24 July 2012

The Lies I Tell... Everyone

I lie to people.
All the time.
Bosses, friends, coworkers... children, mine and other peoples, and also random strangers.
Just in case anyone has ever believed a word that I've said...

I am not now, nor have I ever been, on a methamphetamine and laxative diet.

While snorting drugs does make them work faster, I don't actually snort my daily vitamins.
Or anything else that I have claimed works better if you snort it, including but not limited to, zinc, magnesium,  tobacco, tequila or bologna.

I was not, in fact, born a poor black child. 

I do not really believe we should arm small children to make classrooms safer. 

I don't use bath salts.
I just like to say "bath salts". 
At ridiculous random moments.
I also like to yell "MEDIC" and "GET OFF THE X!" when it's busy at work.

"That" did not actually also happen to me once. Whatever "that" may be at a particular moment.

Any statement that is immediately followed by the words, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," should never be considered actual advice.

My dad was also not born a poor black child.

My husband was born in the USA. So he really doesn't have a green card, but it is not because he is an illegal alien from Mexico.

We do have running water and electricity at my house.

I did not lose a leg in any war that I did not go to.

I do not handcuff my children together when they fight.
I want to, but I'm pretty sure DCFAS would frown on it.
I also do not discipline them with a stun gun.
I really don't discipline them at all, they are all heathens.

I do buy shoes for the babies in the summertime.

I was not there when Kennedy was killed.
Obviously I was not the guy on the grassy knoll. 

I do not let the dog clean the kids off instead of bathing them.
Unless they puke.
That's a lie also.

I did not, at any time, apply nail polish with a paint roller.
It looks like I do, but I didn't.

My balls did not, in fact, drop well after puberty.
They did not drop at all.
I don't have testicles.

19 July 2012

Rest Easy

We were kids together.
The 4 of us, mostly, because Jay was so much older.
Road trips with Grandma.
God, we must have driven her insane.
Those damn trees, remember?
"Look at the pretty trees..."
She talked about them the whole way down to Indy.
Payback probably for the bouncy balls and the gum in her car's carpet.
For the cigarette butts behind her garage.
Remember how she always knew when we had been smoking pot?
I still don't know how she knew.

Christmas Eve and Easter Day.
Coloring eggs.
You stapled my finger.
You tried to shoot me with the nail gun when we were doing the roof.
We had the whole damn world in front us.

Your brother's wedding.
All those boys, and finally that baby girl you were so enamored with.
We joked about taking a collection in the family to pay for a vasectomy for you.
I'm sorry now.
For not understanding.
For judging you.
For not realizing that you weren't you anymore.

You made it easy, all those things you did wrong.
Immoral and illegal.
Chasing that motherfucking dragon.
Anything for the drug.
I didn't understand.
You had demons I couldn't see.
Wouldn't have understood them if I had.
I didn't understand, then, what that drug did to people.
How it changes you.
Controls you.

That last high.
I won't pretend to understand it.
Seems so simple to me, you had so much going for you again.
Seemed like you were going to make it this time.
You didn't.

So here we all are, grieving for you.
For all that you were and all that you could have been.
All of your children, fatherless now.
Your mother, devastated by the loss of her firstborn.
Your brother.
God, your brother.
You two were inseparable for so long.
Your dad.
She's heartbroken.
One should never have to bury a child, a grandchild.
It happens, I know.
That doesn't make it better, easier.

I wish you'd known how much you were loved.
I wish you hadn't gone back to that dark place.
Where you were all alone.
Where you couldn't see a way out, except for that high.
Just a few years ago, we all expected this day.
It would have hurt, but it wouldn't have shocked so many people.
We all had faith that you'd make it this time.
Makes it so much harder to accept.

At least you're out of the darkness now.
Rest easy, Cousin.
I pray you find the peace in death that you couldn't find in life.

14 July 2012

Hey. Jack Off...Just keep your tip.

