Monday, July 25, 2011

Mid-Week, Midnight Tobie's

A few weeks ago my job took me to Ham Lake for an evening and on the drive home I found myself blinking for what some might consider "too long". After two, count them, TWO failed attempts at finding an open McDonald's I decided to hit up Tobie's. I figured I could get a good cup of coffee and something to munch on while I tried to wake up enough to get myself home. Alive.

Jessica seated me in the booth across from the 70-somethings and right behind the young couple who were very enamored of one another. So much so, in fact, that I think he ate his entire meal out of her mouth. Fran came to take my order and brought me a steaming cup of brown water. Tobie's is known for their caramel rolls and various other delicious baked goods, right? Right... In my delirious state I seem to have forgotten that and instead ordered some sort of  club-ish sandwich and a side-salad consisting of four pieces of brown, iceberg lettuce and one radish. It was just as delicious as it sounds.

By now it's about 12:45 am and for the life of me I can't figure out what the 70-somethings are still doing in a restaurant, besides enjoying their pancakes and scratch-offs. A lovely couple comes in as Fran brings me a to-go cup of hot, musty water to keep me company on the ride home. The newcomers take a seat and my night is now complete. She's wearing biker shorts that I'm pretty sure were purchased in 1993 along with a halter top that may have been black at one point but is now a dusty, dirty grey-brown. Her ensemble is topped off nicely with a neon green fanny pack. His ponytail is longer than hers and his chaps seem a bit unnecessary considering they rolled up in a Buick. But who am I to judge?

Thanks for a great evening, Tobie's. I credit the brown water for getting me home safely.

Just wondering...

Is it still a missed call if you didn't want to talk to the person anyway?

Thursday, July 7, 2011

A little of this, a little of that...

"Kraft Singles: The *American* Cheese." Yeah, I think I can agree with that ad campaign. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this commercial personifies the American legacy. Pasteurized prepared cheese product - now if that isn't the American dream, I don't know what is.

My kids were squealing with unrestrained glee and I was loathe to walk into the living room lest I spoil their fun. Ok, let's be honest: I didn't want to go in there because I knew something gnarly was going down. True to form, they were playing leap-frog with two ottomans as the lily pads. Baby brother also happened to be lying dangerously close to the fracas and I attempted to ward off a cardiac episode as I growled "This better not be what I think it is." Tuesday throws me an exasperated look over her shoulder and without missing a beat says "Go back in the kitchen, Ma. Make dinner." Sweet girl, huh? What a lovely bunch of people I'm bringing up. I'm so proud.

I love Flipping Out with Jeff Lewis but I spend every episode with sweaty palms and nervous bowels, as if I'm next on the list for an ass-chewing that leaves me sobbing off my mascara in his immaculate bathroom. I love you, Jeffrey, but you make me nervous.

It's a very satisfying feeling to complete an at-home waxing. Particularly because every time I attempt a session there is no certainty that I'll finish. There are no two ways around it: waxing effing hurts. Like, a lot. Like, I get irrationally angry (at myself?) because it hurts like a mother. And if you quit in the middle, the joke's on you. Try explaining that to someone who gets close enough to your half-waxed bits. "Oh, haha, it just grows like that." Awwwkward...

I've been thinking about joining an online dating site. But on further examination, I'm pretty sure I would spend a good deal of any date with my lip curled up in disgust and my brow furrowed, full of judgment. What do you mean, you don't have a fully vested 401k? I'd also have to make it a dry date because no way am I going to let a stranger come to my house. I mean really... And then I'd have to pay for parking. And a babysitter. I think I'm too broke to date. And too out-of-practice to hide the unimpressed look that is my new normal. A fancy dinner and expensive wine? Not so much. How about a foot rub and a venti dark-roast from Starbucks while I read a magazine and you don't talk. Now that sounds lovely.