Lip Locking Grandma

Back story: Drizilla quit working because she was pregnant. The rampant speculation is that the Baby Daddy isn’t her husband, but Johnny Bravo, the best friend who filled the gap because her husband shoots blanks. Sadly, Drizilla quit working, but she didn’t quit chain smoking or drinking while she was pregnant, so when the baby was born last week she weighed under 6 pounds. /back story

Last night as I left work, one of the family members, I’ll call her K for now, said she had to walk to the motel and get Drizilla’s mom’s phone. I offered to give her a ride. She said she was very annoyed with the whole “babysit grandma” adventure because grandma kept trying to kiss her on the lips. “WTF?! My own kids don’t kiss me on the lips.”

She found the phone in the room by calling it, then she quickly locked the door and got back in the van. The conversation turned from Lip Locking Grandma to the parentage of the new baby. This went on for a full 3 minutes until we got back to the bar and parked. As we were getting out, we heard a beep. She looked at the phone and uttered a horrifying sentence:

“OH MY GOD! That all went to voice mail!”

I had plausible deniability. She did not.

Thankfully, Lip Locking Grandma is one of the tech-inept because she didn’t have a pass code set up to access her voice mail. We listened to the message and alternately howled with laughter while counting our blessings. Every now and then it is nice to stumble upon a dummy.

After that scare, I decided to go back in the bar and have a drink. K went to the restroom and I checked in on the Words with Friends game I’m playing with my daughter. I was sitting in the corner, minding my own business (while smelling that a lot of people in the bar need a good scrubbing-the sense of smell is killing me) when suddenly there was a huge ass in my face, all bent over and heading towards my lap.

WTF?! I am NOT a toucher/hugger/mauler, and oh hell no if someone thinks they are going to put their dirty ass on me. I stood up and politely asked Lip Locking Grandma to not sit on me. I mean, holy shit. There wasn’t a shortage of chairs, and I don’t know this woman at all.

That wasn’t good enough. She backed me up against the bar, hugging me while puckering up to kiss me on the lips. I wigged out and she went away mad.

What is wrong with people? When someone politely asks a person to respect their space, why must some people persist and get even more aggressive in their need to paw? I view it as extremely hostile, bordering on rape. It always seems to be women who do this to me. They just aren’t happy until I lose my shit, and then they are all hurt and I’m the mean girl.

I swear the next bitch who does this is in for a surprise. I’m going to dry hump her to the floor and ride her like a saddle bronc. I’m betting everyone will get the point after that.

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Keep Your Crazy, I Have Enough of My Own

We got around 10 inches of snow last week and the temperature immediately went below zero…way below…and stayed there for a week.  Somehow my hot water pipes froze and I haven’t had hot water for a week.  I am an obsessively clean person and yesterday, after taking a whore’s bath with cold water for 6 days, I lost my shit.  I got called to work early (and smelly) and I had a screaming, bawling rant in the kitchen.  Some guy who refused to eat in the bar actually picked up his plate and took it there when he heard me shrieking, “I CAN’T BE DIRTY!  I’M NOT WAITING ON ANYONE, AND I SWEAR TO GOD IF ANYONE COMES IN THIS KITCHEN OR LOOKS AT ME FOR ANY REASON I’M GOING TO POKE THEIR FUCKING EYES OUT!”   

Thankfully, my pipes thawed this morning and I was able to shower before work.  Once again everyone gets to live.  Some people are on very shaky ground.

In other news:  I am working on drafting a new town ordinance for all the men who bring crazy bitches to town and leave them.  I think there should be a fine just as there is for littering, and maybe some time in jail (or the stocks).  This is a serious offense. 

We have enough of our own borderline personality disorders problems, we don’t need strangers dragging theirs in ‘cuz let me tell you, when a woman scorned decides to twist off here, she goes all out and takes everyone down with her.   This town has a long and sordid history of Crazy;  it’s where I formed my curious love of good train wrecks.  There’s a big one brewing now and all I can do is watch…and place wagers on who will be among the debris.

Yep, I’m going to Hell in a handbasket.

