Friday, April 11, 2014

Hangry v.2

Girlfriend - "Why are you acting like this? We're supposed to be on a date. Have you eaten? Are you like this because you haven't eaten?"

Boyfriend - "I haven't eaten! Don't be aggressive! I love you!"

Girlfriend - "FUCK YOU." (throws coffee cup out of convertible) "I'm sorry. I was having a moment."

My girlfriend and I get "hangry" easily. Hangry is a mash-up of the words "hungry" and "angry." This is what happens when we don't eat.

My girlfriend has "moments." Moments are the times during dates when my girlfriend will throw things. Usually she is very casual, willy-nilly, and will lounge sprawled out in the back of the convertible while I relax in the front passenger's seat. We often like to sit outside hip coffee shops and relax. We are very casual-cool. When my girlfriend has moments, we are no longer casual-cool. We are now aggressive. I yell, and she yells, and sometimes empty coffee cups are thrown.

Dates are events my girlfriend and I go on in order to connect in a romantic way. Dates consist of sitting outside hip coffee shops and relaxing. Sometimes, on dates, we are having so much casual-cool fun, we forget to eat. That is ok, unless forgetting to eat results in becoming hangry.

Hangry is ok, unless becoming hangry incites moments.

Moments are ok, unless having moments means coffee cups are thrown.

Throwing coffee cups is ok, unless the cup is full, and you do not apologize.

It is never ok to not apologize.

That is the moral of the story.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Cheddar Bang Biscuits

Guy Server - "What are you doing tonight?"

Girl Server - "No plans. Wanna get a drink after this?"

Guy Server - "Is your boyfriend coming?"

Hey, girl. I'm sorry if I've been unclear in the past, or seem to be unclear now, but let me be straight with you...

I wanna bang.

I don't know how many times I need to take waters to your tables before you even greet them. How many times I have to run only your food. How many times I do your condiments before you get a chance to. Or how many times I have to toy around with the idea that I just wanna get a drink when all I really want to say is...

I wanna get a drink so you'll loosen up those inhibitions and make a poor decision and that poor decision is banging me. Cuz I wanna bang.

I'm not a bad guy. I'm bangable supreme. What I am not is boyfriend material, and don't get me wrong - I do not want to be your boyfriend. I don't even wanna replace your boyfriend. I don't want you to break up with your boyfriend for me, because I don't need that guilt. I don't even really wanna hang out with you much longer after we do this deed. I just sense a lot of chemical attraction between us, and maybe it's because I like how you look in head-to-toe black paired with a slightly messy ponytail, somewhat greasy face and those slick-ass non-skid Shoes 4 Crews...but you really work it.

Hell, I would go as far to say that you look better than all the other girls in the restaurant dressed the same way.

If you can look good at work in a shirt buttoned all the way to the top, apron covering half your body, your breeze smelling like a mix of stale garlic butter, cheddar bay biscuits and whatever lotion you applied this morning (what is that, plumeria?)...I know you GOTTA be looking and smelling real girl-like underneath. That makes me wanna bang.

I just love the way you write "thank you" with a little flower on all your checks. It's like, attention to detail like that that makes me know you'll pay attention to the little things I like when we bang.

You always show up on time, but you never clock in until you get that first table. Because you like to work overtime. And I know you'll work it time and a half when we bang.

Hows about when you joke around with management about how THEY need to bring their A-Game? I love that shit. That means you won't let nothing slide when we bang.

And we gonna bang.

I'd even venture to say we might bang a few times. Maybe 3 or 5 times. Maybe 3 or 5 weeks. Who knows? You don't even gotta let your boyfriend know. Not like he ever comes to sit in your section anyway. I'd sit in your section. After we bang. You could leave my house early in the morning for your lunch shift, and I don't gotta work til 5, but I'm gonna come sit in your section and pretend like I'm just casually having a solo lunch, because I like seeing you work. I like seeing you calm before your shift, frazzled mid-shift, and complaining to no end after your shift. I like everything about you at work.

