Saturday, September 30, 2006

An open letter to the woman who lay, in the fetal position, on the sidewalk between WaMu and Porto Rico coffee on St. Marks last night around 12:45am:

Really? I'm not trying to be mean, but, seriously? Passed out lying on the sidewalk (in fact, right on a spot where they obviously store trash because the sidewalk was all stained and nasty) before 1am while your boyfriend stroked your back noncommittally? Is that the best you could do for yourself?

You and your cohorts were obviously not freshmen, turned loose on the city with fake IDs for the first time and therefore we couldn't really expect you to realize that, just because you're 19 doesn't mean that 19 shots of cheap vodka would be ok because your older sister told you she did it one time. In fact, judging by your vaguely young-republican attire, you were all probably around 30. An age at which, I'm sorry, but you should not be passing out on the sidewalk. At least, not at 12:30. I can totally understand that a few of those gin&tonics are a bit stronger than you expected, but post-college, that should mean a few rounds of water and a stop by Ray's for pizza or a cookie. Not face-planting on the sidewalk after puking over the curb.

I would maybe be a little more forgiving if it were, say 6am and you had obviously been out hard since 11 and got caught a bit short because the bar closed and kicked you out before you could squeeze in that last trip to the to the bathroom to vomit. Or splash water on your face. But your night was over at 12:30. Which means you are too old to be lying face down on the sidewalk at 12:30.

In fact, it kind of reminds me (though, the reasoning behind my antipathy is different) of the time I was walking home from the library my junior year at 11:30pm. It was Cinco de Mayo and I walked by a guy puking his brains out around the corner from a cheesy Mexican bar. Initially, I felt a twinge of pity, and considered handing him a few of the napkins left over from lunch that I had stashed in my backpack, because he obviously didn't have a friend who was going to help him take care of his sorry ass. (Another indication of stupid youth: if you're that wasted, and none of your friends go outside to laugh at you (read: pat your back) while you puke then you are probably a newbie, which warrants a little sympathy, or a frat guy, which warrants no sympathy). But then I thought, "Seriously? It's not even midnight yet. On a weekday. Pull your shit together." And then I walked by and chuckled to myself.

So, 30ish lady who passed out last night; it's time to grow up a little. If, at the end of your night (which, quite frankly, should be a bit later than 12:30), you can't get yourself into a cab and head home, then it's probably time to reevaluate. That may have been fun and games when you were 20 and going out was still a little bit naughty. But now, it's kind of pathetic. Maybe from now on, limit those vodkacranberries and alternate with water.

Or stay home and spoon applesauce into your mouth while the smell of mothballs accumulates around you. Because oldies can be goodies, but not if they're sloppy drunk at midnight, and unconscious and crying at 12:30.

Sincerely,
Monologuer

Friday, September 29, 2006

Um... shitters. We had a fuck up this evening. And instead of trying to describe it in words (though 'skinhead' 'mental patient' 'jarhead' and 'military brat' all come to mind) I'm just going to show you in pictures...



This was not the intended look.



The mishap occurred while I was spacing out and listening to music (yes, that playlist). It's not odd that I was spacing out (I'm a bad multi- or dual-tasker). What's odd is that I didn't quadruple check that the setting was correct before I took a huge swatch of hair off the top. Normally I am (understandably) OCD about making sure the setting is correct - because of the potential for this exact thing to happen. But not tonight. So what we have here is a 2 (and in the original patch, a 1) when we were aiming for a 5.

I guess it wouldn't be as bad as I think if it weren't for two (very important) facts:
- I have a bumpy skull and therefore look bad bald
- I have massive moles that should (and normally do) remain hidden. By hair. So all the little bits that look like cancer spots? They're moles that should never have seen the light of day.



Speaking of the light of day, my scalp is white. And a pale scalp next to minimally tanned skin? No thank you. If this were mid-July, I could have gotten some sun on my noggin and probably called it a day. I would have been kind of thankful for the cooling effect. But it's fall now, when everyone else is growing their hair out, I look like a tool with his one-step-up from bic'ed. Also, I am not balding (please god, I'll try to be a better person), so the unnecessarily short hair looks a bit foolish.

But most dramatically... this is the first weekend in a long time where I actually have plans to go out. With people. At night. I mean, I'm going to look bad at work, but I can handle that, it will give us all something to laugh about. And that's par for the course. But why couldn't this have happened (read: why couldn't I have done this to myself) last weekend? Or next weekend? When my idea of "going out after work" was a trip to the grocery store for cookie dough. (Of which, naturally, I don't have any to make myself feel better right now).

