The answer and much more will be revealed at the end of this rant.
But seriously, when did ranch dressing become a condiment? Wow...egg on my face...dressing is a condiment, by definition. A condiment is: (noun) something used to give a special flavor to food. A synonym is dressing, and according to Wikipedia, ranch dressing is a condiment made of buttermilk or sour cream, mayonnaise, mince green onions, garlic powder, and other seasonings mixed into a sauce. Just a heads up, "other seasonings" is code for MSG.
Working in an Italian restaurant, ranch dressing has become a popular condiment to pair with pizza. This isn't the worst thing in the world, but it is ranked up there with ketchup on a beautifully cooked medium rare filet mignon. Who wouldn't want to douse their food into a bowl of buttermilk and mayonnaise? I mean c'mon! A cupful of semi-gelatinous white cream with other seasonings? Really!?!
But, here is where my discontent really lays, when this scenario plays out while waiting tables at the restaurant. If a person knows that they must have a specific condiment with their food, ask for it when ordering your food. No one likes high maintenance anything. I also have a displeasure for those customers who require pints of ranch dressing but, feel there should be no charge for the shocking amount of "condiment" they need for their food. It adds up people. Food costs, labor, many behind the scenes goings on. Remember that old saying? There's no such thing as a free condiment.
Oh yeah...I almost forgot...the answer to the title of this blog...
Put ranch on it.
I live in a college town. What else can I say?
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Time I Will Never Get Back
Last week I attended a monthly meeting at the office job. There was an agenda written, as per usual at meetings. However, the first topic of discussion was not on the agenda. The topic, and I kid you not, was about the wall clocks in the buildings where I toil every weekday. The specifics of this discussion were regarding the changing of said wall clocks. Apparently, there seem to be wall clock fairies who change the time on the clocks to make it look like they are either on time, or leaving at their scheduled time.
The folks who work in the facilities management department stated these clocks were atomic clocks. I beg to differ. I think facilities just said they were atomic clocks to scare employees. Atomic is a scary word. But, in reality, these clocks are just wall clocks made in clock sweat shops that are bought in bulk by the state. They are not atomic clocks for in the actual "clock" of an atomic clock there is an electronic oscillator operating at microwave frequency. The oscillator is arranged so that its frequency-determining components include an element that can be controlled by a feedback signal. The "atomic" part is used to generate a feedback signal to keep the oscillator tuned to the correct frequency. My understanding of this concept, and granted I am not a scientist, is that the clock will default back to the correct time.
This discussion went on for a good 20 minutes before co-workers suggested remedies to the clock changing problem. Perhaps...a metal guard over the clock to block clock changers. Burglar bars for clocks...I see a money maker that will profit from government coffers being gouged by stupid ideas. Maybe...take all the wall clocks out of the building. That was vetoed based on the assumption that the wall clocks were there for the purpose of orienting one to the area in which they work. I know I would not be able to find my cubicle if there were no wall clocks. I would be looking around like a mouse in a maze. How about this idea...use the clock on one's computer to monitor in and out times. It would work like the old punch card time clock system...except different.
I am baffled by the nonsense that wastes my time. Time I will never get back!
The folks who work in the facilities management department stated these clocks were atomic clocks. I beg to differ. I think facilities just said they were atomic clocks to scare employees. Atomic is a scary word. But, in reality, these clocks are just wall clocks made in clock sweat shops that are bought in bulk by the state. They are not atomic clocks for in the actual "clock" of an atomic clock there is an electronic oscillator operating at microwave frequency. The oscillator is arranged so that its frequency-determining components include an element that can be controlled by a feedback signal. The "atomic" part is used to generate a feedback signal to keep the oscillator tuned to the correct frequency. My understanding of this concept, and granted I am not a scientist, is that the clock will default back to the correct time.
This discussion went on for a good 20 minutes before co-workers suggested remedies to the clock changing problem. Perhaps...a metal guard over the clock to block clock changers. Burglar bars for clocks...I see a money maker that will profit from government coffers being gouged by stupid ideas. Maybe...take all the wall clocks out of the building. That was vetoed based on the assumption that the wall clocks were there for the purpose of orienting one to the area in which they work. I know I would not be able to find my cubicle if there were no wall clocks. I would be looking around like a mouse in a maze. How about this idea...use the clock on one's computer to monitor in and out times. It would work like the old punch card time clock system...except different.
I am baffled by the nonsense that wastes my time. Time I will never get back!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Peligro Resacas
I have been trying to expand my Spanish vocabulary. I have mostly been doing this through reading billboards, other types of signs, pamphlets, and announcements given while riding public transportation. It has come in handy when I try to impress co-workers from Honduras and Mexico. Although they generally look at me like I am loca, or crazy for those of you who don't know the Spanish language.
While on my yearly vacation to Cocoa Beach, Florida this past July, I came upon a sign on my way to the beach. It read, Peligro Resacas. When translated into English it means Danger Riptides. A Riptide, also known as an undertow, is a strong channel of water flowing away from the shoreline, typically through the surf line. These currents are a source of danger (hence peligro) for people, dragging swimmers away from the beach and leading to death by drowning when they attempt to fight the current and become exhausted. But recently, this phrase brought new meaning to me.
There are many different personalities (personality disorders would be more appropriate) when one works in an office building with more than 1,000 people. Being the professional that I am, I try to overlook the bullshit, and just do my job. But ultimately, I am sucked into drama that I have nothing to do with, nor care about (peligro resaca).There are a few nut jobs that try to get me involved in their craziness. I try to swim along the shoreline to avoid getting sucked into the undertow, but alas...it leads to death by drowning my sorrows in vodka at the end of the day.
There is the person who asks you a question, and when you give them the answer they don't believe you. You know what?! This is why there is the internet, and other hard copy reference materials. Figure it out for yourself. Don't suck me into your stupidity. There is the person that complains about others being loud, and they are the loudest person in your area. Not only by talking over cubicles, crunching snacks, crackling open that bag from which their crunchy snacks come, but also invading personal space with scents such as patchouli. Three feet of personal space is the required norm.
Oh, and when you point the finger at others, there are always three pointing back at you. There are those that complain about the job. I have four words for you. Get a new job.
Wow, that WAS exhausting. I am going to swim along the shore, and tread water when I get to a calm place. Peace.
While on my yearly vacation to Cocoa Beach, Florida this past July, I came upon a sign on my way to the beach. It read, Peligro Resacas. When translated into English it means Danger Riptides. A Riptide, also known as an undertow, is a strong channel of water flowing away from the shoreline, typically through the surf line. These currents are a source of danger (hence peligro) for people, dragging swimmers away from the beach and leading to death by drowning when they attempt to fight the current and become exhausted. But recently, this phrase brought new meaning to me.
There are many different personalities (personality disorders would be more appropriate) when one works in an office building with more than 1,000 people. Being the professional that I am, I try to overlook the bullshit, and just do my job. But ultimately, I am sucked into drama that I have nothing to do with, nor care about (peligro resaca).There are a few nut jobs that try to get me involved in their craziness. I try to swim along the shoreline to avoid getting sucked into the undertow, but alas...it leads to death by drowning my sorrows in vodka at the end of the day.
There is the person who asks you a question, and when you give them the answer they don't believe you. You know what?! This is why there is the internet, and other hard copy reference materials. Figure it out for yourself. Don't suck me into your stupidity. There is the person that complains about others being loud, and they are the loudest person in your area. Not only by talking over cubicles, crunching snacks, crackling open that bag from which their crunchy snacks come, but also invading personal space with scents such as patchouli. Three feet of personal space is the required norm.
Oh, and when you point the finger at others, there are always three pointing back at you. There are those that complain about the job. I have four words for you. Get a new job.
Wow, that WAS exhausting. I am going to swim along the shore, and tread water when I get to a calm place. Peace.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Shamrock Out With Your Cock Out!
Every year my family and I meet in Cocoa Beach, Florida for my mother's birthday. Every year new places pop-up to visit (drink good beer). A couple of years ago, right across the street from the condo we call home for a week, a place called Nolan's opened. A nice little Irish pub actually owned by Irish folk. They have a weekly trivia night. The topics range from music to sports to Irish trivia. The best part of the festivities, for me anyway, is naming one's team.
We only visit for that 1 week yearly. So for one night, for the past 2 years, my family and I have played on this one blessed day. You may wonder why I might call it a blessed day when religion plays no part in my life. I am here to tell you. The winner of the trivia contest receives a $50.00 bar tab. Unfortunately, that has not happened for me and mine. There are other winners. Best team name and worst team name. No, you don't get free drinks, but you do get goofy prizes while the whole pub boos or praises your team name.
That's right! We have now won 2 years in a row (the week that July 17th falls) for worst team name. This year we were team Shamrock Out With Your Cock Out (Thanks D.). And, the year before we won with the team name Erins' Go Braghless.
Personally, we had the most imaginative names. The name that won the first year we played was the F.S.. They didn't use the actual words, the fuck sakes, they had to pussy out with an acronym.
I can't wait for next year...the boobs that shake the barley? If anyone has any suggestions for next year I will share the pot of gold. That is, the crap one finds on the ground on St. Patty's Day left by those lovable drunkards some liken to Irish. Everyone knows St. Patrick's Day is an American made holiday. But, if we win with a suggested name, the Guinness is on me.
We only visit for that 1 week yearly. So for one night, for the past 2 years, my family and I have played on this one blessed day. You may wonder why I might call it a blessed day when religion plays no part in my life. I am here to tell you. The winner of the trivia contest receives a $50.00 bar tab. Unfortunately, that has not happened for me and mine. There are other winners. Best team name and worst team name. No, you don't get free drinks, but you do get goofy prizes while the whole pub boos or praises your team name.
That's right! We have now won 2 years in a row (the week that July 17th falls) for worst team name. This year we were team Shamrock Out With Your Cock Out (Thanks D.). And, the year before we won with the team name Erins' Go Braghless.
Personally, we had the most imaginative names. The name that won the first year we played was the F.S.. They didn't use the actual words, the fuck sakes, they had to pussy out with an acronym.
I can't wait for next year...the boobs that shake the barley? If anyone has any suggestions for next year I will share the pot of gold. That is, the crap one finds on the ground on St. Patty's Day left by those lovable drunkards some liken to Irish. Everyone knows St. Patrick's Day is an American made holiday. But, if we win with a suggested name, the Guinness is on me.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
NPR Hearts PBR
Pabst Blue Ribbon is now a sponsor of National Public Radio's show All Things Considered. Actually, they have been for a while. Is it just me, or did NPR become less highbrow with this latest addition to it's sponsors? I had always thought of NPR as catering to the intellectual crowd. Those that like fine wine, classic literature, and the fine arts. Pabst Blue Ribbon conjures up dive bars, knife fights, and bikers...not the intelligentsia. When I think of All Things Considered, I think of the wine snob drinking Chateauneuf-du-Pape, not the local drunk drinking Pabst.
PBR was founded in 1844 by Jacob Best in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Milwaukee, a place you can go see the Brewers play baseball. Where inevitably, you will see many a drunk fan with no shirt, painted body parts, fighting in the bleachers. The ball park is now called Miller Park (the Miller Brewing Company took over production of PBR in 1999). Milwaukee does not bring to mind left-leaning suits on their drive home slamming some brewskies, listening to a mix of news, interviews, commentaries, reviews and offbeat features. Okay...maybe during the offbeat features.
I find it hard to believe that any of the three hosts, Robert Siegel, Michele Norris or Melissa Block are pounding Pabst after a hard days broadcast. I do however remember the movie 'Blue Velvet', where the characters Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper) and Jefferey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan) have a heated exchange regarding beer. The seedier Booth asks Beaumont, "What kind of beer do you like to drink, neighbor?" Beaumont replies, "Heineken." Booth shoots back with "Heineken? Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon! " I could believe the hosts of All Things Considered sipping Heinekens. But chugging PBR? I think not.
I know it is only an advertiser (sponsor). In the same way I also know that Andi McDowell, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Beyonce really don't use Loreal Hair Color from the box for their lovely locks. They go to a professional who uses only the finest products to obtain that color and sheen. But then again, I have heard using a beer rinse on one's hair makes it stonger and fuller.
So here's to you All Things Considered, a toast with PBR in hand, to a stronger and fuller hour of NEWS!
