Ah, I have returned from my long four-day weekend (that’s right, three is just not enough) and I have completely cleared my system of some things I’ve been dying to do. There was copious amounts of hanging around, copious amounts of drinking, copious amounts of driving, and now: copious amounts of using the word copious.
But now that I’ve returned to the dark dreariness of Lincoln, I’m right back where I was when I left. Slightly tired, a little befuddled, and without much food in my refrigerator—the latter being a product of laziness and not economic disposition.
There were a few things that happened over the last 4 days that struck me as strange, thought-provoking, and sometimes even mind-blowing. Let me elaborate with the three biggest things that have occupied my time over the last couple of days.
1. Weather
There was NEVER really a bad moment throughout the entire trip. We went to 4 different places—my friend and I—and everytime we woke up, hung over, covered in body odor and filth, we gathered our things, said our goodbyes, filled up the car with gas, breakfast pizza, coffee, and water, and headed to our next destination. Every time we did this it was a cloudy, dreary scene. But the second we entered the city limits of our destination, the sun came out, the rain stopped, and there was a great amount of beer-drinking weather to be had by all…until of course we woke up the next day, in which it was time to beat the weather to our next location.
During this trip there were tornadoes and severe thunderstorms the day we left, or course we were oblivious to all of this because we were in another location and most likely under the influence.
I’m sure there is some meteorological reason for this phenomenon, but I’m going to just assume it is because the world revolves around me.
2. Relationships
Just a little update on the girl from the gym. I introduced myself, asked her out (I got a maybe…what does that mean?), and have had colloquial conversations with her over the past few days. Nothing major, nothing minor, just…being around I guess. But throughout all the lake watching, fire watching, tv watching, road watching, etc. There is a lot of room for conversation. The one I couldn’t help but becoming most engrossed in is the concept of the relationship. My best friend’s dad had made an interesting assertion about our generation: “Nobody your age dates anymore, either you’re fucking or you’re married.” This was one of the simplest ways I’ve ever heard it put, and quite honestly, it was fabulous.
It is true, we don’t do anything anymore. What is the difference between knowing somebody that you occasionally have sex with, you take out to dinner from time to time, and you talk on the phone every once in a while versus a girl/boyfriend? Essentially dating is just like going up to one of your friends and saying “You’re no longer able to do this with anybody but me”. Where’s the fun in that? I’m not sure, and this is why I’m single.
I’m just completely blow away by why anybody would want to chain themselves down like that. And I know that karma will undoubtedly get me a girlfriend in the near future and I’ll be forced to explain myself, but from where I’m sitting right now (at my desk, at work) I don’t really see a reason to jump into that pool,
3. Humor
I laugh, a lot. I joke around, I’m immature, I fart, all of these things produce laughter. I can’t help but think of all the people I know that probably sat at home and did things like watch C-SPAN or “took the dog on a walk” while I was out meandering through peoples yards after 15 cans of free graduation party beer. These people make me sad.
My buddy had “Grandma’s Boy” on his iPod and we listened to it for part of the 4 hour drive home yesterday. It’s strange that Grandma’s Boy is so funny you don’t even have to watch it to find it hilarious. Without the visual, I found different parts hilarious. I give you a few of my favorite lines, from simply listening to that movie:
“What’s up Douche Bigelow”
“Who else wants to hear about my STD from the Silent Film Era?”
“Alright, I hope it’s a guy with a boner”
“I am a robot, I have a robot vagina”
So anyway, four days, a few learned lessons, many don’t bear much relevance and I’ll do them again, probably soon.
So be happy where you’re at, don’t chain yourself down with people that aren’t drop dead gorgeous and incredibly electric to be around, and just laugh once in a while.
Peace.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
The randoms
Waitress: What can I get you guys this morning? Milk, Coffee, Water?
Me: Water
Matt: Water
Trev: Same…water, wait no, yeah, wait…coffee…yeah coffee.
Waitress: okay I’ll get that out to you.
Matt: Make up your fucking mind, man.
Trev: I figure, it’s cheap, it’s only like 26 cents, wait, I bet it’s like three bucks, fuck.
