Okay, so this weekend I took a vacation from work. I know I didn’t go to work for like 4 days, it was the strangest thing in the world. Apparently there is a life that doesn’t involve going to work 7 days a week. Why didn’t any of you bitches tell me this?
Anyway, I had to take the weekend off because one of my nearest and dearest friends decided to get married. Normally, I would be against this because of my hatred for all things marriage, but I was actually behind this union because these two people are so nerdy, they definitely needed to get married because the perfect storm of geekdom that is this couple needed to be recognized. Why she wanted me there, I’m not quite sure because it’s not customary to invite a walking, talking, cloud of doom to your wedding, but she requested my presence. And by requested, I mean threatened my life if I was not in attendance.
So I spent the weekend in Dallas. And a great many things happened there. The first is that I met my number one fan. My friend’s sister in law is apparently a glutton for punishment and has been a long time follower of my blog. BTW, she’s crazy. But meeting her prompted us to make total asses out of ourselves in public. It was comforting to meet another person who has an unhealthy love for Chick-Fil-A that rivals mine. And this may have lead to quite a few threats of strapping her down and eating a chicken sandwich in front of her. This is pretty mean because she lives in Vegas and they don’t have Chick-Fil-A there, which is a criminal offense. They have legalized hookers but not a fucking chicken sandwich. For shame Vegas.
Anyway, on my first night in Dallas we went to the restaurant that I don’t particularly care for, but demanded that we go because of the fact that they make this wonderful banana chocolate chip cake that I would sell my mother to eat. I have been dreaming of this cake for months. And the thing about this cake is it is only appropriate to eat after the midnight hour, which of course we did. What we did not expect was the waiter from hell who apparently keeps his brain in his ass and is severely brain damaged from sitting down too much.
Forty minutes it took for the order to get there. Now we had a relatively big table, but there were only four of us who ordered and nothing that involved cooking beyond a microwave. What took forty minutes is beyond me. So he brings out everyone’s brownies which looked lovely, but they were no chocolate chip banana cake. So I’m sitting there waiting, literally bouncing in my seat in anticipation at the arrival of a cake that I would actually consider marrying.
It doesn’t arrive.
What does arrive is Senor Stupid coming back to tell me that they have run out of the cake. I have never wished for the power to set someone on fire with just my stare before I did in that moment. I don’t think he quite understood the relationship between a fat, bitter homo and cake. So he sits there and tries to tell me about all the other glorious cakes that they offer. None of which hold a candle to the gloriousness of the cake that I ordered.
I usually try to have some patience with waiters because I was one for one not so spectacular week, but I just couldn’t do it with this one. I hated him and he needed to be destroyed. If he had gone right after I ordered and told me that they were out, I would have been okay, but not forty minutes later after he delivered everyone else’s shit. If he hadn’t been so worried about sucking cock (oh yeah, he was a total homo) then maybe he would have done a better job.
So I basically interrupted his spiel about an inferior cake and told him to “Go away.” He didn’t. So I had to repeat myself. And for the rest of the evening he came back constantly to offer me refills on my soda. I really needed on because it was quite watered down after sitting for so long, but he didn’t quite understand that he was dead to me and I did not want him near me. My ignoring him didn’t quite get through to him, so I had to keep telling him to “Go away.” These were the only words I spoke to him for the entire visit.
Even as we were leaving, he tried to talk to me. And since he just didn’t get it, I just gave him the hand and walked out. Oh yes, that bitch talked to the hand. He is really lucky I wasn’t the one who was paying the bill or he would have gotten screwed.
And he’s really lucky that the bride kept getting text messages from the best man about the groom’s need for a hooker, a helmet full of cream cheese, and naked pictures of Bea Arthur or I would have had nothing to distract me from my rage and I would have ended up dragging him into the kitchen and cooking him into a tasty treat that I would have sold as Stupid Homo Soufflé.
More stories to come.
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