Air Pudding!

I understand that this economy is rough. We have all had to make sacrifices. Gone are the days of monthly pedicures and trips to Whole Paycheck. (Whole Foods) Even a day trip in the car seems silly with the way the gas prices are. I can fly to Orlando round trip twice in the amount of money it takes to drive there.

I have tried to be a conscientious consumer. We have all been told that we are killing the earth, blah blah blah. We have replaced a real reasonable amount of our household light bulbs with the ones that make us all look like Betty White. I always try to buy things on sale and use the occasional coupon. We are anal about recycling. I always carry my own grocery bags to the store. And when I do use plastic, I recycle it as well. I have not bought a paper towel in four years. (You can purchase lint free washable rags from any linen company for about 13 cents a piece.) If there was a reasonable and sanitary way to free myself from buying toilet paper, I would seriously consider it. Basically, if being green means cheaper for me, I'm on board.

What is frustrating, is that here we all are. Brushing our teeth with the water off, Turning up our thermostats when we leave the house. Doing everything to keep consumer prices down by keeping our usage conservative, and what do we get in return? Air pudding. 

I'm sure that I am not the only one that is realizing that our consumer products that we all know and love and have been using for our entire lives are changing. God forbid the owners/stockholders/CEO's of these companies take a hit like the rest of us. Oh no! They have figured out a way to keep the cost of doing business to a minimum and raise their prices to boot! They are probably making more money than ever!

The "air pudding" effect is a phrase my husband coined to describe something as having substance, when in reality is superfluous. A good example would be Lady Gaga, or replacing actual product with literal air. It started small. The "Campbells" tomato soup that I have been eating for years as my once a month tomato soup and grilled cheese treat, was ruined by air. The soup used to come out of the can much like cranberry sauce. It was dense and expectantly so, since the can says on the label, "condensed soup". You could add a whole can of milk to it and get yummy creamy tomato soup. Now it pours out of the can like the milk your suppose to add to it. They added air, and there is probably all of 1/4 the original product in the can. And as long as we are on "Campbells", my mother has a couple of recipes that call for Cream of Chicken soup. The cream of chicken has not ONE piece of chicken in it. As well as pouring out of the can like something not far away from mucus. It is slimy, not creamy, and I am sure everyone has noticed the air pudding effect when asked to bring the green bean casserole to Thanksgiving. 

Potato chips seems to cost twice the amount of money, and I don't think anyone is fooled by the big puffy bag. It has half the chips it used to. And your lucky if you get one whole actual potato in chip form, and not crumb. Air pudding.

I have used Colgate toothpaste for over a decade easily. The large tube used to last about 6 months and the small about 3. I brush my teeth twice a day, sometimes three. The last small tube of toothpaste I bought less than 5 weeks ago, I am struggling with to get the paste out. It looks like the tube is half full, but its all air pudding.

Not to be redundant, but after making my own tomato soup today out of cans of whole peeled tomatoes, I was putting my grilled cheese together with "Velveeta" (don't judge) and there was a giant hole in the middle of the brick. Air pudding!!

I read somewhere that when Frank Mars founded snickers in 1930 it did really well. In the 1960's however, the company came up with a business plan to make it the $2 billion dollar a year product that it is today. Make the candy bar just a little smaller every year. No one will notice a couple cementers a year. And raise the price versus cost a little every year. Remember when we were kids how big a Snickers bar was? It's easily half the size today! It's not as long, or as wide.

I know we are all suppose to really feel bad about things coming in big sizes since we as Americans can't seems to get off out ass a couple times a week and walk. There are all kinds of perfectly able bodied Americans that raise the prices at the grocery store by asking the shop to accommodate them with electronic scooter carts. Do you know that one year ago, I decided to keep track of how many people I see at the store with those carts that may be on crutches, or are elderly, or have cancer? You know what the percentage of those people is. 0%. I have seen more strong cancer patients rocking echo scarves on their bald heads walking with a basket than in a scooter cart. 