I might even like you out of work, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. I've learned about workmances the hard way. Once I banged two girls I worked with at once. Not like in a threesome, but like I was banging two girls I worked with at the same time at this Chevy's I was bartending at (all girls love the bartenders), and those girls went CRAAAAAAYY. They were like, "I'm banging Mateo, no I'M banging Mateo" and I'm like, Ladies there is enough of Mateo to go around. But they were crazy. I had to quit you know? Because you can't have anyone filing sexual harassing on you or anything. You don't need that on your track record. What I'm saying is, you're the only work girl for me. And if you have some morals, you'd listen to those sexual instinct impulses and bang.

Monday, October 7, 2013

I'm Sorry Your Parents Failed You

Teen - "Hey, lady.  Do you know when the next train is coming?"

Lady Sitting on Bag of Something -  "Ohp!  It's actually scrolling right up here.  Let's see...Pink Line in 6 minutes.  Orange in 10."  

Teen - "Oh." 

Lady Sitting on Bag of Something - "You're welcome."

 Teen - "Does the Pink Line go to Kedzie?"  

Lady Sitting on Bag of Something - "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure."  

Teen - "Well, how am I supposed to figure out where I'm supposed to go?"  

Lady Sitting on Bag of Something - "Oh!  Easy.  Luckily, they post a map at every eL stop - they're super easy to navigate, and you can just look along the Pink Line to see if one stops where you need to go."  

Teen - "But I don't wanna look at a map."  

Lady Sitting on Bag of Something - "What do you want me to do then?"  

Teen - "Can't you look it up on your phone?"  

Lady Sitting on Bag of Something - "Not when the map is right there."  

Teen - "But I don't want to look at a map."  

Lady Sitting on Bag of Something - "It's seriously just right there.  It'll take two seconds."  

Teen - "Are you sure you don't know?  Can't you just go look at it for me?" 

Listen up, mother fucker, because I am going to give you something you have never once heard (or had someone stick to) in your privileged, young life: "NO."

I'm sorry that you are used to a life where you can ask, ask, and ask again to get your way.  I'm sorry that you were brought up in a generation that has been conditioned to throw fits in order to do so.  Most importantly, I'm sorry your parents failed you.

I know it must be hard to have a parent that is so "liberal" with their parenting styles.  They must have read so many books that told them that kids "these days" are in need of freedom to do what they want, when they want, and loudly deny things they don't, so their precious "psyche" isn't bruised.  I'm sure they make you at least 3 different dinners before you decide you're too tired to play games with them anymore, just so you can eat 2-4 bites of whatever is hastily, desperately thrown on your plate, then cry until you receive your cookies and second glass of milk.  I'm sure you have never had the experience of sitting at the table "until your plate is clean" for so long that you actually fall asleep into your plate.  A plate full of shit you hate, like real fucking food.  What the fuck is quinoa anyway?  Crunchy water?

See, kid, I come from this weird period of time when parents had these things called "rules" because they were too tired from working a job or two that they didn't have time to come home and do "household chores" or "fight with your teacher about why you denied taking your test because you were too emotional or tired."  My parents expected me do the chores.  They held me accountable for the grades I received, and if I had ever questioned a teacher, my ass would've had to write an apology letter, which they would insist I read in front of the entire class of the person I disrespected.  I took tests (tired, hungry, overly emotional - read "UNPREPARED") and though I was smart enough to manipulate my parents into things I thought I was getting away with (faking sick when I had a huge pimple on my face during Physics Club photo day), they knew better (my mother asked to see the vomit that I had "just puked" up while I was locked in the bathroom.  I spent several minutes telling her she was gross and that I had already flushed it before I decided I wasn't brave enough to endure sticking my fingers down my throat to produce anything worthwhile.  I then quietly got ready for my class picture with some stolen concealer and a dab of green eyeshadow.  I wasn't allowed to wear makeup, but my mother let that one slide). 

