The Babysitter

There were days, okay weeks and months, where I begged God to release me from school and send me into the work force permanently. I was positive that my talents of cramming an 8 page paper in two hours would be better spent asking servers to run hot food and not dwell on the 10% tip they just got. I was a grade A, index finger with the thumb forming a capital L on the forehead, fool.

Really when I stopped going to school, I signed on to be a professional babysitter. It's not that I don't love each one of my "kids," but just like real kids, they drive me insane. "Kristin, can you take the salad off Table 41, he actually wanted soup...," "Kristin, my table 51 says it is too hot in here...," "Kristin I rang in the wrong steak, what do I do?" Never have I heard my name said so much in a couple minutes span. Well, if I did it wasn't in a public place and there wasn't 6 different people saying it. The best part is that now I control their schedules as well. Preparing this would be easier if I wasn't concerned with when they deserve some time for milk and cookies and maybe a nap or two. My favorites are the, "I need this day off because...," "I can't work Saturdays because...," "I changed my school schedule (for the 4th time), will it be changed for next week?"

Hey I changed my school schedule too. I stopped going so I could make your life hell. That's right, I am forsaking my education to ensure that you get scheduled on days you need off and making sure you work 4 doubles in a row to make up for it. In all reality I spend a few hours on my day OFF to make 36 people "happy." Then I get calls from my boss because I fucked something up. Probably because you changed your schedule 1/2 way through last week or you told me you could work this night, etc. You make me look like an idiot, I make him look like an idiot, which makes him more mad. But when I see you tomorrow, I will smile, ask you how your school day was and probably pull some candy out of my pocket and pat you on the head. In return, I will be shunned by my boss, loaded up with disappointment, and pop another Xanax. You didn't think that smile was all on my own did you?

Final Words: I need a hair cut, the ends are dieing again.

The Men

You want to know why women pounce on men and talk about marriage and babies after a third date? Because finding a respectable man is like finding out your not pregnant, complete relief and utter joy. (For you man readers-it's like finding out your not the baby daddy, complete relief and utter joy.) The following are examples of why women perceive men to be inconsiderate assholes in general. (Yes, I know there are good guys out there but you have to admit, there are a lot of classless jerks lurking all over the place, ready to destroy women's confidence and brag to their male friends about how "she wasn't that hot anyway"). And these are not based on bitter dating experiences. These are men just running around pissing me off.
1. Last night a party of three sits at the bar top. There is a couple with a perceived single man (this becomes apparent why he would be single later). They are all around their late 40's to early 50's. I get their first round of drinks out and hand them a menu. When they request an appetizer I put it in for them. The couple is familiar, I know I have seen them before and they seem nice. The single man loudly announces he will handle the bill tonight, so make sure to give it to him. Sign one that he is a tool. Wow, you're going to buy a dinner? How amazing of you, your mom must be proud. The night progresses, they order salads, dinner, and have a continuous flow of drinks being brought to them. Single man feels the need to order his male friend's beer for him every time I bring him a drink as well. This is starting to annoy me because the friend is only half way through his beer and I can tell single man is under the assumption that I am a bad bartender. At the end of the night, single man decides he needs one more drink for the road (oh yes older women love DUI's). So he shakes his glass at me and says "I'll have another one (exaggerated pause to make sure I know,) crown and water." Oh really? No shit asshole, this is your sixth drink and they have all been the same, thanks for the update. After issuing him the check, he puts cash down on the counter and I hear the couple ask, "Are you sure you got this?" He chuckles like he is some fucking Bill Gates millionaire and says, "Oh yeah."
The dick left me $120 to pay his $113.80 tab. Impressive, maybe now you can go take your Match.com date to dinner and ask her to pay the bill because that would make you look like less of a loser than leaving a bartender less than 10% of a tip.
2. As I am driving to pick my dad up to take him out for his birthday lunch today, I pass through a shopping strip. I am going 8-10 mph but being cautious to look for walkers. I hate when cars don't stop to let people pass. You are sitting on your ass, would you mind waiting two seconds while I cross the street. So on the left is Big Lots, on the right the parking lot. This man comes bolting out of the store with a cart. Literally he is running with an empty cart to the parking lot. i have two choices, slam on my brakes and still be past the point of letting him cross, or keep going. I keep going because I am already too far to let him go since he decided to run towards me. He slows up and yells, "Oh don't let me get in your way. Fucking asshole." No joke the guy said this to me. My window was down and like I said I wasn't going fast. As I slammed on the brake, I again confronted a dilemma. Do I reverse and show him what would happen if he had gotten in my way or do I jump out of the car and ask him if his mother ever taught him not to run in parking lots? I guess being outside of Big Lots, I should expect this but let me tell you something, I know women can be bad drivers and I have cut people off or done stupid driving things before, this man was wrong and he was a tool. Does it make you feel better to yell at a 5'2'' 22 year old? Well I hope so because you looked like a moron.
3. This one is brief. I went to the gym on Monday and as I walked up to the door, an older man was reaching the door about 20 feet before I was. It was an awkward distance, he would have to stand there and wait in order to hold the door, but not long, maybe 5-6 seconds. As he reaches the door, he looks back at me and honestly, barely opens the door and squeezes his beer gut in. I am not kidding. What the hell is the matter with you men? I'm not asking you to carry me to the front door or even say hello, just OPEN THE DOOR. You have two hands that can do more than console you after you've been rejected by another woman (probably because you had no manners).
Final Words: I am going to my first NHL game tonight. I am debating if I should color a tooth out and purchase a WWE wrestle mania shirt to better fit in.

