A note came home from school with Brandon the other day. "Help us celebrate Black History Month," it said. "On Friday, dress your child as a famous African-American."
Why must they tempt me to mischief so?
Do you think they only gave us one day's notice due to rampant senses of humor in the Foster family which are liable to run amok if we had a little more time? That's my theory, but we still put our heads together to contrive a costume on one day's notice. Brandon does a hilarious imitation of Dave Chappelle doing Samuel L. Jackson, but it entails too much cussing. We had a lot of other great ideas for him--he could be JJ from Good Times, or Redd Foxx, or even Beyonce. I personally was voting for Flava Flav, since it would have been pretty easy just to tie a clock around his neck.
However he decided he'd be Barack Obama. He has a suit that used to be the Clark Kent part of a Superman costume, and an old cassette tape carrier that could be a mini-briefcase. All he needed was a mask. I called Party City and Spencer's. Nothing. All that was left was a rather uppity costume shop, but since we happened to wind up having supper at the Blimpie right beside it, we popped in to check.
An old fat queen--think Truman Capote without the voice--was sewing something when we walked in. His back was turned but after a few minutes he deigned to glance over his shoulders at us. "May I help you?" he asked boredly. I didn't like him already, but y'know, you do anything for kids, so I politely asked, "Would you happen to have a Barack Obama mask?" "NO," he snorted, as if this were the most obscure thing anybody could want. He then proceeded to recommend some oddball place in midtown or whatever, because he didn't get that I needed the mask right then.
So we were screwed, and Brandon just went to school in regular clothes this morning. Only tonight did we recall that he ALSO does a hilarious imitation of Lil John. So next year, we're gonna be ON the costume thing in advance. Get him some long dreads and dark shades and a grill and he'll be all set. YAY-uh!!
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Product Recommendations
Three products have I to recommend unto you this evening.
The first, which somebody purchased for our restroom at work, is LYSOL CITRUS spray. I don't know whether it kills any germs, but it smells so damn good you'll be hoping one of your family members will get in there and stink up the bathroom just to give you an excuse to spray it.
The second product is ARM & HAMMER WHITENING BOOSTER. Or maybe it's called "tooth whitening booster." Anyway, it costs about four bucks and you put it on your toothbrush right on top of your regular toothpaste. Brian and I could both tell a difference in our teefs within a couple of days.
The final recipient of my kudos is KABOOM TUB & SHOWER CLEANER. It's not quite so miraculous as my beloved Mr. Clean in the pink and blue bottle, which they abruptly snatched off the market (after hearing how much I liked it, no doubt). I don't want you to get the idea that I like to clean things--in fact scrubbing a bathtub is my very least favorite household chore. That's why I like to buy a product that doesn't screw around. Don't mix it up with that Arm & Hammer stuff, though.
In all fairness I have to mention a product that sucked. I wasn't surprised that it sucked, but it did suck in that not only did it not work, at all, but it cost me twelve dollars. I am speaking of Garnier Nutritioniste Skin Renew Anti-Puff Eye Roller. WHATEVER. This fancily-named cosmetic thingy did nothing whatsoever to lessen my resemblance to an alcoholic racoon who just went a few rounds with Mike Tyson.
Do you have any recommendations for me?
The first, which somebody purchased for our restroom at work, is LYSOL CITRUS spray. I don't know whether it kills any germs, but it smells so damn good you'll be hoping one of your family members will get in there and stink up the bathroom just to give you an excuse to spray it.
The second product is ARM & HAMMER WHITENING BOOSTER. Or maybe it's called "tooth whitening booster." Anyway, it costs about four bucks and you put it on your toothbrush right on top of your regular toothpaste. Brian and I could both tell a difference in our teefs within a couple of days.
