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if i only had a penis. (a poem)

9 Dec

Like any typical Saturday, tonight I spent part of the evening having extremely super professional craft beer discussions, and the remainder lurking in a dark corner of the restaurant, checking out who on my staff sucks and things like that. I’m not necessarily into voyeurism, but I will say that when people don’t know you’re watching, you get to see awesome things such as sexual harassment, deep wedgie pickings, and your manager standing behind the host station daydreaming for ten minutes while the restaurant functioned around him. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I mean we’re obviously all entitled to completely tune out our job after a nearly-completed work week filled with a shit ton of drunken Christmas parties. What I am saying is that I watched Ryan stand at the desk for an extended period of time, staring at nothing in particular, just maybe reflecting on who he still needs to buy gifts for / where he’s going to drink after work / how bad he has to pee but someone is taking a really long time in the men’s room. I cruised over to where he was to wake him up and to grab a very important document, (the Costco coupon book, if you really need to know) and he scampered off to check on a table or whatever. Moments later a man who had been sitting no more than 3 feet away from Ryan the Dreamer approached me.

“I just want to make sure that you have our reservation down. When will our table be ready?”

“Oh, I apologize, I just came over here to retrieve this very important document. I’m not actually in charge of seating, but I will find out if your table is almost ready from Ryan, who is.”

“Oh, I just assumed that because you have tits, that you are the hostess,” he didn’t say.

“No, sir. We are an equal opportunity employer. We let people with breasts AND without breasts bring you to your table,” I didn’t say back.

“Wow, I didn’t realize that men could be hostesses. I thought they could only play golf and make chauvinistic comments about chicks and eat steak.”

Ok, so the conversation was somewhat more lighthearted than that, and I obviously got him his stupid table. And I ALSO WROTE THIS AWESOME POEM!!!!!

IF I ONLY HAD A PENIS.

If I had a penis, oh the things I would do!

I’d have a firm handshake and a secret one, too!

I’d wrestle with dudes but still say that I’m straight,

And not use shampoo, it would be fuckin’ great!

At Home Depot no one would ask to help me

Because buying tools as a dude is so easy.

My martini’d be cold, because men can shake harder.

And I’d know so much more, because men are just smarter.

Probably I’d have to drive a Ferrari

And when my wife got mad I’d never say sorry.

My job would be more important than yours,

Because women are mostly just teachers or whores.

I’d open a bar and then when I went broke,

I’d hire an experienced chick to consult.

‘Cause when a man and his penis are poorly maintained

There’s no better fix than two tits and a brain.

In conclusion, it’s a man’s world. Just kidding.

condoms + calamari (food is the new foreplay, you didn’t hear?)

11 Sep

If, by chance, you’re single and ready to mingle and you live in the general vicinity of my restaurant, then there’s a strong possiblitiy that you’ve been there on a blind/first/regular date. There’s also a chance that your date went extraordinarily well (or mediocre but you’ve hit a dry spell) and you’ve gotten lucky in the front or back seat of your date’s Audi thanks to a strategically placed parking lot with lots of nooks and, depending on the phase of the moon, only the slightest touch of light. Of course, you could be one of the chosen few who meets for a mid-afternoon martini-and-blowjob. I won’t mention any names, but just so you know your windows are not tinted.

I’m not going to generalize and say that every type of date occurs at my place. For instance, the teenagers go to Applebees and the super ugly people only go to movie theaters. But these are some of the key players to watch for:

1. The First Date Girl – This chick brings all of her first JDates (vocab of the day – JDate: match.com for Jews) to the restaurant because it’s public and she can afford to pay her own way if he’s asshole/typically Jewish enough to split the meal. She eventually meets a guy who’s parents eat here every Friday after services, sparks fly, next thing you know they’re signing the Ketubah under the Chuppah (Jewish wedding stuff, if you don’t know what it is then you probably don’t care) and booking their baby naming in the party room. Mazel tov!

2. The Tennis Instructor – I don’t know what it is about tennis and sex that go hand in hand, but there has been a pretty consistent stream of tennis instructors who are either fucking their students or their students’ mothers. Probably both. You can find the tennis instructor at what we call “Table 1” at about 4:30pm eating shrimp cocktail with some tan lady who’s eating either a salad or a cheeseburger. They don’t stay long because her husband will be home from work soon and they need to go smack some balls before he wonders where she is.

3. The Tony Soprano – This guy is in the process of opening a restaurant even though the only place he ever sits when he comes to mine is the bar. He usually shows up with the same chick and talks about how fast his car is or how many suits he bought at Saks this morning or where he gets his nails done. Occasionally he runs into some other chick who was just having a salad with her tennis instructor, and then the next week she meets him for a cocktail or seven. He only dates divorcees because that way she’ll have some form of financial support in case he has to go to prison for a little while. He tips well and has a nice smile.

