My Feet Taste Nasty (Updated!)

So far, 2009 has created the giant sucking sound once only associated with NAFTA and Keanu Reeves movies (The Lake House, anyone?). It’s been a particularly rough few weeks here at Casa Dingo.  You ever have a problem where the solutions are equally unpalatable?  Like a choice between chewing razor blades and then gargling lemon juice or dousing yourself with honey and laying on an anthill.  You ever have a problem like that?  And then?  Then you put on your big girl panties and do what needs to be done only to open another can of worms.  I’m not talking about those thin, weak looking things that litter the sidewalk after a heavy rain.  I’m talking Tremors-size worms, Dune-size worms, Jabba the Hut size worms!  Well, from now on I have decided no more big girl panties.  I want to wear my Princess Leia Underoos and throw sand at the other children in the sandbox.  Especially the kids wearing Disney Princess Underoos.  Disney Princesses suck. Except for Belle.

I’ve been moody, weepy, cranky, and I know you are not going to believe this but — I’ve been a bitch.  Yes, yes, I have.  You don’t have to pretend.  We’re all friends here.  You can tell me.  In fact, Gay Best Friend has already told me.  You know what he said?  He said, “You’re a bitch.”

And then he said the magic words, “You need some wine.” So he made me get out of my jammies and traipse across the city to his favorite wine store.  I was not going to get out of my jammies.  Ever.  Even when I thought of going to get wine, I figured getting out of my jammies was a waste of time because I was just going to come back home, unscrew the cap to a 2-for-1 box of Boone’s, and stay in my jammies until they fell off from dry rot.  Or until Mr. Dingo promised to make his homemade Red Velvet Cake.  His Red Velvet Cake is the best cake EVAH! And definitely worth taking a shower and fixin’ my ‘do for.  He might even get some Sexytime.  If the Boone’s doesn’t make me fall asleep first.

But it was wine and not cake that was on my mind this afternoon, and Gay Best Friend insisted that I lose the jammies.  And then it was whine and not wine that was on my lips when I saw the line extending out the door to the wine shop.  It was packed.  You would have thought that this was the only wine store in Manhattan.  I happen to know that it is not.  I happen to know that there are one thousand two hundred and fifty three wine stores in Manhattan.  I know this because I have done my part to stimulate the economy.  One wine bottle at a time.  Anyway, I had a few choice words for all those asshats who waited until the day before Valentine’s Day to stock up on libations. 

Bitching and moaning, I made my way through the crowd.  As I was scanning the shelves, Gay Best Friend tapped me on the shoulder,

Gay Best Friend:  Hey look!  Dan Aykroyd has a new wine on the —

Me:  Dude, I’ve had a bad week.  I certainly don’t need bad wine.

Gay Best Friend (pointing over my shoulder):  — And he’s right behind you signing bottles.

Dan Aykroyd smiled at me when I turned. 

Cue earth opening up and swallowing your beloved Dingo.  There was only muffled screaming as I plunged through the hole in the floor because my foot was lodged firmly between my teeth. 

Yeah, I was embarrassed.  Maybe I should’ve been tipped off by the long line snaking out of the wine store.  Yeah, it’s the day before Valentine’s Day, but all those ugly New Yorkers aren’t getting some.  Really.

Or maybe I should’ve been tipped off by the guy who wore his Ghostbusters costume.  He wasn’t embarrassed.  Dressed in his khaki Ghostbusters uniform, complete with official Ghostbusters patches, combat boots, and utility pack, he was loudly proclaiming, “It’s the 20-year anniversary!  Twenty years!” I don’t know if he was talking about the movie release date or the date he moved into his parents’ basement.  Either way, I was waiting for Dan Aykroyd to say, “Listen asshole, I have been in at least fifty straight-to-video movies since Ghostbusters and did you ever see my real masterpiece?  Blues Brothers?”

But Dan Aykroyd didn’t say that.  He was busy warning his legions of fans to watch out for the hole that the curly-haired bitch who had just bad-mouthed his latest label right in front of him had fallen into. 

Who ya gonna call?

Update:  Who’d a’ thought that so many of you were interested in Dan Aykroyd’s wine?  Well, dear Innernetz, I’ll have you know, I did buy some and even had one autographed.  Since it was Friday the 13th and I’m a sucker for connoisseur of horror movies, in honor of the release of Friday the 13th (2009) I had Dan Aykroyd sign the bottle, “To Jason.” Because I’m a geek like that.  But hey, at least I didn’t show up in a stupid hockey mask!

Because I love you, Innernetz, I’m going to give a bottle of the Dan Aykroyd Cabernet to a lucky reader.  Mr. Dingo and I had some at dinner tonight.  It was good!  And Innernetz?  I’m giving away the signed bottle of Dan Aykroyd Cabernet.  Hell, I’ll even throw a bottle of his Chardonnay in the mix (unsigned).  All you need to do is tell me your own “foot-in-mouth,” wine, or celebrity run-in story.  You can put your anecdote in the comments of this post, post it on your own blog and post your link in the comments here, or send it to me via email (see the Blackberry in the top right of this page?).  I’ll announce the winner on Thursday, February 19th!

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