The Groceries

Maria never ceases to amaze me. I just got back from grocery shopping with her. I am a faithful Safeway shopper. Once I find a store, I stick to it. I even hate changing locations because I like to know where everything is. Do you really like having to ask the 15 year old bagger boy who just got an erection when you looked his way where the tampons are? I prefer to just know where to go. When they move shit around to make it more "appealing" for customers I want to scream. You know what appeals to me? Everything staying where it used to be. Do the bananas really need to be up in the front of the store because they're on sale this week? Apparently Dole is seeking to pay its child labor $.50 an hour instead of $.25 so they can keep all the pseudo-liberal "I want to save the children" marijuana freaks happy. Back to Maria.
So we are shopping. I am purchasing, she is pushing the cart commenting on every item I buy. When I shop I look at the Nutrition Guide on every item. I like to know what I am putting in my temple. Every time I mention how many calories or salt or sugar is in an item, Maria talks about Chips Ahoy, Cheetos, or ice cream (brand is unidentifiable because she will eat any of them). Up and down the aisles we go, the further we go the more she is craving cakes, cookies, and ice cream even though I have purchased nothing but healthy, smart options. By the time we get to yogurt, we started on veggies which is on the complete opposite side of the store, I am ready to tear into the bakery like a crack addict showing up at Amy Winehouse's digs. As I debate between Key Lime yogurt and Kiwi Lime, Maria asks, "What is the difference anyway? What's a key?" I nearly died trying not to insult her too much after I rolled around the floor, told 3 other customers in the aisle, and pointed at her with gasping breaths from laughing so hard.
After making it make to my car, we decide to hit Yogurtland. One of those new fancy frozen yogurt items where you pick how much you want, add your own toppings and pay based on how much it weighs. I love this. First, they give you cups that could fit a small child in it, so you feel forced to fill it up more. Then they put out 300 toppings. I love watching people head up to the counter with their coconut-reeses peanut butter cup-strawberry-kiwi-chocolate chip-caramel sauce-vanilla wafers with a dab of yogurt under there somewhere. The weight groans because you now successfully created more calories in one sitting than Kirstie Alley could ever dream of. Congratulations fat ass. Now talk to your slightly chubby friend who got only fruit on hers, about how it doesn't matter because the yogurt is "fat free." Maria is not one to claim any of her food is fat free but she sure makes it hard to eat right. Tonight her toppings included: chocolate chips, brownie bites, vanilla wafers, and gummi bears. Being 5 years old again must be fun. As we head home she begs me to stop by McDonald's. I am not kidding. The bitch wants more. So she gets medium fries and chicken nuggets. Now don't get me wrong this is the same Maria from before and she's not fat. How does she do it? You know Jersey Shore? Girls with the giant hair? Maria's is three times that size. And now I know why.
Final Words: You want to know why the economy is still in an economic crisis? Because the U.S. Census Bureau sends out 5,000 different letters to every living space to make sure you're "counted." What a joke. Do me a favor, save the postage and do something useful, like I don't know, say, saving some of the thousands of public libraries across the nation that are shutting down. But hey kids don't need to read, I am sure there is an app for that.

