Annoyances: Laundry List Style

Given the fact that the past two days have been spent grinding my teeth and attempting not to disembowel the next person who says the phrase “heat wave,” I’m a bit irritated at, well, everything.  Maybe my case of the Mondays has been extended to include our friend, Tuesday, but whatever the reason, I’m not in a great mood, and I blame everything but myself.  Why?  Because I’m an American, dammit, and that’s perfectly acceptable in this country.  So, here is yet another list of crap that bugs me.  I know you’ve been losing sleep over the lack of these lists in your life. 

1.  Being held “gift hostage.”  A friend of mine recently had a dilemma.  You see, a friend of hers that she didn’t particularly like wanted to meet up with said friend to give her a birthday gift.  Mind you, these people aren’t exactly on “talk every day and finish each others’ sentences” terms, so it was a bit odd.  After politely declining the birthday gift, my friend then got an e-mail that said, “But I had something monogrammed for you, so it can’t really go to anyone else.  I’d love to catch lunch and let you enjoy it.”  I’m calling bullshit on this one because who on earth gets someone a monogrammed gift when you barely talk to the receiver of the gift?  This, my friends, is a classic case of gift entrapment.  My guess is the alleged gift giver actually has a favor she wants to ask of gift receiver and is using the gift as a wickedly-trapped bait to lure this favor out of my friend.  The friend called shenanigans and has yet to be snared by the monogramming bandit.  Stay tuned for news, but please, don’t do this to someone you kind of know.  It’s not cool, yo.  Not cool at all. 

2.  There’s a school called Universal Technical Institute.  Yes.  They call it UTI.  Why you would want to name your school after a common female bladder ailment when it’s an institution designed for entry-level auto mechanics?  What grease-stained dude on a creeper is interested in pledging his allegiance to Urinary Tract Infection?  The idea that they somehow did this on purpose to cement their name in the minds of potential students hasn’t surpassed me, since they blatantly refer to it as “UTI” very often in their commercials.  The fact that they thought this was a good idea, however, has totally surpassed me and left me slack-jawed and hunched over with laughter. 

3.  This next annoyance is actually a two-parter.  Annoyance #1:  Our shower is leaking.  I can only tighten the faucets so much before they strip themselves out and flood my bathroom.  The constant dripping is driving me crazy, not to mention, with the idea of a triple-digit water bill looming on my pay-strapped horizon, the insanity is reaching new levels of, well, insanity.  That’s annoyance #1 with this situation.  Annoyance #2:  When I went to Home Depot yesterday to inquire about getting new seals for my faucet, I found a very helpful man who looked me up and down and said, “Do you have a boyfriend or husband helping you with this project?”  Granted, I was totally just going to buy the seal, hand it to my lovely husband and ask him to replace the seals, but THIS MAN DIDN’T KNOW THAT (I feel that’s one of the advantages to being married: getting your husband to do stuff like this.  I cook and pay the bills.  He fixes stuff.  It’s on the marriage certificate somewhere, I’m sure.) Now,  I’ve done a lot of handy-type things in my life: I’ve installed a ceiling fan all by my lonesome (well, I was helped by three cats and several expletives.)  I’ve taken apart a garbage disposal, under the influence of a coupla drinks, and removed what looked like Styrofoam spider webs from it so that it would properly dispose of my garbage.  And oh yeah, Mr. Smarty Pants Home Depot employee?  I’ve castrated a bull before.  So continue with your completely wrong assessment of this chick, get me the damn seals, and quickly shut the F up or you’re going to be singing soprano at the next Home Depot holiday gathering.  Asshat. 

4.  “50 Shades of Grey.”  Yes, I have read the first two books in this horrid series, so yes, I feel like I can make fun of it.  The “author” is obviously lost in some world of sexual made-uppery as no one ever has had sex like this.  Not to mention that the minute some control freak millionaire tracked my cell phone to a bar, found me at the bar, and then proceeded to chastise me for drinking so much as I hurled into some bushes, I would kick him in his bathing suit area (unless he likes that.  Who knows?)  The writing is stilted, the characters are unbelievable (the main character got drunk for the first time when she hurled into the bushes.  She then continues throughout the book to drink every chance she gets, including the night after the vomiting.  You don’t jump back on the alcohol horse that quickly.  I know these things) and the plot is just this side of asinine.  I suppose the real reason I’m so angry about these works is that I’m probably just jealous that old E.L. somehow got a book deal and I’m stuck writing on my couch and not flying around the world to a host of adoring fans that for some reason like my writing.  Screw you, E.L. James.  I’ll keep my crappy writing where it belongs: on my self-maintained blog.  