See, parents then were smart.  They were in charge.  They were parents.  They said things, then stuck to what they said, and through that I learned to respect not only adults, but my peers as well.  I learned to not argue or throw a fit when someone tells me "no," and most importantly, I learned the value of appreciating what I did have.  Also, I turned out just fine.  So if you want to learn a lesson in how good it feels to do something on your own, you can walk just riiiiiight over -

"I'm sorry what?  You're right; I am an old bitch.  Good luck on your life journey, you spoiled little fuck."

Monday, September 9, 2013

Weekend Rituals: Sept. 2013 #14 Rated O for "Over It"

Girl: I can do anything, you know? 

Girl 2: Oh, girl we know you can.

Girl: You wanna walk and smoke?  I'll do it.

Girl 2: Yes.

Girl: You wanna walk, smoke and drink?  Gimme a bottle.

Girl 2: Ok.

Girl: You wanna talk about it?  I'll be taking puffs and sips and steps while we work it through.

Girl 2: Yes ma'am.

I cannot stand my best friend Rachel.

I got stuck taking her home after a big night out at Nick's Uptown, because someone told us that place was closing (I thought it had been closed for years), and we just HAD TO GO before it did.

So this big idea - "Hey, let's have a ladies' night - go eat somewhere nice, head to Nick's until 4, and then go eat again!" (and this late night food place is always shitty) and I'm thinking, 'I'm busy/I'm so busy/I can't do this/This is going to be terrible/Someone tell me Rachel is not coming,' but instead I say, "Sure thing!  Love to.  What time, and where are we eating?"

See...Rachel is that friend no one wants to invite, but you kind of have to, because otherwise she'll text during the meal, and show up anyway.  You know, because she's friends with you on Facebook and Four Square and has that app where you know where all your friends are, and she uses the excuse, "I just want to add you in case anything happens to you - you'll have a GPS and we can find your kidnapper - just like in CSI!" but really you know it's because she wants to know exactly where you are at all times, and if you're lying to her when you say you're not feeling well and staying home.  Because she will call you out on that shit: "Oh, that's weird, Cate.  Because it looks like you're at Big Star." and then you have to make up a quick, "Weird - the calibration must be off.  I'm actually at the Walgreens down the street buying something for my diarrhea - how embarrassing that cute boy with the ear plugs is here and I can't possibly ask him!"  And then you have to chase down your server, pay your tab, and then go OVER to the Walgreens, make sure cute boy is actually there, and then high tail it home in a cab because you can't get caught.  The wrath of Rachel is the worst wrath to come.

Rachel is also the girl that always gets piss-yourself drunk, 'but I can't get home on my own', that no one wants to deal with.  I am just a sucker for safety, though, and always end up with Rachel.

To be honest, I don't like any of my friends.

I know beforehand this night will consist of me getting half-ready, then deciding I have to get super dolled up because everyone else is going to spend all night making comments on my outfit, hair, nails, shoes, bag, etc. if I don't, commenting continually about how THESE are probably the reasons I'm single.  No.  I'm single because I can't find anyone I like enough to date.  Not like these bitches, who are NOT single, but will sit through an entire meal complaining about the person they're dating/living with/married to.  Good on you, girls.

So I imagine I will get really ready, then be told I was trying too hard.  That I look "desperate" and "on the prowl", so I curled my hair, popped on some simple non-hanging earrings, and wore flats instead of heels (that is the costume I call "keep the bitches off my back").

I know before even leaving the house I will spend more than anyone at the table, regardless of me not being a drinker, which no one seems to notice and I am too passive to say anything about.  I know that we will have to cab everywhere because everyone else is allowed to wear heels.  I know most importantly that I will be the last to leave, because I am terrified to let any of these girls be responsible for themselves.

Now that I think about it, I am the piece of shit.  Maybe I don't hate my friends.  Maybe I hate myself.

No, I hate my friends.  But maybe I hate myself, too.