The final recipient of my kudos is KABOOM TUB & SHOWER CLEANER. It's not quite so miraculous as my beloved Mr. Clean in the pink and blue bottle, which they abruptly snatched off the market (after hearing how much I liked it, no doubt). I don't want you to get the idea that I like to clean things--in fact scrubbing a bathtub is my very least favorite household chore. That's why I like to buy a product that doesn't screw around. Don't mix it up with that Arm & Hammer stuff, though.
In all fairness I have to mention a product that sucked. I wasn't surprised that it sucked, but it did suck in that not only did it not work, at all, but it cost me twelve dollars. I am speaking of Garnier Nutritioniste Skin Renew Anti-Puff Eye Roller. WHATEVER. This fancily-named cosmetic thingy did nothing whatsoever to lessen my resemblance to an alcoholic racoon who just went a few rounds with Mike Tyson.
Do you have any recommendations for me?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Workplace Tale 4: Joanna and the Speculums
One time I worked in a doctor's office. We had this one nurse named Joanna who I guess maybe wasn't what you'd call a clean freak... though most of her failings were dog-related. I mean she had these dogs and she let them ride around in her car and get their fur all over it and mash their noses up against the windows and all, so we never went to lunch in Joanna's car.
Joanna also had some white nurse-pants that her dogs jumped on with muddy feet one day. At the time we figured that was the last we'd ever see of those pants, but no. The mud stains never came out but she continued to wear the pants at least once a week.
Still I can't say that her work habits were dirty, at least so far as I knew.
But one summer Monday I arrived at the office to find the waiting room doors propped open by electric fans, the patients gagging, and an aggressive smell in the air--a downright shocking odor suggesting that perhaps a corpse had been stuffed with expired tuna and left to decompose behind the magazine rack.
Joanna had forgotten to clean the speculums.
Apparently once speculums were used, the nurses dropped them into a container of cleaning solution temporarily and then sterilized them all at once when the day was over. Joanna had neglected this little duty, and the result, after a weekend of marination, was a smell so thick it made you embarrassed to be a girl.
I don't know if she got into trouble for it or if the doctors figured she was suffering enough already. I just remember thinking that I hoped it wasn't a first visit for any of the patients that morning. No excuse in the world could have convinced me to be examined in that office after one whiff.
Joanna also had some white nurse-pants that her dogs jumped on with muddy feet one day. At the time we figured that was the last we'd ever see of those pants, but no. The mud stains never came out but she continued to wear the pants at least once a week.
Still I can't say that her work habits were dirty, at least so far as I knew.
But one summer Monday I arrived at the office to find the waiting room doors propped open by electric fans, the patients gagging, and an aggressive smell in the air--a downright shocking odor suggesting that perhaps a corpse had been stuffed with expired tuna and left to decompose behind the magazine rack.
Joanna had forgotten to clean the speculums.
Apparently once speculums were used, the nurses dropped them into a container of cleaning solution temporarily and then sterilized them all at once when the day was over. Joanna had neglected this little duty, and the result, after a weekend of marination, was a smell so thick it made you embarrassed to be a girl.
I don't know if she got into trouble for it or if the doctors figured she was suffering enough already. I just remember thinking that I hoped it wasn't a first visit for any of the patients that morning. No excuse in the world could have convinced me to be examined in that office after one whiff.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Things We Talk About In Bed
"Hey," I said to Brian last night, in the dark. "If we were contestants on The $20,000 Pyramid and the category was "Things Associated with Rednecks," what clues would you give me?"
"Skoal," he answered immediately. "Nascar. Country music. Big belt buckles."
"Hmm," I said. "Those are good. I was thinking of camouflage clothes. Wrestling. Smoking." I paused, then added, "An unreasonable love of American-made cars."
He laughed, then we thought of some more: Rebel flags. Skynyrd. Bumper stickers about Jesus.
These are the kinds of things we talk about in bed.
"Skoal," he answered immediately. "Nascar. Country music. Big belt buckles."
"Hmm," I said. "Those are good. I was thinking of camouflage clothes. Wrestling. Smoking." I paused, then added, "An unreasonable love of American-made cars."
