I love it.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
You Can Find Me Here!
I'm pretty sure we'll be returning, although it was really hard to come "home" last November when we made the trip over the mountains and through the woods.
So, no promises.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
French Toast, Thrift Store Hook Ups, & Fish Tacos
I got up early this morning and made french toast for breakfast while Mitchell was in the shower- an appreciated gesture, since we usually skip breakfast. I'm hanging out at Sambuca again until 5pm or so. He just came upstairs with a fish taco that was out of this world! If I knew I was going to be blogging about it, I would've taken a picture to share... Bummer.
After dropping him off at work at 11am, I took my paycheck to the bank and stopped by Southern Thrift on the way back downtown. I forgot how cheap their clothes are! I also forgot how much nicer they are compared to my beloved Goodwill's clothes.
I spent $30, but should've spent about $60. This is because I asked the young guy at the register if they gave student discounts, already knowing they didn't. He said, "No, but I'll hook you up," with the sliest smile on his face. Hey, I didn't ask him to "hook me up!" And likewise, I'm not going to ask him to not "hook me up!" He offered to. I'm kosher.
- A sexy pair of black and silver Carlos Santana 3in. heels for the wedding Saturday ( Priced at $98.95 here!)
- A pair of black leather flip-flops
- A "Bail Bonding" t-shirt
- A pair of metallic sky-blue flip-flop style sandals
- A new-with-tags bra
- A bathing suit top
- A strapless yellow and gray mid-thigh length dress (for the beach, duh)
- A light blue bangle
- And a black and silver multi string necklace to wear to the wedding, also.
I'd say that I had a fairly successful shopping trip. Also, I got another compliment on "my truck." The guys sitting outside Ace Hardware in the same shopping center as Southern Thrift asked if I wanted to trade for their Ford Ranger. I said, "Yeahhh, I don't think so!" and piped 'em. Mitchell would've been so proud of me. Oh, and that's me in his truck. We were baling hay last Summer.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
April 27th, 31 cent Scoop Night
April 27th will be spent like this: I'm going to print out a map of all the Baskin Robbins in Middle Tennessee within 50 miles of me on the 26th and draw myself a route/loop between them all. I'll empty my change jar the following morning and drive around between 5-10pm eating ice cream between stores.
Mathematical breakdown/facts:
That's 20 Baskin Robbins stores.
If I'm allowed 3 scoops per store, priced at $0.31 each, I'll spend roughly $1 at each store with tax included. That's $20 in ice cream, assuming I hit them each up only once. That's 60 scoops in one day. Calorie-wise, I'm going to consume, on average, 260 calories per scoop, or 780 calories for a 3-scooper (again, average). Now multiply that by 20 for each store I'll visit, and I'll consume a whopping 15,600 calories in 5 hours. That's almost 8 days' worth of caloric intake for one person.
Here's my route:
It's 290 miles long.
It'll take me 6 hours and 27 minutes.
Let me know if you want to tag along.
(Oh, and wear your stretchy pants.)
An Old Rant of Mine, Craigslist, Summer 2010
I work as a waitress in Sal's, a somewhat popular pizza place in Nashville, but not downtown. (No, because I'm a waitress does not mean I am lacking self-confidence. Nor does it mean I am a recent divorcee/parolee. I'm a 20 year-old girl in between college semesters who happens to be changing her major and is- in the mean time- making a living, a so-far failed attempted "killing.")
Our air conditioner has been on the fritz for the past few weeks, making working conditions almost in the section at the top of the "Unbearable Pyramid." Thank God for people like you- all of you. You make it all seemingly the worthwhile. No, not because of your tips. (But let's work on those, too. There's always room for improvement.) You, dear pizza-consuming people of Nashville, keep me entertained. This is for all of you. Enjoy.
