Imagine the balls on me, expecting to be served in a restaurant. I know, pushy as hell. Who do I think I am? A friggin paying customer, that's who. There's nothing that can ruin my appetite more than being treated like a second-class citizen while attempting to dine out. Restaurants are busy places, and I know it gets hectic for the staff. What gets me, is when you are dining at a heavily ethnic joint and you are ignored because the waitstaff has chosen to favor only those who speak their language. REALLY?!?! Are you making money in the United States? I think you are. How dare you tune my ass out?
Last night, we had a hankering for some Pakistani food after walking around in the Mission and smelling the heavenly scents of coriander, turmeric, and cardamom. Mouths watering, we headed to an old favorite anxiously anticipating the cuisine we have come to love. Glad to be seated right away, we start scanning the menu to select the evening's fare. After making our selections, Kev goes up and orders our food. At this place, they don't come to you, you walk right up to where they are cooking. Seems easy, kind of foolproof, right?
That's where the fun began. We sat, and sat, and sat. Others came in after us, ordered food and actually got it rather quickly. How did they manage this nifty little trick, you ask? Let me tell you. It seems that if you hail from the same town and likely dirt road as the those who run the establishment, you get preferential treatment. Nice, huh? You are in MY country, making MY money, enjoying MY freedoms and you are playing favorites instead of doing your job? Do you think I didn't notice that your homeboy got his food already and I'm still sitting here starving to death? I noticed...and I got pissed. Holding my tongue and my temper, I waited a little bit more in the hopes that the food was on its way. After a series of errors because the waiter had trouble remembering what food went to which table, we finally got our food, and it was delicious. Shocking that his memory should be so spotty, since he made sure his "people" got theirs right away. This isn't the first time this has happened here. This isn't even the first time I've been ignored at an ethnic food establishment while those of the "proper" ethnicity got the royal treatment. Reverse racism sucks...all racism sucks.
Here's the thing, I don't expect to walk into an Italian restaurant, have the employees notice that my last name ends in a vowel, and have them treat me like the only person in the place while the other patrons sit there drooling. Although, maybe I'm missing the point. Maybe that is how it is supposed to be. If that did happen, every other person would get angry, rightly so. They'd probably even complain...and they'd likely get something free as an apology from the manager. But, sadly, I'm going to go all ethnocentric here, certain cultures think it's perfectly acceptable to ignore Americans and favor their own kind. I am all over ethnocentricity. Love your culture, love it and embrace the shit out of it. I do. But don't treat others like crap while you're doing it.
I felt like a stranger in a strange land. I felt awkward and out of place. I was discriminated against in my own country...by people who are here by the grace of God and the generosity of my government. I didn't want free food, I just wanted to be treated like a person, like an equal. I thought that's what we all were, that we all enjoyed the same rights in this country. I guess not. Am I going to take this sitting down? Are you friggin kidding me right now???
Friday, July 13, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
I'll just have a salad, and other lies you tell
We've all eaten with this person. You are scanning the menu for some fried happiness, and they are sitting across from you with a holier-than-thou look on their face saying, "I'll just have a salad, dressing on the side." Excuse me while I run to the bathroom to change my pants, I think I just peed myself. Do you truly think I believe that is your normal choice of consumption, Jumbo McLardAss? Before you jump ugly with me about the weight comment, I must inform you that I have a huge yo-yo weight problem of my own and have done Weight Watchers for over six years in the hopes of never weighing THAT much again. So, yes, I can throw stones. Jumping right back in, I'm not sure which part is funnier to me. The look on your face, clearly judging my desire for chips with queso...or the fact that you think your miniature salad plate makes you look thin. Babe, trust me, those leaves aren't covering much! I'll let you in on a secret, I don't always eat the chips with queso. But when I do, I know when to back away from the chip. That's right, back away and nobody gets fat. Instead, you'll order the salad with a squeeze of lemon, drink water, and all the while you are fantasizing about the Twinkies you have tucked into your nightstand waiting for you when you get home. That's healthy eating right there.
How about our good friend, Mr. No Offense? If you feel that you have to precede anything you say with the disclaimer, "no offense," I want you to realize, I am already taking offense. By the time you are halfway through the supposed non-offensive statement, I'm probably dreaming of thrusting a shank deep into your liver. You know exactly what you are saying and you DO mean to offend. I suppose you were taught at a very young age to pussyfoot around the subject to get your way. Tiptoe through the tulips...here's a thought, chicken-shit, either keep the venom to yourself or man up and say it with pride and conviction. Either way, we will all respect you a little bit more. Looking over your shoulder to see who is around you, that's another wimpy thing you do right before you let us know that you mean no offense. Why are you scouring the area, then? Who are you afraid of exactly? If you believe what you are saying, then by all means big boy, say it. I wonder if you just lack conviction...or balls. Probably both.
