And so, as PMS ravages my body with a blazing fury of 1000 suns, I decided on a little Monday morning catharsis.

Because as me n’ my friends will attest to, “If you have nothing nice to say…come sit with us!”

Here is a top 10 of my favorite customers from the eatery, in no particular order:

1. To the guy who can’t open his mouth to order because his “grill” might fall out: Baby Jesus designed you to have your own teeth Idiot…please take your “Hustle & Flow” elsewhere.

2. To the woman in the high to the side ponytail complete with metallic scrunchy: Tonight we’re serving a side of the NEW MILLENIUM. Please look at Vogue and know that you look like a lop-sided unicorn from 1987.

3. To the 60+ woman wearing BEBE in rhinestones across your rear with a silver sequined tank top: No words…trying to put my eyes back into my head.

4. To the old man who thinks that because he tells me he “tips well” he can treat me like s%&!: You are a bastard and I hope you choke.

5. To the family that refuses to speak a word of English: I sing you the National Anthem…please remember WHAT COUNTRY YOU ARE IN!

6. To the people that refuse to tip more than 10%: Please just stay home.

7. To the woman in the lavender unitard, complete with pleats all the way around the princess waist, with strappy white sandals, and platinum hair down to your waist at 72: Thank you. You are a tribute to 1982 for all of us.

8. To the parents who think their child crawling around is “so cute”: It. Is. Not.

9. To my manager, who thinks that posting letters from customers around the kitchen about the great job he did makes us think more of you: It only confirms the douche we know you are.

10. And finally, to the servers who think that I am “cool for my age” & a “cougar” at the ripe old age of 34: Thank you. A woman in her prime should not go unnoticed.

Okay, I am back from hiatus. Mostly due to the fact that my BFF Crissy has me “guest-blogging” (so go check me out there!) for her while she is waking up with a hangover attempting to get a tan (instead of her period) on vay-kay. At least I am not jealous. That’s the kind of good friend I am.

And so, you may or may not know that in an attempt to save some Benjamins I presently have a part-time gig in a “polished casual” (their term…for real) restaurant. The funny thing is that I find myself the OLDEST server in the establishment–which is beyond comprehensible and has me sometimes drunk in the corner sobbing wondering exactly how my life is really turning out…but I digress.

Have you hung around 20-something guys lately? I’m not sure it’s any different than hanging around with your average pre-adolescent boy, only minus Drakkar/Polo Sport and add the Aqua de Gio (which actually makes me want to lick them because that aroma just makes me want to do that), with more body hair and possibly a driver’s license.

Here’s the thing. I spent just about the whole of my 20’s in an attempt to impress the aforementioned. When we all were playing it cool and going out for “girl’s night” you know that my attempts to pick the right outfit, have the right hair, shave everything, was definitely not to impress my bff. No, for me, the best night ever would be the night that I casually strolled in with my gf’s and found my prince waiting for me in full view of the gf’s.

As you can probably guess I was GREAT at dating…but that’s a whole different story.

So how do my 20’s compare to the boys of today–and where is my point?

I’m glad you asked.

Now that I am fully invested in my 30’s (and totally in my prime), I am looking at these dudes and thinking…WTF was I trying to impress?

Want to know what impresses them?

Let me show you.

This actually made a few of them “rethink their life” and they could not believe that such a miracle existed and that they hadn’t thought of it before, and “HOW MUCH TIME HAVE I WASTED NOT DOING THIS?!” (complete with head in hands for emphasis).

Yes, making BONER on a dollar bill is what had every guy agog. (And if any of you boys are thinking “that’s AWESOME” shame on you too.)

What troubles me most is that once upon a time I let these same idiots put their you know what’s, you know where (I would say, but I am much too virginal), and if BONER is what impresses them then I don’t know what I was thinking.

Ironically, if I had known this then, I probably would have shaved BONER into my pubes just to be the most popular girl in school…

Note to Self: In next life do NOT try to impress boys, EVER. And if at all possible, be a lesbian.

Okay, so there I was, minding my own business trying to gear up for a great night dealing with the public at my local Starbucks when I saw this sign:

Try the drink of (certain) DEATH. Now with sprinkles!

That was written by my local friendly barista Wilhelm.

Here’s the thing…

This was written on the chalkboard you look at where you PICK UP your coffee. You’ve ordered, are invested (literally) in your foamy concoction that is in your hand or close to it and now you have to wonder whether the froth you are so enticed by is just some witches brew…

I knew there was something screwy about a $5 coffee.

The fact that they have to give everyone working there an important name like “barista” instead of coffee bee-otch should have been a clue…

Luckily, mine didn’t have sprinkles.

And it was delicious.

Okay, so new job working out, but am exhausted so bear with me…

Here’s the thing…I have a new nickname.

As if  being known as Mommy 24/7 wasn’t enough, I now work with 20 year olds who can’t believe that I am able to “keep up” with them, tell me that I look great “for my age” and who insist that while they have cool names like “Shake”, “JG”, and “Remy”, I am bequeathed “Mama”.

—————————————whatever————————————-

Somehow this is an instant initiation though and is a good thing.

I’m not convinced.

I think I am going to insist that they at least add “Hot” to the beginning…

(Oh, and by the way, if one of them even gets it in their head to call me “Big Mama” I am going to F%&*#$#@! kill them.)

just sayin’…

So there I was minding my own business when The Boy decided it was time to “be funny and cute”….his term not mine.

This means torture me with stupidity until I hit him usually.

Last night he reached a whole new level of, well, I don’t even know what.

We were sitting on the couch, where I was just settling in for a nice round of American Idol, when it happened.

He, in his infinite wisdom, thought it was really funny (and cute, don’t forget) to keep touching me ala “The Simpsons”–kids in the backseat–”Ouch, quit it.” Poke. “Ouch, quit it.” Poke. Repeat ad nauseum.