First, to you with the family... You appear to be a fairly well educated middle-aged man. You have 3 beautiful children and an attractive-minus-the-hideous-perm wife. I noticed the boat attached to your truck. You've got money and/or time to kill on the lake on this beautiful July afternoon. Whether you realize it or not, this pizza place is a fairly small restaurant, allowing almost everything you say to be overheard. While your oldest daughter aged at maybe 11 read the menu out loud, she came across "VEE-al PAR-mess-ON," in her best Mario & Luigi voice. She asked you what it was. You pronounced it right for her, and I honestly expected you to provide her with a correct explanation of the menu item. Instead, you told her this, "It's deer meat. Remember when Uncle Charlie made that deer jerky last year? It's the same thing, only more tender. It's the same meat from before they dehydrate it. Your mom loves it, right?" And your poodle headed wife agreed. "I love deer meat, but I don't think it's good with cheese." Are you fucking kidding me?! Veal is IMMOBILIZED BABY COW. It's "tender" because in some cases, they feed the baby cow milk and only milk and break its legs so it never moves, never allowing the muscle to get firm from movement. I wanted to shout this from across the room! VENISON is deer meat, by the way. That's why people like you always order pepperoni pizzas. With a side of Ranch dressing.
Now to you, Mr. and Mrs. Older Kinky Couple. Lady, you resembled everyone's grandmother. You were giving me more compliments than I deserved, as if you were surely practicing your sweet-talk speech for someday when someone entertains the idea of sending you to a nursing home. Who would want to rid themselves of someone so sweet? Mister, your jokes were borderline sexual, but I assumed you couldn't have possibly meant it "like that." How wrong of me! I mean, asking me if I was a "sausage and meatball kind of girl" could've been referring to my preference of spaghetti sauce, but it also could've been referring to whether or not I liked male genitalia. I want to say you were in your late 60s, early 70s. I made a remark in the kitchen about how you were so friendly, that it almost seemed as if you were both flirting with me. I laughed it off as my mind being in the gutter until you left. My tip was a $5 bill, 3 quarters, and a napkin that had "You're cute. We're interested if you are. ;) ," written on it, followed by your phone number. I got your voicemail. Damn.
Now on to you girls who come in, clearly on a date. You're all the same. You dress like you came out of a Teen Magazine. Half of you either order a salad or let him order for you. You sit there and play with your hair and talk about your exes and all their faults. When he orders a Bud Light, you order one, too. We all know you don't drink beer. You are clearly a Smirnoff Ice kind of girl. When he orders a second and a third, you've still only taken 3 sips out of your first. When I ask if you'd like something else to drink, you act as if you didn't hear me or you say, "I'm still drinking this beer." Same thing when I ask if you'd like a refill on the soda you inevitably order after your 4th sip. You're rude as shit to me because the guy you're on a date with is laughing at my jokes. You wish you could open beer bottles with your elbow. Oh, and you have a trail of toilet paper on your shoe. So freakin' cuuute. Also, I hear you argue about the tip because you think, "$8 is too much! Our pizza was only $13! That's like a 50% tip! $2 is enough!" He slipped me a $10 when he held the door open for you so you could strut your pretty ass out to the car.
I always like when you come in. You're sexy, you're funny, and you're clearly a lesbian. I think you're mixed. The first time I met you, you were trying to decide what would be cheaper- buying 4 slices individually, or buying a whole small pizza. My manager tried to sell you the slices because they were already made. But you and I both knew what he was up to... It IS a business. Anyway, I'm totally interested in hanging out with you. I know you could kill me at basketball. By the way, you were rocking those navy dress pants the other day.
To the obnoxious teenagers that come in. Learn to fucking tip. Yeah, the 14 of you ordered four extra large pizzas. You all got sodas, too. I know because I'm the one who refilled all of them at least three times. Not only did I fill them multiple times, but I gave you all to-go cups so you could take them with you. Don't look at me like I'm crazy because your bill is just over $60. It comes out to under $4.50 a piece. If all of you chip in $5, it's JUST like leaving me a $6 tip. FOR ALL OF YOU. Like each one of you left me fucking $0.43. Really?! And only 3 of you leave a $5 bill and DON'T ask for your change back... Really, REALLY?! Why don't you just have one of your mothers pop something in the microwave for you? Yeah, we're probably only 2 years apart in age, but you've CLEARLY never had a job as a waitress.