7 Deadly Sins...The Updated Version

Move over, Brad Pitt.  I’ve decided we need a revamp of the 7 Deadly Sins, Angry Curl style.  Living in the world of food trucks and a shirtless Matthew McConaughey takes gluttony and lust to a completely different, totally worth it, level of sin.  And let’s face it – sloth?  Might as well be renamed “laying around on the couch and watching football all day.”  And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to do that.  So, as I tend to do, I decided we need new rules for society.  You know.  To weed out the dummies.

1.  Greed  Inability to be punctual   I’m replacing greed with dumbasses who can’t tell time because they ARE greedy.  Of my time.  Working in radio has allowed me to realize that you can put a price tag on time and when you’re wasting mine, I’m not happy.  Buy a watch and stop with the whole, “Oh, I’m always late.  That’s just how I am!” excuse.  It’s not cute.  It’s stupid.  Somebody a long time ago put a lot of effort into figuring out how to tell time.  I don’t know this person’s name, but I’m sure he’d be insulted by the flagrant  disregard of his work.  This whole annoyance really stems from the fact that I rushed home a couple of weeks ago and furiously cleaned the house for a last-minute showing, only to sit in the parking lot with three rather confused felines for an hour and 15 minutes…then realize that I had gotten stood up by a realtor.  Their excuse?  They got “sidetracked.”  Screw you and the fact that I’m now sweating like a lady of the night in a religious institution (and cursing like one that’s about to get struck by lightning.)  You got sidetracked?  Sidetrack this.* 
*Note: author is currently holding up one very important finger.  I’ll let you decipher which one. 

2.  Sloth  Using Bad Grammar.  I chose to replace sloth with bad grammar because if you can’t properly use “your” or “you’re” in a sentence, you’re obviously too lazy to look it up somewhere.  We live in the age of Google, people!  It’s not like you have to drag yourself to the library, sort through a card catalog, and then figure out the Dewey decimal system these days.  It’s just a few clicks away.  While you’re at it, check out the section about their/there/they’re.  Interesting stuff, I tell ya!  The all caps effect fits into this category as well, because if you’re too lazy to hit the shift button once in a while, I’m too lazy to read your shouty message that’s probably lame anyway. 

3.  Gluttony  Being Extreme Couponers.  Now, before you think, “Um, Jamie, don’t YOU use coupons?” please know that I’m not against using coupons to keep a bit of that hard-earned greenery in your bank account.  The folks that I’m angry with are the crazy people on that extreme coupon show that have ruined it for the rest of us.  Thanks to those dick weeds, stores are cracking down on their coupon policy and making it extremely difficult for those of us who just want to save a few bucks at the store and not stockpile shampoo for our World War III bunker.  Never did I set out to get 8 carts of stuff for $3.  I just want the satisfaction of showing a receipt to someone and saying, “Look!  I saved $18 with a few pieces of paper!  That’s like a free case of beer!”

4.  Pride  Talking because you like the sound of your own voice.  If you’ve ever been in a work meeting that’s running a bit late only to have it run even later due to someone’s over-explanation of something that probably contains an acronym, you understand my pain.  This sin also applies to people who tell overly-long, overly-complicated stories at parties and social functions, most graduation speeches, and Kanye West. 

5.  Wrath  Inventing individually-wrapped chicken breasts.  I’m replacing wrath with this travesty because that’s the only emotion I feel when I open these stupid things.  Attempting to eat less meat that’s higher quality means going organic.  And a lot of the times the only organic chicken option is the one with each chicken breast sealed in its own little package…within another package.  I find it amusing that the organic, therefore seemingly-better-for-the-environment meat is using up WAY more packaging than its hormone-eating counterparts.  I understand that touching chicken isn’t the most pleasant experience for some people, but that’s ridiculous.  If you can’t touch it, don’t eat it.  If more people would experience their food, maybe we could stop eating this crap that McDonald’s passes off as sustenance and gain some insight into our food supply.  And the argument of "but what if I don't want the whole package?" is null because that's why sandwich bags were invented.  How we lived hundreds of years without packaged chicken breasts, I'll never know.  