4. The Slutbag – There are like 100,000 Slutbags who show up at the restaurant, but this particular one is a dude. He shows up at the bar 5 nights a week with a different girl running towards his stool like he’s Johnny Depp, which he is like so not. He ignores the bartender because he’s too busy getting lost in his date’s eyes (and crotch, which he is trying to access while sitting about 7 feet away from a family of 4 who are innocently trying to watch the baseball game). Ignoring the bartender wouldn’t be a big deal, but she is literally the one person who can out the Slutbag and his slut slut ways. “Another one?” she might ask one night upon a brunette’s arrival. “What is that like seven different girls in six nights?” But then she would have to find another form of entertainment so she refrains.

5. The Cougar with a Deceptively Attractive Online Dating Profile Picture – This one always makes me a little bit depressed (and super fucking happy that I’m married and don’t have to deal with this shit). The look on a man’s face when he sees this chick for the first time could make you weep. Here he is, putting on his finest pleated front pants and making sure to trim every stray nose hair, thinking that he’s going to meet “the (2nd) one” and then he walks in to this train wreck of a woman who is fourteen years older than her photo suggests and has a horrifying nasally honking laugh. She can’t sit at a booth because she doesn’t fit even though her profile specifically mentioned her love for Pilates and organic farming and morning bike rides. You can’t feel too bad for the guy, because he posted a photo from his college years so she’s equally as disappointed.

6. The Part Time Lovers – These two are sooooo in love, they just can’t show it enough. Except when they come in for dinner on a double date with their spouses, at which point they have to play it super cool. Thank you, Part Time Lovers, for your complete moral looseness. You provide us with gossip when the well runs dry.

I don’t want to try to paint this picture of every date being like totally successful. Here’s an actual conversation that happened at the bar yesterday:

MIDDLE-AGED CHICK AT THE BAR ON A FIRST DATE (Looking at the menu, tapping her fingernails on the bar top): Eeeehhhhhhh, I wish there were some sort of plain skewered chicken on this menuuuuuu.

ME (Eavesdropping, obv): Well if you’re looking for that, maybe you can try this. The seasoned grilled chicken with grilled vegetables.

DATE CHICK: Is it plain?

ME: Yes, it is seasoned and grilled chicken with grilled vegetables.

DATE CHICK: Is it on a skewer?

ME: No, it is not on a skewer, but it is plain.

DATE CHICK (to date): Ughhh, I’m just so tired of chickennnnnn!

DATE: But you’re not tired of it if it’s on a skewer?*

See?? Not all dates are created equal. If I were you, I would not go on whatever dating site these two met on, because she’s really annoying.

Poetry Tuesday! A haiku once again, because I’m still too lazy to write anything longer.

ODE TO JDATE

Jews who just date Jews

Missing out on Christmas trees

Big mistake, my friends

*NOTE: These two people did not fuck in the parking lot. Also they’re really boring because they didn’t even stay for Trivia Night and it’s like so fun.

arson 101 for business owners.

3 Jul

Lately there have been mutterings from bar customers that there’s some sort of odd scent emanating from the area, and after inspecting each of our bartenders, I decided that the problem is deeper than body odor. The biggest problem is that I must have grown so accustomed to the stench, that I accused anyone telling me about it of being a huge huge huge liar for like weeks. It didn’t make sense. We clean so well! We have no rodents or roaches or fruit flies that might get stuck in a pipe somewhere and decompose into a stink bomb! Then finally, like a bath salt addict who just ate someone’s hand or one of those people who’s too fat to fit in a booth, I got a whiff of the musty/wet dog/dirty rag smell and accepted that I may have a problem that I have to face.

So I asked my bartenders to come in 1 hour early for their shift to do an extremely thorough cleaning job and see if we can figure out the root of the problem. I figured that seeing as the odor was probably deterring some otherwise drinky bar guests and therefore literally keeping cash out of their pockets, that this wasn’t an unreasonable request.

My chick bartendress was down. The Jewish Guy Bartender, not so much. The exchange went more or less like this:

Me: Can you come in Monday at 3 to scrub behind the bar so we can get rid of the smell?

JGB: I might have to go to the beach. I have to check.

Me: Well maybe since it’s only early summer and you’re already tanner than Snooki and the bar smells like ass, you can put that on hold for a day.

JGB: I think that instead of cleaning you should call a carpenter.

Me: Why would I call a carpenter to get rid of the smell?

JGB: Because the smell is probably in the wood.

