Tongue in the Ear for the Team

It’s hotter outside than the thought of Jared Leto, naked, in my bed.

It’s mind numbingly, painstakingly boring and soul crushing.

I’m unemployed.

For these reasons when Katrina asked me to go to dinner because a friend was in town I welcomed the opportunity with the enthusiasm of a 14 year old boy about to touch his first bare boob. (Upon further examination I’ve found that my sex drive in general can be likened to that of a 14 year old boy). Plus, we were meeting in my neighborhood.

I walked in and believed I was the first one there. Then low and behold I see Kristen sitting at a table full of people I certainly don’t recognize. Could these be “art” people she works with? Next thing I know they’re all welcoming me with excited glee. “Please! Pull up a chair!” I notice the numerous huge bottles of wine strewn about the table, and I accept their offer. I mean, I don’t want to be rude.

The first question they ask, even before “What’s your name?” is “So, what size shoe do you wear?” After they learn of my monstrous size 11 feet the man of the hour begins beaming with joy. “Oh my goodness! You wear an 11? That’s it, I”m calling my nephew who lives in Bay Ridge (which is really far away) to come down here immediately! He must see you, this size 11 shoe wearing goddess.” I thought he was going to fondle my feet as he lunged for them. Thankfully he just wanted a closer look. For the rest of the night I would be known as oncee. (It was a Mexican restaurant so they were calling me the Spanish word for 11. Only I don’t know how to use these blog features well enough to place in an accent mark)

Also, it turns out the one older gentleman who speaks barely a word of English is actually the owner of the place. When Katrina and Laura finally arrive I’ve already had about three glasses of wine. (I think Katrina and Laura got there about 15 min after me.) The owner makes his employees move around tables so the four of us can enjoy our meal in their company.

Since there are now 8 of us the owner has two plates of nachos and two plates of chips and guacamole brought out to the table, gratis, of course. After the four of us complete our two plates of appetizers we look over to see the other four have barely made a dent. At this point the four of us are slightly embarrassed, but considering Katrina and I could probably consume all that food and then some between only the two of us we allow the embarrassment to subside rather quickly. When the other four notice our foodless situation they attempt to pass over their almost full plates. We politely decline.

By the end of the night I had about 6 glasses of wine, a beer, Kristen and Katrina had each had a goat taco, and we had all touched the 59 year old’s defibrillator that was protruding from inside his chest.

All in all it was a fantastic free meal and we had Kristen’s overt ability to make new friends to thank.

However, Kristen pretty much ended up being the only to pay for the evening and I don’t mean monetarily. As we were saying our “thank yous” and “goodbyes” the owner wanted to whisper something into Kristen’s ear. Well, let’s just say more than words entered her ear as this seemingly sweet, generous man slipped his tongue into her ear and told her to come back again, alone.

Ranger Rog

Once upon a family camping trip, there was a Park Ranger who kept bothering us because we were obviously the loudest people in the campgroud.  12 of my relatives and all from my mom’s side?  Yeah,  you understand.  Anyway I write about “Rog,” as I deemed him, because he deserves it. 

He was very special.  Especially annoying.  He found the need to “make the rounds” a good 15 minutes before 11 p.m. which marked the start of Quiet Hours, to let us know we weren’t the only ones awake but we were the only ones being noisy.  How is that even possible?

When my cousins, sister, Adam, and I went back to our tents, to put wine bottles in the fire and wait til the cork flew out the top several times over (it’s great fun you have to try it!) he came back again.  This time he CARDED US.  My cousin Brett being only 20, he had to be walked back to his mother 20 feet away where she was asleep in my uncle’s trailer.  Because in Wisconsin, you have to be within eyesight of your parents to have a beer.  … … … … Was it really worth the effort Rog?

As soon as he came back, we pointed the wine bottle at the hatched lodged into the tree, to try and split the entire tree in half by sheer force and genius physics alone.  Take that ROG!!!!  YOUR LITTLE PLANS HAVE FAILED!!!!!

 

Oh, then he thought it was our campsite across the way who had a dog that barked liked it was being murdered in deafening tones.  NO ROG.  YOU WISH IT WAS THOUGH DON’T YOU!?!!?  Oh also, he gave my dad a written warning ticket for having his parking voucher improperly displayed.  My dad had put it up with scotch tape instead of sticking its truly gooey backside to the windshield of his beloved batmobile.  Oh Rog.  Did you have to?