Matt: did you just win an argument with yourself?
Jenna: What are you doing this weekend?
Me: I’m actually taking Friday off, going to make it a 4 day weekend.
Jenna: So what are you going to do?
Me: I’m not sure, it’s supposed to be shitty out.
Jenna: Then go to work.
Me: the point of taking vacation is that I don’t have to go to work.
Jenna: you don’t actually work at work anyway.
Me: good point.
Dad: I thought you were coming here this weekend.
Me: Yeah, but it’s going to shitty out, I won’t get to golf or hang in the pool.
Dad: So what are you going to do in Lincoln?
Me: Probably just get drunk.
Dad: You can do that here.
Me: Yeah, but when I pass out naked here, I don’t feel so awkward when I wake up.
Me: How was your first day in the real world.
Matt: gay.
Me: That can’t bode well for the future.
Matt: It most certainly can not.
Me: Water
Matt: Water
Trev: Same…water, wait no, yeah, wait…coffee…yeah coffee.
Waitress: okay I’ll get that out to you.
Matt: Make up your fucking mind, man.
Trev: I figure, it’s cheap, it’s only like 26 cents, wait, I bet it’s like three bucks, fuck.
Matt: did you just win an argument with yourself?
Jenna: What are you doing this weekend?
Me: I’m actually taking Friday off, going to make it a 4 day weekend.
Jenna: So what are you going to do?
Me: I’m not sure, it’s supposed to be shitty out.
Jenna: Then go to work.
Me: the point of taking vacation is that I don’t have to go to work.
Jenna: you don’t actually work at work anyway.
Me: good point.
Dad: I thought you were coming here this weekend.
Me: Yeah, but it’s going to shitty out, I won’t get to golf or hang in the pool.
Dad: So what are you going to do in Lincoln?
Me: Probably just get drunk.
Dad: You can do that here.
Me: Yeah, but when I pass out naked here, I don’t feel so awkward when I wake up.
Me: How was your first day in the real world.
Matt: gay.
Me: That can’t bode well for the future.
Matt: It most certainly can not.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Letting one go...
There are many things that come along with being a guy. You must drink more, care less, and generally keep your breath minty fresh—although the guy that sat next to me in French class in high school would beg the differ. But one thing that is pretty standard with being a buy is having a good “game”. Now I’m not talking about beer pong game, flippy cup game, or sipa-sipa game—though these are extremely important. I’m talking of course of your generic “getting laid” game.
Now all guys have it, or at least they think they have it. I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to make you believe that I possess the ultimate game. I’m actually currently in a “game change” which is quite comparable to a golfers swing change…it’s a little rough at first (ex: David Duval) but it ultimately works itself out in the end (ex: Phil Mickelson). What I am going to share with you is a story that happened last night. Warning: if you like happy endings, this does not have one, in fact I will ruin the ending of this story right now, think Bill Buckner in game 6 of the 1986 world series or Jean Van de Velde in the 1999 British Open. What I did last night is comparable to striking out in slow-pitch….sober.
I decided last night to work out a little later. Usually I try to get over to my gym’s facilities a little after 5, but last night I ended up going at 6, I figured this wouldn’t change much, but I was ultimately incorrect. At 6 is apparently when the sexiest girl that has ever graced the Lakeview Park workout area decides is a good time to work out. I pretend not to notice her (which is impossible) and it is just her and I in this small room together. We both have iPods on…I don’t expect much to happen.
Around 2 minutes into the workout—in which I am staring at the ground while doing upright bench press to avoid eye contact—she gets off the treadmill and bends down to make eye contact with me. I pause my iPod and give her the “what?” face, accompanied by a hand to my ear. “You can change the channel,” she says, even though I’m not facing the t.v. I turn around. “No, I love Hannah Montana” I say. She laughs, I smile. I unpause the iPod and get back to work. About a minute later she gets off the treadmill and grabs her towel, a clear indication that she is leaving. I decide to ask her “why are you working out inside when it’s such a nice night to go running?” to which we get into a conversation about the horrible bug situation that comes along with living by a lake.
