Are you familiar with Chatroulette?
You know it's like 60% penises, right? Like, 6 out of the 10 people you meet are penises. You meet a lot of different types of penises, but at the end of the day its just a bunch of dicks.
A facebook friend of mine (I’m not quite sure how this girl came to be my fbuddy, but she certainly proved herself useful ) and her friend just uploaded 19 screenshots from a chatroulette conversation with Justin Bieber.
Of course I read the whole thing. And, yes, it was hilarious. Of course.
But the best part?
At one point JBieb admits to having seen “like two dicks” on chatroulette before meeting these girls. And I just pictured him sitting in his hotel room, his previously mentioned manager watching T.V. in the adjoining room, and him, Justin Bieber—tween heart throb—Drake and Usher’s BFF—Battler of the Revolving Door—navigating his way through the penises on Chatroulette.
Perhaps in the hopes of finding two pretty Canadian girls and inviting them to wonderland in a limo "sometime," perhaps just to see what the world (his world, I believe we call it now) had to offer.
And all he found was a bunch of dicks.
It’s okay, J-Door Slayer-Biebster, that’s mostly what I’ve found, too.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Girls Can Be Catty Bitches
I’m a waitress. I work will a lot of girls. A lot of them are very pretty.
This is not about them being catty.
Yesterday I worked in the lounge. I hadn’t expected to be in the lounge, so my hair was in a messy ponytail and I wasn’t wearing much make-up (see: I was not trying). Let’s just say, the other bar girls make me look like a chubby gross pear-face loser-freak when I’m at my best, and I was hardly at my best on this day.
We were fairly busy, both on the patio and in the bar. It furiously hot outside, and I was beginning to feel a bit like a huffing sweaty mess and was slightly annoyed when this table of girls stopped me while I was carrying a tray of glasses back inside to ask for more salsa. “Sure, I’ll let your server know.” I said, hoping they would realize they needed to direct these sorts of things to her. Or maybe I said it all too kindly, as I couldn’t have known that the salsa was just the beginning. They couldn’t remember their server’s name, and described her only as having dark hair. This was infuriating, as everyone at my restaurant as dark hair. We have three blonds. Two are related. I searched for who I thought was their server for some time, only to find out it was the other dark-haired-much-prettier-than-I waitress who had taken this table.
The next time I was on the patio, taking care of my own tables, they stopped me again to ask for a pitcher. I told them, “Sure thing, I’ll let your server know,” and once again had to go searching for this person who was busy taking care of her other tables and was probably heading out to check on them shortly anyway.
The last thing they asked me for was their bill. What kind of a fucking idiot asks someone who isn’t their server for the bill? I was clearly busy at the time, dealing with about eight separate bills and whatever else I had going on, and now I’m given the task of running down my co-worker, again, interrupting her from what she’s in the middle of, again, and making all my tables wait, as well as hers?
The thing is, this would all just be a waitress’s pet peeve (I have a ton) if it wasn’t for the bullshit that is too follow.
The head girl is waiting to pay (of course she’s gotten up and is impatiently standing in the way insisting her server stop what she’s doing and take care of her RIGHT NOW) and she stops me as I go by to ask me my name. I tell her, secretly thinking it’s going towards a complaint or something. I figure we’ll get a letter from these bitches saying, “First of all, the hostesses were SO RUDE to us, then my server was NEVER around, then when we finally found a server, she was all snippy about telling our server! We want free Bandera pizza bread.” (People love to add that the hostesses were rude. I don’t know why. Our hostesses are all amazing. Universally, most hostesses are too dumb to be rude.)
She did not, in fact, want Bandera Pizza bread.
She wanted to pull me aside, give me a shiney new toonie (Golly, gee, missus! That’s almost enough to ride one of dem fancy pooblic transportation machines!) and tell me I was ‘practically their server anyway’. Really, bitches? You yelled some commands at me while I cleared a table and I told you real server, who then ordered it, brought it to you, and paid a tip out (that was more than two dollars, I assure you) on it. I tried to insist they give the TWO WHOLE DOLLARS to her, but they kept putting her down and telling me to ‘Shut up! Just take it!’.
The worst part is, I was so angry at the whole thing, I took the stupid toonie, marched over to the rest of the servers, handed it to their waitress and proceeded to angrily tell them what had just happened. I forgot, in my rage, that the girl serving them is too sweet to not take their words somewhat personally. She even tried to give me the toonie. Apparently they gave her a hard time (anyone surprised?) and she apologized to us for ‘slacking off’ for the rest of the night.