He laughed, then we thought of some more: Rebel flags. Skynyrd. Bumper stickers about Jesus.
These are the kinds of things we talk about in bed.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Workplace Tale 3: The Pursuit of Employment
This is a 3-in-one post about job interviews. The first two are my personal stories while the third is a friend's.
I used to be a bartender. I went to Georgia School of Bartending which offered lifetime job placement, so whenever I was out of work I could call them up and they'd send me on interviews. One time, they advised me of an opening at a strip club that I believe was called the KitCat Club. Of course as a bartender I would keep my clothes on, so I thought, What the heck, I might make good money at a place like that. At the time I had never set foot in a strip club in my life but the guy at the bartending school told me to just ask for Jane. I got there and walked up to the door, and I told the guy who was collecting the cover charge that I had an appointment with Jane. He called her. I was picturing every other female restaurant manager I'd ever met--middle-aged, overweight, stern. Well. Jane soon appeared: long, lean, brunette, and topless. I found it quite hard to have a conversation with her and ignore her large naked breasts. The bartending job had already been filled anyway, but I got an interesting experience for my trouble.
Another time, the bartending school sent me to interview at a country club. The guy who interviewed me was either the food and beverage manager or the golf pro--I can't remember which, but anyway in my memory he looks and sounds just like John Madden, if that gives you a mental picture. It was a pretty standard interview; fill out an application, tell a little bit about where you worked before, etc. Then the guy followed up by asking me, "You never got caught f---ing any ni-g-rs in the back of a car or anything like that, did you?" I seem to recall that the club was closed that day; anyway there weren't many people around, and this question made the hair on my neck stand up, it was so creepy. I was like, No, dude. Now let me out of here before you come unhinged anymore than you already are. Needless to say, I didn't take the job.
Last story: Brian and I once had a friend named Jerri. She was a large woman, both tall and heavy. She shared the story of sitting down for an interview in a leather chair, and ripping a fart so loud that her interviewer could not control his laughter. He held a manila folder in front of his face to try to hide his mirth, but unfortunately the sound was not the only problem: "The man needed a gas mask," Jerri said. She hauled herself out of the leather chair, ran for the nearest restroom and burst into tears. But the interviewer eventually got himself together and sent his secretary to get Jerri, and he gave her the job anyway.
I used to be a bartender. I went to Georgia School of Bartending which offered lifetime job placement, so whenever I was out of work I could call them up and they'd send me on interviews. One time, they advised me of an opening at a strip club that I believe was called the KitCat Club. Of course as a bartender I would keep my clothes on, so I thought, What the heck, I might make good money at a place like that. At the time I had never set foot in a strip club in my life but the guy at the bartending school told me to just ask for Jane. I got there and walked up to the door, and I told the guy who was collecting the cover charge that I had an appointment with Jane. He called her. I was picturing every other female restaurant manager I'd ever met--middle-aged, overweight, stern. Well. Jane soon appeared: long, lean, brunette, and topless. I found it quite hard to have a conversation with her and ignore her large naked breasts. The bartending job had already been filled anyway, but I got an interesting experience for my trouble.
Another time, the bartending school sent me to interview at a country club. The guy who interviewed me was either the food and beverage manager or the golf pro--I can't remember which, but anyway in my memory he looks and sounds just like John Madden, if that gives you a mental picture. It was a pretty standard interview; fill out an application, tell a little bit about where you worked before, etc. Then the guy followed up by asking me, "You never got caught f---ing any ni-g-rs in the back of a car or anything like that, did you?" I seem to recall that the club was closed that day; anyway there weren't many people around, and this question made the hair on my neck stand up, it was so creepy. I was like, No, dude. Now let me out of here before you come unhinged anymore than you already are. Needless to say, I didn't take the job.