 

We still ate a million meals and became sufficiently intoxicated and played catch phrase and had bags tournaments and spent a day on a boat and had a great time!  Despite you Rog!!  But really, I don’t appreciate your malicious efforts!  Don’t blame me when you wake up all afrenzy because your face is covered in raw eggs and salami.  It could have been worse.  I once put a guinea pig on Lynn Greetis’s face when she slept over at my house. 

 

Consider yourself lucky Roger the Ranger.  Because we all had a grand time regardless, your crimes will hence be punished mildly. 

 

 

This time.

The Day Peter Worked

One day, Peter Virginelli did something insane when he got to work.  Red gdot flashing harshly in our eyes, he sat at his desk and… he worked.

 

AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We were all so confused.

 

The End

The Engagement Chicken

A subject I find suitable for heated debate!

Check out this… interesting article, if you will:

How to make “Engagement Chicken:”

First comes chicken, then comes marriage? Be skeptical if you must, but this recipe may be charmed. It all began 26 years ago, when then-Glamour fashion editor Kim Bonnell gave the recipe to her assistant, Kathy Suder, who made the chicken for her boyfriend, who, a month later, asked her to marry him. “It’s a meal your wife would make. It got me thinking,” says Jon Suder, who now has three children with Kathy. Details of the simple dish passed from assistant to assistant like a culinary chain letter. When Bonnell heard that her recipe had inspired three weddings, she dubbed it Engagement Chicken. Try the recipe, give it to a friend–oh, and let us know when it works!  (See also: How to…Cook for a Hot Date How to Whip Up Any Guy’s Absolute Fantasy Dinner, Two Delicious Ways to Get Engaged, View All Engagement Chicken“)

Serves 2 to 3

1 whole chicken (approx. 3 lb.)

1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

Kosher or sea salt

Ground black pepper

2 lemons, plus 1 for garnish

Fresh herbs for garnish

 

Place rack in upper third of oven and preheat to 400°F. Remove giblets, wash chicken inside and out with cold water, then let it drain, cavity down, in a colander until it reaches room temperature (about 15 minutes). Pat dry with paper towels. Pour lemon juice all over the chicken (inside and outside). Season with salt and pepper. Prick two whole lemons three times with a fork and place deep inside the cavity. (Tip: If lemons are hard, roll on countertop with your palm to get juices flowing.) Place bird breast-side down on a rack in a roasting pan, lower heat to 350°F and bake uncovered for 15 minutes. Remove from oven and turn it breast-side up (use wooden spoons!); return it to oven for 35 minutes more. Test for doneness–a meat thermometer inserted in the thigh should read 180°F, or juices should run clear when chicken is pricked with a fork. Continue baking if necessary. Let chicken cool for a few minutes before carving. Serve with juices. Garnish with fresh herbs and lemon.

 

People.  Really????  Really.  An article like this published in this day and age?  I say, if your man needs a chicken to pop the question, you’re better off Brangelina-ing it up and skipping the nuptials altogether.  This is NOT a story I’d want to tell my future kids!

~*~

Some comments thus far:

J. Dieterle: “That CANNOT be true. these ladies must have known it was coming”

S. Helgren: ”Make it for Freddie, let me know what happens. “ 

G. Heumann: “This is classic 1950’s thinking… The man comes home to a wifely meal.”

E. Edmark: “I’ve read this before and I guess I could see how it works.. but for how many stories it has working for someone I’m sure there are just as many that don’t.. that’s my take on it.”

 

Thoughts?   

Dos and Don’ts of Family Cruising

What do you get when you have forty people wearing the same blue t-shirt all crammed onto a boat? Well, when it’s my family you get a drunk, wild, scene making bunch that by the end of the first day of the cruise have a glowing reputation among every other cruise ship traveler. (Seriously, you try embarking onto a ship wearing the same shirt as 39 other people and see if you can go unnoticed for the next five days.) I had never been on a cruise before. I had never had even the slightest inkling of a desire to cruise before. However, when my aunt decided to create a mass family vacation for my uncle’s 50th Birthday I would’ve been quite the outsider not to comply. (I mean, I already moved 725 miles away when the rest of them all live in the same town.)

Subsequently, I’ve decided to compile my own list of Do’s and Don’ts for surviving a cruise with that many extended family members.

DO: Bring cigarettes if you’re a smoker. (Especially if you’re a parliament light smoker like myself.) The duty free shop does not have all varieties.