Me: Well if the smell isn’t in the wood, wouldn’t it be much easier to find that out by cleaning than by demolishing the bar?

JGB: I guess so.

Me: If the bar is demolished you will have no bar left. So it won’t matter if it smells.

JGB: Yeah, so I guess the better idea is to try cleaning, and if it doesn’t work then we’ll call a carpenter.

Me: So I’ll see you on Monday then, ok?

JGB: I’ll let you know what happens with the beach.

I complained about the laziness and the unfortunate stink to one of my liquor reps (Vocab of the day: LIQUOR REP – Similar to a pharmaceutical rep, but instead of dispensing Xanax pens and Viagra flavored condoms, they have the overwhelmingly difficult job of selling Grey Goose and Bacardi to bars, as well as providing us with a new fruit tray if ours breaks. In the particular case of the one today, they also dispense inappropriate tales of their promiscuous misadventures and I constantly have to remind them that I am a girl, and I do not care what chick you could have banged the other day, or how hot her sister is). His advice was that if I couldn’t find the root of the smell, that I should leave the gas on one of the burners and double check our insurance policy and close up a little early one night and get out of town for a few days. He said that sometimes if you’ve got a problem, the best thing to do is blow up your restaurant. I disagreed wholeheartedly, but at least he was contributing to solving the problem. More than I can say for the Beach Bum Super Jew.

Monday afternoon rolled around. I went to Home Depot and purchased 3 different sizes of scrub brush, grout cleaner, 7 different types of spray, a new cover for my keychain with a skull and crossbones on it that was just really cool and a Michael Jackson mask to protect me from the vicious odors.

The JGB showed, because it was too humid to go to the beach. We (they) scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and wiped and rinsed and dried and we stood over the tile. “Now we wait.” I said. Because we were so high on fumes and numb from the smell of bleach that we had no idea if the bar smelled better, worse or totally the same and we’re just fucked and maybe I should have listened to the damn liquor guy or, heaven forbid, we need a carpenter.

Tonight my JGB came skipping through my office door.

“We’ve done it! We’ve done it!”

I stared at him blankly because I thought he was talking about selling the last .3 ounces of Stoli Cranberry that we’re trying to get rid of.

“Three ladies just told me that the bar smells like flowers! They said it’s the best smelling bar they’ve ever been to! I asked if they it was me they were referring to and they smelled me and they said NO! It’s the BAR THAT SMELLS GREAT!”

I can’t begin to tell you how pleased I was that someone was as excited as me that we’re no longer poisoning people through their nostrils. I felt like a proud mommy at the kindergarten school play after her kid got all the words right to his solo. My little toddler, all grown up into a big boy that cares about the job he’s doing!

Before closing he shoved his blisters in my face. “I did this all for you.”

“Maybe before you make me feel bad for that, I should tell you that I’m halfway done with a blog post about your need to hire a carpenter.”

“Make sure you mention how handsome I am.”

There you go, JGB. From your lips to my blog.

And now a really shitty poem because the Yogurt place is closing and I’m totally going to be pissed if I miss it.

SOPHOMORE SLUMP UPDATE

Don’t tell Charlie,

But the sophomore class is growing on me

It’s not that I like them a ton

But they’re getting the job kind of done

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a mess

Cause having some friends was the best

But now I don’t have to be nice

So it gives my long days some new spice

Most of the losers got fired

Being the boss makes me tired.

Hamburger Harry’s it is!!! (plus harry’s shitty taste in dress shoes.)

26 Jun

So since you were all so overwhelmingly enthusiastic and only like 3 people gave me their opinions, I’ve decided to make an executive decision to go with Hamburger Harry’s for the next pop-up. I just feel like it’s the most “us,” don’t you?

I can’t be bothered with details like a date and time and place, and I’m not the biggest fan in the world of “I squeezed some buns at Hamburger Harry’s….” so we’ll consider it a work in progress for now, but you should know a few things that I’ve already decided:

1. There will be a Pick-Your-Pickle bar. I don’t know what this means, but it will be there. I’m assuming there will be quite a few varieties of traditional pickles, as well as some pickled other stuff.

2. That’s all. I haven’t decided anything else. It’s pretty pathetic, but I’ve got other stuff to worry about such as what shoes I’m going to wear to the wedding I’m going to on Sunday.