Side Note:  Sorry for the tangent.  Food is a pretty big deal to me.  *Steps off soap box.* 

6.  Envy   Being completely irresponsible.  I’m using this to replace envy because I am truly envious of people who just don’t give a flying rat’s dirty parts about life.  It must be so easy to be incredibly stupid.  When I say “irresponsible” I mean, “these people are making bad life choices and making my life harder in the meantime.”  For instance, the asshats who bought a house they couldn’t afford and then just decided they didn’t want to pay for anymore?  The reason our house will sell sometime near 2045 for what will probably be still less than what we owe.  The guy who decides he doesn’t want his leftover mess from Taco Bell?  Just tosses it in the street.  Who cares?  He surely doesn’t!  The lady who doesn’t feel like walking 4 feet to return a shopping cart to the little cart corral thing?  Don’t worry – it won’t hit YOUR car.  You’re leaving!  People who go through the effort of collecting their recycling, driving it to the recycling center, and then leaving it in a plastic bag BESIDE THE RECYCLING BIN?  Somewhat responsible, yet lacking in execution.  I guess my point is that I in no way want to judge people’s lifestyles…as long as that lifestyle doesn’t affect MY lifestyle.  But when I’m having to pick up your 8 packets of hot sauce and half of a leftover burrito from my yard, that’s when I get a bit testy and I think you should be punished.  Preferably in a manner that includes  Limp Bizkit at loud volumes and a large amount of Super Glue. 

7.  Lust  Being the Black Eyed Peas  That’s right.  It’s now a sin to be the Black Eyed Peas.  Between the incontinence of Fergie, that one song of theirs that sounds like an Outback Steakhouse commercial (“I Gotta Feeling” I believe it’s called) and the atrocity that was last year’s Super Bowl performance (best Facebook comment from that night?  “The Black Eyed Peas are Rothlisbergering my ears right now.”  Props, Eric.  Props.)  Beside the fact that our lexicon has been littered with such words as “ferglicious” and that “Lady Lumps” song even exists, they (especially Fergie and her solo "career") suck.  Will.i.am has WAY too much punctuation in his name and I don’t even know who the other two are because that’s all the brain space I’m willing to give to this “band.”  I think I could make better music by farting into a tin can.  

Angry Curl: Memorial Day Edition

Memorial Day weekend is upon us and quite frankly, I need a vacation.  Of course, thanks to our friend, Mr. Recession, our vacation this year involves sleeping in a yellow bubble in the middle of a park and preferably next to a body of water and as far away as possible from anything deemed by me to be “bitey.”  Yep.  We’re going camping!  I actually enjoy camping and I am quite looking forward to my “sorry I didn’t get your call.  I was camping!” excuse that I plan to employ far after we’ve packed up our dirty, leaf-infested underwear and hauled underwearless ass out of the park.  Before we all alight upon our Memorial Day adventures, however, I wanted to do a sort of memorial of my own.  Of crap that annoys me and the absolute stupidity that exists in the world around us.  Enjoy.

1.  Pink.  Little Miss “I’m not going to adhere to the rules of society and I’m way cooler than any other pop star” is a fake.  You can rock your short hair and swing around on a trapeze all you want, but when your lyrics include “Don’t get fancy, just get dancy” I’m calling shenanigans on your badass-ness.  Your husband?  Hot and covered in tattoos.  (Note:  So is mine.)  Your delusions of going against the grain and doing your own thing in the music business?  Ludicrous.  Just release your inner Britney and attack someone with an umbrella.  THAT’S rebellion, Pink.  Take some notes.