These product companies are making us thin; they are pioneers! Look at us! Our product has less calories! Less saturated fat! Or even the newest bull crap on the nutrition wave "whole grains".  Not that whole grains is crap, but I'll eat it in whole grain form like bread, or cracker. I don't want need or see necessary whole grain ice cream! But guess what, I'm not buying it. You don't care about me or my health. If you did, you would care about the economy and make the margins of profit the same, and not raise the price because your CEO can't afford his monthly hole in the water yacht excursion. And this is for you "Duncan Heins"! If I want whole grains, I will eat my normal salad and Triscuit lunch. Please don't change your bakery style blueberry muffin recipe to include "whole grains" only to disguise that you are now using chemically created sugar. Shame air pudding, shame.

We as the consumer deserve the right to our crappy food! It's comfort food, and hey Americans!, it's not meant to be eaten everyday. We have all seen the documentary "Supersize Me". And we all get it. The scooter folks get it, they just choose to ignore it. We aren't uneducated to the labels, so stop blaming obesity to that. In fact, I would like to see a fat tax. We tax other things that are bad for us. Why stop at cigarettes, and alcohol? We know they are bad for us, but darn it we are as entitled to them as we are our firearms. We are entitled to guns even though they kill people. Tax my potato chips another 30 cents, sure but keep the product the same. With 2 lbs of potatoes!

The rich people of the world are telling us that we the consumer are the problem. With our waste, and our gluttony.  Well it looks like it may just be the opposite. Tell me Campbells folk, if you kept the product the same and sales went down, would that be green? I say yes it would. I think Al Gore would applaud your public school attending children, and your Mercedes trade in for a Prius. 

No one even makes anything in the US anymore, so quit telling me I need to use one square of TP, while you continue to pollute the air with your factories of air pudding. So in closing, my middle finger to the product companies will be this. Tonight I will eat my final batch of blueberry air pudding muffins, and go back to making them from scratch. I will keep the water running while I brush my teeth, and used half a roll of toilet paper while extracting my "whole grain" product. Air pudding...up yours!

15 Seconds of Fame!

There are a few times in my life that I have felt really special. Like really genuinely special. I am usually watching enviously as the guy ignoring the "No shirt, No shoes, No service!" sign in front of me in line at the gas station wins $100 on the scratchers ticket. The passenger in my car with the second order gets the free latte. The person in front of me in line at the airport gets bumped up to first class. Usually, I miss favor by only seconds, but sometimes I catch it!

The day my husband asked me to marry him I was definetly special. The day my wedding reception was moved from the quaint little dining room to the roof top swanky PDiddy palace spot was also a day I lucked out!  All the way into the honeymoon. Where our hotel room was bumped to the top floor with a balcony and a view. I get drunk on favoritism. Now I know what everyone is thinking...Of course you get free stuff and get lucky, life is always easier for pretty tall blondes. (Not that I think that I'm that great, just that people have said to me many times...it's cause your hot. Oh yeah you..(insert special treatment here) happened to you cause your hot.

I will be the first to admit that there have been times in my life where I got favor ( I say "favor" instead of luck, because I believe that God grants favor to those who ask for it. Go Ahead! Judge away, but you may find a cynical attitude toward this theory may find you behind more winning lottery tickets and less parking spaces than those "lucky" people )granted because someone liked the way I looked, but it happens a lot less than you'd think. Then there are the times when I feel like I've just missed favor. I find myself on a movie set with George Clooney, and they pick the only other tall blonde extra right in front of me to be play a ticket agent. I watch her jealously as they put her through hair and makeup, and an adorable little stewertess uniform. I kept thinking.."Come on! I was so close!" moments later I am brought back to reality when I say to myself, "Are you seriously complaining! You are no less than 6 feet from George himself, you've looked him in the eye several times. Everytime they reset the scene he smiles, and your COMPLAAINING! Get a grip girl! This is one of the coolest things you've ever done in your life!"

But there is always a catch. Something really cool happens to me, then something really crappy happens. I got to be on a set with George Clooney, and I lost $200.00. Got a $300 tip from a customer, and my scooter got stolen. Since then the streak has continued. I fall at work and sprain my back, then I meet Brian McKnight. My car gets stolen,  got a promotion. Accidentally burned half my hair off with bleach, bank tells me they made a mistake and have credited my account.  Broke a laptop, my sister buys me one for no reason at all. You see why I was nervous when the following took place.

I have a pretty cool job by all definitions. This year alone I have met, John Legend,(pretty celebrity) Bill Belhemy (douche), Sommore (major douche), Brian McKinght (wonderful!), Bilal (cool and professional) , 88 Keys (WAY cool), a bunch of dudes from Tribe Called Quest, and I know I am forgetting many more. I get to work from home 60% of the time. This is definitively favor!