She then asks me “so are you new here?” which I take a wide open “I’m interested in you” tactic. Generally girls don’t make small talk with guys. And if they do, they rarely instigate this (unless drunk at a bar). I tell her where I’m from, then she asks what brought me to Nebraska, then where I work, then what building I live in. She is bombarding me with questionnaire questions—all of which with underlying real questions.
“So did you move here alone?” which means “are you seeing anybody?”
“Where do you work?” which means “can you afford to take me out sometime?”
“Which building do you live in?” which means “how long is the ‘walk of shame’ going to take for me to get from your apt. to mine the day after we drunkenly bump uglies”
I answer her questions and can instantly tell that this is going in the right direction. She is essentially putting the ball on a tee for me and standing back for me to hit it out of the park.
Suddenly I’m done with my workout. I should also note that not only did she stand around and talk to me, she got back on the treadmill for a “second run?” I guess.
Instead of asking her out, or getting her number, or anything. I just put on my shades and told her I was going to try and brave the outdoor run—regardless of the bug situation. She gave me a very disappointed look, as if she had failed, and told me “good luck” which could be interpreted as “good luck not swallowing a swarm of bugs” or “good luck ever meeting a woman ever…have you not seen the signs? I want you!”
I knew it was a dumb idea to leave that gym without closing the deal. I got about 2 miles out on my run and stopped…paused my iPod and said to my self “you are an idiot”.
Sad. Sad. Sad.
Now all guys have it, or at least they think they have it. I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to make you believe that I possess the ultimate game. I’m actually currently in a “game change” which is quite comparable to a golfers swing change…it’s a little rough at first (ex: David Duval) but it ultimately works itself out in the end (ex: Phil Mickelson). What I am going to share with you is a story that happened last night. Warning: if you like happy endings, this does not have one, in fact I will ruin the ending of this story right now, think Bill Buckner in game 6 of the 1986 world series or Jean Van de Velde in the 1999 British Open. What I did last night is comparable to striking out in slow-pitch….sober.
I decided last night to work out a little later. Usually I try to get over to my gym’s facilities a little after 5, but last night I ended up going at 6, I figured this wouldn’t change much, but I was ultimately incorrect. At 6 is apparently when the sexiest girl that has ever graced the Lakeview Park workout area decides is a good time to work out. I pretend not to notice her (which is impossible) and it is just her and I in this small room together. We both have iPods on…I don’t expect much to happen.
Around 2 minutes into the workout—in which I am staring at the ground while doing upright bench press to avoid eye contact—she gets off the treadmill and bends down to make eye contact with me. I pause my iPod and give her the “what?” face, accompanied by a hand to my ear. “You can change the channel,” she says, even though I’m not facing the t.v. I turn around. “No, I love Hannah Montana” I say. She laughs, I smile. I unpause the iPod and get back to work. About a minute later she gets off the treadmill and grabs her towel, a clear indication that she is leaving. I decide to ask her “why are you working out inside when it’s such a nice night to go running?” to which we get into a conversation about the horrible bug situation that comes along with living by a lake.
She then asks me “so are you new here?” which I take a wide open “I’m interested in you” tactic. Generally girls don’t make small talk with guys. And if they do, they rarely instigate this (unless drunk at a bar). I tell her where I’m from, then she asks what brought me to Nebraska, then where I work, then what building I live in. She is bombarding me with questionnaire questions—all of which with underlying real questions.
“So did you move here alone?” which means “are you seeing anybody?”
“Where do you work?” which means “can you afford to take me out sometime?”
“Which building do you live in?” which means “how long is the ‘walk of shame’ going to take for me to get from your apt. to mine the day after we drunkenly bump uglies”
I answer her questions and can instantly tell that this is going in the right direction. She is essentially putting the ball on a tee for me and standing back for me to hit it out of the park.
Suddenly I’m done with my workout. I should also note that not only did she stand around and talk to me, she got back on the treadmill for a “second run?” I guess.
Instead of asking her out, or getting her number, or anything. I just put on my shades and told her I was going to try and brave the outdoor run—regardless of the bug situation. She gave me a very disappointed look, as if she had failed, and told me “good luck” which could be interpreted as “good luck not swallowing a swarm of bugs” or “good luck ever meeting a woman ever…have you not seen the signs? I want you!”
