The Announcement

I must admit I've been putting off this post for quite a while...but here's the deal: I'm pregnant. Yep, totally knocked up. Currently, I'm almost 19 1/2 weeks. Before I was pregnant, I didn't understand why women insisted on calculating their birth in weeks. It sort of annoyed me that somehow the rest of us had to sit there, feign excitement and quickly do math so we could reply, "Oh, so you are basically five months along?" But, here I am.

So, what are my current thoughts on gaining weight and having an alien inside me? Funny you ask.

Well, here's the fears:
1. People will stop touching my bulging stomach AFTER I have the kid. How will people greet me?
2. I will find maternity clothes incredibly comfortable and be that girl who still wears the large elastic jeans. (Alright, I'll admit I was told of a little secret of a rubber band being looped between your jean's button hole to allow for a little more room...and I sort of love it. I might be continuing this process for...the rest of my life.)
3. This blog will only contain pictures of my child in the bathtub, eating food and looking adorable. Oh wait...was that your fear?
4. My husband will be severely disappointed when my enlarged melons actually go back to their solid A status. I've tried to prepare him with balloons slowly losing their air, but I don't think he's getting the message.
5. Watching The Good Wife (What? I'm pregnant.*) for three weeks straight will actually cause developmental problems with my future child.
6. My child will secretly love all CBS shows.
7. I will start listening to crappy baby music in the car, speaking like a moron and walking around with spit on my shoulder without even caring.
8. My dislike of all vegetables and crazy cravings of In and Out will continue and lead me down a path of morbid obesity...which will then lead me to the Biggest Loser and I'll be seen by millions of people crying on a treadmill.
9. I will never have the courage to answer, when some stranger asks me, "Are you expecting?" with, "Um, no...what are you talking about? I'm just big boned."
10. My mom will take my baby. She's slightly excited about this development.

Well, that's about it. I'm pregnant. High fives around.

* This excuse seems to be working for everything.

The Other MAC Store

So, the other day I decided to stop at the MAC store...no not the hip and always overcrowded Mac store (does the Mac store just hire random people to be constantly in their store playing with their products?) but the other MAC store. You know - the one with the make-ups. Yes, you did read that correctly. Since being married I find myself adding random plurals to words. For example, before church I always put on my make-ups, before going to bed I check the internets and I make lots of monies at the restaurant. I'm not sure if this is a ridiculously cute by-product of being in love, or the fact that marriage has turned me into a moron.

Anyway, for those of you who haven't entered the MAC store let me explain the environment. First, as soon as you walk in you are greeted, with a slight look of disdain, from a man wearing a great deal of foundation and eye liner. Now, I know what you are thinking, "How come I'm getting the look of disdain?" I mean, a man is wearing make-up in public and he isn't even in drag. But, somehow in this world the she-male is totally acceptable. Outside - beat up. Inside, king of make-up.

Once, you get past the "greeting party" you are allowed to walk around the store and pretend you are completely interested in 40 different shades of lipstick and eye shadows entitled "Summer Day" and "Moss." When finally you reveal yourself as completely clueless another "make-up artist" will approach you and ask if they can help. I want to throw a warning out at this point because inevitably the person asking to help is usually covered in ridiculous amounts of make-up. It's like they get paid extra if they find small portions of their faces to advertise the products. For example, the girl helping me had bright blue mascara on, hot pink lip stick, four different shades on her eyes, foundation, cream of some kind, lip gloss and who knows what else?

I got to be honest, this kamikaze display of make-up doesn't give me a great deal of confidence going forward in listening to their recommendations. But, this is a world where I'm completely at a loss. So, for the next fifteen minutes I try to pretend I grew up playing with make-up, and shake my head profusely when they ask if I have "night" and "day" make-up - because who doesn't go for a more smokey look while they are going out? Oh wait, I don't live in Sex in the City.

Anyway, I'm happy to report that after an hour of being made up by my artist/clown, I stayed strong and didn't purchase the purple lipstick she insisted would be great for work and managed to get out of there.

So, remember guys wearing make-up - okay. A woman, wearing more make-up than Tammy Baker, and who tells you purples and oranges bring out your blue eyes, is not okay. Stay strong.

Just A Normal Wednesday

Picture this:

I'm sitting on the couch, not showered, wearing sweats, eating a sandwich with a bag of open pretzels on the coffee table, while watching Cougar Town (yeah, I like the show.) In my kitchen are two dirty pots from the soup I've eaten on Monday and Tuesday night, an open bag of cheese on the counter, because I'm having a cheese sandwich and obviously didn't have the adequate strength to put the cheese away, a bottle of mustard, an empty box of cereal and a bag of trash on the floor. My bathroom is a mixture of last night's mail, that apparently the husband didn't have strength to put on the table outside, toothbrushes and discarded toothpaste. Fortunately, I'm happy to report the bed is made, but is covered in wires and pictures from a project I'm working on.

Now, you would admit this is not a state you would want anyone to see, right? Well, while I was sprawled on the couch, chopping away on my sandwich, the door opened and two men walked in to check my smoke detectors.

What did I do? Exactly, what any self respecting woman would have done...I started to sniffle and cough...I mean, only someone who is desperately sick would live in this type of environment...or a woman, who hasn't seen her husband since Sunday.

They Started It

Not actual picture...but pretty close.

So, I have these regulars, who spend the majority of their meal doing three things: 1. Subtly sexually harassing me 2. Accusing me of not giving them enough bacon strips even though in the history of our restaurant we have always given TWO FREAKING PIECES and 3. Informing me that the rest of my co-workers are either idiots or "not good looking enough to work here."

After many meals of enduring their ridiculous banter I decided to fight back. The following took place...you tell me who won this round.

Meat Head #1: Kate, are you married? (This question has been asked before and is usually followed up with a fake proposal for a life of money and love.)

Kate: Um, yeah, five years. It's actually gotten pretty serious.

Meat Head #2: Do you ever cheat?

Kate: No. But, funny you would ask because the other day I saw Nicole in here (Meat Head #3's wife) and she was with some hot guy and all she kept saying is what an idiot Travis is and what a terrible husband he is.

Silence.

Meat Head #3: That sounds about right since we are getting divorced.

Meat Head #1, #2: We'll take the check.

I know I should feel bad, but....

What's Lacrosse?

A few Sundays ago I was asked to substitute teach for our Sunday school class. Now, I typically enjoy teaching, but in my church there's always the possibility of something crazy happening. For example, the other day my friend was teaching about choices and consequences and decided to illustrate this lesson through a childhood experience. He said that he decided, as a young boy, in order to go for a really fast ride to tie his dog to his big wheel. However, as soon as he told his dog to go the big wheel took off and he crashed his head on the sidewalk. Good story - choice / consequence illustrated. Now, as he started to continue with his lesson a very nice lady raised her hand and said, "Now, I don't support animal cruelty and I'm not sure your dog should have been put through that." Um, I guess point not communicated. And then to make matters even better, ten minutes later, on a completely different topic, the same lady raised her hand and admitted, "Okay, I've once been mean to animals, but again, I don't support it."

I'm not going to lie I absolutely love these moments at my church. I mean, there's nothing more fun than watching the teacher spin a crazy comment into a faith promoting statement. Oh, you saw a cat at the store scratch a man's eyes out...now, I think we all can apply that trials are difficult and we must pray more often for help. Pure genius.

