Who do I still think I am??

This one's about repeats, Mighty, and VIP...let's kick it.

30DBC PROMPT: "If history repeats itself, I am so getting a dinosaur! What are you getting? Be humorous; show me your comical side!"

Awww yeah! You know I love me some #FunnyFriday #30DBC prompts...even if it's funny only to me. I won't let you steal the joy that's come through the nearly 39 years of my existence! I worked hard for it, and I'm gonna relive it whether you like it or not. Can't bring me down on this day your higher power made for me.

First, lemme tell you I'm not getting a dinosaur. Regardless of the fact I just changed my Facebook profile picture to one, it was because that's the image Google Chrome gives you when you're suddenly no longer connected to the internet, and I've been having some crazy outages lately. I have no desire to own, train, and take care of a destructive creature, no matter how many times cartoons   try to romanticize it and make it look palatable. Besides, my landlord frowns on owning pets anyway.

I guess if I had a one-way ticket in a time machine, I'd head over to the Prohibition Era and take advantage of the speakeasies  . There's something thrilling about being a badass in a time where the world was so uptight and full of itself, and knowing there were places that existed where one could be free to say his peace and get his drink on without the fear of government retribution or rebuke sounds charming in stuffier, simpler times.

Back in Buffalo, during the late nineties and early aughts when NY passed the law banning smoking in bars, there was a new type of speakeasy popping up in some neighborhoods. Bars that fought against the ruling closed up their front doors and made access available only to certain individuals who likely knew the owners and to those who weren't in law enforcement. They'd serve up the booze and let you smoke within the establishment, which is a big deal for patrons during a harsh Buffalo winter. (And please, don't turn this into an anti-smoking crusade...I'm an adult, I know the dangers, and the vice itself is more important right now than the potential life-threatening hazards. Thank you. I don't come into your home and tell you your farm-factory store-bought eggs, chicken and fish are diseased and just as dangerous, so respect me all the same.)

But I'm thinking further into the nostalgia of lore, where ringing the back doorbell meant something more. Doing the illegal. Getting your ends through the means of straight-up gangsters (and not studio self-proclaimed "gangstas"). At least smokes have always been available in stores regardless of the limitations on where you can partake; send me headlong into a seedy underworld where we can get shitfaced and rail against the government among similar-minded strangers-turned-allies doing what we enjoy, consequences be damned. Like I said, simpler times; daring and damning The Man without repercussions.

If things were easy, everyone would do it. Challenge me and I'll take the hardest way around your obstacle, just to prove it can be done...and while I'll bitch and moan about the undue stress it has put upon me, y'all know I'll survive the outcomes. Because fuck it, I do what I want. Your imposed chaos isn't my problem...if anything, I end up making more problems for you because I have needs that long satisfaction just like everyone else, and I need to see them fulfilled in order to sustain my happiness. Legalizing the ownership of dinosaurs falls into the category of "Why not?"...and then I'd be walking down the sidewalk trying not to step in dinosaur shit because we haven't yet legislated people into cleaning up after them like they should from taking their dogs out. See the problem here?

Sorry if this isn't funny...but it's true that it's how I feel, so get your "funny" from it however you choose to.

BCF PROMPT: "What is your favorite restaurant?"

CJ Reddick , my boy...haven't we been over this before? I'm heading back to WNY next weekend, and I'm damn sure gonna try to get some Mighty Taco   in my belly. I do believe that if you say "Taco Bell" to a Western New Yorker, you'll get your ass kicked. There is no comparison, and no other "local" place I've been to that specializes in Mexican offerings of the fast-food variety can do what Mighty does.

Y'all can take your Chipotle, Salsarita's, and Moe's, and shove 'em up your colon-blown ever-lovin'. There is no frontin' on the beauty and prestige Mighty Taco owns over the WNY community...as simple as it is, it's complex-tasting and hella different than the corporate quote-unquote choices. I need Mighty in my life more than ever, since I don't live near one anymore and can't just drive down the road to get some.

One Super Mighty, hot with sour cream, and a Nachos Deluxe hot with sour cream, with a medium Cherry Coke. That's a goddamned adventure of palate-pleasing food stuffs right there! You don't play around with the formula for successful eating.