PBR was founded in 1844 by Jacob Best in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Milwaukee, a place you can go see the Brewers play baseball. Where inevitably, you will see many a drunk fan with no shirt, painted body parts, fighting in the bleachers. The ball park is now called Miller Park (the Miller Brewing Company took over production of PBR in 1999). Milwaukee does not bring to mind left-leaning suits on their drive home slamming some brewskies, listening to a mix of news, interviews, commentaries, reviews and offbeat features. Okay...maybe during the offbeat features.
I find it hard to believe that any of the three hosts, Robert Siegel, Michele Norris or Melissa Block are pounding Pabst after a hard days broadcast. I do however remember the movie 'Blue Velvet', where the characters Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper) and Jefferey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan) have a heated exchange regarding beer. The seedier Booth asks Beaumont, "What kind of beer do you like to drink, neighbor?" Beaumont replies, "Heineken." Booth shoots back with "Heineken? Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon! " I could believe the hosts of All Things Considered sipping Heinekens. But chugging PBR? I think not.
I know it is only an advertiser (sponsor). In the same way I also know that Andi McDowell, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Beyonce really don't use Loreal Hair Color from the box for their lovely locks. They go to a professional who uses only the finest products to obtain that color and sheen. But then again, I have heard using a beer rinse on one's hair makes it stonger and fuller.
So here's to you All Things Considered, a toast with PBR in hand, to a stronger and fuller hour of NEWS!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Sky Masterson and Nathan Detroit Return in 'Bros and Bitches'
Okay, this blog is not about a sequel to the fabulous Guys and Dolls. There is no sequel to this musical (none that I am aware of anyway). But, I did hear Guy Ritchie is working on a remake starring Justin Timberlake, which I will TOTALLY go see on opening day. JT is H-O-T! He brought sexy back. Or, at least lyrically, is bringing sexy back.
A question I do have is whether or not JT will be paid with a marker aka an IOU? That is, if the state of California is footing the bill. That's right, the state controller of California has been forced to pay taxpayers, local governments and small businesses with IOU's, or markers as they are known by the gamblers of the 1955 film. Maybe the Governator's favorite musical is Guys and Dolls. Maybe he thinks of himself as Sky Masterson whose markers were always good. Nathan Detroit's not so much. Poor Miss Adelaide.
The state of California has decided these taxpayers, local governments and small businesses must not need cash in these tightened economic times. They only need a marker. If the suave Sky Masterson can get the dowdy Sergeant Sarah Brown to go with him to Cuba, then why can't California get it's contractors, citizens, and the like to swallow the same lines? "Something you want for something I want."..."Have dinner with me tomorrow night."..."Keep this. It's my marker."..."My IOU for one dozen genuine sinners delivered as described." Oh...that's right. Americans (Californians included, sans the Cuban and Cuban-Americans thanks to Obama) still can't get to Cuba without first going through another non-American port.
The majority affected by these shenanigans are those that have contracts with the state for certain services. For example, the company that provides french fries to the California prison system. They received an IOU. They can take it to one of three major banks who will honor the marker, only through this Friday. Then, perhaps they may be able to pay their employees if one of these banks is the same bank from which they write their payroll checks. Otherwise, they will be at the mercy of credit unions, check-cashing storefronts, and Craigslist entrepreneurial enthusiasts offering .85 cents on the dollar for these markers.
It must be known too that Ah-nold wanted to borrow millions from local governments and release some prisoners early to save money. I applaud the Governator for trying to cut the budget. But at the same time, perhaps he should barter with McDonald's for french fries. That would be a win-win situation. What inmate wouldn't want Mickey D's fries? Everyone is "Lovin' it" on the outside.
I have an idea Mr. Schwarzenegger. If you love your state so much, why don't you marry it? Sorry, that was so 3rd grade. But seriously, why not take some of those millions earned from your films, and pay down California's debt? It would be like giving back to your community.
Sincerely, and committed to my community,
Pickles
A question I do have is whether or not JT will be paid with a marker aka an IOU? That is, if the state of California is footing the bill. That's right, the state controller of California has been forced to pay taxpayers, local governments and small businesses with IOU's, or markers as they are known by the gamblers of the 1955 film. Maybe the Governator's favorite musical is Guys and Dolls. Maybe he thinks of himself as Sky Masterson whose markers were always good. Nathan Detroit's not so much. Poor Miss Adelaide.
The state of California has decided these taxpayers, local governments and small businesses must not need cash in these tightened economic times. They only need a marker. If the suave Sky Masterson can get the dowdy Sergeant Sarah Brown to go with him to Cuba, then why can't California get it's contractors, citizens, and the like to swallow the same lines? "Something you want for something I want."..."Have dinner with me tomorrow night."..."Keep this. It's my marker."..."My IOU for one dozen genuine sinners delivered as described." Oh...that's right. Americans (Californians included, sans the Cuban and Cuban-Americans thanks to Obama) still can't get to Cuba without first going through another non-American port.
The majority affected by these shenanigans are those that have contracts with the state for certain services. For example, the company that provides french fries to the California prison system. They received an IOU. They can take it to one of three major banks who will honor the marker, only through this Friday. Then, perhaps they may be able to pay their employees if one of these banks is the same bank from which they write their payroll checks. Otherwise, they will be at the mercy of credit unions, check-cashing storefronts, and Craigslist entrepreneurial enthusiasts offering .85 cents on the dollar for these markers.
It must be known too that Ah-nold wanted to borrow millions from local governments and release some prisoners early to save money. I applaud the Governator for trying to cut the budget. But at the same time, perhaps he should barter with McDonald's for french fries. That would be a win-win situation. What inmate wouldn't want Mickey D's fries? Everyone is "Lovin' it" on the outside.
I have an idea Mr. Schwarzenegger. If you love your state so much, why don't you marry it? Sorry, that was so 3rd grade. But seriously, why not take some of those millions earned from your films, and pay down California's debt? It would be like giving back to your community.
Sincerely, and committed to my community,
Pickles
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Fallen Idol
Deep in the heart of Texas there are rumblings going on. American Idol, that piece of shit show on Fox, is holding auditions for it's new season (number 9 from my shoddy research) in Arlington this Friday. I know this because it is all over the news here in Texas. The news reports are not about how or when one might audition, but about the faux pas AI made about where the auditions are to be held. That's right folks, those people who will be bringing you the next fodder for entertainment television apparently do much shoddier research than myself.
The AI website says Dallas-Cowboys Stadium is the location of the auditions this Friday. However, Cowboys Stadium is located in Arlington, not Dallas. "Live Large. Think Big." is Dallas' new slogan and it represents the "can do" mentality of the city. Dallas is diverse, luxurious, and bustling. So says the AI website. It also says, both registration and auditions will take place at the Cowboys Stadium. It then gives the address: Dallas Cowboys Stadium, One Legends Way, Arlington, TX 76011. Hmm, which is it AI? Dallas or Arlington? Dallas is 27 miles from Arlington.
To Texans, 27 miles is just a hop, skip, and a jump. But to most AI dream seekers, this may be a huge obstacle. I have only watched AI once, and it is 10 minutes of my life I will never get back. The 10 minutes I did watch was an early part of the season (season 2, if I am remembering correctly) when they show all the wannabe idols who are sadly buffoonish, and instantly rejected. These are the people whose dreams are crushed in seconds. These are also the people who probably spent their meager nest-egg trying to get their 15 minutes of fame. I picture these folks hitching rides or their cars over-heating just to make it to the audition.
Lucky for them, AI has forewarned them about how to get to where their dreams may come true. No lie...on the AI website it says, cars are the main mode of transportation around Dallas, but there are plenty of eco-friendly options available too. Dallas Area Rapid Transit (DART) provides bus and rail transportation. A single ride costs $1.50, and a day pass is only $3.00. HOWEVER, DART will not take you to the new Cowboys Stadium in Arlington. To get there, you will need to drive. AI can't provide a shuttle?
To add insult to injury, the Arlington Convention & Visitors Bureau is orchestrating an e-mail campaign to let AI know which "bustling" city, known by the Flying A on the water tower, is the home of the new $1.15 billion stadium. If it's written on a city's water tower, the town must be bustling. Water towers are the new way to get a town on the map, and maybe even on the travel channel. Diane Brandon, the bureau’s vice president of marketing and public relations says, "It’s going to take a little while before it’s in the public consciousness that the stadium is in Arlington." I am thinking, if in a state where football is more important than education, people will figure it out.
I have an idea AI. Why don't you just pick out all those rejects before you belittle them in front of millions of Americans, put them on the Greyhound headed to Austin, where every Wednesday night they hold auditions for Stripper Idol at Palacio, a gentlemens club. Put these people out of their misery tout suite. You can do society a favor and show these poor souls where they will eventually end up after their dreams are crushed, the strip club.
The AI website says Dallas-Cowboys Stadium is the location of the auditions this Friday. However, Cowboys Stadium is located in Arlington, not Dallas. "Live Large. Think Big." is Dallas' new slogan and it represents the "can do" mentality of the city. Dallas is diverse, luxurious, and bustling. So says the AI website. It also says, both registration and auditions will take place at the Cowboys Stadium. It then gives the address: Dallas Cowboys Stadium, One Legends Way, Arlington, TX 76011. Hmm, which is it AI? Dallas or Arlington? Dallas is 27 miles from Arlington.
To Texans, 27 miles is just a hop, skip, and a jump. But to most AI dream seekers, this may be a huge obstacle. I have only watched AI once, and it is 10 minutes of my life I will never get back. The 10 minutes I did watch was an early part of the season (season 2, if I am remembering correctly) when they show all the wannabe idols who are sadly buffoonish, and instantly rejected. These are the people whose dreams are crushed in seconds. These are also the people who probably spent their meager nest-egg trying to get their 15 minutes of fame. I picture these folks hitching rides or their cars over-heating just to make it to the audition.
Lucky for them, AI has forewarned them about how to get to where their dreams may come true. No lie...on the AI website it says, cars are the main mode of transportation around Dallas, but there are plenty of eco-friendly options available too. Dallas Area Rapid Transit (DART) provides bus and rail transportation. A single ride costs $1.50, and a day pass is only $3.00. HOWEVER, DART will not take you to the new Cowboys Stadium in Arlington. To get there, you will need to drive. AI can't provide a shuttle?
To add insult to injury, the Arlington Convention & Visitors Bureau is orchestrating an e-mail campaign to let AI know which "bustling" city, known by the Flying A on the water tower, is the home of the new $1.15 billion stadium. If it's written on a city's water tower, the town must be bustling. Water towers are the new way to get a town on the map, and maybe even on the travel channel. Diane Brandon, the bureau’s vice president of marketing and public relations says, "It’s going to take a little while before it’s in the public consciousness that the stadium is in Arlington." I am thinking, if in a state where football is more important than education, people will figure it out.
I have an idea AI. Why don't you just pick out all those rejects before you belittle them in front of millions of Americans, put them on the Greyhound headed to Austin, where every Wednesday night they hold auditions for Stripper Idol at Palacio, a gentlemens club. Put these people out of their misery tout suite. You can do society a favor and show these poor souls where they will eventually end up after their dreams are crushed, the strip club.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Cruise Director Julie McCoy I'm Not
Somehow working at a restaurant in the downtown area has given people the idea that I know a lot about what is going on in the city on any given day. Well, I am here to tell you that I don't. I am just the lowly waitress bringing your food and drink. I wait tables at a restaurant across from a park that hosts all types of festivals, concerts, and the like. The restaurant is also three blocks from an arena which hosts sporting events, concerts, comedy shows, and other such happenings. Three blocks in the other direction is an amphitheater where many concerts are held. Whenever one of these venues has something going on the restaurant becomes much busier. That I like. It puts more cash in my otherwise empty pockets. What I don't like is the bombardment of seemingly innocent questions I am asked during these rushes. (For those of you who have never worked in the restaurant industry, a rush is when it is so busy you don't have time for anything but the waiting of tables.)