Why can't I say no?!  Why can't I just kindly decline?  And when they respond with, "Cate - you know you can't meet men sitting all sad inside your apartment with your cat who is named after some weirdo superhero what is wrong with you how old are you?" why can't I have the balls to say, "Yeah.  I know.  But I'll have more fun than dragging your sloppy ass down the street, stopping only to puke in sectioned landscaping, and getting turned down repeatedly cab after cab.  AraƱa and I will be just fine with our delivery, not DiGiorno, and Netflix Instant Queue."

I mean...after saying no so many times, people stop asking you to hang out, right?  That's how it works?

These are the thoughts running through my head as I tie Rachel's puke-soaked hair back while she's hunched over a trashcan this time, thank god.  And here she is telling me, through slurred words, that she can walk, smoke, drink and talk at the same time?  She can barely stand up.

Will the rest of the girls find their way home?  Will Rachel learn her lesson or do this same thing yet again?  Will Cate finally get the courage to drop everyone in her life and start anew?  Find out next weekend, same time, same god-forsaken place (because Nick's will never close).

The moral?  Just stay home.  Find new friends.  Say no.  And watch Fringe.  That show is so, so good.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

I Am Actor

Actor: Did you do these the last time they had them?

Actor #2: No, I didn't have an agent then.

Actor: Yeah, they did them a long time ago.  I wasn't cast, and I haven't seen the commercials anywhere, so I don't even know what they did with them.

Actor #2: Oh.  Cool.

Actor: Yeah.  The copy's really fun, though, and everyone here's so super nice, so it's like, going to be a really fun audition.

Actor #2: Thanks.

Hello, my name's Heidy, and today I'll be reading the part of Self, from Heidy Hindler's "My Life".

Today, I woke up to an alarm.  An alarm that could have woken anyone.  Anyone else on the planet.  But this?  This alarm was mine.  This alarm sang to me like a rooster sings to the crops.  Like a bird sings to the morning dew on grass blades.  My alarm sang to me.  And I rose.  For I am one who responds.  I am Actor. 

Today, I had a question.  Who are we if we're not what we do?  Is life what we make of it?  No.  What we do defines us.  Who we talk to, the choices we make.  Life.  Life is me.  I can feel it beating through my veins and arteries and with each breath I take.  For I am someone who feels.  I am Actor.

Today, I had a hunger that needed to be fed.  I had an omelette du fromage, an Americano half the water, and half an English Muffin toasted, no butter, no jam, no preserves.  For I am clean.  I am whole and full.  I am Actor.

Today, I made choices.  I selected attire and hair that would benefit my character.  I wanted to feel at one with "RECEPTIONIST - early 30's.  Quirky, but personable and relatable.  Can be overweight."  For I decide.  I commit.  I am Actor.

Today, I did body exercise.  I chose biking over train.  I exercised my body before exercising my mind.  I logged biking calories into my Fitness app.  For I am healthy.  I am responsible with my caloric intake.  I am Actor.

Today, I did mind exercise.  I read, I remembered, I prepared.  For what is body without mind?  I am both.  I am all-encompassing.  I am Actor.

Today, I had an audition.  Audition.  Actor.  Self.  Neither what I do, but who I am.




Thank you so much I'll leave my resume and signed headshot here on the table you can call my agent I look forward to hearing from you and working with you and thank you for your time and for your time in advance in reviewing my materials I also have a website you can check out if you follow the link on the top right of my resume thank you so much have a great day.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Vegetable of the Day

Customer (Guest) (Patron): What's the vegetable of the day?

Server: Broccoli.

Customer (Guest) (Patron): Uhhhhhmmmm...

Jesus Chriiiiiiist.

I can't do this anymore.  I - I can't even pretend to do this anymore.  I'm pretty positive my eyes just loudly sighed in annoyance as they rolled back into my head. 