Oh, let’s discuss this wedding. I feel like I need to prepare you for the interesting evening to come. If I were an advanced blogger, I would draw you a simple family tree of sorts and all sorts of diagrams and shit like that and publish them so you could have a nice visual of the evening ahead of me. Instead I’ll provide you with an entirely written version. Sorry I’m not crafty. Here are the key facts:

  • Harry is the best man. He bullied Jimmy (the groom) into having all the guys in the wedding party wear patent leather Chuck Taylors. That’s my guy! Can’t go one night without wearing sneakers! He brought them home and let me tell you, those fuckers look like MISERY ON A SOLE. I’m either going to be an amazing wife and bring flip flops or a mediocre wife and bring scrunch socks as though we’re attending a Bar Mitzvah in the 90s or a regular wife and bring nothing but listen to him complain or, most likely, I’ll just be myself, and smack him shouting “I told you so” in his face every time he whimpers or asks for a BandAid to put on his blisters. I might even flick him in the nipple after I say that, just for shits and giggles.
  • I am planning on being drunk before I arrive. I just feel like I deserve it, you know? Mommy needs a stiff one. Seriously, do you know the last time I drank? I don’t mean like a glass of wine, because that was 2 nights ago. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten good and tipsy that I’ve never even sent a drunk text, I’ve only made phone calls. Harry and I already negotiated the driving situation and here’s how it will work – Harry can drink just enough to loosen up for his speech (which he won’t let me write even though I’d clearly win him some sort of best man of the year award or something) and then he has to stop drinking after the speech is over. I get to drink from before the wedding to after the wedding. That’s the deal. We shook on it. What will actually happen? My mommy and daddy will drive us home and pay the babysitter and tuck us in.
  • My work husband will also be there. So will Charlie and Nicole. We are going to dance to Mr. Brightside. I know this because I told Jimmy that he had to play it at his wedding or I would fire him. That’s the best part about a work wedding when you’re the boss. It’s sort of like you’re more special than the groom or the bride! Me, Charlie, Nicole and Ryan are going to have some sort of good time. The last time the four of us hung out for a night I woke up in a heart shaped bed in some motel in Pennsylvania next to a guy wearing a wetsuit. No wait, that wasn’t them… but it was me….
  • Our resident “Mom” waitress is bringing her hot husband. Seeing as Harry will be occupied with best manly responsibilities, I will be forced to dance with him. Just kidding, because Nicole would never allow that. She’s very protective over him and says that if anyone is going to flirt with the hot dad it’s gonna be her. I don’t think she’s kidding and I do believe she would throw elbows and possibly fists if I tested her. Plus if I have to choose one man to dance with other than my husband (who I’m assuming will be otherwise occupied doing things like cutting the groom’s steak and pouring him beers and carrying his train and shit like that) it would be Charlie of course!
  • My dress may or may not be too short. I just felt like the single most important role for the best man is to have a hot bitch on his arm. I went shopping for the occasion and I found this dress that’s like the perfect combination between a Floridian MILF in the 1980s and a Cabbage Patch Kid outfit. I can’t figure out why they only included half the fabric they were supposed to, but it’s a festive frock and I’m going to do my damn best to not expose my lady parts and/or Spanx.
  • My parents and Harry’s parents are going. This is unfortunate, because I will probably disappoint both moms eternally with my slutbag dress and drunken antics. Luckily, their expectations are probably pretty low at this point. I mean, if I were my kid I’d personally be proud as hell because I’m so fucking beautiful, talented and intelligent. But I guess I’m just being biased.

Poetry Tuesday! Tonight, a haiku to delight the senses!

Fuck 9-5.

My nights are empty

Without Gay Asian Waiter

And Nicole at work.

wardrobe malfunctions for foodies. [epic poetry inside]

19 Jun

So as we’ve discussed in the past, I reserve the beginning of the week for some not-so-provocative outfits and today was no excepti0n. I showered, so my hair didn’t look like shit and my face wasn’t overly greasy or shiny (well it totally was by the end of the night but for the most part it looked pretty matte). But my outfit was a hot mess and I spent the majority of the day shifting my belt up and down over my medium sized flabby stomach and pulling my skirt down, trying to hide my bra straps and attempting to cover as much of my garb with my waves as I possibly could. I nearly went so far as to go buy a new outfit at the Emergency Macy’s down the road, but I’m saving my funds for tomorrow, just in case I need to take my babygirl on a shopping trip on our day off together. I think my lunch waitress best described my look today by telling me that I look “comfortable.” Not the description every aspiring sexpot business owner is going for, but at least it’s only Tuesday.

