Thursday, December 15, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
A few weeks ago I went to the grocery store to get some dinner for a big party I was throwing...oh wait, I was getting dinner for myself. (Cue complaint about my husband's hours.) Anyway, as I rounded the corner to the produce section, I heard a very loud crash followed by about 30 bottles of wine falling to the ground. As I stepped closer to see what had happened a man popped up from the mess, made eye contact with me and then quickly walked away. After he rounded the corner, another customer, who saw the scene, looked at me and asked, "Did he just run away?"
Now, of course, the fact that a grown man would run away from such a huge mess is slightly awkward, but things got more awkward as we continued to run into each other throughout the store. Every time we would find ourselves on the same aisle I would look at him with the, "I know what you did," look and he would respond with, "Please don't tell them it was me" look.
Finally, after three different awkward encounters, I began to wonder why he ran away in the first place. Did he think they were going to revoke his shopping privileges for life? Did he think they were going to make him clean up the virtual winery on the floor? Or even pay for the mess? Did he think they would make him drink the spilled wine while shouting, "YOU ARE AN IDIOT AND EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW IT!!!?" Honestly, was does this guy do when he makes a mistake at work? Burn the office down so no one will know he accidentally pressed "reply to all" instead of replying back to one person?
Hey, grown man at the grocery store you made a mistake. It's okay. Really. It was wine on sale at the grocery store. We aren't talking real expensive stuff.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Homeless man walks down four blocks and scratches every car with a pocket knife. Finally, at the fourth block the police catch up with him and he is arrested.
It is estimated that almost twenty cars were scratched. His last victim was a nice Lexus.
I walk into the restaurant, after getting the story from the police officer, and say out loud, as I'm pointing to the street, "Man, I would hate to own that Lexus."
Three tables over a customer pops his head up and says, "What did you say about my Lexus?"
Monday, December 5, 2011
I don't know what was more awkward, the fact that he seemed to think we were really good friends, or the fact that he sucks at handshakes?
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The other aspect of Halloween I find very confusing is that the whole day you find yourself wondering, "Now are you dressed up as Harry Potter or are you just some little English Guy who ran into a glass door when he was five?" (Again, true customer from yesterday.) Seriously, all this confusion creates some awkward situations. For example, I almost said to one woman, "Man, I love the deranged look you have going today. Are you supposed to be an escaped schizophrentic from some psychiatric ward?" (Turns out she just needed some coffee and food and then the deranged look went away.) Or the actual slip I made when I said to a kid, IN FRONT OF HIS MOM, "Are you a zombie?" (In my defense, he was so immersed in his mom's Ipad he didn't even notice when I brought his food out.)
Anyway, Halloween, you and I have had some good times, but on whole I just don't get ya.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
We'll call him George. George comes in a lot and likes to talk. He'll see you have ten tables holding up empty glasses of ice tea and continue to talk to you about the cost of sheep in Asia - and I should mention, while you neglect your other tables to hear these rants of a lonely man, he doesn't tip that well. So, basically, I am nice to George because I realize he's lonely, but I sort of dread when he's around. Anyway, today I was a little slow so I made the deadly mistake of saying, "George how are you today?" For the next five minutes he proceeded to tell me about the infection in his foot. He used words like pus, dead skin and potential for more infection. I just stood there trying to think about anything but the two layers of dead skin his doctor removed yesterday and what it looked like falling to the floor. Finally, I cut him off and said, "Well, George you want to order some food? and he said, "Well, I'll have some pancakes but I have to keep this foot elevated,"...and then I did the unthinkable - I looked. I looked at the infected foot. Why was it out for everyone to see? Well, some time during me trying to zone out of this nightmare, George had taken off his sock to give me a first hand look at his foot. I know what you are thinking - who does that? People in a restaurant.
2nd set of customers:
These two idiots sat down, made some stupid reply to my "Can I get you guys something to drink?" with "Only if you have an IV of coffee on you," and then after I didn't laugh, they ordered 1 (remember this number) 1 muffin. Now, after getting their complicated order, I ran to the market area to get other tables' muffins and coffee. I had not rung in the muffin yet, but decided to pick if up for the idiots and then put it in later. So, now the idiots have 1 muffin - which they start to eat. After ten minutes, I ring in the muffin they are eating, but unknowingly someone grabs them a muffin, thinking I just rang it in, and brought it to their table. Now, what would you do in this situation? Would you say, "Um, sorry we already have our muffin and didn't order another one," or would you say nothing, take the muffin, eat it, and when your server comes over to ask you why you ate the other muffin, do you feign surprise that another muffin appeared AND inform your server you won't be paying for it? Guess which option these idiots chose? Because all restaurants have the policy of "Buy 1 get 1 completely free immediately after."
