Constipated Concert Goers

Have you ever been to a concert where they open up the area in front of the stage so that fans can come and photograph their heroes, and shake their booties to the tunes?  They are fun right?  Everyone (for the most part) has paid to be there and are obviously a fan of the same genre of music as you, which is at least some connection, right? 

So why do I always encounter the angry-ists who dominate the front row seats of these affairs and scream bloody murder if anyone remotely has the audacity to even think about standing in front of them?  Just yesterday I was at a great open air concert and had tickets to the VIP section.  I and several girlfriends were up there in front of the stage, so close that we could count the nasal hairs on the bass guitarist, and could tell who in the band was not circumcised! This area was several feet deep in front of the first row of chairs in the VIP area. 

A couple, (man and woman), sat with their arms folded across their chests in a “don’t ‘F’ with me” stance, and had their legs so far outstretched that people were tripping over them left, right, and center!

Every time someone had the nerve to actually stop in front of them, they would yell and scream and wave their arms at the perpetrator, shooing him away with all kinds of choice expletives!

Surprisingly most of the offenders were so shocked by this outburst, and scurried away into the shadows with their tails between their legs, like naughty children being caught red handed with their father’s playboy magazine.  Perhaps they thought that these tyrants were concert security and/or bodyguards to the band, or perhaps that they were secret service officials protecting the boundaries of the president who was secretly attending this concert?

But these tactics continued to work throughout the evening.  At one point we witnessed them actually throwing one of our bags several feet forward on the ground, as it had obviously passed the sacred perimeter around them!  WTF?  So the friend who was the owner of said bag, gave them a piece of her mind, and it wasn’t pretty!

They had obviously failed ‘anger management classes’ several times over and were so wrapped up in what others were doing that they probably left not having heard one song or seen one great performance?  They probably wonder where the heck they had been last night.  All they remember is the terrible folks who were “enjoying” themselves by standing, dancing, jumping up and down, and dare I say, breathing???  All done in a provocative, shameless way right there in the open!  Disgraceful!

And let me finish this weekly rant by adding, this was not a classical concert where one is expected to sit politely with their hands in their laps and to not even sneeze until intermission.  No, this was a country music festival held in a big ole field! Get a life and some laxatives you constipated concert goers!

toilet

Parsimonious Paper

What is it with economizing on toilet paper, and/or dispensers in public restrooms to the point of ridiculous?

Have you ever gone into such a place and found to your chagrin, the floor littered with torn squares of white paper?  Your first thought is,                                                         
“Man, they need to keep this place clean!”  Or,                                                                 
“The low down litter louts who were in here before me need a good foot up their backside!”  

You proceed to wade through the sea of fluffy debris in order to do what nature intended, and when it comes to the time to use the sanitary absorbent paper, you find that either it is so thin that you wish you had worn surgical gloves; or that you have to pull and pull and pull wads of the stuff out to even closely resemble a two ply variety!

Or, something even worse, in  my opinion is those dispensers that are designed to release only one square at a time!  And it is wound up so tightly that when you try to pull on it to release some more, it simply bites down leaving you with a tattered piece of paper barely big enough for a mouse arse!  The remnants flutter down to the floor, explaining the mess you initially discovered! 

You hover there for a while hoping to air dry, coz the paper thing just ain’t panning out, but your date is waiting out there at the table and probably thinks you are having a “problem”?  Yeah, you’re having a problem alright.  So, you apply your minuscule knowledge of microsurgery learned form a CSI episode as you painstakingly piece together enough papery fragments to resemble a miniature wad of a square, all the while performing your best balancing act so that your body does not come into contact with the porcelain,  and try to use it.  Of course, the whole thing separates on contact, and you are left with large specks of white paper all over your nether regions!  How is it cute when those silly bears on that TV commercial have TP stuck on their butts, but when it happens to you it is downright hideous and frustrating? You give up plucking pieces from your body and proceed to dress and wash up.  The paper towel dispenser is obviously closely related to the toilet paper dispenser, and initially denies you a piece, and when it does cough some up, it jams, leaving just a small corner for you to dry up with.  You wipe your hands on the back of your pants, flick back your hair, and breeze through the door, and back to your patiently waiting date, as though everything in there went just fine.  You approach the table, and he jumps up to pull your chair out for you. You turn with a coy smile, as you look over your shoulder to catch him staring down and smirking.  You follow his gaze and realize you have a big wet hand print on each butt cheek, and a trail of thin gauzy white paper stuck to the sole of both of your shoes!

