Sunday, April 28, 2013

Yes, Please, Thank You

We have a friend, Reader, who I shall call R. He is my mister's friend, but also mine, as we often hang out with him and his lovely Other Half.  R recently made a statement - which My Mister agrees with - along the lines of my being "rude to waitstaff."

I took offense to that statement, as I like to think that I am extremely courteous to those who have the hard-working jobs of bringing people food and drink, and cleaning up the big fat messes we leave in our wake. I am at least a 20% tipper (unless service is just horrid), leaving far more on the holiday.  I don't state that here to get any sort of accolades, but merely to set the stage - I don't believe myself to be a rude customer. 

So I had to step back and think about why/how that can be the perception of me, because as I've learned, 'It doesn't matter how you think you are, people's perception of you is your reality." I can think I'm nice, but if others think I'm an asshole, than I'm obviously an asshole.

And then Friday night we went to a bar with a live lobster claw game tank - The Lobster Zone - where people pay $2 for a chance to drop the claw and try to "win" a live lobster and have it cooked up.  My gut reaction was,  "That is fucked up!" and I could not stop watching this during the meal. The meal of ribs and turkey sammy and pizza with pepperoni. 

I watched people - tipsy from drink, laughing it up - approach the tank, put in their $2 and win several lobsters. Gleefully posing for Facebook photos, laughing and carrying on as they handed their taped-clawed Win off to the cook to drop it into a pot of boiling water and wait for their meal.

It was the gleeful shenanigans that accompanied the "catch" that settled down in deep and I couldn't shake it. 

When the waitress came over eventually and asked, 'How was everything?", the unfiltered me responded, "That fucking lobster game is highly offensive as I sit here at a bar, not expecting to watch people catch and parade around with their "prize", is the owner here,  if he isn't I am going to write him quite a letter when I get home."

And R said something along the lines of, "RIGHT THERE!! That's what I mean!! You're not rude to waitresses under a normal course of a meal, but you are abrasive when there is something you don't like and you could have found a nicer way to express your opinion."

The owner came over. I reiterated my sentiment that the fucking lobster "game" is offensive and I won't be back as long as something like that is there, and he hee-hawed around a bit and said the right things like, "Well, it's not any less humane than a slaughterhouse" and "The lobsters have already been caught" and "It's no different than the lobster tank at Red Lobster." And finally, "It's just a novelty. Thanks for coming." And he walked away. 

And My Mister cringed down lower in his seat and asked, "Why can't you just say everything is fine and never come back?? Why do you always have to say something??" 

Because, Reader. "It's Just a Novelty."  Is why I have to so aggressively state my opinion. Because a politely stated, "Well, the place is nice, the meal was fine, I didn't really care for the lobster tank" or My Mister's suggestion, "It was wonderful!" and never come back is a passive move I just don't have in me. They'd never know "the why" if we just didn't come back.  

And that's okay for some people. 

I'm just not cut from that cloth. Blame my mother, she was mouthy and abrasive too. I learned it at her hip. 

Because the Novelty of that tank rubs me so hard the wrong way I had to at least make the person who put it in his bar give it a bit of thought beyond "It's a Novelty." It's not a novelty. It's a live creature being toyed with, just for kicks. 

Reader, I grew up in a family of hunters. I've eaten rabbit and deer and squirrel and pheasant and even watched a turtle hang upside down so the blood could drain to prep it for turtle stew. I eat seafood and beef and pork and whatever. I understand that it's not a pretty picture, getting my nicely packaged supermarket food to my table. 

But I don't and won't ever think it's okay to have a little fun with something before killing it. I don't believe in playing cat & mouse games with my meal.  That's for cats. And mouses.  Not drunks. In a bar. Whooping it up over their 2-buck meal.  

That, Reader, is part of the desensitizing that is happening all around us.  

Another writer sums it up here:

So call me rude. Abrasive. Unladylike and opinionated. I'm taking all of those adjectives as compliments these days. 

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Movin' On Up

What's new, Reader?  Well, from my end of town, we saw a movie tonight. The new Tom Cruise flick, some sci-fi thing-a-ma-bob that was enjoyable enough. We went to the movies to distract us from waiting by the phone. Because we were waiting for the call from the realtor with a go or no-go on buying a house!!  

Yes!! We bought a house!!! Just like that.  A few short weeks ago we were just thinking about it, and then my perfect little house popped up. Just a mile from where we live as the crow flies, but it feels like a completely new neighborhood. 

We are excited and nervous and ready for a fresh start. 

I figure if I can't take as many trips as I used to due to my time constraints of Tiny Town, I might as well have a cute little house to call my own. 

So now I need to do what all new home buyers do, and stalk Pinterest for ideas for paint and landscaping and decorating. A whole new way to fritter away my time has just opened up. 

Monday, April 15, 2013

Shoved In My Cake Hole

Here's a little something I never needed to know about:

It's cookies. Crumbled up into a creamy and delicious spread. Spreadable on toast. Apples. Chocolate. Or just licked right off the spoon.

I haven't tried the marriage of Biscoff Spread and Nutella yet, because I'm not sure my tastebuds could handle the combo - I'm not sure they can handle the taste. 

As if I needed one more discovery of deliciousness to shove in my cake hole. My brother is already doing a fine job keeping me attuned to new delights, by sending me a jug of soft & chewy caramels. 

Because I look underfed.


Biscoff Spread on caramels. Hm. 

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Truth In Advertising

We're officially House Hunters! Just like the t.v. show, only without the snooty complaints of 24 yr. olds with million-dollar budgets that need to rip out and redo perfectly fine kitchens because they don't have granite and tile and stainless. 

On the way from one of the open houses today, we passed this sign on a street corner:

I wonder exactly how much "cash only!!" one needs to pay to get a "mold everywhere" home. 

Should we call, Reader?

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Because Facebook Says So.

Shaking My Mister awake from a dead sleep this morning: "We need to start cuddling more."

MM: "harumpff.snore.snort.gurgle.huh?"

Me: "I read it on Facebook. Cuddling is good for you and solves a lot of shit, like anxiety and depression and stuff."

MM: Rolls over, wrapping himself up in a cocoon of blankets. "Whaaaaaa???" Cocks an eye open. "~whimper~". 

Me: "We HAVE to do it. Facebook says so. Now roll the fuck over here and give me some cuddles. It'll be good for our relationship."

MM: Finally rolls in my directions, whimpers more as he raises his arms towards me.   

Me: Climbs in for the hug. 

"You need to use both arms. Get your bad breath out of my face." 

Me: "We're going to do this every morning and evening. Two hours before work, from 4 a.m. to 6 a.m., and from 10 p.m. to midnight."

MM: "NOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo. no. please no." 

Me: "Oh, it's happening. And you're going to like it."

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


Today, this conversation happened at Tiny Town:

Me: I want to put blah blah on the webpage. 

Her: There isn't room.

Me: I feel it's really important for yadda yadda reasons. 

Her: There isn't room.

Me: But I am going to have to insist. I think blah blah is that important.

Her: Fine. I'm going to buy you a blah blah and have Fuck You engraved on it. 

And it finally started to feel like home.