I knew it was a dumb idea to leave that gym without closing the deal. I got about 2 miles out on my run and stopped…paused my iPod and said to my self “you are an idiot”.
Sad. Sad. Sad.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The most confusing thing is a simple mind
Jenna: Hey what are you doing?
Me: Golfin'
Jenna: I should have guessed, what are you doing later?
Me: I don't know
Jenna: Every single time I call you, you're drinking, golfing, or both...do you do anything else?
Me: I took a shower this morning.
Jenna: You're my everything.
Me: Hey I got a box in the mail.
Matt: Who's it from?
Me: Ahhh, it's from my mom, it's going to be pants.
Matt: Pants?
Me: If I get a box from my mom, it's going to be pants. I've got a whole closet full of dress pants, but every week I'm getting 3 pairs in the mail from my mom...
Matt: Linde, that's excitement.
Ashley: Nick, we should date.
Me: What?
Ashley: We hang out, we talk, we're practically dating.
Me: That's all dating is? Hanging out and talking?
Ashley: That and sex.
Me: Golfin'
Jenna: I should have guessed, what are you doing later?
Me: I don't know
Jenna: Every single time I call you, you're drinking, golfing, or both...do you do anything else?
Me: I took a shower this morning.
Jenna: You're my everything.
Me: Hey I got a box in the mail.
Matt: Who's it from?
Me: Ahhh, it's from my mom, it's going to be pants.
Matt: Pants?
Me: If I get a box from my mom, it's going to be pants. I've got a whole closet full of dress pants, but every week I'm getting 3 pairs in the mail from my mom...
Matt: Linde, that's excitement.
Ashley: Nick, we should date.
Me: What?
Ashley: We hang out, we talk, we're practically dating.
Me: That's all dating is? Hanging out and talking?
Ashley: That and sex.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
JJ: A letter of complaint.
There are a lot of uses for the Internet. Most of which surrounding the exhibitionism of Asian women and donkeys and some of which pertaining to legitimate knowledge (wikiquote, askmen.com, etc). But some people use this web of world...wide...ness...as a social networking tool. I am using this medium to explain my displeasure with a man named JJ. So if you're out there JJ...this is about you, and if you want to sue me for defamation of character, go right ahead because I have 3 witnesses to your atrocious behavior...perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, perhaps I should inform all of you readers what has exactly happened, perhaps I should stop saying perhaps...
Between posing as a 14 year old girl on MySpace and enjoying the occasional game of Kerplunk! I find myself in need of nourishment. This entails going to restaurants, sometimes with other people. On this night--yes this night--as in May 4th, 2008 a few friends and I partook in the classiest of Italian establishments outside of Fazolis: The Macaroni Grill.
Now in my limited experiences at TMG I've received concierges service, usually from a cute waitress who is able to write her name in crayon on the white-paper tablecloth UPSIDE-DOWN and put little hearts around it to accent the name "Ashley" it is quite a neat trick--it's not Copperfield--but lets get real, she makes $3.45/hr.
Me and my company (1 man, 2 ladies) were seated and told that our waiter would be with us shortly. Waiter...as in man. Needless to say I immediately let out a large sigh and began hoping for some gratification under the table from the ladies in attendance. And then he came: all decked out in his white collared shirt, his ravishing tie, and his shag haircut with scruff beard--hardly the hygiene of somebody I want handling my food.
"I'm JJ, I'll be your server tonight.:
and....
and....
and..........
nothing.
He didn't write his name on the paper table cloth or ANYTHING. I was absolutely stunned, disgusted would be a good word to use in this instance. Who is this JJ? Why does he think that he doesn't have to adhere to Macaroni Grill protocol? I could only make one assertion: He was on LSD. This is not a generalization. 10 times out of 10 if you work at a food service restaurant and you don't follow the guidelines of said restaurant, you are on hallucinogens. Don't believe me? Ask my friend Chad why he got fired from Cold Stone...hard to remember the tip song when you're tripping balls on mushrooms. And my (now ex) friend Shawna? Yeah, apparently if you don't rock the birthday song at Happy Joe's your ass is out! (They also don't take kindly to drinking on the job or stealing from the register we found out).