You're going to get the sweet potato fries.  I can tell you don't want to.  I can tell that you're worried it's bikini season, whatever the fuck that truly is, but I know one thing, and it is that you are most definitely not going to get the broccoli, even though:

1. I saw you logging your earlier calories on the MyFitnessPal app before I even got to the table.

2. You are drinking a vodka water.  Single.  Tall.

3. You are sitting at the very front of your chair, so as to not flatten out the fat that every normal woman and person in history has on their legs.

4. In the 15 minutes that you've been sitting at my table, you've pulled the top of your jeans up higher on your waistline, and tugged at your shirt to loosen it around your belly.

5. The only conversation I've heard you have is about yoga, pilates, and going for a run on the lake path.

Those are 5 good reasons that should make saying, "I don't care what the fuck the vegetable is, I'm going to regret anything else I get later, so I may as well get that.  You know what...never mind.  Fuck it.  I'm not going to eat at all, because all this work that I put into body is causing so much stress that I'd rather sit idle and starve than have to become more active to offset the calories" rather easy.

But it's never that easy.

You will ho and hum and I will stand here with a fake half-smile quivering on my face.  You will make a claim about all the wonderful, healthy choices you made this week.  You will say that you'll just skip your cheat day, or trade today in for it.  You'll take the stairs the last 5 flights in your building.  You'll bike to work, or walk a big block around on your lunch hour.  You will make all these weighty claims, just so you can justify ordering the sweet potato fries.  Your friend will say, "Oooooh, naughty!" turn to me, smile, and say she'll have the same.

And for WHAT?  It never ends.  This sick obsession women have with our weight will never end.  The sugar-free, gluten-free, calorie-free bullshit will never, ever fucking end, and -

- I'm sorry, what?  How do I stay so skinny?  Oh my god, stop!  Thank you!  I have a personal trainer; I'll give you his info - he's European and sometimes I can't understand him, but he's super hot!  Sweet potato tots it is, girlfriend.  

Yes, we do have a fat-free ranch.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Stop and Smell the Flowers

Little Girl - "Oooooh!  Look!  Flowers!"

Nanny (on phone) - "Oh, yeah...look at all of them.  Aren't they pretty?"

Little Girl - "Yes.  The flowers are SO pretty."

Nanny (on phone) - "They sure are.  Did you want to stop and look at them?"

Little Girl - "Yes.  They are SO pretty, the flowers."

Nanny (on phone) - "They sure are."



Who else gets a job like this?  I get paid to play.  Sure, you can sit around and diddle on Facebook or Pintrest or whatever you office folk like, but I get $18 an hour to pretend to look at flowers.


Oooh.  Yes.  Flowers.  They sure are pretty!

I've made a list of why my job is better than yours in the "note" app on my iPhone (which I bought with this free money, SUCKA!), and will read them to you now:

Yes, those flowers are SO pretty!  The prettiest!  Pretty, pretty!  Just like you.

1. I work at the park.
2. I get paid to go to the beach.
3. Free access to museums.
4. Unlimited supply of Goldfish Crackers.
5. If the kid is nap age: paid naps.

Shit.  I hate this stupid app.  Always with the goddamn time limit. 

Where was I?  6?

6. Sandwiches.  All kinds of different sandwiches.
7. Fish sticks (you know your ass likes those, so don't hit me with that salty "Ew!  Fish sticks?" shit).
8. You can wave a toy in front of a kid between the ages of born and almost 2.5 years, never speak to them, and they're completely content, and can't report back to their parents.  Not like at your job, where you get in trouble if you sit on or fall asleep at your desk.

Yep.  Cute.  Whatever you say, kid.

9. I can do all my normal day-to-day activities and errands (like go grocery shopping and brunch with friends), just now I have a kid with me.
10. Cartoons.  They love them.  Seriously.  You can throw a cartoon on and sleep on the couch if you're hungover in the mornings (WHICH I ALWAYS AM!).

Oh my god.  

Where did Cara go?  She was just right here.


I'll text you later.