Thursday, September 28, 2006

I don't have anything for you. Sorry.

But I'm not going to leave it at that (you're welcome). Nor am I going to share another list of things Monologuer hasn't done in the last several days (you're welcome again) (key among them at the moment: dishes).

Instead, I'm going to share my current favorite playlist. Which is not as embarassing as it normally is.

Stranded - Van Morrison
Wrong Side - Angela McCluskey
Put Your Records on - Corinne Bailey Rae
Vultures - John Mayer
Feel good Inc - Gorillaz
Crazy - Gnarls Barkley
Dreams - Fleetwood Mac
I Know What Love's All About - Anthony Hamilton
I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You - Colin Hay

and when I feel the need for something a little bit more motivational, I throw on SexyBack - 'cause I'm hardcore.
Let the worshipping of my good taste begin... now!

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Is running a diuretic for anyone else?

'Cause I go for a run, come home, and straight to the pot.

It's almost as good as coffee. Good coffee.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The next time I have a cup of shitty coffee (Oren's for instance), I'm going to spit it out and quote David Sedaris:

"This shit's like making love in a canoe... it's fucking near water!"

And, further evidence of the fact that my kindred demographic are often middle-aged women:

David: "She's a nine-year-old-girl..."

David's Mother: "Oh, those are the worst!"

Monday, September 18, 2006

Per HB's request (read: desperate plea), you now don't have to sign in to leave a comment. Though, you do still have to identify yourself in some sense, I don't want to have a shitton (3) anonymous comments.

And now, to get the comments started, I present to you several things that have entertained me immensely in the last few days:

HB's desperate plea:

"Also, good idea: turn off the mandatory signing-in for comments on your blog. I seriously tried for like 20-minutes today to comment on what Mary said. I couldn't remember my fucking password, had to get it sent to me, didn't understand the thing they sent me, got it sent to me again--again, I fucked it up, tried a third time and said 'fuck off, Monologuer. I fucking hate you.' After 3-tries I figured out they make you make-up a new password,bastards can't just tell you what your old one is. Of course not. Assholes. Anywho--you know how I am at remembering shit--not
good. We're lucky I remember "brother" and "colorado" go together, the weight of ANOTHER password is basically, unbearable. Now I'm all hot and fucking bothered because I just had to re-live that debilitating debacle. Goddamnit. So take it off!!!!! Fuck."


Also, Cheney quotes from his interview with Tim Russert (from the NYTimes):

“The world is much better off today” with Mr. Hussein in jail, Mr. Cheney said: “Think where we’d be if he was still there. He’d be sitting on top of a big pile of cash, because he’d have $65- and $70-oil."

Mmkay. Why exactly does oil currently cost $70 a barrel? Because we invaded Iraq.

Asked on Sunday if the director general of the IAEA, Mohammed el-Baradei, had been “right about Iraq,’’ Mr. Cheney said: “I haven’t looked at it. I have to go back and look at it again.’’

Well that's nice to know, that you "haven't looked" at such a minute detail as the IAEA's report on Iraq.

Asked if — more than 2,500 American deaths and 20,000 casualties later — his statement had been “overly rosy,’’ Mr. Cheney responded that he had been correct that the battle to depose Mr. Hussein “was over in a relatively short period of time.’’

Everything that happened after Hussein was captured is part of the rebuilding effort...

The blundering of the Pope (though, for my money, John Paull II will always be 'the Pope' everyone else is just 'the pope') as he defends himself against outrage over his speech. (also from the NYTimes)

Pope Benedict XVI “deeply regretted” that a speech he made this week “sounded offensive to the sensibility of Muslim believers.”

Those silly Muslims, with their "sensibility" and their confusing the Pope's "intentions"

Pope Benedict claims that his comments have been interpreted in a way that “absolutely did not correspond to his intentions.” Arguing that they did not express his personal opinion because they came from a 14th Century Byzantine text. A 14th Century Byzantine text that he chose to use in a public speech.

The exerpt:
“He said, I quote, ‘Show me just what Muhammad brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached,’ ” the pope said.

What exactly is ambiguous about this? How is this not offensive? And archaic (being from the 14th Century)? Can you imagine if someone said this about J.C.?