Last story: Brian and I once had a friend named Jerri. She was a large woman, both tall and heavy. She shared the story of sitting down for an interview in a leather chair, and ripping a fart so loud that her interviewer could not control his laughter. He held a manila folder in front of his face to try to hide his mirth, but unfortunately the sound was not the only problem: "The man needed a gas mask," Jerri said. She hauled herself out of the leather chair, ran for the nearest restroom and burst into tears. But the interviewer eventually got himself together and sent his secretary to get Jerri, and he gave her the job anyway.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Workplace Tale 2: Psycho Christian Wife
One time I worked at a company that manufactured styrofoam boards. It was a small company. I was the receptionist and general office chick; I entered orders into the computer and stuff like that.
We had three outside salesmen who called in to the office numerous times daily, so I quickly got acquainted with them. Two were in Atlanta and actually came into the office fairly often. The other, whose name was John, was based in Alabama and never came in. Although I joked around and talked trash with both of the Atlanta reps, the FIRST thing I was ever told about John was that he was a "born-again Christian." To me this pretty well equates to "tight-ass stick in the mud," so I was never any more than mildly friendly and courteous when talking to him.
Once a week I put together a package of various reports and things to mail out to each sales rep. I felt rather sorry for John, stuck off by himself in Alabama and having no camaraderie with the rest of us, so I used to stick a Post-It note on top of his reports. It would say....brace yourself..."Hi, John!" Sometimes when I was feeling especially wild, I'd draw a smiley face.
So one day the office phone rang, and when I answered it, a lady asked to speak to one of my coworkers [who, it turned out, she wrongly thought was my boss]. The coworker was unavailable, so the lady then identified herself as, oh, let's call her Chrissy Christian--John's wife.
"Oh, HI, Chrissy!" I said in delighted surprise. I was just tickled pink to get to talk to her, since unlike the other salesmen's wives, she'd never called in before.
Turned out, though, that Chrissy had an agenda. She wanted to know what was the meaning of these notes I was sending to her husband. What was my intention? She and John had discussed it, she said, and he assured her he had never given me any encouragement. She didn't like it, didn't appreciate it, and wanted to know what it was all about. Oh and by the way, how old was I?
I was about twenty-three or -four, I guess, and COMPLETELY MORTIFIED. The very idea of these two married people sitting around their living room having a heated discussion about my inappropriate (???) notes to her husband! The very idea of HER (not John, who worked there) trying to call my BOSS over it! What was my intention? A friendly hello, you crazy bat.
I assured her that she would NEVER have to worry again--which was an understatement, because I was a frickin' iceberg to her gonadally-challenged husband from that day forward. When I hung up after her call I marched straight into the office of the lady she'd been trying to call about me, and bawled my eyes out, I was so embarrassed and so mad.
I wonder sometimes if these two lovely Christian folks stayed married. For all their fine principles, I think you'd have to be the most nightmarish kind of an insecure psycho shrew to call your husband's job and mess up his relationships with his coworkers over a Post-It note that said "Hi."
We had three outside salesmen who called in to the office numerous times daily, so I quickly got acquainted with them. Two were in Atlanta and actually came into the office fairly often. The other, whose name was John, was based in Alabama and never came in. Although I joked around and talked trash with both of the Atlanta reps, the FIRST thing I was ever told about John was that he was a "born-again Christian." To me this pretty well equates to "tight-ass stick in the mud," so I was never any more than mildly friendly and courteous when talking to him.
Once a week I put together a package of various reports and things to mail out to each sales rep. I felt rather sorry for John, stuck off by himself in Alabama and having no camaraderie with the rest of us, so I used to stick a Post-It note on top of his reports. It would say....brace yourself..."Hi, John!" Sometimes when I was feeling especially wild, I'd draw a smiley face.
So one day the office phone rang, and when I answered it, a lady asked to speak to one of my coworkers [who, it turned out, she wrongly thought was my boss]. The coworker was unavailable, so the lady then identified herself as, oh, let's call her Chrissy Christian--John's wife.