Nice!  Note to self: Pack in purse one pair of surgical gloves, one pair of plastic shoe booties, one roll of TP, one hand towel….

us-toilet-paper-money

Something Fishy Afoot?

Have you ever been into a restaurant on a week day night and asked for something really simple to be told, “No, the kitchen is backed up.”???

Last night;  a Monday evening, non-tourist season, not many diners occupying the tables, and a really simple request.

They offered ahi tuna in lettuce wraps as an appetizer, and they offered salads, but only with shrimp or chicken.  I really wanted ahi tuna with a salad.  Not too far fetched, right?  Take one of your existing salads, take a piece of your existing tuna and put the two together!  Simple, right?  Wrong!  

“The chef said he has to keep to the menu as the kitchen is so busy.” Was the curt response to my request.  

I just don’t get it, and I did not be-labor the point.  So get this.  I asked if they could take one of the fish offerings; mahi, grouper, etc. and put it on top of a salad. “Yes, we can do that.” was the surprising answer!  I have to tell you, I was confused, but accepted what they could do and ate it, all the while noticing tables around us that were occupied, paying their checks and leaving.  I would say that there were maybe six tables of diners at that point, so what on earth went wrong?  Did the owner only get one chef/cook in for  the night and have two tables more than he or she could handle?  Was the tuna kosher and needing a whole side of the kitchen to itself, the opposite side to where the salads were prepared?  Were the tuna lettuce wraps already pre-made (ugh), and therefore have to be painstakingly unwrapped in order to be the tossed onto a salad?  Was the chef suffering from OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), and to make him put tuna where it is not supposed to go would send him into a downward spiral of manic proportions?  Or was the tuna actually ‘faux’ tuna?  Was it really an impostor fish of lesser quality that could only be disguised wearing a romaine jacket?  Would the gig have been up if this inferior fishy were to be spread eagle across my Cesar salad, belly up, nothing to cover the indecency of it’s true identity?

I have worked single handed on yachts where I had to cook for up to 20 people at  a time, full on three and four course meals. They changed their minds all the time.  I think a good restaurant manager should be somewhat versed in the back of the house, so that if a request for a piece of tuna on a salad comes in, it can be accommodated.  Geeeez. 

A Free Loaders Guide to Party Season

I am not sure where you live, or what the common practices and traditions are for attending parties and such, but where I live in Florida, the general rule of thumb for party going etiquette is to bring something to share!
So here I have compiled a quick and easy reference guide for those who are manners challenged:

The most commonly seen acronym on invitations is BYOB. It means “bring your own bottle/beer/booze” If you arrive without a liquid refreshment, and proceed to imbibe others, it is likely that you will be wearing the empty bottle home. I’ll let you imagine how and where!

A pot luck dinner means that everyone brings a covered dish, a dip and chips, a crudites plate, or other edible portion of something large enough that all attendees can sample. It does mean that you arrive sans food and roam around until you get lucky by scoring free pot!

Buffett is a smorgasbord of fabulous eats that one can graze upon and take their time going back for consecutive courses at a leisurely pace. It does not mean pulling your chair up to the food serving station and chowing down, nor does it mean filling large gallon size zip lock bags that you have cunningly hidden in your over sized purse with enough food to feed your neighbors families! Nor does it mean that stoner island attire with parrot headdresses are the recommended attire!

RSVP. I am constantly amazed at how few people understand this one. It is “respondez s’il vous plait”, aka, Please Respond, which is not French for ‘turn up at the last minute if you don’t have any better offers!’ It also does not mean that even though the RSVP asks you to number your guests in your response, or stipulate how many guests you can bring, that you can just at the last minute invite everyone you met at the pub on your way there.