 I went to my first Elvis Costello show in Chicago a few weeks ago. And it was really fun! He was doing the spinning song book tour, that he hasn't done in many years. They have a vintage giant light up spinning carnival wheel, and he pulls audience members up to spin it. The song it lands on is the one they play. However, the show was at a very nice, older theatre. The crowd was older, and incredibly lame. They only stood for the few really well known songs, "Alison, Veronica, Pump it Up" and they didn't cheer a lot. Very lame.

After the show we waited around to see if we could meet him. And no such luck. He was annoyed after signing only a couple autographs. So as we walked next to his Cadilac beast and I was shouting "Great show Elvis! Please remember this face!" I know I sounded like a crazy person, but I didn't care.

Then sure enough we went to see him 5 weeks later here in St. Louis! It was much more rock show! He came out loud! And the pit was general admission.  This is why I love St. Louis. Rock show front rows are for the determined, not the wealthy.  So when I bought general admission seats, I was prepared to get my "shelbows" (My husbands word for sharp elbows: assume hands on hips and shelbow your way through a crowd...seriously it works!) out and get to the front row! I was dancing and screaming along. After the opening number, Eddie Vedder came out and did Substitute by The Who with him. People were goin nuts! It was a real rock show!

A very tall, very gorgeous women tapped me on the shoulder, and when I saw her I immediately recognised her from Chicago. She was the women whom Elvis instructed to pull people up. She leaned in and said softly in my ear. Mr Costello would like to know if you would like to spin the wheel. I squealed!

"I would love to spin the wheel!" She put her finger up to her puckered lips, and gazed down to her feet. As if to say "shut up before I am mobbed!" Then when the song ended she escorted me to the steps of the stage and Elvis notioned me to join him center stage. I almost threw up. I got that really tight feeling in my stomach you get when you cant tell if you have menstraul cramps or gas. He asked my name in the microphone. And then repeated it back several times. I don't know what it is about hearing one of your heros/crushes say your name, but I felt like Beyonce. "Say my name!"

When I was asked to spin the wheel, I thought to myself. "You got this! How many times did you watch The Price is Right with Nana? Grip. Pull up on your tip toes and give it all you got!...Uh oh, it only moves one way..(Wah wah wah..) The spin was unbearably lame! But the song was great! "Human Hands".

Next thing I know I was seated in the "socitey lounge" and handed a cocktail next to Steve Nieve. My chubby, hairy, favorite keyboard playing British nugget! I was then asked if I would get up and dance in the gogo cage. You can't imagine the feeling of relief that came over me. Before I was a bartender I gogo danced at a 1960s tiki themed bar for 6 years! If there is one thing I can do in my sleep..it's gogo!

By the time the song had ended, the nausea had subsided. I had a blast! I even got to meet him after and he signed my poster. Just as I thought that was the top of the top, the coolest thing that will ever happen to me...my stomach sank. What is in store for me now? Stomach cancer? Mugging?...Ooh I know, anvil!
I felt the nausea return.

Turns out my universal punishment for my awesome night on stage with Elvis Costello was jury duty..And not just called. Oh no.  I served on a criminal trial. Blog to come....still looking out for anvils though!

Parents: Somewhere between Newlyweds and Babies

My husband and I met back in 2005 when he was a manager of a rock club and I was a bartender. It was a wonderful way to fall in love. Listening to music every night, drinking cocktails, hanging out with friends after work. We were total socialites. Then as inevitable as nesting is in every relationship, we began to stay home more and more. We found ourselves saying things like "oh we forgot so and so was playing a show last night." Knowing darn well we decided to avoid crowds, and people in general. Remote in one hand, his hand in the other. Those cozy nights turn into spring BBQs for 2. Next thing we know it we haven't been out in almost a year! Other than holiday's and special occations like birthdays.

Even worse, now that we both work day jobs, I go to bed at 12:30. I remember when I would have just gotten out around then a few short years ago. And you know what? I like it..no I love it!! There is nothing better than yoga, a hot bath, HBO, and asleep at a reasonable hour. I wake up feeling like a million bucks! It appears as though I am a reaponsible adult, and I actually like it.