Some of the questions asked are so idiotic it makes me want to slap people. I am going to the concert up the street. Do you know what time the doors open? No, but maybe if you look at the ticket YOU bought that may have the information you need. Do you know what time the music ends? No, but maybe you could check the schedule on your iPhone. If you don't have a one I will rent you mine for fifty cents a minute. Where can we park if we are going to the show? In a parking space near the venue. Do you know who is playing? Okay, this is usually asked when there is a free concert at the earlier mentioned park, but I don't know. I am at work.
Other nights, or days when there may be something going on further downtown, I am often asked random questions that only the employees or members of the chamber of commerce are privy to knowing. Do you know what is going on downtown? Nope, just here working today. Hope you find the answer. There are a bunch of streets closed downtown. Do you know what is going on? No, I had to work today so I didn't look to see what magical event I might be missing.
A favorite most hated question is asked when I am generally very busy. You may notice I am busy working, because I am your waitress. But hey, ask away. Can you take our picture? Sure, just let me wipe the sweat off my brow so I don't fuck up your nice digital camera, and right after I take the orders, bring the drinks, and serve the food to my other tables. You know, those other people you could have asked to take your picture, the ones just sitting around at the next table not working.
However, the icing on the cake has to be questions regarding whether or not I have some crayons or something that will keep your children at bay while you try to eat a nice dinner. It is not my responsibility to keep your children entertained. Those are called baby-sitters. A novel concept...I know.
Try to remember people, I am your waitress. I am not a cast member on your TV cruise ship. I am not your cruise director Julie McCoy, here to help you when you can't help yourself. I am not your bartender Issac Washington, who had a right answer for everything. Nor am I Yeoman-Purser Burl "Gopher" Smith, who went on in real life to become a US senator, helping to create the laws regarding sound ordinances, closing of streets, and where parking is allowed or not allowed. (On a federal level, but you get the idea.)
Get a baby-sitter, be informed about your leisure activities, and let me do my job. I'm busy!
Some of the questions asked are so idiotic it makes me want to slap people. I am going to the concert up the street. Do you know what time the doors open? No, but maybe if you look at the ticket YOU bought that may have the information you need. Do you know what time the music ends? No, but maybe you could check the schedule on your iPhone. If you don't have a one I will rent you mine for fifty cents a minute. Where can we park if we are going to the show? In a parking space near the venue. Do you know who is playing? Okay, this is usually asked when there is a free concert at the earlier mentioned park, but I don't know. I am at work.
Other nights, or days when there may be something going on further downtown, I am often asked random questions that only the employees or members of the chamber of commerce are privy to knowing. Do you know what is going on downtown? Nope, just here working today. Hope you find the answer. There are a bunch of streets closed downtown. Do you know what is going on? No, I had to work today so I didn't look to see what magical event I might be missing.
A favorite most hated question is asked when I am generally very busy. You may notice I am busy working, because I am your waitress. But hey, ask away. Can you take our picture? Sure, just let me wipe the sweat off my brow so I don't fuck up your nice digital camera, and right after I take the orders, bring the drinks, and serve the food to my other tables. You know, those other people you could have asked to take your picture, the ones just sitting around at the next table not working.
However, the icing on the cake has to be questions regarding whether or not I have some crayons or something that will keep your children at bay while you try to eat a nice dinner. It is not my responsibility to keep your children entertained. Those are called baby-sitters. A novel concept...I know.
Try to remember people, I am your waitress. I am not a cast member on your TV cruise ship. I am not your cruise director Julie McCoy, here to help you when you can't help yourself. I am not your bartender Issac Washington, who had a right answer for everything. Nor am I Yeoman-Purser Burl "Gopher" Smith, who went on in real life to become a US senator, helping to create the laws regarding sound ordinances, closing of streets, and where parking is allowed or not allowed. (On a federal level, but you get the idea.)
Get a baby-sitter, be informed about your leisure activities, and let me do my job. I'm busy!
Monday, June 8, 2009
I Want My Two Dollars
Rumor has it that Oprah may have said, in these hard economic times people should tip waiters 10-15%. I can't find any confirmation of this rumor but, it seems that it is all over the interweb, and on the mind of every waiter I know. I know a lot of waiters, and they are all cursing Oprah when tipped on the 1960's end of the tipping spectrum. What I did find, is that it may not have been Oprah, but a writer for O, The Oprah Magazine. The article allegedly was printed in 2002. I can't access this article from my computer because it must be paid for before reading. Since those jerk-offs have been leaving me 10% lately, I neither have the resources to pay for said article, nor do I want to give her and her empire any of my less than normal cold hard cash. Regardless, knowing what I don't know of Oprah ( I know nothing), she had to have known what was printed in her magazine.
I have been experiencing the effect of this alleged rumor, and it is not making me happy. I fully understand that times are tough, but if you feel that tipping is not within your budget, eat at home. If you feel the need to go out to eat, then go to your local fast food restaurant where tipping is not expected (or taxed based on your sales regardless of the tips made). The creepy Burger King king will give you free Star Trek glasses if you order certain items at his restaurant. You don't have to tip, and you get something for free that you can use at the dinner table.
What I did find out is that Oprah says to tip 15-20%. This can be found on her website. Here's the rub, and I quote, "Normally, 15 to 20 percent of the total bill—20 percent for a first-class place." What the fuck Oprah? If you receive proper service, then tip the 20%. Get your head out of those elitist clouds. Okay...okay. Some of you may be saying, "what if the service is bad?" Then yes, you may choose to tip poorly, or not tip, dependent on the degree of bad. Just know that waiters in Texas, at least, make $2.13 an hour.
So, to all you a-holes that have been leaving me a $4.00 tip on a $40.00 check, I want my two dollars.
I have been experiencing the effect of this alleged rumor, and it is not making me happy. I fully understand that times are tough, but if you feel that tipping is not within your budget, eat at home. If you feel the need to go out to eat, then go to your local fast food restaurant where tipping is not expected (or taxed based on your sales regardless of the tips made). The creepy Burger King king will give you free Star Trek glasses if you order certain items at his restaurant. You don't have to tip, and you get something for free that you can use at the dinner table.
What I did find out is that Oprah says to tip 15-20%. This can be found on her website. Here's the rub, and I quote, "Normally, 15 to 20 percent of the total bill—20 percent for a first-class place." What the fuck Oprah? If you receive proper service, then tip the 20%. Get your head out of those elitist clouds. Okay...okay. Some of you may be saying, "what if the service is bad?" Then yes, you may choose to tip poorly, or not tip, dependent on the degree of bad. Just know that waiters in Texas, at least, make $2.13 an hour.
So, to all you a-holes that have been leaving me a $4.00 tip on a $40.00 check, I want my two dollars.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Pee Like A Dog Poop Like A Cat
Warning: If you have a weak stomach when it comes to the human digestive tract or reproductive system, you may want to stop reading now.
In the office building where I work there is one ladies room for the whole building. It has 5 regular stalls and 1 "big" stall. The last few times I have gone to do my business, little gifts were left behind. Not in just one stall, but in several stalls. What the fuck, ladies?! This is not a daycare where some are potty trained and others are not. I know this because I have seen remnants of those "falling to Communists", if you get my drift. If I wanted to use a port-o-potty, I would have gotten a job at a construction site. Other personal items have also remained after the flushing of the comfort station. Sometimes the curtains don't match the rug as told by the evidence left on the lid.
I am starting to feel like the character Paul Finch from American Pie. I am getting to the point where I have to drive home to use the commode. The most common occurrence is pee on the seat. When did the old adage, if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat, fall by the wayside? Really? You can't clean up after yourselves? I clean up my vomit chunks that don't make it in the porcelain receptacle every day after lunch.
The best/worst has to be the other day when there was shit, that's right, shit, on the side of the toilet bowl. I kid you not. I couldn't believe it. I ended up vomiting in the trash can that day. Dogs have better bathroom behavior than the adults I work with.
I think I am going to start going outside by the tree in the parking lot, and lifting my leg when I need to void my bladder. If I need to go number two, then I will imitate a cat. Cats cover up their poop with dirt when they are done.
Problem solved.
In the office building where I work there is one ladies room for the whole building. It has 5 regular stalls and 1 "big" stall. The last few times I have gone to do my business, little gifts were left behind. Not in just one stall, but in several stalls. What the fuck, ladies?! This is not a daycare where some are potty trained and others are not. I know this because I have seen remnants of those "falling to Communists", if you get my drift. If I wanted to use a port-o-potty, I would have gotten a job at a construction site. Other personal items have also remained after the flushing of the comfort station. Sometimes the curtains don't match the rug as told by the evidence left on the lid.
I am starting to feel like the character Paul Finch from American Pie. I am getting to the point where I have to drive home to use the commode. The most common occurrence is pee on the seat. When did the old adage, if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat, fall by the wayside? Really? You can't clean up after yourselves? I clean up my vomit chunks that don't make it in the porcelain receptacle every day after lunch.
The best/worst has to be the other day when there was shit, that's right, shit, on the side of the toilet bowl. I kid you not. I couldn't believe it. I ended up vomiting in the trash can that day. Dogs have better bathroom behavior than the adults I work with.
I think I am going to start going outside by the tree in the parking lot, and lifting my leg when I need to void my bladder. If I need to go number two, then I will imitate a cat. Cats cover up their poop with dirt when they are done.
Problem solved.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Use The Silencer
Over the weekend I went to see two movies. At both movies I was surrounded by persons who did not get the memo on movie theater etiquette. Or, I did not get the memo that movie theater is now a synonym for a private home's living room. Both times I went to the movies I was surrounded by folks who were disrupting my moviegoing pleasure. When going to a movie theater I seek solace, darkness, and entertainment. This was not the case, either time.
The first film of the weekend was Mary Poppins. Yes, that delightful 1964 Disney classic starring Julie Andrews and the king of slapstick himself, Dick Van Dyke. I was expecting to have some in house disturbance given the median age of moviegoers was 6. I was mistaken. The demographic that made me forget the spoonful of sugar in my medicine was a median age of 19. Sitting directly behind me was a gang of four from the latter demographic. From the get-go they were answering cell phone calls, talking loudly among each other, and commenting on what was happening in the film. Mary Poppins may be practically perfect in every way, but if she used her tape measure on any one of these four boors, it would have measured them at "dumb ass". My partner in crime and myself patiently waited for them to calm it, stop the nonsense, spit spot, but that didn't happen. So, about 45 minutes into the movie, my partner in crime turned around and said, "The 5-year-olds in here behave better than you." There was a knuckle knock exchanged between us to commemorate the hopeful silence of the annoyers. Yet, those douches kept on, but now with whispers. I tried mind bullets on them, but they just looked back with glances of supercalifragilisticexpialidocious-ness. Damn that Mary Poppins.
The next day, I went to see The Brothers Bloom sans partner in crime. This movie is rated PG-13. I was hoping there were no tweens, teens, or twenty-somethings to ruin my experience this time. False. The theater was only a third filled when I chose my seat. I had a row to myself. By the time the movie started, my row had two pairs on either side of me. The pair to the left were many seats away, but the pair to the right were only two seats away. A tween and her mother (or an aunt, not sure. I know it was a grown-up). During this screening, the "mother/aunt" was explaining the movie to the tween. The sound in the theater waxed and waned. There was not enough waxing to drown out the explaining of the plot, or repeating of lines just said by the characters. I wanted to hurt someone. Okay, not someone, but that pair to the right of me.
It was after that second film that I thought to myself, I am glad I am against firearms because a silencer would have come in handy. I then remembered those poisonous darts I smuggled in from Papau New Guinea and what Tony Soprano once said, "A wrong decision is better than indecision." Bring me my straw!
The first film of the weekend was Mary Poppins. Yes, that delightful 1964 Disney classic starring Julie Andrews and the king of slapstick himself, Dick Van Dyke. I was expecting to have some in house disturbance given the median age of moviegoers was 6. I was mistaken. The demographic that made me forget the spoonful of sugar in my medicine was a median age of 19. Sitting directly behind me was a gang of four from the latter demographic. From the get-go they were answering cell phone calls, talking loudly among each other, and commenting on what was happening in the film. Mary Poppins may be practically perfect in every way, but if she used her tape measure on any one of these four boors, it would have measured them at "dumb ass". My partner in crime and myself patiently waited for them to calm it, stop the nonsense, spit spot, but that didn't happen. So, about 45 minutes into the movie, my partner in crime turned around and said, "The 5-year-olds in here behave better than you." There was a knuckle knock exchanged between us to commemorate the hopeful silence of the annoyers. Yet, those douches kept on, but now with whispers. I tried mind bullets on them, but they just looked back with glances of supercalifragilisticexpialidocious-ness. Damn that Mary Poppins.