I hate people sometimes.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Now, overeating is not only my only issue with being alone. In addition to taking down boxes of cereal, I also find myself in periodic time warps of the internet. It seems like every time I go to check the weather to see if I need to put on a long sleeve for my run, I end up reading ridiculous articles about Beyonce and Jennifer Aniston for 45 minutes. 45 minutes and I'm still not even sure if Jennifer has found the one and if she is indeed pregnant.
Once I shake myself from the food and the internet, I coax myself into some type of exercise, which is really a means to making more room for cereal, and then, because, again, I'm not a highly functioning alone person, I'll take a shower with my the bathroom door open and my apartment door unlocked. How many times have I stopped my shower in panic because I thought I heard something or someone? Too many to count. Has this made me lock my apartment door? Not yet.
And lastly, as if the eating disorder, internet obsession and streak of exhibitionism wasn't bad enough, I'll admit, and only because we are good friends, there may or may not be some dancing in front of the many mirrors in my apartment. What? I'm on a freaking sugar high...you try sitting still after two rather large bowls of cereal.
Hey, attorney husband...come home to your wife.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
First of all, I would like to state that I'm all for costumes on Halloween. Let me repeat, I'm in favor of costumes ON Halloween. However, for those of you who think October is like December and feel like it's alright to dress up for 30 days until the big event, let me just say it's not. Halloween is one day, and therefore, you are only supposed to dress up for ONE day. I mean if we allow this blatant stupidity what's next? All April we hide eggs, carry baskets of candy and hop around like stupid bunnies until Easter? Or do we parade around with handfuls of flags until, and this of course is one of my favorite holidays, Flag Day decides to finally come? Or do you want loads of college students drunk the entire month of February until all their Irish blood manifests on St. Patrick's Day? I didn't think so.
So, to you premature celebrators out there, who think it's okay a week BEFORE Halloween to dress up as bizarre zombies and skeletons, just hold off one more week. What are you five?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Food comes out wrong
Option 1: Play up the fact that our kitchen is mostly Hispanic, and then exaggerate the obvious language barrier with some type of mild racial slur.
Option 2: Claim another server took your food to another table. Make a lighthearted joke like this one, "I'll go check on table 10 and see if they are enjoying your breakfast."
Food is taking too long (because you forgot to put the order into the computer)
Option 1: Claim that your systems just went down for a few minutes and now the kitchen is scrambling to catch up on all the back orders.
Option 2: Claim their food came up, but you inspected it, found it to be cold and demanded an immediate "refire." I usually deliver this with a disappointed face.
Questions about "free range" and organic food
Option 1: Ask them this, "Were you hoping to find free range chicken?" Person answers, "No, I hate free range chicken." So you say, "Well, then good because you are in luck. Our food is NOT, I repeat NOT free range." If they reply, "Why yes, I only eat free range." Then you say, "Well, then good because you are in luck. Our food is free range. I repeat is free range."
Option 2: Always say yes to organic. If some idiot is asking, then they are looking for a yes. (If you say no, they might ask you why you don't recycle. It's just not worth it.)
Do you like _____?
Option 1: Decide what this person is looking for. For example, if this person asked if you can cook the tuna burger well done and wants to know if you have onion rings, tell them you do not like the brussel sprout salad. If they are wearing skinny jeans and something totally vintage tell them you love the brussel sprout salad...because it's totally organic.
Option 2: Come on you smart people out there...what do I like? Um, the filet tacos are amazing because they are...what the most expensive thing on the menu? What?
So, remember us servers might look nice, but we are not to be trusted.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Alright I'll come clean, I sort of love country music. There's just something about it that makes me feel all sorts of emotions. Honestly, it makes me want to buy a pick-up truck, move down south, enlist in the army, find a good cowboy and lay in the grass while the sun sets. It's fantastic. And I'll even admit I've seen more country concerts than "normal" shows. Yeah, it's all coming out tonight. I've even seen Tim McGraw three times. Who sees Tim McGraw three times and likes it? This gun carrying redneck wannabe - that's who.
