Bitchassness 101: Class is in session

This is really for any individuals who deem it necessary to spew homophobic hatred, as well as any other small-minded gems. Below are a few guidelines so that you may be more effective. Afterall, what else are you going to do with your free time while working the french fry line?

1) Do not, I repeat do not, make any attempt to further your education beyond middle or high school....and high school might even be pushing it. If you are currently enrolled in college courses, drop them immediately. You do not want to run the risk of actually obtaining access to other viewpoints other than your own. Once more, you could really do without the enlightenment.

2) Try to learn as many one or two syllable slurs as possible, such as fag, faggot, or homo. Limit this to two syllables, though, as you don't want to hurt yourself. Try to make an effort with broadening your slur vocabulary, so that you don't sound like a broken record when trying to purposely offend an innocent bystander. Your vocabulary probably isn't that expansive at this point anyway, so trust me when I say there will be room.

3) Refrain from befriending strangers. You do not want to run the risk of learning new ways of thinking from a new friend. Plus, you'll need your old friends to constantly reaffirm your viewpoints so that you don't start to doubt yourself. You see, Mr. Homophobia, most individuals that share in your hatred are often suffering from deep rooted insecurities that stem from childhood when their friend's popularity surpassed their own as a result of the friend being smarter, better looking, and most likely better dressed. Clearly, it's not all your fault.

4) Do not EVER seek therapy. This is a crucial keypoint in the thriving of your homophobic behavior. If you ever consult a therapist, you will undoubtedly learn that you are still in a current state of hate for homosexuals and everything they stand before because you are desperately trying to project your own latent homosexual feelings and tendencies onto others. Rest assured, this will not bode well for you.

5) If you come across someone that isn't already aware of your idiocy, and he or she actually sleeps with you.....please please please, for the love of God, use protection. That's all this world needs, is another you.....or worse, multiple yous. Yikes. Perhaps 1 of your 5 friends could offer a condom, or better yet, a loan so you can get sterilized. Nothing like an act of permanence to contribute towards the greater good of society.

Please note that it is never a wise move to openly broadcast your homophobic sickness (though thankfully, not contagious) to the world. You never know who is bearing witness and might promptly schedule a well deserved ass kicking as a result. Just saying.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program on not being a human being. Asshats.

Karaoke: Not a sober sport

Birthdays, birthdays, birthdays. Seriously, my friends' parents must have joined a procreation pact or something. We are out for a girlfriend's birthday a few nights ago at a favorite sushi restaurant of ours.....eating, enjoying the eating, discussing how much more we want to eat, etc. We are eaters, if you haven't already picked up on this.

Anywho, a friend of ours is apparently in charge of this karaoke event there Tuesday nights. No, he doesn't own his own company, nor does he have the karaoke equipment. He really just runs the show that is karaoke, wherever he goes. And believe me when I say, whenever he and a few choice other friends of mine partake in karaoke activity....you will usually find me running the other way. Usually. Not on this night in question, however. Nope.

There are maybe 10-15 folks in the restaurant when the karaoke starts. Once this event is underway, that population dwindles down to about 5. Um, there are 5 people in our group. Yep, the restaurant goers pulled a Dawn and now it's just us. Fabulous. And really, what better way to wish my dear friend a happy birthday than to torture her ears? So we all take turns singing. Some do solos, while some refuse to sing alone and require at least one other person present if she is going to go anywhere near a mic. Can anyone guess who I'm referring to? Oh yes, me.

I am not like those folks you see on American Idol who show up in chicken suits, demanding to be heard, and end up sounding like a kitten being drowned in acid. Well, at least I'm not wearing a chicken suit and making demands. The rest is up for interpretation, I suppose. Seriously though, I readily admit I am no Glee contender. Sober self-awareness can be a beautiful thing sometimes, but I digress.

So this guy walks in who ends up knowing the "karaoke host", which is our friend, naturally. Yup, this would make him the 6th person in the restaurant, not including the staff. He immediately jumps up to the mic and is preparing to sing some Bryan Adams. Bold choice. I heart Bryan Adams, and I am not ashamed to admit this. I had all of his cassette tapes, including the Robinhood soundtrack. Love it.