"I love that shirt" or whatever the fuck I am wearing. You really don't have to comment on a new item I am wearing. It's not your style, it's mine. The need to constantly flatter someone else even when you don't mean it says more about you than about what I am currently sporting. Maybe you are from the same neighborhood as Mr. No Offense...the one where you need everyone to like you so you say what you think we all want to hear. My neighborhood has a no bullshit policy, so if you are talking to me, keep it real. I rarely compliment people, it just sounds so phony when it flows with such regularity from the lips of some folks. Maybe it's because I don't care if you like me. Perhaps it's just because I prefer not to lie to you, less for me to remember.
The phrase "my friend" gets bandied about nowadays about as frequently as I say the word fuck. Not everyone is your friend. Really. You have work associates, colleagues, acquaintances, people you pass on the street...but friends, real friends...you can count those on one hand and have fingers left over. But I know some people who insist that everyone is their dear, close, intimate friend. Who the fuck are you kidding? Half of the individuals to whom you are referring wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. Yet you think they are close and worthy of invites to your parties and such. Are you so insecure that you need to feel surrounded? Do you think you need to convince me of your popularity? I know different. We all do, so let's start using proper terminology when referencing someone you just met, shall we?
My child would never...stop yourself right there. They would and they have, you are just too busy inspecting your colon since your head has been up your ass while they have been snowing the shit out of you. These are the parents that really make me laugh till tears run down my leg! Kids are kids, and that being the case, they are hard-wired to test the waters, to push limits, to experiment. And don't even tell me you didn't and that is why your kid won't. Those are two bald-faced lies, and we've already established my no bullshit policy. Never puffed a friend's cigarette? Never took a sip of a beer out of a red solo cup? Never made out in a car? Did you grow up in a convent or monastery? Didn't think so. Then why on earth do you think your kid is immune to all this? Because you told them not to? OMFG! One more second while I change my pants yet again...I've got to start wearing Depends, you guys kill me!!! Wake up before it's too late, people.
The next time you feel like bullshitting me, find another brainless ass hat to entertain. I'm not going to hold back when I hear the phony spewing from your hole anymore. You will hear, "Are you friggin kidding me right now???"
How about our good friend, Mr. No Offense? If you feel that you have to precede anything you say with the disclaimer, "no offense," I want you to realize, I am already taking offense. By the time you are halfway through the supposed non-offensive statement, I'm probably dreaming of thrusting a shank deep into your liver. You know exactly what you are saying and you DO mean to offend. I suppose you were taught at a very young age to pussyfoot around the subject to get your way. Tiptoe through the tulips...here's a thought, chicken-shit, either keep the venom to yourself or man up and say it with pride and conviction. Either way, we will all respect you a little bit more. Looking over your shoulder to see who is around you, that's another wimpy thing you do right before you let us know that you mean no offense. Why are you scouring the area, then? Who are you afraid of exactly? If you believe what you are saying, then by all means big boy, say it. I wonder if you just lack conviction...or balls. Probably both.
"I love that shirt" or whatever the fuck I am wearing. You really don't have to comment on a new item I am wearing. It's not your style, it's mine. The need to constantly flatter someone else even when you don't mean it says more about you than about what I am currently sporting. Maybe you are from the same neighborhood as Mr. No Offense...the one where you need everyone to like you so you say what you think we all want to hear. My neighborhood has a no bullshit policy, so if you are talking to me, keep it real. I rarely compliment people, it just sounds so phony when it flows with such regularity from the lips of some folks. Maybe it's because I don't care if you like me. Perhaps it's just because I prefer not to lie to you, less for me to remember.
The phrase "my friend" gets bandied about nowadays about as frequently as I say the word fuck. Not everyone is your friend. Really. You have work associates, colleagues, acquaintances, people you pass on the street...but friends, real friends...you can count those on one hand and have fingers left over. But I know some people who insist that everyone is their dear, close, intimate friend. Who the fuck are you kidding? Half of the individuals to whom you are referring wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. Yet you think they are close and worthy of invites to your parties and such. Are you so insecure that you need to feel surrounded? Do you think you need to convince me of your popularity? I know different. We all do, so let's start using proper terminology when referencing someone you just met, shall we?