However, as much as my love runs deep for country music I also have my limits when it comes to this sometimes ridiculous genre. Take for example this current hit "My Girlfriend Likes To Fish" by Craig Cambell, I heard on the radio the other day:
If you don't want to watch the video you can just read these lyrics:
The first time we did it I was scared to death
She snuck out in that cotton dress
Jumped on in and we drove to the lake
Put her hand on my knee and said I can’t wait
I had everything we needed in the bed of my truck
Turns out my baby loves to…
Fish, she wants to do it all the time
Early in the morning, in the middle of the night
She’s hooked and now she can’t get enough
Man, that girl sure loves to fish
After that, that’s all she wanted to do
But that was okay ’cause I did too
She always wants to go down by the dam
And I love how she looks with that rod in her hand
If they ain’t bitin’ she don’t give up
Turns out my baby loves to…
Fish, she wants to do it all the time
Early in the morning, in the middle of the night
She’s hooked and now she can’t get enough
Man, that girl sure loves to fish
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Anyway, after a lengthy complaint about the lack of internet, she paid her bill and I went inside to clean some tables. As I looked out the window, I saw her take our water bottle, which is sort of this cool slender glass bottle, and place it in her bag and prepare to leave. Immediately, I walked outside and stopped her from leaving. As I approached her, I asked, "Did you take our water bottle?" (This time intending a real answer.) And she replied, "Um, yeah isn't that okay?" (Yeah, because all restaurants allow you to take home plates, forks and glasses after your meal.) And I said, "Not really," and she said, while handing me the bottle, "Oh, because last time I was here they just gave me the bottle." To which I responded with, "That's just weird," but what I really meant was: Gave you the bottle? Really? Do you also go to Macy's and they just "give you" clothes? Or do you find yourself at Target trying to stop all the employees from "giving you" merchandise?
Honestly, people are so weird. I hope she comes back in so I can take her laptop. I mean, I hope she comes back in so she can "give" me her laptop.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
After a few seconds of restaurant and menu talk, I decided to strike up a conversation. However, things got a little weird.
Kate: "So, you probably don't want to hear this, but I sort of grew up watching you."
Brad/Don: "Why do you think that would bother me? Because of my diminishing age?"
Kate: (Slight swoon) "Oh, no. It's just that I was so excited when I saw you before that I told my mom and she became really excited to hear I had seen you..."
Brad/Don: (Cuts me off mid-sentence) "Do you want to take a picture?"
Kate: "Um. No, I mean, sure. Well, I don't have a phone on me."
Brad/Don: "Well find one."
Kate: "No it's cool."
Brad/Don: "Well let's take a picture if you find a phone."
Kate: (Sort of getting creeped out.)
Twenty minutes goes by, Brad/Don has finished his breakfast, Kate is clearing table.
Brad/Don: "Did you find a phone?"
Kate: "Um, yeah, let me go get it."
Kate goes into restaurant, finds her manager and asks to borrow his phone so she can take a picture with some soap star. Manager confused, but gives her his phone.
The following picture is taken:
Lesson learned from this experience: Continue to play it cool with celebrities...especially with the D-List celebrities.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
So, what do I do? Well, after loathing our chance meeting, I find myself saying absolutely ridiculous things. Like today, after encountering a guy, who's roommate I dated for a semester, I said, and mind you this was completely out of context, "Oh, and just so you know this is a total part time gig. My husband has a really high paying job as an attorney." Really - did that just come out? Or a few weeks ago, a past basketball player at Duke, who never actually graduated or attended a single class and who makes more money than I'll see in my lifetime, came in, and I said, "I just picked up this shift to help out my friend. I actually work from home." Work from home?! Doing what - professional checker of Facebook? I'm a total fraud!
Oh well, at least I get the sympathy tip.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Now with golf - it's a completely different story. Hit a bad drive and all you've got is a head down in shame, a rough grabbing of your tee and crestfallen walk back to the cart. Does this help you feel better about slicing your ball into the water? Absolutely not. Try chunking a ball 100 yards away from the green. All I find I can do is yell incoherent noises at the ground while I angrily stamp my chunk of grass back into the fairway. Again, this does nothing to relieve my frustration.
So, here's what I suggest. As soon as you hit a bad drive you are given one swing at a clown, who stands there watching and waiting for you to release your pent up anger about your crappy shot. Why a clown? Because everyone out on the golf course seems to be having a great time, and as you watch your ball disappear into a ravine, the only thing that's going to make it better is if one other person isn't smiling. My second suggestion is to allow more throwing of clubs. I really think this could go a long way. (pun intended) Honestly, let's say in the game of golf you get one traditional score and one score based on how far you are able to launch your club down the fairway, or how close you can fling your putter to the cart. Can you imagine how fun this would be? It would be like golf meets javelin throwing.
And lastly, may I suggest a little less Masters and little more Happy Gilmore. Honestly, the lack of celebration in golf is killing me. When I scored a goal in lacrosse we used jump up and down screaming in a pack. Now when I hit a long put in golf I just nonchalantly walk over to the cup and retrieve my ball. No one likes this...especially me. Instead, I wish it was acceptable to ride your putter like a horse around the green, shouting, "Whoop, there it is!" as you swing your visor around like a cowboy hat. Or if you hit a great drive I wish it was totally cool to slide into the grass as your golfing buddy slid next to you and raised arms in victory. Honestly, I need something because this game is way too buttoned up for me.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
And lastly, why must you morons, who were not involved in the accident, drive five miles an hour as you pass by the scene of carnage? Are you hoping to see a dead body? Are you thinking in that ten second drive by you will be able to assess the situation and testify later, when of course you are called for your testimony, as to who was at fault and who was not? Or are you trying to find the idiot, who caused the accident, so you can add one more look of disapproval to their already stellar day? (Because that's what I'm trying to do.)
