Here's to you Mrs. Homophobic Chicken Eater

So today I was standing in line at Chick-fil-a – I’m going to be honest here, I LOVE Chick-fil-a. My boss always gives me a hard time, because, as a gay woman, he feels that I should despise the establishment and everything it stands for, but their chicken is just SO GOOD! Plus, if I based everything I bought or everywhere I went on the management’s views, I’d most likely be a recluse. – So I was standing in line and the lady if front of me is on some sort of rant about gay marriage. She goes on and on while we stand waiting to order our delicious chicken-y goodness, and I only catch bits and pieces because she’s mumbling so much as if she’s really ashamed of what she’s saying, OR she thinks that there’s a gay person around who’s going to breathe on her out of spite and infect her with the gay disease.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, her daughter looks back and spots me, then very covertly nudges her mother with an elbow. The woman looks back at me, and I very calmly raise an eyebrow and smirk with the intention of carrying on with my life (it’s what I does). She turns bright red – I’m talking flaming here – and quickly diverts her eyes. After she orders, the girl at the counter looks at me and smiles brightly (as usual) and asks me if I want my regular. Feeling even more chastised apparently, because the employees at this “gay-hating” establishment treat me with kindness and even with a sense of camaraderie, the lady turns to me and very awkwardly mumbles out an apology, to which I smile at, and respond “everyone is entitled to their own opinion.” As she walks off I hear her “whisper” to her daughter. “I can’t believe you made me apologize to that fag.”

And it’s true. Everyone IS entitled to their own opinion. Even if your opinion is a bigoted, skewed version of a 1920s “Utopian” society where everyone is exactly like you. I prefer the real world instead of Stepford. Your public rebuke of my lifestyle has no effect on my personal well-being. It only serves to momentarily annoy me and gives me fodder for my Rant-Cannon. So if you’re really intent on offending me next time, here’s what I have to say to you.

Dear Lady in line in front of me at Chick-fil-a: If I wanted to hear your opinion on homosexuals, I’d ask you kindly to please remove the cock from your mouth before talking. I don’t speak mumble.

Solicitation Scare

So let me tell you about my weekend. I flew back out to San Diego for a friend’s wedding. Craziness ensues, as per usual. On the second night I was there, my friend picks me up from my hotel and already has a story for me. Apparently, this cop had followed her along the freeway, exited at her exit, followed her ALL the way to the hotel and then gave her evil eyes as he pulled away. Keep in mind, she’s telling me this all as we’re pulling away from my hotel. Just as she finished her story – blue lights behind us. The cop had actually pulled off and waited for her to leave the hotel just so he could pull us over. He starts his spiel under the guise of her having a light out, particularly, the light that illuminates her license plate (I didn’t even know there was a light there). But when he asks me for my ID, then the truth comes out. Why does he need my ID? I’m the passenger? It’s not my car. I wasn’t driving. My seat belt is on. “We’ve been having some issues with prostitution in some of these hotels,” he states casually. EXCUSE ME?! What exactly are you implying, Mr. Officer? At this point, I can’t even hide the bitchy, sarcastic beast inside of me. Trust me, I’m trying very hard. So snide, bitchy me pulls out my other ID – the one that says I’m an officer as well – and hands it to him, facial expression not changing from my usual raised eyebrow, half-smile. But HIS face was priceless!! Full blush. “Sorry ma’am, it’s just these hotels are causing problems.” He gives us our IDs back and tells us to be careful and we’re on our way then. As I’m thinking about how utterly ridiculous that entire scenario was I realize what I’m wearing. Dear Mr. Police Officer: Next time you pull a girl over to accuse her of selling her body, make sure you check out the outfit first. Skinny jeans, Chuck Taylors, and an oversized Paramore T-shirt typically aren’t good for business. Not only did this guy think I was a whore, he thought I was a whore who takes no pride in her job!!

Karma's Fashion Tips

So the other day I was walking back to my apartment after a particularly amazing lunch. I was feeling good. I was having an awesome day. I had my first telephone interview with my (hopeful) future employer and it had gone marvelous. Getting to the point?

