July 23, 2009

Will This Vacation Ever End?

LA is depressing. How can anyone live with the traffic and smog? The family is successfully annoying the hell out of each other, and I have officially begun counting down the days till we get back. I haven't been online for over a week, how did I survive 17 years without the internet? I miss you all, I miss my bed, I miss my sanity. Keep me in your thoughts, or prayers, or meditations, or whatever religious pratices you do, or do not participate in cause the next 3 days might be the end me of. Sent via text

July 17, 2009

Los Angeles and Other Shenanigans

Just a little heads up, I'll be in LA for the next week for a family reunion with the in-laws and won't have the time/patience or internet access to post. But I promise, with these nut jobs I will have plenty to write about when I return.

Also, on a side note, I am a nursing student, not an English major, and unless I'm turning in my most recent Pharmacology Case study, I do not care about grammar.
Keep busting my balls over bullshit grammar mistakes, and I'll keep making them, because (once again) I do not care about grammar.
Deal with it, or go away...your senseless attacks and irrational rants are not wanted here.

And also, last time I checked grammar never saved anyone's life, and nurses are paid substantially more then English majors anyways.

July 15, 2009

Classic Cars and Inbreds

Community tradition is a big deal in my little town in the middle of nowhere. It's a time when all the under-educated mill workers change out of their Carharts and shake the sawdust from their hair, when the rednecks and backwood inbreds make their way off the set of Deliverance and rejoin society for a bit of good old fashion entertainment.

Since before I was born a Classic Car Show would take place every year in the middle of July. I grew up watching the old cars cruise downtown, while running out into the street to pick up candy the riders would throw out the windows. This was before the days of razor blades in laffy taffy, hypodermic needles filled with AIDS in caramel apples, and cyanide-laced packages of pixy stix.

Last weekend was the Annual Classic Car Show and the entire 24 thousand members of my pathetic community packed up their blankets, folding chairs, and ice-chests full of piss beer, and claimed their spots on the sidewalk to watch the festivities.

The entire 5 block section of downtown is blocked off during The Cruise to provide ample room for overpriced restored classics to show off their new chrome grills, neon under lights, NOS injections, and spinners. Seems to me they have completely missed the point of a classic, as you would have never seen those shenanigans in the 50's.

I happen to live in the downtown area, and was slightly concerned I wouldn't be allowed to drive to work during The Cruise due to road closure, but was assured by an officer on duty near my house that they would allow me through.

15 minutes before my shift I hopped in our old truck and set off for work. Now, I have been warned several times, by several different people that there is something seriously wrong with our truck, but have never had the time, or the money to do anything about it. So we do our best to keep her running, but know its only a matter of time before she dies.

I proceeded with caution as I drove through the Cruise. I tried my best to keep a low profile as I stuck out like a sore thumb between a 53' Oldsmobile Rocket and a 57' Chevrolet Bel Air.

And then it happened. The spark plugs flipped me the bird as they laid down for a nap, the transmission went on vacation with the starter, and the alternator was strung out on smack.

So there I sat, in the middle of the road. Broke down, in front of my entire community, the local news crew, a SWAT team circling ahead in a government chopper, and Jesus descending from the heavens. And there I sat for what seemed like days, with horns honking all around me, and hicks throwing empty beer cans, while an officer gently suggested that I get the fuck out of the road.

I turned the key....And nothing.

"You're ruining the show!!"

I turned the key again....nothing.

"Your truck sucks!!!"

I turned the key, said a silent prayer.....and she finally started.

"Your mother was a whore!!"

Ok, I'll admit that I was ruining the show, and my truck really does suck, but the last comment was completely unnecessary, so as I hit the gas as hard as I could, I leaned out the window and yelled...

"Yah, well your mother is your sister, you stupid inbred bastard..."

...I love this town

July 13, 2009

But I'm a Celebrity, I Swear!!

Several months ago, when I was still fairly new to the Steakhouse I had a run in with some very memorable guests. The night had been a crazy one, but when things started to slow down a bit, three servers and the hostess ran outside for a quick cigarette. Being the only one who doesn't smoke I inherited every table, and the whole lobby to keep an eye on.

