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Archive for the ‘People Watching’ Category

SATC, Phoenix style

Sunday, July 18th, 2010

This was written a few weeks ago, when the movie Sex and the City 2 premiered.

It is three A.M. and I am jacked up on caffeine, wearing full makeup, a glitzy shirt, sparkly sandals, and huge earrings.  Allow me to tell you how I arrived at this destination.

My college friend Heather came to town on her vacation.  She lives in Tucson, about 2 hours away, but she and I have not seen each other in forever.  It has been almost five years- the last time I saw her was at my wedding.  So she came into town and we met for lunch and window shopping.  While out and about, I saw an advert for Sex and the City 2, which was showing at midnight tonight.  I suggested she and I go see it- we had both wanted to.  We bought our tickets and parted ways, promising to meet up again at the theater around 11.

Being someone who is compulsively early (ok, not for everything, but early for Manolo Blahniks on the big screen), I left my house at 10.  Got to the theater complex, parked in an awesome spot, and went inside to line up.

There is when the pre-show began.

As I walked my way towards the end of the line, I saw three men.

And they all were gay.

All the rest were women.

And these women were trying very hard to be one of the Fabulous Four in SATC.

I saw shoes of all colors and styles- some in fashion and purchased at Sacks and Nordy’s, other in questionable taste and purchased from Stripper’s R US, if there is such a place.

There were earrings- some real, most fake.  And there was a girl with a bunch of blue feathers in her hair.  Not quite sure what kind of statement she was looking to make, but it sure was one that still showed she needed her mom to get her into an R movie.

I saw a woman with an infant in a carrier.  Shortly after, we were treated to the show of her (and her mother) cussing out the manager for not permitting the baby in the theater.  Apparently, children under 3 are not permitted to see R movies after 6 PM.  Who would have thought- why hire a babysitter?  The kid is going to sleep through the movie.

Sure, provided that he could handle all the screaming queens in the back when Liza Minelli appeared on screen.

Heather and I were close in line to these queens.  They were the full package- guy liner, tight jeans, tight shirts, and loose lips.  They had more estrogen in them then I did!

We thought they were just trying too hard to play the part of the diva queen.  Ladies, word to the wise- REAL divas do NOT wear shoes from Goodwill bin!  Or if they do, they call them vintage, not “shoes from some dead guy my boyfriend found for me.”

Then there was the issue of the gender confused.  We saw a person- cannot say if it was a man or a woman- all dressed in black, alone in line.  Would have been a crapshoot to determine the person’s gender- he/she was carrying a handbag, but had very masculine features.  Heather mentioned how sad it was for gender confused person to be alone in a movie- perhaps there should be a support group.  I laughed myself all the way to the seat.

We scored seats in the front part of the stadium section where the metal handrail is.  Perfect for a footrest, and no one in front of us!

Heather went to get her popcorn, and I was relaxing and watching the previews.

Until the kicking started.

The little blonde Brittany (I call them all Brittany, just to make life easier) was kicking the back of my chair with her Payless platform.  And it was pissing me off.

I turned around, and politely asked her to stop kicking my seat.

She and her other clones all went silent, but the kicking stopped.

For five minutes. There was dead silence after my request, then a whispered comment- I heard the word bitch- and then giggling.

And then the kicking began again.

I waited a minute to see if she would stop, but this Brittany was persistent.

Using my quick reflexes, I reached around just as she was gearing up for a kick and grabbed her ankle.

I told her, very politely, that if she did not knock it off, I was going to break her cheap heel off and shove it up her ass.  And for the record, this is me being a bitch.

She stopped.  And there was no giggling.  But I am pretty sure I heard the word bitch mentioned again.

And I am OK with that.  After all, it has taken me 31 years to refine my skills, and I am not going to waste an opportunity to use them.  And if the Brittanys and her clones did not like it, they can kiss the fattest part of my ass.

So began the movie- or shall I say, the previews.

Why is it that there re always as least 20 minutes of previews before a show?

And really people, do I care to see what the latest in the pigtails and braces league is hollering about, what with the newest Twilight movie (New moon eclipses the dawn, or something like that).

Then the show begins.

Overall, it was pretty good.

Heather gave it an awesome and very concise summation- it is porn for women and gay men.  There are great clothes and shoes and jewelry, sex scenes (no frontal nudity, but lots of innuendoes), scandal, and karaoke.  What more could a girl ask for?

