A Rant.

For some reason, when I attempted to come up with a topic to write about for the letter A, I could not stop singing the state song we all learned in elementary school.
Aaaaaaalabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas…
If I had to choose one thing to take away from public schooling – that’d be it. I don’t know, maybe you didn’t get the pleasure of that education and in turn probably can’t recite every state in America in alphabetical order.
Procrastination is a real problem though, I thought I’d have at least a handful of posts ready to go for this A to Z challenge and even a theme. Yep, got super ambitious for a quick second, talked real hard about not stressing out and really utilizing my time to network with other writers. I had a few ideas mapped out, one solid bit that I was sure was the one, but here we are at 11:30pm on April 1st writing out the post for the letter A. How about, A Mess? Or, Awesome, Who Was I Kidding?
Anyway, I saw a bumper sticker the other day; I love bumper stickers.
comeoutbumpersticker
via: pinimg.com

This is not the one I saw, but I do like it and it gets my story going. Sit tight.

I’ve always been a fan of folks who like to proclaim that their child can beat up my honor role student. Before I had a drivers license, I had plans to get me one of those. If someone is willing to slap a sticker donning a statement of sorts, they must feel pretty confident in what they’re driving around advertising, yeah?  From political affiliations to sports teams, people who love their wiener dogs and Hello Kitty – I’ve never really been offended by someone’s stupid sticker on their car before. Seems silly, but it happened.

It was an obnoxiously large, navy blue Ford truck with more than one statement on its bumper. The first one that caught my eye was: Abort Planned Parenthood. Okay. I think that’s shitty but I’m not offended. Next, was this guys free ticket into heaven, it simply said: God is Good, with a silly little smiley face. Again, doesn’t really do much for me, but the third one made my eyes get all wide and before I knew it, I’d rapidly placed judgement on this man in the giant truck. This guy is an asshole. 

“Celebrate Diversity – Marry Someone of the Opposite Gender.”
giphy.gif
Whoa. I feel like I need to talk this out. Where did he get this? How many people have this sticker on their vehicles, displaying their obvious lack of acceptance? This guy probably had a solid two minutes while trying to get the sticker off the backside. He could have decided against it and went back to trolling the gays (probably his words, not mine) in cyberspace instead of driving around town making everyone hate him. That’s what I imagine this person does with their time, cracks open cans of Budweiser in front of his computer while bitching that Jack and John are allowed to get married.
I might be analytical to a fault but can we just acknowledge, real quick, that this guy has to have a family member (or seven) who think it’s just as wild? I can hear the whispers at family functions:
Rick is here, have you seen what’s on the back of his truck? NO? Go look.
Without thought, I sped up to pass him. Clearly I wanted to get a good look at this holier-than-thou, God fearing man. He was everything I thought he was going to be, I feel like these people have a certain look – maybe it’s just anger. They are so mad that Jack and John love each other, maybe even want to raise some kids and DAMN IT – that’s not what they teach in the great book, The Bible. God is good m’right?. We locked eyes for a solid 2.5 seconds and I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone so quickly. In that quick glance it was like he said: Yup. I said it.
cdgiphy
Actual footage of me afterwards…

I’m not religious but I know that if you take that book word for word there are a lot of things that seem a bit off.

“And the pig, because it parts the hoof and is cloven-footed but does not chew the cud, is unclean to you. You shall not eat any of their flesh, and you shall not touch their carcasses; they are unclean to you.” Leviticus 11:7–8

I hope Rick doesn’t eat bacon or play any football – it’s against the rules. Where can I get my snarky, rotten bumper sticker about that? A is for Asshole. Rant over.

7 Reasons I Do Not Shop On Black Friday

I don’t judge anyone who wants  to battle for parking spots at 4am or stand in line for the out-of-this-world deals but it’s certainly not my gig. I used to think it had something to do with my ridiculous procrastination bug I suffer from, but there’s more to it than that.

[1] I’m still in a food coma.

Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, a helluva lot of pie, a few veggies… all of that is still very present and has left me with the day-after-thanksgiving-day-bloat. I don’t think there’s anything in my closet that will fit me today, even my yoga pants are questioning my decisions from yesterday.

angelica
via/ giphy.com

[2] I can’t handle the amount of less-than-desirable humans who are out.

Masses of people with varying degrees of cleanliness, friendliness and common sense. Sure, a lot of shoppers are showered, nice and know that it’s frowned upon to shimmy their way in front of you without an invitation – it’s the other ones that keep me home on Black Friday.

nasty
via/ mashable.com

[3] I’m a homebody.