2.  Speaking of “celebrities” let’s talk about celebrity exhaustion.  I’m fairly sure the last time I got overwhelmed by every day stuff like going to work and paying my ever-increasing water bill I did one of two things: 1.  Drank a bottle of wine or 2. Drank another bottle of wine.  “Exhaustion” is another thing I’m calling shenanigans on as it should really go by its actual moniker: adulthood.  Welcome to it, asshats.  Welcome to the world of having a job!  And responsibilities!  And a strong urge to strangle the person in front of you at the store that says, “Will you just give me a minute?  I forgot to get bread.  Back in just a second!”  You’re not exhausted – you’re a major p***y.  I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to reflect on this fact while you’re sipping “prescription” sparkling water and getting “therapeutic” massages as part of your “treatment.” 

3.  Windshield Memorials.  I understand that death is a part of society and I in no way mean to downplay the grief felt at the passing of a loved one.  But memorializing this person on the back windshield of your 2007 Dodge Ram is a bit unnecessary and will wreak what I can only assume will be havoc on the Kelly Blue Book value.  I’m sure that Kevon McGriffy III certainly will R.I.P. knowing that the commuters behind you on I-24 are armed with the knowledge that he lived from 1982 – 2009 and that you’ve adorned the years with angel wings. 

4.  Preachy billboards.  Living in the South, these are fairly commonplace, especially in more rural areas.  They’re usually very black and white (much like morality!) and are threatening that you’re going to hell for…something.  Some just list the Ten Commandments (often these have to be broken into 2 billboards) and some say things like, “REPENT, SINNER!” with hellacious flames at the bottom.  I actually shouldn’t say that they annoy me, per se, as I find them kind of amusing, especially on road trips through the boonies, but really.  Let’s take them down and replace them with something useful.  Like the length of the wait time at the nearest ER. 

And now, to complete your Memorial Day weekend cynicism, are some things that make me happy:

1.  My parents found their cat!  “I didn’t know the cat was missing” you might be thinking to yourself.  Well, never worry because the cat was found, safe and sound, in a beaver trap.  You see, cat food was placed in the trap to lure the beavers (please be assured that I’m aware of the innuendos that are inherent in this little rant) and the cat was understandably interested by the thought of cat food in a box near a creek (beavers, cats, and boxes.  I can’t even begin to tell you my delight in all of these unintentionally-placed jokes.)  ANYWAY, the fact that the cat was found made me happy.  The fact that the cat was found in a beaver trap sent me over the edge into blissful oblivion. 

2.  The fact that we’re about to spend the next three days doing one of these things: swimming in the lake.  Hanging in a hammock.  And that’s about it.  Possibly sipping on some Maker’s during each of these activities and that’s about it.  No phones.  No deadlines.  Just water, trees, and the inevitable tick or two.  And I can’t wait.

Happy Memorial Day, y’all.  Stay cynical.  

My Response to "Had Any Offers Lately?"

As you probably know, Travis and I are in the process of attempting to sell our house.  This is a process that's been ongoing for almost 2 years now.  We've done everything "right," in that it's staged so well we almost want to continue living there, half of our belongings are in storage to complete the "we don't have clutter" look, and since we replaced the carpet in the living room, it no longer looks like the scene of a homicide involving several ounces of Miller Lite and what may have been badger urine.  Anyway, we've had a lot of (completely well-meaning) questions about the progress of our house and I've now taken the route of at least trying to make myself, and the asker of the question, laugh at my response because if I don't laugh at the situation, I *might* have to start compulsively hoarding badgers again.  And no one wants that.  So, here is my e-mail in response to another, still well-meaning question of, "Had any offers lately?"  

Not a one - haha!  We had one guy who was considering our place but then chose one on a golf course down the road.  This lead me to wish golf balls to rain down on his head when he's just trying to scramble some eggs in his kitchen.  No one likes a Titleist in their eggs, right?  As for this round of selling the house, we've only had the two showings from the one, golf-loving dude and not a lot else.  Not sure what the problem is, seeing as how we are offering it at the lowest price so far (this is the third time we've put it on the market, making it around 20-some-odd months that we've been living in what is essentially a Pottery Barn catalog while simultaneously getting nervous hives when we go out of town lest we get a showing and aren't around to remove all evidence of our beloved cats from the house.)  I even wrote a letter to our metro government office when I got an erroneous bill for our property taxes, espousing the greatness of our house and how badly I want to not live in said house anymore (the kitchen's been on the Rachael Ray show - true story) because, at this point, I will tell anyone I can about it in the off chance that someone, somewhere, will be willing to buy a perfectly good house (for one person.  For a newly-married couple, one of whom is a compulsive collector of all things musical kitsch and the other being a collector of shoes, sundresses, and kitchen gadgets, one becoming-tinier-by-the-minute condo isn't cutting the already-room-temperature butter.) On that note, I'm sure you really didn't want that kind of in-depth answer and you may be thinking, "This girl is freakin' psychotic."  You'd be right on that count, as the next person who asks, "Have you tried staging your home?" will receive a punch in the face and an unapologetic look of aforementioned psychosis from yours truly.  At least I don't have to stage my cell in maximum security, although I have a feeling I'd probably be used by my cellmate as a pawn in an auction for cigarettes during rec time. 

