Many of you already know that I make my living as a bartender. I have mentioned it in the blog many times that although it is not my dream situation I have lived many years by the motto that their are better careers than bar-tending, but there are no better jobs. How many jobs can you work part time nights and pull in more than most entry level college grads do. All the while getting to meet tons of interesting people, dressing cute, making friends with co workers who are many times artists and musicians, and every week is a 3 day weekend. That being said, like everyone who works one on one with customers, we all know people are annoying. Here are the top 30 things to avoid ever doing in a night club when its really busy.
1 You hand me your Bobby Brady Allowance money all waded up to pay for your drink
2 You've ever said the words, "Scuse me"
3 Ice water
4 You've shown me your phone linked to the web with a recipe you want me to make you
5 Mojitos
6 You tip on 10 percent of your bill....you don't tip....you think 5 bucks is good for tabs between 20 and 100 bucks
7 Your an "Anna"...(I bring your drink and you keep adding to your order, "anna rum and coke, anna Bud Lite)
8 You stare at my breasts. ( At least try and be discreet)
9 No I don't remember you
10 If you tell me your a good tipper, it's just a tip that your a pain in the ass and probably tip for sh*t.
11You can't be bothered to do a lap and find the bathroom, you must stop me from what I'm doing and ask for directions
12 Waving
13 Please may I, and thank you, have been replaced with "eh ah... let me git a ah.."
14 You get my attention for someone else...bigshot
15 Ice water
16 You accuse me of short pouring you. (And while we're at it, telling me you can't taste the liquor, and your drinking vodka and juice..If you want to taste the liquor, drink something not designed to taste like nothing. See whiskey.)
17 You only drink top shelf vodka cause the rail gives you hangover, but you have no problem drinking red bull
18 You want me to guess what you'll like
19 "Make me anything as long as its not......."
20 Tapping an empty glass
21 Telling me your order even though I'm clearing ignoring you, and with another customer.
22 Drinking anything endorsed by a rapper and calling it "my drink".
23 Ice water
24 Asking for a drink on ice, in a snifter
25 Closing your tab after every drink
26 Eating out of my fruit tray
27 Ripping up coasters, receipts, and or napkins to confetti
28 Tipping in coin form of any kind
29 Asking my name so you can shout at me all night
30 Ordering drinks named after genitalia
31 You waited 10 minutes in line for a drink and don't know what you want.
32 Your wallet is still in your ass when I tell you the total..surprise you have to pay for it
33 Gum...Anywhere but your mouth or a trash can
Happy Holidays everyone! Please drink responsibly.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Freezer Cake
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| Those are regular size cocktail table candles. |
I spent some time looking at cake designs and decided on a pretty simple but elegant cake design. It was a white 3 tier square cake with some simple black icing design. Top with some flowers, and badda bing, badda bang, a cake! My very dear friend Janine had offered to make my cake as my wedding gift. I was over the moon! She is the best baker I know, her food always tastes fantastic, and a simple wedding cake costs around $1500 these days. She asked me what kind of cake I wanted, and I said I don't really like cake all that much, but I do love her carrot cake. And being that it was a fall wedding I thought carrot cake would be acceptable.
My husband thought that was a silly idea. Carrot cake? I stood my ground and convinced him that once he tasted this carrot cake he would understand. So I set a time up with Janine for us to come do a tasting and talk about the design of the cake. She asked me to pick a few flavors to chose from. So I ask my husband and he says peanut butter.
To fully understand the peanut butter thing, I have to first explain his fascination with Reeses peanut butter cups. It is somewhat a day off tradition to run our errand together and at some point stop for gas and a coke. And every time he comes out to the car with the latest Reeses product. There are cups, dark chocolate, white chocolate, king size, dipped in peanuts, rolled in dye no. 9 and xanax. There are pieces with more peanut butter, dark chocolate, milk chocolate centers, all orange, it doesn't matter that none of them taste as good as the original, if it says Reeses on the label, he buys it.
So I laugh and tell Janine that he want to try a peanut butter and chocolate cake along with the others we talked about. She sounds as confused as I expected but reluctantly agrees.
We arrive at her house and she does the best little presentation you've ever seen. She's a little like Martha Stewart, if Martha Stewart liked jagermeister, loud rock and roll, and had the cops called on her annual July 4th party for blowing up giant fireworks off the roof of her garage. We taste several cakes, yes including a peanut butter cake that was really good, but we all know I wanted carrot. After a long tug of war, trying to convince him that peanut butter is not a flavor you serve at the rooftop of a major hotel, he agreed that the carrot cake was incredible. Then the discussion about the cake design began.