Movies, my laptop, left over pie for breakfast and lunch, hot coffee at my disposal? Yes, please.

blog
Me, if I looked like Blake Lively. via/ wifflegif.com

[4] Why put yourself out there when you can shop online?

Even if I wanted the door buster deals, I’m not patient enough to stand in a line that exceeds 5-6 people ahead of me, ever, let alone the day after I just gorged myself with food and beverages.

line
via/ comedycentral.com

[5] Impulse shopping is bad news bears.

Black Friday isn’t even a thing anymore, the deals start a week before and go on through Christmas… Black Friday is simply a way to get you in the door. Walmart is giving you that mixer for $2.99 with the hopes you’ll also buy that TV for $699.00. Marking and sales 101, folks. Being an impulsive person, I’d overspend like a madman.

bacon
via/ giphy.com

[6] It seems kinda dangerous.

I am confident chances of my face getting clawed or falling down and being trampled while I am switching my laundry or laying on my couch is small. Additionally, I do not enjoy feeling like I am losing my mind. I can be a dramatic person, especially early in the morning, especially when I’m surrounded by strangers who might smell, or take my personal space for their own use. So, not only could this be dangerous my by own well-being, but for anyone around me when I reach my breaking point.

giphy
via / giphy.com

[7] I’m not a very urgent person.

I move to the beat of my own drum. I don’t like being rushed, pushed or forced to be quick so I can get what I came to the store for. I’m that person who calls to make sure the item I want is in stock on an average day, so my time is not wasted. I’m not waking my ass up early, or not going to bed so I can maybe get the item I’m hoping for. Fingers crossed! No, thank you.

no-thank-you
via/ tumblr.com

Seriously, STFU: Ellen is Racist

I was pretty quick to click on the link painting Ellen DeGeneres as a racist. Ellen?

Um, what kind of cry baby world are we living in?  She’s implying that he’s super fucking fast. I, too, would love to be able to get shit done at that speed, it’s quite impressive.

Let me remind you, we’re talking about Ellen here. If Seth Rogen ran that race, posed for a smiling picture at 3,246mph – she’d post a picture of herself riding him too.

See what I did there?

I hope she’s not outraged, I mean, that could imply that she likes men… if you want to get nasty with it.

She’s a comedian, telling jokes in an easily offended world – not a racist.

Seriously, STFU.

W is for Waitress Thoughts

I penned an open letter to diners a while back where I covered some of the basics regarding the patron/waitress relationship. What I failed to do in that letter is really give those patrons a clear picture as to what goes on inside a waitresses mind while she’s slinging food to pay the bills.

I mentioned that even the sweetest, softest-spoken server has strung cuss words together in a creative way back in the kitchen; this is my warning to you: this post contains colorful language… because I am not the soft-spoken server, I’m the unapologetically loud one.

Greeting a Table…

Fuck, what are the soups today?

Hi, hello… I’m talking!

Silently judging…silently judging…silently judging…

Taking Orders…

Why are you pointing? Can you not read? Do you think I speak a foreign language? 

Of course you picked my suggestion. Just because I love it, doesn’t mean you will.. please don’t hold this against me.

I have no fucking clue what that drink is. I mean I wrote it how it sounds…I hope the bartender knows what the hell I’m talking about.

Time…

Monday: Two hours passed and it’s winding down… maybe I should start folding some napkins.

Friday: Two hours passed and it hasn’t even begun. 

All Week: Why won’t these people leave? Please, for the love of God, take your chattering elsewhere.

Condiments…

Fuck, I forgot the ranch. 

I bet you enjoy melted butter with your haddock every time, maybe you could have told me that while you were placing your order – but it’s not big deal I’ll run back to the kitchen and get that – I have nothing else to do.

Seriously, how can anyone consume that much ranch in one sitting?

Separate Checks…

Who the fuck had the pork chops and why the hell is there an extra Bud Light? WHO HAD THE BUD LIGHT?!

I wonder what the rest of my tables are up to, and what new ones have arrived, while I spend an eternity making sure this party of 24 people receive the right fucking checks.

Congratulations sir, the Bud Light is going on yours cause I have to fucking clue – please don’t notice. 

Tipping…

Do these people not realize we make two bucks an hour? I’m so happy they treated themselves to dessert instead of leaving a proper tip, assholes.