"Oh, HI, Chrissy!" I said in delighted surprise. I was just tickled pink to get to talk to her, since unlike the other salesmen's wives, she'd never called in before.
Turned out, though, that Chrissy had an agenda. She wanted to know what was the meaning of these notes I was sending to her husband. What was my intention? She and John had discussed it, she said, and he assured her he had never given me any encouragement. She didn't like it, didn't appreciate it, and wanted to know what it was all about. Oh and by the way, how old was I?
I was about twenty-three or -four, I guess, and COMPLETELY MORTIFIED. The very idea of these two married people sitting around their living room having a heated discussion about my inappropriate (???) notes to her husband! The very idea of HER (not John, who worked there) trying to call my BOSS over it! What was my intention? A friendly hello, you crazy bat.
I assured her that she would NEVER have to worry again--which was an understatement, because I was a frickin' iceberg to her gonadally-challenged husband from that day forward. When I hung up after her call I marched straight into the office of the lady she'd been trying to call about me, and bawled my eyes out, I was so embarrassed and so mad.
I wonder sometimes if these two lovely Christian folks stayed married. For all their fine principles, I think you'd have to be the most nightmarish kind of an insecure psycho shrew to call your husband's job and mess up his relationships with his coworkers over a Post-It note that said "Hi."
Friday, February 13, 2009
COMMENT, damn you!
You people are not fooling me--I know you're reading because my hit counter goes up.
So quit lurking around and speak up, whoever you are! I changed the settings so if you tried to comment in the past and it was a hassle, it should be easier.
Now please enjoy the first in my new series of anecdotes from my numerous jobs.
So quit lurking around and speak up, whoever you are! I changed the settings so if you tried to comment in the past and it was a hassle, it should be easier.
Now please enjoy the first in my new series of anecdotes from my numerous jobs.
Workplace Tale #1: The Drive-Thru
This is a quick one--that's why I chose it for tonight. And by the way, if you know me personally you might have heard some of these tales before. But anyway:
One time I worked at a bank, and the building that it was in had previously been a Del Taco. It still had the Spanish-tiled roof, and once in a while people would walk in, look around in a dazed manner, and then exit without saying anything. We never knew but assumed they had been in search of a burrito rather than a car loan or whatever. I mention this only to establish that the bank was set amongst a bunch of fast food restaurants.
There was a Pizza Hut on one side of us and a Church's Chicken on the other. One day a particularly unobservant and nasally-voiced woman evidently turned into the wrong parking lot by mistake. Not to be deterred by the lack of a menu or speaker box, she pulled right up to the drive-thru teller window and drawled, "I want two chickin bray-usts and a Co-Cola."
One time I worked at a bank, and the building that it was in had previously been a Del Taco. It still had the Spanish-tiled roof, and once in a while people would walk in, look around in a dazed manner, and then exit without saying anything. We never knew but assumed they had been in search of a burrito rather than a car loan or whatever. I mention this only to establish that the bank was set amongst a bunch of fast food restaurants.
There was a Pizza Hut on one side of us and a Church's Chicken on the other. One day a particularly unobservant and nasally-voiced woman evidently turned into the wrong parking lot by mistake. Not to be deterred by the lack of a menu or speaker box, she pulled right up to the drive-thru teller window and drawled, "I want two chickin bray-usts and a Co-Cola."
Saturday, February 7, 2009
The Pet Peeves I Promised You
I'm only posting this because I said I would, and I only said I would because I found this list stuck in my desk recently. I'm really all excited about what I'm going to post NEXT--because I had already planned a series of posts about crazy-ass things that have happened to me on various jobs over the years, but in the meantime, Brian has stunned me with a dirty confession that you'll probably like to hear about.
But for now, the pet peeves. Let's count 'em down. (I can't believe I haven't listed ten, since I'm so easily annoyed by so many things, but I've only got eight.)
8) People who sit right beside me in empty restaurants. (I know I've mentioned this before, that's why it's number 8.) And to this one I'll add those people who must sit directly in front of me at a movie when there are only about six couples in the whole place.