The DVD

It has come to my attention that Jillian Michaels the devil's trainer. I mean he has to be in pretty good shape to think he can battle God right? Seriously the bitch is crazy. I am in the middle of one of her work out DVD's screaming at her for "encouraging" me when it hits me. I don't actually have to do what she says. In fact I can turn her off I wanted. Oh if only I didn't desire to fit in my skinny jeans without sucking it in all night. It gets annoying when you try to do shots. What? You try holding your abs tight when you're slinging back tequila. Instead, I trudge on like a fat camp kid, going through the work out but dreaming of the extra piece of pie I am going to reward myself with for being so awesome. As I finish do I celebrate and congratulate myself for pushing through it? No. I think about how I will never have washboard abs because BevMo had a one cent wine sale and there is no way I can let that go to waste. But I am proud of the fact that I didn't throw the DVD out.
So why, you ask, am I home on a Friday night writing a blog at 9:18? I am blaming it on the fact that all the non practicing Catholics decided they would participate in Good Friday rituals and not eat meat tonight. Yeah, that's it buddy, you're going to Heaven because you gave up a steak and instead opted for lobster. I don't think I have ever seen the bar that empty before. You know the typical cricket chirps? I could hear the crickets thinking. (Hey! Hey! Look at this cool noise I can make! Hellllloooo, can you hear this?) A lot of our regulars showed up which was cool. Got to love people that insist on being made fun of by me because their lives are that devoid of interesting people. I love those people. I mean, how much more awesome can my job get? People give me money as I insult their slow drinking and comment on their graying hair. And yet they all love me. What I don't like are the people that show up and believe they are regulars, when really I have never seen them before in my life. Scenario:
Me: Hello Sir, what can I get you started to drink with?
Douchebag wanna-be VIP: Oh I'll have what I had last time, a MILLER LITE (emphasis on this as if he was saying, hey idiot, it's what I always get).
Well you know what, I do remember people that come in here. I know what it is like to be ignored (see The Bartender). But just because you wear a sports jacket with a bright colored button up shirt because you're not afraid of your "feminine side" with your ray bans on (by the way it is so dark in the restaurant that you need a flashlight to properly see the menu), does not make you better than your surrounding drinkers. You're in Mesa buddy, this isn't Scottsdale where only plastic parts get attention. Plus, you ordered a Miller Lite, there is nothing special about you or your drink; you mine as well have ordered a dirty water. The best part is when they leave me a $1 tip on $15. Wow, yeah I am really going to remember you the next time you come in - as the shitty tipper who will now never be a VIP. In fact from here on out, I will purposely pretend like I don't recognize you so you can scream Miller Lite at me and feel better about yourself.
Final Words: One of my regulars looked at me today and said, "Oh hey, that girl with the crazy hair actually brushed her hair. It's probably the second time I have seen it brushed...Looks nice." Pretty sure I peed my pants a little.

