Friday, March 22, 2013

Entry #68 - Spincognito: In which I get a real job, turn 30, and eat a lemon meringue pie by myself

While Gus may not be surprised, he is deeply disappointed to belong to a human who is such a piss poor blogger.
Dear Diary,
        I have been far too busy winning the lottery, vacationing, getting in shape, and gallivanting about with my smart, funny, attractive gentleman caller to update this blog. Okay, so none of that was even remotely reminiscent of reality. To be perfectly honest, one could not refer to that as even a vague facsimile of the truth, but I am working on this "positive thinking" bullshit business so you'll just have to bear with me.

In which I become (at least til June) a Big Girl Teacher

Back in January I finally applied for, and was awarded, my very own classroom.  Yup, that uncomfortable feeling in your gut is correct, I am responsible for the well being and education of twenty-two miniature humans. You are right to be terrified and appalled; most days I feel the exact same way. My mettle is being tested in ways I did not know possible, and to be frank, in teaching much like in dating, I am found (by both myself and others) to be seriously lacking. I am also living in perpetual fear that my students' parents will stumble across this blog. I'm not ashamed of my spinsterly ways, but I'm not sure that any parents would be excited to discover that their child's teacher is prone to crying on other people's bathroom wouldn't really, shall we say, instill confidence.

Valentine's Day card from a student - when incorrect spelling reveals a deeper truth.

In which I get promptly and unceremoniously rejected (again)

I was feeling pretty positive about 2013 at the beginning of the year. I think this was a result of  having spent the latter half of the Christmas holidays watching all six seasons of Numb3rs back to back on Netflix. I mean, If those two handsome Jewish men could solve all those crimes using advanced mathematics then surely I could solve my problems using unifix cubes and an abacus. SURELY

So I was set up once again, this time by a mutual acquaintance. I figured I might as well give it a go as it went medium-well last time ; you know, at the end it was a little tough and hard to swallow, slight heartburn, not as tender as you'd like, but overall pretty hot and mouthwatering because it's a friggin STEAK and you had been an unwilling vegetarian for a long time....and even a little toughness and heartburn doesn't stop you from thinking about that steak from time to time and feeling really, really  h...ungry. Somewhere between cold and burned is a perfect medium-rare, bitches. Emphasis on the rare.

Wow, that steak metaphor really took on a life of its own. I've been into the red wine, the metaphors and correct use of grammar will only degrade from here on out. 

Okay, so during a bout of baseless positive feelings I agree to go on a blind date. Going on dates is no big deal for many people, but it's hard for me. I really need to work myself up to it, and it generally makes me feel anxious and ill before hand (ask Vanessa, who routinely talks me off ledges). Perhaps this was why I didn't want to write this guy off after one date, I mean, it's so hard for me to get myself out there that it's hard to imagine that all was for naught. I can tell you that he had no such qualms, and was happy to tell me after one date that I was a very nice girl, but not the girl for him. I swear, the next man who tells me how great I am while rejecting me is getting punched in the neck. Seriously, guy, give me some constructive criticism - I can take it, the hard part was me doing my hair and walking out to your car without vomiting. The worst part about this one date/non-date was that I found out on the date that the only reason we were introduced was a mutual love of Whitesnake - meaning that being swiftly rejected by this man has tainted my beloved Whitesnake forever. Every time "Here I Go Again" comes on I feel a sense of burning shame and embarrassment, which is seriously f*cked up, because that shit is sacred to me. I've been forced to switch to "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen, which is also awesome, but lacks a certain je ne sais quois that "Here I go again" possessed. DOUBLE BALLS. I hate putting myself out there. 

In which I turn 30

Yup. That happened.  Remember when I was in my twenties and this blog was super hilarious because of course no woman in her twenties could actually considered a spinster...HA HA ...OH GOD.
I can tell you that my gift to myself for my birthday was a variety of Spanx, because I may be a woman in my 30's who eats a lemon meringue pie alone in a hotel room while contemplating the odds of Peter Bishop from Fringe appearing to share my pie AND ravage me, only to realize that the Vancouver library was Fringe headquarters in the ALT Fringe universe and that Peter died as a boy in that world and therefor cannot appear to share pie and ravage me...
I'm pretty sure we all realized about 1/3 of the way through that rambling sentence that Spanx cannot even begin to help with my problems, but that they can help me trick people into thinking I have the body of a women in her (late)twenties...who eats lemon meringue pies...alone. Suckers.

In which I take Vanessa to Denny's

Anyone who knows Vanessa knows that this is completely and utterly f*cked. It's possible you just read that twice to be sure that you weren't mistaken the first time. You were not.