Now, as much as I love watching this awkward dance go on I got admit I was a little scared what curve ball would be thrown at me. So, there I sat, opening my lesson with a story from college about when I was playing lacrosse and just as I was bearing my testimony about how prayer helped me overcome a difficult time someone shouted from the back, "What's lacrosse?!" For a second I ignored the comment and tried to continue my heart warming testimony when someone answered her question by saying, "It's like ice hockey" and then before I could offer my rebuttal someone said, "No, it's more brutal and more like soccer." Ice hockey? Soccer? And then someone said, "Draw the stick on the board!" I then proceeded to draw the stick, give a brief overview of lacrosse, which apparently didn't suffice because more questions came. Finally, I found myself pantomiming someone playing lacrosse and wondering where in the world this lesson was going.

Eventually the lesson got back on track, but I give high marks to my church. I really thought I was in safe territory with no stories about animals, homeless people or questionable doctrine. Well done. Well done.

$6,000 Dollars Of Life Changing Money

The other day I was in line at Target and a man in front of me was buying a very large flat screen TV. The woman checking him out exclaimed, "Man, what a cool TV!" to which the man replied, "Well, I went to Pechanga (a resort in beautiful Temecula, CA) and won $6,000 dollars gambling." Now, I'll admit, it's quite impressive he won that amount, but I found the check out lady's response a little strange. She, after hearing the amount of his winnings said, "Man, if I won that much money I would quit this job so fast...seriously...I'd be out of here."

$6,000 dollars? You would quit your job for $6,000 dollars? A few questions: How little are they paying employees at Target that $6,000 dollars sounds like millions? Secondly, how is a lady, who deals with money transactions all day, have such a warped view of the concept "a lot" and "a little?" And lastly, if I might ask, what's this lady's plan with $6,000 dollars in California? Are you going to go crazy and buy gas for a month? Are you going to pay your rent in full for three months? What's the plan?

Alright judging aside, I found twenty dollars underneath a table, while working at the restaurant, and considered telling my manager I was sick. I mean, it was twenty dollars.

The Wonders Of Being A Woman

Now, I'll be the first to admit that being a woman definitely has its advantages. For example, there's the phrase, "Ladies first," which in itself means a myriad of things - we get to enter warm buildings before our cold male counterparts, we get to pick the best looking appetizers off the plate before everyone else and we are the first ones off a sinking ship or out of a burning building (alright, if kids aren't involved....geez.) Also, dating as a woman was fantastic. Don't like the guy? Never going to end up with him? Alright, but I'll still eat this amazing dinner for free and see this one time reunion of Led Zeppelin...for free...because I can...and then not pick up my phone for the second date? Okay.

Now, as great as is to sit while going to the bathroom and having the ability to give life, there are also some annoying parts of being a woman. For example, about once a week some jack a## decides to call me "sweetie," "honey" or "miss" at the restaurant. It takes everything I have inside me to not pour hot coffee in his lap or give him a spoon, from my last table, to use for his oatmeal...well, at least I don't pour the coffee.

I have also found that on the golf course people, I mean, men, treat me like I'm an idiot. For example, yesterday the husband and I went up to Malibu to play a round of golf. As the two guys we were playing with and myself started to warm up the starter suggested we take a practice shot off the tee. First, Brian, name has not been changed, but if you must know, all I gathered was he was Asian and from Torrance, hit his first ball and watched it completely slice. The next guy, Alex, who again all I found out was Japanese and had an abundance amount of snacks, that I partook of, hit his ball and it hooked rather bad. Then I got up, hit my ball, which went slightly to the right, but not sliced, and before I could turn around the starter was behind me saying, "Now, I'm not a golf pro, but do you mind if I give you a little tip?" He then proceeded to give me some old man advice about hitting a golf ball, which sort of sounded like, "blah, blah, golf, blah, blah golf," and THEN as I teed off for REAL he said, WHILE IN MY BACK SWING, "now remember the (insert stupid old man advice)." I stopped my swing, and said, "Thanks, but I think I'm going to stick with what I got."

Now, you tell me, would this guy EVER give advice like that to the two idiots, who went before me? Nope.

So, men, I'll watch the Titanic sinking, but don't tell me how to play golf.

Wonder Sticks

I swear this blog will one day not be an ongoing chronicle of my awkward moments - but ANOTHER one happened!

So, as many of you know I've been trying for some time to get pregnant. A few weeks ago, I went to CVS to pick up some ovulation tests. (For my male readers, these little wonder sticks tell if you can get pregnant or not. Not if you are pregnant, but can you become pregnant. Understand?) Maybe I should just end the entry here. Everyone feel awkward enough? Everyone picturing me peeing on these sticks? Perfect.

Anyway, I found the ovulation tests, but the one I wanted to get only had one left and that box was actually open and missing one of the sticks. So, I went to the store manager and showed him the open box and asked if he had anymore of "these" in the back. He then proceeded to grab the box, read the box and then look at me and ask, "What are these things for?" Really? We are doing this? Mind you this manager looked like: "College wasn't exactly his thing," and "Managing McDonalds seemed like too much responsibility" and "A woman isn't something he's actually hung out with."

So, for a few seconds I just stood there and then finally said, "Um, they are for getting pregnant." Wow, talk about a confused face. I think he actually thought these wonder sticks GET you pregnant because he said, "Really? How?" Again, we are doing this? Finally, I grabbed the box, contemplated taking the vandalized box home and trying it anyway, and then decided to leave. As I turned to go, he asked, while grabbing a pregnant test, "Will this work instead?"

Um...no.

My New Victims

Today, I went to Home Depot to buy some flowers for my outside balcony. After wandering around for a few minutes, I found an employee and had the following conversation:

Home Depot Employee: "Can I help you find something?"

Kate: "Um, yeah, I'm looking for some idiot proof flowers."

Home Depot Employee: "Have you bought any flowers before?"

Kate: (While turning my back on the flowers and speaking in a low voice) "Actually, I got to be honest...I've killed a few of these guys in my day...I guess, I'm just here looking for my new victim." (Cue awkward laugh and glance away.)

Home Depot Employee: (Turning his body to shield the plants) "Um, have you thought of plastic flowers?"

Come on...not a little funny?

Lousy Service

It would be a mild understatement to say our apartment building has had some issues over the years. For example, there was a fun time when our bathtub and sink used to throw up dirt and other types of bile from the depths of hell, and another favorite is when the ceiling over our shower began to grow slightly concave (yes, I still have a slight anxiety when showering.) I also loved the smoker we have next door who makes our lovely lobby smell like a cheap motel, and who can forget the incredible security system that ensured our bikes and all our neighbors' were stolen from our garage. Now, as annoying as all these things have been none of us have really made much of a stink over them. However, there has been one annoyance that has literally caused all the old people in our building to go completely crazy - the elevator.