And on that note, I hope I've at least brightened your day because I'm still on a "I'm never going to sell my house and I'm going to be forced to spend my evenings creating elaborate, yet more than likely completely false, backstories for our neighbors involving prostitution rings for the Mexican embassy and what we're guessing is a possible brothel while trying not to strangle the one lady who tries to get me to go to the HOA meetings all.the.time. " frenetic warpath. 

So, that being said, pardon the hideously long e-mail.  I just read it and decided that I do, indeed, sound like a crazy person.  Feel free to post this on the bulletin board at work, because I totally would.  To bring joy to others through my pain is the least I can ask for from this hideously dehumanizing process known as selling your house.

I would also like to note that I do not direct any of the hatred towards yourself or your company.  I rather like to place blame on the government, a very vindictive turnip farmer in South Dakota, and possibly Canada. 

Cheers!

- Jamie 

Living A Rich Life on the Cheap

It’s that time again, and by “that time” I mean, “let me wax poetic about meaningless propaganda that you ceased to care about sometime around the Reagan administration.”  The recession is still licking its chops from consuming one too many overpaid bankers while simultaneously picking its teeth with the dreams of the American people.  This all-too-realistic fact smacks me over the head so much I’ve taken to calling it Chris Brown.  Dancing around financial pitfalls is difficult since I’m not a good dancer, but that extra weight I was carrying around in my bank account is now gone and so I’ve become pretty dang good at creative ways to be thrifty.  Seeing it a crime to keep these nuggets of wisdom contained in my own, recession-smacked brain I’ve decided to share this knowledge.
1.  One way I’ve kept up appearances of affluence in the home is refilling the containers of name brand items I bought (when I had disposable income) with their generic counterparts.  People are much more likely to believe your “I’m not broke” façade when your fabric softener says “Downey” and not “Kroger Blue Stuff.”  Likewise, my hand soap may SAY Dove, but inside I know lies “Industrial Strength Tire Cleaner I Liberated from a Poorly-Maintained Car Wash on Nolensville Road.”
2.  Another great trick to save money is to make your own money.  Printing presses can be found on Craigslist with relative ease and if that doesn’t pan out, Magic Markers are probably on sale at Walgreens.  Simply grab a Trace and Learn (if you don’t have kids, offer to pick up your sister’s children one day – and then steal theirs) to brush up on your dead presidents, and you’ll be rolling around, a la Scrooge Duck on Duck Tales, in a silo filled with almost perfectly legal tender.
3.  Alcohol consumption can definitely take its toll on your wallet, but let’s face it – the anesthetic quality of some good hooch is unparalleled and nothing takes the edge off a day like a big glass of liquid intoxication.  With this is mind, take a look at your bathroom.  I’ll wait.
Good.  Now – do you have a tub?  If the answer is “yes,” then you, my friend, will soon be filthy, yet incredibly drunk, for just pennies on the dollar!  Turning your bathtub into a distillery is easy.  A few modifications to your counterfeit entrepreneurial operation turns that printing press into a spirits press that will have you kissing-a-random-street-musician wasted by the end of CMA Fest.
4.  One way to save both the planet AND your wallet is to recycle.  This is useful because you can (greenly) dispose of those pesky generic containers you no longer need thanks to putting their contents in their labeled counterparts.  But did you know that you can find all KINDS of stuff that other people are throwing away?  I have hauled home a beer-can chicken stand, several only-sort-of-out-of-date People magazines, and four mannequin heads from the Paul Mitchell Hair School.  I sense you’re snickering right about now, but I would like to assure you that I have actually hauled all of the above out of the recycling receptacles around our fair city and four of these beauty school heads items may or may not be in the trunk of my car currently.
5.  Kidnapping is a fantastic money-saver on several levels as well.  First off, you have the ransom money, which is a no-brainer.  Make sure you’re not overstepping your bounds, as several factors need to be addressed before you arrive at a set figure.  Take into consideration the annual income of the people you’re extorting, what you’ve stolen from them, and exactly how long you’re willing to keep in your possession the very thing you’ve stolen.  For instance, you’re not going to be able to get as much money by stealing the dog of a middle-class family of 7 as you would by taking, say, one of Jennifer Lopez’s children.  I’ve devised a formula to help you decide the level of kidnapping risk you’re willing to take for the financial outcome:
(Street Value of Stolen Item x Length of Captivity) – Length of Possible Prison Term (in months) = Return on Investment.  You’ll want to factor in the cost of night vision goggles plus a magazine subscription so you can write out your ransom notes, but those are really just costs of doing business with the Lindberghs.
Now, I mentioned the “many levels” of money saving possibilities with the enterprise of kidnapping, and these aren’t just the ransoms you can collect.  If you decide to actual steal a human, you can use this person to do all kinds of things normally relegated to a rather expensive personal assistant.  Have the person wash your dishes, or, if you steal someone with a particular skill set (think: Mario Batali) he can demonstrate that talent in a valiant hope that you won’t kill him.
So, kids, it’s fairly simple.  Decide exactly what you’re hoping to gain from this scenario and then consider your possibilities.  The great thing about this industry?  Plenty of options.  Go ahead – play the market a bit.  Just make sure you sort of like whatever/whomever you steal, just in case no one wants it/him back.
Whew!  I don’t know about y’all, but my mind is pretty tired from all the money saving I’m doing!  I’m going to go take a nap while Mario Batali whips up some of his homemade ravioli for me.  And he better not put butternut squash in this batch.  As Martha Stewart can testify, no one puts squash in my ravioli without a higher ransom notice.  No one.