My child would never...stop yourself right there. They would and they have, you are just too busy inspecting your colon since your head has been up your ass while they have been snowing the shit out of you. These are the parents that really make me laugh till tears run down my leg! Kids are kids, and that being the case, they are hard-wired to test the waters, to push limits, to experiment. And don't even tell me you didn't and that is why your kid won't. Those are two bald-faced lies, and we've already established my no bullshit policy. Never puffed a friend's cigarette? Never took a sip of a beer out of a red solo cup? Never made out in a car? Did you grow up in a convent or monastery? Didn't think so. Then why on earth do you think your kid is immune to all this? Because you told them not to? OMFG! One more second while I change my pants yet again...I've got to start wearing Depends, you guys kill me!!! Wake up before it's too late, people.
The next time you feel like bullshitting me, find another brainless ass hat to entertain. I'm not going to hold back when I hear the phony spewing from your hole anymore. You will hear, "Are you friggin kidding me right now???"
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Are you your child's grandparent? None of us can tell either.
Following yesterday's blog, I thought it was only fitting to continue along those lines and dive right into older parents. Now, I know this is going to piss a ton of people off, and frankly, I don't give a rat's ass. You are all entitled to my opinion, I'm quite generous that way. Has anyone else noticed that parents are getting older and older? Again, we fall back on the very worn-out excuse of putting the career first, family second. If you were a Supreme Court judge or neurosurgeon, I'd totally understand focusing on your career and getting all your ducks in a row before adding to your family. But, most of you, and yes, I am using gross generalization, don't have such illustrious careers that require years of effort before having children.
What I am seeing is an entire generation of selfish bastards who want to live like married singles for as long as humanly possible before finally deciding that the one thing they don't possess in their lives of excess is a child. By this time, you've already become very set in your ways, don't deny it. A child is not another acquisition. Not that you'll treat it as such, but that's how it starts. Let's see, we have a house, a summer home, a boat, three cars, a dog, and a cat. What are we missing? Oh yes, a child. Wouldn't that be lovely, darling?
Yes, a child would be lovely if you had the time, patience, or ability to keep up with the rigors of parenthood. But you are older now. Last minute vacations, weekend jaunts, drunken parties till the wee hours, spending all your cash frivolously...that all comes to a screeching halt! You're thinking that you should be able to fit your child into your lives quite seamlessly. Think again, ass wad. This new little person is going to turn your lives upside down. Gone are the impromptu spa days with the girls. Kiss those bar hopping long weekends goodbye. Were you expecting to be able to keep up that lifestyle? Such a shame, dementia must be setting in, you ARE old.
When I see folks in their late forties with toddlers, I have to laugh out loud. They look haggard and worn. Wonder why? Could it be that children require energy that you no longer possess? Ah yes. They run, they scream, they flit from one thing to the next, they require you to childproof. You may have to put your bong on a higher shelf now. They do tend to put everything in their mouths. Very overwhelming to older folks who are so far removed from childhood that these things actually sound foreign.
The other danger of waiting too long to become a parent is that common sense seems to fly out the window. These children of aging parents are spoiled rotten for the most part. Could be due to the fact that the parents are so focused on work, they've decided to allow day care to raise their child and feel guilty about the lack of actual time spent with them. Had you started younger, you may have considered staying home to raise this little bundle of joy yourself, making sacrifices when they weren't quite so challenging and life-altering. Now, you probably need to work to support a lifetime of very expensive habits, a huge mortgage, and a lifestyle you aren't willing to give up. The spoiling could also stem from the fact that you are a lot more mellow and grandparent-like. Not that grandparents are a bad thing. They have their place in a child's life. But, in general, it is not to raise them.
The kids of these elderly parents are quite often so overindulged. You can spot this child from a mile away. He's the one in designer jeans, holding an iPad, and demanding an ice cream cone NOW!!!! His parents are the ones who will gently negotiate with him, attempting to come to some sort of adult compromise while making sure he doesn't get too agitated. Heaven forbid we say something damaging to his delicate self-esteem. You must be the parents who are advocating against the use of red pens on tests and using the standard grading system of A-F. Yeah, those things really fucked me up. Are you serious?
One other thing that does concern me about these older parents is one basic fact. You probably won't be around for a good portion of your child's life. There, I said it. The later you start, the more likely it becomes that you won't live to see your own grandchildren. In actuality, many of you won't see your child graduate college or get married. Does this bother you at all? It should. Did you think about that while you were putting off having children? Did you consider the lasting effects it would have? Probably not. You were busy being selfish.
I had my daughter when I was 24 years old. To many of you, that sounds so young. It was, and it was young enough for me to be up all night when she was sick, to have the ability to chase her around the park, to stay home and make sacrifices since we didn't have much at the time, anyway, and to have the common sense necessary to raise a child in today's world. Do I wish I had waited till I was older? Are you friggin kidding me right now?