Honestly, all of you who faithfully read this blog, promise me, if you come across an accident, that is being fully taken care of, press on your accelerator and fight the urge to look. You'll be a better person for it...unless you find the idiot who was texting and caused the whole thing. Then find him, stare him down and shake your head in disappointment.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
On the phone he informed me that he made his part and that I'm the one lacking in my own bed making skills. Damn lawyers and their technicalities.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Second of all, I really should have been tested for some type of growth hormone or steroid use. You see, at 12 years old I was basically a grown woman. Honestly, I think since that age I've gained about ten pounds and grew about 2 inches. So, again the vast competitors of Delaware had no chance against my freak of nature strength and size. (As did the poor boys I attempted to have crushes on in middle school. To this day, I think most of them held my hand due to sheer fear.)
Anyway, outside of this horrible attempt at a humble brag, my experience with tennis growing up was pretty funny. There was one chick, who looked like an angry egg, I always had to play in the finals of every freaking tournament. Honestly, in my memory she's just this round and unemotional blob. She would never say anything except grunt an occasional "out" when she needed a point, and when I fought her to prove it, she would attempt to shrug, but being that she was a rounded egg, shrugging was difficult, so after a few minutes of me ranting she somehow would just move on to the next point without really resolving anything. Eventually, I stop fighting her bad calls. I mean, watching that attempt to show emotion through her shoulders was just too much for me at that age.
The other ridiculous part of this chick was the fact that her entire family used to come out and see her play. I remember they would bring coolers and umbrellas and fill up an entire bleacher. On the other hand, I never let my family come see me play. I guess I sort of knew in my heart that my "matches" were really just glorified ping pong games, and I loved my parents too much to submit them to endless hours of boring rallies. Man, I hated that family of angry eggs. I remember one time after hitting a pretty decent shot, I said out loud, "You got this Kate," to which they replied, "No you don't Kate." Who uses a 12 year old's name to talk trash at a junior tennis tournament? I'll tell you who - the angry eggs.
Well, I wish I could tell you that after my #1 reign I continued with tennis, but unfortunately, at 13, scarred from Monica Seles's stabbing, I decided to give up tennis and start playing team sports. My only regret is that I wasn't able to ever see the angry egg crack and show some emotion. I sometimes think of her and wonder what she is doing. I wonder if she drives around my neighborhood and writes tickets all day. They seem to have no emotion. Or I wonder if she euthanizes animals because that would definitely require no feelings. Or maybe she works in security at LAX and is the one that sits poker face in front of the x-ray machine as your bags go by. Again, another job that her lack of emotions would be great for.
Anyway, if you are out there, angry egg, give me a grunt and let's play another never ending game...
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The other day I walked out and found that someone had deliberately thrown a milkshake onto my car. As I stood there studying the ice cream, that was now crusted over my windshield wipers and headlights, I wondered what had possessed someone to commit such vandalism. Was it just a case of jealousy of my 2003 Honda Accord, that sports scratches from multiple keys along the sides of the car, a busted front bumper and the classic splattering of bird feces on the roof? Was my car just in the wrong place when someone went from enjoying a nice milkshake to learning their boyfriend has been cheating on them with their best friend and everyone knew it but them, and they just found out through a mistaken text that was sent from her boyfriend? Or did my last European customers, who pretended not to speak English, really understood me when I said, "I wish all of you a safe a happy trip home as your plane crashes into the Atlantic?" after I found out they weren't going to tip me? So many possibilities...who can know?
So, 2003 Honda Accord owners beware. You aren't just driving a fuel efficient car, you are driving a dangerous and anger provoking machine.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Secondly, I don't think people fully understand the "express lane." I'm not even sure they can count or understand the word express. I swear, every time I'm just buying milk some genius in front of me has 26 items and has decided to pay with a check. All I can do is give them a cold stare as they look at me, as they attempt to place their over the limit items on the smaller conveyer belt, and say with their eyes, "Oh, I know what you are thinking, but these twenty tomatoes actually count as 1 item, so I'm technically okay." Really? Because when we get out to the parking lot, I'm going to take my 1 car and quickly, no in an express manner, into your 2 legs.
Lastly, what is the deal with what people buy at the grocery store. Today a guy in front of me bought kitty litter, a pineapple, soda, waffles and beef jerky. Is this guy taking a cat camping? Or is he in the middle of a random quickfire challenge on Top Chef? Too hard to tell.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
1. After a week straight of partying, to kick off the new year, of course, a few cops stopped by to regulate the madness. After a short conversation, one of the cops got the number of my roommate (who he started dating) and the other cop started to party with everyone. From that point on we had constant back up and no reports of disturbances were ever responded to.