She asked all the right questions about how many people the cake needed to feed and so on. She obviously knew what she was doing. But somehow the wedding pressures had weighed to far on my husband, and he decides that the cake needs to be more of a statement. He gets out a ruler and begins showing Janine how big he wants it. The look on my friends face was priceless. She explains that this cake is going to be really big, and will likely feed an army. But she agrees to do it the way he wants it, sparing a vital bridezilla breakdown.
When we arrive at the reception site and they show me the room all set up I was so blown away! It looked so wonderful! The flowers, the table clothes, and the GIANT wedding cake! She did such a great job, but this cake was easily 2 feet wide and almost 3 feet tall. I have about 85 guests. When they asked if I like to keep the top of my cake for my freezer I said Id love to. When they brought it to our room later I thought I'll need to rent a deep freeze.
As we are cutting the cake Janine leans to me and says, "Don't eat the black icing. It will stain your mouth." A piece of advice given to all the guests, all except my mother who's tongue looked like she licked Texas gold. The carrot cake lived up to it's rumors and everyone thought it was delicious. Several people mentioned how yummy it was over the next several months. And so did the bar full of drunk people that got the leftovers the next day when my family that went to have pizza.
So on the one year anniversary we pulled the cake from the freezer and as it thawed had a celebration of one year of married bliss, and the return of serious freezer space. My husband says that cake was way too big, with a smile on his face. Thank you so much Janine for getting a Cosco card to make the cake, and for making such a wonderful, decadent, beautiful, Mark McQuired wedding cake. It was fabulous then, and surprisingly stupendous a year later!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Stolen Pumpkin
Every fall, my husband and I do our grocery shopping and look at the big beautiful pumpkins and he tells me of this infamous pumpkin stew he makes. I have never had said stew, but I am told it is amazing. It is a beef stew you make in a pumpkin, and bake it in the oven. Then when you serve it, you scrape the inside of the pumpkin with the serving spoon..I salivate every time he tells me about it. He says, "Honey, I will make it for you this year."
Imagine my surprise when he picks me up with a list of things to buy for the stew. On our way to Schnucks, I get so excited. We begin combing the store for all the necessary ingredients. As our cart fills, my stomach growls. Just one item left. The pumpkin. A look of panic comes over our faces as we think back to the produce section and neither of us can remember seeing a pumpkin. They must have pumpkins, Thanksgiving is next week!
We scurry around the store and no pumpkins! My husband finds a store manager and asks where the pumpkins are. He says they shipped all of their pumpkins out after Halloween. We ask if he knows of any where to get a pumpkin, and he chuckles and says, "This time of year? Maybe a farmers market."
We get on the phone and look up the numbers to some farmers markets and all we found in the neighborhood closed at five. As we are checking out all the items for the stew minus the pumpkin we have a short judgmental conversation about how no Americans make real pumpkin pie any more. I mean I don't, but all those other people out there should be ashamed of themselves! True pumpkin outta of can is easier, lighter weight, and makes a really tasty pumpkin pie, but come on! We mourn the loss of our fictional grandmothers whose hair was all white at the age of 50, up in a perfect bun everyday, whom wore ruffled aprons and served food on good china while constantly asking us if we've had enough to eat, with a European accent. Now she would have scraped her own pumpkin for pumpkin pie!
And speaking of European grandmothers.....I had a thought. It was wrong and I shouldn't have even spoken the words, but out they came.
"I bet if we drove through the neighborhood we'd find a pumpkin. I mean we are on the Hill. (The Hill is a very old Italian neighborhood, filled with restaurants, markets, sandwich shops and bungalow houses.) My husband laughs and says that he was thinking it but he didn't think I'd go along with it.
I have very few theft stories in my life. I once stole a paint brush in college because I needed it for a painting, and the store wanted $20 for the stupid thing.( Rational stealing is still stealing, but less guilt.) Also my sister stole some sunglasses once and got caught, and subsequently lost a job over it. The last instance was my favorite. It involves my brother in law stealing a phone book from a hotel running up the street screaming GO! GO! GO! as he hopped into a moving mini van. Some stories dont need explaining.