Life in the Service Industry

One of my first jobs was waiting tables.  Actually, my first job included chasing after cows and attempting not to run a tractor in to the mailbox (I succeeded in this task *almost* every time…) but my first place of employment besides a farm was waiting tables.  I waited tables through high school, then decided to do it throughout college for two reasons:  1.  They were flexible with my class schedule.  2.  It was more than perfectly acceptable to show up for your Wednesday night dinner shift with a massive hangover incurred from “Tequila Tuesdays.”  After graduating and moving back to start working in an office (with suits that wouldn’t get splattered with grenadine!  And actual paychecks!  And high HEELS!) I realized that I missed restaurants.  I missed the high-paced chaos of Friday night, I missed the raucous after-shift parties, and I really, really missed the huge chunk of cash in my pocket after a long night.  Like, REALLY missed that cash.  As I somehow always seem to do, I picked up yet another waitressing gig, this time after my 9-to-5 one.  Eventually that restaurant closed and, looking on to new career paths, I decided to put my restaurant career on an ice floe out to sea.  Regardless, I’ve got a lot of experience with restaurants, dive bars, watering holes, pizza joints - you name it - and you come to realize it teaches you a few things (okay, a LOT of things, but only a few I’m willing to admit to the entire Internet.  I’ll just leave you to what are probably-true assumptions.)  And so I write, “Life Lessons from a Restaurant: A Narrative.” 

1.  People can just be plain dicks.  I’ve heard people make fun of my answers to their questions while I was STILL AT THEIR TABLE.  I’ve been mocked for my accent.  I’ve been left pennies (and on at least one occasion, thrown the pennies back at the “tipper.”) Of course, I always had my regulars, no matter where I was working.  I had friends leave me fun notes, along with my tips, in high school.  I had a couple who would come in every week for all-you-can-eat wing night and leave me $20, no matter how much attention I didn’t have time to pay to their table.  And then I had the couple who thought I was “cute” and “wanted to take me home with them.”  But I digress – being a server taught me a valuable lesson.  And that lesson?  Most people suck, so don’t be surprised when you bend over backwards to get change for their $100 bill and they don’t leave any of that hard-sought change for your tip.  Just remember their face and then talk about how ugly their children were when you are drinking that first beer after your shift.  