I mean when I say this girl is an attentive waitress would not ignore a table or leave them waiting. It was pretty clear to me these girls just decided they didn’t like this pretty, shy girl who wasn’t waiting for them to snap their fingers and order another pitcher. It was also pretty clear they’d assume *I* felt the same way about this girl, and that badmouthing my co-worker to me would not only make me feel good, but that I’d join in too.
Bitches be hatin’.
(Or am I wrong? Are bitches not hatin'? I'm pretty sure they just wanted to hate this girl for no reason. Opinions?)
This is not about them being catty.
Yesterday I worked in the lounge. I hadn’t expected to be in the lounge, so my hair was in a messy ponytail and I wasn’t wearing much make-up (see: I was not trying). Let’s just say, the other bar girls make me look like a chubby gross pear-face loser-freak when I’m at my best, and I was hardly at my best on this day.
We were fairly busy, both on the patio and in the bar. It furiously hot outside, and I was beginning to feel a bit like a huffing sweaty mess and was slightly annoyed when this table of girls stopped me while I was carrying a tray of glasses back inside to ask for more salsa. “Sure, I’ll let your server know.” I said, hoping they would realize they needed to direct these sorts of things to her. Or maybe I said it all too kindly, as I couldn’t have known that the salsa was just the beginning. They couldn’t remember their server’s name, and described her only as having dark hair. This was infuriating, as everyone at my restaurant as dark hair. We have three blonds. Two are related. I searched for who I thought was their server for some time, only to find out it was the other dark-haired-much-prettier-than-I waitress who had taken this table.
The next time I was on the patio, taking care of my own tables, they stopped me again to ask for a pitcher. I told them, “Sure thing, I’ll let your server know,” and once again had to go searching for this person who was busy taking care of her other tables and was probably heading out to check on them shortly anyway.
The last thing they asked me for was their bill. What kind of a fucking idiot asks someone who isn’t their server for the bill? I was clearly busy at the time, dealing with about eight separate bills and whatever else I had going on, and now I’m given the task of running down my co-worker, again, interrupting her from what she’s in the middle of, again, and making all my tables wait, as well as hers?
The thing is, this would all just be a waitress’s pet peeve (I have a ton) if it wasn’t for the bullshit that is too follow.
The head girl is waiting to pay (of course she’s gotten up and is impatiently standing in the way insisting her server stop what she’s doing and take care of her RIGHT NOW) and she stops me as I go by to ask me my name. I tell her, secretly thinking it’s going towards a complaint or something. I figure we’ll get a letter from these bitches saying, “First of all, the hostesses were SO RUDE to us, then my server was NEVER around, then when we finally found a server, she was all snippy about telling our server! We want free Bandera pizza bread.” (People love to add that the hostesses were rude. I don’t know why. Our hostesses are all amazing. Universally, most hostesses are too dumb to be rude.)
She did not, in fact, want Bandera Pizza bread.
She wanted to pull me aside, give me a shiney new toonie (Golly, gee, missus! That’s almost enough to ride one of dem fancy pooblic transportation machines!) and tell me I was ‘practically their server anyway’. Really, bitches? You yelled some commands at me while I cleared a table and I told you real server, who then ordered it, brought it to you, and paid a tip out (that was more than two dollars, I assure you) on it. I tried to insist they give the TWO WHOLE DOLLARS to her, but they kept putting her down and telling me to ‘Shut up! Just take it!’.
The worst part is, I was so angry at the whole thing, I took the stupid toonie, marched over to the rest of the servers, handed it to their waitress and proceeded to angrily tell them what had just happened. I forgot, in my rage, that the girl serving them is too sweet to not take their words somewhat personally. She even tried to give me the toonie. Apparently they gave her a hard time (anyone surprised?) and she apologized to us for ‘slacking off’ for the rest of the night.
I mean when I say this girl is an attentive waitress would not ignore a table or leave them waiting. It was pretty clear to me these girls just decided they didn’t like this pretty, shy girl who wasn’t waiting for them to snap their fingers and order another pitcher. It was also pretty clear they’d assume *I* felt the same way about this girl, and that badmouthing my co-worker to me would not only make me feel good, but that I’d join in too.
Bitches be hatin’.
(Or am I wrong? Are bitches not hatin'? I'm pretty sure they just wanted to hate this girl for no reason. Opinions?)
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