About once a week the elevator just decides to die. Now, I live on the first floor (blog stalkers please keep your distance) so the death of the elevator does not effect me as much. Sure, it's annoying to walk the extra steps through the garage with groceries, but let's be honest, I'm usually only carrying a cereal box, milk and some bread, but for the old people this just pisses them off. Over the years, they have congregated in the lobby and muttered words of disgust as you innocently go to get your mail, they've left notes on the elevator informing loved ones they died because they were unable to travel three flights of stairs to get to the hospital and they have broken hips (wait...that might have just happened on its own.) Anyway, the other morning I woke up and found these posters all over the lobby:
I have to give them credit. I like the use of the word "dangerous." It changes the game. Now, I want this elevator fixed more than anything because now I'm afraid. Before, annoyed. Now, afraid. I also like that they bring up the fact that we pay too much...for what? Yeah, "lousy service." Again, game changer. Before, I was like, "I live in a nice apartment with a fickle elevator." Now, I'm like, "I live in a luxury hotel that is not bringing me champagne and strawberries, and I will not put up with this lousy service." So, again, fix this elevator. And lastly, invoking our manager's name is fantastic. It says, "Yeah, we're old and sit in our apartments all day, but we know...we know your name."

Has the elevator died since? Yep. Will it die again? Will someone on the third floor break a hip?

No Sympathy Here

I had a good thing going with the whole awkward thing so I thought I would add another story. So, as many of you know, I've been trying for quite some time to have a baby. And during this sweet time of life, I've been waiting tables - just to ensure God knows I'm willing to really do anything to get a baby. (Yes, even answer the same questions all day long - and if any of you were wondering, after visiting our little establishment, the "freshly squeezed OJ" is truly freshly squeezed*, the California burger is half the size of our cheeseburger and the bathroom is down the hallway and to the left.)

So, I must also admit that while waiting tables I've "mentioned" a few times to customers that I'm trying to start a family. What? Sympathy tips are fantastic and I'm not below really anything when it comes to cold cash. Anyway, there's this slightly bizarre couple that comes in every Thursday and insists on sitting at the same table every time. (They have even asked people to move when they come in.) And what makes them even more fun is that 1. They always manage to call me a different name. Do I really look like a Carol? 2. They always order the same forsaken thing, and yet, always insist on telling me the order in full detail. (To which, I always try to interrupt them and tell them already what they are going to say, and yet, they will continue saying, "...Now please make sure the chef knows I like my tuna burger well done." Well done? A tuna burger? What a crazy order - YOU ORDER EVERY FREAKING TIME!) and 3. No, matter what, they always manage to order pancakes to go, again, a total natural progression from a tuna burger, and always manage to forget them. (This is actually their only redeeming quality.)

So, the other day we got talking and they mentioned they remembered me saying I was trying to start a family. I went to thank them for remembering, and then stopped immediately, when I saw them hand me a book entitled "I'm Okay...You're A Brat!" As I went to ask what the crap this book was about, Susan informed me she was the author, and that the book was about how it's okay to hate your kid. Yeah, you read that right - it's okay to hate your kid. Susan then proceeded to tell me how having her son was the biggest mistake of her life, and how it completely ruined every thing she wanted to accomplish. Now, I should mention, though you have probably already gathered this, Susan has a PhD (in what, I'm not sure) and according to her bio, is a best-selling author, a workshop leader, a public speaker and a media personality. (I've spoken in church a few times - does that make me a public speaker?)

Anyway, it was by far the strangest conversation I've had in a long time. I kept saying, "Well, I'm still going to try, " and Susan saying, "Well, I would think really hard about it." Finally, I just said, "Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."

I think I'm going to write a book for Susan entitled, "I'm Okay...You Are Just Freaking Weird!"

*Not really.

Some Holiday Thoughts

Happy New Year everyone! Well, it's been quite a holiday for me and the husband. We've been to Salt Lake City, Vegas, St. George, Utah (for those of you who are not experts on the cities of Utah) and then back to LA. I really don't want to see the inside of a car for a few weeks.

Anyway, I've had a few thoughts over the holidays, and well, without a proper opening, here they are in no particular order.

1. A few weeks before Christmas, the husband and I did some shopping. In the course of our holiday hunt, we entered Forever 21. Now, I don't know if I'm the only one who feels this way, but this store makes me feel like I'm having a seizure every time I'm in it. Honestly, does anyone, who works for Forever 21, follow Tim Gunn's sage advice and edit their designs? In one section of the store are plaid skirts, silk shirts, cheap shoes and large ridiculous belts. Just as you are trying to decipher between a belt and a shoe, you turn the corner and are assaulted with more prints, ruffles and leather. After five minutes of being in this store I don't know if they are selling clothes or this is a storage area of 15 different neighborhoods' garage sales. Finally, after I lost the husband twice (he was actually right next to me, but I couldn't see him among all the chaos) I threw my hands over my eyes and asked to be safely guided out.

Will someone please tell me how to shop at this store?

2. Thought number 2: Vegas is weird and the strangest people go there. (Not including me and the husband) For example, while the husband was checking into our hotel, I stood by the elevators and observed the following people walk by: 1. An Asian family consisting of a Grandma, who kept knocking into slot machines, a child, who kept screaming something in Chinese, her mom, who was oblivious to her screams and three other men, who looked like they just wanted a smoke or a buffet. 2. Four rednecks covered in camouflage, carrying beers in each hand, looked at me and said, "Hey remember, what happens in Vegas..." cue wink and then high fives from their buddies. (I sort of wanted a hunting rifle at that moment.) and 3. 1 high school student, who was dragged from his basement and Call of Duty video game, to go to Vegas with his Mom, who likes to knit pillows with kittens on them, and his Dad, who is an accountant and hates gambling because of the frivolous loss of money it causes. (Alright I wasn't sure about the knitting, but I have never seen a family more miserable and more out of place.)

So, the question is - why do all these bizarre people come to Vegas? What is it about Vegas that unifies us all? And where do I fit into all this?

3. Thought number 3 - buffets are just plain wrong. At eleven in the morning the husband and I entered a buffet and left an hour later feeling like we wanted to kill ourselves. Who decided to allow Americans, fat Americans, to enter a room and be allowed to eat ribs, chicken, omelets, donuts, ice cream, corn, sushi, french fries and hot dogs all in ONE sitting and ALL YOU CAN EAT? I swear, as I sat there watching my husband gnaw on ribs in one hand and bacon in the other, I thought, this is it....this is where he dies. (see picture above)

4. Will someone please bomb the fruit inspection stand just outside Barstow? Please. Or please let me know how much they make to wave people through. I'm pretty good at looking ambivalent and nodding my head.

Alright there's more thoughts - but that's enough for tonight.

Thoughts on my thoughts?

A Footlong Mistake

Sorry for the week of no posts. I had a terrible week of bad karma. How did it all begin? Well, last Saturday the husband and I went up to Camarillo to do some shopping. After four hours of the husband saying, "I don't know what looks good. Ask someone else," we took a break and enjoyed some Subway sandwiches. As we were eating, I realized the total I was told, and paid for, didn't seem to make sense. After retrieving my receipt, I noticed the Subway employee neglected to charge us for the husband's sandwich. Now, here's where I went wrong. As we sat there watching millions of people file around the stores and restaurants, we decided we weren't going to go up and rectify our bill. I know, I know I seem like someone who has a conscious. (My apologies for crashing your hopes and dreams.)

Anyway, as we continued with our day I had the nagging feeling that this false decision was going to come back and haunt us. And oh, how it did.