I was busy running around when I heard the front door bang loudly against the wall, as if it was violently thrown open. Startled, I turned around and saw a large group of men walking in. They were heavily tattooed, fully clad in leather and studded belts, had full beards, and they wore sunglasses, even though it was dark and we were indoors. I assumed they were members of Hells Angels, and were just passing through our tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I greeted them with a smile, and asked if they had a reservation as we were still fairly busy and there were quite a few of them.
Biker #1 leaned in uncomfortably close and snapped "What?! We don't need a reservation. Don't you know who we are"
Unfortunately I had no idea who they were, and without missing a beat I made sure to tell him such.
"Fine!! We need a table for 15, and make it private. We don't want to be bothered." Growled Biker #1.
After taking there order, curiosity got the best of me.

GH: "Ok, so who are you guys anyways?! Are you bikers?"

Biker #1: "We aren't no piece of shit bikers! We're a band"

GH: "A band, huh?"

Biker #2: "Uhhh..Ya, a Band... and we're kind of a big deal"
(Thanks Ron Burgundy)

GH: "Uhh, ya... sure you are"
*laughs and walks away

Back in the kitchen I told everyone what had happened, and one by one they went to take a look, all returning with blank, confused looks. Apparently nobody knew who they were.
An hour and 10 pitchers of beer later, the restaurant was bombarded by high school girls. Complete with squealing, screaming, picture taking, and autograph signing, our doubts about "The band" were laid to rest, though we still had no idea who the hell they were.

When I dropped their check, they continued to insist they were a famous band. At that point, it wasn't that I didn't believe them, rather that I just didn't give a shit. These guys strut into the steakhouse, chests over-inflated with pride, and expect me to hand feed them grapes while fanning them off with palm branches because they're some super popular band, well they can have a heaping portion of Fuck off, because I don't care.
Upon leaving, Biker #1 walks up to me, and while seriously invading my personal space, he grunts "Go home and Google us. You're going to feel really stupid when you see just how popular we are." So, I did Google them when I got home. I read that they were touring with Papa Roach, Avenged Sevenfold and Hinder, none of which I give a damn about. I read that their hit song was on top of the charts, and that they had been nominated for several Grammys.

I couldn't help but laugh because none of that mattered to me.
And I hoped that as they stumbled back into their tour bus they felt a little bit of humility, as they realized maybe they aren't really as big of a deal as they thought.

Now the questions remains, without consulting Google, and only having looked at them, would you have known who they were?

July 7, 2009

Your Uterus Said What?

I don't want children. I never have, and I probably never will. I think I lack a basic maternal instincts that women swear is inherit in all of us. I get glares from people when I tell them I'm not interested in raising kids, or that I really don't like babies. Women get so offended, almost as if not wanting children is blasphemous. I rarely share my opinion for fear of being stoned to death.

Problem is, I hate taking the Pill. The hormones have made me crazy, headachy, and helped me easily pack on the marriage 20lbs that I swore I would avoid. So recently my husband and I began joking that I should just have a hysterectomy. (OK, so maybe we were only half joking, though I doubt they would even do the procedure on someone so young.)
Well, about a week ago I saw this on Cake Wrecks, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I began doing some serious research, and even made a few calls to women that I knew had the procedure done, all of them unanimously agreed that I should do nothing of the sort. They all said they felt the same at my age, but later decided they really wanted a family after all.
Nothing they said mattered. I had hysterectomy on the brain. I wanted nothing more then for my surgeon to filet my uterus into bite size pieces and remove them one by one from my abdominal cavity.

And then I had this dream.
I was lying in a hospital bed post-op. I was feeling weak, and leaned forward for a glass of water when I heard someone weeping. I looked around to identify the sound when I saw my Uterus sitting up in a chair next to me.

Uterus: "Why would you want to get rid of me? We still had so many good years left together."
GH: "It's nothing personal Uterus. I just don't want children and this was the easiest way."
Uterus: "You're going to regret this."

Suddenly my Uterus leaps forward and starts stabbing me. My ovaries start a war chant, and my fallopian tubes wrap around my neck and start choking me.

In the struggle for my life I jerk awake, and see husband laughing at me. Apparently I woke him up shouting "NO Uterus, NO!!"

Now, I've never been one to interpret dreams, but honestly, a bloodthirsty Uterus avenging its death by murdering me?! What the fuck?
Maybe for now I will leave my lady parts alone, and who knows, maybe my friends are right and eventually when I'm older I will want that family after all.