What I am seeing is an entire generation of selfish bastards who want to live like married singles for as long as humanly possible before finally deciding that the one thing they don't possess in their lives of excess is a child. By this time, you've already become very set in your ways, don't deny it. A child is not another acquisition. Not that you'll treat it as such, but that's how it starts. Let's see, we have a house, a summer home, a boat, three cars, a dog, and a cat. What are we missing? Oh yes, a child. Wouldn't that be lovely, darling?
Yes, a child would be lovely if you had the time, patience, or ability to keep up with the rigors of parenthood. But you are older now. Last minute vacations, weekend jaunts, drunken parties till the wee hours, spending all your cash frivolously...that all comes to a screeching halt! You're thinking that you should be able to fit your child into your lives quite seamlessly. Think again, ass wad. This new little person is going to turn your lives upside down. Gone are the impromptu spa days with the girls. Kiss those bar hopping long weekends goodbye. Were you expecting to be able to keep up that lifestyle? Such a shame, dementia must be setting in, you ARE old.
When I see folks in their late forties with toddlers, I have to laugh out loud. They look haggard and worn. Wonder why? Could it be that children require energy that you no longer possess? Ah yes. They run, they scream, they flit from one thing to the next, they require you to childproof. You may have to put your bong on a higher shelf now. They do tend to put everything in their mouths. Very overwhelming to older folks who are so far removed from childhood that these things actually sound foreign.
The other danger of waiting too long to become a parent is that common sense seems to fly out the window. These children of aging parents are spoiled rotten for the most part. Could be due to the fact that the parents are so focused on work, they've decided to allow day care to raise their child and feel guilty about the lack of actual time spent with them. Had you started younger, you may have considered staying home to raise this little bundle of joy yourself, making sacrifices when they weren't quite so challenging and life-altering. Now, you probably need to work to support a lifetime of very expensive habits, a huge mortgage, and a lifestyle you aren't willing to give up. The spoiling could also stem from the fact that you are a lot more mellow and grandparent-like. Not that grandparents are a bad thing. They have their place in a child's life. But, in general, it is not to raise them.
The kids of these elderly parents are quite often so overindulged. You can spot this child from a mile away. He's the one in designer jeans, holding an iPad, and demanding an ice cream cone NOW!!!! His parents are the ones who will gently negotiate with him, attempting to come to some sort of adult compromise while making sure he doesn't get too agitated. Heaven forbid we say something damaging to his delicate self-esteem. You must be the parents who are advocating against the use of red pens on tests and using the standard grading system of A-F. Yeah, those things really fucked me up. Are you serious?
One other thing that does concern me about these older parents is one basic fact. You probably won't be around for a good portion of your child's life. There, I said it. The later you start, the more likely it becomes that you won't live to see your own grandchildren. In actuality, many of you won't see your child graduate college or get married. Does this bother you at all? It should. Did you think about that while you were putting off having children? Did you consider the lasting effects it would have? Probably not. You were busy being selfish.
I had my daughter when I was 24 years old. To many of you, that sounds so young. It was, and it was young enough for me to be up all night when she was sick, to have the ability to chase her around the park, to stay home and make sacrifices since we didn't have much at the time, anyway, and to have the common sense necessary to raise a child in today's world. Do I wish I had waited till I was older? Are you friggin kidding me right now?
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Does anyone marry for love anymore?
Nowadays people are waiting longer and longer to get married. They claim to be putting their careers first. I say balls. Many of you have jobs, not to be confused with high-powered, heavy-hitting careers. The fact is, either you are so unmarketable in the dating arena or you have become so picky, nobody meets your unattainable criteria. Let me let you in on a secret...you aren't perfect! Nobody is, and expecting them to be is unrealistic. I know marriage is a contract, and to a certain extent, a financial agreement. However, I am seriously starting to wonder when it became such a cold process? Where do you work, how much do you make, what does your father do, where do you live, what college did you attend, what's your five year plan? WTF!?!? What happened to sharing things in common? Enjoying the same movies, music genres, tastes in food...those used to be part of the dating litmus test.
More and more people seem to have such high opinions of themselves, usually unfounded, and as a result, there are a lot more single people well into their 40's. Coincidence, I think not. These are the same people creating desirable versions of themselves on dating websites. Trust me, nobody believes half of what you are putting on there. Everyone becomes outdoorsy, well-read, cultured, motorcycle riding, water skiing, travelling foodies in their dating profiles. Riiiiight. Totally convincing. Looks good in print, doesn't it? Wait till you have to prove it. You'll look completely retarded...but that's ok. Your date will, too. He'll be balding, fat, and dress like he shops at the clearance racks at Kmart. But he said he was a gym rat who ran five miles a day, had hair you could run your fingers through on a moonlit night, and dressed in Ermenegildo Zegna. Trying to hide the shock on both your faces will be exercise enough. More than either of you have had in years, although your profile says much different.