So after several years of nesting and hibernation, we are ready to start getting out again. We go to a local rock club to see a show and I was shocked. First of all there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of people our age. Everyone is either really young, loud, and dumb. Or they are old enough to be considered empty nesters. I can't help but look at the crowd more than the band. We stick out like double headed dragons. We are slightly dressed up, eveyone else looks like they just got off work, or rolled off the futon in their parents basement, smoked a bowl and stole a PBR from grandpa on the way out the door.

I begin to take an assestment of all our friends.."Baby,...Baby...Moved away....Baby" Okay so it seems everyone is having babies and I guess it is the natural order of things to go back into hiberation. I want to go out with friends and have conversations about important things, listen to music, but we have two things working against us. No baby, no money. If we had money we could find all sorts of people to meet out with at supper clubs or the sympohony. Or if we had a baby, we could meet people at whatever place it is that those people go to in the 30 seconds of free time they have.

I'm not opposed to a baby. I don't think it's the right time, but my husband on the other hand sees a plus sign on a urine stick like the end of a barrel on a firing squad. So where does that leave us? Career people with hobbies that like to travel? I am okay with that. Ah but then again we are back to the money issue. I've gone back to working out and painting. My wonderful husband has been spending his free time working on the plethera of guitars in the basement. So if hobbies are the thing that couples arrive at after the honeymoon constant hot sex, and before having a baby, then are we no different than our parents?

The parallels between our marriage and my parents are different enough. They got married very young and had children young. But it was the early 1970's and the economy was in the crapper then too. Gas had doubled, and inflation was out of control. They had to share a car, lived paycheck to paycheck and laughed at the idea of ever owning a house. This sounds oddly familiar.

I find myself calling my mother a lot and asking her. What can I make for dinner out of  a can of stewed tomatoes, butter, half an old onion, some cumin, and pickles? Okay, it's not usually that bad, but she has great ideas about dinners on the cheap, and how to clean your bathroom with house hold products.

But here is it. The weirdest era of our relationship. Our parents, are our closest friends. We spend more time talking with them then anyone else. And ya know what? I am really okay with this! There will be plenty of time to catch up with our friends when we join their world of diaper Jeanies and designer vegan strollers.

To our parents! Terri, John, Nancy, Richard, and Lori. You guys are the coolest and best people I know and we are so lucky to have you!

The Broken Ass and a Promotion

January is a wonderful time of year. One of my favorite months for all it represents. Reflection on the past year, the smell of hope and change in the air. And a chance to review my life much like an employee evaluation of myself.

I pretend in my head that I (January Mrs. Newlywed) is interviewing past year Mrs. Newlywed 2010. How are you valuable to the people in your life? Could you be a better friend? Do you feel you called your mother enough? Have you been reading your bible? Have you been a good wife? In what areas can you improve? What would make your life happier? How are your finances?

I won't bore you with all the details, but one year back in 2005 I did fire myself. I felt I wasn't living up to the expectations of my 2006 self, and it was time fill the position with someone more qualified.

After fifteen days of sober contemplation the interview was final, and a decision was made. I would ask for a promotion. Although bar tending has served me well financially, it was time to put more focus on my life. Less late nights spent away from my husband, slinging cocktails with a poor attitude to ungrateful people. I had noticed as many things were slipping through the cracks at my place of employment, and we gravely needed an events director. I made a proposal, went through detail after detail, and mustered up the confidence to go to the owner, and ask him to create a job for me.

Butterflies in my stomach and sweaty palms, I got through my monologue and he agreed that he needed it, and he thought I would be good at it. We agreed on the money and one week later, I am the Special Events Director for the downtown hot spot.

The first week was stressful, but really fun. I created party packages, set up catered events and returned about a thousand phone calls. I thought I was super prepared for the first weekend.

Friday I got into work and quickly began moving tables and getting things set up. I had bought some candles and different decor to decorate the tables for the private events. I even made thank you cards for the people who booked the events. Two hours later with everything set to go, I realized that the 70 person party I just set up, was actually Saturday night. I had a good laugh, and thought..eh well growing pains.

Saturday night I arrive and begin resetting all the stuff I had set up the previous night. It was going to be crazy. We had 3 birthday parties, a 70 person small business party, an artist showing in the gallery, a CD release party in the main room, and another 2 large groups for bottles service. Needless to say I was a little overwhelmed. Rushing around to get everything set up, get the deposits applied to checks,and make sure as soon as one reservation got up I could quickly reset the tables for the next catered party.