Anyway, Mr. Friend has no idea what the lyrics are, despite them being on the screen for him to follow along. Some of us are desperately trying to assist with the song, albeit from afar. My friends catch on that I know every fucking word to the song and start yelling for me to go help him. It's Bryan Adams. Of course I'm going to help out in efforts that don't include butchering a masterpiece. Had I known they were going to capture video footage of this, I probably would not have done so......which brings me to, yet another, lessons learned piece.

Lessons learned:

1) When a certain friend is invited anywhere we go, always prepare for the slight chance karaoke will somehow make its entrance into the evening.
2) Start carrying a flask. Maybe. Ok really, this could be applicable to most situations, could it not??
3) When in public, perhaps it is best to NOT openly adore 90's pop stars.
4) Always always always apologize to everyone's ears before and after every song. It's just better that way. Setting expectations and whatnot.
5) Purchase one or more rounds for any and all listeners before every song? Drunk and tone deaf never tasted so good.

Please note that I embrace there are those who treat karaoke as a weekly hobby. These lessons are not necessarily for you. If you sound like that kitten being drowned in acid.....well, perhaps you should heed my advice, as well as rethink your hobby options. Just saying.

You know your musical career has ended when.....

This past Saturday, a group of girlfriends and I got together and ventured to DC to see Grease at the National Theatre. We decided to grab lunch in the city before the show, complete with some potent adult beverages. Had I known what we were in for towards the end of the show, I would have actually finished my extra large martini.......and promptly ordered another.

First, I would like to point out that Grease may seem like a show you can take your children to, but I assure you it is not. We learned this before the show was about to start, actually. Vince Fontaine's character was on stage "entertaining" the crowd with his greetings and one liners, complete with dirty language and naughty sarcasm. At one point, when he was doing the whole "where are you from" game with people in the audience, someone shouted out "Manassas!"

He took this....and ran...all the way to the third act of the show. During the sock hop/dance contest scene where Vince Fontaine and Marty were making out and got caught by the principal, Fontaine's character blurted out "wait! this is legal in Manassas!". He must have previously educated himself on the latest news story regarding criminal activity between an adult and a minor.....but I digress.

There were several other sexual innuendos threaded throughout the show. They clearly prompted laughter for 80% of the audience, while the other 20% (the kids) were left confused and looking to their parents for clarification. We got to witness this first hand when the two 8 year olds sitting directly in front of us would constantly glance at Mom with the "um we don't get it" looks. Shame on Mom for not educating little Susie on what a gang bang is.

The star of the show was supposed to be Taylor Hicks, as he was plastered all over the website and had the longest biographical note in the program. Let's not forget he also won American Idol a few seasons ago. I still can't believe Chris Daughtry didn't win, but whatever. Back to Taylor Hicks, the highlight of the afternoon.....seemingly. His part was the character of Teen Angel....and yes, I grasp that he was far too old to play any other character in the show.

I have to ask, though......was it absolutely necessary to stage his entrance the way they did? He came out of a fucking ice cream cone, suspended in mid-air, in the most sparkly suit I have ever seen on a heterosexual male. I can't make this stuff up, really. An ice cream cone. A fucking ice cream cone. Oh, and clearly there was enough room in that thing for his damn harmonica. Seriously, did the original version have the guy using other instruments besides his voice? Didn't think so. Way to keep to the script, Taylor. My two friends beside me and I were trying to control our laughter, but it was absolutely impossible. It was as if we were listening to Robin Williams and his obscene stand-up routine (love him)....but no, we were watching an American Idol hasbeen come out of a frozen treat, belting out Grease lyrics. It was so priceless, words cannot describe. Nothing could top the hilarity of this moment....well, until the finale, that is.

Just when we thought it was over, Taylor Hicks came storming out on stage with his guitar and harmonica and sang a song. Evidently, it was a song from his CD that was just released and he was, of course, selling this CD out in the lobby. This was supposed to entice the audience to make the purchase, naturally. It did no such thing. As we were walking out of the lobby we kept hearing people shout "if you purchase Taylor Hicks' new CD, he'll autograph it for free!" Are you serious? No really, you've got to be fucking kidding me. Not only is he charging actual American dollars for his musical "talent", but he thinks his personal signature is worth something other than a smile?