It was great chance to be with my girlfriend, and also helped me realize I am happy with who I have become.

I am 31 years old, and do not qualify to shop in “petites” or even single digit clothing sizes.  I have an attitude, and have no qualms about expressing my opinion when I am pissed off.  Over the years, I have learned to temper my tongue, but on some occasions, words escape my food hole before going through the editing process between brain and mouth.  But for the most part, I am a nice, adult woman.

As I was driving home on the deserted 51 freeway, I was considering where I am at in my life.  It was about 3 AM, and the road was clear, it was a full moon and lovely night.  The moon roof was open, and I was rocking out the Michael Buble (as much as anyone can rock out to him- but he is soooo smmmmoooooottthhhhhh).

I was merging to get on the 101 west to get to my house, some assclown decided to speed up out of nowhere, cut me off, and then slowed down in front of me.

Did I smile, shrug, and laugh it off?

Or did I honk the horn and give him the one fingered salute out the moon roof?

I am confident you can guess correctly.  And to give you a hint- it involved me being a bitch.  And I am OK with that.  After all, I think I’ve earned that right.

Dinner and a show…?

Wednesday, July 14th, 2010

John and I had no idea that it was going to be such an interesting night.  It started off by us not having any groceries in the house (used up the grocery money going out to eat) so we ended up going out to eat (vicious cycle, you think?).

We went to our favorite little diner-type place.  It is a family owned restaurant in the local municipal airport, and we have been going there for quite some time.  We are such popular customers that the owners know us, and we run the facebook fan page.  Seriously.

The restaurant has a fan page.

And my husband, aka Geek in Residence, started it.

So as we were parking, we noticed the lot seemed fuller than usual. Since this was not the Wednesday night dinner buffet (aka dinner trough), or the weekend breakfast buffet (aka breakfast trough), we thought it a little unusual.  We should have gotten a clue when we saw all the political signs on the cars.  We did notice a funny bumper sticker, “Don’t tell Obama what comes after a trillion.”  It is from this sign that we deduced the Republicans must be in the house.  That, and the various NRA stickers plastered on cars as well.

So we walked into the restaurant, and into the chaos.  Normally, the place is pretty quiet and we just come in and sit down.  Tonight was a different story.  There were tables that were not cleared, and people milling all over the place.  The bullshit was flying pretty fast and furious in the dining room as well (which I am sure was in violation of the health code, or at least the moral code).  The lobby was decorated in assorted campaign posters, and John and I were both accosted by pollsters when we came in.  One of them asked how I was doing this evening, and I told them that I was hungry, henceforth cutting off all other political overtures.  John just walked on through, counting on me to clear the path with my mouth.

So we sat down, and noticed that the staff was running around like chickens with their heads cut off.  One was going in six different directions, and another had this rather homicidal grin plastered on his face.

We sat, and someone grabbed us two iced teas.  We looked around, and we saw large clusters of people, many of whom were well dressed and groomed.  I smelled politicians.  As we waited for our server, Chris (the one with the homicidal grin), to come over, John and I then conspired on ideas of what to tell the pollsters who were sure to accost us as we left.  Now, I am a proud US citizen, and am registered to vote.  John cannot vote, as he is not a citizen.  Relax, he is a legal resident alien- he pays taxes, works, and is an overall productive citizen- he just can’t vote, serve on a jury, or be President (thank God).

Back to our excuses.  John’s was that he was waiting on the results of his deportation hearing, and his civil liberties have not yet been restored.  My excuse was going to be that my rights were pending the outcome of my assault case (if anyone asked, I was going to say that someone had come between me and my coffee).

We giggled over those for a little while, and watched the politicians ooze their way around the room.  I swear, there was so much oil in this place, you could use it to squeeze a Cadillac into a doghouse.

It is then that our server came over.  He was wearing that psychotic grin because he was stressed out.  He was running ragged, and was trying to train a new server to boot.  Poor guy.  He took our orders, and ran off again, leaving John and me unsupervised (bad idea, looking back).

Left to our own devices, John and I were observing the meeting.  We overhead that the meeting was a congressional district one, and it was indeed the Republicans.  We saw the meeting start- they said the pledge of allegiance, of course.  Then it was down to business.  I guess they save the pledge to the NRA and the ritualistic sacrifice of the Democrat for more private meetings.