So we began our sneaky Operation Pumpkin. We drive slowly up and down the streets eyeballing up all the pumpkins. "There's one!...There's another!"
"Honey I would like to not actually go onto someones porch to steal their pumpkin."
We finally see one. Reachable from the street, no lights on. We park the car, and my husband who can't walk through living room without stomping and usually knocking things over or bumping into furniture turns into a feline and steals the pumpkin with no sound. He hands it to me through the window and I almost break my arm.
He gets back in the car and as we pull away he says. "Yeah that ones way too big!" I die laughing! It must have weighed 28 pounds! Hes laughing, I'm laughing! This wont even fit in the oven! Well maybe now we can trade the big one for someone else's smaller one.
We spot a house with a haystack and a pumpkin display. They have 2 that are the perfect size. We park and my husband approaches the door. I watch in the rear view mirror and imagine the conversation as he knocks on the door.
"Excuse me mam. Can I please trade you this lovely 28 pound pumpkin for one of a more manageable size. You see I'm making this stew." She would say sure my dear, then tomorrow when the neighborhood news letter comes out realizes that we traded her a stolen pumpkin. Antonio wages a war with her.. "Hey! Dat iz a my pompkin!" All will tell the story for years of the people in the Honda that steal pumpkins. All Honda driving white couples will be banned from sandwich shops. And eventually riot ends up on channel 2 news.
Luckily no one comes to the door. We trade for the medium size pumpkin. The stew was awesome! And the moral to the story is its bad to steal! You should never do it, but if u must, steal something that will likely never make a pie.
Imagine my surprise when he picks me up with a list of things to buy for the stew. On our way to Schnucks, I get so excited. We begin combing the store for all the necessary ingredients. As our cart fills, my stomach growls. Just one item left. The pumpkin. A look of panic comes over our faces as we think back to the produce section and neither of us can remember seeing a pumpkin. They must have pumpkins, Thanksgiving is next week!
We scurry around the store and no pumpkins! My husband finds a store manager and asks where the pumpkins are. He says they shipped all of their pumpkins out after Halloween. We ask if he knows of any where to get a pumpkin, and he chuckles and says, "This time of year? Maybe a farmers market."
We get on the phone and look up the numbers to some farmers markets and all we found in the neighborhood closed at five. As we are checking out all the items for the stew minus the pumpkin we have a short judgmental conversation about how no Americans make real pumpkin pie any more. I mean I don't, but all those other people out there should be ashamed of themselves! True pumpkin outta of can is easier, lighter weight, and makes a really tasty pumpkin pie, but come on! We mourn the loss of our fictional grandmothers whose hair was all white at the age of 50, up in a perfect bun everyday, whom wore ruffled aprons and served food on good china while constantly asking us if we've had enough to eat, with a European accent. Now she would have scraped her own pumpkin for pumpkin pie!
And speaking of European grandmothers.....I had a thought. It was wrong and I shouldn't have even spoken the words, but out they came.
"I bet if we drove through the neighborhood we'd find a pumpkin. I mean we are on the Hill. (The Hill is a very old Italian neighborhood, filled with restaurants, markets, sandwich shops and bungalow houses.) My husband laughs and says that he was thinking it but he didn't think I'd go along with it.
I have very few theft stories in my life. I once stole a paint brush in college because I needed it for a painting, and the store wanted $20 for the stupid thing.( Rational stealing is still stealing, but less guilt.) Also my sister stole some sunglasses once and got caught, and subsequently lost a job over it. The last instance was my favorite. It involves my brother in law stealing a phone book from a hotel running up the street screaming GO! GO! GO! as he hopped into a moving mini van. Some stories dont need explaining.
So we began our sneaky Operation Pumpkin. We drive slowly up and down the streets eyeballing up all the pumpkins. "There's one!...There's another!"
"Honey I would like to not actually go onto someones porch to steal their pumpkin."
We finally see one. Reachable from the street, no lights on. We park the car, and my husband who can't walk through living room without stomping and usually knocking things over or bumping into furniture turns into a feline and steals the pumpkin with no sound. He hands it to me through the window and I almost break my arm.
He gets back in the car and as we pull away he says. "Yeah that ones way too big!" I die laughing! It must have weighed 28 pounds! Hes laughing, I'm laughing! This wont even fit in the oven! Well maybe now we can trade the big one for someone else's smaller one.
