Tuesday, July 31, 2007

How hungry would you have to be?

To eat Vienna sausages?
Yesterday, while listening to the Whatever Girls on Sirius radio, callers described their favorite canned food. (I know, I know, a lame subject but my driving commute is about 4 minutes.) Anywho, a caller said that she really enjoyed what I heard to be "those veiny sausages". Ugh! I am thinking something gross like hog head cheese or some other fancy schmancy acquired taste food. Alas, no. This chick meant VIENNA sausages. THAT's gross but even worse was the mental image of veiny sausages in that oh-too-awful-human-flesh color that canned sausages impart.
(I just gagged.)
And I am not even going to the idea that they resemble baby penises.
So, just passing on the joy that has plagued me since yesterday.
Thanks for stopping by!

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Favorite stuff

  • Khaki pants

  • Tretorn sneakers

  • Zero Halliburton luggage

  • Khaki shorts

  • Vintage watches

  • Charm bracelets

  • Plaid

  • Tartan

  • Gingham

  • Cute skirts

  • Cotton pajama pants

  • Old soft t-shirts

  • Shirtdresses

  • Burberry trenchcoats

  • LL Bean totes
  • Tuesday, July 24, 2007

    Just another day at Sonic

    Just another day at Sonic when I spy this guy.
    Take a look. Yep, that is a riding mower. With an attached cart. And a dog in the cart.
    Life in a small town, yeah, it can be amusing at times.

    Friday, July 20, 2007

    Ready to retire NOW

    Today, this old fuck at the gym told me "enjoy my working years 'cause you sure will miss them when I retired".
    ARE YOU eFF'in KIDDING ME, aging exerciser?
    I have worked since I was 10 years old! My dear dad refused to allow brother Rollo and I to loll the summers away. We were expected to find odd jobs, weeding flowerbeds, painting fences. Later it was babysitting for me. When I turned 15 and able to drive (this is Louisiana, folks), Dad told me to get a job or he would find one. I figured babysitting would suffice ,um, nope. Next thing I knew I was told to report to McDonald's because Dad's buddy, the McD franchise owner, gave me a job. Never mind that I didn't WANT to work at McD's. Ugh! So I lasted a month or two before I called in sick and was caught. Dad was disgusted with me. Whatever.
    I'll bore you with the next 2 summers another time.
    How much longer do I have to work before I retire??? Just my luck, I won't make it.
    Wish I had the presence of mind to tell the gym old codger that if he missed working, that his life plan was defective. Dumb ass. He probably just missed boring co-workers with his mouth.
    My aunt just retired and I told her that if I caught her complaining about it that I would kick her in the hip.

    Wanting to be a stay-at-home mom and wife,
    without the children and husband,
    I am,

    Thursday, July 19, 2007

    Please add these words to your vocabulary

    Palcohol - your buddy when one or both of you are drinking or drunk but not a person you would like while sober.

    Prostitot - a young girl dressed like a junior whore (see: Bratz dolls) whose ensemble usually includes, but not limited to, leopard prints, "Juicy" or other quasi-sexual messages printed on buttocks, red satin, t-shirts printed with "Daddy's Little Girl". Pretty much describes every girl photographed at Glamour Shots.

    Bastard factory - unwed mother of two children or more, all with different fathers.

    Mastubatory - description of an act giving pleasure to only the performer. Though originally used as a sexual term, can also be used to describe amateur guitar solos, spoken word performers and serious karaoke freaks.

    Sunday, July 15, 2007

    You can be TOO good at a job

    Early career lesson: You can be too good at a job
    While in high school, I worked at a steak house restaurant. The entry level job was Coffee Girl. Coffee Girl walks around the restaurant and asks if you would like coffee, prepares such beverage and tries to look busy when the manager instructs her to offer coffee every three minutes. Round and round the floor I would travel, interrupting diners to ask, AGAIN, "would you like coffee?" In short time, one learned the subtle cues, like eye contact and body language. The trick was to ascertain the cues but still look as if you are asking each and every diner.
    Thankfully a new chick was hired and I was able to retire the Coffee Girl laps.

