That Could Have Been Me! But Not Really.

Did you all have a nice Labor Day Weekend?

Good. Now, let's talk about me and how I almost died.

My friend Erin drove into Sacramento on Saturday with her mom to lollygagging around the State Fair for a few hours. They swung by our house afterward and we all hit Dos Coyotes for a late lunch. You know, the place with the decapitated head that I told you about last month?

The next day, a car drove through the restaurant. I couldn't embed the video news clip, so you'll have to click on the picture below if you want to watch it on Sacramento's Channel 13 news site.

The table where we sat was right about where that car's trunk is in the picture. WE COULD HAVE DIED!

* * *

Did you see what I did there? I gave that story way more meaning to my personal circumstances than was necessary in order to create a lot of drama. Not to mention a lot of attention and sympathy toward myself, which was completely unnecessary and undeserved.

Why do we do that? How many times have you or someone you know said things comparable to, "I almost took the cruise that hit the iceberg. That could have been me!" or, "Oh my God, I was on a Zeppelin flight just last week. That could have been me!"

There must be some psychological term for it, but I don't know what it is, so I'm calling out to all my Psych major people to tell me what it is. In the meantime, I will call it Manufacturing Fate Where It Doesn't Exist, or M-FWIDE, for short.

I knew someone who suffered from M-FWIDE. She managed to connect every single reported disaster to herself. The news would report a hurricane clear on the other side of the country and I would wait, and sure enough, she could still pull out something like, "We thought about going there for our vacation. Boy, it's a good thing we didn't. That could have been me!"

Are we actually impressing our friends when we brag about the coincidences in our lives? I mean, did you really think, "Holy Cow, Nanny Goats was sitting in the exact same place where that car is! That's SO amazing! She's lucky to be alive!" And then you go around telling all your friends that we're BFFs, so that they will be impressed that you're really really close to the person who almost got nailed by three thousand pounds of Volkswagen?

Really?

OK then, did I ever tell you about the time I flew on the American Airlines flight from L.A. to Chicago ON THE SAME DAY AS BUT THE FLIGHT PRIOR TO the one that O.J. Simpson took from L.A. to Chicago the night his ex-wife was murdered? Oh yeah. Totally true story.

P.S. If you didn't get enough car-crashing-into-Sacramento-restaurants news, you can read or watch a story about someone who drove into a Starbucks, also on Sunday.

What the Heck's Tex-Mex?

Whenever I walk into a restaurant these days I feel compelled to comment on how many people it contains. If it is crowded I dramatically ask the Heavens, "Where is this so-called 'bad economy' about which everyone speaks?" Alternatively, if it is sparse, I marvel at how well the restaurant is surviving in spite of the 'bad economy'.

The other night we walked into a popular Tex-Mex (whatever THAT is) restaurant to see this:

Now it can't always be the 'bad economy' that results in a slow hour. So I searched high and low looking for some other reason as to why this place was so desolate.

It couldn't have been the snakes slithering all over the walls...

or the oddly Italian-themed artwork...



and there's no reason to dislike the 80s bands-inspired uniforms:





and so what if there are lizards on the ceiling that could drop into your plato Gordo at any moment?



and who doesn't have a decapitated head out front?



And I'm pretty sure walking in twenty minutes before closing had nothing to do with it.

I mean, we're talking about a Saturday night, people. Where IS everybody? I guess we'll never know.







Our Rachel Ray Cookware Giveaway (sponsored by CSN Futons) has finally drawn to a close.

We have a winner! Out of 654 comments, the Random Number generator spat out #197.

 

which belonged to Carol of CeeCeeBlogger

Congrats Carol! And thank you to everyone who played!








Everybody? Meet Butter Bean. Butter Bean? Meet Everybody.



Butter Bean is a Pygmy Goat. He's a Pisces, likes walks in the park, sunsets and music that you can dance to.

He's also litter box trained. Seriously.

He also likes this chair.



A lot.

If the chair falls over, he will complain at the top of his lungs until you prop it back up for him to climb back into. Butter Bean comes to us today by way of Melodie over at Laughing Duck Farm.

'Dude Walks With Cars' is neither Aerosmith, nor Native American

Yesterday I had lunch with awesome funny gal, Suzy Soro, author of Hollywood: Where Hot Comes to Die. What does that even mean? Does it refer to all the delusional people who comes to Hollywood for fame and fortune, only to end up on the corner of Loser Street and Crack Boulevard, peddling what's left of their good looks in torn fish net stockings, or standing on street islands advertising a lack of residence, or worse, selling Star Maps?

