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5:44 a.m. - 2001-12-10


I feel lousy like a fifty cent whore.

I just coughed up some foreign matter that looked like a tiny alien spore.

Lousy, I'm 'a tellin' ya.

In my life, I've walked out of two restaurants for bad service.

The first was O'Charley's in 1990. We waited 15 minutes for our salads to be brought to us, when they were finally brought, they were put on the table and the waiter walked away "promising" us some silverware that never came so we got up and left.

The second time was last night.

We just got this place called "TGI Friday's" in our city. It's been in town for about 3 months now.

We hadn't been there yet but when they first opened I heard strange rumors about the place. Basically, I heard that if you were white, you were given lousy service there.

I thought that was about the stupidest rumor I had ever heard. How could people really say that?

Ummmmm...maybe because it was true?

We got there and the place was about a quarter full. Sunday night ... not too many people out to eat. "Good," I told Susie. "This way we can get in and out."

Yeah, right.

We asked our hostess for a high chair for Andrew. She said "How about a booster chair?" I want one of those high chairs stacked there in the corner. If I wanted a booster chair, I'd ASK for a booster chair.

The hostess acted like we had just asked her to munch on a defecation salad. She grudgingly went and got a high chair and put it near our table. Not AT our table, but about five feet near it and walked away.

Gee honey. I'm sorry for taking you away from standing at the doorway with an empty clipboard in your hand while you gossip with your buddies about which of your crackheaded boyfriends has the littlest johnson. That was never my intention when I entered your establishment.

We looked over the menu, made up our minds of what we wanted and set our menus aside and went about the task of keeping Andrew entertained, which is no small feat.

Ten minutes passed.

Finally, a girl walks up to the table and says (and I quote) "Wha' choo wanna drink?"

We both ordered water. I'm diabetic, Susie's dieting. Water is what we order in restaurants. I realize when you order water, you're generally regarded as being cheap, but as long as service is good, I ALWAYS tip at least 20 percent on every meal.

Five minutes passed and our waters came. The girl said our waitress would be "right with you".

Uh huh. As soon as she finishes shooting up in the bathroom apparently.

Five minutes passed. People that had came in after us had already turned in their orders and were eating their salads.

Meanwhile, our waitress was out back at the dumpster area, blowing stray dogs for the amusement of strangers.

We decided to wait five more minutes at this point and if we weren't waited on, we were leaving.

Those were five minutes of my life that I will never get back. Five totally wasted minutes.

After those five minutes were up and 25 minutes had passed since we walked into this ghost town of a restaurant, we packed up Andrew's stuff and left.

I was hoping the hostess would have said something to the tune of "Is anything wrong?" or "Was there not enough saliva in your water?"

She just glared silently at us as we left.

So we tried it. After hearing the rumors of racism being exercised by the restaurant's staff, we tried it.

And all I can say is the water wasn't half bad.

And you can bet your ass, I'm never spending my hard-earned money in there.

We went to Kenny Rogers Roasters because it was already 8 p.m. and we were damned hungry.

We finished there by 8:20 and realized that IF we had ever gotten waited on at Friday's, we would just now be getting our food there.

Plus, Kenny's was cheaper and tastier.

Now then, for the sake of any Google searches, I offer the following:


Thank you.

We had a local college "consort" at our church yesterday.

Basically, it was six college kids with pretty good voices singing operatic Christmas carols for us.

One of the guys was a fairly handsome blonde guy, hair swept back in a long ponytail and a big smile with structured cheekbones and a strong jaw.

Susie couldn't help herself.

She leaned over to me IN CHURCH and whispered "That blonde guy is hot!"

I was kinda appalled. My wife was getting lust in her heart while in church.

I just whispered back "Well then marry him!"

Then I gave her a fake evil eye for the duration of the rest of the program.

She just grinned.

...And stared at her new dreamboat.

Granted, every female under the age of 40 couldn't keep their eyes off the guy, so it's not like Susie was an isolated incident. The guy looked like an amateur Fabio. Fabio Jr. would have been a proper nickname for him. That or "The Guy With A Face And Hairstyle That Steals Middle-Aged Wives From Their Fat And Dumpy Husbands".

Either one would be appropriate.

Speaking of "fat and dumpy", I got on the scale yesterday and am now up to 21 lbs. lost since September 21.

I had hit a plateau at 18 lbs. lost for two weeks. The dietician told me I'd hit plateaus, but to not let them depress me.

At the time I snickered and said "Okay. I'll tryyyyyyyyy not to let them upset me."

Thinking in my mind "Who does she think I am? Mariah Carey??"

But I've gotta admit...I was kinda depressed.

According to my schedule of losing two pounds a week, I had wanted to lose 30 lbs. before going to see my parents. Just so Mom could see that I was losing weight and to get off my ass about it.

Then when I hit that plateau and would get on the scale during that two week plateau, each time I got on I thought "What am I doing wrong?"

I thought God was punishing me for those few French Fries I ate off of Andrew's plate a few weeks back.

But no. I finally lost three more pounds.

IF I keep it going now, I'll have lost 26 lbs. by the time we go see my parents.

Which is close to 30.

Oh what do I care? Mom's still gonna call me "fat" anyway and tell me I'm going to die.

This as she has a cigarette dangling out of either side of her mouth and choking on the phlegm that is spilling out of her blackened diseased lungs.

So anyway...Susie's lusting after this blonde kid in church and one of the girls gets up to do a solo.

This girl, with the exception of her straight and limp hair, was a deadringer for Julia Louis-Dreyfus.

"I think she looks like Julia Louis-Dreyfus," I whispered to Susie before the girl started.

"I don't see it," she sneered back.

"Well she does," I whispered and then added, "And I think she's HOT!"

The girl started singing. One of those operatic voices that drive me nuts. One of those voices that turns me into a dog with the world's most sensitive ears and makes me want to scratch myself and yelp repeatedly.

I leaned into Susie. "Well...I DID think she was hot until she started singing."

Susie was glad that she not only liked how her man looked, but also his tenor voice.

Rabble scrabble Fabio Jr. bastard.


Two more work weeks and then 11 days off in a row.

I'm so damned excited. I'd wet myself but I think I'm dehydrated.

I shared my idea with Susie of having her sister and her family only stay with us for two days, rather than ten. After two days, they could be shifted to Grandma's house for two days. After those two days, they could be shifted to Susie's brother's house. After those two days, if they still felt the need to be pains in our asses, they could do it from a damned series of hotel rooms. But then that way, EVERYONE has to bear the brunt of cleaning house and making room for them. Plus, having to cough up the funds it takes to feed them.

Susie just laughed at me like "Yeah right".

When my lawyer hands her the divorce papers, I plan on giving that same laugh right back at her. When she asks what she's supposed to do without me, without flinching, I'll tell her to go move in with her sister.

Okay, that'll never happen.

Still, it's good to harbor hateful fantasies about destroying your spouse's psyche.

Isn't it?

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