2. Another roommate of mine decided each night she was drunk she would steal something. Consequently, by Christmas break we had a deck full of bar stools, rocking chairs from our neighbors, signs and plants.
3. At least once a week a night of fun turned into a night of "gooning out." For those of you not blessed with the opportunity to go to school with meat heads, "gooning out" entails getting blitzed and then destroying everything in sight. Therefore, each week we had either a bench (that had been stolen the week before) thrown through our door, a couch thrown out onto the road or a window just bashed in. There's nothing more fun that hearing the sound of broken glass and then the yell from a barbarian. Man, I miss college.
Okay, enough down memory lane. The reason I bring up these memories is because I thought, at 32, living in an apartment with my husband would be much simpler than it was in college, but I was wrong. For the past week I feel like I've been trapped in a bad time warp.
For example, on Monday some idiot, at 2 in the morning, started throwing glass bottles onto the road outside my apartment. Now as if this wasn't bad enough, I then got to hear cars go over the glass, stop, yell at the guy to stop, him yell back and then more glass thrown. (Now that I think about it, I wonder if I went to college with this guy. It's just so hard to cut the gooning habit.)
On Tuesday, and I'm not kidding, some lady was heard screaming, "Help, Help!" in an alley just outside my apartment. We then all got to sit in our beds and listen to her run, scream some more for help and then go silent. To be honest, after being awoken the second night in a row, I don't know what bothered me more, her being potentially killed outside my apartment, or the fact that some neighbor across the street kept yelling, "Are you there? I called the cops. Are you there? Hello." Lady, no one answered. Not our chair, not our problem.
And lastly, after being awoken up by some muscle car that just couldn't turn over (thank heavens the person tried ten times) I heard the familiar laughter and stumbling of a drunk chick outside my apartment. I listened to them for awhile and prayed they would move on, but it continued. Finally, I got out of bed and looked through the window just in time to see one of them attempting to go number uno in our bushes. That was it. Immediately, I went into college Kate mode (this means I either call the cops on my own house, or head out to the situation to yell at anyone I can find) - I chose the latter. So, there I was, old Duke t-shirt, pajama pants and hair everywhere, ready to fight, but as I rounded the corner to our lobby I found three drunk chicks, one clueless guy and a naked girl. Yeah, a naked girl. All of them looked at me, and immediately said, "Oh sorry, it's a batchelorette party and she, pointing to the naked one, had to go swimming in the ocean." I was completely dumbfounded. So, all I said was, "Oh, congrats. Well, night." Night? Congrats? Have I really been out of college that long that I couldn't come up with at least a decent lecture or raised voice? How about a disapproving face? Nothing. All those years of training and now look at me. Pathetic.
*The picture is what I should have done.
Monday, August 22, 2011
A few weeks ago I was Utah running a lacrosse camp. After almost 16 years of running sport camps I find that I have mixed emotions about them. One, I think it's great that kids go to camp. I mean, if kids don't go, I don't get paid...I mean, kids don't learn and get better. And yet, two, I just wish there was a screening process prior to sport camps. You know a little agility course they have to complete in a certain amount of time. Or they have to send in a tape of them running and then we can determine if there is any athletic ability at all. You know, something. Because honestly, this floodgate of minivans packed with overpaid sticks, cleats, clothes and uncoordinated children has got to be curbed.
For example, after the first day of lacrosse camp I surveyed my motley crew of campers and this is what I found:
- 3 Girls wearing deeply chaffing jean shorts with soccer cleats and Justin Bieber T-Shirts. 3. Yes, 3 different sets of parents allowed this attire for camp. Not acceptable.
- 5 Girls never put their hair up in a ponytail, but awkwardly ran around the field with unkempt manes. I'm sorry, you are not an athlete if you think running around like Pocahontas is a good idea.
- 2 Girls were forced to sit out for the afternoon because they had hurt themselves during lunch while they were playing "catch." (They were throwing to each other. That means one got hit in the face, cried about it and then hit her friend in the face.) Not acceptable.
- 1 girl was riding her lacrosse stick around the field like a broomstick. (Hey Hermione, Gryffindor called and wanted to know when you were headed back to Hogsworth.) (So, outed myself just then.)
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Well, after two years plus of serving at a restaurant I thought I had seen it all...and then Thursday morning took place. If you are eating please stop. If you have a delicate stomach stop reading. Okay let's continue.
At 8:30 in the morning, there were two individuals sitting on the patio of our restaurant. After refilling my customer's coffee I turned the corner of the patio to check on my co-worker's customer. As I approached her table I noticed she had placed her credit card in the server book to be run. Now, let me state that this woman was on the phone and had her back to me. As I approached her table I began to ask, "Would you like me to run this card for you?" At the exact moment I was reaching for the book, this lady lifted up her derriere and proceeded to loudly fart on me. Now, words cannot adequately express the horror I felt as our eyes locked while she released her morning gas all over me. (It was like looking into the face of the Devil. You want to run, but your body just won't work.)