We spot a house with a haystack and a pumpkin display. They have 2 that are the perfect size. We park and my husband approaches the door. I watch in the rear view mirror and imagine the conversation as he knocks on the door.
"Excuse me mam. Can I please trade you this lovely 28 pound pumpkin for one of a more manageable size. You see I'm making this stew." She would say sure my dear, then tomorrow when the neighborhood news letter comes out realizes that we traded her a stolen pumpkin. Antonio wages a war with her.. "Hey! Dat iz a my pompkin!" All will tell the story for years of the people in the Honda that steal pumpkins. All Honda driving white couples will be banned from sandwich shops. And eventually riot ends up on channel 2 news.
Luckily no one comes to the door. We trade for the medium size pumpkin. The stew was awesome! And the moral to the story is its bad to steal! You should never do it, but if u must, steal something that will likely never make a pie.
Friday, November 12, 2010
6 to 8 Black Men
Autumn is my favorite time of year! The leaves, the smell in the air of dried leaves and the brewery! But best of all, I am reminded that as soon as that dreadful holiday Halloween is over it will be time to start thinking about my favorite holiday! CHRISTMAS!
If my husband would let me, I would begin putting the tree up on November 1st. I abstain knowing that not only does my husband think I am nuts for wanting to do this, but so does everyone else other than my own part elf mother. So I have my secret early rituals.. You know just a little fix until the big time of cookies and eggnog.
While I am home alone, I burn my Christmas candles. Listen to not so obvious jazz versions of Christmas carols, and instead of taking a magazine to the bathroom, I bring with me a copy of David Sedaris Holidays on Ice. My favorite story is one entitled 6 to 8 black men where Sedaris fills us in on how the great people of Holland celebrate and view Santa Claus.
Apparently, in the Netherlands the children exchange gifts on December 5th. St. Nicks day. There, he dresses like a red velvet pope, said to be left over from his former career as bishop of Turkey. And also, Santa resides in Spain...not the north pole. Every year he docks in late November and is escorted by not elves, (said to be thought of as grotesque and unrealistic. Ironic from the dutch people whom embrace legalized drugs and prostitution.) but by what is described as 6 to 8 black men. I laugh as Sedaris mocks the Dutch people in the idea that with everyone he asks the number is always the same. 6 to 8. Odd for having over a century to nail down an exact number. I suppose at one point the black men were slaves, but since Saint Nicks pope attire and the fact that the Catholic church is trying to shake its former image of oppressive behavior and racism, the 6 to 8 black men are now known as St. Nicks "good friends".
So Halloween came. I am told by my bosses at my job that everyone has to dress up, and that my response to "What are u going as for Halloween?"....."um...an adult." was no longer funny.
I borrowed a costume from a friend, a very cute lederhosen Saint Pauli girl kinda thing. As I am getting ready for work my husband calls and says that the car has been stolen. My first response is laughter followed by absolute rage.
I own a 1998 Dodge Caravan! I just had about $700.00 work done on it in the last 15 days! Who wants to steal a mini van! In broad daylight! On a major street! The police are called. Evening approaches and I find my Heidi costume to be even more annoying now that I am sitting on the curb waiting for a taxi cab. Some trick or treaters walk by and tell me I look like Lady Gaga. This is a comparison I am getting really used to. Anyone over the age of 40 says I look like Marilyn Monroe, and anyone younger or homosexual says Lady Freakin Gaga! I smile at them.
I arrive at work to find that I am the only person dressed up! No joke! And everyone I tell that my car is stolen and missing says.."Yeah I hear those are easy to steal." After the 3rd time I wanted to ask my community that if this is such common knowledge, why did no one buy me a Club for Christmas the last 3 years I owned the car? I look like the most uncomfortable sad little beir girl you've ever seen. Finally the phone rings at 5:30 pm.
It is my husband calling to say that they found the car. It was totaled. Witnesses on the scene describe it as going 55 mph in a 30mph zone outta control, and hit a traffic sign. At which point "6 to 8 black kids" were seen running and scattering from the vehicle. They had stolen it, and drove somewhere to throw away anything that wasn't bolted down, including the head rests. They then picked up their friends and threw a 3 gallon gas can in the back just in case they needed gas I suppose.