Something you may or may not know about me is that I am an insanely enthusiastic singer. Not in like a talented sort of way, more like in a loud and loserish fashion. For instance, right now I’m belting out “Young Hearts Run Free” by Candi Staton (You know it better as Mercutio the drag queen’s lip sync showstopper in the Leonardo DiCaprio version of Rome0 + Juliet). A slight dilemma I’ve run into during these warm months is that I really enjoy keeping the windows open, but I’m going through a pretty hardcore showtunes phase right now, and it is just not cool to pull up to a Jetta full of recent high school grads headed to the beach and have them look over at you and start laughing because you’re singing “Master of the House” in all the different characters’ voices at the top top top of your lungs. Since not singing isn’t an option, I’ve been spending a lot of time with the AC. No big deal. It’s not like burning extra fuel is expensive or anything.

In case you were wondering, that song just ended and now I’m groovin’ to “Ain’t Too Proud To Beg.” Now that it’s SYTYCD season, I tend to incorporate some pretty intense choreography into my performances, and this Temptations song is definitely no exception. (“So You Think You Can Dance.” Do you know nothing??) If you’re ever in a pinch for some late night entertainment, head over to the back of my restaurant after the sun has gone down and you can check out my nightly performances while I blog and listen to music. Just do me a favor and don’t tell me that you’re watching because a) that creeps me out like totally and b) I don’t want to censor myself based on the fact that I’ve got an audience.

This evening for poetry Tuesday I’ve written fake lyrics to a familiar tune. Writing fake lyrics to a familiar tune is an old pastime of mine, as I was pretty famous in Honesdale, PA for my songwriting abilities. In fact, if your kid is headed to sleepaway camp in the next couple of weeks, you should totally hire me to write her Singdown song for her. I guarantee a win or your money back! Anyway, here’s tonight’s poem/epic song.

YOUR WAITER STAINED ME

(to the tune of “Call Me Maybe”)

I’ve got a coupon

My wife has Burberry on

I want that 10% gone

Because that’s how you save.

You dropped that fork off my dish

And now my lap smells like fish

I wasn’t asking for this

I’ve had a real bad day.

My black pants were cashmere

Brand new, got them this year

Now they’re ruined, I fear

Where you think you’re going, waiter?

Hey, I just ate here

And this is lazy

But he stained my pants

So pay me, lady.

I can’t believe that

Your waiter stained me

Please have him fired

He’s very shady!

Hey I just ate here

And this is lazy

But I don’t hand wash

So pay me, lady

And all the snobs

Want a freebie

But these got dry cleaned

So pay my receipt

You took your time with my steak

You said it was a mistake

I thought I’d give you a break

But now the check is here

I’m not trying to steal

This is just how I feel

If you don’t give me a deal

I’ll Yelp you to tears

I don’t care ’bout your kids

College is overrated

My wife needs some new tits

Where you think you’re going, Shelby

Hey I just ate here

And this is lazy

But you stained my pants

So pay me lady

It’s hard to feel bad

My steak was fatty

So take my drinks off

And comp me, baby!

And all the other guys

Reimburse me

So here’s my charge card

Don’t swipe it, maybe!

*SIDEBAR: Just as I finished my post tonight and Nicole and I rehearsed this song about 1000 times, the entire thing got deleted. So fuck this blog company for destroying my precious words and losing what quite possibly could have been the funniest passage ever written in the history of the world, and forcing it to replace it with subpar, poorly edited prose.

*SIDEBAR 2: Nicole and I are equally bad singers, but we seemed to pull it off great so if you’re looking for entertainment after I’ve left my office for the evening, just look for us at the nearest pub. Also, thank you, Nicole, for remembering the lyrics to this epic epic epic song.

the official shelbytown FIELD GUIDE TO WAITERS (part 1)

5 Jun
Over the next few nights, I will be exploring some of the key types of waiters who work in the restaurant business. If you are or ever have been a server, please don’t think that I’m pigeonholing you into one of these stereotypes – perhaps quite a few apply to you!

1. The Boomerang – This guy got fired once for keeping a flask of gin in his apron pocket, quit two times to go work on Fire Island and on the way out the door spilled a drink in my face, but still somehow works every Friday and Saturday night. Over the years my dad became notorious for enforcing the “forgive and forget” employment policy and like so many other winning qualities, I inherited this habit. The Boomerang is clever and hardworking. He never comes to work on time, and is unapologetic about that. The only time he shows remorse is when he comes in for a drink on one of his “payroll breaks” with his tail between his legs and has to beg for another chance because life just isn’t the same without his old job and he has such a charming puppy dog face! And like a sucker, I say “come on back! You’re family!” and the next day he shows up late with a wrinkled uniform, and the vicious cycle ensues. You never need to call the boomerang to pick up a shift in a pinch, because when he’s not quitting or being fired, he works pretty much everyday.