And let's not forget you, my favorite customer. You come in every week, sometimes two or three times. You've confided in me that you can't cook- that you could burn cereal. Believe it or not, but you're a breath of fresh air when you come in. I always hope it's my turn to take a table. You never complain and you're always so polite. I think I could be the bitchiest person in the world to you and you'd still say, "thank you." I love people like you. Maybe you could teach a "Customer Etiquette" class sometime. We could sign all of the above customers up.
If you fit any of these categories and you feel like I was referring to you, feel free to say hey next time you come in. You can ask me if I "do much on Craigslist" so I'll know you know I know that you know. You know? Have a great day.
Our air conditioner has been on the fritz for the past few weeks, making working conditions almost in the section at the top of the "Unbearable Pyramid." Thank God for people like you- all of you. You make it all seemingly the worthwhile. No, not because of your tips. (But let's work on those, too. There's always room for improvement.) You, dear pizza-consuming people of Nashville, keep me entertained. This is for all of you. Enjoy.
First, to you with the family... You appear to be a fairly well educated middle-aged man. You have 3 beautiful children and an attractive-minus-the-hideous-perm wife. I noticed the boat attached to your truck. You've got money and/or time to kill on the lake on this beautiful July afternoon. Whether you realize it or not, this pizza place is a fairly small restaurant, allowing almost everything you say to be overheard. While your oldest daughter aged at maybe 11 read the menu out loud, she came across "VEE-al PAR-mess-ON," in her best Mario & Luigi voice. She asked you what it was. You pronounced it right for her, and I honestly expected you to provide her with a correct explanation of the menu item. Instead, you told her this, "It's deer meat. Remember when Uncle Charlie made that deer jerky last year? It's the same thing, only more tender. It's the same meat from before they dehydrate it. Your mom loves it, right?" And your poodle headed wife agreed. "I love deer meat, but I don't think it's good with cheese." Are you fucking kidding me?! Veal is IMMOBILIZED BABY COW. It's "tender" because in some cases, they feed the baby cow milk and only milk and break its legs so it never moves, never allowing the muscle to get firm from movement. I wanted to shout this from across the room! VENISON is deer meat, by the way. That's why people like you always order pepperoni pizzas. With a side of Ranch dressing.
Now to you, Mr. and Mrs. Older Kinky Couple. Lady, you resembled everyone's grandmother. You were giving me more compliments than I deserved, as if you were surely practicing your sweet-talk speech for someday when someone entertains the idea of sending you to a nursing home. Who would want to rid themselves of someone so sweet? Mister, your jokes were borderline sexual, but I assumed you couldn't have possibly meant it "like that." How wrong of me! I mean, asking me if I was a "sausage and meatball kind of girl" could've been referring to my preference of spaghetti sauce, but it also could've been referring to whether or not I liked male genitalia. I want to say you were in your late 60s, early 70s. I made a remark in the kitchen about how you were so friendly, that it almost seemed as if you were both flirting with me. I laughed it off as my mind being in the gutter until you left. My tip was a $5 bill, 3 quarters, and a napkin that had "You're cute. We're interested if you are. ;) ," written on it, followed by your phone number. I got your voicemail. Damn.
Now on to you girls who come in, clearly on a date. You're all the same. You dress like you came out of a Teen Magazine. Half of you either order a salad or let him order for you. You sit there and play with your hair and talk about your exes and all their faults. When he orders a Bud Light, you order one, too. We all know you don't drink beer. You are clearly a Smirnoff Ice kind of girl. When he orders a second and a third, you've still only taken 3 sips out of your first. When I ask if you'd like something else to drink, you act as if you didn't hear me or you say, "I'm still drinking this beer." Same thing when I ask if you'd like a refill on the soda you inevitably order after your 4th sip. You're rude as shit to me because the guy you're on a date with is laughing at my jokes. You wish you could open beer bottles with your elbow. Oh, and you have a trail of toilet paper on your shoe. So freakin' cuuute. Also, I hear you argue about the tip because you think, "$8 is too much! Our pizza was only $13! That's like a 50% tip! $2 is enough!" He slipped me a $10 when he held the door open for you so you could strut your pretty ass out to the car.
