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It’s Not Me, It’s You

14 Jul
What an inviting mascot.

What an inviting mascot…from your nightmares.

So…after enough years at the same job, I quit.  I worked there so long that I needed help from my roommate and friends to remember all the crazy ass stuff that I’ve seen and that has happened to me while working there. As many of you know I worked at a restaurant at a theme park in Southern California. (Figure it out.)Also, the mascot looks like a GIGANTIC Klan member…I didn’t just put a creepy racist clown photo up to creep you out for no reason. stupid people That job made be realize how INCREDIBLY stupid people are. I got  sick of explaining what penne is….PENNE! Where do people eat that they don’t know what a simple form of pasta is? Speaking of forms. It doesn’t matter what shape your pasta is assholes. It ALL tastes the same and it will all leave your stink hole the same way. Adults who bitch about what shape pasta they receive were the shit head kids that don’t eat crust and only wanted buttered noodles. And how is buttered noodles an acceptable dinner for kids?? There is ZERO nuterion in that. I didn’t even know that was an option for a dinner until I started that job in my twenties, why? Because my parents didn’t let me decide what I ate. Why? Because as my Dad said about parenting, “This is a dictatorship, not a democracy.” white devil! Most importantly, stereotypes are true. But the worst kind of  people (this is not limited to my place of work) are parents. Hands down. I’m sure those of you with kids are thinking, “You don’t have kids, you don’t know.” I’m not a parent, I’m a sane (angry) person. What I do know is, letting your kid pull their pants down and drop a watery deuce in the middle of our patio seating makes me want to punch you in your reproductive organs. Yes, that actually happened.merp Or when a kid crapped so hard, it shot up it’s back, the Mom washed it off in one of the bathroom sinks. She clogged that sink with poo, switched to the other sink, clogged that one and left the people crapping in the stalls with no sink to wash of their dooky hands. Those are just SOME of the gross stories I have. asshole kidKids are evil, but they are evil because of crappy parenting.  For example, parents letting their kids beat me with balloon animals like I was Joe Pesci at the end of Casino, or let them run around me while I carry 16 drinks…assholes. Little kids who have cellphones make me want to drop kick them into a fountain. Who are they texting? One, they don’t know how to spell. Two, when you’re 6 years old, the majority of the people you know in life are at the same dinner WITH YOU! I’ve seen a teenager, sitting right next to her Mom, tell her to “shut up” then threw a FORK at her Mom’s head! I wish the story ended with, ‘and then the Mom took her outside and beat her kid’s ass,’ but  she ended up calmly asking her violent hell child “what’s wrong?” GAH!  Once while I was taking an order, I had a kid look up at me and cough INTO MY MOUTH. The parents said nothing, dicks, I didn’t even excuse myself, I just walked away. Here’s a tip for other servers: If  the Mom is in the bathroom when it’s time to order, don’t go to the table because all modern fathers are useless. I truly mean that, they are just walking sperm donors. They don’t know what they’re own children are “allowed” to have. GOD DAMN IT! You’re a man, pick for them. Juice or water? Stop being a little bitch. Now, a happy story: One time a kid ran straight into a lamp pole. I laughed SO damn hard. eww get off meNow, I don’t have to deal with gross co-workers touching me or saying inappropriate things to me. What do I mean by inappropriate? ” I want to put olive oils all over your body and massage you with my feets, then put my big toe in your butt.”  Gross and I hate olive oil. Or customers wanting me to join them for a threesome, barf. People need to stop.

After all these terrible stories, do I miss it?  Well, it was easy, aside from all the assholes, and I made really good money….so kind of. 

Young Americans

8 Apr

dumbassSo…as I have said many times, I deal with an unusually high amount of idiots at my job…well, everywhere actually, they’re just more highly concentrated at my work. As I was getting my section ready one night I heard David Bowie being piped in and commented to a coworker about the song being so good and how I’d rather hear his songs than that stupid ass violinist playing the theme to Schindler’s List every night. (Because nothing says happy vacation time like the theme song from a movie about genocide, right?) Smart coworker agreed with me and then Dumbass chimed in. “Who the fuck is David Bowie?”

pray for brainsI Bea Arthured that d-bag. My eyes rolled back so far, I think I bruised them. Thankfully Smartie started the smack down for me, “Um, The Labyrinthine?” DA, “What the fuck is…how ever you say that word?”