#1. Again, with the drugs... What you do is your own business. Since you appear to be missing some vital connections in your brain, I'm gonna let you in on the fact that not everyone appreciates being approached and asked if they would like to buy some prescription drugs.
Fucking really.
Why the fuck would you ask someone you don't know if they want to buy drugs?
I don't like seeing anyone go to jail... but just once? I'd like to see someone whip a badge out and simply grin. 
Plus? If you are going to sell drugs? Sell fucking drugs. 
Grow some balls and sell heroine or something.
Jack off.

#2 If you throw up? If you fall asleep? If you can not walk, talk or even gesture?
 Why do you want to drink more? 

#3. Do not act like twelve year old children on lunch hour. 
I don't mind cleaning up when you leave, but at least pretend to be a grown up for the few hours that you are in the bar.
If you insist on throwing beer and ice and water and whatever else?
If you want to get in goddamn food fights inside the bar?
If you insist on leaving a god awful mess when you leave every time you come in?
I'll just ask you to leave.
Trust me, it's worth your two dollar fucking tip to not have to stay an extra hour cleaning up your mess.
Jack off.

02 July 2012

The Moon Is In The 7th House of Jack-Off

My horoscope says that the moon is entering my 7th House of Others.
I don't know what the fuck that means.
But I am reasonably sure that when the moon is in such a house, it is a bad sign for bartenders everywhere.

Every random thing I have ranted about on this blog?
Every random behavior?
Had them all in the last week, I think.
Must be the planetary alignment.
People have read these blogs and are going out of their way to be featured in them.
While no one actually had  sex in the bathroom?
They intended to and were interrupted.
No one left their tampon on the floor, but they left the wrapper.
The guy that wants a beer, and doesn't care which kind and them bitches because "Budweiser is the worst beer ever..." Guess he'll know what he wants next time, huh?
The "I don't know what I want, make me something fruity..."
The I am going to run your ass off ALL NIGHT LONG and not tip you a single fucking time.
The jackoff that wants to get involved in someone else's shit and then tell customers he knows the boss and will have them barred.
The "Can you actually put some liquor in my drink please..."
GUM in the ashtray, tobacco spit and cigarette butts in bottles.
And just when I was thinking, at least I didn't have to clean up puke... I did.
And then some I haven't bitched about yet....

"Hey! I gave you a 50 and you didn't give me my change."
Hmm. No, drunkass you did not give me a 50. Normally, I am willing to consider than I saw it wrong and gave the wrong change...but there isn't a single fifty dollar bill in the drawer.
 Not one.
You've been dropping your money all over the god damn floor and hopping from one bar to the other all night long. I would assume that you spent it elsewhere.
When you wake up sober in the morning?
You will realize that you are a Jackoff.

Hey, that whatever that I ordered... I don't have any money, so just throw that on my tab, okay? I'll pay it later."
No, jackass.
First of all, no, just no. 
Second, you now owe me $10.00.

"I drank a whole bottle of rum before I got here!"
Fucking super, kid.
Go the fuck home.

The younger kids, screaming over the band.
Wrestling, yelling and just being overly obnoxious?
Please be aware of your environment.
You have every right to enjoy yourselves, but try to have a little respect.
If the band asks for a moment to make an announcement?
Lower your noise level a few octaves.
You don't have to listen and you don't have to care what they are announcing, but you should have the respect to let the announcement be heard by the rest of the bar.

Tip the band.
Yes, they get paid to perform.
But then, I get paid to sell beer.
Waitresses get paid to serve food.
If you like them?
If you listen to them all night, request songs and enjoy yourselves?
Give credit where it is due and throw a five or ten in the tip bucket.
A dollar even.

"I know you called last call, but can a get a...."
No, it is 3:15 in the morning.
That is the fucking point of last call.

"How much is a ...."
No, five dollars.
I don't have time to barter the shit.
I'm agreeing and paying the extra dollar just to get you to shut up.

"Do you have Smirnoff White Grape vodka?"
And then a roll of the eyes and I hear you bitching about your service...
Go the fuck home.
It is not my fault we do not have that particular flavor of vodka.
I don't order the shit.
We have at least twenty fucking flavored vodkas, pick a different one.
You're a jack off.