7)Cashiers who put coins on top of bills when giving me change. It's backwards.
6) People who blow their noses in public. God knows what debris from my snot-filled coworkers has landed on me, but I despise this practice in restaurants even more. I have seen people blow their noses in linen napkins at restaurants. I always want to go over and say,"Pardon me, but would it offend you if I vomit on you and ruin your meal the way you ruined mine?"
5)People who casually work things into conversation to let me know how much money they have. I don't begrudge anybody who's rich and happy about it but I'd rather they came right out and said "Hey, I'm a rich sonofabitch, whaddya think of that?" Then I could respond in kind and say, "Must be nice." But if they casually drop a comment about how they had a flat on their Jaguar, I'm just going to stare at them like they're speaking a different language, because I'd rather die than go, "Wow, you have a Jaguar?!COOL!" That would satisfy them too much.
4)People who make plans with me and then blow me off. I have permanently broken ties with more than one friend over this. I understand that things come up unexpectedly sometimes, or sometimes we just change our minds, but we all have telephones.
3)Nervous laughers. People who laugh after everything they say, even if it's not the least bit humorous. It's almost like they're apologetic for having spoken at all, so they add a laugh to everything in case anybody takes offense or disagrees. Then they can say, "Just kidding!" I think they should either grow a pair or shut up.
2)People who write YOUR instead of YOU'RE. This is just plain stupidity.
And my number one pet peeve of all time...is...
1) When people (other than Jim) say to me, "SMILE!" Jim is my friend and my old boyfriend, and he gets a pass on this one because he's been saying it to me for twenty-six years. But WOE BE UNTO STRANGERS who dare to insinuate that my facial expression does not suit them. It may not surprise you to hear that goody-goody, perky friendly nice people are not my favorite people anyway, but when they take it upon themselves (and really, they actually call out to me in parking lots and such)to demand that I rearrange my face, I am struck with the desire to rearrange theirs.
But for now, the pet peeves. Let's count 'em down. (I can't believe I haven't listed ten, since I'm so easily annoyed by so many things, but I've only got eight.)
8) People who sit right beside me in empty restaurants. (I know I've mentioned this before, that's why it's number 8.) And to this one I'll add those people who must sit directly in front of me at a movie when there are only about six couples in the whole place.
7)Cashiers who put coins on top of bills when giving me change. It's backwards.
6) People who blow their noses in public. God knows what debris from my snot-filled coworkers has landed on me, but I despise this practice in restaurants even more. I have seen people blow their noses in linen napkins at restaurants. I always want to go over and say,"Pardon me, but would it offend you if I vomit on you and ruin your meal the way you ruined mine?"
5)People who casually work things into conversation to let me know how much money they have. I don't begrudge anybody who's rich and happy about it but I'd rather they came right out and said "Hey, I'm a rich sonofabitch, whaddya think of that?" Then I could respond in kind and say, "Must be nice." But if they casually drop a comment about how they had a flat on their Jaguar, I'm just going to stare at them like they're speaking a different language, because I'd rather die than go, "Wow, you have a Jaguar?!COOL!" That would satisfy them too much.
4)People who make plans with me and then blow me off. I have permanently broken ties with more than one friend over this. I understand that things come up unexpectedly sometimes, or sometimes we just change our minds, but we all have telephones.
3)Nervous laughers. People who laugh after everything they say, even if it's not the least bit humorous. It's almost like they're apologetic for having spoken at all, so they add a laugh to everything in case anybody takes offense or disagrees. Then they can say, "Just kidding!" I think they should either grow a pair or shut up.
2)People who write YOUR instead of YOU'RE. This is just plain stupidity.
And my number one pet peeve of all time...is...