I cannot tell you how many parties I have been to and hosted where the Neanderthals come out of the woodwork and invade homes and banquet rooms with their slovenly ways. I really would not be surprised to see them dragging their wife in by her hair and then clubbing the man who is waiting patiently in line to sample a vol-au-vent. I am afraid that I usually get riled up at this even if it is not my own party, and I have been known to sashay up to the empty handed guest and asked them in a saccharine sweet voice, “Did you try the canapes I brought? I have been slaving away all day fixing them, because i know that everyone who attends these parties brings such wonderful food to share. Tell me, what did you bring? I would love to try some!” And then I wait for their faces to drop, and/or to contort as they mumble out a hokey excuse as to why they have a plate in front of them that is overflowing with decadence, yet they did not have time to shop/cook; don’t know how to shop/cook, didn’t know they had to bring something, their dog got ran over, blah, blah, blah. I so want to tell them that the soup kitchen is actually the other side of town, but instead, I tell them with nostrils a-flaring, that I had better let them sit down to enjoy their meal, seeing as it is so large, and I turn on my bitchy heels and depart. However, I am not sure that ‘freeloaders’ get offended? They are so accustomed to a free ride on the gravy train, that they actually insist on a first class caboose with waiter service! I have turned up to parties where I did not have time to cook or prepare something from scratch, but armed with the most expensive crackers, gourmet chips, dips and fabulous fromages that I could find in the store, have apologized profusely to the host for not being Betty Crocker-ish today!

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall………

Aging sucks.  For years now, I have been fighting with the fact that I need glasses to read! Right around the same time that book publishers decided to print books with very small text, and when manufacturers everywhere also went with the small print (probably to save money; less ink and all?)  is when I also changed up my eye make up remover.  I just surmised that my new product coupled with the coincidental change in text size around the world, was why I was reading the same paragraph over and over again.  “Nothing wrong with my eyesight.” I reasoned. So, after months of not getting to the end of a book, and using the wrong product for the wrong use, I caved and went for an eye sight test.

“What made you decide to come in today?” asked the ebullient optician.

“Pain!” I responded.

“Pain?  In the eyes?” She beseeched.

“No, pain on my nipples and hoo-hoo!”  I replied, ashamedly.

I am sure she thought I was mad, and about to throw me out, so I quickly explained.

“I am a runner, and I use two different products when I race.  One is an anti-chaffing gel that you rub on your nipples and thighs so you don’t get rubbed sore, and the other is a deep muscle rub that heats up wherever you rub it!”  I offered.

It took a moment for the penny to drop, but when it did, her eyes opened wide as she whispered, “And you put the wrong one on the wrong place, because you couldn’t read the small print properly?”  

“Yup!” I replied.  “Oh dear!”  She commiserated. “Were you able to rinse it off quickly enough?”  She was really interested now.

“I tried.”  I said, “But it’s made to be water proof and sweat proof, and the fumes from the muscle rub on my thighs just wafted and wafted up into my hoo-hoo.  I almost died from the pain!” 

She felt so sorry for me that she threw in a free pair of frames!

But do you think I wear those bloody things?  Not when I am out and trying to look hot.  Case in point:

I received a text inviting me to a fabulous cocktail party with a Halloween theme, hosted on a fabulous yacht in a fabulous marina.  So, I invited a girlfriend. We were so psyched. She and I donned our best pirate wench costumes, and off we went. We then realize on arrival at the dock, that we were in fact a week early!  Apparently it did not occur to to me that it was a little early for a Halloween party?  Had I worn my glasses when reading the text, i would have seen the date! So, to make it up to the salty wench at my side, I dragged her downtown and bought her an adult beverage.  We were obviously the source of much amusement as we were the only ones dressed up like naughty children, who just couldn’t wait a whole week to dress up!   

What’s next for this aging wench?  

anti chafe
muscle rub

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I usually start my tongue in cheek vent with ‘Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr’, but couldn’t get the ‘Grrrr’ sound right as my tongue was frozen to the inside of my cheek!  “Why?” you ask. I’ll tell you why.  I live in Florida, where a cool day is somewhere in the 70′s outside, but damn it if you don’t see folks bundled up in sweaters, hoodies, overcoats and mittens!  “But why?” you ask again.  Geez, you have a lot of questions!!!  Well, it is because the grocery stores, department stores, movie theaters and some restaurants have their thermostat cranked so high that you see fog billowing from your mouth and nostrils! I can understand that some parts of a food store have to be ‘cooler’ than others due to the food types being stored, but when your knees knock in the cookie aisle, and some creepy guy whispers over to you, “hey, looks like the turkey’s done”…………………..

you have to ask “why?’ Again with the questions!!! :-)
Don’t they realize that lowering one’s body temperature can lead to hypothermia which can result in clumsiness or lack of coordination and cognitive functioning? When you initially went into the store to purchase tons of beer and wine and rib eyes, but leave with a bag of cheese doodles and a box of Kleenex, I think they might lose out?
Perhaps it is a conspiracy to get you sick with at the very least a cold, and then you have to purchase all of the zillions of cold remedies that all grocery stores have piled up aisle after aisle, and they are not cheap!