The next day, I went to see The Brothers Bloom sans partner in crime. This movie is rated PG-13. I was hoping there were no tweens, teens, or twenty-somethings to ruin my experience this time. False. The theater was only a third filled when I chose my seat. I had a row to myself. By the time the movie started, my row had two pairs on either side of me. The pair to the left were many seats away, but the pair to the right were only two seats away. A tween and her mother (or an aunt, not sure. I know it was a grown-up). During this screening, the "mother/aunt" was explaining the movie to the tween. The sound in the theater waxed and waned. There was not enough waxing to drown out the explaining of the plot, or repeating of lines just said by the characters. I wanted to hurt someone. Okay, not someone, but that pair to the right of me.
It was after that second film that I thought to myself, I am glad I am against firearms because a silencer would have come in handy. I then remembered those poisonous darts I smuggled in from Papau New Guinea and what Tony Soprano once said, "A wrong decision is better than indecision." Bring me my straw!
Friday, May 15, 2009
I Heart Boners
Today Pfizer announced that they will be giving their drugs away for free to those who have lost their health insurance since January, and had already been taking the drugs for at least three months. Among the drugs that will be offered is Viagra. As we all know, losing your job sucks. And, if you are a man with ED, what better way to get over the loss than to receive free Viagra. You can't afford the Viagra due to the loss of income but let's face facts people, society can't afford guys walking around not feeling manly. Especially here in Texas, where concealed weapons are legal. And...I am not talking about the one's Pfizer helps to create. Coincidentally, this comes on the heels of a change in Texas Law.
Last Tuesday, the Texas Senate voted to repeal a $5-per-person admission fee on strip clubs that has been ruled unconstitutional and agreed to replace it with a new tax on sexually oriented businesses. The bill now goes to Gov. Rick Perry for his consideration. Is it a coincidence?
Maybe Pfizer and the Texas governor should ask Sydney Fife, Jason Segel's character from I Love You, Man, to do a PSA for the dual announcements. It could go something like this: Fife goes to the pharmacy for his free Viagra then visits the local strip club. With the owner's new found joy that they no longer have to pay the state $5.00 for the admission of Mr. Fife. he is offered a complimentary lap dance. He goes home and recreates the man cave scene. Fife's character enters the frame, the camera panning the the room. While looking seriously at the camera, Fife says the line from the movie, "This is the man cave, there's no women allowed in here. I got a jerk-off station for God's sake." He sits in the jerk-off chair while a voice over let's the audience know how to obtain the free Viagra, and gives out Govenor Rick Perry's phone number to let him know your feelings about repealing this 2 year old law that was declared unconstitutional.
Let's hope that this does not start a backlash of those who think boners and strip clubs don't go together. It would sort of be like a divorce between peanut butter and chocolate...goodbye Resse's peanut butter cups.
A special thanks to Austin. Thanks for showing me your i-Pod inscription all those years ago! I have now stolen your genius for my title.
Last Tuesday, the Texas Senate voted to repeal a $5-per-person admission fee on strip clubs that has been ruled unconstitutional and agreed to replace it with a new tax on sexually oriented businesses. The bill now goes to Gov. Rick Perry for his consideration. Is it a coincidence?
Maybe Pfizer and the Texas governor should ask Sydney Fife, Jason Segel's character from I Love You, Man, to do a PSA for the dual announcements. It could go something like this: Fife goes to the pharmacy for his free Viagra then visits the local strip club. With the owner's new found joy that they no longer have to pay the state $5.00 for the admission of Mr. Fife. he is offered a complimentary lap dance. He goes home and recreates the man cave scene. Fife's character enters the frame, the camera panning the the room. While looking seriously at the camera, Fife says the line from the movie, "This is the man cave, there's no women allowed in here. I got a jerk-off station for God's sake." He sits in the jerk-off chair while a voice over let's the audience know how to obtain the free Viagra, and gives out Govenor Rick Perry's phone number to let him know your feelings about repealing this 2 year old law that was declared unconstitutional.
Let's hope that this does not start a backlash of those who think boners and strip clubs don't go together. It would sort of be like a divorce between peanut butter and chocolate...goodbye Resse's peanut butter cups.
A special thanks to Austin. Thanks for showing me your i-Pod inscription all those years ago! I have now stolen your genius for my title.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Would The Real Condiment Please Stand Up?
As everyone has probably heard, President Obama likes spicy mustard on his burger. Stop the presses. Ketchup is pissed. Sean Hannity of Fox News fame, by the bye, is also pissed, along with Mark Steyn, and Laura Ingram. What kind of a person, they demand to know, wants mustard on their burger? Spicy mustard at that. I for one like mustard on my burger. As a matter of fact, I like a cheeseburger with mustard and pickles only. It is delicious. Yet, these pundits are raking President Obama over the coals for ordering a burger the way he likes it. Hannity said on his Fox News show about Obama's choice of condiment, "plain old ketchup didn't cut it for him." Have they forgotten who John Kerry is married to?
However, since President Obama requested spicy or Dijon mustard, which are synonymous in the culinary world, Hannity ran with the first thing that entered his mind, the old Grey Poupon commercial. Guys in Rolls Royce's being elitist about their mustard. He left out the part where Grey Poupon is made by Kraft Foods, an American company.
I suppose Hannity also forgot about that time Bridget Marquart of Girls Next Door fame went to New York City, and refused every hot dog at every hot dog stand because they only had spicy mustard, not the plain yellow kind, even after the hot dog was made, and given to her. He didn't complain about that. Oh, right...she is just like the girl next door, your regular, everyday, average Joelene who likes 'regular' mustard, not the spicy kind. And, she did take her clothes off for the good of the country. But then again, he did drop out of NYU. I guess he could have once been intelligent until he had to write a research paper instead of talking out of his ass.
If Fox News, et al, really wanted to hit home the point of how much they despise Obama and his evilness, why didn't they mention the name of the restaurant he ate said burger? Ray's Hell-Burger. They could have thrown in some bible verse related to mustard to make their point. I am sure there is one.
Ironically, it was the Romans who invented this condiment. Hannity, being of Irish descent, should be ashamed for admonishing spicy mustard. It was given to this world by the same folks who gave his people their religion.
So, because he hates it so much, I will relish in it every time I request it. I might just start a company who makes a spicy mustard perfume. Catering to the elite, of course.
However, since President Obama requested spicy or Dijon mustard, which are synonymous in the culinary world, Hannity ran with the first thing that entered his mind, the old Grey Poupon commercial. Guys in Rolls Royce's being elitist about their mustard. He left out the part where Grey Poupon is made by Kraft Foods, an American company.
I suppose Hannity also forgot about that time Bridget Marquart of Girls Next Door fame went to New York City, and refused every hot dog at every hot dog stand because they only had spicy mustard, not the plain yellow kind, even after the hot dog was made, and given to her. He didn't complain about that. Oh, right...she is just like the girl next door, your regular, everyday, average Joelene who likes 'regular' mustard, not the spicy kind. And, she did take her clothes off for the good of the country. But then again, he did drop out of NYU. I guess he could have once been intelligent until he had to write a research paper instead of talking out of his ass.
If Fox News, et al, really wanted to hit home the point of how much they despise Obama and his evilness, why didn't they mention the name of the restaurant he ate said burger? Ray's Hell-Burger. They could have thrown in some bible verse related to mustard to make their point. I am sure there is one.
Ironically, it was the Romans who invented this condiment. Hannity, being of Irish descent, should be ashamed for admonishing spicy mustard. It was given to this world by the same folks who gave his people their religion.
So, because he hates it so much, I will relish in it every time I request it. I might just start a company who makes a spicy mustard perfume. Catering to the elite, of course.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
No...The Other Left
News flash...the Internet is not always correct. Have you ever tried to use Google maps or Mapquest to find a location, and it turns out to be incorrect? Google has been known to be wrong, as we all have. Let me tell you a little secret...don't use these sites if you are driving an ambulance in Williamson County, Texas. Especially if it is a life threatening situation. Use the old paper kind of map, you know, the one that you have to physically unfold, turn by hand, and actually read. Oh Hell, have a list of hospital addresses on hand if your job is to take an emergent case to a hospital. Stop using that newfangled GPS crap that is the not so latest craze. Why? I'll tell you why.
Today there was a story on the local Fox News station blaming Google for potentially causing a neighborhood to freak out, and perhaps deter someone from possibly needed immediate medical care. There is a hospital in Round Rock, Texas, there may be two, who knows, but I digress. Anyhoo...apparently Google had the wrong address given to them which brought about ambulances mistakenly driving through a neighborhood looking for that particular hospital. The residents panicked.
Yet, instead of calling the EMT headquarters they called the local Fox affiliate. If you have ever been to Williamson County, you would not be surprised. Fox was on the case. Residents were quoted. The one quote that stuck with me was, "I figured, somebody is going to die out here, on the, at the intersection here, looking for the dag-gone hospital." Fox e-mailed Google to let them know of their snafu. Google quickly updated their system to the correct address. Of course, the hospital had to put their two cents in after it was all said and done. "Ensuring accurate information on increasingly popular web based mapping services has become a priority for us. We have already taken steps to correct wrong addresses on the mapping services of Google and MapQuest." This administrator also recommended that the hospital site be referenced if in need of their address.
My advice you ask? Call a cab...they know the ins and outs of their city, they drive like bats out of Hell, and they are less expensive!
Today there was a story on the local Fox News station blaming Google for potentially causing a neighborhood to freak out, and perhaps deter someone from possibly needed immediate medical care. There is a hospital in Round Rock, Texas, there may be two, who knows, but I digress. Anyhoo...apparently Google had the wrong address given to them which brought about ambulances mistakenly driving through a neighborhood looking for that particular hospital. The residents panicked.
Yet, instead of calling the EMT headquarters they called the local Fox affiliate. If you have ever been to Williamson County, you would not be surprised. Fox was on the case. Residents were quoted. The one quote that stuck with me was, "I figured, somebody is going to die out here, on the, at the intersection here, looking for the dag-gone hospital." Fox e-mailed Google to let them know of their snafu. Google quickly updated their system to the correct address. Of course, the hospital had to put their two cents in after it was all said and done. "Ensuring accurate information on increasingly popular web based mapping services has become a priority for us. We have already taken steps to correct wrong addresses on the mapping services of Google and MapQuest." This administrator also recommended that the hospital site be referenced if in need of their address.
My advice you ask? Call a cab...they know the ins and outs of their city, they drive like bats out of Hell, and they are less expensive!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
When Pigs Fly
All right everybody...just calm down. That is of course, unless you have been rolling in the mud with your favorite pig. This swine flu, this scourge of humanity, is not yet an epidemic, or a pandemic here in the great U.S. of A.. As of Monday, there have been only 40 reported cases in the United States. More people go the way of all flesh from the no-name flu every year. According to news reports, the only deaths from this "piggy virus" have happened in Mexico, 145 to be exact. So really, why all the ruckus? Wait a minute. Yeah...thanks Twitter. Don't you people have anything better to do than scare the bejesus out of us? Tell us something personal about yourself that would make us feel the need to take a shower after reading it, not run to the emergency room because of a backache and a runny nose. On the other hand, if you think you have the swine flu you may want to, in the words of the enlightened Barney Fife, nip it in the bud by running to the nearest emergency department.
The metropolis where I live held a press conference. The mayor, himself, told us not to stampede to our doctor's office if we have the sniffles fearing that it may be swine flu. You would think with the economy the way it is, he would want us to go to the doctor for any little thing. Not only would the doctor make some quick cash, but so would the receptionist, the phlebotomist, the lab worker, and the courier who deliver these specimens for testing. Screw him. Regardless of the cause, we should all do our part in staving off more lay offs. The mayor of my fine city, incidentally, was not the only one complaining about persons concerned for their health and well being.