I know what some of you hippies are thinking, “No, young people are smart. They’re always researching things on the interwebs.”

realpeople1 realpeople2

Me and only a handful of my friends use the computer for learning and not finding out where to buy a chin-do . Example: The trailer for Behind the Candelabra came out today. I looked up when Liberace died, then what happened to Liberace’s lover, which lead me to finding out what happened to his brother George. Welcome to my brain.

abby normalDumbass is a perfect example of what is wrong with the youth of America, they are not ashamed of their stupidity. Actually, they are proud of it, they flaunt it. I blame anti-bullying. I can hear you now, “Don’t make them feel bad for being stupid.” Why not? They try, with their abby-normal brains, to make me feel bad for being smart. If they could successfully put me down, they would essentially be bullying me. That seems to be ok with everyone though. It’s PC for dumb people to make fun of smart people but not vice versa. 

Thinking is hard, reading is hard…Smart people should be celebrated and dumb asses should want to change their ways. That probably won’t happen.  Maybe I should…lower expectations

and then….

kitty

…maybe I’ll only do the second thing. Come on dummies, stop being such…dummies!! Go learn one new thing today. Just one. And here’s some Bowie, for those of you who don’t know who he is.

Food Babies

12 Jun

Jacques Torres, just another stop on Tour de Fat.

So…after our whirlwind first day, we got up at a decent hour and went out for brunch. I have never had brunch. There are two good reasons  for that; I hate waking up early and my Mom makes better pancakes than restaurants. Since I was on vacation and trying new things, why not brunch? We walked up to this place called Good Enough To Eat. Along the way we passed the Beacon Theater where they were setting up for the Tonys.

Beacon Theater.

Then we heard a loud rumble. Apparently there was a Jewish parade going on that morning and, believe it or not, I saw a HUGE group of Jewish bikers. I thought it was hilarious!

Jewish Hell’s Angels.

When we got to the brunch place, the line was ridiculous! I was not pleased about what I had gotten myself into. Let me just say that if you are sitting on a small restaurant patio eating brunch and you are finished eating and just sitting there…the entire line of people who are waiting to eat  HATE you and are about 5 seconds from killing you.

The place was funny to me because it was city people decorating how they think country folk decorate. So, lots of quilts and wooden cows. Our waiter was from Ireland. This restaurant was all over the place! Thank God the food was good!

Brunch: Potato/egg scramble thing, biscuits and gravy, bacon waffles and strawberry butter, french toast, and an omelet.

After brunch. Ughhhh.

Pregnant with food babies, we walked down the street and came across a bunch of kids at a lemonade stand. They were wheeling and dealing, two lemonades and you get a free cookie, one lemonade and one cookie for a dollar. These kids were just trying to make a buck!

Lemonade stand prices have gone up since I was a kid. A dollar! What happened to 25 cents?

After eating our weight in breakfast foods, the next logical thing to do would be to go shopping, right? We went down to the GIGANTIC Macy’s on 34th Street. I never knew I needed that much Macy’s but apparently, me and the world, does.

Oh yes, rain. AGAIN!

As soon as we got there, it started to down pour. We went in, got our discount coupon for being out of state visitors (AWESOME!) and I went to look for actual shoes. After a day of walking all around the city in flats, I couldn’t hang anymore.

Wooden escalators at Macy’s and the shoes I wore for 30 minutes.

We went to the men’s shoe floor and looked for shoes for Johnny…that is the 7th circle of Hell. All the employees on that floor hate themselves and everyone else. It was horrible. I got some slip on tennis shoes in the Junior department, which helped me walk across the street to the Sketcher store to buy some actual sneakers.

Heaven in shoe form.

I NEVER wear sneakers. When I was 15 &16, I walked all over Paris and the UK in flip flops. Guess who’s getting old? Frick! That said, I love Sketcher’s Go Walk shoes. They saved my life on this trip!