After a few awkward seconds, I regained the control of my body and ran for the door of the restaurant. Once inside, I tried to find acid, lighter fluid, gasoline - anything that I could use to burn my throat and eyes. I could NOT believe some lady, that looked like my dear mother, had lifted up her butt cheek and farted on me! Now, I've cleaned up mashed bananas underneath a table, I've pulled hair out of food and I've reached into the trash of discarded food to save a spoon, but this...this...this was on another level.
So, what have I learned from this experience? 1. Always make myself known in all situations. I might even start screaming, "Hey, coming around the corner. Hold in all anal acoustics* and other bodily disasters until I've passed." 2. Try to block out my co-workers' responses. One said, "I mean, that's okay at home or in your car, but not at a public restaurant." Okay? No, that's not okay. Or this one: "I mean, I do it in here (meaning the restaurant) but it's loud with music." (Mind you, I don't walk behind this person anymore.) and 3. If I hear a funny noise on the phone I'm no longer believing when the other person says, "Oh, that was weird, my phone just made a weird noise." Right. Who farts while on the phone?
Again, so glad my college degree from Duke is going to good use.
* I found that description at: http://www.heptune.com/fartword.html
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I'm clearing the table of four people. As I get to the Asian man's plate of tacos I say, "Well, I can tell you didn't like this." (This is one of the jokes I say at the end of meals to get a cheap laugh, and what also makes me silently hate myself.) Anyway, the plate was virtually clear except for a few pieces of rice. So, he responded with, "Well, I didn't finish my rice but the rest was very good." And I said, "Oh yeah rice, you have probably never had this food. I'm sure it must be exciting trying it." So folks did the racial slur deserve a tip?
Guy sits down and seems like he's in a bad mood. I say, "Well, how are you doing today?" He grumbles out, "Well, I just got my prostate checked." And I say, without thinking, "Do you want a second opinion?" Belittling a possible cancer victim? How much on that tip?
Four old people sit down for lunch. After I shout out my welcome, three of them order alcohol. As the fourth one tells me he doesn't want anything to drink I say, "So are you the driver for these drunks?" Immediately, all the hearing aids go off and the woman, who ordered a beer, says, "You think I look drunk?" (So hard to resist.) And I say, "I saw you walking in and it looked like you were about to fall." Ah yes, insulting the old. Definitely worth the lack of tip.
What can I say, when I'm dehydrated all sensors get turned off.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The other night my "fish out of water" mentality came blaring out as I sat at a table with five other women, who are planning another camp at our same campsite. We had met to coordinate...blah, blah - and in the course of talking about our themes and individual camps the following conversation took place:
Old Lady: "So, we are going to try to do away with pranks this year. For the past two years things have really gotten out of control."
Kate: (Ears perk up for some stories)
Old Lady #2: "Yes, two years ago was awful. One of the girls found a bra of a leader and put it up the flag pole."
Kate: (While laughing out loud) "That's funny."
Old Lady #1: (While Kate is laughing) "That's not funny."
Kate: "Yes, that's what I meant. NOT funny."
Old Lady #1 and #2: (Disapproving looks)
After that exchange I thought, "(yep, more quotations) Well, things can't get worse." And then Old Lady #1 said, while looking at me, "And please don't let the girls drive the golf carts." I may or may not have commandeered a golf cart last year and allowed my 12 year olds to drive it.
See? Why me?
Monday, July 18, 2011
Monday's Random Thought:
So, last week the significant other and I traveled to South Carolina for a little family vacation. After a dreadful red eye - I say "dreadful" because the hubby decided to take nyquil before the flight. Now, this would have been a good idea, but he decided to take the mind numbing drug right after dinner, which was two hours before our flight. Therefore, I got the fun experience of dragging our bags through bag check and nudging him to stay awake. The good news was everything was funny to him - I mean everything - my face, me dragging bags, entering the airport, dogs in suitcases...everything - AND he slept like a dead person the whole way there. Me? I did the head bob for an hour and ended up watching some Tyler Perry movie. (Why can't we all have a large man/woman in our lives to solve our problems?)
Anyway, after our red eye we had a four hour layover in Atlanta. While I was waiting for our plane I surveyed the crowd, who were also waiting for our flight, and had this random thought: So this is the group. This is the group I'll have a near death experience with. This is the group I'll land on a deserted island with and build shacks out of leaves and pieces of our plane. I'll befriend the fat man with the Eagles' jersey because we are both from Philly and long to go home. This is the group who will fight over the small amount of food left in the morning, and who will somehow become friends again at night as things slow down and music plays. This is the group who will try to build boats to freedom and deliver the baby of the girl sitting next to me. This is the group who will become my family as people search for Delta flight 702. This is the group.