Most doctors have a help line where a person can ask a nurse a question without having to go into the office. Some of these nurses were interviewed on NPR this morning. They were complaining about the amount of calls received by those worried about this pork related virus. They were mainly bellyaching about the amount of calls that came in during certain times of the day. You guessed it...after local and national television news reports. That's right. These nurses were whining about an influx of calls around 7am, 12pm, 5pm, and 10pm (central standard time). I know if I were a nurse, I would want uninformed masses calling at anytime of the day rather than in the know folks calling at particular times where I could make sure there were enough staff to cover the onslaught of calls during known peak periods. But then again, I am not in a profession known for it's altruism.
Although we all know that prevention is the best medicine, I think we should all focus on that other preventative measure, an apple a day...an apple a day people.
The metropolis where I live held a press conference. The mayor, himself, told us not to stampede to our doctor's office if we have the sniffles fearing that it may be swine flu. You would think with the economy the way it is, he would want us to go to the doctor for any little thing. Not only would the doctor make some quick cash, but so would the receptionist, the phlebotomist, the lab worker, and the courier who deliver these specimens for testing. Screw him. Regardless of the cause, we should all do our part in staving off more lay offs. The mayor of my fine city, incidentally, was not the only one complaining about persons concerned for their health and well being.
Most doctors have a help line where a person can ask a nurse a question without having to go into the office. Some of these nurses were interviewed on NPR this morning. They were complaining about the amount of calls received by those worried about this pork related virus. They were mainly bellyaching about the amount of calls that came in during certain times of the day. You guessed it...after local and national television news reports. That's right. These nurses were whining about an influx of calls around 7am, 12pm, 5pm, and 10pm (central standard time). I know if I were a nurse, I would want uninformed masses calling at anytime of the day rather than in the know folks calling at particular times where I could make sure there were enough staff to cover the onslaught of calls during known peak periods. But then again, I am not in a profession known for it's altruism.
Although we all know that prevention is the best medicine, I think we should all focus on that other preventative measure, an apple a day...an apple a day people.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
You're Cut Off
Lately in the news, there have been many stories regarding U.S. policy on torture. During the reign of terror that was the G.W. Bush years, the Administration came up the phrase "enhanced interrogation". This catchphrase was used so the Administration could torture people, but in a seemingly nice way. Here in Texas, where G.W. once again resides, there is an agency called the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission who have their own form of torture. First, a little history.
The TABC has the task of inspecting, supervising and regulating every phase of business related to alcoholic beverages. Much like the Bush Administration, the TABC seems to think they are above the law. In 2006, the Commission led "Operation Last Call", in which persons in bars and other alcohol serving establishments were arrested for being intoxicated. Captain David Alexander, head of the Operation Last Call Task Force said, "Going to a bar is not an opportunity to go get drunk...It's to have a good time, but not to get drunk." Who knew? Seems it is true...you do learn something new every day. This Commission also has a form of torture known to all who serve or have served alcoholic beverages in Texas. It's name is TABC certification. I know, I know, it is not as catchy as "enhanced interrogation" but, I assure you, it is quite painful.
The TABC mandates and monitors the certification for persons who work in establishments serving alcoholic beverages. Every two years, this certification must be renewed by waiters, bartenders, caterers, and the like. This is three hours and twenty minutes of your life you will never get back. The pain is so real you may contemplate suicide before the three hours and twenty minutes are up. I am not sure who decided on the time requirement for this course, yet they must be half retarded and half sadistic. Today I suffered through this bloodcurdling requirement of being a waiter.
I will let you in on some of the knowledge I was hit with today. You can't serve a known drunkard. Andy Dick and Otis Campbell, this means you! Minors (persons not of legal drinking age) often act immature. Wow! Minor girls often wear tight clothes to attract the opposite sex. I wondered why that last part about attracting the opposite sex was thrown in. I thought this was a course on serving alcohol, not biology. I also found it a bit out-dated since all the Emo boys love tight clothes, and hello, there are girls who like girls. But, the knowledge that really fucked me up, to paraphrase the great Kenny Powers, was this, if you have a customer that is crocked, offer them a complimentary appetizer or complimentary food to help sober them up while you call them a cab. Yeah, you read that right. Complimentary. Free. Gratis.
So to all you unknown drunkards out there, go get tanked at a bar, then demand free food! Tell them the TABC sent you.
The TABC has the task of inspecting, supervising and regulating every phase of business related to alcoholic beverages. Much like the Bush Administration, the TABC seems to think they are above the law. In 2006, the Commission led "Operation Last Call", in which persons in bars and other alcohol serving establishments were arrested for being intoxicated. Captain David Alexander, head of the Operation Last Call Task Force said, "Going to a bar is not an opportunity to go get drunk...It's to have a good time, but not to get drunk." Who knew? Seems it is true...you do learn something new every day. This Commission also has a form of torture known to all who serve or have served alcoholic beverages in Texas. It's name is TABC certification. I know, I know, it is not as catchy as "enhanced interrogation" but, I assure you, it is quite painful.
The TABC mandates and monitors the certification for persons who work in establishments serving alcoholic beverages. Every two years, this certification must be renewed by waiters, bartenders, caterers, and the like. This is three hours and twenty minutes of your life you will never get back. The pain is so real you may contemplate suicide before the three hours and twenty minutes are up. I am not sure who decided on the time requirement for this course, yet they must be half retarded and half sadistic. Today I suffered through this bloodcurdling requirement of being a waiter.
I will let you in on some of the knowledge I was hit with today. You can't serve a known drunkard. Andy Dick and Otis Campbell, this means you! Minors (persons not of legal drinking age) often act immature. Wow! Minor girls often wear tight clothes to attract the opposite sex. I wondered why that last part about attracting the opposite sex was thrown in. I thought this was a course on serving alcohol, not biology. I also found it a bit out-dated since all the Emo boys love tight clothes, and hello, there are girls who like girls. But, the knowledge that really fucked me up, to paraphrase the great Kenny Powers, was this, if you have a customer that is crocked, offer them a complimentary appetizer or complimentary food to help sober them up while you call them a cab. Yeah, you read that right. Complimentary. Free. Gratis.
So to all you unknown drunkards out there, go get tanked at a bar, then demand free food! Tell them the TABC sent you.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
What's The Matter With Kids Today
It was 1963 when one of my favorite musicals, Bye Bye Birdie, was turned into a motion picture. Of course, this was way before I had ever gone to a theater, and for that matter, had been a design of my parents loins. But thankfully, my parents were big musical fans and turned me onto this genre and film. It was also a time of apparent rebellion by the youth as noted in the lyrics to the song Kids from this musical. Little did I know that lyricist, Lee Adams, could see into the future. Today while working at my restaurant job, I felt as though I was living out the lyrics of this song.
During the lunch rush, a school bus pulled up in front of the restaurant. In walked 30 high schoolers and a couple of adults requesting a table. They did not have a reservation, nor did they seem to understand that a party of that size would need one. Reservation? What's that?! We are not Wendy's...buses are not welcome.
We sat them in different sections of the restaurant since we only had 4 waiters on the floor, and were not prepared to seat a group of that size. We all had other tables throughout the restaurant. If we had known they were coming, we could have saved an area just for them, and added additional staff. One of the tables (who also had an adult at the sitting with them) put black pepper in each others drinks then wanted the waiter to get them all new drinks. When they got the bill, the first and second round of drinks were on the bill. The adult at the table questioned these charges. One would think that the adult would have prevented the stupidity of this choice these brats made by putting a condiment in a soda that is generally reserved for a Bloody Mary. Another waiter, intelligently, told the rest of us to check our condiments for unscrewed tops. Those holy terrors unscrewed the tops of the Parmesan cheese, red pepper, salt, and black pepper so the next guest would fall victim to the oldest prank in the restaurant biz. I can only hope karma will wreak havoc upon them!
Later, a table of 17 college students, who did have a reservation, came in for dinner. When the waiter brought the check, they told him to they all needed individual checks. Our policy is no separate checks. The no separate check policy is displayed on our special board, which is seen by every patron walking in the front door, on the menus, and on the check presented to the diners. In this case, one would think that when going out in a group who intend to pay for their meal only, they would not only be able to do math (they are in college for Pete's sake), but also bring cash to make things smoother when paying the check. I know math does not come easy for some. I have a Liberal Arts degree, and was required to take only one math course. I chose Math: It's Spirit and Use, which focused on prime numbers and other third grade concepts. However, I did learn how to round up.
This table took 45 minutes trying to figure out how much each person owed. Some split meals and couldn't divide by 2 to figure out what was owed. When the waiter went to check to see if they were ready for him to run their 17 credit cards, they told him that it was too hard for them to figure out, and could he separate the check for them. He stuck to his guns and to the policy. One douche bag told him he was lucky the gratuity was already added. He did not give them bad service, but chose to enforce our policy. Narcissism lives on!
After they left, the waiter picked up the credit card receipts, and found a note written on one of the signed copies. It said, "It is not that hard to separate checks. It would not have taken us so long to pay if you would have done it for us. If I could have paid less, I would have." What the fuck?!
If it's not that hard, college boy, then why DID it take you so long?
During the lunch rush, a school bus pulled up in front of the restaurant. In walked 30 high schoolers and a couple of adults requesting a table. They did not have a reservation, nor did they seem to understand that a party of that size would need one. Reservation? What's that?! We are not Wendy's...buses are not welcome.
We sat them in different sections of the restaurant since we only had 4 waiters on the floor, and were not prepared to seat a group of that size. We all had other tables throughout the restaurant. If we had known they were coming, we could have saved an area just for them, and added additional staff. One of the tables (who also had an adult at the sitting with them) put black pepper in each others drinks then wanted the waiter to get them all new drinks. When they got the bill, the first and second round of drinks were on the bill. The adult at the table questioned these charges. One would think that the adult would have prevented the stupidity of this choice these brats made by putting a condiment in a soda that is generally reserved for a Bloody Mary. Another waiter, intelligently, told the rest of us to check our condiments for unscrewed tops. Those holy terrors unscrewed the tops of the Parmesan cheese, red pepper, salt, and black pepper so the next guest would fall victim to the oldest prank in the restaurant biz. I can only hope karma will wreak havoc upon them!
Later, a table of 17 college students, who did have a reservation, came in for dinner. When the waiter brought the check, they told him to they all needed individual checks. Our policy is no separate checks. The no separate check policy is displayed on our special board, which is seen by every patron walking in the front door, on the menus, and on the check presented to the diners. In this case, one would think that when going out in a group who intend to pay for their meal only, they would not only be able to do math (they are in college for Pete's sake), but also bring cash to make things smoother when paying the check. I know math does not come easy for some. I have a Liberal Arts degree, and was required to take only one math course. I chose Math: It's Spirit and Use, which focused on prime numbers and other third grade concepts. However, I did learn how to round up.
This table took 45 minutes trying to figure out how much each person owed. Some split meals and couldn't divide by 2 to figure out what was owed. When the waiter went to check to see if they were ready for him to run their 17 credit cards, they told him that it was too hard for them to figure out, and could he separate the check for them. He stuck to his guns and to the policy. One douche bag told him he was lucky the gratuity was already added. He did not give them bad service, but chose to enforce our policy. Narcissism lives on!
After they left, the waiter picked up the credit card receipts, and found a note written on one of the signed copies. It said, "It is not that hard to separate checks. It would not have taken us so long to pay if you would have done it for us. If I could have paid less, I would have." What the fuck?!
If it's not that hard, college boy, then why DID it take you so long?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Crime Can Pay
There seems to be an epidemic in my fair city. The police department has noted a heap of car break-ins as of late. I know this to be true because my co-workers at the downtown restaurant where I work have experienced several break-ins. All have had to replace windows. Some lost personal belongings, while others have lost radios, CB's, and the like. I know what you're thinking. CB's...don't you mean CD's? No, CB's. I live in Texas, ya'll. These acts of wrongdoing have happened at all times of the day and night. One never knows when the next filcher will strike. But the Austin Police Department are on the case!
According to a report I saw on the local news, pilfering has been happening not only in the parking lot where I work, but at malls, apartment complexes, daycare centers, and apparently, anywhere someone parks a vehicle. The downtown area, per said report, has had an increase of 14%. I don't know how many there were before, but 14% is higher than 13%, so it must be bad.