Doing Things My Way

How things work at the Cowboy/Outlaw:

  • I cook, Bagheera waits tables in the cafe, I get the tips as part of my wage.
  • The bartenders service their own tables, they get the tips.  The kitchen does their dishes, rolls their silverware.
  • If there is a large table in the bar or any table the bartender is too busy to wait on, Bagheera or I wait on it, the bartender gets the drinks, we split the tip.  The kitchen does the dishes and rolls the silverware.
  • The kitchen is responsible for all cleaning, which includes the kitchen, cafe, bathrooms and mopping the bar.

Where this goes wrong:

  • The bartenders are a bunch of lazy fucking communists.  Why work when someone else will do it and you’ll still get paid the same amount?
  • The bartenders are greedy fuckers.
  • The bulk of the work load falls on the kitchen.  There are times I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing some mess while the bartenders are sitting on their asses, watching TV. 

Where this has gone wrong recently:

  • A group of 15 people came in for dinner. 
  • I took their order, cooked their food, Bagheera delivered their food, the bartender (the one who can’t spell ‘potato’) delivered about $30 worth of drinks. 
  • Bagheera & I cleaned the tables, did the dishes, rolled the silverware.
  • The bartender couldn’t figure 20% for the auto-grat and ended up shorting the tip by $10.  
  • Bagheera and I did the bulk of the work, yet I had to split the tip with the bartender, who shorted the auto-grat and screwed me out of $5.  
  • I pointed out that when I worked at The Harribalsac we split the tip based on sales, so the person doing the most work got the most money.  It encouraged people to actually, you know, work.

How I plan to fix this:

  • Tonight a group of 9 men came in for dinner. 
  • Bagheera took their order, I cooked their steaks, I refilled their drinks (twice), I cleaned their tables. 
  • When it came time to figure the ticket, I did the auto-grat.  I gave Foghorn Leghorn 20% of his sales…$5.  He was shocked and dumbfounded because it was a $50 tip.

I would have split the tip evenly, but he tried to give the table to his girlfriend (who was off shift and drinking) so the tip would stay with them.  That isn’t the way things work and he knows it.  The bartenders had a huge kerfluffle about a month ago when the dumbass who can’t spell came in off the clock, waited on a table and took the tip.  Everyone thought she should be fired for taking money from Foghorn Leghorn’s girlfriend.  Since he’s a greedy fucker it’s okay to do the same thing to me though.

They should know better than to try that shit with me.

Plus, I’m still a little pissed about the buffalo T-bone incident.  About a month ago a guy in the bar ordered a buffalo T-bone and a soda.  He ate the steak, drank the soda, and said it was the best steak he’d ever had.  Foghorn Leghorn’s girlfriend came into the kitchen and said, “That guy was so impressed with the steak he tipped Foghorn Leghorn and I $40.  Good job!”  Bagheera and I looked at each other in shock.  Whenever someone tipped me very well because of the cook, I ALWAYS split the tip with my cook.  She never even offered a dime.  I was dumbfounded.  Since then, any time I split a tip with her, she gets 30% instead of 50%.

I am not greedy.  I don’t need to make all the money in the world.  I’m all about letting my coworkers make money.  However, if they want to play the greedy game, I’m more than willing to play it with them.  They are either going to start working and being a little more thankful for the work the kitchen does, or they are going to spend a lot of time wondering why they aren’t making any money.

It’s a Beautiful Day

Why is it a beautiful day, you ask?  Because my shit heel, inbred, redneck, fucktard neighbours moved out.  Of course, they left in the night like any good criminals, and I stood on my deck as they drove away to make sure they didn’t poison my animals, slash my tires, or sugar my gas tank, but I figured the Uhaul was some sort of a cruel joke.  However, when I woke up at the crack of 2 in the afternoon and looked out my window, reality sunk in and I did a happy dance.  If the world suddenly feels like it has more air it’s because everyone in my neighbourhood let out a huge sigh of relief.

I live in a mobile home subdivision about a mile and a half out of town.  We have dirt roads, undrinkable water, and questionable property lines.  I’ve been here for 8 years.  It’s quiet.  There are nine houses, seven of them occupied.  Everybody minds their own business.  Everybody gets along.  Nobody goes out of their way to piss off the neighbourhood.  