Fast forward eight hours, the husband and I have just enjoyed some delightful Japanese food (which we paid in full) and we find ourselves entering our apartment's elevator at a slightly heightened pace. (We were sort of chasing/fighting each other.) Anyway, me, always being the brilliant one, decided to change the game and threw my keys at the husband. As soon as I let go of the keys, I saw the Subway staff doing inventory and wondering where did that unaccounted foot long wheat go? Where did it go Subway? Well, probably not the same place my keys ended up. Yep, my keys managed to ricochet off the husband and down the elevator shaft. Gone. Point for you karma.

Now, I wish I could tell you that that was the end of the game, but karma wanted more. Fast forward five hours and I find myself, like a freshmen in college after her first night of drinking, throwing up my PAID for Japanese food. Yep, not only did I lose my keys, but I also got the STOMACH flu! Yeah.

Moral of the story: Pay your freaking Subway bill. The universe is watching.

Oh, and if this didn't seem awkward...more stories are coming.

It Wasn't Me

Awkward #4:

A few weeks ago I went to the grocery store to get some dinner for a big party I was throwing...oh wait, I was getting dinner for myself. (Cue complaint about my husband's hours.) Anyway, as I rounded the corner to the produce section, I heard a very loud crash followed by about 30 bottles of wine falling to the ground. As I stepped closer to see what had happened a man popped up from the mess, made eye contact with me and then quickly walked away. After he rounded the corner, another customer, who saw the scene, looked at me and asked, "Did he just run away?"

Now, of course, the fact that a grown man would run away from such a huge mess is slightly awkward, but things got more awkward as we continued to run into each other throughout the store. Every time we would find ourselves on the same aisle I would look at him with the, "I know what you did," look and he would respond with, "Please don't tell them it was me" look.

Finally, after three different awkward encounters, I began to wonder why he ran away in the first place. Did he think they were going to revoke his shopping privileges for life? Did he think they were going to make him clean up the virtual winery on the floor? Or even pay for the mess? Did he think they would make him drink the spilled wine while shouting, "YOU ARE AN IDIOT AND EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW IT!!!?" Honestly, was does this guy do when he makes a mistake at work? Burn the office down so no one will know he accidentally pressed "reply to all" instead of replying back to one person?

Hey, grown man at the grocery store you made a mistake. It's okay. Really. It was wine on sale at the grocery store. We aren't talking real expensive stuff.

Guess What? Your Car Just Got Keyed!

Awkward #3: (refer to the last two entries)

Homeless man walks down four blocks and scratches every car with a pocket knife. Finally, at the fourth block the police catch up with him and he is arrested.

It is estimated that almost twenty cars were scratched. His last victim was a nice Lexus.

I walk into the restaurant, after getting the story from the police officer, and say out loud, as I'm pointing to the street, "Man, I would hate to own that Lexus."

Three tables over a customer pops his head up and says, "What did you say about my Lexus?"

Big Hat

For those of you, who haven't been reading my blog because of my gross neglect I have decided, well since my last entry, to recount some of the past awkward moments I have had to endure through the month of November.

Awkward Situation #2

So, on Thanksgiving day I was working at the restaurant serving ridiculous amounts of food to ridiculous amounts of people. (You know our country is disgustingly obese when, on the most gluttonous day of the year, people BEGIN their feasts with eggs benedict, pancakes, bacon and hash browns.) I digress.

As I was finishing up for the day, Norm MacDonald (star of Weekend Update on Saturday Night Live and Billy Madison) walked in and plopped down at one of my tables. He's a bit of a regular so I wasn't star struck or overly excited to take one more customer. However, as I got to the table he shouted out, "Hey, long time no see!" and then proceeded to grab my hand and perform the most awkward handshake. Now, this five minute hand jive would constitute an awkward moment, but then it got a little stranger. As we bumped fists and slapped palms, he said, "Last night I made food for Thanksgiving, but then I left it out all night and it spoiled, so I left everyone in my house and came here." (Still attempting to master the 90210 Dylan McKay and Brandon Walsh final high five.) He then proceeded to ask, "Do you guys do Thanksgiving to go?" At this, I pulled my hand away, and realized poor Norm was deeply drunk and in deeply in need of a Boston Market...and maybe a request for a quick impression of Burt Reynolds. (Come on, like you wouldn't have taken advantage of his inebriation and said, "Big Hat. It's funny because it's a big hat." Right?)

Anyway, after downing an omelet and some hash browns, he announced he had found a "Thanksgiving take out place" (yep, I bet it was awesome too) and proceeded to grab my hand for a final adieu. Fortunately, I was ready this time and got out after two sort of cool snaps.

I don't know what was more awkward, the fact that he seemed to think we were really good friends, or the fact that he sucks at handshakes?

I Literally Died

This is me being literally dragged to Hawaii.

Since 1 of my 5 readers threatened to stop following my blog I have decided to check in (yeah, that's right, Meg Schmidt - you are getting a shout out.) I apologize for the absence, but since my last entry, I've been to Hawaii, celebrated Turkey Day and....um, sort of started watching Hart of Dixie. Oh, did I just lose 1 of my five readers? I meant, I've been watching Hawaii 5-0...oh, and all of the sudden, my readership in the midwest and between the ages of 41-to dead has gone drastically up!

Alright, enough of the excuses to the faceless cyber-world, let's get down to it. This past month has been an unusually awkward month for me. Therefore, for the next six entries you are going to get to see the past month through my eyes.

Awkward Situation #1:

After being in Hawaii a little over a week, I returned to work and was asked about 100 times, "Where were you?" by co-workers and my regulars. I finally grew tired of saying, while shrugging my shoulders in the most pathetic attempt at humility, "Um, I was in Hawaii for a week with my husband's family," so I decided to change things up on one unsuspecting customer. The following awkward conversation occurred:

Customer: "So, I came in last week and asked to sit in your section, but they said you were not here."

Kate: "Oh, yeah. It's actually sort of crazy."

Customer: Pushes aside his oatmeal and leans in...

Kate: "My husband just packed my bags, threw me on a plane and forced me to go to Hawaii. It was pretty scary there...but, someone had to do it."

NO EXAGGERATION

Customer: (Slight moment of silence) "Um, Kate, are you okay? Are you still with your husband?"

I got to admit I just don't understand literal people. What kind of world do you all live in? Do you look at people's crotches in disgust when the say, "I literally peed my pants?" Are you enraged when you find out someone didn't die even when they said they literally died when they found something out? And do you truly believe someone gets DRAGGED to Hawaii?

On second thought, was this customer being sarcastic with me? Am I literal person?

Halloween - Yous Confusin'

I don't know about you, but I find Halloween sort of confusing. I mean, when I see a grown man wearing a Darth Vader mask and boxer briefs underneath a cape (true customer yesterday) am I supposed to just think that's alright? Am I just supposed to refill his ice tea and not stop and say, "Um, those boxer briefs are really leaving nothing to the imagination, so if you wouldn't mind..." I just don't get it. How come boxer briefs in public are okay yesterday, but severely taboo today? It just doesn't make sense.

