Day off today. I got a massage. When I called the massage therapist for an appointment she signed off with a cheerful "Bring the pain, baby!"
I obediently brought it, all tidily bundled up in my muscles. She got up on my whiny lower back and ground that shit into a pulp with her knees. I was a little sore and out of it for most of the evening, but now I feel pretty good. Oh, yes, I do.
Afterwards I had a terrible dinner with my sister. (The food was terrible, my sister was fine.) Tin Star is simply not very good.
It's our own fault. We knew full well that Tex-Mex chains are never very good. In fact, I defy you to find me one that will offer anything more than just-edible food and a dull, bloated stomach, grease-coated tongue, and vague sense of regret and wrongness afterwards. And listen, there is absolutely no reason to go to a Tex-Mex chain in Austin; it'd be like going out of your way to find an Olive Garden in Naples.
Despite that, we felt our reasoning for going there was rock-solid. It's in the same shopping center as three other places my sister needed things from, and they serve margaritas. Why, it would have been the apex of foolishness not to go to Tin Star for dinner!
But then, after our bland, greasy meal (and I can tell you the grilled onions will be haunting me for some time), my sister could find nothing she needed. Tin Star, Old Navy, Rack Room Shoes, Sears: all can kiss my vigorously Shiatsued ass. At least the company was good, and it's always a treat to make fun of the trashy Juniors' department at Sears.
Later I went over to Colleen and Rob's house. There was cake. Chocolate Guinness cake. Sweet, rich, mellow, just a hint of yeast. You don't even know how good it was, even though I just told you.