The rednecks, mom/dad/adult daughter/adult son-in-law/10 year old daughter, moved in sometime in May.  First, they put up an ugly privacy fence around the lot next to the neighbours across the street from me.  Then they filled that quarter acre lot with horses.  Seven horses fighting, running into the fence and drawing flies.  I stood on my deck and wondered who allowed this shit.  Our CC&Rs forbid livestock, but since no one enforces the CC&Rs I figured I was going to have to suck it up and learn to love flies and the smell of horse shit.

About a week later they moved their house in.  All of our houses sit in rows, with the short sides roughly facing east to west.  This gives a break from the wind that howls all winter.  These Arkansas douchebags planted their house facing north to south.  I sat on my deck and hoped they enjoyed getting broadsided by the wind.  Nothing like trying to fit in with the neighbourhood.  The placement of their house was another violation of the CC&Rs, but, well, you know…

Then one “morning” as I drank coffee on my deck and struggled to wake up, I noticed garden hoses running from their house, across 2 lots to the lot with the horses.  We had a bit of a drought this summer.  I looked at my back yard that never gets watered, then I looked at their lots.  Mine was brown and dead, theirs looked like Ireland.  WTF?!  Our water isn’t metered, we pay a flat rate of $35 per month, per lot, for domestic use.  This means you can have a garden, a yard, do your laundry, wash your car, and take as many showers as you want on ONE lot.  You can NOT use the water for irrigation.  You can NOT  pay $35 a month and use enough water for 4 lots, which is how many lots they own.

So the water district got involved.  The rednecks refused to pay for water on all four lots.  They burned out the well pump.  No one had water.  After the pump was replaced, they continued to use so much water that half of the subdivision didn’t have water.  The water district threatened to shut off their water.  They parked a truck over the shut off valve and chained it to a fence.  The water district called for a locate on gas and electric lines across the street from their house in order to shut them off there.  They took shovels and rakes and erased the locate lines.  This went on for two fucking months.  The water district finally got the locator and the backhoe to arrive at the same time and shut their water off.  The next morning, the rednecks dug a trench and turned their water back on.

Meanwhile, everyone in the neighbourhood signed up with an attorney to file an order to have the horses removed, and we formed a home owners association.  The rednecks answered this by petitioning the county commissioners to annex out of the subdivision.  They also filed stalking protection orders against everyone on the water district board and four of the people on the HoA.  The sheriff spent so much time out here I wondered why he didn’t move in with them.  It got to the point that if anyone drove or walked by their house, they called the sheriff.  Their house is on the same PUBLIC road as my house.  It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. 

In September, two of my women neighbours, Theresa and Mary, approached me because they were terrified of the rednecks.  Their husbands were gone a lot, the rednecks filed stalking orders on them, and they were afraid to leave their houses.  They heard I was a little on the mean side and could I help them?  By this time I was pissed.  I HATE bullies, and that’s exactly what these assholes were.  Plus, in every rebuttal against the HoA, they cited my ducks as a precedent for their horses.  Stupid fuckers.  Ducks aren’t livestock.

My neighbours gave me the paperwork from their stalking protection orders.  It was some scary shit.  The redneck bitch included her journal entries, and it read as a “who can we sue next” manuscript.  It involved several different families, people with money, from the community.  I immediately called everyone named in the journal and told them to sever contact with these people.  I made copies of the journal and gave it to everyone concerned.  They had photos and dated written documentation of Theresa & Mary’s every move.  I didn’t know that if you spy on your neighbours and take pictures of them, they are stalking YOU.  This is what I mean by scary shit.

(I guess I should add that Theresa and her husband are quite wealthy and Mary and her husband won half a mil on a slot machine in Deadwood a year ago.)

While reading through the “sworn” testimony I found a passage stating that I told the redneck kids Theresa’s dog had tried to bite me (never happened, never said it happened).  They were using this as stalking evidence.  See if you can follow their logic.  Apparently Theresa’s dog tried to bite me, so we weren’t friends.  But in August we became friends because Theresa was turning me against them.  That’s stalking.  WTF?!  