And, after fires, a murdered nun, threats and a general PR fiasco for the church, Benedict offers "personal regret" (read: not an apology):
"I am deeply sorry for the reactions in some countries to a few passages of my address,” the pope told pilgrims at the summer papal palace of Castel Gandolfo, “which were considered offensive.’’... "The true meaning of my address,” he said, “in its totality was and is an invitation to frank and sincere dialogue, with great mutual respect."

Mission accomplished Benedict (mmm, eggs). Nothing says "sincere dialogue" and "mutual respect" like referring to your counterparts as "evil and inhuman."

And, finally, an exerpt from my most recent job interview:

Interviewer: What would you say your strengths are?
Buff interviewee: Arms and back.

(via Overheard)

Sunday, September 17, 2006

In which I respond to comments...

The blog has been title-free since May. Quick on the uptake.

The correct answer to the readers' poll is: peanut butter M&Ms. It was a little depressing that we only got three responses. (Not even my family responded. Thanks for the support, guys.) And even more depressing that two of them were obviously wrong. M&Ms over reeses pieces because M&Ms actually taste like they have real peanut butter in them. I love reeses peanut butter cups as much as the next guy, but lets face it, real peanut butter it is not, and in reeses pieces, it is just too sweet. Peanut Butter M&Ms taste like they have real peanut butter in them. They're basically health food.

Teen-bit confused about Mary's rant about Peanut M&Ms. They were not a part of the readers' poll and therefore we don't understand the tangent. Though, obviously, we do love peanut M&Ms - we just weren't comparing them to Reeses Pieces. For obvious reasons.

Update: Since when did Monologuer (I) start using "we" to refer to myself? Also, loving the inconsistent capitalization in this (and previous) posts.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

How To Rock "Being A Customer" at The Restaurant

At The Restaurant, we have a few helpful guides with titles such as "How To Rock The Left at The Restaurant" and "The Restaurant Phone-Speak". The point of these is to help us effectively get across useful, necessary information with a smile and good customer service. Even in the face of raging imbeciles or assholes.

Well, if the people coming into the restaurant warrant a guide for how I should interact with them, then I feel they need a guide for how to behave when visiting my workplace. And so, I present, "How to Rock 'Being a Customer' at The Restaurant". Yes, it is a bit specific to The Restaurant, but it also serves as a pretty good blueprint for how you should interact with anyone in the restaurant business. Or anyone in any kind of service industry.

- When you call to make a reservation, you should already know how many people you are bringing and approximately what time you would like to sit. It may be hard to believe (the unspoken assumption being that your time is worth more than mine because I work in the place that you are going to visit for pleasure - asshole), but I am actually busy. At work. I don't have time to sit on the phone while you count on your fingers how many blonde friends you will be bringing, and how many of them have boyfriends coming in from Long Island. Nor do I have time to listen to you turn around and ask all of your twit-friends what time they want to eat dinner. All this will warrant from me is an urge to yell "Oh, jesus christ, what does it matter!? Your friends probably won't even eat anything!" Even if you apologize for wasting my time, it is still inconsiderate. Talk to them before you call me for a reservation, it will allow me to be more helpful and it will allow me to be less irritated with you.

- You should not be upset if we do not have a reservation available for you on Saturday night if you call us on Saturday afternoon. Call in advance.

- You should not be upset when I tell you that you are more than welcome to come in as a walk-in, because we only reserve half of our dining room. "Oh, yeah, sure! I've been there and waited forever before!" Excuse me? a) I don't care b) I don't care that you have been here before c) I don't care that you had to wait a long time d) if you know how long the wait can be as a walk-in, why didn't you call and make reservations in advance? and e) I don't care.

- Also, do not ask how long the wait will be if you plan on coming in as a walk-in. I cannot tell you how long the wait will be when you get here because I cannot tell you how many people will have walked into the restaurant before you. I have no idea how many walk-ins we are going to get - walk-ins mean, by definition, that I have no advance knowledge of their intention to come into the restaurant until the moment they walk in and put their name on the list. Even if you say something along the lines of, "I know it's hard to tell" (implying that you sympathize with my position) "but, like, how long do you think the wait would be at 8o'clock?" you are pissing me off because you are being a demanding idiot despite having an understanding of the position I am in.