We went back and took a rest before continuing on ‘Lauren and Kim’s How To Become Obese in Two Days or Less’ food tour of New York. We ended up going to Angelo’s of Mulberry Street in Little Italy. Honestly, I’m amazed we made it because our cabbie almost killed us twice on the way there. They’re freakin’ nutty drivers there.

Kim and I in Little Italy. Check out my nice outfit and sneakers…what a tourist!

As soon as we got to Angelo’s, the waiter, who was like an Italian Curly from the Three Stooges, told Johnny to sit in his section. Clearly, they knew each other. Our waiter’s name was Jimmy…not very Italian. I mean, when my Scottish Granny can’t remember most guy’s names, so she refers to them as Jimmy.

Jimbo brought us out a starter that he put together for us. That was the best tomato I have ever eaten.

Best Antipasto EVER!

I ordered angel hair pasta with arrabiata sauce and sausage. Holy God. I could die happy if that was my last meal. The pasta melted in my mouth because it was fresh made. SO good. Johnny had veal and fettuccine alfredo, which was like buttah! Kim had some kind of seafood medley pasta dish…I’m sure it was good but I don’t eat fish, so I’ll take her word on it!

Me, Johnny and Kim…not yet uncomfortably full.

As we sat outside, enjoying our meal, this impromptu parade for St. Anthony rolled down the street. There was a band behind the people carrying the statue, playing some Godfather-esque music. I felt like I was on a studio backlot watching a movie be shot. Best dinning experience ever. Jimmy, was crackin’ jokes with us and talking to people in Italian. He was great!

Jimmy, me, Johnny and Kim.

Yes, we were full, but of course we had to have dessert! Cannolis and cappuccinos…except for Kim, who had another glass of wine. And why not, we were on vacation!

Kim, enjoying her wine…a lot.

Enjoying more dairy. I regret nothing.

As soon as Johnny went to the bathroom, a really old Italian guy who worked at Angelo’s came over to me and said, Molto Bella!” Old guys always like me, what can I say? At a table caddy corner from us sat a guy, sipping on a coffee, all alone. He asked us where we were from. He said all the guys were guessing and he thought we were from Chicago. (Nice ice breaker dude.) He was very chatty and when Johnny came back,  told us  that normally he would give his number to one of us girls, but out of respect to Johnny, he gave his information to him. Wow…that would never happen in California. Never.

Johnny is half dead in the back of the cab after the food orgy at Angelo’s.

We went back home to get our first good amount of sleep after our epic day of eating. Angelo’s, best meal of the trip, hands down.

Eye Roll

8 May

But please, you go ahead and continue being rude to my face.

So…I must look like a priest because every day is like confessional. I don’t know why random strangers EVERYWHERE come up to me and tell me crap they really shouldn’t be saying out loud, or at the very least, not to a complete stranger. Especially when that stranger has a great memory and a blog!

99% of the time when I get tables from the East Coast they are from Long Island, but this time I got a table from New Jersey. They asked me where I was from, “California.” “No way. You have a weird accent. Where are you from originally,” they said. They are not the first people to comment on my “weird accent.” Uncouth people point it out all the time. In a culture that is disgustingly too PC, it always cracks me up when people feel like they can point out a difference in someone. Normally, I ask people where they think I’m from.

Here are some of the places I sound like I’m from:

Boston: I have a friend for Boston who confirms that I say Mom, candy and car like I’m from Boston.

New York: I have no clue how anyone could think this.

Atlanta &  Texas: I have a twang sometimes, I can see this.

Seattle: They have accents?!

England: No.

The table from New  Jersey thought I was from somewhere in New York. This should have been my first clue number to them being totally nuts. I told them that I’m from the middle of California and I might have a…unique dialect because I grew up around a Scottish granny and a bunch of old Okies.

“What’s an Okie,” they asked. Right here is where I gave them too much credit. I thought that no one who’s gone through the public school system in America could NOT know about the Dust Bowl.

“You know, the Dust Bowl,” I said.

And that’s when I had to explain the Dust Bowl to a table of adults.

Why are they admitting they don’t know?!?!  I didn’t need to know how truly dumb they were. They could have kept that a secret! Nope, it was confessional time. They were dummies.