This brings me to the morphing some people tend to do from relationship to relationship. They begin to take on the characteristics of the person they are currently dating. Suddenly, the punk-loving, poetry-reading, night owl transforms into a country music aficionado who line dances, rises at dawn, and sky dives. You do it so convincingly at first because you don't necessarily have to prove it yet. Then it happens. He makes sky diving plans and you are totally invited! Holy shit, now what? Sure, you can get "sick" the first time and beg off the invite. But then he asks you to go to some honky tonk with him to line dance. Country music makes your skin crawl. You've made excuses, now it's time to put up or shut up. The next thing you know, you're buying Jason Aldean CDs and wearing plaid shirts. Who the fuck are you? Do you even know anymore?
Pretending to be someone you're not in order to maintain a relationship is no relationship at all. You can't keep it up forever. One day you think it's just trying new things, the next day you are taking catechism classes to convert religions! It's not normal. Eventually, it will wear on you and the person you are with at the time. It's not you and keeping up the facade is way to much work. Is this person really worth changing everything about yourself? Shouldn't they love you for YOU? Not some made-up version you've created to suit the situation?
This seems to be the rule rather than the exception as far as I can see. It's horrifying to watch people you've known for years morph into clones of their current partner. You know different, you've seen them at their best and their worst...and this person is NOT the one you know at all. It makes you want to scream and shake them, hoping to wake them up from their embarrassing imitation and bring them back to reality. But you can't. They won't hear you. They're in LOVE. Or so they think. The need to partner has taken over their ability to be logical and rational. Could be the ticking of a biological clock, could be loneliness, but more likely it is the desperation of someone who has waited too goddamn long to get married and now they are willing to wear a freaking mask to snag a mate.
People who tell me that I was a baby when I got married at 21 just sound jealous. Marrying for any reason other than love was just not an option. Are you friggin kidding me right now???
More and more people seem to have such high opinions of themselves, usually unfounded, and as a result, there are a lot more single people well into their 40's. Coincidence, I think not. These are the same people creating desirable versions of themselves on dating websites. Trust me, nobody believes half of what you are putting on there. Everyone becomes outdoorsy, well-read, cultured, motorcycle riding, water skiing, travelling foodies in their dating profiles. Riiiiight. Totally convincing. Looks good in print, doesn't it? Wait till you have to prove it. You'll look completely retarded...but that's ok. Your date will, too. He'll be balding, fat, and dress like he shops at the clearance racks at Kmart. But he said he was a gym rat who ran five miles a day, had hair you could run your fingers through on a moonlit night, and dressed in Ermenegildo Zegna. Trying to hide the shock on both your faces will be exercise enough. More than either of you have had in years, although your profile says much different.
This brings me to the morphing some people tend to do from relationship to relationship. They begin to take on the characteristics of the person they are currently dating. Suddenly, the punk-loving, poetry-reading, night owl transforms into a country music aficionado who line dances, rises at dawn, and sky dives. You do it so convincingly at first because you don't necessarily have to prove it yet. Then it happens. He makes sky diving plans and you are totally invited! Holy shit, now what? Sure, you can get "sick" the first time and beg off the invite. But then he asks you to go to some honky tonk with him to line dance. Country music makes your skin crawl. You've made excuses, now it's time to put up or shut up. The next thing you know, you're buying Jason Aldean CDs and wearing plaid shirts. Who the fuck are you? Do you even know anymore?
Pretending to be someone you're not in order to maintain a relationship is no relationship at all. You can't keep it up forever. One day you think it's just trying new things, the next day you are taking catechism classes to convert religions! It's not normal. Eventually, it will wear on you and the person you are with at the time. It's not you and keeping up the facade is way to much work. Is this person really worth changing everything about yourself? Shouldn't they love you for YOU? Not some made-up version you've created to suit the situation?
This seems to be the rule rather than the exception as far as I can see. It's horrifying to watch people you've known for years morph into clones of their current partner. You know different, you've seen them at their best and their worst...and this person is NOT the one you know at all. It makes you want to scream and shake them, hoping to wake them up from their embarrassing imitation and bring them back to reality. But you can't. They won't hear you. They're in LOVE. Or so they think. The need to partner has taken over their ability to be logical and rational. Could be the ticking of a biological clock, could be loneliness, but more likely it is the desperation of someone who has waited too goddamn long to get married and now they are willing to wear a freaking mask to snag a mate.