Honestly, since watching Lost I have this thought every time I fly. Some flights I'm sort of excited (I once flew with a men's soccer team from Colorado) and other times I'm a little worried/disappointed (like my flight from LA to Boise which carried a fanatical group of Disney lovers - Disney lovers are not going to be able to fight the black smoke.)
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Over the course of a few weeks I took the most awkward one of the bunch and became determined that she would be the victor of our 6 and go on to the main Speech Festival...which she did. (High fives around). Now, before I go on, let me just describe my sweet Autumn. She is shy beyond description. Before giving this talk I'm not sure I ever heard her speak more than two sentences at a time, and yet, she somehow nailed it. So, fast forward two weeks, Autumn, after being coaxed and bribed, was sent to the main Speech Festival to compete against six other churches' winners to determine the ultimate speech giver...and to win 2 free movie tickets!
Now, Autumn is not my child and I'm not even a mom, but I'll admit I sort of got into "Mom Mode" watching this speech festival. For example, and I'm not sure moms actually do this, or even admit to doing it, but I truly wanted to see all the other kids fail. I mean truly fail. Every time a kid stuttered, forgot a line from their talk or made an awkward statement I found myself thinking, "Alright, this one sucks - we totally got this."
Secondly, when Autumn got up to speak I felt like one of those crazy moms from the TLC show Toddlers and Tiaras. (See picture up top. Yeah, that would be wire cones on her little girl.) Honestly, if you could have seen me, I was almost mouthing the words and smiling in that way that says, "If you make eye contact with me, I'm trying to tell you to smile bigger." It wasn't pretty.
And lastly, I'll admit I sort of behaved poorly as we were waiting for the verdict. I, may or may not have, told some of the judges Autumn's background and how winning this could help her conquer her shyness, and the fact that she is waiting for a kidney transplant. (She doesn't actually need a kidney, but I thought it painted a courageous picture.)
Unfortunately, at the end Autumn was robbed. She did manage to take down Barack Obama Jr. and hippie happy 17 year old from Malibu, but second place was where she stood....and I, may or may not, have said rather loud, "We were robbed," over and over again when the winner was announced.
So, what did I get from this experience? Well, one you can conquer fears. Two, we have some great youth coming up as the next generation. And three, I think I'm going to be that annoying Mom on the sidelines,who runs up and down screaming, "Billy get the ball! Get the ball! You got it! Score! He scored! That's my kid! That's my kid! That's my...oh geez.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Another person once told me that he was writing a comedy. Now, again like our Mr. Carrie Bradshaw, this guy writing a comedy just didn't fit. For one, I've never seen him smile. I don't even know how this guy chews because I've never seen his teeth. I wanted to follow-up his answer with the question, "Does your comedy include torturing kittens and beating children?"
And lastly, my favorite answer came today. For the past couple of weeks a writing team has been camping out at our restaurant furiously typing away on a laptop. I decided to finally ask them what they were writing, and they replied they were writing a romantic comedy. Now, I'll admit I'm sort of a fan of this genre and they both struck me as rather normal people, so I then asked, "Have you guys written anything before? and they replied with a meek voice, "Um, we wrote The Wedding Planner with Jennifer Lopez." I think I loved this reply the most because there was absolutely no pride in their admitting they wrote The Wedding Planner, and as I continued to maintain eye contact, they both put their heads down in shame and said (and I quote as they pointed to their laptops) "But, this one won't be like that."
I know, I know what you are thinking: Why the shame in such a cinematic masterpiece? Why didn't they hold their heads up high and ask, "Did you see them getting together at the end? How about him leaving his own wedding to get her? HIS OWN WEDDING??!! We are freaking geniuses!" Instead, there was just apologies.
Come on you laptop campers, write with some dignity. Write what you know. Write stuff we want to see...and tip your waitress, she's trying to make a living too.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
And now we have Bentley Williams of The Bachelorette behaving like a complete (insert something about a bag here.) Just for fun, I decided to Google Mr. Williams and you know what I found? Several articles discussing two things: 1. What an unbelievable jerk this guy is and 2. Yep, you guessed it, the fact that he's a Mormon.
So, listen up you Mormons out there, find another hobby. Keep eating in your living rooms (about 15 Mormons have been on The Biggest Loser), keep dancing in your basements (another five or so have been on dancing reality shows) and stop being totally crazy on TV.
