So I'm probably going to post the video for Gnarls Barkley's Gone Daddy Gone, but beyond that we'll take a short programming break from all these rando music vids. Back to news of Susan's assorted crazies!
There is this guy who works at the barber shop at one of the local malls (it's the 'Saugs, we love our malls here), and every time I've seen him he's told me I'm beautiful. Which is nice, but also very strange. I don't suspect him of having ulterior motives (he seems pretty flaming), I just wonder if he does this habitually to girls. Does he remember having done this several times to me in particular? Each time, I'm just walking by, minding my own business. It's unnervingly flattering.
I just want to take a moment to remind the world that waitresses have better things to do than stand around, halfway through taking an order, whilst you talk amongst yourselves. I am all for unobtrusive service, but there's a difference between that and being invisible. And boy howdy, am I sick of feeling invisible. If you need time to decide, I am more than happy to scarper off and do some of the other million things I have to do. I would say that chatty middle-aged ladies are the worst for this, but after last night I've revised my opinion to say that twenty-something guys deciding on beer or wings are the ultimate perpetrators.
While I'm on the topic, people who spend ten minutes scouring our menu and then hand it to me and say, "Wings, please," and then turn to their companions for a cozy conversation are a scourge on the planet. We have two different types of wings, two different ways of prepping them, three different ways of finishing them off, and nineteen different wing sauces. They come by pounds. And the computer is going to ask me for a verdict on all of those, so you can bet your sweet patootie that I'm going to raise my voice and ask you about every damn one of those decisions in an artificially sweet and reasonable tone.
I'm sure glad I spent four years on a BAH so I could rhyme off the list of side dishes for each person at the table, too.
I guess you could say I'm a little bitter lately. But I made good money this week. My savings account balance is half-way to where I want it before I move out. AND, almost more importantly, I found a sweater at Old Navy with patches on the elbows. LOVE!
Last night one of my coworkers and I talked the new kid into thinking I was 36. It started when I called him muffin, and then when he tried to use it on me I told him I was like, twice his age. I was joking, but Choppy ran with it, and then I had to back him up, of course. I think I went too far when I started talking about my son, Pepe, and how I'd promised to be home in time to read him a bedtime story. I definitely crossed the line when I referred to his birth as a Christmas miracle.
Finally, are there any rules to carrying on a clandestine affair? I merely ask for information.
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3 comments:
It's been years since I dated a girl who would actually own up to that fact, so I suppose I have some experience in the subject of clandestine affairs. I guess just keep your mouth shut and avoid public displays of affection.
On another note, you're certainly validating my ongoing efforts to be as polite to waitresses as possible. I'm all "May I have the wings, please?" and "Thank you for the wings. They are delicious."
Well, I suppose I will allow you to have some wings then. THIS TIME.
And don't worry, the girl who will shout from the rooftops that Peter Lynn gets to romp in her lady garden is out there somewhere.
And then I'll be all "May I romp in your lady garden, please?" and "Thank you for the lady garden romp. It was delicious."
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