Tag Archives: wine

blind dates for crazy bitches.

30 Jan

A woman wearing sunglasses walks really really slowly into the restaurant tonight like fifteen minutes before closing. I’m like “Fuck, dude, why can’t you wasted people go to the druggie bar across the street? Why do you have to come to my classy establishment?” She inches towards me at the host station, and even though she’s wearing shades I swear she’s giving me the evil eye. Time stops. I realize that this is how I’m going to die. This woman is the mother of a waiter I fired yesterday – I thought he was a lose canon but it turns out it was his momma. Or maybe she had a bad meal and I didn’t buy her a dessert and she was pissed. Either way, she looks at me like she’s going to kill me.

Then I realize she’s blind, or something like it, considering I could’ve SWORN she got out of the driver’s side of the car.

“I’m here to meet a man who says he looks like Derek Jeter,” she tells me. I still think she’s going to strangle me, I don’t believe her. But Brittney my bartender directs me towards a lone non-Jetery man.

“Can you help me over? I can see a little, but it’s very very dark in here.” (It is not dark in here.) I hold her hand and lead her to the bar stool of a man who clearly does not have any clue that he is going on a date with a blind woman.

Why oh why did I not record the ensuing conversations? Why could I have not captured the glorious moment of the dude begging the woman to let him drive her someplace, because blind people should not be driving at night? Or the spectacular “feel-up” session in which she ran her hands up and down from his forehead to his knees for like five minutes? How could I have missed out on owning documentation of a man making choking death faces to my bartender while talking to the blind lady about her taste in music? WHY WAS I SO SELFISH TO NOT PROVIDE THIS FOOTAGE FOR YOU???

Because honestly? I was way too busy staring and sneaking into the kitchen with Brittney to piece together the mystery of the weirdest date ever ever ever. (Other than the one or two where couples went to third base whilst sitting at the bar. I’m not explaining third base, ask your teenager.) Because HOW DO YOU NOT MENTION THAT YOU’RE BLIND? IS THERE NOT A CHECK BOX FOR THAT SHIT ON THE DATING SITE??? How do you drink your wine every other day if you don’t have a blind (seeing) date to assist you in holding your glass? Why does your date have to feed you? What is going on right now???

After ordering a third glass of wine (this time “with a straw”)  and making more nasty faces at his date, the guy goes to pee, leaving Brit alone with the blind lady. Who proceeds to lift her sunglasses, look dead at Brittney and tell her that her date looks nothing like Derek Jeter.

Because the crazy bitch can see!




THE WOMAN FUCKING FAKED BLIND. “Because blind dates should be fun!” she said.

Then they ran off to have car sex in the parking lot and lived happily ever after.

I think it’s safe to say that match.com did an INCREDIBLE job matching up a couple of wack douchebags. Kudos to you, match.com!!! Thanks for the giggles!



suck it, wine. there’s a new bottle in town.

28 Nov

Something really interesting about the restaurant business is that I fucking hate wine.

For like however many years, I’ve been acting like I give a shit about the wine list, but the truth is, I really truly honestly completely don’t. There’s like a mute button on the remote control of my life, and, like clockwork, it immediately detonates anytime vino comes up in the convo. For instance, the chick who sells the wine for the liquor company. She comes in and talks to me about blah blah blah barrel aged blah blah dry blah blah blah. And she pours me a sample and  my response is always “I’m pregnant” and then she lays off and rubs my belly which is in actuality just filled with iced tea and Today’s Soup. I feel sorta bad for restaurant people in my boat who don’t have ovaries and various other necessary reproductive organs, and therefore have absolutely no excuse as to why they can’t drink stupid wine.

The reasons wine totally blows are sort of endless. Some highlights:

  • Wine is not refreshing. Nobody* says “Ooh, that shit is spicy! Let me wash it down with a lukewarm glass of water!”
  • Wine is high maintenance. You need to let it breathe. You can’t leave it too long or you need to throw it out. You need to constantly check its legs. It is positively far more difficult to drink a bottle of wine than it is to raise a 2-year-old.
  • Wine bottles are really big. That’s like a serious commitment. Beer is like a few sips and onto a different one. Iced tea is free refills. Wine? It’s like Chinese takeout – no matter how much you have, there’s still a bunch left. The only time that changes is after you’ve finished the first bottle and then it just goes down way too fast and you do silly things like strip karaoke to “Don’t Stop Believin'” at a gay bar or drunk dial your mom to thank her for “just everything” while sobbing like a bipolar madwoman. Or madman.
  • I burned my taste buds on a hot piece of Toaster Strudel when I was in high school and it destroyed my ability to tell the difference between a cabernet and a merlot. It’s a sore subject and I really don’t want to talk about it, ok? Just lay off.
  • There is no way to taste wine without either looking like or feeling like a total schmucko. I naturally feel and look like a schmucko on the regular without any involvement with fermented fruit, so why participate in more awkwardness?
  • No matter how much you know about wine, you don’t know anything about wine.
  • I would rather pay my mortgage than drink wine. If we could all take an honest vote, how many of us can truly (stop lying to yourself, yo) tell the difference between a $42 bottle and a $15,000 bottle. Oh don’t go acting all high and mighty, you’re just saying you can because nobody is testing you. Watch your back, I may just call your bluff.
  • Have you ever gotten lost and somehow ended up by the vines on an Italian vineyard and stolen a few bunches of grapes for a yummy afternoon snack? That shit is nasty. Unlike my cougar mom, grapes simply do not improve with age.

In other words, I switched to beer.

More on that another time, though. (Like maybe tomorrow or something)

Don’t get the wrong idea. There are lots of things other than wine that I hate about the restaurant business. :

  • Mussels.
  • Grammatical errors on menus.
  • Servers with dirty aprons.
  • Customers who get physically abusive upon learning that we don’t have matches. We’re not a 1950s catering hall, ok?
  • Missing the Green Day concert at Giants Stadium because there was a big reservation and I felt guilty about leaving the place understaffed.
  • Ugly people who sexually harass you.
  • Cold garnish on a hot dish.
  • Drinks made with Blue Curacao.
  • Cilantro.
  • Anonymous Yelp! reviews from disgruntled douches.
  • People who try to stick their empty pack of cigarettes in the slot on the ashtray that’s clearly meant only for cigarette butts and maybe a peppermint wrapper.
  • No-shows on parties larger than 6.
  • People in general.

In conclusion, if we go out to dinner please don’t ask me my opinion on the bottle of wine we’re all sharing, because I probably hate it and have absolutely nothing intelligent to contribute to our conversation. Unless it’s Manischewitz on the rocks and it’s Hannukah or Passover or frankly just a Tuesday, ’cause that is one YUMMY GLASS O’ WINE.

*Note: Some people in Europe may prefer lukewarm water to ice water, but that’s just because there’s no ice in Europe.