    The next step up was Salad Bar Girl. Really, this was a shit job but it was a step towards the more desired level of Order Taker Girl with Microphone. I decided to kick ass on the salad bar so as to get to the desired microphone. I filled in empty containers, fluffed salad, wiped and wiped and wiped spills. The worst part of salad bar duty was clearing the bar after closing. At hunch back posture. Coffee Girl was gone, Order Girl was gone and I have 20 feet of food and ice to make disappear. Alone. So, with no help, I wrapped food, poured endless gallons of hot water and wiped and wiped and wiped.
    But hope was around the corner. Newer Coffee Girl hired so New Coffee Girl is next up to take over salad bar.
    WooHoo! First night at the microphone! I am shining. My uniform does not have bleu cheese stains. My big job is to replenish cheese cake and Jell-O desserts.
    Until new Salad Bar Girl flounders. Cute but trampy former Coffee Girl cannot seem to maintain salad bar in a timely manner. Salad is low, the counter is a mess and at least 12 items are low. During a lull on the microphone, the manager asks me to assist Salad Girl. I jump in, being full of teamwork attitude, ask her what she needs. Her big eyes look at me in wonder. Which items are low? You don't know? Go look. She tells me three items. I look. More like thirteen now. I instruct her to write down the items, go to the supply refrigerator and pull the items meanwhile I tidy the area. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Finally I go to see what the hold-up was.
    Little BITCH is calling out orders. What the HELL? The manager tells me that Little Bitch just cannot seem to keep up the salad bar and would I mind taking over for the evening? I am PISSED. Will I have to do break down? Oh, no, he said, she will help you.
    He lied. She leaves, I am doing the food sling again. I ask him if she will return to salad bar. Of course.
    Next day, guess who is working salad bar? Guess who is New Order Taker with Microphone? You are so smart. Smarter than a 15 year old me.
    The life lesson smacks me on the head: YOU CAN BE TOO GOOD AT A JOB.
    Little Bitch is happy and bubbly. Manager is happy. Old Salad Girl is bitter. As the night goes on, Old Salad Girl's inner rage boils. Manager actually DARES to utter one minor critique of appearance of salad bar.
    Old Salad Girl loses it. She does the unthinkable and shovels a piece of cheesecake in her mouth while shivering in walk in 'frig. She slings food. She curses. She gathers lettuce. She scoops out jalapeno peppers. And then she stops.
    That's IT. It helps her deal with her unspent anger. She actually grins. She finds her inner peace and takes a long cleansing breath. Her eyes sting a little as the jalapeno juice is poured from a gallon bucket to coat the perfectly cut lettuce. Back to the salad bar, the manager smiles as the bountiful greens are filled. Salad girl smiles back.
    In just minutes, a diner motions to her and asks for a glass of water. "Something in the salad is really HOT and spicy."
    "Sure," she says, "I will tell the Coffee Girl to bring some water right away."
    She sees Coffee Girl but says nothing. And smiles.

    Tuesday, July 10, 2007

    Play fair OR Life ain't fair

    Which is it?
    One of the first lessons you learn in life is to play fair. Rules are set. Herd mentality is in place. Shame is instilled. "Y'all play fair now, y'hear?"
    Just as soon as your young mind subscribes to the whole concept of fairness, you learn to yell, "Hey, no fair!" You let the words fly because you trust that it means something. You believe that the authority will correct it. Why else would they constantly cram fairness down your throat?
    So the day you and your pals yell out is the same day that some old geezer drops this little gem: Life Ain't Fair. And he snickers. AT us. Life Ain't Fair, kid.

    And the more you yell foul, the more you hear this utterance.
    What the hell?
    So what exactly are you saying? I DON'T have to follow the rules? I DON'T have to be a good sport? I SHOULD take every advantage? As a teacher and coach, you AREN'T going to set an example and stand for fairness? You are just going to sit there and say nothing?

    The lesson sucked but it was a good one. But the lesson was that adults would expect you to behave a certain way and then when you wanted reciprocation, you were told to grow up.

    So I grew up. I stopped being a good sport. I booed other teams. I accepted every advantage.

    And when I hear kids shout "hey, no fair" I say it in my head but try my best not to say it aloud. Life Ain't Fair, kid.
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