The other aspect of Halloween I find very confusing is that the whole day you find yourself wondering, "Now are you dressed up as Harry Potter or are you just some little English Guy who ran into a glass door when he was five?" (Again, true customer from yesterday.) Seriously, all this confusion creates some awkward situations. For example, I almost said to one woman, "Man, I love the deranged look you have going today. Are you supposed to be an escaped schizophrentic from some psychiatric ward?" (Turns out she just needed some coffee and food and then the deranged look went away.) Or the actual slip I made when I said to a kid, IN FRONT OF HIS MOM, "Are you a zombie?" (In my defense, he was so immersed in his mom's Ipad he didn't even notice when I brought his food out.)

Anyway, Halloween, you and I have had some good times, but on whole I just don't get ya.

People Are Idiots

I know I say this a lot, but I'm continually shocked by what people do and say in a restaurant. Today, was definitely one of those days when I thought to myself, "I don't get paid enough for this crap."

First customer:
We'll call him George. George comes in a lot and likes to talk. He'll see you have ten tables holding up empty glasses of ice tea and continue to talk to you about the cost of sheep in Asia - and I should mention, while you neglect your other tables to hear these rants of a lonely man, he doesn't tip that well. So, basically, I am nice to George because I realize he's lonely, but I sort of dread when he's around. Anyway, today I was a little slow so I made the deadly mistake of saying, "George how are you today?" For the next five minutes he proceeded to tell me about the infection in his foot. He used words like pus, dead skin and potential for more infection. I just stood there trying to think about anything but the two layers of dead skin his doctor removed yesterday and what it looked like falling to the floor. Finally, I cut him off and said, "Well, George you want to order some food? and he said, "Well, I'll have some pancakes but I have to keep this foot elevated,"...and then I did the unthinkable - I looked. I looked at the infected foot. Why was it out for everyone to see? Well, some time during me trying to zone out of this nightmare, George had taken off his sock to give me a first hand look at his foot. I know what you are thinking - who does that? People in a restaurant.

2nd set of customers:
These two idiots sat down, made some stupid reply to my "Can I get you guys something to drink?" with "Only if you have an IV of coffee on you," and then after I didn't laugh, they ordered 1 (remember this number) 1 muffin. Now, after getting their complicated order, I ran to the market area to get other tables' muffins and coffee. I had not rung in the muffin yet, but decided to pick if up for the idiots and then put it in later. So, now the idiots have 1 muffin - which they start to eat. After ten minutes, I ring in the muffin they are eating, but unknowingly someone grabs them a muffin, thinking I just rang it in, and brought it to their table. Now, what would you do in this situation? Would you say, "Um, sorry we already have our muffin and didn't order another one," or would you say nothing, take the muffin, eat it, and when your server comes over to ask you why you ate the other muffin, do you feign surprise that another muffin appeared AND inform your server you won't be paying for it? Guess which option these idiots chose? Because all restaurants have the policy of "Buy 1 get 1 completely free immediately after."

I hate people sometimes.

The Real Life of An Attorney

For those of you who thought being an attorney was all about reading documents and writing contracts...you also need to be up to date on Real Housewives of New Jersey. (It's a section on the BAR - or so he said.)

In Need of Adult Companionship

I've realized, after many nights of being left alone by my over worked husband, that I don't function very well without some type of adult companionship. For example, since being home at 4pm I've had two bowls of cereal - one counted as a quasi lunch/"energy" for some type of exercise to be completed before dinner, and the other bowl was initially classified as a snack, but to be honest it really should fall under the category of "I'm lonely and these honey nut cheerios will make it all better." (I should also say that between the cereal I had dinner. So, the 2nd bowl wasn't really a snack, but more of an unnecessary treat to myself for finishing my dinner.)

Now, overeating is not only my only issue with being alone. In addition to taking down boxes of cereal, I also find myself in periodic time warps of the internet. It seems like every time I go to check the weather to see if I need to put on a long sleeve for my run, I end up reading ridiculous articles about Beyonce and Jennifer Aniston for 45 minutes. 45 minutes and I'm still not even sure if Jennifer has found the one and if she is indeed pregnant.

Once I shake myself from the food and the internet, I coax myself into some type of exercise, which is really a means to making more room for cereal, and then, because, again, I'm not a highly functioning alone person, I'll take a shower with my the bathroom door open and my apartment door unlocked. How many times have I stopped my shower in panic because I thought I heard something or someone? Too many to count. Has this made me lock my apartment door? Not yet.

And lastly, as if the eating disorder, internet obsession and streak of exhibitionism wasn't bad enough, I'll admit, and only because we are good friends, there may or may not be some dancing in front of the many mirrors in my apartment. What? I'm on a freaking sugar high...you try sitting still after two rather large bowls of cereal.

Hey, attorney husband...come home to your wife.

Halloween Is A ONE Day Holiday

Last night I was in West Hollywood and saw numerous people dressed up in costumes. (I know, it's West Hollywood, and these people might have been just going to the store or renting a movie, but it brings up a particular point I would like to make.)

First of all, I would like to state that I'm all for costumes on Halloween. Let me repeat, I'm in favor of costumes ON Halloween. However, for those of you who think October is like December and feel like it's alright to dress up for 30 days until the big event, let me just say it's not. Halloween is one day, and therefore, you are only supposed to dress up for ONE day. I mean if we allow this blatant stupidity what's next? All April we hide eggs, carry baskets of candy and hop around like stupid bunnies until Easter? Or do we parade around with handfuls of flags until, and this of course is one of my favorite holidays, Flag Day decides to finally come? Or do you want loads of college students drunk the entire month of February until all their Irish blood manifests on St. Patrick's Day? I didn't think so.

So, to you premature celebrators out there, who think it's okay a week BEFORE Halloween to dress up as bizarre zombies and skeletons, just hold off one more week. What are you five?

Honesty Will Cost Ya

Since working at a restaurant for almost 2 1/2 years I've learned that my job isn't just about friendly service and hospitality, but more about an astute ability to lie. For example here's some of my favorites:

Food comes out wrong
Option 1: Play up the fact that our kitchen is mostly Hispanic, and then exaggerate the obvious language barrier with some type of mild racial slur.
Option 2: Claim another server took your food to another table. Make a lighthearted joke like this one, "I'll go check on table 10 and see if they are enjoying your breakfast."

Food is taking too long (because you forgot to put the order into the computer)
Option 1: Claim that your systems just went down for a few minutes and now the kitchen is scrambling to catch up on all the back orders.
Option 2: Claim their food came up, but you inspected it, found it to be cold and demanded an immediate "refire." I usually deliver this with a disappointed face.

Questions about "free range" and organic food
Option 1: Ask them this, "Were you hoping to find free range chicken?" Person answers, "No, I hate free range chicken." So you say, "Well, then good because you are in luck. Our food is NOT, I repeat NOT free range." If they reply, "Why yes, I only eat free range." Then you say, "Well, then good because you are in luck. Our food is free range. I repeat is free range."
Option 2: Always say yes to organic. If some idiot is asking, then they are looking for a yes. (If you say no, they might ask you why you don't recycle. It's just not worth it.)

Do you like _____?
Option 1: Decide what this person is looking for. For example, if this person asked if you can cook the tuna burger well done and wants to know if you have onion rings, tell them you do not like the brussel sprout salad. If they are wearing skinny jeans and something totally vintage tell them you love the brussel sprout salad...because it's totally organic.
Option 2: Come on you smart people out there...what do I like? Um, the filet tacos are amazing because they are...what the most expensive thing on the menu? What?