The Library

The last time I checked the library was supposed to be a place with books where craggy old women with their hair in a bun whispered SHHHH! when you coughed after catching wind of her White Diamonds perfume. (For those of you who are too young for my references, this is a popular perfume sponsored by Elizabeth Taylor. Google her, it will make sense and be funny I promise). In movies, such as Legally Blonde, students gathered together in groups and whispered about Plato and other law bull shit while being outfitted in their Harvard gear. At ASU, the scene is similar but much more befitting of the Arizona lifestyle. Hoards of students gather to talk about how hot they are and how soon they can start wearing bikinis to class. Instead of ASU gear, girls wear Victoria's Secret, the official sponsor for university whores and whore-wanna be's everywhere. (You know what I am talking about too, it is one thing to dash out the house in sweatpants because you overslept, it's a whole other level when their hair is curled and make-up done but are still wearing sweatpants but because it is VS, it is acceptable. Whatever, you still look like trash.) Whispers of Plato? How about shouts about where the next Frat party is being hosted. Yes, please, this is the atmosphere I was looking for when I decided to study about the Holocaust. People were murdered by the millions in a torturous, inhumane way, but hey! I would much rather listen to how your friend humped a dog last night. I can also take my mind off it by looking at the girl's computer next to me. Whoa, I missed another naked night of beer pong apparently. I am no Elle Woods, but IT IS A LIBRARY. Why are you meeting here to look up funny youTube videos and hang out with friends? It is called a Starbucks. They are located on every corner and allow you to be obnoxious as you want (unless you go to one with all the hip underage smoker kids who are just like, so beyond their years man). The best are the people who sit at the computers than talk on their cell phones for two hours, aimlessly clicking, pretending like they came here to work. Either you are trying to fool your parents or your latest significant other is only good for sex and being with them before bed time is similar to the way I feel about your existence invading my study time.
The greatest part about my library experience? I have to park in a structure that I pay for because it is the closest to the library, which is still a good 1/3 of a mile away. Not far, but when you charge me $12 to park there, I am pretty sure that I deserve an escort service and a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie. Economic recovery fee you say? (This is a new $400 add on to tuition for every semester in case you didn't know) Where the hell is all that parking money going? What maintenance does a concrete building need? Last time I checked we were located in Tempe, I don't need a 65 year old, over weight man riding around on his golf cart all day "protecting" my car. What are you going to do if you catch someone anyway? Rev that engine up to 3 mph? My Grandma can outrun that with her broken hip. Next time ASU needs some financial advising, maybe they should just ask me instead of sending me a "survey" about how I feel about the rising tuition costs. Wait, where's the opting for FUCKING BULL SHIT?
Final Words: These new frozen yogurt places are awesome. Fat free yogurt with multiple flavors-how healthy! I am assuming the fact that the toppings aren't labeled with nutrition facts means I can eat as much of that too as I want. Fat Americans, making excuses to sue others for making us fat, now that's food for thought.

The Cheese

You want to know the best birth control ever? Come in to the restaurant I work at on Sunday's. Imagine "Kid's Eat Free" promos combined with the fact that we are conveniently located near Mesa and Gilbert. Do any married women in that area have any other tasks to do than prepare dinner for their husbands then bang repeatedly until their 9th child is conceived? By that time I imagine kids just start walking out of the birth canal. But I am getting ahead of myself. Picture a "typical" American family. Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister, and maybe one "accident" child. I would love to believe that really is a typical sized family. Instead add about 5 more brother and sisters all eating mac and cheese, wiping their slimy fingers over everything, including each others' hair, and you have my typical Sunday. I don't understand the promotion, why do we want to ENCOURAGE this type of behavior? It's like, "hey! have more kids, we will pay for them!" (Wait, do I smell a Democrat behind this?) So we put a restriction: one kid's meal for every adult entree purchased. Well the cheap bastards have this figured out too. (Apparently the mom's do have time for something else: planning ways to screw over childless servers). Yes kid's meals can be split. Granted one portion can be something such as a half pound of macaroni, but when I split your children's FREE ice cream sundae, don't come bitching to me about how they need more. They can eat more macaroni or hey, maybe you can order them a side of french fries. Although that would mean spending $2.29 on your child. Less money for you to get your nails done and you know your husband isn't going to give you any more allowance money that week.
I'm not saying all kids are bad and I hate them, but I strongly believe that people should test dogs before they move on to a baby. Or if they believe that breeding like rabbits is going to be their lifestyle, they should invest in shock collars. The thing is kids wouldn't be so bad if their parents actually parented them. Sorry dear but when you decided to push a human being out of your vagina, you signed up for more than a cute accessory. Just because Angelina Jolie has 80 kids it doesn't make you socially cooler than your friends without kids. I'll let you in on a secret moms and dads, allowing your kids to do whatever they want when they're 5 years old means when they are 15 and stealing the minivan to smoke weed it in with their friends, it is completely your fault. Save your money, Dr. Phil can't help you. Your kid wasn't molested when they were young and are acting out because of repressed memories, no you were a fucking lazy parent! Remember when you let them smear mac and cheese sauce all over the table and drop the other half of it on the floor? Well I do, so I hope enjoy your future weed smoking, pregnant teen drama in a few years.
Final Words: Lemon flavored anything is my new obsession. I crave its' taste and smell and can't get enough. Maybe I'm pregnant...right, maybe I'm the next Virgin Mary. (Yeah try not to spit out whatever you were drinking when you read that ya jerk).