People who tell me that I was a baby when I got married at 21 just sound jealous. Marrying for any reason other than love was just not an option. Are you friggin kidding me right now???
Monday, July 9, 2012
Samples not supper...a Costco trip goes so wrong, again!
Costco is a lovely place to shop. Oh God, I tried to say that with a straight face. Dear Lord, why the hell do I subject myself to that nightmare? I need toilet paper. Yeah, that about sums it up. Toilet paper. They sell it by the boatload. Otherwise, what else could I possibly need in hotel-sized quantity so badly that I would put myself through the horror of the immigrants and their endless children brigade that has become synonymous with Costco shopping? They break every one of the unwritten rules in the space of one store. Keep to the right is absolutely forgotten by these ass clowns. While I know carts have no turn signals, there is a way to get over without slamming into me or running me into a display. Wait your friggin turn! There's nothing they sell that is suitable for an emergency situation, nor can you access anything immediately since you have to wait on those mile-long lines serviced by the slowest cashiers on Earth. Pushing me out of your way is never a good idea. I push back. With force, with malice...and while cursing a blue streak. Don't want to subject your children to my inappropriate language? Steer clear of me and my cart.
When did it become acceptable to carry on personal conversations that look like international summits in the middle of a busy aisle? You are pushing a gigantic metal monstrosity loaded with more rice than in all of China, flanked by 4-6 kids, and you think it's perfectly fine to jackknife your cart across the aisle along with a couple of your friends and their broods blocking my access to the eggs? WTF?!?! Is this the only place you can socialize? And is it MY problem? I always say "excuse me" first. Being rude comes only after I've attempted to nicely persuade you to carry on your little meeting elsewhere so I can pass. Once I realize that I am either being ignored or that you speak no English, I get a little fussy. By fussy, I mean loud and obnoxious. But you deserve it. Get out of my goddamn way!
Costco store d'oeuvres are a fantastic way of figuring out if you want to buy a new item. They are NOT a means to feed your ever-expanding family. Do not shove your child in front of me while I've been waiting properly on the line for several minutes to try the babaganoush. Your child doesn't want it, and it's rude. I have no problem telling your spawn to go to the end of the line, while staring you directly in the face. I figure you BOTH need to learn manners, I may as well address you both. Zipping across the aisle diagonally to be first, cutting everyone off in the process is unacceptable. Maybe the other non-English speakers will allow it, but I won't. Yesterday, I was waiting patiently to try the chicken tikka masala which had coaxed me over with its heavenly smell and promise of wonderful curry taste. Lo and behold an entire Indian family raced over, multiple children in tow, and attempted to force their way in front of me. Did I stand idly by and allow it, hell no! I turned to them, and told them that it was unnecessary for them to rudely push their way ahead of me to feed the whole family on something they make at home! No, I didn't say it as nicely as all that. Why should I? They had no problem being inconsiderate boors, why would I need to temper my tongue?
Don't expect me to be polite when you are getting between me and my toilet paper, how much patience do you think I have...are you friggin kidding me right now???
When did it become acceptable to carry on personal conversations that look like international summits in the middle of a busy aisle? You are pushing a gigantic metal monstrosity loaded with more rice than in all of China, flanked by 4-6 kids, and you think it's perfectly fine to jackknife your cart across the aisle along with a couple of your friends and their broods blocking my access to the eggs? WTF?!?! Is this the only place you can socialize? And is it MY problem? I always say "excuse me" first. Being rude comes only after I've attempted to nicely persuade you to carry on your little meeting elsewhere so I can pass. Once I realize that I am either being ignored or that you speak no English, I get a little fussy. By fussy, I mean loud and obnoxious. But you deserve it. Get out of my goddamn way!
Costco store d'oeuvres are a fantastic way of figuring out if you want to buy a new item. They are NOT a means to feed your ever-expanding family. Do not shove your child in front of me while I've been waiting properly on the line for several minutes to try the babaganoush. Your child doesn't want it, and it's rude. I have no problem telling your spawn to go to the end of the line, while staring you directly in the face. I figure you BOTH need to learn manners, I may as well address you both. Zipping across the aisle diagonally to be first, cutting everyone off in the process is unacceptable. Maybe the other non-English speakers will allow it, but I won't. Yesterday, I was waiting patiently to try the chicken tikka masala which had coaxed me over with its heavenly smell and promise of wonderful curry taste. Lo and behold an entire Indian family raced over, multiple children in tow, and attempted to force their way in front of me. Did I stand idly by and allow it, hell no! I turned to them, and told them that it was unnecessary for them to rudely push their way ahead of me to feed the whole family on something they make at home! No, I didn't say it as nicely as all that. Why should I? They had no problem being inconsiderate boors, why would I need to temper my tongue?