*Cut scene to that day*

On the sidewalk in front of me is a woman. She slows and looks toward me like she is going to say something. I stop and look at her with inquisitive eyes. Keep in mind that I have never seen this woman before in my life. She looks pointedly at my bright green Chuck Taylors says “Ugh! It looks like the hulk threw up on your feet.” She then very casually walks away, or attempts to anyway. While she is still glaring at my (in her eyes) obvious fashion disaster, the five inch spike attached to her own foot lodges itself into a drain in the sidewalk, causing her to figuratively “eat the concrete”. While I’m laughing hysterically in my head, my Southern upbringing won’t allow me to just walk away leaving her on the sidewalk, so I make my way over to her and offer her a hand. I help her up, ask her if she’s okay, and upon affirmation, turn to walk away, not before realizing that the heel of her shoe has broken off and is still lodged in the drain.

*End cut scene*

The moral of the story is: Don’t hate on someone’s awesome choice of bright green Chuck Taylors or karma will kick your ass, because unlike you, karma has good taste… “Justice”

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Scotland Here I Come

If there’s one thing I’ve learned by having a job where I constantly travel, it’s how to efficiently plan a trip. Bordering on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I make itineraries, print maps (with routes highlighted) to the attractions that I want to see. I find photographs that show me exactly what I’m looking for. I know which cross-streets I can find an entrance to the subway/metro/tube/trolley and how close it takes me to the places where I need to be. I’ve mastered the art of hailing a cab in some of the world’s busiest cities.

I know which areas of the city where my cell-phone gets signal, and which areas to stay away from. Learning a few quick phrases beforehand helps me avoid flipping pages through an English-“insert language here” dictionary, also helping me avoid people quickly losing patience. I always have at least $100 tucked away in my shoe. I know that the essentials go in my front pockets, and that anything in my back pockets I will most likely lose. I know the importance of having a pocket full of change.

That said, I just started planning my trip to Scotland. I haven’t been since I was very young, and even then, I was sheltered by the presence of my parents. It’s time to go back to my home country, alone and unafraid. To search out the places that molded my ancestors. Anyone have any suggestions?

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Quote of the Week

I realize I've fallen behind on my quotes, and while this is actually from a couple of weeks back, I feel it's necessary to include here. This one goes to miss Brit G:

"I can't keep up with these door guys. They come and go like...like they're Charlie Sheen's hookers or something..."

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And the Father of the Year Award Goes to - Mr. Minivan

So I’m driving down the freeway today and a minivan (without using his blinker) cuts me off and continues into the exit lane.  Since I’m having a great day thus far, it only mildly irritates me.  I continue to drive, when the same minivan, at the end of the exit lane, decides he doesn’t want to actually take that exit, and crosses the solid white line, the exit median, (my term for the V-shaped patch of pavement at the end of exits) and the other solid white line, and swings out back in front of me, again not using his blinker light.  He gets back into the fast lane.  At this point I’m more than slightly irritated with him, but I continue to drive anyway, RE-setting my cruise control from when I had to slam on my breaks the second time he cut me off. 

About three cars up, Mr. Minivan decides the fast lane isn’t moving fast enough for him and starts to weave in and out of traffic (which actually, as traffic karma would have it, makes him lose his place and fall right back beside me).  Apparently he’s more than mildly irritated that the cars around him aren’t going 90 mph down the freeway, because he’s paying more attention to trying to get around said cars than he is to the fact that his ACTUAL exit is coming up.  Lucky for me (sarcasm) his exit is also the one that I happen to be taking.  So I slide into the exit lane and continue on. 

Realizing that he’s missing his exit, he AGAIN cuts across the exit median and instead of slowing down and falling in behind me, tries to speed up and cut me off, AGAIN without his blinker.  I’m beyond annoyed at this point, because there’s no way he can actually get in front of my without me pushing my brake pedal to the floor.  But does he slow down? Of course not, he tries to side-swipe me and “push” me onto the shoulder.  So I gun it. Sorry minivan, my Challenger will outrun you any day of the week.  Since I’m now in a particularly nasty mood, I slow down to the 40 mph exit speed limit. 