We met for lunch at Buddha's Belly in West Hollywood, whose food I would love to brag about, but as soon as you found out I was an investor, you'd go: "Oh, yeah, I'll be going there REAL soon", so ask Suzy, she'll tell it like it is, man.

Suzy, whom you must never call 'Sue' while shaking her hand, lest ye pull back a bloody stump, was trading wit barbs with our waiter, Matt. Did I mention Suzy is a stand-up comedian?

Here's a picture of our illustrious server:

You can also follow him on Twitter. Best to do it now, too, because when he becomes a famous movie star, good luck getting him to follow you in return then. This would also be your opportunity to ask him about his orange hat. That's Matt Kawczynski. Rhymes with Ted Kaczynski. (Not sure if he changed the spelling to avoid the association.) The same goes for me, by the way. (The Twitter follow, not the unabomber uncle relation).


So anyway, I'm driving back to my place in L.A. and while waiting for a light to turn green, this guy walks past my car with a sign advertising his lack of residence.

I don't know about you, but it really bothers me when a dude walks with cars. It seems so pushy and I don't respond well to pushy. I lose my compassion and want to yell things like, "Hey, if you can stand all day in the middle of traffic, you can stand all day in front of a grill, pal!"

Maybe the pay is better on Beverly Blvd, but if he came to L.A. to live out his dream and failed, and he wants to work on the street holding a sign, he can do something more respectable like, I don't know, sell STAR MAPS.

Goat Thing of the Day

Hey, did y'all hear about the magic goat that was arrested for armed robbery? He is accused of stealing a car.

How silly is that? Everyone knows goats only steal tractors.

(Thanks, Cakelet!)

When Food Gets in the Way

My stepbrother was chowing down with my father today at some barbeque place in Sacramento (Texas Barbeque or some such place) when he heard my father making a weird constricting ‘whee’ noise. Brother G looked up to see my father’s eyes filled with fear.

“Are you okay?” asked Brother G.

My father shook his head ‘no’.

“Are you choking?”

My father nodded.

Brother G’s biggest fear in life is to witness someone choking, a childhood memory he never wanted to re-live. Later in life, he took a basic first aid course a long time ago where he learned something very important.

He got up and stood behind my father to perform the Heimlich maneuver, once, then twice to no avail.

“Stand up,” he told my father.

Other people in the restaurant stopped what they were doing. Chairs from other tables scraped across the floor as they stood. To help? Or to helplessly watch?

Brother G performed the Heimlich again and dislodged whatever lunch mass was blocking his airway.

“Are you okay now?” Brother G asked.

“Yes,” said my father.

Brother G sat down. Everyone else slowly stopped staring while a waitress came over and asked if Dad was okay.

“I am now,” said Dad.

Brother G told me that in less than a minute my father’s fork was back in his mouth.

“Boy, you scared the shit out of me just now,” said Brother G, a sweaty shaky mess.

“Well, how do you think I felt?” asked Dad.


And I thought I wasn’t going to have anything to blog about today. Gee, thanks, Dad!



Hey, while you're here, could you do me a solid and click on this link which will bump me up a bit in the Sacto Top 25 rankings? That's it, just one click, nothing else. Thanks, man.

Now go tell someone you love them. Before they choke to death on some pork ribs.

Nanny Goats Dips Hoof into Shallow Waters

Hollywood enjoys an abundance of boobs on sticks and if that's what you are looking for (and who isn't?), just go to some trendy, Daily-Candy-featured, celebrity-owned restaurant and take a gander at the bar area.

I recently met a friend of mine at the hip-and-happening-right-now restaurant called Beso near Hollywood and Vine. Some of you may be interested to know that celebrity chef Todd English owns this place, while the rest of you, you who seek the boobs-on-sticks chicks, may be interested to know that Eva Longoria is also part owner. This lofty, drafty, dark and noisy space has some of the most comfortable chairs I've ever had the luxury in which to plant my ass.

I can't remember what sophisticated term they used for the bar (something like "cocktail lounge"), but the high-heeled waitresses spent every free-hand moment surreptitiously yanking down their spandexy mini-skirts. There were a LOT of women to stare at in this place, posing around the bar and in the dining area, yet they made up the majority of the customers. You'd think there was a war on (I know there is a war on, but I'm talking about the World War II kind where all the men were drafted, leaving every American town somewhat manless.) But last night, in this shallow sea, any fisherman could have sailed in without bothering to hook bait or weigh anchor. Just throw your rod in and pull out a one night keeper.