But the movie theater thing I can not justify. Apparently they don’t want you toting your own food and beverages in as they would rather you pay $6 for a bottle of their water, etc., but when you have to wear a parka, a Davy Crockett hat and a blanket, it is easy to smuggle in an all you can eat buffet!
Maybe that’s why the sound is so loud in these places too, so that the racket our chattering teeth make is drowned out?

And then there’s a couple of restaurants that I really like, and one has a really hip retro surfer theme and its right across the road from the beach, but I feel so dumb going in there with my winter weight dry suit designed for whale fishing in Alaska, when everyone outside going to neighboring restaurants are wearing sun dresses and shorts! The food is already a sorbet by the time it gets to the table, and you are only on appetizers!
And there’s one particular place, a chain, that seems to attract a lot of old folks. They make great pies and I used to like to go in for a slice, but not anymore. Too frigid. I am thinking that because of the high volume of ‘Q-Tips’ (white haired people) that frequent this establishment, there has to be some attrition, and rather than panic and/or disgust the other diners when one of them meets their demise at the table, they just prop them up and don’t have to worry that the undertaker is busy and can’t get there for a while. The chilliness will preserve the deceased and prevent a deathly odor from seeping to the pie eating patrons. Makes sense to me.

So, if you are thinking of moving from Michigan to the Sunshine State, think again. Or at the very least, pack your long underwear; you’ll need it!

You are Welcome……………….

Grrrrrrrrrrr.

What is wrong with people out there?  Are they all accustomed to having slaves, servants, butlers, bell hops, door men?

It happens more and more these days that whenever I hold open a door for someone, they just sail on through as though it is expected of me to do it, and then they don’t even have the courtesy to say ‘thank you’!  I am constantly trying to lose weight, and so, maybe I have this syndrome of a distorted body image and when I see an overweight woman in the mirror, it is a false read, because in actual fact I am so thin that that the people waltzing through the open portal don’t even see me?  They think it is one of those automatic doors, so imagine their surprise when the automatic door glides open, and then they hear an angry, bitchy, snarky little voice spit, “YOU ARE WELCOME!”.  I ‘m sorry, but that is what I do!   And then they glare at me like I have three heads!  IF I did have three heads, all three of them would spit at you!

People do this while driving too.  How many times have you let people out in front of you in traffic, and they don’t even give you a little friendly royal wave in appreciation?  Happens to me all the time.  Again, perhaps it is because I am so thin that they think it is a drone car???

When people let me out in traffic, (which is not often, I must admit), I send out a frickin; marching band, clowns and balloons to show my overwhelming gratitude for such a kind gesture.  I think that perhaps they didn’t even mean to let me out, but were just changing the radio station or rummaging around in the bag of newly acquired groceries for something to nibble on.  People are just so mean.

And even pedestrians are nasty knickers!  Whenever I wave someone across the street in front of my car, they just saunter on, (at a deathly slow pace), and don’t even look at me let alone thank me.  And I am not talking about designated cross walks where you have to stop by law. 

And manners, or lack thereof is rampant in stores too.  Just yesterday I was in a huge chain store, (who’s name shall remain anonymous), and a young couple was blocking a section of Halloween merchandise with their cart.  I asked very nicely if I could please just get in there for a minute, and the girl glared at me like I had just asked to perform fellatio on her man!  WTF?  She eventually shoved her cart out of the way, almost knocking me on my back, and stomped away.  I called after her, “Hey, Halloween is still a week away!” A subtle joke that probably went right over her angry little gargoyle head.  I should have told her how sorry I was to hear about her sister being crushed under a house! :-)  Again, too subtle for her, I am sure.

So what gives?  Folks open doors like crazy for you at Christmas time, whether you want to go through them or not, but any other time of the year, NOT!