2.  Never judge someone on appearances.   I like to think of this as the “don’t judge a table by their labels” rule of restaurants.   I’ve often found the richer-looking the table, the lower the tip.  Sometimes I think it’s because they think they’re better than the server (hence the “get a real job” picture floating around the Internet.)  Sometimes I think it’s just sheer ignorance (see also: foreign diners who actually pay their servers more than $2.15 an hour in their home country) and sometimes I think it’s because they’ve spent so much money on their asinine outfit and the what I’m guessing is “compensating for something” car that they genuinely have nothing left to give to their server.  Whatever the reason, I learned to never judge a customer by their appearance.  Because that crazy lady that just walked in looking a bit…um…insane?  That was Alison Krauss (and yes, she’s a good tipper.) 

3.  Be nice to everyone.  Because everyone can screw you royally.  This little platitude doesn’t exist just for the customers.  It applies to everyone from the busboy to the poor guy stuck in the dish pit.  Here’s the thing:  if you forget to put in a very important appetizer for a very important table and you tell your very important cook to “put a rush on it” after you refused his request of running some quickly-dying-in-the-window food?  It’s not going to happen.  Being nice to everyone yields certain things, and in a restaurant these things can mean a bussed table so the hostess can seat you again.  It can mean a free meal when the cooks are feeling generous, and it can mean that you will be able to go home feeling better about yourself than the prick who just left you $4 on that $82 ticket.  Same thing goes in life – just be nice to people. 

4.  Restaurants are like tiny, alcoholic, dysfunctional families.  The problem with working in restaurants comes when you realize that you can only hang out with other restaurant employees due to the fact that you’re the only ones working when everyone else is out having fun.  Getting off work at 4am while still (somewhat) sober limits you to your choice of hangout buddies.  Plus, why go out to try to find some place to get a drink when you’re looking at a bar right in front of you?  Here’s what happens:  everyone gets off work, except for the poor sap stuck closing.  Everyone starts drinking, including the poor sap stuck closing.  The music gets turned up to cover the sound of the vacuum, and then the stories begin…the “Was that his daughter or a hooker?” and the “The guy actually handed me a business card that said ‘Everyday Hero!’  Here it is!!” conversations.  Slowly everyone gets more and more buzzed, you start playing the Would You Rather? game, the poor sap stuck closing finally gets off, and general rowdiness ensues.  Said rowdiness may involve increasingly-risqué answers to the “Would You Rather?” game, it may involve taking questionable pictures with the cell phone someone left on the patio, and sometimes it just involves someone passing out on the salad line.  Regardless, I would say that I’m better friends with the folks I worked with in college than my actual classmates and I’m okay with that, because…

5.  Some of the smartest, most creative, and most interesting people work in the service industry.  It’s a field that attracts a myriad of people for a myriad of reasons but they will a) probably curse like sailors (myself included,) b) find infinite pleasure in a good dirty joke,  and c) know how to make a mean cocktail.  They may yell at you for not ringing in a side of bleu cheese, but will stop an ambulance carrying a fight-wounded customer of yours to get him to sign your credit card receipt (true story.)  They will get belligerently drunk with you, help you expand that running list of “Movie Titles You Turned into Porn Titles” someone hung over the ovens, and possibly convince you to do increasingly-disgusting dares for a little cash.  And you’ll love it.  And you’ll remember it.  And someday?  You might just write a blog about it.   

A Girl on a Diet Gets Annoyed Easily

Realizing I haven’t polluted the Internet with any of my cursed ramblings in a while, I have a few free minutes and intend to remedy this fact.  And I intend to include mild profanity, a modicum of sheer rage, and a sprinkling of sarcasm.  Okay, probably a lot of sarcasm, but who’s counting?  Actually a better question might be, “Who’s actually reading this?”  And so I bring yet another, “Stuff that Annoys the Crap Outta Me” to the world.  Because the world needs more pessimism.  And since this is Day 15 of my lovely, self-induced diet, the world also needs more "totally fat free but still taste delicious" varieties of cheeses.  