Vanessa and I were in America for a shopping expedition and had just left Trader Joe's when she opened her mouth and said something truly unprecedented:

"We should got to IHOP for breakfast".
"...Bitch, WHAT?" was my reply.
"Let's go to IHOP and get American sausage patties and pancakes".
Now, Vanessa has not been in a McDonald's for more than a decade. She buys everything organic and loves all things fancy. She had literally just bought $70 worth of organic groceries from Trader Joe's not 30 seconds prior to making this statement. I was shocked to say the least that she would even consider eating at an IHOP, let alone that she herself would suggest it. So of course my reply was:


So we couldn't find an IHOP, but what we DID find was a Denny's, which as we all know is IHOP's inbred, redneck cousin who may or may not be sleeping with Chuck E Cheese. From the moment we pulled in the parking lot it was a showstopping clustercuss. 

"I'll be with y'all in just a sec"
Words of the "host" as we walk in, we are thirty minutes from the Canadian border where no one says "y'all". Ever. 

"Two of y'all? Table or booth?"
Words of the host directly after "just a sec", both of us were too distracted by the overwhelming display of ice-cream-cone shaped plastic cups and Las Vegas rejected carpet to respond at first, but then Vanessa pulled it together enough to respond with
This type of response, the statement that doubles as a question due to confusion, would prove to become standard in the following hour.

"Hey y'all my name is Tammy and I'll be serving y'all today can I start yous off with a coffee or something from the bar mimosa spanish coffee?"
This lacks punctuation because there was none. Tammy hit us full force, no pause, with a combination of questionable grammar, teased bangs, and an offer of alcohol at 9 am. She is probably in her early twenties, I mention this because I haven't met anyone named Tammy born after 1980. Ever. There was a momentary stunned silence followed by laughter, which thank God, Tammy presumed was only in regard to the idea of alcohol early in the morning.
"I'd like a tea?" I say.
"We have Lipton Black and Lipton Orange" replies Tammy.
"Lipton Black?" I respond. 
Tammy diligently writes this down without comprehending the confusion in my reply.
"Me too?" says Vanessa.
Tammy heads off to brew up our Lipton's Black, meanwhile Vanessa and I discuss the legality of serving booze before noon and try to quickly figure out what Lipton's Black IS. If black tea is usually orange pekoe then what is Lipton's Orange? Orange like the fruit? If so what is the black tea we are about to receive? Is tea at Denny's like Kool-aid? labeled by colour? We are still discussing the tea quandary when Tammy returns with the aforementioned hot beverages. As she places the (Lipton's Black) tea on the table, Tammy says, and I am not messing with you:

"Would yous like to start with some strawberry pancake puppies for $2.00?"

I was still recovering from "y'all" and "Lipton's Black" and was now teetering dangerously on the precipice of uncontrollable hysteria. Vanessa and I have had a long standing love of the Arrested Development bit which we simply refer to as "plate or platter?". For instance, we might be walking through a store and one of us will hold up a particularly hideous/hipstery piece of clothing, to which the other might reply "plate or platter", signifying that we don't understand what's going on and we refuse to dignify its existence with an actual response.  

 This was the first time that "plate or platter" was happening to us in real life, this was our golden opportunity to say "I don't understand the question and I won't respond to it", and it was almost TOO MUCH for us to handle. Imagine a 14 year-old girl meeting Justin Bieber. That is how I felt on the inside; uncontrollable giddiness mingled with excited disbelief .

All I got out was one snort before Vanessa blurted out:
As Tammy walks away I ask Vanessa "What in the hell is a "pancake puppy"?"
"I have no idea, but they're $2.00 so we are going to find out" was her response.

They are deep fried pancake balls, or as Tammy called them "a breakfast appetizer".
We ate them, frosting and all. 
The bottom right is an excerpt from the "Baconalia" menu at Denny's...on for a limited time only. Maple Bacon Milkshake? Salted Caramel Brownie Sundae with Bacon? only $3.99
Also note the deep fried mozzarella sticks INSIDE a grilled cheese. Oh, America. 

For reference, the lady seated behind Vanessa actually ordered alcoholic coffee at 9:30am. When asked if she wanted another her response was "How much was this one? $5.50?... Naw". 

Another lady spent about 30 minutes refilling the claw machine with toys (and arranging those toys with some impressive precision). A skinny middle-aged dude in a trucker cap walked up and pumped some quarters in almost immediately. 

A couple across from us sat down and didn't even open their menus, just ordered a grand slam to share and two waters. They then proceeded to judge us as we ate pancake puppies followed by our own respective Grand Slams including hash browns slathered in sausage gravy.

"These pancakes taste like re-used frying oil and sawdust" - famous last words.

Thank God I bought myself those Spanx.

Thanks to the lovely Enisa (The Man Magnet) for referring to me as "woman" lovingly, letting me use her giant soaker tub, allowing me to play dress up in her drool-worthy closet, forcing handsome men to buy me drinks, and for her use of social media to (gently) strong arm me into writing this blog.  

1 comment:

  1. My name is Tammy (born in 1977, so apparently I fit the preconceived notion).
    Eating at Denny's in America is like being on another planet, it's that simple.
    Though sometimes it feels like the second you cross that border (you know, from the maple side to the dark side) you are in a parallel universe - and if you are in a parallel universe maybe Peter Bishop will pay you a visit, though I never saw him eat at a Denny's in any universe.