However, the Five-O have devised a way to assist citizens in protecting their accouterments (thanks Jack Rebney). The Fuzz have been going around to areas where these crimes are likely to happen, looking in vehicles, and writing "progress reports". You may say to yourselves, "progress reports?". Again, yes, progress reports. What, you may ask yourselves, are these progress reports? Well, I am here to tell you. They are tickets the Po-Po are putting on windshields of cars where folks have left their treasures in plain sight. The Heat have been looking into the windows of parked cars in these high crime areas, taking note of valuables, then writing these items on a ticket to place on the owners' windshield.
Take heed criminals. These badge holders are making your job easier. If you are looking for a gift for that special someone, maybe a second-hand laptop for granny's 80th birthday, or perhaps some change for that next rock of crack, look no further. These are all itemized on a progress report left for you on your next victims windshield. Don't waste your time cutting your hand trying to break a window that will result in a less than satisfactory find.
Oh yeah, and never forget that famous quote from 1981, "Hey, let's be careful out there." Sergeant Phil Esterhaus would never forgive me for not reminding you. Over and out.
According to a report I saw on the local news, pilfering has been happening not only in the parking lot where I work, but at malls, apartment complexes, daycare centers, and apparently, anywhere someone parks a vehicle. The downtown area, per said report, has had an increase of 14%. I don't know how many there were before, but 14% is higher than 13%, so it must be bad.
However, the Five-O have devised a way to assist citizens in protecting their accouterments (thanks Jack Rebney). The Fuzz have been going around to areas where these crimes are likely to happen, looking in vehicles, and writing "progress reports". You may say to yourselves, "progress reports?". Again, yes, progress reports. What, you may ask yourselves, are these progress reports? Well, I am here to tell you. They are tickets the Po-Po are putting on windshields of cars where folks have left their treasures in plain sight. The Heat have been looking into the windows of parked cars in these high crime areas, taking note of valuables, then writing these items on a ticket to place on the owners' windshield.
Take heed criminals. These badge holders are making your job easier. If you are looking for a gift for that special someone, maybe a second-hand laptop for granny's 80th birthday, or perhaps some change for that next rock of crack, look no further. These are all itemized on a progress report left for you on your next victims windshield. Don't waste your time cutting your hand trying to break a window that will result in a less than satisfactory find.
Oh yeah, and never forget that famous quote from 1981, "Hey, let's be careful out there." Sergeant Phil Esterhaus would never forgive me for not reminding you. Over and out.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Observing and Reporting
The other day I went to go see Observe and Report. It is a new movie from the great mind of Jody Hill starring Seth Rogen, Ray Liotta, Michael Pena, and my favorite funny girl, Anna Faris. Oh, and of course, a few minutes of the incomparable Danny McBride. This was the second time I have seen this movie, and I will probably see it again before it leaves theaters. Yes, it is THAT funny.
The first time I saw the film was during the SXSW film festival (thank you Bif). Every seat was filled. The theater was packed because the cast and writer/director were there. It was also the world premiere. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I saw it first. Jealous much? Oh yeah, it was also a film festival. I guess I'm not as priveleged as I thought.
The second viewing was at a matinee, on a holiday weekend, where there were only about 10 people in the theater. Sitting in front of me, with a seat between them, were two guys. I had seen them walking into the theater together, obviously there to see the movie, with each other. This gave me pause. Why would someone go to a movie with a friend and then not sit next to them? I had to do some research.
I asked some guy friends if they knew what is it called when two guys, who go to the movies together, sit a seat apart. One said, "homophobia". The second said, "I don't know but Urban Dictionary should have a word or phrase for that." Well, I looked it up on Urban Dictionary, and there was not a definition for this phenomenon. Yet, I did find one reference. "I'm not a homo seat" is apparently how it is defined. Friend one was correct.
This was not the first time I have noticed this. I don't think it would disturb me as much if it were the first time. Wow, in this day and age? Who would have thought? Two friends afraid of their own sexuality. Maybe they should just get a room and watch movies on pay-per-view.
Hey guys, observe this! It makes you look like pussies if you can't even sit next to a same-sex friend at a movie for fear of being called a homo. There seems to be the excuse that you can stretch out and have some room. You are in a movie theater. There isn't any room for personal space, and so, it is just that, an excuse. Get over it! You are not men. I hope you aren't too afraid to go see I Love You, Man. You might catch something. Self confidence perhaps?
Observed and reported by Pickles.
The first time I saw the film was during the SXSW film festival (thank you Bif). Every seat was filled. The theater was packed because the cast and writer/director were there. It was also the world premiere. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I saw it first. Jealous much? Oh yeah, it was also a film festival. I guess I'm not as priveleged as I thought.
The second viewing was at a matinee, on a holiday weekend, where there were only about 10 people in the theater. Sitting in front of me, with a seat between them, were two guys. I had seen them walking into the theater together, obviously there to see the movie, with each other. This gave me pause. Why would someone go to a movie with a friend and then not sit next to them? I had to do some research.
I asked some guy friends if they knew what is it called when two guys, who go to the movies together, sit a seat apart. One said, "homophobia". The second said, "I don't know but Urban Dictionary should have a word or phrase for that." Well, I looked it up on Urban Dictionary, and there was not a definition for this phenomenon. Yet, I did find one reference. "I'm not a homo seat" is apparently how it is defined. Friend one was correct.
This was not the first time I have noticed this. I don't think it would disturb me as much if it were the first time. Wow, in this day and age? Who would have thought? Two friends afraid of their own sexuality. Maybe they should just get a room and watch movies on pay-per-view.
Hey guys, observe this! It makes you look like pussies if you can't even sit next to a same-sex friend at a movie for fear of being called a homo. There seems to be the excuse that you can stretch out and have some room. You are in a movie theater. There isn't any room for personal space, and so, it is just that, an excuse. Get over it! You are not men. I hope you aren't too afraid to go see I Love You, Man. You might catch something. Self confidence perhaps?
Observed and reported by Pickles.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Menopausal Mother Nature
In Texas, there is a saying, wait a minute and the weather will change. It must have been Mother Nature, pissed off about menopause, who came up with this saying, and decided to take it out solely on the state in which I reside. She needs to start hormone replacement therapy because I can't take it anymore. I don't know what to wear, or which clothes to put away for next season.
Make up your mind woman! Are you having a hot flash? Are you just fatigued, and don't feel like warming us when we expect it to be warm? Two days ago it was 29 degrees for the low, and 77 degrees for the high. Tomorrow the projected low is 63 degrees, with a projected high of 92 degrees. Late tomorrow, there will allegedly be thunderstorms. Don't get me started on the winds. Hormone replacement therapy may quell these mood swings you are having.
A couple of weeks ago it hailed. Not little hail, but golf ball sized hail. I like nature's phenomena as much as the next guy, but this has got to stop. Do I put the car in the garage and risk carbon monoxide poisoning while waiting for it to warm up, or do I leave the car outside so when I report the hail damage, the insurance company will call telling me the car has been totaled? I am at a loss as to how to prepare for her next bout of crazy.
I would rather see a wrestling match between El Nino and La Nina, masks and all. At least I know where I stand with these two pubescents. Maybe they should just team up and kick Mother Nature's ass!
Make up your mind woman! Are you having a hot flash? Are you just fatigued, and don't feel like warming us when we expect it to be warm? Two days ago it was 29 degrees for the low, and 77 degrees for the high. Tomorrow the projected low is 63 degrees, with a projected high of 92 degrees. Late tomorrow, there will allegedly be thunderstorms. Don't get me started on the winds. Hormone replacement therapy may quell these mood swings you are having.
A couple of weeks ago it hailed. Not little hail, but golf ball sized hail. I like nature's phenomena as much as the next guy, but this has got to stop. Do I put the car in the garage and risk carbon monoxide poisoning while waiting for it to warm up, or do I leave the car outside so when I report the hail damage, the insurance company will call telling me the car has been totaled? I am at a loss as to how to prepare for her next bout of crazy.
I would rather see a wrestling match between El Nino and La Nina, masks and all. At least I know where I stand with these two pubescents. Maybe they should just team up and kick Mother Nature's ass!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Big Brother Is Watching
Recently there was a sting, or so the rumor goes, at my office job. The powers that be decided to monitor the computer usage of all. Internet usage, e-mails between co-workers, chain letters, or anything that ends with the phrase forward this e-mail, and the like. Several people were put on a level three. In layman terms this is when someone is escorted out of the building, told to take the next day off work, and think about whether they want to keep their job. In other words, a time out.
The last time I remember being put in time out was while visiting my sister. She has two young children and uses this tactic as a tool for learning proper behavior. I used the F-word at dinner. The girls heard me, and looked at their mother disconcertingly. If they were not allowed to use this wondrous word, then why was I? My sister then told me that type of behavior warrants a time out. I obliged, trying to redeem myself among the young ones. In their house, one is to sit in time out for as many minutes as they are old. Luckily, I only had to do 5 minutes in the time out chair. I think my sister was being fair. I would have otherwise missed dessert, bath time, story time, and breakfast the next day.
Apparently at the office, the majority of wrongdoers were put in time out due to excessive internet usage. People were shopping, surfing non-work related sites, and not doing their work. This makes me wonder about the people I work among. Have they never read 1984? We work for a government agency. Not only one, but two.
Yet, the most intriguing part of this whole situation is the perceived inappropriateness of an e-mail. There is no definitive definition of an inappropriate e-mail. Thank goodness management found a way for their staff to snitch on their co-workers without consequence to themselves. The memo below was sent out as a reminder item.
When one of your employees self reports they received an inappropriate email, the supervisor should go to their office and view the email on their computer. If a copy of the email is needed, print it off of their computer and then have the employee, delete/delete. Let me know if you have questions.
So let the games begin and dystopia win!
The last time I remember being put in time out was while visiting my sister. She has two young children and uses this tactic as a tool for learning proper behavior. I used the F-word at dinner. The girls heard me, and looked at their mother disconcertingly. If they were not allowed to use this wondrous word, then why was I? My sister then told me that type of behavior warrants a time out. I obliged, trying to redeem myself among the young ones. In their house, one is to sit in time out for as many minutes as they are old. Luckily, I only had to do 5 minutes in the time out chair. I think my sister was being fair. I would have otherwise missed dessert, bath time, story time, and breakfast the next day.
Apparently at the office, the majority of wrongdoers were put in time out due to excessive internet usage. People were shopping, surfing non-work related sites, and not doing their work. This makes me wonder about the people I work among. Have they never read 1984? We work for a government agency. Not only one, but two.
Yet, the most intriguing part of this whole situation is the perceived inappropriateness of an e-mail. There is no definitive definition of an inappropriate e-mail. Thank goodness management found a way for their staff to snitch on their co-workers without consequence to themselves. The memo below was sent out as a reminder item.
When one of your employees self reports they received an inappropriate email, the supervisor should go to their office and view the email on their computer. If a copy of the email is needed, print it off of their computer and then have the employee, delete/delete. Let me know if you have questions.
So let the games begin and dystopia win!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I'm Doing It For The Kids
Smoking cigarettes has become very politically un-correct. I smoke cigarettes at times. Mostly when I am drinking, but at times out of boredom. Today, I was at the bus stop. While waiting for the bus, one other person was waiting on the bench. I was smoking a cigarette. I purposely sat approximately 5 feet away on a cement wall near the bus stop from the other person, so as not to get my nasty habit smell on them. They then got up, moved another 5 feet away, and shot a disparaging look at me. Ironically, they were listening to their ipod. Isn't that the international sign for ignore me? It was not an enclosed area, nor was I intentionally in their space. Yet, I was offended, as apparently was he.
I know smoking is bad. I know it causes and adds to many diseases. But if I didn't smoke, who would help the children? Tobacco taxes solely go to education and soon, children's health care. I have no children at home. I pay cash for my children's continued education. I don't smoke around children.
I do, however, have to send out a big FUCK YOU to all those people who have given me dirty looks whilst I smoke in places reserved for smokers (as lonely as they may be), or in open spaces. The bus stop placed precariously on the public city sidewalk. How dare they!
I know it's not enough that taking public transportation is a benefit to our society, go green. But now I am chastised for helping our youth?! I have a mind to just give it up. Let you parents foot the bill. Let these progeny become the acorn that doesn't fall far from the unappreciative tree.