So, remember us servers might look nice, but we are not to be trusted.

I'm A Closet Redneck

Alright I'll come clean, I sort of love country music. There's just something about it that makes me feel all sorts of emotions. Honestly, it makes me want to buy a pick-up truck, move down south, enlist in the army, find a good cowboy and lay in the grass while the sun sets. It's fantastic. And I'll even admit I've seen more country concerts than "normal" shows. Yeah, it's all coming out tonight. I've even seen Tim McGraw three times. Who sees Tim McGraw three times and likes it? This gun carrying redneck wannabe - that's who.

However, as much as my love runs deep for country music I also have my limits when it comes to this sometimes ridiculous genre. Take for example this current hit "My Girlfriend Likes To Fish" by Craig Cambell, I heard on the radio the other day:

If you don't want to watch the video you can just read these lyrics:

The first time we did it I was scared to death
She snuck out in that cotton dress
Jumped on in and we drove to the lake
Put her hand on my knee and said I can’t wait
I had everything we needed in the bed of my truck
Turns out my baby loves to…

Fish, she wants to do it all the time
Early in the morning, in the middle of the night
She’s hooked and now she can’t get enough
Man, that girl sure loves to fish

After that, that’s all she wanted to do
But that was okay ’cause I did too
She always wants to go down by the dam
And I love how she looks with that rod in her hand
If they ain’t bitin’ she don’t give up
Turns out my baby loves to…

Fish, she wants to do it all the time
Early in the morning, in the middle of the night
She’s hooked and now she can’t get enough
Man, that girl sure loves to fish

A song about fishing? A song about your girlfriend liking to fish? Are we serious? How can I defend this song to my husband and friends when they make fun of me for my closet love of country music? What's next - a song about how your girlfriend is actually your cousin and you both love making moonshine while watching NASCAR? Work with me country music.

Giving Things Away

So, today I had to serve this rather annoying chick on the patio. How annoying? Well, she was one of those people, that when I picked up her empty plates and asked, not really intending a real answer, "How was everything?" she replied, "Well, I loved the bacon, but I didn't totally enjoy the eggs, and the rice and beans didn't seem fully cooked." Thanks food critic because I really wanted a rundown of your breakfast.

Anyway, after a lengthy complaint about the lack of internet, she paid her bill and I went inside to clean some tables. As I looked out the window, I saw her take our water bottle, which is sort of this cool slender glass bottle, and place it in her bag and prepare to leave. Immediately, I walked outside and stopped her from leaving. As I approached her, I asked, "Did you take our water bottle?" (This time intending a real answer.) And she replied, "Um, yeah isn't that okay?" (Yeah, because all restaurants allow you to take home plates, forks and glasses after your meal.) And I said, "Not really," and she said, while handing me the bottle, "Oh, because last time I was here they just gave me the bottle." To which I responded with, "That's just weird," but what I really meant was: Gave you the bottle? Really? Do you also go to Macy's and they just "give you" clothes? Or do you find yourself at Target trying to stop all the employees from "giving you" merchandise?

Honestly, people are so weird. I hope she comes back in so I can take her laptop. I mean, I hope she comes back in so she can "give" me her laptop.

D-List Celebrities

Typically, I play it pretty cool when celebrities come into the restaurant, but today I just couldn't help myself. When I was five years old I used to come home from kindergarten, saddle up to a warm bowl of mac n' cheese and, along with my sister and mom, watch this beautiful man (see picture below) play Brad on Young and the Restless. (Yes, my mom is and was a parenting genius.) So, you can imagine my surprise and excitement when I went out to the patio and found my long lost gardener/president of Jabot Cosmetics (sure, he slept his way to the top, but look at him...) waiting for me to take his order.
After a few seconds of restaurant and menu talk, I decided to strike up a conversation. However, things got a little weird.

Kate: "So, you probably don't want to hear this, but I sort of grew up watching you."

Brad/Don: "Why do you think that would bother me? Because of my diminishing age?"

Kate: (Slight swoon) "Oh, no. It's just that I was so excited when I saw you before that I told my mom and she became really excited to hear I had seen you..."

Brad/Don: (Cuts me off mid-sentence) "Do you want to take a picture?"

Kate: "Um. No, I mean, sure. Well, I don't have a phone on me."

Brad/Don: "Well find one."

Kate: "No it's cool."

Brad/Don: "Well let's take a picture if you find a phone."

Kate: (Sort of getting creeped out.)

Twenty minutes goes by, Brad/Don has finished his breakfast, Kate is clearing table.

Brad/Don: "Did you find a phone?"

Kate: "Um, yeah, let me go get it."

Kate goes into restaurant, finds her manager and asks to borrow his phone so she can take a picture with some soap star. Manager confused, but gives her his phone.

The following picture is taken:
Lesson learned from this experience: Continue to play it cool with celebrities...especially with the D-List celebrities.

NOT GUILTY

You know what all these people have in common?

They were all found "not guilty."

Yep, no biking ticket for me. Mess with the bull...and you get my lawyer husband.

Look at My College Degree At Work

For the past couple of days fellow alumni of mine from Duke have been coming to the restaurant to dine. I'll admit, these aren't my favorite encounters. There's just something slightly demoralizing about reconnecting with one of your old classmates as you wear an apron and ask if they want coleslaw or fries with their cheeseburger. However, the thing I hate the most is the unspoken conclusions I imagine my friends are coming to as they see me bus tables and run food. Like: "Oh Kate, didn't seem like the type to get knocked up after school, give the baby up for adoption, fall into heroine and now, 10 years later, getting her life back together as a lowly waitress." Or "Hmmm...waitress? Yeah, I could see that. She always seemed like the lowest paying job type of person." Honestly, I can see it in their faces.

So, what do I do? Well, after loathing our chance meeting, I find myself saying absolutely ridiculous things. Like today, after encountering a guy, who's roommate I dated for a semester, I said, and mind you this was completely out of context, "Oh, and just so you know this is a total part time gig. My husband has a really high paying job as an attorney." Really - did that just come out? Or a few weeks ago, a past basketball player at Duke, who never actually graduated or attended a single class and who makes more money than I'll see in my lifetime, came in, and I said, "I just picked up this shift to help out my friend. I actually work from home." Work from home?! Doing what - professional checker of Facebook? I'm a total fraud!

Oh well, at least I get the sympathy tip.

One Swing At the Clown

After four straight days of golf I find myself with one complaint: This is not a sport that allows or accepts natural reactions. For example, throughout my athletic career I was always allowed to express my frustration and anger while playing the sport. If I was playing lacrosse it was completely acceptable for me to run down my opponent, wildly check at their body and cause mild bodily harm. If I was playing basketball no one cared if I flagrantly fouled a chick as she drove the ball down the paint. And if I was playing tennis no one really minded if I launched a ball over the fence.

Now with golf - it's a completely different story. Hit a bad drive and all you've got is a head down in shame, a rough grabbing of your tee and crestfallen walk back to the cart. Does this help you feel better about slicing your ball into the water? Absolutely not. Try chunking a ball 100 yards away from the green. All I find I can do is yell incoherent noises at the ground while I angrily stamp my chunk of grass back into the fairway. Again, this does nothing to relieve my frustration.