2. The Serial Dater – While most people consider serving tables a job, some look at it more as an opportunity to find love, or at least a blow job. The hormone levels at the restaurant ebb and flow depending on the demographics, but you can bet your ass that when the Serial Dater comes on board, he’s going out for drinks with the staff after his first night of training, sleeping with a fellow employee within a week and dating another one two days after that. There is absolutely no joy for the rest of the staff when the Serial Dater finds a victim (or rather, girlfriend). Nobody needs love blossoming in their face while they’re carrying someone’s half-eaten veggie burger to the back and getting yelled at by the chef for using the wrong seat numbers on a table’s entrees. If you call the Serial Dater to pick up a shift in a pinch and his flavor of the week is working, you can bet your ass he’ll be on his way. If she’s got the day off, don’t expect him to answer his phone. He’s busy.

3. The Weed Dealer – He’s not who you think, they never are. The weed dealing waiter shows up early to his shift and stays late. His uniform is always up to par, nothing more nothing less. He regularly indulges in a fresh spritz of cologne. He’s a chain smoker, so you don’t get suspicious when he’s outside all the time. He knows lots of people who come into the bar, especially the ones who order a soda and fifteen happy hour appetizers. If you call him to pick up a shift in a pinch, he’ll answer the phone straight away and say yes, but he’s gotta make a few stops before he can come in.

4. The Jappy College Student – For whatever reason, these guys and girls decided to get a job even though there is absolutely no pressure coming from the homefront. They transferred to a local school from Emory because there was some drama with sorority girls, Listerine and Martin Luther King Day that they really don’t want to discuss. They drive a base model luxury car, listen to gangster rap and use personalized stationary to take orders. They wear $200 work shirts, take off whenevsies to go to the beach, and most importantly, they know 3/4 of the customers at the restaurant. If you call the jappy college student to pick up a shift in a pinch, she’ll be on the train going to the city to see her camp friends who all have internships and are staying at the NYU dorms. She’ll feel really bad though.

5. The Recently Financially Independent 21-Year-Old – It is imperative that this person make more money than anyone else during each shift, or at least that’s what they think. These gals can’t afford to make their car payment at least once a week, but are the first ones at the club getting shitty on Saturday night, wearing a brand new outfit from Joyce Leslie. They are constantly broke, but absolutely cannot work on Sundays or Friday mornings because they can’t deal with kids or women when they’ve got a hangover. And if you call them to pick up a shift in a pinch, don’t expect it to go through. Their cell phone got shut off this morning because they didn’t pay the bill. Typical uniform for this type of server is a wrinkled shirt, dirty apron and unkempt ponytail. The only makeup they wear is leftover stamps from the club and caked eyeliner from the night before.

….Stay tuned to tomorrow’s post for Waiters #6-10!

And now, in celebration of Charlie’s new job, a haiku!!!

Asian Gay Waiter

You’ve left me for 9 to 5

Fuck you I miss you

epic poetry tuesday: regulars, in a rhyming nutshell…

15 May

“The Lunch Regular”

Hi, table for two, and is Shelby here?
I’ve known her and her dad for years
I’ve known her since her big Bat Mitzvah
I also know her mom and sister
What was that, she has a brother?
I’m pretty sure that there’s another….
In any case can you tell her I’m here?
She’ll be so excited, it’s been like a year.
I know that I haven’t been here in awhile,
But funds have been tight since my husband’s big trial.
Oh she can’t talk because she’s ordering liquor?
Well tell her I’m here! She’ll order much quicker!

Excuse me, I really don’t want to be bitchin’
But I really don’t want to be sat near the kitchen.
Shelby knows this, she’ll tell you the truth,
I’ m allergic to anything other than booths.
Oh, a booth isn’t open? I don’t understand,
How you can’t ask them to move. I can give you a hand.
Well I guess if this corner table’s all you’ve got
I’ll give sitting on a chair a shot.
Please don’t forget I know Shelby when you’re pouring my water
And she’ll be really mad if you fuck up my order.

Oh little Shelby, I know her so well,
She’s shy and demure, like a sweet Southern belle.
She waited on tables when she was a teen,
So I knew her back then and the times in-between.
I helped her apply to Syracuse
When she got in I brought Orange juice
I set her up with one of my sons
And the other one when the first son was done.
It didn’t work out I’m so sad to say
I guess it’s perhaps its because Son One was gay
The other one I’m still not sure
But I wish that she were my daughter-in-law
Wait, I didn’t know she got married.
There goes setting my son up with Harry…

Excuse me, Miss, some bread would be great…
Oh that was Shelby? She lost lots of weight!
No? You don’t think so? You say she’s the same?
Well something’s much different since last time we came.
Otherwise I would have known that was her
And not treated her like my little gopher.
Sort of like how I’ve been talking to you
If you were the owner I’d be nice to you, too.