Shut the hell up, Taylor Hicks. No really, just stop talking. And singing. And take off that ridiculous sparkly suit. No more Soul Patrol for you, sweetheart. I do hope you enjoyed my grabbing your ass, however, albeit through the window. Just saying.

Uno. Dos. Tres. FAIL.

It's Saturday night. Some friends and I have coordinated a fun birthday evening in honor of a close friend of ours, dinner at a Brazilian steakhouse and dancing afterwards. What can go wrong, right?

I had previously called and made a reservation at the restaurant for 7:00pm, for 9 people. The birthday girl's husband also made the same call so we are absolutely sure we won't have to wait....because we are that hungry. You see, in order to properly prepare for a Brazilian steakhouse visit, one must pseudo starve himself/herself for most of the day prior to ensure ample meat consumption. It's in the carnivore handbook, I assure you.

We all start arriving prior to our 7pm reservation, as we should. Once I arrive, I check in with the hostess to let her know our party is present. There is one problem, however, and that would be the lack of hostess present to communicate this. Hmmmmmm, slightly odd, no? It is now approximately 7:15pm, there is a crowd accumulating in the lobby area to either put their name down or check in with the hostess just as I am attempting to do......but still, no hostess to be found. There is a rather large gentleman standing next to me who is growing significantly more frustrated with this situation as time passes, as he arrived before we did and also has a reservation. I must point out that it's just not good for business to keep a large, hungry male waiting. Every restaurant should know better.

A few minutes pass and finally, someone resembling an employee comes to the front to greet us. Yes, that's right. Almost a half hour without any communication from a restaurant employee. She asks how many are in the party and I tell her we have 9 for a reservation at 7pm (It is now 7:20 or so). She says something under her breath, albeit not in English, and then walks away again. At this point, I notice what I can only assume is their reservation book...but only because the large guy standing next to me keeps pointing at it furiously. I glance at the book and notice that our reservation is nowhere to be found in this book. So, to recap, a large group of people waiting around...no hostess to help....manager is currently nonexistent....our party is waiting and has been for over a half hour at this point....and we have a reservation that was called in not once, but twice and hasn't even been documented. Fucking fantastic. Oh, did I mention we were all pretty hungry at this point????? But nevermind that.

Several minutes later, I see what we now have identified as the manager walking by with food. Not for us, though. Bitch. It's for a table that has already been seated. She is playing waitress while her hostess has permanently disappeared (should we notify the authorities of her abduction??), which isn't that uncommon for a restaurant manager. I will go out on a limb, though, and say that it is pretty abnormal for the cook to come out and attempt to play hostess.....in another language. I shit you not. This guy comes out of the kitchen and starts trying to talk to us....in Spanish. Ok, maybe he is the bus boy, but the point is he has no idea what he is doing.

He starts talking to me in VERY broken English. I can somewhat gather that he was trying to tell me "3 more minutos....4 more minutos"....ok I get it. You can count. Fabulous. Now go clear off a table so we can fucking eat, thank you. Anywho, his wait quote keeps increasing every time he comes back. Finally, I decide that I've had enough and go into hungry bitch mode. I interrupt him with "ok sweetheart you've been saying 3 or 4 or 5 minutos for the past 20 minutes and now you're saying another 15? How about no! Let's do this. You tell me where you plan to seat us and I'll go check on the table myself"...which is precisely what I proceed to do. He points to the table and tries to explain they are getting up in 5 minutes. I decide to walk over while he's still talking to look at the table. The people are still eating and no bill has been placed on the table yet. Um, como se dice "5 minutes my ass" in Espanol? Really.

I come back to the counter and tell the cook/bus boy/makeshift manager/fuckwit that it will be at least another 15-20 minutes before the table even gets up so it would be in his best interests not to lie to me again. He walks away with a defeated look upon his face, as he should. Some of the individuals behind me are now giving me verbal kudos for what I have just done.

