How are you all? You're looking especially sexy this morning, if you don't mind me saying so. What? You didn't realize that I could see you? You have underestimated The Bev yet again, I see. Muahahahahaha!
Ahem. Okay, enough of that silliness. You all want to hear about what a great time I had with Mala on our date the other night, don't you? Of course you do!
Here's a preview of how this story ends:
But let's start from the very beginning (a very good place to start...). On Saturday I peeled myself off of the sofa and went to get a mani/pedi with Mala, which is always an interesting experience. The place we've been going to is as un-shi-shi salon as they come; it's more like a Vietnamese sweat shop. The women who work there are all teeeeeny tiny creatures who spend 12 hours/day sanding down giant American feet while horrible movies play on an endless loop. Every time we go, it's a movie we have no desire to sit through, and this time it was no exception. The movie was Tyler Perry's I Can Do Bad All By Myself, and dood, it was depressorama!
Also, the lead actress reminded us of someone, but we couldn't put our finger on it.
Then it dawned on us - the answer was right there in front of us all along! Her doppleganger was swimming around in an algae-infested tank, in keeping with our Hell on Earth motif.
Those of you who remember my last post about this place will be glad to know that the fishies are alive and well!
I've decided that this nail place and the poor ladies therein exist in one of the circles of Hell: eye to eye with people's calloused February feet, cleaning out their toe jam, while watching a Madea movie? Yeah, definitely a scene that Dante left out of The Inferno.
ANYWHO, we managed to put our moral issues aside and simply enjoy the vibrating massage chair, scorching hot whirlpool foot bath, and excellent company. Well, we enjoyed the chair after we figured out how to turn off the "ass rape" feature; seriously - who exactly wants a hard moving poky thing jabbing at your buttocks while you're trying to enjoy a massage? Hmmm, never mind - don't answer that.Once our nails were did and we freed ourselves from the Tyler Perry spell we we went to dinner, where what little voice I had was completely obscured by the din of several large parties in the dining room. This is when we started communicating largely in hand signals, which was interesting. Thankfully Mala's powers of telepathy were working well that night, but I'm still not used to having my friends order my meals for me. They don't seem to mind being the dude, but it's always funny when they tell the waiter, "The lady will have the salmon and a big-ass honkin' chocolate martini. Actually, make it a double." Hopefully by the time I get used to that my voice will have returned to its original glory.
We had 90 minutes to kill before the movie started, so before we left the restaurant we requested some to-go cups and made a quick stop for some libations.
Ha ha! Just kidding, we didn't really get Carlo Rossi. Mala just wanted to show off her big jugs.
We did get a couple of bottles of cheap wine, and we couldn't resist this one in particular, just because of its name.As one would expect from an $8 bottle of Chianti, it tasted more like "My Cousin Vinegar" than Vino. But whatev.
We went to the movie theater and bought our tickets to see Shitter Island, then proceeded to have a few lovely glasses of wine in the comfort of Mala's car. Why? Because we are KLASSY. Obviously.We just hung out, listened to music, sipped our wine with our pinkies extended, and laughed about how awesome we are. Good times! Then we took some horribly unflattering photos of ourselves making dorky faces and showing as many of our chins and forehead wrinkles as possible, and that's how the first photo of this post was born. That's clearly the best of the bunch.
Don't hate us because we're beautiful.
The movie was good, btw, but not fantastic. We both liked the mind-bending aspect of it and the twists at the end were intriguing. I found it to be more sad than scary, though there were some very ominous scenes that were reminiscent of Scorcese's work with Cape Fear.
So that's that. On Sunday I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything I hoped it could be, and more.
Hasta la pasta!