DON’T: Let your cousins mooch your preciously allotted cigarettes off of you because they were too scared of their parents to bring their own, yet insist on smoking like fiends anyway. (Yes, I’m scared of my parents knowing I smoke too, but geez, at least I had the sense to know I was going to anyway!)

DO: Allow your cousin to sweet talk the guy who runs karaoke to let you guys sing even though they were filled to capacity.

DON’T: Actually sing karaoke, especially not on the first night. For the rest of the time people will come up to you and go, “Hey! Aren’t you the girls who sang Sweet Caroline?” (Our family really likes Neil Diamond. I guess they’re similar to frat guys in that sense)

DO: Order as many appetizers, entrees and desserts you want at dinner. It’s all included. One night my table of four 20 something girls, (not a one anywhere near overweight) each had a second helping of rolls, ordered at least two appetizers and two entrees apiece, along with one dessert. The portions are not typical American size.

DON’T: Let your waiter talk shit to you about how much you order. (You have the same waiter each night.) Ours proceeded to tell our table we were all going to need to buy new clothes by the time the trip was over.

DO: Allow your waiter to take very good care of you. You actually have three and they all have very specific jobs. (Our favorite was the guy in charge of the rolls, he’s was the most attractive)

DON’T: Let them cut your steak! I fought with our waiter almost to the point of exhaustion. He kept insisting he cut my steak until I finally had to say, “No, I don’t want you to cut my steak, I’m actually a very controlling person.”

DO: Accept the $100 chip from the guy you threw dice for in the casino. Hell, you just won him $1500 the least he can do is offer you $100.

DON’T: Make the motion of tossing dice when you’re drunk and your aunt asks you what you had to do to obtain that chip. (The dice tossing motion looks strikingly similar to the jacking off motion.) She’ll go, “YOU HAD TO DO WHAT!?!!?!” You don’t want your aunt to think you’re giving out hand jobs for money. You only give them out for free, but only if you’re in a committed relationship. (Yea, I I didn’t believe myself either)

DO: Go out on a limb and try to find your own fun at one of the ports. We had 13 people and met this friendly Mexican Freddy who said he’d hook us up and take us to the beach. He went around to get “the van” and came back with an excursion limo. That Freddy did hook us up. We got free snorkeling gear at the beach because my dad said Freddy brought us. (Sometimes my dad is good for more than just paying for my entire life)

DON’T: Let your cousin who had way too much to drink the night before come with you. Even though I was lucky and she made it to the beach before puking, others may not be so unfortunate.

DO: Sign up for an excursion like snorkeling. I had heard Belize was one of the best places to snorkel. (I’m racking my brain to remember who informed me of this fallacy! When I remember I’m making a voodoo doll of said person and shaving off the eyebrows and then pouring water on the crotch to make it seem as if said person peed his/her pants)

DON’T: Let them take your tickets before you get on the ferry. My family ended up being forced off our own excursion by lying bastards who decided to cheat the system and go snorkeling twice, and some didn’t even pay at all. As those people returned my family and I stood on the dock as they passed we said things very loudly like, “Wow! Must be great to go twice when some haven’t gone once!” or “Take their picture so we can show the people at the desk!” or the very simple, yet also effective, “Assholes!”

DO: Get drunk, honestly, there’s little else to do besides heavily imbibe.

DON’T: Let the fact that booze isn’t all inclusive stop you from drinking massive amounts. This is VERY important.

DON’T: Become Blackout Beth, this is when you’re most likely to 1. Light up a cigarette not only in front of your family, but also in an enclosed part of the ship where smoking is prohibited. 2. Do the jacking off motion to your aunt. 3. Proceed to tell some random guys at the next table about the time you met that guy on Craigslist because he responded to your casual encounters ad.

DO: Attempt to enjoy yourself as much as you possibly can packed into a constantly moving vessel with family. If you’re lucky no one goes overboard. I still feel bad about what happened to my one aunt……

DON’T: Go on a cruise, not even out of curiosity. No, I’m serious. I see you shaking your head and laughing like I’m just being silly, but I’m not. Spare yourself. If you don’t listen to any other of my don’ts, just heed the last and you’ll have the most delightful cruise of all, none!

10 Reasons I Hate Yankee Stadium

10. They make you flip open your cell phone. (When Emily asks why the guy tells her it’s because people hide drugs or chemicals in them. Good thing I left my acid tabs at home that day.)