So Mr. "I'm too good to do my job correctly" took our orders. 3 diet cokes and an Iced Tea...I was planning on consuming hard alcohol, but this guy was already on my bad side and I didn't want to risk having to go back into treatment for assaulting a food service worker, even if he didn't write his name on the tablepapercloth thingy.
We place our orders and things are going fine. Naturally, we're in Nebraska and the table of elderly citizens sitting behind us are engaging in a highly racist conversation while their black waiter brings them refills. This kind of thing is more common in the Midwest than you'd think...of perhaps you think we're all bigoted racists...to which you'd be more or less correct.
We too received refills as we finished our drinks, but there was something not right about the situation. As we sat there...new drinks in hand, our old glasses just hung out. Sitting on the table...4 glasses full of ice with straws in them...cluttering up the place. I occupied my time by stealing crayons from the kids at the table behind me and drawing a rocket ship and a calendar from the year 2001...this was all very symbolic and I topped it off with an Ingmar Bergmann quote. At least somebody is using the crayons and the paper, JJ sure seemed above it.
Our dinners are then brought out...with nearly no room to put them...JJ just pushes shit everywhere. He also mistakes everybody's order and came without one meal entirely: mine.
I sit and wait...wondering why it takes 25 minutes to prepare spaghetti when I could make it at home....blindfolded....for a fraction of the time (and price). But alas, I sit quietly...not wanting to hurt poor JJ's feelings on account of his LSD-induced fragile state of mind. After another 5 minutes my food has arrived. At our request he takes some of the glasses back, saying "whoop, here we go" as he stacks each one. Now we are left with 3 glasses, all in need of re-filling, I do not have a glass all together and I have received only one meatball on my spaghetti, even though I paid an extra $3 to have them.
I eat the entire meal without a drink...which was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I got it in my head that my meatball was some kind of animal testicle (they are large and round and could easily be mistaken for such) and I need something to wash it down. Where is JJ? Where the fuck is my soda? He comes back about 15 minutes later (I've finished) and tells me that they ran out of meatballs (shouldn't I have been informed of this earlier) and that his manager will come out and talk to me--as if this is necessary. He also says that my meal will probably be comped (I'm not even 100% sure what that restaurant jargon means) and that they will bring me some meatballs out later. As if I have the time to wait around and have testicles dropped on my plate...*insert your own joke here*
So by this time it's pretty much your standard "get me out of here" situation and he brings the checks out. Now instead of doing this in literary form, I will break down the ticketing situation in list form to help you understand what the hell happened (I'm still confused).
The first time JJ brings us our tickets.
1 check.
Problem: we want it split up.
Take two:
2 checks, mine is $28, the other is $30. We put our cards down.
After scanning them:
He gives the receipts to the women, which makes no sense, they give them to us.
2 checks, mine is $28, the other now has a top copy of $30 and a bottom copy of $42.
We inquire....
After taking the card and re-scanning it:
He gives us receipts...again to the wrong person.
2 checks: mine is $28 (I felt like I was donating to the handicapped so I left him the abysmal tip of $3, my friend was going to tip $6...this was not a smart move).
The ladies ask for boxes, he brings them tins with lids...which isn't a box at all...I begin wondering if my soda was in fact Diet Coke or if I was duped into drinking Diet Pepsi...I actually like DP better...but he should have been honest with me.
I don't think I will ever go to another Macaroni Grill in my life...for 1 the service sucked, for 2 I don't like eating testicles.
I will also never trust a food service worked that goes by initials. Sketchy shit, people.
So if you're on the net, JJ and you decided to google your profession and your name..." JJ + "The Macaroni Grill" + "Lincoln, Nebraska" " I hope you find this....I also hope you find a new line of work...and quit the LSD. We all suffer because of it.
Oh, and I never received my extra meatballs...and the manager never showed up.
Between posing as a 14 year old girl on MySpace and enjoying the occasional game of Kerplunk! I find myself in need of nourishment. This entails going to restaurants, sometimes with other people. On this night--yes this night--as in May 4th, 2008 a few friends and I partook in the classiest of Italian establishments outside of Fazolis: The Macaroni Grill.