Needless to say, I saw red.  I was furious that they were trying to drag me into their bullshit.  The next day I was outside talking to Theresa when the redneck bitches careened up the hill towards our houses.  I said something to Theresa and I remember her screaming, “SHE’LL RUN OVER YOU!” as I walked out in front of the speeding car.  The bitch stopped, I leaned in, got right up in her face, introduced myself, told her to make sure she spelled my name correctly when she filed a protection order against me, and proceeded to tear her a new asshole for naming me as a witness against my neighbours.  She never made eye contact and stammered that she didn’t have a problem with me.  You do now.  Then she told me that she didn’t have a protection order against me.  You should get one.

I turned around and Theresa was gone.  Rabbited right back to her house.  She wasn’t lying about being afraid, but of them or me I wasn’t sure. 

Of course, the bitch called the sheriff on me.  He graduated high school with my brother.  I asked if I was going to get a protection order because I felt pretty left out.  He said that yelling at someone wasn’t against the law.  Yeah, I know.  He told me the rednecks didn’t like me talking to Theresa.  I reminded him I have the right to assemble.  Uh…yes, yes you do.  I told him I also have freedom of speech.  Uh…yes, that’s true.  Then I enlightened him on all the bullshit going on with the water district and how their actions crossed the line of criminal behaviour.  Of course he knew nothing about it.  I pointed out that the protection orders and his constant presence on their behalf made him seem more than a little biased, and one would think that maybe he wasn’t the best person to service our neighbourhood.  Uh…  He was dumbfounded because he hadn’t read the paperwork he served, and I guess he thought no one was paying attention to his visits.  He obviously took the time to read it, and he took my subtle threat against his job seriously because he suddenly refered all calls to another sheriff.

So, to wrap up this very long story:  the rednecks looked like asses in court for the stalking protection orders.  Stalking is very clear cut.  Did either of these women call you?  No.  Did either of these women send you harassing letters?  No.  Did they send you texts or emails?  No.  Did they hang around your place of employment?  No.  Did they hang out around your house?  No.  Cases dismissed.  Assholes.

The rednecks looked like asses for the county commissioners when 15 people showed up to fight their petition to annex out of the subdivision.  They were not allowed to annex out, but were allowed to combine their four lots into one.  The commissioners stressed that the CC&Rs run with the land, no matter who you bought it from, no matter how many times it’s been sold.  They brought up my ducks.  There was a chorus of “ducks aren’t livestock” in the meeting room.  The commissioners explained that the essence of CC&Rs is “don’t annoy your neighbours”.  Everything is acceptable until someone complains and if the majority complains, you have a problem.  Assholes.

Lucky for them they didn’t win the petition to annex out because I was leading the crusade to have them removed from our septic system and banned from our road in the event they did.  You can’t be part of the “community” septic system if you’re not part of the community, and you can’t drive on the road the home owners pay to maintain if you aren’t part of the home owner’s association.  Let’s see how you like walking to your house and shitting in a bucket with no water to rinse it out, which brings us to…

The rednecks looked like asses when most of the neighbourhood showed up to support the water district in shutting off their water.  They adopted a “we’ll show you” attitude by filling two cisterns and running garden hoses from them to their house…until the temperature dropped to zero last week and froze their hoses.  Aww…so sad.  Currently, they owe the water district nearly $3,000 for multiple shut-offs and past due water bills.  A lien is attached to their property.  Assholes.

Honestly, in all of this I waffled on my opinion of the rednecks.  My first thought was that they moved here and set all of this in motion in order to sue Mary & her husband for damages and make off with a quick hundred thousand or so.  Once they realized Theresa and her husband had money, the rednecks added them to the plan.  But they were so d.u.m.b.  Maybe they were just stupid and misunderstood.  How can they be con artists when they have a group IQ of ‘duh’?

My opinion cemented when they called the sheriff on me two days before they fled town for sitting on my deck, drinking coffee and talking on the phone while they took down the ugly privacy fence across the street.  I saw their buddy sheriff go to their house.  I saw them in their yard pointing at me.  I saw him shake his head and drive away.  Smart man.  Telling me I can’t sit on my deck is one conversation he doesn’t want to have.

The final score?

