.  At this time, all I can really say is that everytime I get up from my corner booth, I end up grabbing this poor girls ass.  So, I end up making light of it, in my regular Diva style.  I own up to it.  I look her in the eye and tell her, “I’m sorry for grabbing your ass everytime I get walk by!”

“Log the time, Scotty!”  It’s 11:14, and I’m drunk. Food ordered. Yah!  I comment to Scotty that we are evil.  He says “No, we’re just honest.”  Good one.

Finally.  Something note-worthy.  A drunken skank finally falls out of her chair into the floor.  NEXT!  Scotty dies laughing, and notes the time is 11:23.

Food on tap.  CatScratch has the best food around.  Especially if too much alcohol has been consumed.  Cue the onion rings.

And the french fries.

Scotty is in the loo, so I’m logging the time as 11:34. 

So, if tonight was any forecast of the drunken festivities that are to go on for the next several days at CatScratch… all I can say is WOW!  Good luck with that!

I maintain here and now, I’m Diva enough to stay on the porch, because I certainly can’t keep up with the big dogs.  *rolls eyes*

Woof!  Out.

     Okay, I’m not much for memes, viral nature and all.  I mean, crap, I skipped out on the last one Tish tagged me with because, well, I know what Web 2.0 is, and the meme author apparently had a very limited view of it.  All I could’ve put was “my blog,” so I was kinda like … well … Stuck.

     This one, though, has a pretty good purpose: finding some great places to eat locally, or when we’re travelling around.  And so, I’m pretty happy to answer this one from LissaKay, because … well … I’m a big fan of food.  I try and eat some a few times a day.  (And I’m fortunate enough to have a highly trained metabolism that allows me to eat like it’s my last my meal.)

     This one’s originally by Chronicles of Nicole, and comes to us all the way from Sydney, Australia.

1. Add a direct link to your post below the name of the person who tagged you. Include the city/state and country you’re in.

Nicole (Sydney, Australia)
velverse (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
LB (San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)
Selba (Jakarta, Indonesia)
Olivia (London, England)
ML (Utah, USA)
Lotus (Toronto, Canada)
tanabata (Saitama, Japan)
Andi (Dallas [ish], Texas, United States)
Todd (Louisville, Kentucky, United States)
miss kendra (los angeles, california, u.s.a)
Jiggs Casey (Berkeley, CA, USA! USA! USA!)
Tits McGee (New England, USA)
Joe (NE Tennessee, USA)
10K Monkeys (Chattanooga, Tennessee, USA)
Big Stupid Tommy (Athens, Tennessee, USA)
Newscoma (Weakley County, Tennessee, USA)
Russ McBee (Knoxville, Tennessee, USA)
Atomictumor Mrs Eaves (Oak Ridge, Tennessee, USA)
Oh Really? LissaKay (Oak Ridge, TN, USA)
Mark Steel blogitude.com (Knoxville, TN, USA)

2. List out your top 5 favorite places to eat at your location.

My Place - Yes, I can cook.  And I’m pretty damn good at it, too, as long as you like spicy food.  I specialize in Southern Asian (Indian/Thai/Malay), Italian (like the 20-pound lasagne or Sicilian-style meat-sauce) and TexMex (it burns most Mexicans).

Ali Baba’s TimeOut Deli (Kingston Pike) - I’ve known those guys for the better part of twenty years.  Absolutely the best humos in the world, and I’ve certainly traveled it enough to know… And you can never go wrong with the “special,” King Solomon’s Chicken — a slow-roasted hen in a tasty lemon-seed marinade, with a couple of vegetable sides over basmati rice.

Tomo (Kingston Pike) - The Sushi/Sashimi connoisseur can never go wrong here.  Everything there is perfectly fresh and delicious, and the dinner service is most excellent.  Perfect … but certainly not inexpensive.  I can’t get out of there without spending at least $50 on myself.  But I certainly leave happy…

Chesapeake’s Seafood (Henley Street) - Dinner dining includes a full course of a Mussel Appetizer, choice of Salad, Maine Lobster with two sides, and some impressive Cheesecake all for less than what it costs at the nasty chain restaurant that everyone goes to (the one with Lobster in the title)… and impeccable service that rivals many of the 5-Stars I’ve dined in.  Daily fresh fish of the Sushi-grade variety … I really enjoy the Yellow Tail (No, Benny, I’m not talking about the Chinese girl).

Sitar (Kingston Pike) - Sometimes, I find it’s too much of a chore to cook Indian Food, so I hit this place for the Sunday afternoon buffet.  Although they don’t have a Vindaloo on it (aww!) they have several other incredibly tasty dishes which change weekly.  One of the best things about the place, tho, as compared to most other Indian restaurants in the area, is that everything’s nice and spicy, and they have a distinct lack of clarified butter (ghee).  That’s what causes the kerosene-like aftertaste at some Indian restaurants — and I hate it.  Since a lot of Indians use ghee at home, it comes as no big surprise that India leads the world in cases of throat cancer…

Country Table (N. Cherry Street) - Southern, home cooking all the way… Turnip greens, pinto beans, mashed potatos and gravy, country fried steak (and it’s awesome), T-bone steaks (however you want it!), pork tenderloins (which I can’t eat, dammit! Pork makes me really sick), buttermilk biscuits, good southern cornbread (not that sweet shit they serve up north), and all the coffee and iced tea you can drink.  I do lunch there every now again if I’m working in East Knoxville, and totally love the place.  A lot of people simply won’t check it out because of the location … but I never did care about that.

3. Tag 5 Others

Swanky - This guy like to eat as much as I do, and has intimate knowlege of some of the Knoxville metro’s best dives — and will undoubtedly list more of my favorites.

ChattieKat - She grew up here in Knoxville, and should be able to drop in a few that Swanky and I miss.

Anton - Anton showed me a couple of really kickass places in Houston a few weeks ago.

Fracas - I like to research my food choices ahead of time.  And on the odd chance that I’m ever in Saskatoon, I’d like to find some place else better to eat than that craphole truck stop diner on the highway…

Zacque - Fellow blogitude.com writer who recently buggered off to Nashville, and it’s about time he took a break from ravaging his girlfriend and wrote a blog for a change. 

     So that’s that… Meanwhile, I’m gonna go to Ali Baba’s for a Special…

     Now, it’s not that I ever wanna get married again, or that I think I’ll develop a desire for dessert, since I’ve never really had one… but, ummm…

     Forget edible underwear … SugarVeil^® Confectionery Products has certainly come out with a sweet twist on candy-coating.  Their patented icing does present some most pleasurable, if not palatable, possibilities…
     Would you believe that this wedding dress is made completely of cake icing?

     I can’t help but imagine the epicurean escapades that might follow…