Shelby! My darling! How’s that adorable baby!
And how are mom and dad? Are they working like crazy?
Oh really? Your dad hasn’t worked in five years?
Well that must be nice for your sister to hear.
Are you sure that you don’t have a twin sis?
If it wasn’t your sister then who’d my son kiss?
Oh, that was you? Then he never called back?
After getting you drunk on Patron shots and Jack?
And he wrote nasty things on your Friendster page
About  you being prude and immature for your age?
And you cried for a month and he ruined your life?
But I’m sure that you now make a wonderful wife!

By the way, Shelby, will you honor this coupon?
It expired last year when I bought it on Groupon.
Thanks sugar pie, you’re really a sweetie,
If you didn’t do it I’d suggest that you’re greedy.
I’d say in this business you really don’t get it.
But not to your face, so you don’t have to sweat it.
Goodbye dearest Shelby, tell Dad I say Hi,
I’ll see you real soon, when two more years go by.

“The Bar Regular”

Shelbs! What’s up I sent you a text
I’m so fucking bored and I really need sex.
Can you hook me up with one of your servers?
I’ll be really charming, no need to be nervous.
Even though I bring 30 chicks here a week
It doesn’t mean I’m not a romantic geek.
I just want a girl who drinks a whole lot
And won’t mind either way if I call her or not.
I’m just being honest, and not at all sleazy,
I love it here most ’cause the girls are all easy.
You’re easy to talk to, like one of the guys
Except you have boobs and pretty blue eyes.
And you like me lots ’cause I buy top shelf liquor,
I drink really fast and leave even quicker.
I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m done with today
I’m hitting the next place to try and get laid.

“The Saturday Regular”

(a haiku)


Can we drink for free?

How ’bout an appetizer?

Then please go away.

10 things you never knew about harry. and the epic return of poetry tuesday!!!!

30 Apr

I feel like you’ve gotten to know me so well over the past few months, but Harry has been sort of just this cheffy mystery man. Here are some very important facts about Harry:

  1. He’s a 3rd generation Harry (short for Harry, not Harold or Harrison).
  2. He loves Hilary Duff movies. Including Raise Your Voice.
  3. Before he became a chef, he made and delivered raviolis.
  4. He hates beans, meat on the bone and even numbers, which is extremely annoying when it comes to the thermostat and the volume on the radio and the time you want to set the alarm for.
  5. He’s a breast man. One of our favorite hobbies is pointing out exceptional pairs to each other when we’re in a crowd.
  6. He has a Tasmanian devil tattoo on his back which is extremely lame-and-a-half. He wants to have it removed. But it’s still there.
  7. When we met he had a moustache because he thought it made him look mature.
  8. He was born in Scotland but nobody in his family is Scottish.
  9. He has a TMZ and shoe fetish, particularly John Varvatos Converse.
  10. Trouble is Harry’s middle name. Literally. How weird are his parents?*

 

ode to my pillow: a haiku

I really need sleep

But I have to watch tv

Gossip Girl’s the best.

*This is not true. But he does tend to get into trouble ALL THE TIME.

 

how to effectively stalk a rockstar*. also, poetry tuesday!

17 Apr

I don’t know if it’s because it’s 81 degrees in April, or maybe my One Week Happiness Diet is kicking in, or maybe I’m giddy because my parents peaced out of town for a couple weeks and I can feel free to drop the f-bomb like it’s going out of style without my dad expressing his grave disappointment in me as a human being, but I’m having a great week!!

You know who isn’t having a great week? My mom. Well, she was until this afternoon, because she’s on a cruise. But then she broke her big toe climbing up a waterfall (or down, I’m not sure) and had to kayak back to the ship with a bum foot and my dad, who really doesn’t tend to pull his own weight when it comes to watersports.

Charlie’s back in town, but I haven’t seen him because he’s in a drunken coma someplace in his basement and/or he has a lot of schoolwork to catch up on. What I do know is that he had a rockstar kind of time in Vegas. To sum it up, one of the following is true:

a) He made a real love connection with one of the guys that works on the LOVE Cirque Du Soleil set at The Mirage and got to sit on the stage for a performance wearing a neon spandex bodysuit.

b) After passing out in a club, he came to only to discover that his friend was found by hotel security sleeping naked in an elevator. A kind gentleman gave her his boxers so she’d have something to keep her warm.

c) He lost his car at some point between 4am and 9am, and while he was looking for it he got picked up by some hippies going to the Grand Canyon for the day and decided to go because it meant free pot.

