Whata-Saviou: Revisited

Last night, while we were avoiding watching our beloved Houston Texans, we saw a Whataburger commercial. All about breakfast, at 4:00 a.m.. Something was very obviously missing! There were references to people at work (police in his patrol car), picking up "lunch" on a break. One person was having breakfast after just getting off of a late shift job (dressed like Paul Bunyan). Another, scoring breakfast on the way to work (in scrubs). Apparently, those of us who require the Whata-Savior meal (slightly rumpled, sweat-encrusted from doing something that is intended to be "dancing", and smelling like eau du mixology concoction) are not exactly "good PR". Who. Knew. So much for thinking we were "the masses", even if we are poor and huddled.

Whata-Savior

Whether holiday party induced or merely the product of an overly zealous celebration of "Thursday", this happens to everyone at some point.  Unless you're a tee-totaling type or have a drawer full of those special twelve step chips.  Not that there's anything wrong with that. What am I talking about here?  Drive-thru salvation.  Or, really a half-hearted and grease-laden attempt at salvaging one's forthcoming workday by mitigating the impact of a hangover.  Sure, sure there are late-night windows at various national and local chains all over the country.  Here in Texas, we have the not-quite-so-fast but always fresh and delicious, Whataburger.  They make terribly tasty taquitos, better than other fast food burgers and steak fingers with gravy and french fries.  For the un-initiated, typically steak fingers are strips of beef that are chicken fried and are perfect for grasping with a drunken claw and poking in the general direction of a small cup of cream gravy.  Said gravy usually ends up all over one's face and sometimes in one's hair.  This really depends on the degradation of your tactile functions and whether or not you rode or drove to get this manna from heaven.

Texas legend holds that someone's friends, brother's, uncle's, sister had a best friend who timed a trip for a Whata-savior poorly and trouble ensued.  You see, there's normally about a fifteen to twenty minute gap between ordering and getting your food and vat of coke (that's Texan for carbonated beverage).  If the booze catches up with you, before you're saved by the grease - passing out is a risk.  Passing out in the drive-thru line is trouble.  For one, the other not-so-sobers behind you are not happy.  Two, you're a sitting duck for Johnny Law.  I mean, when is the last time you tried waking up the passed out?  Not so easy now, is it?  Anyhoo, legend is that really has happened.  I'm guessing you can't exactly snopes it, either.  Rest assured though, we don't make this shit up.  Be advised, it's imperative to "shoot the gap" between "crap, I think I'm drunk" and just not making a lick of sense.

Whata-Savior (Wat-ah-Say-Veyur):


  Any meal consumed after 10 pm; preferably one handed to you in a bag from a drive thru window. This meal often contains certain condiments such as ketchup, cream gravy, a side of chile con queso and almost always something fried. The Whata-Savior usually follows an earlier dinner of 4 vodka sodas, 2 miller lites, 3 glasses of red wine, a shot of whiskey and one bacon wrapped shrimp. This meal is deemed necessary after realizing you have to be functioning at work in a few short hours. Also, any calories consumed at this meal don't count.  Which is a good thing, because it's normally:

"I'll have two sausage, egg and cheese taquitos, a small steak finger meal, a jr. jalapeno whataburger and a large diet coke.  Oh, can I get extra hot sauce and gravy with that, too?"

Whhaaawha wha wha (Charlie Brown's teacher noises)

"Ketchup?  Of course!  Extra ketchup!". 

"Your total is eleventy million dollars and thirty-seven cents, please drive around to the first window."

Cy-Jack

Sometimes, we're just not as secure as we should be.  Fine, we're female and "genderly predisposed". What. Ever.  We cannot help it we are trusting, gentle souls - blame our Mama's.  We were faced recently with a "terrible thing" that we might have accidentally, in a moment of trust, brought upon our ownselves.  We allowed an access to our personal computing device, only to realize too late that that idea was of the very bad variety.  Very. Terribly. Horribly. Bad.  You had permission to do one thing, and one thing only.  Note to self:  Add "that which communicates in a binary fashion" to the "That Which the Free World Cannot See" list, along with certain body parts....like, toes.

Cy-Jack (Sigh-Jack):

Using someone’s computer without their express written permission and a fully executed waiver of responsibility.  Having access to their email, twitter, IM, blog and facebook statuses and any related content archives or sent e-mails. The abilty to single-handedly wreck their world, social life and career simultaneously.

Kinda like if you were to find out someone read your diary, after going through your purse, using your hairbrush and your toothbrush, while wearing your underwear (the good lacey black ones, you have been saving for Mr. Makes Your Heart Flutter, if you can find him). On live feed.

Unless we gave you express written consent to rifle through our stuff, "No Means No" and you just technologically violated us.  Unless you decided to wreak havoc on our "myspace", that impact would be, minimal at this juncture.

Scary-Go-Round

Please be advised, this ride is not available at children's parks or on elementary school playgrounds (yet).  There are no height requirements to ride this ride.  There is an age requirement.  You must be old enough to have dated several different men, or twelve years of age, whichever comes first (kidding, color this a 30 and up attraction). There are no handrails and this particular ride normally doesn't twirl at a high rate of speed. It does move at the speed of text messaging, sometimes. Seriously, you can jump off at any time.  In fact, we highly recommend it. Highly.  Not to point out the obvious, but honey, if we are not Janey-on-the-spot in answering your "Hey! Got plans Fri nite" text message, get thyself a clue.

Scary-go-round (Scar-ee-goh-rownduh):

The continuous parade of ex-boyfriends (a parade with bad throws, no less).   I’m not saying they are all losers – oh wait. Yes I am. I asked a friend if that made me a loser, too. He said no, I was just doing charity work.

Speaking of parades, and bad throws (yes, think Mardi Gras and no I am not flashing you, you can't afford it).  Once upon a Mardi Gras Parade, in Houma, Louisiana - someone purt near brained me with, not a string of beads, but a damn sack full.  My best good friend nearly "pulled an Andre" on a small-ish child ( aged approximately 9 or 10) to grab that sack of beads.  Hey, if I am going to suffer a head wound, I want the damned ammunition.  Plus, after a few glasses of wine, I might have actually scrapped with the kid, myself.

As as "aside", how can Cortland Finnegan consider himself a "tough guy" or "badass" with that clown hair?  Someone needs to hold him down while someone else works him over with some clippers fitted with a two blade.