Tuesday, March 6, 2007

I Fucked The Buffet Like the Dirty Whore It Is!

That's right, you read that correctly, buffets are now my bitch. No more of this two plates and I'm laying under the table in a chow mien coma... no no no... buffets everywhere should quake at the thought of the savagery that will befall them should I ever pick up one of their pre-heated plates and pounce.

It is nearly impossible to decide where to eat when there are more than, like, one person to factor in. Three, totally can't happen, however Pat, Eric and I attempted. We lost pat in the decision making process and I somehow found myself dizzy and swaying at the doors of the King Buffet. There were drag marks on the ground, and a lump on my head, but I was afraid to ask too many questions. So I have been to one all-you-can-eat-buffet since Sakura a year ago, it was an Indian one, but Indians don't have any malicious plots to conquer white america through their delicious cuisine like the Chinese and Japanese do—that's right, I said it, the Japanese couldn't get us with Pearl Harbor so they are taking us down one California roll at a time, but we sent them McDonalds so we're fucking them up pretty bad with obesity, we're just eating with little sticks now, who won that one bitches!

Ok, the buffet. I was hecka nervous so I had a little pep talk on the phone with Marj. We prayed together and I promised I'd remember her kindness and drunken dancing on the pool table no matter what. And in I went. Now I think a big factor in how successful one is at a buffet is who you are with. If you are with a light eater, there is no way you are going to be so disgusting as to eat 6 plates of food while the other person only ate 1, but if the other person is on plate 8, you may choke down number 7 just to not look like a pussy. I had chosen the best partner. If fast food meal sizes came in small, medium, large, and wheelbarrow, Eric would get two wheelbarrows, extra sauce, and a fried baby. I know, where does it go? I believe he hides it all in his shoes... but I digress. I paid my $9.00 and I heard the staff do their little Asian giggle like when I walk into a nail salon (there was a scene once, it got ugly), they had heard about me and my shameful Sakura experience, maybe even the nail salon incident of '06 too, the industries are closely related.
Anyhow, this fueled my buffet rage and I knew, in the depths of my soul, this time had to be different. I picked up my plate, with purpose. I saw the chow mien, and wanted to fill my plate... but they knew that's what i would do, noodles are fucking cheap and one plateful later I would be raped out of my $9.00, and passed out under the table in a pool of my own vomit, because that's what Cori's do. A chow mien whore no more I went for the meat. Now this is the very buffet that my little brother ate at and then proceeded to vomit 12 times, so I was cautious. I attacked the chicken, and some shrimp... and beef and broccoli. Plate one, I'm guessing a net worth of like $6.50. Gone bitch. I had been craving salad like crazy, and since Amanda and I do not keep food in the house (literally, I think we have croutons and Kraft cheese, that's it) I rarely get vegetables or fruit in my diet. My food pyramid looks like this (base to top): alcohol, super pollo, chicken strips, ranch dressing, coffee. A diagram will be attached. So, plate two, salad, a big one, plate three, fried treats: chicken-esk thing, squash, shrimp, something else I was not sure of... I took one bite out of everything and was not feeling it, however I'm counting it as a victory because that's food they had to buy and prepare. Plate four (yes plate fucking four!) a rice ball that looked like Piccachu, pizza, a cheese, spinach thing, and rice. I added jello salad to the mix and then I started to feel it. My fork swayed as I stared at my plate. However, I choked down that last slimy mandarin orange and sat back, quite satisfied with myself. I had to have eaten at least $15.00 worth of food.

I dropped my fork and as it crashed down to the plate the staff's little black haired heads dropped. Cori was reborn, and the buffet was now my bitch.

Saturday, March 3, 2007

Sans Bob

I think we are friends, I think you exist... but I'm not sure... it's been so long since I've heard your voice... last time I heard it you were standing right in front of me... like with all your skin and blood and bones and your breath just right there for anyone to see like it was no big deal... but it was... it was a huge deal... and I miss you again... a lot... right now. Like right now I want to eat chicken and talk to you and laugh and do my weird twitchy dance and watch you look at me like I'm an alien but know L'm an alien you like.

I'm tired of comments and blogs and messages and waiting for replies and forgetting to tell you about my day and remembering that one time in Santa Cruz like it was yesterday and forgetting it's been hundreds of yesterdays since that day that we took pictures of those signs and ate so much sugar my stomach hurt. But a good kind of hurt.

Its only been a mere 63 days since I last stood in the same air with you, unsure what to say because nobody likes goodbyes, especially long ones, and I think this has gone on long enough! Come home and indoctrinate me with your movies and your music and your love for Mexican food and your stories and your slightly obsessive cleanliness and it will never be old and it will never be annoying because I know right now this moment that I miss you and never want to have a life sans Bob...