I don’t get it… they were so nice.

Shit, I feel bad for judging those people.

I can’t wait to offer that compliment to the electric company when they call to tell me my bill is due. “…Listen, they said I did a great job and everything was perfect – that has to amount to something.”

Wow, everyone is so generous tonight! Must be the weather [this is thought whether it’s sunny or rainy because the weather actually makes no difference].

Children…

Do you allow your offsprings to throw that much food on the floor at home? I don’t remember mine ever making the floor this soggy anywhere…

I hope this kid doesn’t think he’s getting cherries in his kiddie cocktail refill. 

I hate kids.

Wow, that kid actually said please and thank you – I love a kid with manners.

The Glamorous Side…

4e597d1778ce55aa4ac56457a47f7027

I think I drank my weight in free diet coke and coffee tonight.

I wonder what I’ll have for dinner tonight at 10:30pm…

Holy shit, I forgot I had to pee this bad.

With all of that being said and thought, I do love my job. There are not many places of employment that would allow for my sailor mouth to let loose behind closed doors or that I can sit after my shift and drink adult beverages with my co-workers. Everyday is different, every shift provides new opportunities to bitch. Waitresses are good at that shit – but we appreciate the patrons who swing the judgement the other direction too.

It’s a waitress life and I fucking love it.

V is for Victim of Pants

My relationship with pants is a tricky one.

There is only one type of leg wear that I have nothing negative to say about, my Hello Kitty footie pajamas. They do not pinch my waist, giving me love handles. They do not cinch around my ankles, making me want to rip my feet off [yeah, I know…that’s not normal] and they keep my feet warm, no shoes required.

But…holey jeans

Enough about the leg wear that doesn’t annoy me, I’m a victim and I’m here to bitch.

Causal Friday used to mean something. I just don’t get excited to throw on a pair of jeans anymore. The ones that I would consider comfortable – are not appropriate for work. They’re flooded with holes that I may, or may not have purchased with that scream, “I think I’m trendy”.

… When in reality, I could care less and I’m just cheap. [I didn’t buy them with those holes].

“Oh, just get some jeans that have that stretch material!”

I seriously don't blame them.
I seriously don’t blame them.

Stretch Jeans: No, not pajama jeans, I’ve never tried them but have considered it – ya know, stretch jeans? The ones that fit for about an hour and 16 minutes. After that time expires, my thickness stretches out the stretch. Ridiculously unflattering and uncomfortable; unflattering, I can deal with but I’m sure you see a trend regarding my comfy-standards.

I’m beginning to get concerned that my age is creeping up there and eventually I’ll start buying ‘mom-jeans’ without even thinking about it. Does that happen?

Skinny Jeans? I have one pair – they’re stretch material.

I know, it goes against everything I’ve already said but they might be my favorite pair strictly because I don’t need to find a shoe that lays right with them. Additionally, skinny jeans have the perk of an over-sized top pairing well with them. If I can enjoy a night out with my gut out, I’m winning. As a lady, I’m constantly jealous that men get to wear baggy clothes & still be considered put together. I want that and I can have it when I wear my skinny jeans.   I’m also positive they’re not mom jeans.

 

Dress pants? What size heel is appropriate for the length of the pants? Why do all my dress pants seem get shorter over time?

Yoga Pants? Yes please. I keep a pair of yoga pants sitting on the back of my couch…waiting for my return home so that I can swoop the current pants off and throw on my as-big-as-they-need-to-be-and-don’t-judge-me pants. I am not a victim to Yoga pants, it might actually be the other way around.

Shorts? Wanna talk about those? Sure, I didn’t wear shorts ever until about 2 or 3 years ago.

Anyone: It’s 90 degrees outside…why are you wearing pants?

Me: I don’t wear shorts…

Which actually meant:

  • I think I’m too fat.
  • My legs will blind you.
  • I have bubbly-bits that I don’t wish to share with the world today.
  • I’d rather sweat my ass off than have chafed thighs.

The worrisome thing about that, again, is the whole mom-jeans thing. I’m sorry to keep
bringing them up but in 2 or 3 years, will I have a change of heart? Will the I-don’t-care-what-anyone-thinks-of-me attitude force me into mom jeans, even if it’s unplanned? I didn’t plan on wearing shorts a few years back, it just happened.

giphy (1).gif
I’m so scared.

Pants,

I hate you.

Love, Jen