The Bartender

You know that friend you have that is pretty, dresses nice, and is fun but she isn't drop dead gorgeous or the life of the party so you can bare to be friends with her? I am that friend.
I can say with reasonable confidence that I am decent looking. I mean, I shower daily and partake in grooming rituals on a daily basis. I do know that a red shirt and purple shorts do not go together (no, not even for you Ms. "I'm so trendy because I mismatch bright colored lycra clothes from American Apparel"), and I retired my mystical dreamy colored horse shirts a long time ago (it's all about plastering Miley Cyrus gear all over yourself now). I am funny and witty but that is only if you understand my dry, and sometimes dark sense of humor. Although the people who don't get it only fuel my fire to persistently pick on their shortcomings, such as last night - "look at that girl's dress - hey hunny this is a public place, no one wants to see the nightgown grandma knitted for you last Christmas (it was a white, long, cotton dress that was flowy and had a lace collar)."
[Preface: I am in no way, jealous of Maria. I simply ask for acknowledgment. The way guys act towards her is rude and unattractive. This is, by the way, why she never goes home with you.]
But anyway, for the most part I am there for the ride, good for a few chuckles, and perfect as a drinking partner (I still manage to throw up in bathrooms and not all over bar tops.) My friend "Maria" is more the limelight character. She has huge hair, a big ass with a small waist, and cleavage that appears from no where. Seriously the girl goes from a 13 year old pre-teen to breast-enhanced model on the cover of Cosmo with the change of a shirt. I have become used to the staring (at her, not me), the comments on her hair, and the repeated cold shoulder tactic so I can fend her from "just-turned-21-year-old-male-alpha-dog-who-is-going-to-prove-to-his- friends-he-can-get-a-girl-to-go-home-with-him." What I can't seem to grasp is that our favorite bar, the one where half my life savings has gone to, continually produces ass hole bartenders who focus on Maria and neglect to acknowledge my thirst. Gentleman I will let you know something right now: If you want to get with the hot girl, you better be damn sure you take care of her best friend too. First of all, hot girl will never be alone at the bar, conveniently waiting for you to swoop down and take her home with a purse full of sex toys and a naughty nurse outfit under her jacket. Meaning, you have to get past me first. The only way that's happening is if you give me another fucking drink. Last night bartender, Tim, walks up to Maria and says "What's up Maria? Ketel and Cran?" She laughs says yes and then he looks at me, "Uh something for ya?" Oh hey genius, I have an idea, how about the same damn drink I have been ordering for a year??? And by the way I have a name. I know, crazy, but they forced my parents to write something down at gun point.
This is why I like Trevor. Trevor is our bartender normally. He puts my drink in front of me WITHOUT asking. And knows my name. He also likes Harry Potter and asked a male friend of ours one time to come over and play some Harry Potter card game that he was really excited about. Winner, winner chicken dinner.
Final Words: At least role playing as Hermione would allow me to use a wand and shout random magic words.