As the business was conducted, we heard lots of applause and some random cheering.  I was wondering if they were giving out doorprizes.  There was even someone filming the meeting!  John and I were wondering if someone famous was going to be there, or maybe they were just waiting for the sacrifice.

So as we were dining, and enjoying the political show, another began out in the main room of the restaurant.  A family was seated at a large table- a mom-type person, a dad-type person, and two small children-type people.  Both of the children types were screaming like sirens.  The mom-type was looking around the room, shaking her head, and smiling.  In other words, she was not doing a DAMN thing and letting her spawn holler their way through my dinner.  Normally, I have no issue with kids, but when they piss me off, I start off with the dirty looks, then I revert to being my default mode, which is bitch.

Just before going to bitch gear, I noticed how one of the children was screaming.  He lying on a bench made of two chairs pushed together, with his feet kicked out and crossed out at the ankles.  His hands were crossed behind his head, looking for all the world like a relaxed kid, watching TV at home.  Instead of being quiet, though, this little shit was screaming.

For no apparent reason.

And his little brother in the high chair was matching him note for note.

And the fucktard mother was doing nothing except looking around and smiling, as if to say, “Aren’t they cute.”

I came to the conclusion that they must be Democrats, screaming because they are not getting their way and looking to someone to do everything for them.

After I composed myself (I erupted in a giggle fit), the owner came over to sit with us for a little while.  We chit chatted, and shared our observations about the politicians, pollsters, and life in general.  Another customer asked why she was not in the room with all the politicians, and she gave an awesome answer.  She mentioned that if you scratch chicken shit, it smells like chicken shit.  Overall, a great reason for staying the hell away from all the chicken shit that was oozing around in the banquet room.

The customers at the other table and I got to talking, and I mentioned about the ritual Democrat sacrifice that took place at the beginning of the meeting.  The man stated that he would not be having the chicken.  My reply was that it was no coincidence that the special tonight was meatloaf so the chicken should be OK.

We laughed some more, and then it was back to the people watching.  It was interesting watching how the people were dressed at this meeting. There was one older man who was wearing Sansabelt slacks, with a belt.  And the pants were pulled up clear to his armpits.  His teeth were also very large, and he liked to smile.  He gave the impression of a horse, wearing slacks.  Did these republicans not get the memo that the symbol for the party is an elephant?

While we were digesting (and digressing) we over head the new server complaining about how mean the owner’s son has been to her.  Now George is a nice guy, but he IS a guy.  And he is 24, making his mental age about half that.  So George can be a little mischievous when it comes to breaking in new servers.  This time, he was harassing the new girl about her most recent question of what name should she put on the time card.  Now, once explained, her question had a little more validity, but coming into the middle of the conversation, it made us wonder about her intelligence level.  Then George told us about the stunt he pulled on the poor girl.  He made her empty the hot water from the coffee pots.

Normally this would seem like a pretty regular thing to do at home.  However, for those of you who have never worked in a commercial restaurant, the water supply is hooked up to the coffee pots, so there is a constant supply of water to the pots.  Therefore, you do not need to empty the hot water.  This poor new server emptied four pots out of hot water before she smelled the rat.  This was not as bad as the last new guy, who jousted at this windmill for an hour until the owner stopped him.

John and I were next in the intelligence questioning category.  Our restaurant has a dessert case, and it is like food pornography.  It is always filled to the brim with delicious homemade goodies.  John and I thought we saw brownies in it.  We asked for a brownie for our dessert.  Chris, our poor server, came back to us with the homicidal grin in place.  There are no brownies.  We insisted there were, and he said there were not.  He brought over a tray of yellow cake slices, which looked like brownies, and made us think they were brownies, but were indeed not brownies.  It was the case of the disappearing dessert, or maybe the dessert dumbasses.

We had cake, with a side of Marie Antoinette.

While the dessert debacle took place, the meeting was still going on.  Me being me, I was thinking up ways to disrupt it.  We asked Chris if the Democrats had met here at any point.  He said no.  We were thinking about how funny it would be to walk in the middle of the meeting (after one of the bouts of seemingly random applause) and point at someone and shout, “We saw you at the Democrat meeting last week!”

At this point, we figured everyone would turn around, whip out their previously concealed weapons (remember the NRA bumper stickers) and assault the pseudo-Democrat on his way out the door.

It is at this time (after we scared our server off AGAIN for me being in yet another giggle fit) we decided that we had worn out our welcome and needed to get home.

Forget Monday night football.  I’m doing dinner at the airport!!!