HAPPINESS DIET ROUNDUP……

1. (Eat whatever) – Milk & cookies for breakfast A, Bananas Foster French Toast for breakfast B, greasy cheeseburger for lunch, a blogtime snack:

2. (Do whatever.) – Dressed Riley as a punk rock ballerina. Had to go to work, but set up an ancillary office in my parents’ sunny backyard. After a few bouts with the wind and some makeshift rock paperweights, I got some hardcore sun all while being extremely productive.

3. (Don’t regret shit.) – I got really close after I went to take a photo on my iPhone and it was forward facing so I saw my chubalub face instead of the pretty herbage in the backyard that I was anticipating, but Harry talked me down.

4. (Don’t try on bathing suits.) – I did look though, because I had to go to Sears to pay my Discover bill. I’m wavering between the skankarific Kardashian Collection (on which there are tassles and minimal fabric) or the mommylicious Land’s End line, which has so much Spanx-esque material that I really just can’t figure out how I’ll be able to eat hot dogs and snow cones.

5. (Alternatively exercise)– I wore extra tall heels today and on my way home I’m going to hit up Macy’s and run up and down the escalators ten times. I’ll take a picture, don’t you worry. Also, does Facebook stalking a country singer count as exercise? Because I did that. Specifically Miranda Lambert, who I offered to trade my boots for a poem. Clearly she doesn’t know about Poetry Tuesday or she’d be on top of that shit STAT. She did write that she wanted my boots. Was it really her? I obviously don’t know (yes, it was her. Because it’s Sunshine Week).

kindly note that Miranda Lambert is married to Blake Shelton, making her Miranda Shelton. Don't be a hater. Just go with it....

6. (Rock out.) – Obv I listened to Miranda Lambert. I also dabbled in the new Neon Trees album, which is pretty great except one song that sucked bigtime. Additionally I started working on a playlist for a dentist friend I’ve got who thinks there’s been no good music other than Green Day in the past 10 years. I titled it “Tunes for Musically Ignorant Dentists.”

7. (Enjoy the results.) – Actually, I’ll let you do that tonight. With a poem!!!!

ODE TO THE HAPPIEST PEOPLE I KNOW


I’ve got these friends named Brittney and Shane

They’re so damn happy it drives me insane

We’re not talking chipper or even content

They’re so fucking peppy it gets me all bent

They stopped in for dinner on Saturday night

And smiled while me and a dude had a fight

They giggled and waved when he started to shout

Then laughed when I told him to get the hell out

I had no more tables except by the loo

They thanked me for giving them such a good view

I don’t understand how neither one frowns

I just want to shout “turn that smile upside down!!!”

* I know that one or two of you is thinking that Miranda Lambert is no rockstar. You, my friend, have never been to one of her concerts and seen her awesome pink microphone.

the most scatterbrained post EVERRRR + a poem about charlie.

10 Apr

Just in case you were wondering, here is a recent list of things I jotted down on my iPhone notepad:

  • Buy lake house
  • Use a hostess next week
  • Uncrustables
  • Housewives selling pharmeceuticals
  • Carrots then chips
  • Get rid of blue m&ms, bring back light brown
  • Want to wear maternity wife beaters this summer
  • Gift bag
  • Black over-thing
  • Used lumber yard

Keep in mind that this is literally the list. Like my laundry, I don’t like sorting the shit on my mind out. It all goes in the same basket to be attended to at some point in the near or distant future.

Anyway, I feel like I severely misrepresented myself last night by saying that I’d prefer a brand new Ramada  to an old fancy hotel. I feel like you think I like Ramadas more than other places. This is not the case, although one time I had a super good time at one involving Munchie Mix and a torrential downpour which makes me slightly biased. But truth be told, if I had it my way, I’d stay in a one-week-old trend haven with a gratis honor bar and cutting edge underwater tv in the bathtub every time I travelled. If that’s not available, I’d settle for a Holiday Inn Express or a Hyatt Place. They often have snacks in the lobby 24-hours a day and a make-your-own-pancake machine at the continental breakfast, and nothing nothing nothing beats that.

Except the hotel we stayed at in Italy that looked like Wonderland and served Prosciutto bacon and like 30 different flavors of  jelly every morning.

Something I’m really really awesome at is getting an upgraded room. Approaches I’ve used are:

  • Telling the check-in guy I just got engaged
  • Flashing my breasts (this only works if you’re a girl)
  • Saying this is the first time I’ve been out of the house since I had a baby 2 years ago and I’m soooo excited
  • Being so nice I make myself want to puke
  • Crying

Results may vary, so don’t blame me if your boobs aren’t nice enough to get you a better view.

Poetry Tuesday!!

Ode to Charlie (a haiku)


Gay Asian Waiter

Being so bad in Vegas

Don’t tattoo your face.