1.     Technology.  Since when did it become acceptable to completely ignore the people with whom you’re sharing company to see what these very same people are doing on Facebook?  Call me an old-fashioned 30-year-old, but that shit needs to stop.  With a quickness.  A quick text?  Fine.  Quickly looking up an answer to solve an escalating argument between friends?  Completely acceptable (1954 was the only year between ’49 and ’58 in which the Yankees did not appear in the World Series, in case you’re wondering.  Thanks, Wikipedia!)  But obviously scrolling through people’s newsfeeds while you’re in the company of people who care enough to, you know, get up off their couch, put on socially-acceptable clothing, and hang out with you is complete horse poo. 
Let’s recap:  tweeting a funny picture of your friend falling down at the bar: encouraged.  Chatting with your best friend from third grade about the deplorable conditions of the bar floor: social idiocy. 

2.     Yellow vehicles.  Anyone over the age of 25 shouldn’t drive a yellow car unless that person works for Yellow Cab.  Otherwise you just invite the deserved stereotype of being a complete douche bag with an extensive collection of Ed Hardy t-shirts and empty liquor bottles adorning the top of your kitchen cabinetry.  Another exception to this rule would be females driving VW bugs.  I’m not a total fan, but I’ll let it slide, as long as you have a flower on the dashboard. 

3.     Complicated cocktails.  The older I get (also annoying: people saying, “The older I get…”) the more I realize that the more time spent making the cocktail equals less time consuming the cocktail.  That’s why, in the spirit of ease and Don Draper himself, I now enjoy a fine glass of whiskey on the rocks with the uninhibited abandon one can only earn while she laughs at the people still at the bar as the bartender looks for a bottle of Apple Pucker.  It’s classy.  It’s lower in calories.  And it can make you look like a total badass in mixed company. 

4.     The new trend of posting poster-like pictures on Facebook walls.  Stuff like, “It’s not how far you go – it’s about the journey” (these are usually on a background of clouds with some doves or streaming sunlight.)  Or “A true man loves the girl you are – curves and all” (this is usually accompanied by an airbrushed photo of Kim Kardashian – more on her in a moment.)  Anyway, I think this is a by-product of Pinterest, which really sucks, because I genuinely like Pinterest.  But the bumper stickers clouding my feed are unnecessary, clichéd, and often stupid.  Now, pictures of mullets and funny personalized license plates, obviously, are not included in this category. 

5.     Kim Kardashian.  I know the fact that she’s getting divorced is old news, but I genuinely had to let myself calm down a bit before I wrote something that would probably place me on several lists, including the “could very well be a threat to national security” one.  How on EARTH do spend several MILLION dollars on a wedding, while we’re in a recession, and then say, “You know what?  I don’t think this is going to work.”  Go screw yourself, Kim.  Seriously.  I am ashamed you even live in this country (is this going to keep my record from being played on country radio stations for the next few years?)  You’re a media whore with too much money and absolutely no talent (except screwing athletes and spending exorbitant amounts of money on what amounted to an ostentatious party.)  Oh, and your ex-husband is a complete idiot.  Did you even listen to him speak before he slipped that rock on your finger?  Oh wait – I forgot that you can’t hear much due to the sound-deafening qualities of your ever-expanding head.  So here’s to you, Kim – you embody almost everything that is wrong with this country.  And a few things that aren’t, but should be. 

6.     The fact that the Oxford comma seems to be disappearing.  I know things evolve, it’s the nature of our being.  But when I spend the first 30 years of my life thinking that a series of three items needs to be separated like this, this, and this and then someone tells me it’s actually this, this and this?  Well, my brain goes a bit haywire because, as I’ve said, I’ve done it like this for 30. F’ing. Years.  I have enough to keep track of in my life – when is my house going to sell?  Where did I park my car?  When’s the last time I washed my underwear? – without having to keep up with the changing grammatical rules of a generation that considers “LOL” to be proper communication. 

I was going to attempt a rather short list of things that make me happy to even out the pessimism exhibited above.  But, over the weekend, I realized that chronic optimists ALSO annoy me, so to avoid any chance to irritating myself, I’m just leaving this list as-is, and full of the rantings and ravings of a girl on a diet and therefore in a very, very bad mood for going on 15 days now.