I run to basement to get one of the 4 cakes that had been delivered. It was in the shape and likeness of a Jose Cuervo bottle, and weighed about 10 lbs. I set the cake on the table and make a B line for the kitchen to get a stack of 25 plates. As I'm carrying them out I hit the first step and my leg slides right out under me. It was as if it was in slow motion. I had a decision to make. Throw the plates, try to grab something and risk broken glass in a servers face, try to save the plates and aim for my ass, or ....too late. Broken tail bone, badly bruised elbow, two very very swollen vertebrates, and 25 broken plates...Did I mention they were the only clean plates left in the house?

I lied there sobbing. People are swirling around, yelling things like "Are you okay?" and "Don't move her!"..."Can you move?" I just kept crying. It hurt. It hurt bad, but it felt good to have an excuse to cry on my first extremely stressful day on a job.

But look on the bright side! At least I have jury duty tomorrow! I want to punch my 2011 self, but she can't move. Confined to a circular ass pillow and thermal back pads, I'll save the ass kicking till next year. Happy New Year everyone!

Planes Trains and Near Death Experiences

After a very crazy week of shopping,wrapping and packing, my husband and I started on our holiday journey to Orlando. We arrive at the airport and it was mild holiday traffic. I am in wonderful spirits at the excitement of Christmas, and seeing my new baby nephew build. My husband however does not like to fly. It all starts as we get in line for security. We remove shoes, coats, liquids, laptop, and put bags and purses on the tables. Even I admit that it is getting a little ridiculous. Each passenger needs four bus tubs now, and I wonder what it must look like to someone from the 1900's to see how we travel. As my husband goes through the metal detector, he is asked to remove his shirt. He throws them a glare and as he removes his shirt and is down to only a rock T, he turns to me and says, "Yeah, lets not f*$@ing fly anymore."

As I'm redressing I listen to him go on and on about our civil liberties, and how all Americans are wusses, and as long as we all continue to travel this way, nothing will change. I look at him and suddenly I see him wearing a rug for a shirt and smell proverbial nag champa and marijuana. My husband in his now exterior of rock and roll and mod scooter attire, once followed the Grateful Dead. for a year or so. I forget this because it was long over 15 years before I met him, but once in awhile, I remember. And this was definitely one of those once in a awhiles.

We had a lovely week with my family. Shopping and more wrapping and eating! And lots of quality time over wine and what my sister describes as a two day cheese plate. (A plate full of fantastic rare cheeses, of which are suppose to last 2 days. So don't be greedy!) I loved playing with the baby and seeing my husband play with him. We even went to "Seaworld" the night before Christmas and saw the penguins and manarays! But alas, all good things must come to an end. And soon it was time to pack and face the worst thing Orlando has to offer. Their airport.

Orlando international airport is the worst of the worst in my opinion. Mainly because it may as well be called place to bring your unmannerly children. Children from all over the world are brought to this airport, either so excited to see Mickey they are peeing their pants and screaming, or worse, they are at the end of their vacation. Tired, exhausted, coming down from the sugar highs and whining! It is amazing how many languages I have heard children whine in in this airport.

Second worse thing about this airport is that security is always a total zoo. They have one line for forty gates. And many passengers are traveling with more than one child. We wait in line and finally get to security and I set off the metal detector, due to about 20 bobby pins in my head, and followed by a pat down from sweet chubby Hispanic woman that I rather enjoyed. Not that I'm a sicko or anything, but who doesn't like to be gently touched from head to toe.

We finally board the aircraft, and take off about ten minutes late. Irritating because it is Christmas Day and we have a connecting flight to catch and many family members waiting to eat and unwrap presents. Non the less, I plug my head phones into the armrest to enjoy the free XM satellite radio and listen to Christmas music. (As you all know my favorite.) Nancy Sinatra is talking on the Seriously Sinatra station about her favorite Christmas's with her Dad, and just as Old Lang Syne plays we hear a very loud thud and cracking sound. As though a wrench was thrown into the the left engine. The passengers all look at one another as if to say WTF? Moments later I feel the plane make a hard left turn. Funny I took three years of Geography in college and I'm pretty sure that there are no left turns between Orlando and Minnesota. Sure enough the Captain comes on the speaker and says, "Um folks it appears that we have lost an engine, and we have been instructed to turn around and land you all safely back in Orlando. We have no further information at this time, but we here at Air Tran believe in safety first."