Rednecks:  YOU LOSE.

Crossed Arrows Home Owners:  Lesson Learned.

Adios, Asshole-The Drizella Edition

Last night was Drizella’s last night.  King Triton asked if we should do something for her.  Bagheera snapped, “I ain’t baking her a cake.”

As the night progressed, Drizella got more and more snotty and we ignored her.  She finally got snotty enough that I gave her the ‘do you want your head in a basket?’ look.  As she stomped out of the kitchen, Bagheera said, “And she wonders why she’s not getting a cake.”

********************

For years Doc and Eeyore ran the bar.  Doc spent most of his time drinking, Eeyore spent most of her time drinking, crying and stirring shit.  During this time a pall of slackassery descended over the bar.  No one cleaned, and everyone put forth the least amount of effort possible, while bitching about their work environment.  About a month ago Doc nearly died from drinking, so Bagheera changed the locks, and now he and Eeyore are contemplating their future at home.

As the song goes, more than the locks have changed.  “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,” has become the new (much hated) catchphrase.  New people who understand the term “work” have been hired.  Old people who are content to sit on their ass and watch TV will be replaced.  Pack rat trash is going out of the bar by the industrial size trash can load and a new sense of order and organization is shining through.

It’s a beautiful day.

Game On!

Tonight 2 men with a slew of kids came in for pizza.  I asked how many were in their party since the kids were all running around and I couldn’t get a head count.  One guy said, “There are 5 with me.”  The other guy said, “I have 4…so that’s a total of 5 of us.”  Uh…I’m a complete bonehead when it comes to math, but even I knew his answer was wrong.  His friend corrected him and he said, “Oh yeah, I guess there’s 9 of us.  If our wives were here they would know how to count.”  Dude.  Stop talking.  You aren’t getting any smarter.

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This woman wants to play games with me.  I love passive/aggressive games.  My favourite is How Far Are You Willing to Go?  I always win that one.  The thing is I like to go to work, do my job and go home.  I don’t cause trouble or stir the pot.  I’m one of those nice loner people you sometimes read about…”She was such a nice person, always kept to herself, I can’t believe she had 20 bodies buried in her backyard.”   

One night after a long, back breaking shift, I got out to my van and started to back up before I realized Betty Boop (that’s how she talks) was parked behind me.  The parking lot is huge, so there wasn’t any need for her to do that.  I had to hobble my tired ass back into the bar and drag her drunk ass out to move her car.  The next time she did it, I put Frankenvan in “R stands for Race” and shoved her car back about 5 feet so I could angle my way out.  Lately, I’ve been parking to the side of the building so I can get out by going forward.

Tonight when I left work there were two cars in the parking lot…hers right behind mine.  I left her a little gift since she’s obviously trying to get my attention.  She will either take the hint and stop parking behind me, or we can take it to the next level.  I’m not ever drunk when I leave work and I can always pass a drug test.  Betty Boop can’t say either of those things.  People who walk on eggs, shouldn’t hop. 

 Most people stop provoking me after the first round.  Persistent people sometimes stick it out for two rounds.  Morbidly stupid people have to keep touching the fire and crying because they get burned.  That college degree she likes to brag about was obviously money well wasted.

Turn About

Years ago I worked at the Meeteetse Visitor Center and there were two women on the board of directors who were wretched bitches with me.  I ended up quitting when they tried to make me sign a contract dictating how I lived my life, how I dressed, who I could socialize with, and on and on and on.  They were on a power trip to say the least.

One of the women came into the cafe for dinner on Monday night and just the sight of her made me want to set her hair on fire.  The downside to working in a very small place is most of the time I’m alone, both the cook and the server, and I can’t shove undesirable people off on another server. 

I was my most professional and acted as if they were strangers while I served them and cooked their food.  I’ll bet that bitch was sweating, though.  If I treated someone like she treated me, then I discovered they were cooking my food, I’d find somewhere else to eat.  Good thing I think food tampering is morally reprehensible.

I loved the position she was in.  She couldn’t get up and leave without explaining why she couldn’t chance me cooking her food and she had to rely on my professionalism, the one thing she accused me of not having at the Visitor Center.  It made me smile all night.

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