Don't expect me to be polite when you are getting between me and my toilet paper, how much patience do you think I have...are you friggin kidding me right now???
Friday, July 6, 2012
Did you see your kid's clothing before they left the house?
Being a parent isn't the easiest job on the planet, I know. Parenting a teenager is probably the hardest thing you'll do in the course of this job. However, opening your eyes and having a peek at their ensemble before they walk out the door is not really a ton of effort. I swear most parents today are either blind, stupid, or are so focused on themselves, they have no idea that their children look like little porn stars and white rappers. This seems to be running rampant in all corners of the country, but I can speak with more accuracy about the Left Coast epidemic of tacky teens.
Your daughters are leaving the house in those God-awful leggings!!! Have you seen them? These girls think nothing of pairing those leggings with cropped tops exposing about two feet of skin. These tops are generally quite translucent, and the girls seem to believe they are Madonna-reincarnate as they wear nothing else underneath but a bra. WTF?! This is way more than needs to be seen by your average dirty old man on the street. Some girls have chosen to be a little more, and I am using the term so loosely you can drive a camel under it, classy by sporting skirts and dresses. Ah, you say, a skirt or dress is so lovely on a young girl. Yes, it would be if it so much as covered her ass! Rule of thumb, if you are yanking at the back of a skirt or dress every 3.5 seconds, it is too SHORT. I should not be able to see glimpses of butt cheeks when I drive by my daugher's high school, but all too often, there they are in all their glory. Even shorts these days are more Daisy Duke-like than is necessary. ASS everywhere! Girls, cover yourselves. Not just ass is being exposed. Why must these girls wear pants so low that a Brazilian wax is required first? If I can see your anorexic litte hip bones jutting out two inches above the waistband of your pants, they are way too fucking low. I don't want to have to guess if you shave or wax. This much of you shouldn't be out in public.
Guys, I didn't forget you. In case no one told you, the era of the white rapper and his saggy pants is OVER. Consider yourself told. You are waddling like a duck, all I see are your underwear du jour, and the funniest thing to me, is the fact that you lose usage of one hand while you walk because it is used to hold on to the front of your jeans to prevent them from hitting the sidewalk. Seriously, this is the most unattractive look and I cannot imagine any girl looking at you and saying, "Girrrrl, I gotta get me some of THAT!" Unless you are playing dress up with your Daddy's clothes, and you are five years old, your clothes should never be that big on you. I've seen some waistbands close to knees! All your kibbles and bits are out and about. They don't belong there. Keep them in your pants. I don't care if your boxer briefs are covering them, they belong on the inside of your jeans.
Parents, wake up and open your damn eyes. Open your mouth and say something. Don't let them out looking like poor white trailer trash anymore. It's not that difficult, so don't make excuses. Are you friggin kidding me right now???
Your daughters are leaving the house in those God-awful leggings!!! Have you seen them? These girls think nothing of pairing those leggings with cropped tops exposing about two feet of skin. These tops are generally quite translucent, and the girls seem to believe they are Madonna-reincarnate as they wear nothing else underneath but a bra. WTF?! This is way more than needs to be seen by your average dirty old man on the street. Some girls have chosen to be a little more, and I am using the term so loosely you can drive a camel under it, classy by sporting skirts and dresses. Ah, you say, a skirt or dress is so lovely on a young girl. Yes, it would be if it so much as covered her ass! Rule of thumb, if you are yanking at the back of a skirt or dress every 3.5 seconds, it is too SHORT. I should not be able to see glimpses of butt cheeks when I drive by my daugher's high school, but all too often, there they are in all their glory. Even shorts these days are more Daisy Duke-like than is necessary. ASS everywhere! Girls, cover yourselves. Not just ass is being exposed. Why must these girls wear pants so low that a Brazilian wax is required first? If I can see your anorexic litte hip bones jutting out two inches above the waistband of your pants, they are way too fucking low. I don't want to have to guess if you shave or wax. This much of you shouldn't be out in public.
Guys, I didn't forget you. In case no one told you, the era of the white rapper and his saggy pants is OVER. Consider yourself told. You are waddling like a duck, all I see are your underwear du jour, and the funniest thing to me, is the fact that you lose usage of one hand while you walk because it is used to hold on to the front of your jeans to prevent them from hitting the sidewalk. Seriously, this is the most unattractive look and I cannot imagine any girl looking at you and saying, "Girrrrl, I gotta get me some of THAT!" Unless you are playing dress up with your Daddy's clothes, and you are five years old, your clothes should never be that big on you. I've seen some waistbands close to knees! All your kibbles and bits are out and about. They don't belong there. Keep them in your pants. I don't care if your boxer briefs are covering them, they belong on the inside of your jeans.