Now in my limited experiences at TMG I've received concierges service, usually from a cute waitress who is able to write her name in crayon on the white-paper tablecloth UPSIDE-DOWN and put little hearts around it to accent the name "Ashley" it is quite a neat trick--it's not Copperfield--but lets get real, she makes $3.45/hr.
Me and my company (1 man, 2 ladies) were seated and told that our waiter would be with us shortly. Waiter...as in man. Needless to say I immediately let out a large sigh and began hoping for some gratification under the table from the ladies in attendance. And then he came: all decked out in his white collared shirt, his ravishing tie, and his shag haircut with scruff beard--hardly the hygiene of somebody I want handling my food.
"I'm JJ, I'll be your server tonight.:
and....
and....
and..........
nothing.
He didn't write his name on the paper table cloth or ANYTHING. I was absolutely stunned, disgusted would be a good word to use in this instance. Who is this JJ? Why does he think that he doesn't have to adhere to Macaroni Grill protocol? I could only make one assertion: He was on LSD. This is not a generalization. 10 times out of 10 if you work at a food service restaurant and you don't follow the guidelines of said restaurant, you are on hallucinogens. Don't believe me? Ask my friend Chad why he got fired from Cold Stone...hard to remember the tip song when you're tripping balls on mushrooms. And my (now ex) friend Shawna? Yeah, apparently if you don't rock the birthday song at Happy Joe's your ass is out! (They also don't take kindly to drinking on the job or stealing from the register we found out).
So Mr. "I'm too good to do my job correctly" took our orders. 3 diet cokes and an Iced Tea...I was planning on consuming hard alcohol, but this guy was already on my bad side and I didn't want to risk having to go back into treatment for assaulting a food service worker, even if he didn't write his name on the tablepapercloth thingy.
We place our orders and things are going fine. Naturally, we're in Nebraska and the table of elderly citizens sitting behind us are engaging in a highly racist conversation while their black waiter brings them refills. This kind of thing is more common in the Midwest than you'd think...of perhaps you think we're all bigoted racists...to which you'd be more or less correct.
We too received refills as we finished our drinks, but there was something not right about the situation. As we sat there...new drinks in hand, our old glasses just hung out. Sitting on the table...4 glasses full of ice with straws in them...cluttering up the place. I occupied my time by stealing crayons from the kids at the table behind me and drawing a rocket ship and a calendar from the year 2001...this was all very symbolic and I topped it off with an Ingmar Bergmann quote. At least somebody is using the crayons and the paper, JJ sure seemed above it.
Our dinners are then brought out...with nearly no room to put them...JJ just pushes shit everywhere. He also mistakes everybody's order and came without one meal entirely: mine.
I sit and wait...wondering why it takes 25 minutes to prepare spaghetti when I could make it at home....blindfolded....for a fraction of the time (and price). But alas, I sit quietly...not wanting to hurt poor JJ's feelings on account of his LSD-induced fragile state of mind. After another 5 minutes my food has arrived. At our request he takes some of the glasses back, saying "whoop, here we go" as he stacks each one. Now we are left with 3 glasses, all in need of re-filling, I do not have a glass all together and I have received only one meatball on my spaghetti, even though I paid an extra $3 to have them.
I eat the entire meal without a drink...which was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I got it in my head that my meatball was some kind of animal testicle (they are large and round and could easily be mistaken for such) and I need something to wash it down. Where is JJ? Where the fuck is my soda? He comes back about 15 minutes later (I've finished) and tells me that they ran out of meatballs (shouldn't I have been informed of this earlier) and that his manager will come out and talk to me--as if this is necessary. He also says that my meal will probably be comped (I'm not even 100% sure what that restaurant jargon means) and that they will bring me some meatballs out later. As if I have the time to wait around and have testicles dropped on my plate...*insert your own joke here*
So by this time it's pretty much your standard "get me out of here" situation and he brings the checks out. Now instead of doing this in literary form, I will break down the ticketing situation in list form to help you understand what the hell happened (I'm still confused).