Sure, I could've mentioned my other favorite joint, Ted's  , but y'all can grill a hot dog anytime you want. Especially if it's a Sahlen's  , which blows away all the cheap-ass Oscar Mayer-style hot dogs you can get anywhere for a low price. You get what you pay for, and a Sahlen's is far and away the best dog to barbecue. My respected bloggeratzi ally emeritus Julie D - PUBLISHED! has debated me vociferously on the subject of hot dogs, but my word is Ted's does 'em about as good as you'd do them at home...eschew the store-brand stuff though. Get a real butcher's homemade joints, if you can.

But yo, Mighty is where it's at. I haven't been to one in a few years, and I'm dying for the taste. Gotta respect the locals and spread the love around, just in case someone wants to take your word for it on the rare chance they may find yourself in your hometown.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

I can't believe I'm doing this. Say hello to the fad you can't get away from . You tried, and I'm here to bring back the embarrassing everything that went along with it.

"If there was a problem yo I'll solve it."
Lyrics.  

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

Because we're gonna uh, double up uh uh   on the "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"  prompts again, no frontin' allowed on how I go about it. Being respectful and respectable is a must, as always.

"Do you think stress undermines empathetic abilities? Is it different for men than women?"

*badhaircutallupinyourfaceemoticon* "What completely silly fad have you fallen victim to?"

Y'all people...diggin' at my voids and scars and I let you, let alone encourage it.

I'll say this though...I don't care if you're a man or a woman. Stress compromises our ability to give a shit about everyone else's problems. Don't matter what sex you or I are when complaining, and it definitely doesn't matter when we're on the receiving end of your bitching. We all catch people at different times in their lives...I feel like this is a point I've been driving home lately but under different contexts. It's human nature to want to vent.

And it only depends on circumstance. Although there may be different reasons, men and women get pulled askew equally. I can't blare the trumpet for the stay-at-home mom when the dad is strugglin' with some other jerk in his workplace...that ain't right.

We all want some care, whether we know it or not. Someone who appreciates, heals our wounds, tells us we'll be ok, or puts us in our goddamned place. And maybe there's a tiny person inside of us who wants to do well by others, but isn't able to because of circumstances. Sick, poor, needing to look out for self first because no one else will; many people want to contribute somehow to society, but don't know how and can't bring themselves to do so.

I forgot entirely where this rant was heading...stupid anxiety naps happen. But yes, stress does compromise anyone's ability to feel empathy toward others. You can't help what you can't see...when you're blinded by your own reality it's hard to make a difference for others.

And I'll gladly change the topic now.

Like too many early nineties kids, I fell into the Vanilla Ice trap. All style, no substance. Getting as hardcore as a stupid little white kid could while wanting to bust out crazy dance routines in garages and driveways; that's what I wanted to be. I suppose it's good that I was never much of a dancer. Or lacked style.

I had the designer-impostor version of some of the clothes though, and random haircuts with blonde streaks (we covered that yesterday). I even had a few lines nicked in my eyebrows for good measure. And now I'm glad the nineties are long over with.

If there's one positive that came out of all the anti-Vanilla Ice backlash though, it might have to be Pop Goes The Weasel  . 3rd Bass...the greatest bunch of NY rappers not named the Beastie Boys.

Y'all know I'm a Tracy Morgan fan, and this is pretty good news, but I can't help hearing it in my head without interpreting his voice doing the reporting...Tracy Morgan's first appearance after the horrific accident  . My question: how badly does one have to break a leg to merit the use of a walker? I know how shitty mine was, and all I got was crutches and a week's worth of hydrocodone .

Conspiracy? I'm not sure.

Courtesy of Grammarly, who used this picture with the hashtag #FunnyFriday...it must suck for those who've traveled to the future and have to endure our society without all the cool shit they thought we'd have by now.

And I think I'm goin' back to bed for awhile. Had a kickass anxiety attack this morning, forcing me to reschedule my enrollment appointment. The nice part is I made it for next week with a tour of the TC3 campus, so that's worked out in my favor. I know I've got some catching up to do around WDC as well, but my head's pounding and maybe it's a good idea if I relax for the rest of the night. Peace, check out the hook, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!