Monday, June 16, 2008

Joe's Crab Shack and Domestic Violence

About six of us decided to go to a low key dinner Friday evening after work. We even brought the kids. We picked Joe's Crab Shack because they have a pretty good (read: less germ infested) playground for the kiddos to play on. The kids had a blast, we had a few buckets of beer, and dinner was great.

We head to BFF's house to hang out for the evening. Low key, remember? We pull in the driveway and hear screaming. I chalk it up to the wild banchee children that live across the street. (WTF is up with all the screaming kids do nowadays anyhow??) So, we usher the kids into the house and I'm one of the last ones to walk in. Suddenly a car alarm goes off. Still, perfectly normal for a houston suburb.

Then we hear a woman screaming, and the children screaming at us..."He's hitting her, he's hitting her!" I turn around. Sure enough the husband is on top of the wife in their car, beating the shit out of her. She had set off the panic button in the car to get our attention. Their two little boys were on the porch watching. It was awful.

I scream to the guys to go help. I scream at the girls to call 911. BFF, completely oblivious to what is happening, calls 911 while mouthing to me with utter confusion "why am I calling 911?"
Another friend is inside with the kids, BFF is on the phone with the 911 operator (still trying to figure out what the hell is going on), and the guys have wrestled this guy off of his wife and are trying to talk him down. Wife beater then runs in his house to get his pit to "attack us". HA! The pit was a puppy and could give a shit less what was going on, he ran straight at us wagging his tail, begging for someone to pet him. Nice guard dog, jackass.

Then we were all called "white n---ers". I had to laugh at the irony of what was happening. Cracked out shirtless wife beater + pit bull + pistol....rightttt.... In retrospect we are all pretty lucky we didn't get our asses shot.

We did learn that the police have a three minute response time. Not too shabby. They wasted no time in slamming his ass down on the hood of the car. Cuff and stuff baby.

So, to sum it up, dinner, domestic violence, and witness testimony. Low key Friday my ass. I think it's now a proven fact that we are magnets for drama.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Lean Cuisines and Interns

After looking at the not so flattering pictures of myself from the reunion, I've decided maybe it's time to go on a diet. It pretty much boils down to one thing. I love food. I love to cook it, I love to serve it, but most of all I love shoving it down my pie hole. Maybe it's my southern heritage, or maybe it's because I grew up with a momma that fried everything. I don't know. But I do know something has to be done about it.

I'm trying a combination of the Slim Fast and Lean Cuisine diet. Regarding the latter, what kind of sadistic bastard (because you know it was a man!) invented these things? I pulled mine out of the freezer here at work today. I flipped it over to look at the directions. Six to seven minutes. It takes six fucking minutes to heat something in the microwave? Here's a little tip for you, Lean Cuisine creators, you do NOT want to make a dieting woman wait six minutes for her crappy ass diet food. I go from hungry to raving bitch in about three minutes flat. But that's neither here nor there.

I begrudgingly open the stupid box, throw it in our filthy work microwave, and punch in five minutes, fifteen seconds. Because I'll be damned if I will give them the pleasure of making me wait the entire six minutes.

And I wait. And wait. And wait. The intern walks through the kitchen three times and keeps looking at me like I'm a loon. Move it along, you tiny little 19 year old, there's nothing to see here. I silently giggle to myself because I know someday she will be the fat almost thirty year old waiting for her godforsaken diet food to heat up.

Ding! Finally. I walk down to BFF's office because that is where we have our lunch date most days. I pull off the cellophane and just groan. I shit you not when I say there were three tiny pieces of meat in there. Well, not even pieces really. More like the remnants that fall off of the roast when you are cutting it. That's probably what happened. They were cutting off actual pieces for the Hungry Man frozen dinners, and they have a collection area for the remnants that fall off. That's what they put in the Lean Cuisines.

Now, I'm going to be generous and say there were maybe seven green beans and two carrots. All of this was in a lovely brown, slightly MSG tasting, gravy. And to accompany this feast, was a side of dried crusty looking mashed taters. Dried? Crusty? After being in the microwave for six minutes? No way.

I ate it in about two seconds flat, grimacing the whole time at the God awful taste. Do they really think that tiny amount of food is going to satiate even the tiniest person (even the intern) for more than an hour?! Needless to say, I was starving an hour later.

That Hershey bar never had a chance.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Change is Not Always Good

This is going to seem pretty trivial, but it's what's going on right now so it's what I'm writing about.

They changed our cafe here at work. We were assured that the new owners would be bigger and better. My ass. We begin our story around 1pm today. BFF innocently sends me an IM saying she wants ice cream. Being the lard ass that I am I happily agree. You see, our old cafe had a freezer full of ice creamy goodness...frozen snickers, drumsticks, chocolate dipped haagen daz bars....

We meet in the cafe a few minutes later....look around for said ice cream freezer. It is nowhere to be found. Panic ensues. BFF asks if they got rid of it, to which they reply "yes". A slightly shrill "are you sure?!" follows. I've never seen a 28 year old woman throw a hissy fit and pout until today. I think she even stomped her foot at one point.

She begrudgingly sulks over to the frozen yogurt machine and pulls the handle. "Chocolate?! I don't want chocolate!" More sulking. (Who doesn't like chocolate anyway?) So we roam around aimlessly in the cafe looking for a substitute. I see chocolate chip cookies, which are normally like crack to me, but they were wrapped in plastic. Ick.

BFF grabs a snickers (snickers are made of chocolate, no?) I grab the cookies. I know, they were in plastic, but I'm not wasting a trip to the cafe and coming back empty handed. We grill the checkout girl who barely speaks english about the missing ice cream freezer. She assures us that she will tell management. (Yeah, she will tell management alright....that two bitches were about to go postal over missing ice cream, of all things)

Needless to say, I am not happy about this cafe change. I will deal with the spongy, inedible chicken with the painted on grill marks. Just give us back our ice cream!