Parents, wake up and open your damn eyes. Open your mouth and say something. Don't let them out looking like poor white trailer trash anymore. It's not that difficult, so don't make excuses. Are you friggin kidding me right now???
Thursday, July 5, 2012
The joyous tampon commercials make me feel a little stabby
Menstruation. Not a very attractive word, is it? It's right up there with scrotum and anus. Yet, if you watch enough TV commercials, you may actually believe that having a period is the most fun you can have short of vacationing in Jamaica. WRONG! It doesn't matter how colorful you make the tampons or their wrappers, bleeding for 7 or more days, in my case, is never ever a good time. As my pants start to look more like a crime scene than something cute to cover my butt, the last thing I feel like doing is dancing at a club. Tennis is probably out of the question, and don't expect me to want to ride a bike with something resembling an adult diaper stuck to the crotch of my drawers. White pants, are you high? Nobody with half a brain in their head is going to take that risk. I'd prefer NOT to announce to the world that a giant part of my uterus is falling out.
While we are on the topic of having a period, jokes about it are always unwelcome. Guys, you have absolutely no idea what it's like to shove a dry cotton log up your delicate man parts while allowing a string to dangle out between your legs as a constant reminder that you feel like shit. Yes, in general, we feel like shit that week. Sore boobs, migraines, cramps, backaches, nausea, exhaustion, breakouts...you know, stuff that would render you bros completely helpless and possibly require you to call out sick from work...are not enjoyable, yet we are expected to go about our day like everything is peachy neato keeno. Is it any wonder we might get a little cranky? As you crack your next, "She must be on the rag" joke, we are silently plotting your dismemberment with great joy. The saddest part of your jokes, is that there is no male equivalent. We'd love to be able to nail you with a good jab when you are acting bitchy, but asking if you are on the rag just sounds ridiculous.
Speaking of the feminine products I adore, when we ask you to pick some up, please don't gripe and tell us how embarrassing it is to go down that aisle. We don't feel like supermodels when we reach the cashier with an armful of ultra-sized tampons and humongous overnight pads. And remember, we do visit the pharmacy to pick up our birth-control pills every month and don't bitch about it. Don't think we haven't gotten some interesting looks from male pharmacy technicians at least once in our lifetime. We have. It's just as fun as when we get that male cashier ringing up our mountain of pads and tampons. Yes, I'm bleeding like a stuck pig, thanks for asking. Just ring up the fucking sale and nobody gets hurt.
My message to the good people at Kotex, Tampax, and Playtex is keep it real, keep it simple, and please don't give the message that periods are a giant bag of laughs and line dancing. I only wish you could hear me scream at the TV screen when one of your ads come on, and there's some skinny chick (no bloating there) dancing around in white leggings (there they are again!), "Are you friggin kidding me right now???
While we are on the topic of having a period, jokes about it are always unwelcome. Guys, you have absolutely no idea what it's like to shove a dry cotton log up your delicate man parts while allowing a string to dangle out between your legs as a constant reminder that you feel like shit. Yes, in general, we feel like shit that week. Sore boobs, migraines, cramps, backaches, nausea, exhaustion, breakouts...you know, stuff that would render you bros completely helpless and possibly require you to call out sick from work...are not enjoyable, yet we are expected to go about our day like everything is peachy neato keeno. Is it any wonder we might get a little cranky? As you crack your next, "She must be on the rag" joke, we are silently plotting your dismemberment with great joy. The saddest part of your jokes, is that there is no male equivalent. We'd love to be able to nail you with a good jab when you are acting bitchy, but asking if you are on the rag just sounds ridiculous.
Speaking of the feminine products I adore, when we ask you to pick some up, please don't gripe and tell us how embarrassing it is to go down that aisle. We don't feel like supermodels when we reach the cashier with an armful of ultra-sized tampons and humongous overnight pads. And remember, we do visit the pharmacy to pick up our birth-control pills every month and don't bitch about it. Don't think we haven't gotten some interesting looks from male pharmacy technicians at least once in our lifetime. We have. It's just as fun as when we get that male cashier ringing up our mountain of pads and tampons. Yes, I'm bleeding like a stuck pig, thanks for asking. Just ring up the fucking sale and nobody gets hurt.
My message to the good people at Kotex, Tampax, and Playtex is keep it real, keep it simple, and please don't give the message that periods are a giant bag of laughs and line dancing. I only wish you could hear me scream at the TV screen when one of your ads come on, and there's some skinny chick (no bloating there) dancing around in white leggings (there they are again!), "Are you friggin kidding me right now???
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