So I finally–in my most exasperated tone–exclaimed, “STOP IT! YOU’RE BEING A COMPLETE ASS!”

To which he quite literally bent over, grabbed both butt cheeks and flapping them in synch said, “Well, I wouldn’t say that…by the way, do you happen to have a breath mint?”

Then he fell to the couch, wholly amused by himself.

Have you ever been repulsed to the point of mouth gaping, eyes slitting abhorance–but want to laugh at the same time?!

But you can’t for fear that you will literally be having a conversation with an asshole!

And to think that THAT episode occurred without even one drop of wine…

I’ll NOT be making that mistake again.

ps–To see the video re-enactment of the scene, be sure to comment!

Well, there I was, minding my own business in the mall *squint & groan*, when I wandered into EXPRESS–a store that I haven’t wandered into since the late 1990’s. Here’s the scoop:

1. The clothes are EXACTLY the same…complete with gold lame (that’s lam-ay for the fashionista’s reading) and I think I even saw a jelly bracelet.

2. The worker bees are EXACTLY the same…giggling girls with jingling keys attached to their wrists.

3. The prices are EXACTLY the same…it’s still too much $$ for a tank top and too-tight pants. (This might not be such a pivotal point if I looked like I did in the 90’s in them.)

4. The music is EXACTLY the same…only instead of Madonna, some DUDE is singing, “Crazy For You.”

Am I really so old that Madonna is being made over?

Or is her old stuff fair game because it was pre-british accent? And why does she look younger now?

Hmm, seems like I need to pony up to the bar, grab a martini and my kabbalah and I’ll get back to you…

And there I was, minding my own business, getting the Dainty Flower ready for her bath…it had been a hard day of playing and she was ripe.  When we got to the socks, she ripped them off, shoved her stinky toes in her face and proclaimed loudly, “Mmmm, that’s  just the way I like them!”

Apparently she learning to generalize her smells….and is proud of each and every one.

 

I have literally died and gone to heaven. Sweet baby Jesus, I have seen it all!

Today, at a picnic, I was privy to the “dressy wife beater.”

Oh, life is complete.

Here’s the commentary in my head:

“And next we have Mike, ready for any redneck romp. This silky number is a must have for any event, from tractor pull to WWE front row seat. Don’t let it fool you though, this is 100% pure polyester–why look how it clings to his beer belly…you can tell he’s worked hard on that one! Paired with Levi’s in a light blue vintage stonewash jean (circa 1987) you can be sure that he’s tailgating with the best of the Bud drinkers on his way to the next “Whitesnake” concert. Finally, check out the accessories– 100 keys hooked onto his belt loop that jingle every time he takes a step. No misstep here Mike…that’s pure country.”

This was not your ordinary Hanes 100% cotton number.

I don’t think I even need to talk about the missing tooth do I?

I so wish I could have taken a picture…But the imprint will be forever tattooed on my brain.

These are the sweet moments I live for!

Is it just me, or are there others out there in cyberspace WITHOUT any tattoos? Please make yourself known!

Good Grief.

Here are some of my personal, south of the Bible Belt, favorites:

1. A pair of legs with red high heels–one on the inner arm, one down the body, all leading to some idiot’s hairy armpit…….nice. Can’t you just hear “Sweet Home Alabama” in the background?

2. Picture it: White Guy, both calves, WHITE on one, POWER on the other…as a sidenote, his ASIAN wife walking proudly beside him wearing a strip club tee-shirt and his daughter was a beautiful blend of the 2 morons……there are so many people that want babies, yet these a$%*&!@’s have no problem pro-creating…hmm, because of the irony of the situation, does that make them oxymorons?

3. Looney Tunes……why do people seem to think that Yosemite Sam, the Tasmanian Devil, or Tweety Bird belong on their body forever?

4. Disney Characters……no word of a lie, I JUST saw a 6-8 diameter Holiday Wreath, on yet another calf, with Mickey, Minnie, Donald, & Pluto wishing Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas FOREVER. Maybe it’s a Florida thing.

5. Spiderweb Elbows & Teardrops…..I know that some fool will probably come after me on this one, but SERIOUSLY?!

6. Panthers, with claws, crawling up arms and legs…..ring, ring, clue phone–no one buys this s*&$ for a minute AND it looks like crap.

7. Profanity on your arm or knuckles forever…..I guess the upside is that it is usually spelled correctly.

8. Skulls with vampire teeth and other hellish icons…..perfect for holding your sweet baby in christening photos.

9. Your NAME…..are you honestly so dumb that you need a permanent “Hello, My Name Is” on your BODY?!

10. The tramp stamp…..how many of these uninteresting smears am I going to have to look at–only bettered when accompanied by a whale-tale thong popping out under your muffin top.

I know that there are more fine specimens–feel free to comment and enlighten me.

Maybe I’m in a mood today, but seriously–take a picture and build a scrapbook of memories to keep at home. I don’t care that you’re “Born to be Wild” or that you want snakes coming out of eye sockets in skulls on your arm to be the 1st impression of you. If you need to remember names, keep an address book on you or check your cell phone.

While shows like LA Ink might be fun to watch for the freak factor and, to be honest, the talent of the artists, I find the majority of ink on the everyday individual to be mundane and mainstream–and isn’t that the opposite of what it’s supposed to be?

And don’t even get me started on the pathology of the pain of the needle associated with a “Good Memory”…..

Maybe I’m completely wrong.

Maybe my NOT having any tatt’s means I have commitment issues because I can’t think of one picture I want on my body forever.

Maybe I’m just afraid that today’s Betty Boop will be tomorrow’s Betty Droop.

Maybe I’m the freak here……but maybe I’m not.