So, here's what I suggest. As soon as you hit a bad drive you are given one swing at a clown, who stands there watching and waiting for you to release your pent up anger about your crappy shot. Why a clown? Because everyone out on the golf course seems to be having a great time, and as you watch your ball disappear into a ravine, the only thing that's going to make it better is if one other person isn't smiling. My second suggestion is to allow more throwing of clubs. I really think this could go a long way. (pun intended) Honestly, let's say in the game of golf you get one traditional score and one score based on how far you are able to launch your club down the fairway, or how close you can fling your putter to the cart. Can you imagine how fun this would be? It would be like golf meets javelin throwing.

And lastly, may I suggest a little less Masters and little more Happy Gilmore. Honestly, the lack of celebration in golf is killing me. When I scored a goal in lacrosse we used jump up and down screaming in a pack. Now when I hit a long put in golf I just nonchalantly walk over to the cup and retrieve my ball. No one likes this...especially me. Instead, I wish it was acceptable to ride your putter like a horse around the green, shouting, "Whoop, there it is!" as you swing your visor around like a cowboy hat. Or if you hit a great drive I wish it was totally cool to slide into the grass as your golfing buddy slid next to you and raised arms in victory. Honestly, I need something because this game is way too buttoned up for me.

Accidents and Idiots

A few hours ago the husband and I returned from a golf trip to St. George, Utah. As we were approaching the 10 from I-15, we were stopped by an accident. Being that we live in an area with a very high concentration of traffic, accidents on the highway are, unfortunately, a frequent occurrence. However frequent these accidents are, I will never understand three things: 1. Why idiots, who drive these incredibly busy highways every day, still continue to be complete morons and cause these accidents? Two, why, why, why can't someone invent a machine that pulls up all the cars involved in the accident and MOVE THEM to the side of the road? Instead, we get to sit in three hours of traffic while Hector from West Covina argues with Malibu Mom about his broken bumper in the middle lane.

And lastly, why must you morons, who were not involved in the accident, drive five miles an hour as you pass by the scene of carnage? Are you hoping to see a dead body? Are you thinking in that ten second drive by you will be able to assess the situation and testify later, when of course you are called for your testimony, as to who was at fault and who was not? Or are you trying to find the idiot, who caused the accident, so you can add one more look of disapproval to their already stellar day? (Because that's what I'm trying to do.)

Honestly, all of you who faithfully read this blog, promise me, if you come across an accident, that is being fully taken care of, press on your accelerator and fight the urge to look. You'll be a better person for it...unless you find the idiot who was texting and caused the whole thing. Then find him, stare him down and shake your head in disappointment.

And the Bed Making War Begins

Last night I complained to the husband about his lack of bed making skills. I informed him, that as the last person to get up, it was his responsibility to make the bed. I came home today from work and found the following...
On the phone he informed me that he made his part and that I'm the one lacking in my own bed making skills. Damn lawyers and their technicalities.

My Angry Egg

For the past couple of weeks I've been watching the U.S. Open which has caused me to reflect on my own short tennis career when I was a young girl. Many of you might not know this, but at 12 years old I was ranked #1 in Delaware for girls 12 and under AND #1 for girls 14 and under. Now, before you ask why I'm not currently playing on the tour, let me explain a few things. One, there were three of us under 12, who played tournaments, and there were like two other kids under 14. So, if you won a tournament or happened to beat 2 of the random kids under 14, you got to be the reigning champ of Delaware. Yeah, I said Delaware. So, that's what I did.

Second of all, I really should have been tested for some type of growth hormone or steroid use. You see, at 12 years old I was basically a grown woman. Honestly, I think since that age I've gained about ten pounds and grew about 2 inches. So, again the vast competitors of Delaware had no chance against my freak of nature strength and size. (As did the poor boys I attempted to have crushes on in middle school. To this day, I think most of them held my hand due to sheer fear.)

Anyway, outside of this horrible attempt at a humble brag, my experience with tennis growing up was pretty funny. There was one chick, who looked like an angry egg, I always had to play in the finals of every freaking tournament. Honestly, in my memory she's just this round and unemotional blob. She would never say anything except grunt an occasional "out" when she needed a point, and when I fought her to prove it, she would attempt to shrug, but being that she was a rounded egg, shrugging was difficult, so after a few minutes of me ranting she somehow would just move on to the next point without really resolving anything. Eventually, I stop fighting her bad calls. I mean, watching that attempt to show emotion through her shoulders was just too much for me at that age.

The other ridiculous part of this chick was the fact that her entire family used to come out and see her play. I remember they would bring coolers and umbrellas and fill up an entire bleacher. On the other hand, I never let my family come see me play. I guess I sort of knew in my heart that my "matches" were really just glorified ping pong games, and I loved my parents too much to submit them to endless hours of boring rallies. Man, I hated that family of angry eggs. I remember one time after hitting a pretty decent shot, I said out loud, "You got this Kate," to which they replied, "No you don't Kate." Who uses a 12 year old's name to talk trash at a junior tennis tournament? I'll tell you who - the angry eggs.

Well, I wish I could tell you that after my #1 reign I continued with tennis, but unfortunately, at 13, scarred from Monica Seles's stabbing, I decided to give up tennis and start playing team sports. My only regret is that I wasn't able to ever see the angry egg crack and show some emotion. I sometimes think of her and wonder what she is doing. I wonder if she drives around my neighborhood and writes tickets all day. They seem to have no emotion. Or I wonder if she euthanizes animals because that would definitely require no feelings. Or maybe she works in security at LAX and is the one that sits poker face in front of the x-ray machine as your bags go by. Again, another job that her lack of emotions would be great for.

Anyway, if you are out there, angry egg, give me a grunt and let's play another never ending game...

It Was The Car's Fault

The other day I walked out and found that someone had deliberately thrown a milkshake onto my car. As I stood there studying the ice cream, that was now crusted over my windshield wipers and headlights, I wondered what had possessed someone to commit such vandalism. Was it just a case of jealousy of my 2003 Honda Accord, that sports scratches from multiple keys along the sides of the car, a busted front bumper and the classic splattering of bird feces on the roof? Was my car just in the wrong place when someone went from enjoying a nice milkshake to learning their boyfriend has been cheating on them with their best friend and everyone knew it but them, and they just found out through a mistaken text that was sent from her boyfriend? Or did my last European customers, who pretended not to speak English, really understood me when I said, "I wish all of you a safe a happy trip home as your plane crashes into the Atlantic?" after I found out they weren't going to tip me? So many possibilities...who can know?

So, 2003 Honda Accord owners beware. You aren't just driving a fuel efficient car, you are driving a dangerous and anger provoking machine.

The Grocery Store: A Place of Food, Idiocy and Cat Camping

Waiting in line at the grocery store is an interesting experience. First, and I don't know about your local grocery store, but mine is staffed by three people and there is always twenty people at each line. So, already it's an awesome experience.

Secondly, I don't think people fully understand the "express lane." I'm not even sure they can count or understand the word express. I swear, every time I'm just buying milk some genius in front of me has 26 items and has decided to pay with a check. All I can do is give them a cold stare as they look at me, as they attempt to place their over the limit items on the smaller conveyer belt, and say with their eyes, "Oh, I know what you are thinking, but these twenty tomatoes actually count as 1 item, so I'm technically okay." Really? Because when we get out to the parking lot, I'm going to take my 1 car and quickly, no in an express manner, into your 2 legs.