1) When people (other than Jim) say to me, "SMILE!" Jim is my friend and my old boyfriend, and he gets a pass on this one because he's been saying it to me for twenty-six years. But WOE BE UNTO STRANGERS who dare to insinuate that my facial expression does not suit them. It may not surprise you to hear that goody-goody, perky friendly nice people are not my favorite people anyway, but when they take it upon themselves (and really, they actually call out to me in parking lots and such)to demand that I rearrange my face, I am struck with the desire to rearrange theirs.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Public Admission
Here is a short list of things that I like, that I am not supposed to like. For various reasons, it is not cool to like these things. Liking them means that some people may consider me bourgeois. Luckily, I do not care. So here they are:
1)American Idol. Turn your nose up all you want--this show helps me get through the loathesome cold, dark nights of winter. I have loved it from day one, because I like to sing and I like to gossip and judge people, so the attraction is obvious. Thank you, Idol, for helping my winter weeks go by. You're a lifesaver.
2)The Olive Garden. I am sure that if I were privileged to dine in actual Italy, I would recognize this restaurant as a Disneyland sort of facsimile. I might be able to tell whether their entrees were authentically Italian. Fortunately I am ignorant of all such things, and so I love to go there. They bring me something good (and meatless) to eat, and the atmosphere is plenty Italian enough for me, because what do I know from Italy?
3)Canned Biscuits and Instant Potatoes. A can of Hungry Jack biscuits costs about a dollar and I can do about six things with them to create about three full meals. They are light and airy, they split open easily, and they taste good. Instant potatoes are just good comfort food when you want something warm and savory, and they also cost only a dollar or two for a big honking box that will keep in your pantry for the next couple of years. Hey, and while we're at it, I like buttermilk and cornbread, too. That is, you put cornbread in a glass and pour buttermilk on it. Call me a hillbilly, I don't care.
Conversely, here are some things that I am supposed to like, and don't.
1) Red wine. I'm not overly fond of any wine, but red wine is served at room temperature and tastes like dirt. What's to like? It doesn't even get you drunk very fast, I don't suppose, though I've never been able to choke down enough to tell. Sushi and caviar are also heinously gross, by the way.
2) Classical music. I don't mind a little Canon in D if I'm, oh, in an elevator or something, but I would never under any circumstances actually choose to sit around listening to classical music.
3)Christmas.
Next time I'm going to list some pet peeves I've been saving up.
1)American Idol. Turn your nose up all you want--this show helps me get through the loathesome cold, dark nights of winter. I have loved it from day one, because I like to sing and I like to gossip and judge people, so the attraction is obvious. Thank you, Idol, for helping my winter weeks go by. You're a lifesaver.
2)The Olive Garden. I am sure that if I were privileged to dine in actual Italy, I would recognize this restaurant as a Disneyland sort of facsimile. I might be able to tell whether their entrees were authentically Italian. Fortunately I am ignorant of all such things, and so I love to go there. They bring me something good (and meatless) to eat, and the atmosphere is plenty Italian enough for me, because what do I know from Italy?
3)Canned Biscuits and Instant Potatoes. A can of Hungry Jack biscuits costs about a dollar and I can do about six things with them to create about three full meals. They are light and airy, they split open easily, and they taste good. Instant potatoes are just good comfort food when you want something warm and savory, and they also cost only a dollar or two for a big honking box that will keep in your pantry for the next couple of years. Hey, and while we're at it, I like buttermilk and cornbread, too. That is, you put cornbread in a glass and pour buttermilk on it. Call me a hillbilly, I don't care.
Conversely, here are some things that I am supposed to like, and don't.
1) Red wine. I'm not overly fond of any wine, but red wine is served at room temperature and tastes like dirt. What's to like? It doesn't even get you drunk very fast, I don't suppose, though I've never been able to choke down enough to tell. Sushi and caviar are also heinously gross, by the way.
2) Classical music. I don't mind a little Canon in D if I'm, oh, in an elevator or something, but I would never under any circumstances actually choose to sit around listening to classical music.
3)Christmas.
Next time I'm going to list some pet peeves I've been saving up.
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