The first time JJ brings us our tickets.
1 check.
Problem: we want it split up.
Take two:
2 checks, mine is $28, the other is $30. We put our cards down.
After scanning them:
He gives the receipts to the women, which makes no sense, they give them to us.
2 checks, mine is $28, the other now has a top copy of $30 and a bottom copy of $42.
We inquire....
After taking the card and re-scanning it:
He gives us receipts...again to the wrong person.
2 checks: mine is $28 (I felt like I was donating to the handicapped so I left him the abysmal tip of $3, my friend was going to tip $6...this was not a smart move).
The ladies ask for boxes, he brings them tins with lids...which isn't a box at all...I begin wondering if my soda was in fact Diet Coke or if I was duped into drinking Diet Pepsi...I actually like DP better...but he should have been honest with me.
I don't think I will ever go to another Macaroni Grill in my life...for 1 the service sucked, for 2 I don't like eating testicles.
I will also never trust a food service worked that goes by initials. Sketchy shit, people.
So if you're on the net, JJ and you decided to google your profession and your name..." JJ + "The Macaroni Grill" + "Lincoln, Nebraska" " I hope you find this....I also hope you find a new line of work...and quit the LSD. We all suffer because of it.
Oh, and I never received my extra meatballs...and the manager never showed up.
Friday, May 2, 2008
The Truth about Germs
*After using a public restroom*
Me: So you going to wash your hands there, chief?
Trev: Ummm...I didn't really, you know, touch it.
Me: Neither did I.
Trev: Do you usually wash your hands?
Me: Only if there's somebody else in the bathroom with me.
Trev: Same.
Me: And when they don't you're usually like "Gross, that guy didn't wash his hands."
Trev: That's life.
Me: I think if you slicked your hair back, you could pull of being Phil Mickelson at a bar.
Matt: That's what I need...people coming up to me and asking me questions I can't answer.
Me: Like what?
Matt: Ultimately, nothing golf related. If I saw Phil Mickelson at a bar I'd ask him "What the hell are you doing while everybody else on the PGA TOUR is--I don't know--getting better?"
Me: hmmm
Matt: To which I'd have to reply, "Eating a bowl of apple jacks and watching cartoons"
Me: You think that'd get you laid?
Matt: For sure, with models probably, crazy hotel PGA TOUR sex.
Random Girl: That's a lot of beer.
Me: Yeah.
Random Girl: Didn't I see you running this afternoon?
Me: Probably.
Random Girl: And you drink that much beer?
Me: It's a cycle.
Random Girl: Wow.
Me: I don't do it at the same time.
Random Girl: what?
Me: Drinking and Running.
Random Girl: Oh I thought you meant drinking and driving.
Me: What?
Random Girl: Huh?
Me: So you going to wash your hands there, chief?
Trev: Ummm...I didn't really, you know, touch it.
Me: Neither did I.
Trev: Do you usually wash your hands?
Me: Only if there's somebody else in the bathroom with me.
Trev: Same.
Me: And when they don't you're usually like "Gross, that guy didn't wash his hands."
Trev: That's life.
Me: I think if you slicked your hair back, you could pull of being Phil Mickelson at a bar.
Matt: That's what I need...people coming up to me and asking me questions I can't answer.
Me: Like what?
Matt: Ultimately, nothing golf related. If I saw Phil Mickelson at a bar I'd ask him "What the hell are you doing while everybody else on the PGA TOUR is--I don't know--getting better?"
Me: hmmm
Matt: To which I'd have to reply, "Eating a bowl of apple jacks and watching cartoons"
Me: You think that'd get you laid?
Matt: For sure, with models probably, crazy hotel PGA TOUR sex.
Random Girl: That's a lot of beer.
Me: Yeah.
Random Girl: Didn't I see you running this afternoon?
Me: Probably.
Random Girl: And you drink that much beer?
Me: It's a cycle.
Random Girl: Wow.
Me: I don't do it at the same time.
Random Girl: what?
Me: Drinking and Running.
Random Girl: Oh I thought you meant drinking and driving.
Me: What?
Random Girl: Huh?
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