I always like when you come in. You're sexy, you're funny, and you're clearly a lesbian. I think you're mixed. The first time I met you, you were trying to decide what would be cheaper- buying 4 slices individually, or buying a whole small pizza. My manager tried to sell you the slices because they were already made. But you and I both knew what he was up to... It IS a business. Anyway, I'm totally interested in hanging out with you. I know you could kill me at basketball. By the way, you were rocking those navy dress pants the other day.
To the obnoxious teenagers that come in. Learn to fucking tip. Yeah, the 14 of you ordered four extra large pizzas. You all got sodas, too. I know because I'm the one who refilled all of them at least three times. Not only did I fill them multiple times, but I gave you all to-go cups so you could take them with you. Don't look at me like I'm crazy because your bill is just over $60. It comes out to under $4.50 a piece. If all of you chip in $5, it's JUST like leaving me a $6 tip. FOR ALL OF YOU. Like each one of you left me fucking $0.43. Really?! And only 3 of you leave a $5 bill and DON'T ask for your change back... Really, REALLY?! Why don't you just have one of your mothers pop something in the microwave for you? Yeah, we're probably only 2 years apart in age, but you've CLEARLY never had a job as a waitress.
And let's not forget you, my favorite customer. You come in every week, sometimes two or three times. You've confided in me that you can't cook- that you could burn cereal. Believe it or not, but you're a breath of fresh air when you come in. I always hope it's my turn to take a table. You never complain and you're always so polite. I think I could be the bitchiest person in the world to you and you'd still say, "thank you." I love people like you. Maybe you could teach a "Customer Etiquette" class sometime. We could sign all of the above customers up.
If you fit any of these categories and you feel like I was referring to you, feel free to say hey next time you come in. You can ask me if I "do much on Craigslist" so I'll know you know I know that you know. You know? Have a great day.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
A Letter to Regen
4-10-11
Regen, I admire you for who you are and for what you've been through (and survived) in your life. You're always there for me, and never short of advice when I need it. I know if I'm ever in a tough situation, no matter how big or small regardless of the circumstances, that I can go to you for guidance and support. I love your witty sense of humor, your honesty, wisdom, beliefs... (And your cooking!)
Never have I ever had an issue that I couldn't talk over with you. You are genuinely a caring person, and you are a wonderful mother. I want to be just like you when I have a family. I don't think you quite understand how much you mean to me and how greatly I value our friendship.
When I was kicked out of my mother's home, you helped to fill that void when I had nobody to go to. You gave me confidence and hope. Hearing about your battles won inspired me and gave me the strength I needed to overcome my own struggles. You are my mentor, my role model, a sarcastic matriarchal figure in my life, and I look up to you. I just thought you should know.
I love you, Regen.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Close & Closer
The other night, I cried on the way home from work, seemingly out of nowhere. Thinking about how much worse my wreck could've been scared the shit out of me. I was so close to dieing. Just a few more feet and I would've gone down- way down... All the way down.
Mitchell must've known what I was thinking about because he held my hand even tighter and said he loved me.
Sometimes that's all it takes for me to know that he's perfect for me. I feel closer to him now than ever, and it kind of scares me. I love that man with all of my heart. I really do. He is my best friend.
Alright, that's enough mushy talk.
How about a mushy picture instead? This is sooo old.
Mitchell must've known what I was thinking about because he held my hand even tighter and said he loved me.
Sometimes that's all it takes for me to know that he's perfect for me. I feel closer to him now than ever, and it kind of scares me. I love that man with all of my heart. I really do. He is my best friend.
Alright, that's enough mushy talk.
How about a mushy picture instead? This is sooo old.
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