9. They let you in but not your roommate’s boyfriend because his bag is too big. Then when you’re waiting to see what the boyfriend is going to do one of the women comes up to you and goes, “Umm…..No, I don’t think so.” Then she kicks you out because your purse is supposedly too big as well.

8. They make you check your bag at a dingy bowling alley across the street and make you pay $5 to do so!

7. Annoying people sitting behind you in the Upper Deck and first talk shit about the White Sox. (They weren’t even playing them) and then later they debate the names of disgusting things men do to women during sex.

6. They yell at the guy to take off his top hat during “God Bless America.” (He was wearing a fedora)

5. They throw cups at the man who wouldn’t take off his fedora and I am in the splash zone. (Fedora hat man ends up leaving early)

4. They charge $9.50 for a beer.

3.They allow me to bring my cigarettes into their precious stadium, but, and this REALLY gets me. They have NO SMOKING SECTION. I had to sit through an entire Yankees game without a single cigarette.

2. They made me sit through an entire Yankees game pretty much sober because I could only afford two beers. (If you know anything about my drinking habits two beers would usually last a half an inning)

1. They’re the fucking Yankees!

I Should Be a Superhero

So, today in my OFFICE (ask Kate Streit what that means) building, three people succeeded in irritating me downstairs. Then one freaked me out, and another I simply experienced dislike for on my own floor.  The good news is, one of the irritators redeemed himself. This instance of hope got me thinking, that I should really be a superhero.  That way I could use my supernatural ability to detect indecency and other annoying traits in people for the greater good.  I will travel the world, stopping them in their tracks before they irk others besides myself, quelling their audacious antics with a powerful glare or clearing of my throat.  I will be needing the ability to fly and defy time for this, God, are you listening???

 

Anyway, here is what happened with the offending parties:

 

The Irritators:

 

#1) Jumps behind me in the sandwich line and blurts out, unprompted by the workers, and I am pretty sure out of his place in line: “AHI TUNA!!!  I’LL HAVE THE AHI TUNA”  I look at his IOWA polo shirt.  He vansishes.  He had bushy blonde eyebrows.

 

#2) Small finicky Jewish man takes too long to order, makes too many requests, but then makes up for it by gazing at the sweet potato fries, turning to me, and saying:

“I walk by these every day!” To which I reply,

“ME TOO!  But I haven’t gotten them yet”  We bond over this.  I am pacified.

 

#3  A girl on the way up in the elevator fusses about outside it, tuts, rushes onto it first (that’s MY job!), and her skirt is up to her rib cage and her clothes are too tight . I don’t begrudge her this last offense too badly however, because hey, it happens to the best of us.  Then I look at her face because I have to know, and sure enough, she has bulging crazy-eyes!  They are rolling around and appraising everyone in the elevator wildly and seem to never stop getting biggger!!!!!!!!!  I loathe her instantly!!  I exit the elevator, deep in thought.

 

 

The Freak:

 

She bolted full speed from the dining area (which is connected to the cafe) through a tiny door in the coffee shop and back into the dining area, then through that to the caf, where I later saw her grabbing a dish of sweet potato fries then sprinting madly off again.  Where was she going and why so speedily and how did she know about all those secret doors?!??!

 

 

The Instance of Dislike: 

 

A girl on my floor who wears cute and normal clothes, yet looks like she is spongy and smells bad and is always dirty, yet looks at me (and maybe others, I don’t know) like I’M that way, and was rude to me when Ii didn’t know how to change the coffee in the machines in my second week of work here. She and I rode the elevator down together and she was weird in the corner sniffing and rubbing at her face.

 

 

Am I the only one out there who notices the craziness of people in this world?!?!  Do these people go home and tell stories of their crazed moments throughout the day to their loved ones, or do they remain oblivious to their crimes???  It is this question that plagues and pushes me to the revelation that I must indeed become a superhero, in order to shed light on such matters.  I am nothing more than a damned determined bearer of truth and exposer of insanities in this world which people commonly mistake for being normal!  I mean, if you could have seen these people! 

 

 

One day, I will swoop down upon you as you’re hassling someone from your car and merely point my finger at you, levitating in midair above the Kennedy, and shaking my head. Because I do that too and I know it is wrong, but at least I’m not cutting in line and speaking out loud more than I should be in public.  Which brings me to my next post.

 

 

Oh, and, I don’t have crazy-eyes. All the time. 

 

 

Have you seen these people and their kind???  Please do share