The phone is now ringing off the hook at the counter. Still no hostess. Still no manager, and no one else in sight to field these calls. I am hungry, pissed, and dumbfounded at the lack of organization and management in the restaurant, so I sort of maybe kind of make an executive decision to pick up the phone and then hang it up a few times. Ok, look....if the restaurant cannot handle the already full lobby of pissed off patrons, they clearly cannot handle potential ones either. Evidently, this action appeals to the masses and I am now getting high fives from total strangers. Cool, I guess. High fives are nice sometimes, but I'd prefer to be eating.

It is 7:50pm at this point. We have now been waiting for over an hour for a reservation we already have. Seriously. WTF!!! As a group, we decide that any food is better than waiting around for piss poor service, so the birthday girl's husband starts calling around to nearby establishments hoping to get one that will accommodate a party of 9 on short notice....and no, the McDonald's across the street is not what we are going for at this point. Sorry. He finds one....a nearby upscale-ish sushi/seafood buffet. SUCCESS!! We don't even bother letting anyone know we're leaving, because really...who would we tell but our new equally as irate acquaintances??

We leave and vow never to return to this particular establishment ever again. There is one problem with this, however. Another friend has already planned to celebrate his birthday here, albeit at another location, next month. Suffice to say, there are several of us that are secretly praying he changes the venue of said celebration so as to prevent Clusterfuck II: Return to Famishment City. Just saying.

Run-in with Channel 7 News. Swell.

Ok. It's the Snowpocalypse 2010. We get it. There is a shitload of snow outside. So much so that it has now prompted Channel 7 News to set up shop at the gas station by my house. That's right....we're famous, by virtue of precipitation. Fantastic.

So my friend and I decide that we are officially done with our cabin fever status, and that we're going to venture out into the end of the world that is Northern Virginia. I don't know about you, but I'm damn glad I made that grocery store trip the night before the avalanche to get all pertinent items......toilet paper, eggs, ingredients for chili, and then several other things that have absolutely nothing to do with surviving a snow storm. Please tell me how 3 kinds of potato chips and 2 kinds of popcorn help anybody with the impending weather, except me of course......but I digress.

Back to the previously mentioned gas station. I am there pumping gas because I'm an idiot and didn't feel like traveling to another gas station the day it started snowing. You see...this particular gas station's machines all of a sudden stopped working that day. Naturally, this enraged a few folks. This anger really just prompted laziness within me and I drove home that day, sans a full tank of gas in my car, which brings me back to tonight. While pumping gas, my friend and I see the Channel 7 News truck and the guys outside. I ask them if they have reports on the latest road conditions. The guy doing the reporting replies that they are doing that now, while the cameraman stays mute. He's clearly preoccupied.

Before I know it, Mr. News Reporter Guy is walking closer to me with Mr. Camera Guy following closely behind. They are now essentially keeping me company while I pump gas? Awesome. He asks me how old I am. Evidently, I look way younger than 29. "When you're 50, you're going to look 30. That's a good thing, trust me!", Mr. News Reporter Guy says to me. How sweet is he? Really. I know you can already guess what happens next. You will see some highlights below of how his little "so what are the roads like" interview goes down, none of which involves my friend because she absolutely refuses to get outside of the car:

Mr. News Reporter Guy: "So how are the roads?"

Me: "The roads are really bad. We got stuck getting out of my driveway!"

Mr. News Reporter Guy (already smirking, borderline laughing): "So then why didn't you stay home?"

Me: "Oh. Cabin fever like no other. There isn't enough beer, wine, or liquor to cure that so we're going to get some wings!"

Mr. News Reporter Guy (laughing at my ridiculous response but manages to pull it together for this next question): "What kinds of things have you witnessed so far with the roads?"

Me: "Well, we took a picture of a snow plow getting stuck on the way to Wegmans."

Mr. News Reporter Guy (really trying to put on a serious face at this point. I'm clearly NOT helping with this effort): "So you went out in this yesterday too? In a car that's not even 4-wheel drive?"

Me: "Well our neighbor has 4-wheel drive so we were all good!"

I also should point out that at one point during the interview I say "damn" then correct myself midway, but it is already too late. Mr. News Reporter Guy is already laughing and says we have to start that question over again. Oops. My mouth tends to get me in trouble sometimes. Of course, when I'm on national television, there is no exception to this rule. Although.....I'm sort of wishing otherwise. Ok, only slightly. Just saying.