I referenced Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath because he lived with the Okies in Bakersfield. (I know you want to know where Mom, out by Pumpkin Center.) My English teacher went to school with kids who lived in the same camp as him, a neat fact that was lost on these morons. Still, they had no clue. I swear to God, this country’s finished.

“Huh,” was their response to my history lesson.

“Yea, it was kind of a big deal in the 1930s. Have a great vacation,” I said.

Then I turned, walked away and rolled my eyes so hard they fell out of my head.

Such Is Life

6 May

Then your cat gets titty cancer and you die alone.

So…here are some true stories from my life that occurred in the past two weeks. I don’t really know what they say about me…how to become a hermit in 30 days or less, tips for a young cat lady, idiots and the people who hate them? All I know is, I’m wasting all my attractive years alone, dealing with the weirdest people possible and that’s not right.

At least it’s funny—in a sad way.

I always get crazy people at work, but rarely do I get people who make me feel freaking uncomfortable. I was dealing with a party of 20, twenty-somethings-my favorite-and half a hour into the meal someone new arrived. Picture this: a young woman dressed in biker gear. Got it? She’s also a lesbian midget in a motorized wheelchair. This was our interaction, note that her responses are highly over sexualized in tone:

Me: Can I get you a drink?

Crazy: I want your glasses on my face.

Me: Can I get you a drink for your mouth?

Crazy: Only if you feed it to me. (Flicks her tongue Gene Simmons style.)

I come back with her Coke.

Crazy: You can’t deny this. I love you.

Kill me.

Normally the only guys that try to flirt with me on the freeway are creepy gardeners. One afternoon, in stopped traffic, a twelve year old boy pops his head out of the back passenger window, points to me and mouths, “You,” points to himself, “Me,” then nods. What  a weirdo, I thought. Two minutes later he did it again to make sure I knew it was for me and made threw a bunch of air kisses and call me hand gestures.

Glad to know I’m popular with under-aged boys, says the girl whose preference is older men.

Just yesterday I had a black guy (duh, the only kind of guy that hits on me on a regular basis) ask me if I would do the Twist with him. I don’t know if that’s some new hip hop term for a sex move or what. He wanted me to hang out with him and his group of friends who tipped me less than 10% on an almost $300 check.

After all this nonsense, I had an emergency and subsequent melt down.

The photo isn’t mine: my skin and cat are not orange, nor are they this small.

One of the few things that doesn’t drive me to punch people in the face is my cat, Mr. Bojangles (yeah, that’s his real name. Do not call him Bojangles if you’re nasty.) I took him to the vet because I felt a lump. The Dr. asked if I’d realized the bump was next to his nipple. No, I don’t particularly enjoy molesting cats, if that’s what you’re getting at. She told me it could be breast cancer…on my male cat. Really? Only I would get a boy cat with titty cancer. After tests, three days of waiting and one bowl of raw cookie dough I am happy to say he’s fine but now I have to feel him up on a regular basis. At least someone in this house will be getting some action.

God had sparred my cat’s life, I was feeling pretty good and emerged from my cave. I drove up to hang out with my Granny’s 92 year old friend to talk about old movies and history. (I’m popular with the underage and senior crowds.) I had dinner with my parents at a friend of the family’s restaurant. The waitress knows them and overhead us talking about seeing Colin Quinn last month.

Waitress: Is that the comedian you guys saw?

Me: Yep.

Waitress: Yea, I watched that special and I didn’t get it.  I don’t think you have good taste in comedians.

Me: Shut your face.

In my experience, a way to get a good tip is to NOT insult your table’s taste in anything. My positive outlook on humanity came crashing back down to reality. I’m back in my writing cave and I won’t be coming out until next month when I go to New York  to visit my friend Taylor. I’m planning on seeing Colin at the Comedy Cellar, because I think he’s fabulous and because I “get it.” Maybe I’ll even meet a nice guy who’s smart….

Can’t Get Enough…On Second Thought

19 Dec

"Some things I can't get used to, no matter how hard I try."- Barry White

So…I’d like to make something very clear. I like a steak dinner, kissing (no tongue!) , hair petting and some smooth Barry White tunes playing when someone is trying to eff the crap out of me!

