brunch...

Bonnie, Gertrude (name has been changed by request. I think we all know who Gertrude is...) and I went to brunch at The Pork Store. We've been hanging there a lot lately. I guess we like pork. Anyway, we decided to sit outside, and claimed the only open table on the sidewalk. To our dismay, a man with a hunting knife affixed to his belt also wanted to sit there. Um, 'scuse me, Yosemite Sam, we've already called dibs on that there table. We immediately pushed him out of the way and sat down, only to discover he was seated at the suddenly open table right next to us. Oddly enough, he ordered English breakfast tea and attempted to stare us down while pretending to read the funnies in the Chronicle.
The cast of characters at the Mission Pork Store isn't that diverse. One would think, down in the ghetto, you'd have all kinds. Nope. I was the biggest wierdo down there, dressed like a J. Crew ad from 1984. Everyone else had huge tattoos and babies, like one big alternative play date. I guess it's good that these kids are being raised by Ramones fans, but you look like a tool, with a faux hawk and a Baby Bjorn.
My chicken apple sausage scramble kicked ass, although Bonnie's paying the price for her "Eggs in a Tasty Nest", and egg, veggie, and hashbrown creation famous at 916A.
My weekend has already been peppered by bizarre dining experiences, as last night I dined at a fabulous Pakistani place in the Fillmore, where we befriended the waiter who discussed his delicately cultivated moustache at length. The na'an however, made it all worth it.
Bon and Gertrude saw "Garden State" whilst I was scarfing my curry, and proclaim it be incredible. I think I'm going to see it tonight with Kelsey, but we should probably keep in mind that Bon and Gert split a pint of Jack during their film, so perhaps that added to their enjoyment.
My brother, god bless him, is in Chicago with my dad. Why? Because they wanted to go to a Cub's game. Seriously. That's why they went. Oh, to be a Spotswood man. When my father accompanied me to purchase my car, he spied some SUV's and said, "You know who'd look good driving that? Alex." He then went over to inspect the sticker. I shouldn't complain. Mom and I are planning a trip to Chicago just to sit in the audience of Oprah. If you ask me, provided we get a good episode, that's far more worthy of needless travel than a stupid baseball game.