- You should NOT call and tell me what time you need a reservation for how many people. I do not care what you need. One man's need is another man's desire. Your need, however, is neither my need nor my desire. If I answer the phone (with a 'thank you for calling' and lots of pleasant upspeak) and the first words out of your mouth are a gruff, "I need a reservation for 6 people at 8 on Saturday" you better believe you will not be getting a reservation for 6 people at 8 on Saturday. In fact, chances are really good that you won't be getting a reservation at all. Ever. However, if you call and say, "Hi, how are you?" then wait for a response, as though you actually cared, "I was hoping for a reservation for 6 people on Saturday, around 8 would be perfect, but we're flexible." Then I can almost guarantee that you will get a reservation for 6 people close to 8 on Saturday night.

- I am the only person standing between you and a reservation. It does not serve your purpose to be rude to me. In fact, if you are not at least cordial, then you can bet that we will be completely booked for two people on Monday night six weeks from now. If, on the other hand, you are nice, ask for a favor instead of demanding an entitlement, and maybe even say 'please' and 'thank you' then I can probably squeeze 10 of you in tomorrow, Saturday, at 9.

- There is a delicate balance. You have to be nice, but not make me feel like you are a frat guy trying to ingratiate yourself in an effort to get into my sister's pants. If you call up and try to buddy-up with me, then it ends up sounding slimy and makes me want to shout into the phone, "We're not friends asshole! We don't go way back. Don't call me 'bro'. We are not on the same page. I am not pulling strings for you. I am doing my job and have been standing on my feet for the last 6 hours."

- You should not call to make any kind of reservation on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday night any time after 7. If you do, you should know that the person talking to you on the phone hates you. He (or she) has 20 or more people glaring at him because they are waiting to put their name on the list, check how much longer their party has to wait, ask where the bathrooms are, ask if they can see a menu, ask where the waiters in the bar are, complain about the music, complain about being cold, complain about being hot, ask if there are karaoke bars around here and he (or she) is just standing there on the phone listening to your dumb ass hmm and haw about what time he wants to come into the restaurant. But if you call on Saturday night at 9 to make a reservation for lunch on Sunday in three weeks, then you can guaran-goddamn-tee yourself that the host(ess) is breathing into a paper bag trying to resist the urge to reach through the phone and strangle your dumb ass.

- If you are unhappy with something, don't yell at the host/ess. In fact, since everyone who works in the restaurant is a fellow human being, don't yell at anyone. But certainly don't yell at the host/ess. We are the peons of the restaurant business (unless it is some hip, impossible to get into restaurant where they are the keepers of the gate, along with a burly black man and a snide look for your flip flops) - we get paid the least, we don't get free food, we don't get free drinks, we don't get to touch the music or the thermostat and we clean the bathrooms. If you do need to talk to the host/ess, nicely ask to speak to a manger, and they will happily go grab one. Certainly don't yell at them. The music, the service, the temperature, the food etc. is not the fault of the host. If you have been waiting for much longer than quoted, certainly, talk (note: do not yell at) to the host/ess. Chances are, it is not their fault - tables are sitting longer, the pastry chef is understaffed so serving is taking longer, we just had several reservations walk in, its raining and no one wants to leave, the owner of the restaurant just called and said that 8 of his friends were coming in and we had to seat them immediately - but if you are civil, you will get an explanation and possibly a free drink.

- Along the same lines, if you are sitting at your meal and you decide you want something - more wine, olive oil, or your check - I suggest asking one of several people: your waiter, the busboy, the sommelier, the manager. Note that the host (the guy that carries the menus) is not on that list. All I can do is ask someone else to stop by your table.

- Children... don't... just, don't. Don't tell me how well-behaved your 4 year old is over the phone. Don't call and make a reservation for "11 - that's 4 adults and 6 kids, 3 will need high chairs and we need space for a stroller at the table." Don't smile apologetically at me after I have nearly tripped over your child for the umpteenth time while she runs around in the middle of the highly-trafficked walk-way on the way to the kitchen. Don't bring your children in and let them watch dvds on a portable player at the table. Don't bring your baby in and let her scream periodically throughout our entire lunch. Don't let your kid play with the revolving door. Don't let your kid stand in her highchair and throw bread and crayons on the floor. Don't smile at me (but not say anything!) when I hand your little brat back her crayon and nicely say, "you want this back?" and then let her throw more crayons on the floor. Don't take your little boy into the bathroom and let him tear up and then throw paper towels all over the floor. Don't procreate if you're not going to raise the spawn, and certainly don't take it out in public until you have learned to control it.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

According to the god-fella outside Madison Square yesterday, "Christ died for the ungodly."

My first reaction to this was "well, it's nice to know that someone's on our side."

