Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Getting your hotdog on.....

Just walk outside of my apartment. Go down the hall, turn left when the walking room runs out, and before you run into the wall at the end. Make another left from there, into the little elevator waiting area. Push the button with the downward looking arrow and then just wait…… Wait some more…. Wait a little longer… Check yourself out in the little mirror while you wait, but don’t let anyone catch you doing this.. Wait a little bit longer. O.k.! Get on the elevator! Listen to the elevator actually talk to you. That’s right, My elevator is so bad ass you don’t just ride that son of a bitch, you actually have a relationship with it. She will tell you she loves you, She will act like she is the only elevator on earth that has feelings for her passengers. She knows if you have been riding other elevators elsewhere in this great city. She truly does really care about you.

Walk through the trendy ass lobby with the decorated sterling silver benches and Orange covers that somehow clash beautifully with the red pictures showing a bunch of fish. I know. Its crazy. Orange and Red don’t go together, but you never met the interior decorator my building people hired. She is awesome and she can make that color combo work.

Go out the front doors of the building. Turn left, walk about one block down to the corner. Cross the street diagonally, or, if you aren’t a rebel like I am, just cross one street, then the other as if it were a big huge “L” that you get to walk around like your whole body is a blind kids fingers as he feels the shape of that letter, going from one corner of a square to the opposite corner.

Just get your ass to that opposite corner of the street.

Take out your three bucks from your used ass, tired looking bifold of a wallet, (don’t ever let yourself get fooled by a skinny looking trifold, its all done with mirrors)and buy yourself the most perfect hot-dog you may ever sink your teeth into. No kidding. I have a street vending Hotdog stand just down the block from where I live. My life includes a deliciously delicious hot dog stand within walking distance of my apartment! I am big time! I live near a street vending HotDog stand! I don’t think of myself as better then you, I just know that if life were all about how close you live to a grade A, number ONE Hotdog stand , and the access you have to said Hotdogs, I have WON that game. I am like the New England Patriots of living by a hotdog stand. I am the king as far as that part of life is concerned. I may not be able to keep together a relationship, but I damn sure live next to some mighty fine hotdogs during the weekdays.

The lady speaks zero English, but she will make you a dog that will take you to the heights of “pleasureworld” itself. The act of pointing to the condiments you want, and watching as she
waddles her way around the cart to put the Relish and the Onions and the Ketchup and Mustard on it, is kind of primordial.

Your English speaking skills are not helping you get your dog here, no sir. Its your actions, Its communicating like a caveman might, if Cavemen lived in downtown areas of major cities with hotdog stands on the corners. Just pointing at stuff and the various grunts you have to employ, and of course the occasional ball scratching signals, that makes the process of “getting your hotdog on” all that much more rewarding is good enough for me.

Ultimately I am paying her Three dollars to get the thing. But the way we communicate, it’s like the basic Animal that we all are. It’s the equivalent of hunting down the wild Hot Dog, shooting it, gutting it in the field and then putting the ceremonial Ketchup all over her in a little squiggly type line right out there on the African VELDT. I swear to GOD I love this about my life.

The hot dog stand lady will offer you her little folding beach chair to sit on, but I always decline. I take that dog after she has made it exactly the way I want it, and walk a little ways away from her cart, and eat the thing right there on the street like a Turkey Vulture eating a roadkill Armadillo. I will get condiment runoff on my hands and not give a shit. The dog is so sumptuous I don’t fucking care. I suck that thing down my Gullet and my Eyes roll up to the top of my eyelids and my calves tense up as I enjoy, not just a dog, but the finest dog ever, and it is EVERY time. And of all horrors, I have never been drunk when I ordered one, but I know if that situation ever arrived where I had a good drunkness on, AND my little non English speaking, Hot dog loving lady and I ever grunted at each other over the making of my dog, then, watch out. That little Cuban, no English Speaking woman ALWAYS brings me to the height of pleasure EVERYTIME. No worries though, because although I will not call these dogs the Nectar of the Gods. (a friend of mine and I agree that label goes to ALE HOUSE cheese Fries, --Shout out here to Ms. Cuban on this!) I will call them “the dogs of Zeus.” They are the metaphoric Lightning bolt striking your taste buds with the most perfect of perfection that is a Hot dog. I so LOVE this about my life right now. Sure, I may be going through a horrendous divorce with all kinds of snakes being snuck into my sleeping quarters while I am trying to be loving and concerned, but I
have my “Zeus Dogs” and I can assure you this, I worship those guys and my relationship with them. I am not afraid to say it, but I love these particular hot dogs. They are my mistress, they are my friend.

5 comments:

da lizza said...

haha! i'm a hot dog purist (don't like condiments)... but man that post made me giggle, hungy and have the desire to point and grunt all at the same time.

which, if we're being honest, every good food post should do. ;)

Brian in Mpls said...

My man that was fucking awesome. I need to move to where there is a hot dog stand or kidnap that lady...

Bill From Gainesville said...

Da Lizza -- Thanks! my kids also like their dogs naked. Its just something I don't understand at all, but through counseling I realize its not my fault. I am working through it and it is ok, we are all people and we can all live in harmony even if we may never understand the lure of a naked dog.
-
Brian. --- I moved from the traditional Suburb life in a sleepy little college town to a major American Metropolis, but never did I ever consider this most outstanding extra little benefit. The only issue is she is strictly a daytime dog seller. In New Orleans the lucky dog carts stay open all night.... It will be a few years till that happens here, but I will hold out hope for that day to come soon....

Quin Browne said...

i....i...i need a cold shower.

Bill From Gainesville said...

Quin- Do you need it to wash off the stench of the thought of a naked dog eating experience? because really, a dog needs Relish and Ketchup and Mustard at a minimum, I also like the onions and sometimes chilli... we have to let the naked dog eaters be though, we dont want to go all medieval on them and act like theuy are witches and stuff...just let them be...