Mr. No F***ing Way

Okay. Let's suspend reality for a few minutes and pretend that Mr. Right can be found in a bar, grocery store, in a boutique, or maybe at the gym. Now that you have also rendered yourself dizzy from nodding at all of these options, I'm going to confess that I am one of the millions who signed up for one of those online dating sites. I did this a few months ago, secretly hoping to be swept off my feet, albeit electronically. Clearly this did not happen. Anywho, I have since cancelled the subscription due to being inundated with creeptastic emails and receiving winks from individuals who perhaps would be better off trying to get a date from my mom....because they are closer in age.

Evidently, despite my cancelling said subscription, I still get these emails and winks. I assume this is because my subscription has not yet expired. I think I need to learn how to hide my profile prior to this magical expiration date, but I digress. I suppose it's nice to feel the love, and what girl doesn't love attention? Seriously....but this kind of attention, I could really do without.

So last night, I'm playing the delete game with all of these emails and winks, when a combo wild card caught my attention. I use the term combo wild card, because this individual not only winks at me, but decides to send me an email immediately following said wink. Ok, you're interested...I get it. No need to beat me over the head with it. The thing that catches my attention is the subject line of the email: "PRINCESS!"......ok, so this guy gets points for this tactic. The capital letters would get anyone's attention, but the "princess" identifier definitely lures any girl in....so I open this one before deleting it.....and this is what the rest of it said:

"PRINCESS!

Friday night, I'm cooking you a fantastic dinner at my place in Arlington (Courthouse/Clarendon Area). Non-negotiable my love! :)"

I don't even know where to begin with this. Ok, well let's start with the fact that there has been zero communication up until this email he sent me last night. So no talking at all, yet he already plans to cook someone dinner? No. Non-negotiable? Ok, he doesn't know me....clearly he isn't aware that as soon as you start making demands like that, I start zoning out and not paying attention, much like a guy would. Sigh....I finally understand. But wait....."my love"????? Seriously??? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

At this point, I can't NOT go to his profile to see what other wackjob qualities this guy has that makes him completely unsuitable for a date with me. SWEET JESUS I HIT THE MOTHERLOAD! Not only is this guy creepier than a serial killer in a tutu, but he does not pay attention to criteria. Oh, this definitely calls for a list....a comparison list, if you will....

1) He's 40 years old. I believe my criteria was 29-37 years old. I realize this is only a 3 year discrepancy, but if you are 40 years old and still perusing online for a date because you don't yet have a wife....do I really need to elaborate on this one? Nonetheless, I call this one a major red flag.
2) He's 5'6" tall. My criteria fancied a gentleman 5'11" or taller. I heart my heels and I like my men a lot taller than me. So, if I'm 5'3" and I'm wearing high heels.....you do the math with that one sweetheart.
3) He lives with "family"????? Oh please, like I need to even state what my criteria is on this one?!?!?! This is NOT Frank the Entertainer's basement, and we are not on VH1. Next.
4) He attended "some college". My criteria required AT LEAST a Bachelor's degree. I have a Master's degree, so naturally I'm going to want to date someone who is well educated. Sort of a no-brainer, yes?
5) His occupation is listed as "other". Ok, let me get this straight.....there are probably 20-30 options that encompass something close to what most people do for a living, yet he can't seem to find one that fits? What the hell does he do? Or does he even have a job? I'm voting for the latter option here. Veto, please.
6) His physical description is "more to love". I'm 5'3" and probably 115-120 lbs. Clearly, I'm a pretty petite girl. I'm not going to comment on this one any further, as you can probably see where I'm going with it.
Icing on the cake!!!) So that email he wrote? Yeh....that is definitely his headliner. IT WASN'T EVEN ORIGINAL! How rude! The only original part of it was the fact that he called me Princess!?!??!

So to recap, this guy is completely unoriginal, short, old, fat, uneducated, most likely unemployed, and seemingly living with mom and dad. Perfect match. Just saying.

LOST.....you can say that again!