To all those with children, against those who smoke...I challenge you to a duel. Let the best retard win, then run our country!
I know smoking is bad. I know it causes and adds to many diseases. But if I didn't smoke, who would help the children? Tobacco taxes solely go to education and soon, children's health care. I have no children at home. I pay cash for my children's continued education. I don't smoke around children.
I do, however, have to send out a big FUCK YOU to all those people who have given me dirty looks whilst I smoke in places reserved for smokers (as lonely as they may be), or in open spaces. The bus stop placed precariously on the public city sidewalk. How dare they!
I know it's not enough that taking public transportation is a benefit to our society, go green. But now I am chastised for helping our youth?! I have a mind to just give it up. Let you parents foot the bill. Let these progeny become the acorn that doesn't fall far from the unappreciative tree.
To all those with children, against those who smoke...I challenge you to a duel. Let the best retard win, then run our country!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Octopussy
Oh Nadya Suleman, what goes through that sick selfish mind of yours? I was trying my best to look the other way when I saw your ascitic looking belly on TV before you bore those eight babies. I was really hoping you just had some nachos hiding in there, like on the Taco Bell commercial. But no, you had those embryos implanted. Six children was not enough? Charles Darwin must be turning in his grave.
The basic theory of evolution is to get one's genes into the next generation. Natural selection, in a nutshell, is a process causing heritable traits that are helpful for survival and reproduction to become more common in a population, and harmful traits to become more rare. This occurs because individuals with advantageous traits are more likely to reproduce, so that more individuals in the next generation inherit these traits. Ms. Suleman, your traits are not advantageous. You are scary. There is a reason you needed all in vitro pregnancies...no one wanted your genes to be passed on. It seems not even your own mother.
I am not sure how this woman financially provides for her children. Maybe she is still stripping on the side. I know many men who are hot for a stripper whose uterus hangs out between their legs, especially when she is an Angelina Jolie wannabe. The tips should just roll in for that freak show.
I recently read (albeit in a tabloid, so I'm not sure how valid the source) that she has moved into a house, 2500 square feet to be exact, at a cost of a mere $564,900. The house is in La Habra, California, located in the northwestern corner of the OC (tell those crazy Cohens I said hey). The cribs, mattresses, and bedding for these new octuplets only cost $12,000. The saddest part of the furniture and accessory situation is that the poor little creatures will have to double up. I know when I was growing up sharing a room with my sister, I was just glad we didn't have to share a bed. That would have just been embarrassing.
A toast to you Ms. Suleman. May the road rise to meet your sagging uterus. May the wind be stong enough to push it back where it belongs.
The basic theory of evolution is to get one's genes into the next generation. Natural selection, in a nutshell, is a process causing heritable traits that are helpful for survival and reproduction to become more common in a population, and harmful traits to become more rare. This occurs because individuals with advantageous traits are more likely to reproduce, so that more individuals in the next generation inherit these traits. Ms. Suleman, your traits are not advantageous. You are scary. There is a reason you needed all in vitro pregnancies...no one wanted your genes to be passed on. It seems not even your own mother.
I am not sure how this woman financially provides for her children. Maybe she is still stripping on the side. I know many men who are hot for a stripper whose uterus hangs out between their legs, especially when she is an Angelina Jolie wannabe. The tips should just roll in for that freak show.
I recently read (albeit in a tabloid, so I'm not sure how valid the source) that she has moved into a house, 2500 square feet to be exact, at a cost of a mere $564,900. The house is in La Habra, California, located in the northwestern corner of the OC (tell those crazy Cohens I said hey). The cribs, mattresses, and bedding for these new octuplets only cost $12,000. The saddest part of the furniture and accessory situation is that the poor little creatures will have to double up. I know when I was growing up sharing a room with my sister, I was just glad we didn't have to share a bed. That would have just been embarrassing.
A toast to you Ms. Suleman. May the road rise to meet your sagging uterus. May the wind be stong enough to push it back where it belongs.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Plan B
The Pro-Choice agenda is very near and dear to my heart. For those who may be against abortion or birth control, the operative word in the first sentence is choice. Not everyone is ready to have children. See Did They Think I'd Have To Go To High School.
I have two adult children who are also very near and dear to my heart (I know, I know, I don't look old enough to have two adult children...you're sweet). Yet, I taught them they have choices. Now, all sexually active women have a choice if they think they may have an unwanted pregnancy with Plan B. Plan B is the emergency contraceptive that can be used within 72 hours of unprotected sex. Remember ladies, unprotected sex is not a good idea. You don't want to go around telling people you might have "The H". But, why isn't there a plan b for those who made the choice to have children that turn into unruly ingrates? Merck? Pzifer? Bausch and Lomb? For god sakes, invent some rose colored valium.
Nebraska had a novel idea when it passed a law allowing parents to leave their children at a safe place, like a hospital, without fear of prosecution. Apparently, this backfired for the Nebraskans. The lawmakers did not define child. People began leaving unmanageable children, toddlers to teens, at hospitals. I think that has been changed now.
The contraceptive Plan B has some side affects such as, nausea, abdominal pain, fatigue, headache, and dizziness. These symptoms are the same for parents which seem to intensify in the child's tween, teen, and adult years. As I continue to wait tables, I continue to see horrible acting children with no manners or respect for anything. It makes me wonder what will happen when these kids grow up and rule the world.
Maybe we should just go back to Plan A where children were seen and not heard. Maybe my grandmother was right.
I have two adult children who are also very near and dear to my heart (I know, I know, I don't look old enough to have two adult children...you're sweet). Yet, I taught them they have choices. Now, all sexually active women have a choice if they think they may have an unwanted pregnancy with Plan B. Plan B is the emergency contraceptive that can be used within 72 hours of unprotected sex. Remember ladies, unprotected sex is not a good idea. You don't want to go around telling people you might have "The H". But, why isn't there a plan b for those who made the choice to have children that turn into unruly ingrates? Merck? Pzifer? Bausch and Lomb? For god sakes, invent some rose colored valium.
Nebraska had a novel idea when it passed a law allowing parents to leave their children at a safe place, like a hospital, without fear of prosecution. Apparently, this backfired for the Nebraskans. The lawmakers did not define child. People began leaving unmanageable children, toddlers to teens, at hospitals. I think that has been changed now.
The contraceptive Plan B has some side affects such as, nausea, abdominal pain, fatigue, headache, and dizziness. These symptoms are the same for parents which seem to intensify in the child's tween, teen, and adult years. As I continue to wait tables, I continue to see horrible acting children with no manners or respect for anything. It makes me wonder what will happen when these kids grow up and rule the world.
Maybe we should just go back to Plan A where children were seen and not heard. Maybe my grandmother was right.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Flip Flop Fiasco
Summer is approaching fast and flip flops are all the rage. The flip flop keeps feet cool while showing off that new pedicure with the latest OPI color (I'm Not Really A Waitress is among my favorites). The flip flop is a popular shoe for the summer season, yet, last year at my office job, there was a big hullabaloo regarding this style of shoe. I am still unsure what caused all the ruckus but, the shoe was banned by management. Memos were sent, and some managers walked around checking feet (sorry Clair).
The first memo I saw was on an e-bulletin board which read, "Please relay to all staff that flip flops are not allowed. Have all your managers be consistent". The proletariat became angry putting letters to the management in a comment box. Some of these contained complaints such as, "Please let it be known, that a few individuals have been asked to discontinue wearing flip flops or were asked to go home and change. The following day several persons from the same area were wearing flip flops with no reprimand given to those persons. Please explain to me why it is acceptable for some to wear these shoes when others cannot? I suggest that a general dress code needs to be developed for the entire agency, not for some" and "Are House shoes OK? What about bare feet? Sending someone home for the shoe -- Duh". The policy was vague and clarification was needed.
The second memo was sent, "The referral to "flip flops" in the dress code is for the plastic or rubber "shower" shoes. This does NOT apply to other types of "flip flops" or sandals that are made of leather or other appropriate man-made materials". Here I thought rubber was an appropriate man-made material. Poop, on the other hand, I consider to be an inappropriate man-made material. But what do I know?
Co-workers began tattling on one another. I thought to myself, these are professionals, right?! Shouldn't they be working instead of worrying about what type of shoe one has on ones feet? I know I can't get any work done when someone near me is wearing flip flops. I just want to know the name of their toenail polish, and whether I can I borrow it on break. A friend with a sense of humor, who likes to make funny videos, brought her camera in, walked around filming feet, asking folks if their sandals were flip flops. These buffoons became irate, then started a rumor that management had asked her to film feet (again, sorry Clair) for proof of blatant disregard of this new policy.
Now with the warm weather upon us, I must decide if I want that new pair of Havaianas made of rubber costing $25.00 or, that pair made of leather from Nine West at a cost of $95.00, which, I may or may not be able to sport at work. I think I'll just stick to the Converse. Thanks Chuck Taylor, I knew I could always count on you for that professional look.
The first memo I saw was on an e-bulletin board which read, "Please relay to all staff that flip flops are not allowed. Have all your managers be consistent". The proletariat became angry putting letters to the management in a comment box. Some of these contained complaints such as, "Please let it be known, that a few individuals have been asked to discontinue wearing flip flops or were asked to go home and change. The following day several persons from the same area were wearing flip flops with no reprimand given to those persons. Please explain to me why it is acceptable for some to wear these shoes when others cannot? I suggest that a general dress code needs to be developed for the entire agency, not for some" and "Are House shoes OK? What about bare feet? Sending someone home for the shoe -- Duh". The policy was vague and clarification was needed.
The second memo was sent, "The referral to "flip flops" in the dress code is for the plastic or rubber "shower" shoes. This does NOT apply to other types of "flip flops" or sandals that are made of leather or other appropriate man-made materials". Here I thought rubber was an appropriate man-made material. Poop, on the other hand, I consider to be an inappropriate man-made material. But what do I know?
Co-workers began tattling on one another. I thought to myself, these are professionals, right?! Shouldn't they be working instead of worrying about what type of shoe one has on ones feet? I know I can't get any work done when someone near me is wearing flip flops. I just want to know the name of their toenail polish, and whether I can I borrow it on break. A friend with a sense of humor, who likes to make funny videos, brought her camera in, walked around filming feet, asking folks if their sandals were flip flops. These buffoons became irate, then started a rumor that management had asked her to film feet (again, sorry Clair) for proof of blatant disregard of this new policy.
Now with the warm weather upon us, I must decide if I want that new pair of Havaianas made of rubber costing $25.00 or, that pair made of leather from Nine West at a cost of $95.00, which, I may or may not be able to sport at work. I think I'll just stick to the Converse. Thanks Chuck Taylor, I knew I could always count on you for that professional look.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Did They Think I'd Have To Go To High School?
The first six years of my professional career were spent working at a no-income welfare office. I hold no ill will towards this population of our society sometimes called the underclass. The way I see it you are what you know. My parents went to work to get money, therefore I went to work. If my parents went to the welfare office for income, then I would have probably done the same. What soured me on the job was my inability to help educate people on such issues as family planning (it wasn't allowed...thanks pro-life lobby) and the value of higher education, or, just education in general, to name a few. I began to become frustrated with those who blamed me for their children being hungry. Now granted, I did not father these children, as I am female, nor did I tell them to miss an appointment resulting in a delay in their benefits. But what really put me in a conniption fit, daily, was the names they gave their children.
Granted, in this great land of ours, freedom is valued. However, I know some who think deeply about names they give their children. I have several friends who have recently become parents and they thought intelligently about their children's names. I even know one couple who did not divulge the name of their child until after it's birth for good reason. They wanted to see their child before naming it. Nor did they did not want comments regarding their choice, and I respected that. But sometimes one can't help but wonder, where the hell did they come up with that name? It is for that reason I will reveal to you some names I have seen or had to hear pronounced to believe.
There are the "I thought it was a minimal pair": Female pronounced fah-ma-lay: Expedition pronounced ex-po-di-shawn; Shithead prounounced shi-tayed. There are the what were you drinking?: Sharddonnay; Cabernnay. The what were you doing?: Quinella; Trifecta. The what were you driving?: Lexus; Porche. There are the "I love being a woman": Placenta; Clitoris. There are the "I thought I was a Royal": Jennifer II; George I, II, III, IV, V (sorry Foreman, he was never a client). There are ones named after periods of time: Todae; Yesterdae; and Sherman Tonight. And finally, there are the what the fuck were you thinking?: Babe~e~luv (That's original, right?!); Orangejello; Lemonjello; Alien Paz; Aryan (unfortunately, everyone will know what they think/believe). Incidentally, most of the related themes were siblings.
