Monday, June 14, 2010

IHOP lunch breaks?

As often stated, I am the Mays family errand gal. Mother needs some gel inserts for her shoes for a cocktail party? Lindsay to Target. Ro needs one of her sparkly, rhinestoned, geometric hemmed, one shoulder tops dry cleaned so she can wear it to a place that doesn’t require a sparkly, rhinestoned, geometric hemmed, one shoulder top? Off to the dry cleaners it is. I have just accepted my duties. Last week, my dearest grandmother asked me to pick up some fresh fruit for her at this little market, and obviously I obliged. I hoped that I would at least get a nice pie with heart-shaped crust cut-outs out of the situation. So I go to this little side of the road joint, and I see no farmers in overalls. I see no little kids with two missing front teeth trying to eat an apple while swinging their legs off the back of a parked pick-up. Something was peculiar. I mosey on up to front door of this place, and there is a note taped to the door that says “Went down the road. Be back in 35 minutes.”


“Went down the road” ??? WTF is this? Its not like you are a nanny leaving a note for the mom saying that you briefly took the kids to the park down the street. You are a BUSINESS! And whats down the road?? The only thing to the right of the market was the parkway, and the only thing to the left of the market was an IHOP. Did you take a hiatus from your place of business for a quick Rooty Tooty Fresh N’ Fruity? Were you going to get a chocolate milk and a short stack? Hash browns? Steak sirloin tips and mashed potatoes? By the way, I do not now, nor will I EVER understand or respect people who order dinner foods at IHOP. Not natural. That’s like getting a bagel at Dunkin Donuts or a salad at Burger King. Who does that? ANYWAY, if they had written ,“Went to IHOP, go get your fruit somewhere else”, I honestly probably would have went there and joined them. This is a picture of me at an International House of Pancakes on my 23rd birthday.

I hope that when I do get a job, it is one that will allow me to leave mid-day for some flap jacks.

“Be back in 35 minutes” ??? Again, WTF is this? I DO NOT KNOW WHEN YOU LEFT, THEREFORE I DO NOT KNOW THESE MYSTERIOUS 35 MINUTES WILL BE UP! This is probably my biggest pet peeve in the world besides catfish hair (we will get to catfish hair when I am emotionally stable to tackle that subject). When stores or people say “be back in – minutes” that is no help unless I know when they posted it! Maybe they put the note up 34 minutes ago when I was still at home eating my Cap n’ Crunch and finishing up the previous nights episode of Secret Life of an American Teenager. Or maybe it was two minutes ago and I passed the owners on the street, but didn’t notice them because I was belting out “Eenie Meenie” by the Biebs and Sean Kingston. Either way, it does not help me. I have things to do. I’m a busy lady. I’m like Kelly Ripa. I don’t have time to sit around in my car in the parking lot waiting for you to get back from IHOP so that I can buy some apples for dear old Granny.

So I wait about four minutes in my car and then decide to roll-bounce out of there. I was over this janky little shut-down in the middle of the day market. Guess where my next stop was? PATHMARK! For those of you not in the tri-state area, Pathmark is a janky little grocery store chain. Pathmark is to grocery stores as JC Penney is to department stores. If grandmama can tell the difference between side of the road market apples and grocery store apples, I will happily go pick some apples for her from a tree like when the Von Trapp kids were swinging from those trees wearing rompers made out of curtains.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Back the Fuck Off

Ya know when you are supposed to go to the gym because when you go to the gym and do something that creates results, people compliment you and stuff and that’s awesome, so you tell yourself you’re going to go to the gym after class, but you forgot that “E! Investigates: Rich Kids Who Kill” was coming on, so you put the gym off for an hour, then two, then 3 days roll around, and then you feel so bad for putting off the gym that you just don’t go for weeks and pretend like the gym doesn’t even exist, but then you miss getting compliments and attention, so you go back to the gym? Well, thats what happened with this blog. And I miss getting compliments and attention. And there are no new E! specials happening. So we’re back.

During the hiatus, a few people asked when I would post again, and I always promised a new post soon, and it was honky doory. BUT things got weird when some weirdo goes, “if you don’t post something new, I’m going to slash your tires, snap all your headbands, and cut your braids off.” Woah. Back the fuck off, crazy. I understand that I am awesome and fantastic, and quite frankly, the cats meow, but ease up. That’s a little drastic. The way to get me to do something is NOT to threaten my headbands. I can find or steal new tires. I can go buy a new pack of 1B hair for $37 on Long Island, $25 in Harlem. But I can NOT replace some of my precious babies. So back the fuck off. Here are some other people who can do the same:

1. The toothless wench who pushes carts at the grocery store who yelled at me for parking in an expectant mother/mother with toddlers parking spot. Ya know what? Hell yes I am parking in this damn parking spot. Will it make you feel better if I puff my gut out for you? And by the way, it's 11:30 at night, why would a toddler be at the grocery store at 11:30 at night? You call the police on me for parking in this fake-ass, made-up parking spot, and I will call child services. All I wanted was some raspberry lemondade and some watermelon Big League Chew. Back the fuck off.

2. The Long Island losers who drive around in their Lil Bow Wow circa The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, piece of shit neon cars with the purple headlights who pass me on the parkway as I’m doing 75. Driving is something I take very personally. I think I am a FABULOUS driver. Sure, there are some trees, a fire hydrant, and a few ignored stop signs that beg to differ, but I know that I am a fabulous driver. I have somewhere to be, I’m going to get there in a timely manner. When I’m on the parkway, already doing 20 miles (safely) over the limit, don’t you DARE have the nerve to pass ME, honk at me, or glare at me from your dumb ass reclined driver seat that you can't possibly see over. I can’t wait until Norman Black, the state trooper who gave me a ticket for going 10 (okay, 28) miles over the limit, gives you a speeding ticket. It's gonna be tough paying for your trunk stereo system when you have a $215 ticket to pay to the great state of New York. Back the fuck off.

3. The sketch man sitting outside of Delia’s at the mall. Do not sit there with your compadres, eating a stale cinnamon sugar pretzel or a cup of Dip N' Dots and try to “holla” at me while I’m simply trying to exchange one of my in denial, too small purchases. Offering to buy me a piece of “jewelry” from Things Remembered is not the way to woo me. “Jewelry” from Things Remembered is the equivalent of buying a piece of “crystal” from a Hallmark store. If it's sitting next to a tower of discounted Beanie Babies and a pack of Rollos, it ain’t crystal. If its sitting next to a heart-shaped serving spoon and a crucifix alarm clock, it ain't jewelry. Back the fuck off.

You all get the gist. Whether you are pissing me off, or just too close to my personal space, back the fuck off. Seriously. Back off. Im just a simply, quiet, introverted gal.