My editor/writer friend was there to review the place for her magazine, so wine and food pairings were paraded onto our table. For her, this is something routine and she yawned about it while I was a little kid in a candy store, trying to contain my excitement over the brief glimpse of how the .01 percent of this country live. She would comment on how the Cava Spanish Champagne paired nicely with the Squash Blossom over Heirloom Tomatoes over something the server referred to as a quesadilla that was more of a cheese-filled crepe thingy, while I sat there, inadequately prepared to offer even two cents worth of discussion, reduced to asking, "What's a squash blossom?"

We gabbed for three hours over five beautifully presented courses plus dessert, each accompanied with a new set of silverware and separate glass of alcohol (beginning with cocktails, continuing with various wines and finishing with port). It was delicious as hell, but no "fine-living" magazine restaurant review would be so gauche as to put it in such terms. Sophisticated reviews will use words like gastronomy and bouquet and discerning, whereas I would tend to throw out slurped and gorged and belched and probably, spilled.

I would certainly recommend this place and its Latin fusion menu (perhaps you would be tempted to try Eva's Homemade Tortilla Soup), but do NOT get me started on the valet parking where you must immediately fork over $10 before even handing them your keys.


* * *

NGIP would like to thank Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor for adding us to her blog roll. (You will find us under "California Derfs"). Derfwad Manor is one of your better sources for hystericality.

And a big shout out goes to Alessia at Musings from the Crypt for adding Nanny Goats to her blog roll. We are now part of the crypt crew! Woo Hoo!...Hey, that rhymes.


Also, please click this Humor Blogs link to see where Nanny Goats currently ranks on Humor-Blogs.com

How Moses Disposes of Those Tainted Tomatoeses

We took Dad to Scott's Seafood for Father's Day yesterday. Dinner with my family usually means plenty of food.

On the floor.

See?



Looks like SOMEbody didn't believe the waiter's claim that the tomatoes were salmonella-free, and didn't have the GUTS to just leave it on the plate.

My contribution is that little bite of filet mignon - I had an incident out the gate with my fork and my first or second bite. But I saved the fork from starring in this picture.

Oh sure, I could have shown you the prettier side of Scott's on the river, like this:



or this:



but we didn't have that fabulous view. And besides, that serenity thing...it's not really me, or what I'm about.

I'm about the food on the floor at table twelve next to the kitchen.

* * *

I'm not sure how this happened although I'm sure it's all your fault: Nanny Goats In Panties jumped from #21 to #13 on Humor-Blogs, so THANKS HEAPS!!!! You can click on the logo (or here) to see the current ranking.

How To Meet That Loud, Annoying, and Embarrassing-To-Be-Around Friend Halfway

Have you ever hurtled through space, dodging asteroids and other interstellar detritus, and wondered when someone was going to find the next inhabitable planet already because dang, it's hotter than Hades in your studio-apartment-sized moon-hopper?

You haven't?

Well, have you ever let a pile of unread magazines grow so tall that you wished an elf would materialize from your toaster oven and draw you a long hot bubble bath?

No?

Have you ever tried to make plans for dinner with a friend whom you don't really like because all they do is talk, talk, talk about their boring life with their boring family in their boring house and you resent having to drive all the way over to their side of town because when they ask, "Where shall we meet?", you can't think of a place before they throw out the perfect little spot on their side of town? Don't you wish someone would create a website where all you have to do is enter your address and their address and voila! - you get a list of restaurants that are halfway between you and your blowhard buddy?

You DO?

Oh.

I wasn't expecting that answer. Uh, just a minute...

[fumble, fumble, fumble,... sounds of pots and pans falling out of frantically searched boxes and crashing to the floor ...]

Here we are! Yes, look no further than mezzoman.com for your "Neither Here Nor There" needs. mezzoman.com is the perfect geographical compromise companion when you need to, say, get together to sign those divorce papers, or find a neutral public location in broad daylight for that internet blind date. Why go all the way when halfway is good enough? Why go clear across town to their House of Pancakes when you can go the halfway House of Pancakes?

Thank you, Amy, for telling Nanny Goats In Panties about mezzoman.com

If you fancy yourself the discoverer of a cool or useful website that everyone in the world isn't talking about already, let Nanny Goats In Panties Know About It. If it passes the Turn Your Head And Cough test (you know, if it isn't just a webpage with a big picture of someone's engorged entrails, but rather a site that maybe sells foldaway away furniture for your tiny shoebox of a shack in space) then feel free to suggest it here, or click on the new suggestion box and tell us about it. Maybe we'll mull it over and pass it on to the rest of the NGIP fans.