My husband turns to me and says, "Safety first uh? Maybe then you would have checked the engine before we took off." It was an nostalgic feeling, listening to Old Lang Syne as we plummet and level and plummet and level all the way back to Orlando. Suddenly, I didn't care so much about my presents. And if you smelled me, you may have caught just a hint of proverbial patchouli...Maybe my husband was onto something, lets take trains and bring back the road trip.

We of course made it back safely and had another couple hours to spend with my family eating leftovers and a cat nap. We got home in time to have dinner with the family and do presents and all was merry.

Oh God I married my Dad

Everyone has heard the Freudian jokes about how all women really want to marry their fathers. As American  women we all cringe and laugh at the idea of ever finding farmers tans, white socks with deck shoes, or T shirts tucked in ever attractive. Surely men go through the same thing at some point picturing mom jeans bent over an oven and giggling at the thought that someday, mom ass will be hot to them.

My father is a wonderful man and Dad. He was always supportive, made living as a physics teacher, and pastored home missions churches on the side. In most aspects the perfect father. My Dad is a shorter man of German decent. He was always the kinda do it right or don't bother kind of guy, with a hint of if you can pinch another penny outta that nickel, there may be another reward in heaven for you.

My mother used to laugh and tell us the story of my parents first house. My Dad purchased about 20 acres of land in the late 70s and began to build a house. When they moved in there wasn't much dry wall, you could see in and outta the rooms easily. But the windows in the winter without curtains were quite drafty. In order to save a few bucks on the utility bill, my Dad rolled and taped brown paper grocery bags to the sills. All the while assuring my mother that it was just temporary. Until 10 years later when they sold the house and the paper bags finally came down.

My husband and I live in a very beautiful loft in the city. It was once a synagogue in the early 1900s, and later renovated into apartments in the 1980s. I am sure that our thermostat was as old as the synagogue because it could never seem to keep an even temperature in the space. Fed up with freezing or burning up, and astronomical gas bills, I told my husband I wanted to buy a new one. One of those digital ones with programmable features. He is so sweet, and any excuse to make a purchase at home depot and he's off the races.

One day as I clean the apartment, I discover the new digital thermostat still in the bag. Tucked away in his little mans rats nest, in the corner of the living room. A place designated to keep the drills and bits and other tools, you know until we get settled in. Or in other words "just temporary". We have lived here now over three years. Now the next part of the story is told completely from my point of view. My husband swears that he told me he had bought it, and that he was waiting to install it because he was unhappy with the configuration of the switches on the wall. I remember part of that. So when he comes home I encourage him to start the project in an effort to get my thermostat put in.

It appears that on the wall there are a series of 4 necessary switches. One light switch for the living room, one for the upstairs, one for the fan, and of course the thermostat. His idea was to make all these separate switches go on one 3 way switch and move the thermostat so they are all in a nice row. Panic set in as I am cooking and hear a hand saw going back and forth into the drywall. The dust is going everywhere and there is little light. I'm laughing several hours later when I walk to the bathroom, and am warned not to go near the wall because the wires all hanging out are live. And he's packing his stuff up as though he's done for the night.

A small argument takes place surrounding the details of this project when I ask for a date of completion. He says most likely not this week. He won't have a day off from work, and there's too much going on. He tells me he will at least install the switches by Sunday, so when my girls come over for hair day, there will be heat and lights. I am happy with this compromise.

I am told that while I was at work the following week, his Dad and brother came over and helped install all three switches and the new thermostat. I am happy with this, but still looking at a big hole in my wall. Every time I walk past it it laughs at me and says, "temporary". Also I am only able to locate directions for the thermostat in the 3 languages that I don't understand. So this year my letter to Santa will read the following.

Dear Santa,

If you have time to fill my stocking I would like a piece of charcoal painted drywall, the cabinet doors to my credenza finished, a recycling bin, and the ability to read Spanish instructions. Also, if you have the time to bring me patience, I would really appreciate it. And most of all, a blindness to any other Dad related behavior.

Thanks Santa.

Top 33 Reasons Your Bartender Hates You

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.