Happy Holidays, You Bastard

Friday morning I woke up early. Filled with anticipation I began pulling out sleeping bags, chairs, and ice chests from storage. I suddenly started to feel a bit queasy so returned to bed for a few more hours of shut eye. I woke some time later with a raging migraine, stumbling to the bathroom I was met by an unexpected visitor.
That bitch Aunt Flow couldn't have waited until after the weekend to ruin my life for the next 5 days? I marked tampons on my list of things to pick up at the store, and went about my business after taking upwards of 1,000 mg of Tylenol.
We arrived at our camp site after sweating it out for nearly 3 hours in the truck. It was a beautiful, cloudless sky, with temperatures somewhere in the 90's. We began unloading the truck when out of nowhere a flash flood tore through the campground destroying everything in its path.We took shelter in the truck for about an hour while our bags, blankets, and tents were demolished.
Within minutes the sky was blue and the sun returned. Determined to have a good time we did our best to salvage the firewood and shook the tent dry.
The rest of the evening was enjoyable, as we barbecued, drank, and enjoyed family we rarely see.

I awoke Saturday with a stiff neck and a sore throat, not to mention cramps and a blinding headache from my period. I hadn't slept well, but then again I never sleep well while camping so I got up, had a cup of coffee, and begin feeling better.
Husband and I went on a beautiful hike, and took the kayaks out on the lake. The sun's rays stung my white legs, but it felt so good.
Back at camp my father-in-law was preparing lunch, and I decided to lay down for a nap. Waking I felt worse then I did before laying down. My entire body was achy, I had a fever, my throat was raw, and I was shivering excessively even though it was hot as hell.
I had the flu. First the period, then the flood, and now the damn flu.
Husband suggested we just go home, but I didn't want to ruin the weekend for him to so I said I would try and ride it out. We didn't drive all that way to miss the fireworks either.
I spent the rest of the day puking, shivering, and trying not to move since my entire body felt bruised.

At 10pm the fireworks finally began, yet I was bundled up in my sleeping bag, with ear plugs jammed into my ears, praying for silence so the migraine might subside. After the fireworks, husband returned to find me passed out with puke in my hair, and along the side of my sleeping bag. He picked me up, put me in the car, packed up all our shit, and drove me home.

So, all together it was a pretty unsuccessful holiday weekend. One of the worst in fact. But upon reminiscing I have to laugh a bit. It was certainly unforgettable and after the hell I raised at the restaurant, quite ironic.

How was everyone else's holiday weekend? Got a story to top mine?

July 1, 2009

The Lettuce is Dirty

Due to rapid oxidation of cut fruits and vegetables, a light brownish tint often appears. This is in no way dangerous to your health, and the food item is still perfectly safe to eat.
This is a fact that I though everyone in the world was aware of. I admit it is not the most glamorous thing to look at, and the thought of eating it may even cause us to cringe, but the simple knowledge that it is a natural reaction, and completely harmless give us relief while taking a big bite. At the steakhouse we go through a lot of salad mix. It is hard to catch every piece of lettuce that has a slight discoloration, but we do try to make sure the salads we serve are presentable, and look appetizing.

During a slow evening shift this week, I had the pleasure of serving a family that had apparently been living under a rock since before the Stone Age. Loud grunts and snorts were their means of communication, as was picking lice out of each others hair, and hunting for dinner with wielded clubs.

Caveman: "Messss, S'cuse me messs"
GH: "Yes sir, how can I help you?"
CM: "Salliddds durt"
GH: "I'm sorry, did you say the salad is dirty?"
CM: "Yuss. Look. Its bruwn...still has durt."
GH: Looking forward, and noticing a few tiny brown specks on the spine on the Romaine lettuce "Oh, sir, thats nothing to worry about it. The lettuce is just beginning to oxidize. Its perfectly safe."
CM: "Nooaa... its durrt. I wann new one. Plezz go out bak and pick somme freshh let-us from garden. Make shurre to wash let-us befor return."

Oh good Christ. Fresh lettuce? Garden? Really. "Oh sir. No problem at all, but you'll have to give me a few extra minutes out in the garden, as I also have to water the tomatoes, and compost your leftovers for next seasons harvest."