Never in my life have I followed a TV series where missing one season has rendered me completely clueless......until now. Thank you, LOST producers, for THAT. Really. I love to hate this show for confusing me, and I hate that I love this show even when it frustrates me to my inner core. The black smoke, two John Lockes, a bomb that was a few inches away and didn't instantly kill Julia, Jack not recognizing the other characters on the damn plane, and for fuck sake how many "Others" are there!!! Can we get some name tags for those people PLEASE!!! I am not expecting for the groups to sit Indian-style and sing Kumbaya, but c'mon let's come up with some identifiers, thanks.

And don't get me started on some of the amazing (really I'm kidding with this) acting abilities. How is it that characters are supposed to act like they are mourning another character's death, but somehow end up sounding like they are in deep throws of passion with a dead person in their arms? I mean seriously.....sad v. orgasmic. You'd think this wouldn't be too difficult, but Sawyer never really seems to nail this task. Acting 101. Sawyer, I've secured a special spot in the front of the class for you.

So someone clear this one up for me, because I haven't gotten around to catching myself up quite yet (is it even possible with this show?).....Jack and Kate were a hot, steamy item....hmmm they'd make beautiful kids wouldn't they? Their kid, McSavage might be a nice match for McDreamy and McWhiney's kid, no?? Ok so Jack and Kate were an item, then Kate and Sawyer were gettin' busy. Now Sawyer and Julia are doin' the deed....ok were...guess she's dead now...or is she? Eh, maybe he's into that. How's that for an awkward love triangle?!?!

I wonder how this show will wrap up......I can't even begin to guess at this point. I do know that I'll be a loyal follower until the bitter end. I've had my ups and downs with the show...but I'll stick it out for better or worse. I promise. Whoever said I had a fear of commitment was seriously mistaken. Just saying.

WTF, Mother Nature. WTF.

Dearest Mother Nature,

Do you have a physical address that I might be able to deliver some Midol to, perhaps? I'm just wondering, you see, because it appears you've had a serious case of PMS lately. Might I also add that you are really pissing people off with this indecisive behavior. Warm, cold, rain, snow....make up your f***ing mind! But please, for the love of God.......NO MORE SNOW!

Has it completely escaped your attention that some of us are in a line of work that does not allow for "snow days"? It is during these days that I wish I were a teacher, student of some sort again, and yes, even a government employee....or hell, even an 18 year old again so I'm not paying for shit yet....sigh....oh and by the way, the snow is getting progressively worse outside.....aggressive, even. I'm going to wake up at 4:30am to 3 feet of snow awaiting my shovel love again. I can feel it. Swell. WTF.

The D.O.A. challenge: FAIL

Some people worship God. I have been known to do this from time to time as well, but I'm a much more loyal worshipper of....the chicken wing. Three dollar cafe, Buffalo Wild Wings, Hooters, Buffalo Wing University...praying never tasted so good. Really.

I recently ventured to a local spot to get some wing praying in with some fellow worshippers. The hours were very...happy, if you will. This particular spot is evidently known for their D.O.A. challenge. Yes, that stands for Dead On Arrival, if memory serves me correctly. That's how hot these wings are supposed to be.....they are supposed to make you wish you were dead. Another friend and I had never sampled these delectable death wish drummettes, so we figured we would live on the edge during this particular hour of smiles.

Well, the company we keep usually knows the management staff of wherever we go in some way, shape, or form. We decided to utilize this connection and ask if we could just try one wing, rather than a basket of 6. Clearly that would be overwhelming. After we ordered the wings, our other friends started with their warning deliveries....."Don't do it!"..."Your taste buds will be messed up for at least 3 days!"...."Leave these stupid challenges to us guys!"....and my personal favorite....."The sauce actually has mace in it!"....wait a minute....hold on....the sauce has mace in it?!?!?!? Now that is just uncalled for! Why would someone mix mace in a buffalo wing sauce anyway?

Based on this new information, my equally as adventurous girlfriend and I decided to downgrade our order from the D.O.A. wing to a french fry lightly dipped in the D.O.A. sauce. It came. We tried it. It kicked our asses. It was heinous and I will never be trying that particular buffalo wing sauce, or challenge, ever again. I learned a valuable lesson on this day, one that will undoubtedly serve me well for years to come: Leave the gross food challenges to the guys. We girls can't hang. We bow to thee. And don't forget to pass the water. Thanks.