A big special thanks goes out Christopher Lee Mello. For if I had never asked him if his parents realized that they named him Chris Mello, he would never have responded, "Did they think I'd have to go to high school?".
Granted, in this great land of ours, freedom is valued. However, I know some who think deeply about names they give their children. I have several friends who have recently become parents and they thought intelligently about their children's names. I even know one couple who did not divulge the name of their child until after it's birth for good reason. They wanted to see their child before naming it. Nor did they did not want comments regarding their choice, and I respected that. But sometimes one can't help but wonder, where the hell did they come up with that name? It is for that reason I will reveal to you some names I have seen or had to hear pronounced to believe.
There are the "I thought it was a minimal pair": Female pronounced fah-ma-lay: Expedition pronounced ex-po-di-shawn; Shithead prounounced shi-tayed. There are the what were you drinking?: Sharddonnay; Cabernnay. The what were you doing?: Quinella; Trifecta. The what were you driving?: Lexus; Porche. There are the "I love being a woman": Placenta; Clitoris. There are the "I thought I was a Royal": Jennifer II; George I, II, III, IV, V (sorry Foreman, he was never a client). There are ones named after periods of time: Todae; Yesterdae; and Sherman Tonight. And finally, there are the what the fuck were you thinking?: Babe~e~luv (That's original, right?!); Orangejello; Lemonjello; Alien Paz; Aryan (unfortunately, everyone will know what they think/believe). Incidentally, most of the related themes were siblings.
A big special thanks goes out Christopher Lee Mello. For if I had never asked him if his parents realized that they named him Chris Mello, he would never have responded, "Did they think I'd have to go to high school?".
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
But I'm Not A Doctor Or Anything
Working two jobs can sometimes be tiring but it pays the bills. Coincidentally, I must deal with doctors at both jobs. One as a professional, the other as a waitress. I wait tables at a restaurant next to a hospital. I also work with doctors, as a peer, helping people in need of medical assistance from the government. What I have found is that doctors, generally, are not very nice, have no sense of humor, think they are gods, and expect to be treated as such.
The doctors that come into the restaurant, usually in scrubs, are always talking on a cell phone, and are somehow very important(cutting in line), or so they think. They race to the host stand announcing that they need a table immediately because they are a doctor (yes, they say that). I suppose as a simpleton waiter or host, one could not figure out from the scrubs what they did for a living. I know I find them so intriguingly intelligent because they know by my apron and shirt with the restaurant logo that I am their waiter. Once, I walked up to a table and the 'doctor' was on his phone. I politely said that I would return when he was done with his conversation, but, to my surprise, he stated very loudly that he was a doctor and wanted an iced tea, now. Why must it be announced at every opportunity? I could'nt care less what you do for a living. Just leave me a good tip because I am a good waitress.
When not waiting tables, I work with doctors who work for the government. The majority of them do not have private practices and honestly don't know an ass from an eyeball. But hey, somebody had to graduate at the bottom of their class. I feel I know more about medical maladies than these said healers. What was that thing called again? Oh yeah...the Hippocratic Oath. For this job, I think they spell it Hypocrite-ick Oath. I can't ever remember who they are helping more their wallets or our clients.
So, I have found a way to amuse myself and save my sanity. Whenever a doctor asks me a question, whether at the restaurant or the government job, I always answer the question, politely of course, then add but I'm not a doctor or anything (adding a little spirit fingers hand motion). Most doctors do not find this funny. I however, howl with laughter until a little pee comes out.
The doctors that come into the restaurant, usually in scrubs, are always talking on a cell phone, and are somehow very important(cutting in line), or so they think. They race to the host stand announcing that they need a table immediately because they are a doctor (yes, they say that). I suppose as a simpleton waiter or host, one could not figure out from the scrubs what they did for a living. I know I find them so intriguingly intelligent because they know by my apron and shirt with the restaurant logo that I am their waiter. Once, I walked up to a table and the 'doctor' was on his phone. I politely said that I would return when he was done with his conversation, but, to my surprise, he stated very loudly that he was a doctor and wanted an iced tea, now. Why must it be announced at every opportunity? I could'nt care less what you do for a living. Just leave me a good tip because I am a good waitress.
When not waiting tables, I work with doctors who work for the government. The majority of them do not have private practices and honestly don't know an ass from an eyeball. But hey, somebody had to graduate at the bottom of their class. I feel I know more about medical maladies than these said healers. What was that thing called again? Oh yeah...the Hippocratic Oath. For this job, I think they spell it Hypocrite-ick Oath. I can't ever remember who they are helping more their wallets or our clients.
So, I have found a way to amuse myself and save my sanity. Whenever a doctor asks me a question, whether at the restaurant or the government job, I always answer the question, politely of course, then add but I'm not a doctor or anything (adding a little spirit fingers hand motion). Most doctors do not find this funny. I however, howl with laughter until a little pee comes out.
Monday, March 9, 2009
John 3:16
My favorite place to shop for clothing is Forever 21. Maybe it is because I perpetually lie about my age and will be forever 21 or because one is able to find inexpensive clothing that is trendy. There are some things I don't like about this store. One being their return policy: Exchange or store credit is allowed within 21 days of purchase with original receipt and tags attached. Merchandise must be unwashed, unworn(define please-see last sentence of this paragraph), and undamaged for exchange or store credit. Don't get me started on sale items, you just can't exchange them, or get store credit, so you better like it. I suppose in this economy, that is good for them, but it is a pain in the ass for me. Why, you may ask? Because you have to try everything on right then and there to see if it fits and looks good. The store is forever crowded and one is only allowed 6 items in the dressing room at a time. I have spent several hours standing in line for a dressing room then trying on items only to end up buying one shirt.
But, the one thing that really grinds my gears (to quote the sage, Peter Griffin) about Forever 21 is the bottom of their bags. On the bottom of the Forever 21 bags, in bold black letters, it says John 3:16. Now seeing that I am a recovering Catholic, I had to look this up online. It is from the most widely read book of fiction called the Bible. John 3:16 goes like this: For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
I wonder if Forever 21 sees the irony in this? Many of the clothes in this store, I'm sure, are made in sweatshops around the world. I would think those sweatshop kids are probably perishing and have a short life. A lot of their clothing is for the slutty and whore-y, myself included. From what I can gather from the news, Christians (Evangelicals the likes of Jim Baker, et al, excluded) are pretty much against sluts and whores. I also must wonder WWJD? I think he would have a better return policy.
I am baffled by this and wonder what John 3:16 has to do with clothing? But hey, thanks God.
But, the one thing that really grinds my gears (to quote the sage, Peter Griffin) about Forever 21 is the bottom of their bags. On the bottom of the Forever 21 bags, in bold black letters, it says John 3:16. Now seeing that I am a recovering Catholic, I had to look this up online. It is from the most widely read book of fiction called the Bible. John 3:16 goes like this: For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
I wonder if Forever 21 sees the irony in this? Many of the clothes in this store, I'm sure, are made in sweatshops around the world. I would think those sweatshop kids are probably perishing and have a short life. A lot of their clothing is for the slutty and whore-y, myself included. From what I can gather from the news, Christians (Evangelicals the likes of Jim Baker, et al, excluded) are pretty much against sluts and whores. I also must wonder WWJD? I think he would have a better return policy.
I am baffled by this and wonder what John 3:16 has to do with clothing? But hey, thanks God.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
1000 Island Dressing
Working in a restaurant, one encounters all kinds. The restaurant where I currently work is located in the capital of Texas, Austin. Austin is also home to the UIL basketball tournament (high school basketball...let's go to state, ya'll). Every year during the first two weekends in March, the city is descended upon by high schoolers and their fans. This tournament brings with it folks from everywhere in Texas, including the smallest of towns. For example, White Settlement, population 14,831 and Concepcion, population 61 (I guess they are not taking the Spanish definition or the English translation literally).
Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Texans, but these people need to Google restaurant etiquette while dining in the big city before coming into my restaurant. $2.00 is not the proper tip on a check total of $68.93. Even if it is put directly into the palm of the waiter's hand while saying, "This is for you darlin. You bin the the best waitress ah've ever had serve me". I have heard little nuggets like, "Did ya'll see that guy's t-shirt? It said keep Austin weird. I told ya'll this was a blue town." Keep Austin Weird does not mean 'stinkin liberal commie town'. It was a campaign slogan made up by the city to encourage people to buy from local businesses...not Wal-Mart.
But my favorite, by far, I hear every year has to do with 1000 Island dressing. You know, that disgusting concoction that makes a good salad turn into a bad hamburger. We do not have 1000 Island dressing where I wait tables. We have scrumptious dressings made from scratch among them are Tomato Basil Vinaigrette and Parmesan Peppercorn. Yet, every year I hear statements such as: "If you ain't got no 1000 Island dressin, then I don't want no salad" or "You ain't got no 1000 Island dressin? What kinda restraunt you runnin?"
Maybe next year I will bring in a bottle of 1000 Island dressing, put it on the counter with a sign saying not for sale. That'll teach them not to mess with this stinkin liberal commie!
Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Texans, but these people need to Google restaurant etiquette while dining in the big city before coming into my restaurant. $2.00 is not the proper tip on a check total of $68.93. Even if it is put directly into the palm of the waiter's hand while saying, "This is for you darlin. You bin the the best waitress ah've ever had serve me". I have heard little nuggets like, "Did ya'll see that guy's t-shirt? It said keep Austin weird. I told ya'll this was a blue town." Keep Austin Weird does not mean 'stinkin liberal commie town'. It was a campaign slogan made up by the city to encourage people to buy from local businesses...not Wal-Mart.
But my favorite, by far, I hear every year has to do with 1000 Island dressing. You know, that disgusting concoction that makes a good salad turn into a bad hamburger. We do not have 1000 Island dressing where I wait tables. We have scrumptious dressings made from scratch among them are Tomato Basil Vinaigrette and Parmesan Peppercorn. Yet, every year I hear statements such as: "If you ain't got no 1000 Island dressin, then I don't want no salad" or "You ain't got no 1000 Island dressin? What kinda restraunt you runnin?"
Maybe next year I will bring in a bottle of 1000 Island dressing, put it on the counter with a sign saying not for sale. That'll teach them not to mess with this stinkin liberal commie!
Friday, March 6, 2009
Reminder Item
I work in a large office building with over 1000 people. Many people walk the perimeter of the cubicles for exercise. However, these said walkers have no social boundaries or awareness of their coworkers who must leave their cubicles for work purposes. This memo was sent out by the management to quell the bitterness between the walkers and the non-walkers.
Reminder item--Please remind staff who utilize the hallways for exercise to be considerate of others while walking. If they are walking in groups, they should walk in a single file and noise levels should be kept to a minimum. There should be no running or jogging in the building. Please let me know if you have questions about this.
Well, I have some questions.
Dear Management,
I am offended by swaggering, strutting, sashaying, peacocking, and flouncing. What are you going to do about that? Skipping wasn't mentioned. Is it banned? I hope not because I would totally die. Also, I frequently like to walk with a bounce in my step, much like Kirsten Dunst in Bring It On. Will that be prohibited in the building? Finally, are meandering, promenading, and sauntering allowed?
Please let me know as soon as possible so I may get back to work.
Pickles
Reminder item--Please remind staff who utilize the hallways for exercise to be considerate of others while walking. If they are walking in groups, they should walk in a single file and noise levels should be kept to a minimum. There should be no running or jogging in the building. Please let me know if you have questions about this.
Well, I have some questions.
Dear Management,
I am offended by swaggering, strutting, sashaying, peacocking, and flouncing. What are you going to do about that? Skipping wasn't mentioned. Is it banned? I hope not because I would totally die. Also, I frequently like to walk with a bounce in my step, much like Kirsten Dunst in Bring It On. Will that be prohibited in the building? Finally, are meandering, promenading, and sauntering allowed?
Please let me know as soon as possible so I may get back to work.
Pickles
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