Lastly, what is the deal with what people buy at the grocery store. Today a guy in front of me bought kitty litter, a pineapple, soda, waffles and beef jerky. Is this guy taking a cat camping? Or is he in the middle of a random quickfire challenge on Top Chef? Too hard to tell.

Flashbacks

My junior year in college I lived in a house with eleven of my teammates. Yep, you read that right - 11. This house exuded craziness. How crazy? Well, try these on:

1. After a week straight of partying, to kick off the new year, of course, a few cops stopped by to regulate the madness. After a short conversation, one of the cops got the number of my roommate (who he started dating) and the other cop started to party with everyone. From that point on we had constant back up and no reports of disturbances were ever responded to.

2. Another roommate of mine decided each night she was drunk she would steal something. Consequently, by Christmas break we had a deck full of bar stools, rocking chairs from our neighbors, signs and plants.

3. At least once a week a night of fun turned into a night of "gooning out." For those of you not blessed with the opportunity to go to school with meat heads, "gooning out" entails getting blitzed and then destroying everything in sight. Therefore, each week we had either a bench (that had been stolen the week before) thrown through our door, a couch thrown out onto the road or a window just bashed in. There's nothing more fun that hearing the sound of broken glass and then the yell from a barbarian. Man, I miss college.

Okay, enough down memory lane. The reason I bring up these memories is because I thought, at 32, living in an apartment with my husband would be much simpler than it was in college, but I was wrong. For the past week I feel like I've been trapped in a bad time warp.

For example, on Monday some idiot, at 2 in the morning, started throwing glass bottles onto the road outside my apartment. Now as if this wasn't bad enough, I then got to hear cars go over the glass, stop, yell at the guy to stop, him yell back and then more glass thrown. (Now that I think about it, I wonder if I went to college with this guy. It's just so hard to cut the gooning habit.)

On Tuesday, and I'm not kidding, some lady was heard screaming, "Help, Help!" in an alley just outside my apartment. We then all got to sit in our beds and listen to her run, scream some more for help and then go silent. To be honest, after being awoken the second night in a row, I don't know what bothered me more, her being potentially killed outside my apartment, or the fact that some neighbor across the street kept yelling, "Are you there? I called the cops. Are you there? Hello." Lady, no one answered. Not our chair, not our problem.

And lastly, after being awoken up by some muscle car that just couldn't turn over (thank heavens the person tried ten times) I heard the familiar laughter and stumbling of a drunk chick outside my apartment. I listened to them for awhile and prayed they would move on, but it continued. Finally, I got out of bed and looked through the window just in time to see one of them attempting to go number uno in our bushes. That was it. Immediately, I went into college Kate mode (this means I either call the cops on my own house, or head out to the situation to yell at anyone I can find) - I chose the latter. So, there I was, old Duke t-shirt, pajama pants and hair everywhere, ready to fight, but as I rounded the corner to our lobby I found three drunk chicks, one clueless guy and a naked girl. Yeah, a naked girl. All of them looked at me, and immediately said, "Oh sorry, it's a batchelorette party and she, pointing to the naked one, had to go swimming in the ocean." I was completely dumbfounded. So, all I said was, "Oh, congrats. Well, night." Night? Congrats? Have I really been out of college that long that I couldn't come up with at least a decent lecture or raised voice? How about a disapproving face? Nothing. All those years of training and now look at me. Pathetic.

*The picture is what I should have done.

Be Honest

(The coordinated ones. I usually surround myself with them. It's part of my contract.)

A few weeks ago I was Utah running a lacrosse camp. After almost 16 years of running sport camps I find that I have mixed emotions about them. One, I think it's great that kids go to camp. I mean, if kids don't go, I don't get paid...I mean, kids don't learn and get better. And yet, two, I just wish there was a screening process prior to sport camps. You know a little agility course they have to complete in a certain amount of time. Or they have to send in a tape of them running and then we can determine if there is any athletic ability at all. You know, something. Because honestly, this floodgate of minivans packed with overpaid sticks, cleats, clothes and uncoordinated children has got to be curbed.

For example, after the first day of lacrosse camp I surveyed my motley crew of campers and this is what I found:

• 3 Girls wearing deeply chaffing jean shorts with soccer cleats and Justin Bieber T-Shirts. 3. Yes, 3 different sets of parents allowed this attire for camp. Not acceptable.
• 5 Girls never put their hair up in a ponytail, but awkwardly ran around the field with unkempt manes. I'm sorry, you are not an athlete if you think running around like Pocahontas is a good idea.
• 2 Girls were forced to sit out for the afternoon because they had hurt themselves during lunch while they were playing "catch." (They were throwing to each other. That means one got hit in the face, cried about it and then hit her friend in the face.) Not acceptable.

And finally...

• 1 girl was riding her lacrosse stick around the field like a broomstick. (Hey Hermione, Gryffindor called and wanted to know when you were headed back to Hogsworth.) (So, outed myself just then.)

Anyway, as I always say after running lacrosse camps: Parents, please, please take a good look at that kid of yours. Be honest. Be brutally honest. Are they coordinated? Are they wearing jean shorts? Should they be at a camp involving balls? Answer these and save us all some time.

I Don't Get Paid Enough

Do people even check this anymore?

Well, after two years plus of serving at a restaurant I thought I had seen it all...and then Thursday morning took place. If you are eating please stop. If you have a delicate stomach stop reading. Okay let's continue.

At 8:30 in the morning, there were two individuals sitting on the patio of our restaurant. After refilling my customer's coffee I turned the corner of the patio to check on my co-worker's customer. As I approached her table I noticed she had placed her credit card in the server book to be run. Now, let me state that this woman was on the phone and had her back to me. As I approached her table I began to ask, "Would you like me to run this card for you?" At the exact moment I was reaching for the book, this lady lifted up her derriere and proceeded to loudly fart on me. Now, words cannot adequately express the horror I felt as our eyes locked while she released her morning gas all over me. (It was like looking into the face of the Devil. You want to run, but your body just won't work.)

After a few awkward seconds, I regained the control of my body and ran for the door of the restaurant. Once inside, I tried to find acid, lighter fluid, gasoline - anything that I could use to burn my throat and eyes. I could NOT believe some lady, that looked like my dear mother, had lifted up her butt cheek and farted on me! Now, I've cleaned up mashed bananas underneath a table, I've pulled hair out of food and I've reached into the trash of discarded food to save a spoon, but this...this...this was on another level.

So, what have I learned from this experience? 1. Always make myself known in all situations. I might even start screaming, "Hey, coming around the corner. Hold in all anal acoustics* and other bodily disasters until I've passed." 2. Try to block out my co-workers' responses. One said, "I mean, that's okay at home or in your car, but not at a public restaurant." Okay? No, that's not okay. Or this one: "I mean, I do it in here (meaning the restaurant) but it's loud with music." (Mind you, I don't walk behind this person anymore.) and 3. If I hear a funny noise on the phone I'm no longer believing when the other person says, "Oh, that was weird, my phone just made a weird noise." Right. Who farts while on the phone?

Again, so glad my college degree from Duke is going to good use.

* I found that description at: http://www.heptune.com/fartword.html