Oh, and if you are Ken Jennings, the guy who holds the record for the longest winning streak on Jeopardy!, feel free to go on TV. Honestly, during those 75 episodes I really thought we were finally erasing the damage done by so many idiots.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
So, why do I attempt to play this sport? One, because I once hit a hole in one and that's just too bad A to not continue. Two, people say you can play this sport until you die. (Sure, I think this sport will actually kill you, but we'll see.) And three, because after chunking 100 shots, slicing the other twenty and missing too many puts to count, you hit one forsaken good shot and you think, "This sport isn't all bad."*
So, wish me luck - I've got four weeks to master this game. And just so you know, if my golf lessons don't start producing some results I'm going the pre-Thanksgiving/scandal Tiger route. Don't judge, it's not love, it's just about being a better golfer.
*Lies, lies, lies.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Can you feel the tension? The male torpedo is just about to enter the water.
Once the male torpedo was off, The Man's bro (or The Clydesdale as we like to call him) got in line to enter the water. Unlike The Man's two layers of wet suit, rash guard and biking shorts, The Clydesdale entered the "widow maker," or the swim, a "little less clothed."
behind the camera one woman going insane with this kid rattling a cow bell for 45 minutes straight. (Yeah, I took her picture.)
There are no words to accurately describe this.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Anyway, there's a guy that comes in often, who I would describe as surprisingly grumpy and rather cheap. Last week after he left, I went to clean his table and found a 20 dollar bill left on the ground. Now, after two years of serving this cheap s.o.b., I knew this wasn't a forgotten tip. So, I pocketed the twenty and wrestled with myself for the next few days on what to do.
Finally, judgement day came. As I went to get his orange juice and bran muffin, I heard the devil say, "Kate, twenty dollars could buy a dram of fertility drugs. Don't do it." And then the angel, on the other shoulder obviously, said, "Kate, give him the twenty and that baby is as good as yours." What can I say, Momma's desperate.
But here's the thing...okay, I told him about losing the twenty and how I felt like he should have it back, but the guy didn't even say thanks. He took the twenty. Just took it. No reward for being honest. No high five for "The Server of the Year." Nothing. ANNNDD...the guy still have me a crappy tip.
So, what did I learn from this? One, like The Steve Miller Band says, "Take the Money and Run." Two, karma can't be bought off with $20.00. And three, I think I need to come up with other strategies to get a baby - this approach is costing me way too much.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Who knew sounding like a moron or a ten year old would get rid of solicitors on the phone. I'm totally using this again. Thank you LA Times.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
1. Look at the woman, she's hot. 60+ and she has still got it.
2. She's hilarious. Tell her a dirty joke, or anything that involves farting, and the woman will be laughing. How can you not love that?
3. She knew that the husband was the one before I knew she was the one. So, she's smart is what I'm saying.
4. She is an AMAZING cook. (I wish that was hereditary.)
5. She always puts us kids first.
Barb, I love you. Thanks for having me and sorry about the 28 minute wait....
Thursday, May 5, 2011
When the technician asks you what types of head traumas you've had to warrant your first MRI, just stick with your first answer of, "I started having migraines and they wanted to know what the cause of them were." Don't add, "And sometimes I talk back to my husband." No one will laugh, at least, mine didn't.
When the technician asks you if you would like to close your eyes or watch a nature video on animals, choose closing your eyes. (Yes, there was a video inside my little claustrophobic chamber.) All of the sudden I'm watching a polar bear with her cubs, and then I'm watching a wolf chase down Bambi and slaughter it. I wonder what activity they'll see in my brain as I'm screaming out, "RUNN!"
Don't try to read the face of the technician after the procedure. I couldn't tell if I have six months to live or he has indigestion. Maybe he was all torn up about Bambi also.
*And when I say "fun" I mean fertility.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Thank you again for my $234.00 ticket. I really appreciate the time and effort you put into turning your siren on, pulling me over like a reckless outlaw and teaching me about breaking the law.
Oh, and I also wanted to thank you for keeping my community so safe. Just the other day I saw a car being broken into and when I called to tell you, you not only didn't respond in a timely manner, but managed to call once the car was pulling away. And there was the stealing of my bike from my own garage. I'll admit I had that coming. I mean, that bike could run more stop signs. Thank goodness that got stolen. And then how I look back on fondness, the time we found my husband's car broken into and my Ipod stolen. How you dusted that car for fingerprint....oh wait. And now, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you again, for all the hard work you put in. I mean, sure on Monday night my Thule bike and surf rack was stolen, but I'm sure again, someone who runs stops signs on their bike doesn't deserve a rack to carry the dangerous bike! No!
So, thank you again, and thank goodness that at least one real criminal (me) is being punished for breaking the law.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
In addition to the mystery of NASCAR, I would like someone to explain to me, or tell me, who are all the people who watch CBS? I couldn't name you one show I've watched in entirety that airs on CBS, and yet, almost every single show in the top ten of viewership is from this network.
So, here's the only conclusion I can come to: The same mysterious people who show up and watch NASCAR, must be the same idiots who think Two and Half Men is one of the funniest shows on TV, and (insert city) CSI is just plain brilliant.
Who are you people and who is leading you?