And my favorite.
I am by no means a vegetarian. I
try to eat more vegetables, but fail
often. This week I had an experience that will likely turn me into a
card carrying, red paint splashing, "Karl Lagerfeld is a murderer"
shouting member of PETA.
I was in Charlotte, NC this week for work. I was there to test some
demonstrations from two different vendors who are vying for a huge contract with
The Company. Each night, the vendors took the project team and testers to
dinner to wine and dine us.
First a word about wining and dining. When it comes to food, my tastes are
not very fancy pants. I'm sort of a basic guy. I don't drink
wine. I don't know anything about sauces or cuts of meat or anything
pronounced French. I like soup. I like chicken. I like iced
tea. In short, I'm a cheap date.
Our dinner was at Morton's.
We have a Morton's here in Phoenix. It's by the Ritz Carlton, which tells
me it's very fancy pants. I've walked past it many times on my way
to the movies. It looks very dark and mysterious and I don't recall seeing
anyone actually enter or exit the restaurant.
Entering the restaurant I realize Morton's is a steakhouse. I don't think
I've set foot in a steak house since I lived in Oklahoma and even then it was
just The Sizzler. If you live in Oklahoma, it is mandatory you go
to La Sizzler. Especially after church.
There is a big to-do and presentation over the wine selection. Bottles are
displayed, glasses are swished. Then they haul out this big ass cart to
tell you tonight's menu. The guy first picks up a live lobster whom I immediately
feel sorry for. I feel like he's looking at us frantically and secretly
hope he frees himself from his little claw cuffs and starts pinching the hell
out of everyone. Thankfully no one orders Pinchy for dinner but 90% of my
party orders steak.
When dinner comes, I am hit by the smell of rare to medium rare huge Fred
Flintstone portions of meat. My stomach cramps from the smell alone.
Sopping red juice is all over their plates. I am so nauseated. My
co-workers look savage and wide eyed as they pick up their giant steak machetes
and start hacking away at there dinners. They are stuffing huge chucks of
brown on the outside, pink on the inside meat in the mouths, savoring every
morsel/ Moans of beef induced orgasmic delight are heard as I quietly eat
my dinner. I hide my disgust by saying comments like "Wow.
That's huge!" instead of "Oh my god! You are so sick for
ordering that! What are you? A cannibal!?". (Not a good
move at a work dinner.)
I am desperately trying to find "my happy place". I think about
Alias and wonder if Evil Francie will kill Will and how much I'd rather she kill
Vaughn. I think about my cat and wonder if he is looking through the patio
door right now waiting for me to come home. I think about my hotel room
and how much it sucks the TV doesn't have The WB and that I am going to miss
Angel this week.
Once the main course is over, I watch the servers take the food away and try to
forget about the carnage I just witnessed. I am relieved when the plates
are gone.
Once I get back to my room in the hotel, I swear I smell like dead cow.
It's like when you go to a bar and end up smelling like an ashtray. I take
a shower and give myself a Silkwood scrubdown to rid myself of the evening.
1. How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life?
Thirteen total. 6 houses, 4 apartments, 2 mobile homes and one duplex.
2. Which was your favorite and why?
The duplex was nice. It was small but super cheap and very, very quiet.
3. Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why?
Stressful. I hate the process of packing and moving. The last
time I hired a moving company and that made it so much easier except they didn't
come the day they were supposed to, which sucked.
4. What's more important, location or price?
Well...I live where I currently do because they offered cheap rent and it turns
out this place is a drug dealing infested crack pad. So...I'm gonna say
location.
5. What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)?
I don't care much about pools and yards. Most homes here are all cookie
cutter and look the same. Neighborhood after neighborhood of house the
same style, the same color, the same families. Ew! I would say
my dream home would need to have some character and be unique in some way, any
way. Oh, and a water softener. The water here is nasty.
I am in a pissy mood so bear with me. Also, none of the these
comments are directed to you Gentle Reader, unless you are one of the crotches
who are guilty of these infractions.
I hate it when people who are perfectly capable hit the automatic door opener
do-hickey that is there for people who are disabled. How lazy are
you? I can understand using it when your hands are full or something, but
when you hit the button every single time...Come on! What you
obviously don't realize what happens is since the do-hickey is being used constantly,
more than it was probably intended to be used, the mechanism breaks making it
useless for the people who need it to work.
Let's have another
discussion about bathroom etiquette...shall we? We've discussed your
use of cell phones while doing your business in the restroom, and yet...it continues.
Does the person you are talking to know what you are doing? Probably
not. If they did would they be repulsed beyond explanation?
Most likely. Are you completely disgusting and gross? Absolutely.
When I tell you you hurt my feelings and you merely reply "okay" which
is your equivalent to "so?", that tells me what a bitch you are and
makes me rethink our friendship.
Don't answer my work related email through work related instant messaging.
Am I going to remember your answer after I have closed the instant messaging
window? I doubt it since I can't even remember what I asked you about in
the first place. PS: Be a dear and use "reply with history".
This weekend I went to the mall to buy a couple pairs of slacks and dress
shirts. I went to a department store and walked to the men's suit
section. Now, I have always noticed that the men's suit section employee's
always wear suits, have fancy name tags and are abundant in number (strange
considering no one seems to work in the jeans section), however I have
never ventured to guess why. One of them approaches me and asks if I need
help. I say no thank you, pick a pair of pants and go try them on.
Then I go to where the dress shirts are, clearly not the suit guys' area since
the never stray far from the suits. A lady in the shirts section measures
me and helps me pick out a few. I go back to the dress pants to get
another pair. When I pick them out I ask the man who wanted to help me if
he will hold my other pants while I try the others on. He does. When
I exit the dressing room, I pick up my pants he left at the register and
walk off. I do more shopping for other odds and ends. Once I am
finished I go over to the cashier closest to me. While I am being checked
out, the suit man appears and asks if I found everything I needed in a super
creepy way. I say yes and he stares at me for a beat and slinks
away. The lady ringing me up asks if he was helping me. I say
no. She tells me the creepy suit guys work on commission and that's why he
came over. Okay....number one: I don't know you work on commission.
Number two: I didn't buy a suit. Number three: Other than
holding a pair of pants for me while I tried another pair, you really didn't do
much for me...other than creep me out. And finally number four: how dare
you try to make me feel bad for losing a sale you didn't even earn. If any
one deserves commission, it was the lady who actually assisted me with the
shirts, but she doesn't get commission. Oh...one more thing...you are a
jerk.
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