And now it's time for ...

* * * Nanny Goats Shout Outs * * *

Nanny Goats is currently climbing in the Humor-Blogs rankings every day, thanks to you guys! When we hit #50 the other day, each NGIP post now appears on the aggregate post feed on the their home page. Kinda like this:



At press time, we are at #38! When we hit #30, the Nanny Goats site and banner are featured on their home page, so keep clicking! You guys are awesome!

NGIP would like to say THANK YOU to two fellow Sacramento Top 25 members for adding Nanny Goats to their blog rolls:

Melly from Cooking Schmooking who for some reason recently found it necessary to buy some halibut cheeks and is requesting recipes for it. If you don't know what halibut cheeks are, she's got a picture. So send your recipe for Halibut Sweet Cheek Surprise to Cooking Schmooking.

...and Lori of Hahn at Home who gives us a humorous, well-written and engaging look at the woes of lesbian dating in her post, Dating For The More Mature Crowd.

There's Never a Hoodlum Around When You Need One

One of our favorite restaurants in "midtown" Sacramento is a place called Ink. Here's what you see before you walk in:



We heard the place was owned by a tattoo artist and was frequented by hordes of bikers late at night, but the heathen crowd wouldn't start showing up until around 10 or 11pm. The food is awesome (and OMG you simply must do the Sliders) so we always sneak in at our senior-citizen-like early bird time of 6 or 7pm.

When you're dining at Ink, the rich red and black interior allows you to imagine the place teeming with black leather vests with big hairy arms covered in scary tattoos.

Look at the ceiling...



And this wall decor reeks of artistic creepiness:

And you get the full effect in this picture:

OK, forget you see the quaint middle-aged women lunching over their tuna salads. This place could be really mean. Those women have a row of tattoo vials inches from their faces! How frightening is that? Oh, the debauchery!

So, we made sure to tell our friend Terry, who had never been there before, how this place is just crawling with bikers late at night.

Carissa, who lives in the neighborhood and frequents Ink more than we do, pishaw-ed at us. "It's not bikers. It's just college students. And they're loud as hell waking up the neighbors when they leave at 3 in the morning."

I coulda sworn somebody told us it was bikers. Well, at least the owner owns a tattoo parlor, hence the name Ink. At least I think that's what I heard once.

Anyway, part of the purpose of our get-together was to introduce Carissa to Terry because Terry was thinking of buying in the neighborhood and who else to advise her but someone who knew a little something about the area. Like, the fact that it's now biker-free, apparently.

I wasn't sure if the girls were going to get along. I mean, not that they weren't both perfectly nice people. But haven't you ever introduced two of your friends wondering if they were going to hate each other? I mean, what if the conversation just stops and we all sit there awkwardly and I have to strain to keep it afloat until the check comes. Like, "So, how about that polygamist thing, huh? That's a real corker."

What if Terry were to blurt out her hatred for egg salad sandwiches, how you'd have to be an idiot to like them, and Carissa responds with, "I happen to like egg salad sandwiches." Man, that would sure be uncomfortable.

Or what if Carissa gets a little too vociferous about her plan to impregnate herself with an alien baby and can't wait for the pitter patter of little green feet, and Terry hauls off and smacks her one for "considering such an unethical and heinous idea".

Oh, what was I thinking bringing these two women together?

As it happens, I never had a chance to introduce them.

Why, you ask?

Because as soon as Terry arrived and sat down next to Carissa, she slipped seamlessly into the non-stop conversation, like jumping onto a moving trolley. I couldn't get an introduction in edgewise. And after a couple of beers and albino cosmos, this architect and this attorney, two professional single women, strangers to each other not two hours ago, are bombarding us with stories regarding the ways and means of various and multiple objects that prisoners shove up their asses, including but not limited to: cocaine, razor blades, and gang-coded notes. They were a musical duet, sing-talking in harmony, criss-crossing over and under each other, coming at us like two intertwined machine guns.

After dinner, we walked past the Condos in Question on the next block, chattering away. At the point where we all had to walk in different directions to get to our cars, we began our good-byes. MrMudPuppy and I were done with ours, but they had quite a ways to go, so we just left them standing there, allegedly "wrapping it up".

That was a couple of days ago. You don't suppose they're still...?

SPEAKING OF beers and cosmos and all things alcoholic, merlot mom, a kindred "spirit", has been added to the blogroll of Midlife Bloggerettes.