When the tow truck brought the van back to my house my thoughts were on one thing! Did they know about the secret CD box under the passenger seat? I furiously run down and climb in the mangled broken carcass of the van and open the drawer! Eureka! There they all were! My Harry Connick Jr When Your Heart Finds Christmas, Christmas Cocktails, Have Yourself a Jazzy Little Christmas, and Mary Mary CDs! All there.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but cant help but wonder..did St Nicks "friends" steal my car? The evidence...
Inability to get an accurate number of people fleeing from the scene...6 to 8
Everything thrown away.....except Christmas and gospel music?
Perhaps this year, the Netherlands hot Christmas items are insurance papers, recyclable grocery bags and head rests from American cars! Ahh yes! Santa stole my mini van!
If my husband would let me, I would begin putting the tree up on November 1st. I abstain knowing that not only does my husband think I am nuts for wanting to do this, but so does everyone else other than my own part elf mother. So I have my secret early rituals.. You know just a little fix until the big time of cookies and eggnog.
While I am home alone, I burn my Christmas candles. Listen to not so obvious jazz versions of Christmas carols, and instead of taking a magazine to the bathroom, I bring with me a copy of David Sedaris Holidays on Ice. My favorite story is one entitled 6 to 8 black men where Sedaris fills us in on how the great people of Holland celebrate and view Santa Claus.
Apparently, in the Netherlands the children exchange gifts on December 5th. St. Nicks day. There, he dresses like a red velvet pope, said to be left over from his former career as bishop of Turkey. And also, Santa resides in Spain...not the north pole. Every year he docks in late November and is escorted by not elves, (said to be thought of as grotesque and unrealistic. Ironic from the dutch people whom embrace legalized drugs and prostitution.) but by what is described as 6 to 8 black men. I laugh as Sedaris mocks the Dutch people in the idea that with everyone he asks the number is always the same. 6 to 8. Odd for having over a century to nail down an exact number. I suppose at one point the black men were slaves, but since Saint Nicks pope attire and the fact that the Catholic church is trying to shake its former image of oppressive behavior and racism, the 6 to 8 black men are now known as St. Nicks "good friends".
So Halloween came. I am told by my bosses at my job that everyone has to dress up, and that my response to "What are u going as for Halloween?"....."um...an adult." was no longer funny.
I borrowed a costume from a friend, a very cute lederhosen Saint Pauli girl kinda thing. As I am getting ready for work my husband calls and says that the car has been stolen. My first response is laughter followed by absolute rage.
I own a 1998 Dodge Caravan! I just had about $700.00 work done on it in the last 15 days! Who wants to steal a mini van! In broad daylight! On a major street! The police are called. Evening approaches and I find my Heidi costume to be even more annoying now that I am sitting on the curb waiting for a taxi cab. Some trick or treaters walk by and tell me I look like Lady Gaga. This is a comparison I am getting really used to. Anyone over the age of 40 says I look like Marilyn Monroe, and anyone younger or homosexual says Lady Freakin Gaga! I smile at them.
I arrive at work to find that I am the only person dressed up! No joke! And everyone I tell that my car is stolen and missing says.."Yeah I hear those are easy to steal." After the 3rd time I wanted to ask my community that if this is such common knowledge, why did no one buy me a Club for Christmas the last 3 years I owned the car? I look like the most uncomfortable sad little beir girl you've ever seen. Finally the phone rings at 5:30 pm.
It is my husband calling to say that they found the car. It was totaled. Witnesses on the scene describe it as going 55 mph in a 30mph zone outta control, and hit a traffic sign. At which point "6 to 8 black kids" were seen running and scattering from the vehicle. They had stolen it, and drove somewhere to throw away anything that wasn't bolted down, including the head rests. They then picked up their friends and threw a 3 gallon gas can in the back just in case they needed gas I suppose.
When the tow truck brought the van back to my house my thoughts were on one thing! Did they know about the secret CD box under the passenger seat? I furiously run down and climb in the mangled broken carcass of the van and open the drawer! Eureka! There they all were! My Harry Connick Jr When Your Heart Finds Christmas, Christmas Cocktails, Have Yourself a Jazzy Little Christmas, and Mary Mary CDs! All there.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but cant help but wonder..did St Nicks "friends" steal my car? The evidence...
Inability to get an accurate number of people fleeing from the scene...6 to 8
Everything thrown away.....except Christmas and gospel music?
Perhaps this year, the Netherlands hot Christmas items are insurance papers, recyclable grocery bags and head rests from American cars! Ahh yes! Santa stole my mini van!
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