Maybe I should tell my managers that since they keep workin’ me like I’m some tore back hooker or prison yard bitch! Again with the 7 table sections! I thought everyone else was running around like me…nope. There were some people who only had 3 tables the entire night. That totally sucks because I would GLADLY give them part of my village of tables.

I asked someone why do I ALWAYS get slammed, why?

“Because baby, you’re the best.”

Seriously, not only is that one of the worst James Bond theme songs, but when someone is “the best” they are typically treated as such. Or treated with R-E-S-P-E-C-T…a much better song.

I’m angry/stressed 99% of my shift and now the hostesses think of me as the girl from ‘Waiting.‘ And really, I can’t blame them, watch the clip…that is me. In addition to that, I have SIX shifts this week. One step closer to my early onset stroke! Just in time for the holidays.

If anyone needs a hint for a Christmas gift for me; I need a new mouth guard. All the serving nightmares I keep having has caused me to grind straight through mine.

I know, super sexy!  How don’t I have a boyfriend?!

Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off…But I’m Still Right

15 Dec

So…I had to go to a meeting at work on Monday. I was informed by my general manager (who looks like Uncle Fester’s long lost twin) that my goal as a server is to give customers the best possible service because I work at a fine dining restaurant. Really?

I thought about that later in the evening as I watched my 7 table section fill up all at once, while I got the drink order for a party of 12. All while getting smacked in the face over and over with balloon animals.

I don’t know what kind of “fine dining” places this poor sucker is eating at, but I’ve been to classy restaurants all over the world. The ONE thing they all had in common—NO BALLOON ANIMALS!

In addition to that, I don’t recall waiters ever in a full on sprint because their section just got slammed at any upscale restaurants…or Asians changing their baby’s diaper on the same table as their food, or children ralphing all over the place. Actually, children aren’t allowed at nice restaurants, that’s part of what makes them nice.

But, you know, you say fine dining, I say you’re an idiot.

A Side of Judgement

16 Nov
Today’s Special: HATRED
So…the holidays are coming. People are looking forward to spending time with their families and having vacation time. Not me. I serve at a place that is open 365 days a year and pretends to give a damn about American traditions. (Wouldn’t one of those traditions be spending time at HOME on a holiday? Hmmm.)
Even though I am used to this, it doesn’t mean I like it. I don’t think anything should be open on the holidays, except the ER. Heart attacks don’t know it’s Christmas, so they get a free pass. I don’t understand wanting to go anywhere on Thanksgiving or Christmas. All I want to do is eat, sleep and then repeat that pattern a few times between Trivial Pursuit matches. I don’t want to go shopping or to the movies and I definitely don’t want to go to a friggin’ theme park after eating a huge meal.
I know some of my friends go out on these days and I would like to take this time to tell them this;  I’m judging you. I think you are horrible and selfish for doing this. YOU are the reason someone else’s holiday is effed, YOU selfish buttholes. STAY HOME. You don’t know how to cook, figure it out dummies. You are bored, get a book. Don’t go out because I guarantee you the person helping you when you go out hates you to your core.
Every table I serve on the holidays I hate. They are horrible people and my Bea Arthur judgement is crystal clear on those days. These people aren’t even enjoying their day either, they are too busy bitching at their hell babies. What a waste of their day and more importantly, MINE! Did Home Alone teach my generation nothing? Going away for the holidays sucks. Stay home with your weird uncle, chatty grandma and cousins. DUH!!
Random Related Rant: People with boyfriends and girlfriends, stop pretending you are married. I do not understand stressing out about going to your boyfriend’s parents house on the holidays and whining about having to eat two dinners in one day. I have had boyfriends during the holidays and I never even thought, ‘Oh I better go to his parents’ house for turkey and stuffing too.’ Nope, I looked down at my hand, didn’t see a wedding ring and said, “See you on the 26th. Your Mom’s a bad cook and I don’t HAVE to eat her crappy cooking yet, so I’m going to my house…where they know how to cook.” Plus, you’ll probably break up and like a dummy, you dedicated time to a family you won’t even be in anyways. I’ll tie both rants up in a neat little bow: STAY HOME!