Mr. Minivan is about two feet from the back of my car.  I’m about ready to slam on my brakes (I would never actually do something like that) when I see something odd in my rear view mirror.  There is a car seat in the front seat of his minivan. Yes kids, that’s right, the front seat, where babies are NOT supposed to go because of, oh I don’t know the chance of the air bag decapitating them.  We reach the bottom of the exit and before I can exit, he AGAIN crosses the solid white line and cuts me off (from behind) as he drives away at speeds in excess of 90 mph with his infant in the front seat, once again, not using his blinker as he weaves in and out of traffic.  Are you starting to see a trend here?

I will let you get away with just about anything, as long as you use your blinker light. If you just have the decency to just give a simple flick of the wrist (it takes less than a second) I will slow down and let you over, every time.  If you don’t use your blinker light, I don’t know what you want. I am NOT a mind reader people.  My car is not Ms. Cleo.  I can’t broadcast your stupid thoughts through my AM radio.  Slowing down and doing the “hover technique” is NOT signaling me that you want over; it’s just pissing me off. 

Blinker lights and tailgating, two of my biggest pet peeves, and Mr. Minivan has, in 10 minutes, already taken my absolutely wonderful mood and turned me into a street banshee, muttering words under my breath that are only suitable for mature audiences.  When you don’t use your blinker and attempt to cut me off, and I DON’T slam on my brakes to let you in front of me, and instead speed up to avoid you smashing into the side of me, you get angry with me and tailgate me.  What I really want to do at this point is get in front of you and immediately slam on my brakes.  Then, when you’re forced to get out of the car and exchange insurance information with me because you’re a giant, impatient moron, I want to take your head and smash out BOTH of your blinker lights with your face, because I should at least be getting SOME sort of value out of them. 

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I've Got the "Too Many Questions from my Sales Representative" Blues

I apologize if you find this offensive.  Actually, what am I saying?  I really could care less if you find this offensive.  Mainly because IF you find this offensive it probably means that you’re one of the people I’m talking about, in which case, I despise you and all who are like you. 

People who have a credit card for EVERY establishment known to man. 

How much credit do you think you need? You can use a normal credit card just about everywhere, so why do you think you need a store specific credit card?  Your normal VISA just isn’t cutting it?  You go to Victoria’s Secret SO much that you need a special pink credit card?  Chances are that if you have to use a Victoria’s Secret credit card, you shouldn’t be buying anything anyway.  So put the triple push-up miraculous bra down, step away from the counter and be your normal flat-chested self until you can afford to pay for your “upgrade”. 

What’s worse than the clothing store credit cards?  Credit cards for fast food restaurants.  Really people?  You eat a Big Mac so often that you need a McDonalds credit card?  Even if you don’t have cash on you, (which many of us seldom do these days) then pull out your good old MasterCard and run it for the $5 it costs for your cheeseburger. I'm standing in line behind you and I have to add an additional 10 minutes to my purchase time because YOU have to sift through the 18 credit cards in your wallet before finding the little red one with the golden arches.   

What irritates me even more is when I’m trying to check out, and the sales person is asking me 800 different questions. I saw the sign posted right above the t-shirt that I picked out that clearly stated buy one get one half off.  If I wanted another t-shirt, it would be on the counter right about now.  I understand that if I spend $5 more I can get a card for $10 off my next purchase. The banner at the front of the store as I walked in already informed me.  Chances are, since I’m an able-bodied person who clearly knows at least the basic principles of addition and subtraction I understand that the t-shirt that I bought is not going to add up to the $30 I have to spend to accomplish this.  I don’t need you to tell me about it again.  I don’t want to hear your 10 minute spiel about a rewards system and credit card that I don’t want or need.  I just want you to bag up my items, tell me the price and accept my payment.  I don’t want to fill out 18 different forms and give you my home phone number and email address just so you can sell it to your partner companies and they can barrage me with calls and emails about products that I could care less about.  The once a month 10% discount that HAS to be used on a specific day by a certain time is not worth the effort I have to put into sifting through my inbox just to find the emails from people that I actually want to hear from.

So no, Brittni with an “i”, I don’t want to be enrolled in your rewards system.  Furthermore, I don’t give one gram of fuck that I could be saving 5% off of my purchase today by signing up for your ridiculous credit card. You’ve just wasted 5% of my life by asking me all of these stupid questions!! 

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