But then I looked at the man with the poorly-written sign on his back and thought "perhaps he should have died for the unstylish? or the overweight?"

Then I had what should have been my first thought, but instead only came to me after several minutes of bored reflection while waiting for the chiropractor to break me, "perhaps christ's death would have accomplished a bit more good if he had died for, say, the poor? or the hungry? or the ill?"

I mean, we ungodly may have some problems, but I'm pretty sure a therapist (or a blog. or a six-pack. or an eighth viewing of Mr. and Mrs. Smith) could have helped us out with that. I'm just not sure we needed the only son of god to die. Especially because Brangelina's best efforts don't seem all that effective at alleviating the suffering of the poor or the hungry of the world.

Though, come to think of it, they are helping the ungodly... Turns out, everyone, or, at least, Brangelina and Christ (read: anyone who matters) are on our side! It almost makes me feel bad for the poor sumbiches - the 'godly' if you will - who actually do believe that there is an omnipotent being who hates 99.999% of the human race, and especially anyone in Africa.

"Why would god make us all so different if he wanted us to be the same?"

(As always, name the movie, win the satisfaction of having named the movie. see also: "oh shut up, you fornicator!")

(PS. Wow, who saw a little joke about christ dying for the unstylish turning into a long post that ended with a near-tears-moral-of-the-story quote from a movie? Not me, that's for sure.)

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Yesterday I woke up late. Around 11:30am. Despite having set my alarm for 9:30am.

I woke up, had a bowl of cereal and then fell back asleep.

Until 2:30pm. I left for work at 4:00pm.

Waste of a day, much? I think so.

Wow. Time flies when you're working a lot of hours that you don't really like and having the occasional bit of fun in between.

This weekend I went karaoke-singing with long-time pals. Which means I got obliterated and went drunk karaoke-singing with the only people who have ever and probably will ever see me holding a microphone while my other hand flails around in the air and I slur "I Want To Break Free" at the top of my lungs. Along with "Smells Like Teen Spirit", "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and "Yellow.

I brunched on Saturday. All three of us got the Texas Breakfast. As one should when brunching. French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee? Yes please. No homefries? Damn.

I worked Sunday evening, with Kamster and one other lady, let's call her DMV - because she seems to have learned how to treat people from some nasty woman who has worked at the DMV for the last 35 years and hates everyone except the guy she happens to be fucking at the moment. But DMV was actually kind of nice to us, and treated our customers reasonably well. For her.

After Kamster got cut, Tom and Chip came and ate and drank with her in my line of sight while I stood by myself and continued working. Which was awesome. When I finally got cut, hours later, they told me we were going out - which was the plan all all weekend. However, the three ladies and their bottle + of wine had changed the plans without consulting Monologuer and his soberness. Therefore we ended up at a lesbian bar in the East Village (I just typed 'Eat Village' and wonder if that wasn't an appropriate Freudian-slip). While there were some hot lesbians there, for the most part they did not fulfill the straight man's vision of hot-blond-cheerleading-lesbians. In fact, many of them were short and could probably have taken me in a fight. The night did take most of the money out of Monologuer's wallet - believe it or not, I didn't get any discounts from the cute bartendress - and provided for some very memorable quotes:

Tom: "you mean, does she carry a lunch box?"

Kamster started doing what she called "the hustle" and what Monologuer called "the electric slide." Kamster said that if you ghetto-ed it up enough, it could be the hustle. There wasn't enough room to "ghetto it up" enough, but nonetheless, Kamster, Chip and Monologuer started doing "the hustle." An amused but perhaps also appalled lesbian asked Tom, "are you line dancing?!"
Tom: "They are."
Lesbian: "Are they from the mid-west?"

No, not from the midwest. Just drunk products of middle-school in the '90s.

Since then, I have done ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NOTHING. Except show up to work when they tell me to.

List of things I haven't done:
- pay rent
- pay utilities
- pay cable
- go to internship
- deposit pay check
- talked to my family
- gone grocery shopping
- exercised
- loaded a word processor onto my computer
- loaded any software onto my computer after the harddrive had a fatal error sometime a week or two ago
- cleaned my apartment
- done laundry
- buy (read: pick up off the street) furniture for my as-yet-still-unfurnished apartment
- buy a set of queen size bedding to fit my mattress on the floor and the pillows mom sent me
- buy dishes so that I can have more than one person eat in my apartment at a time (for the hypothetical point at which Monologuer has someone(s) over to the abode)

I blame it on the lesbians.