The Truth About Women

I am one of those people who doesn't cry when you are expected to (say at your own wedding), but will become an emotional basket case during a movie scene that no one finds sentimental in the least. It's kind of weird and even I can't predict its coming.

I have sat through countless romantic movies and really enjoy them, but their lines just don't resonate. Today, however, I watched "Bridesmaids" for the second time on television. And for the second time, I cried at a part that will never be hailed as an iconic movie moment. Justin even looked at me and said, "Why are you crying at this part? It's supposed to be funny."

For those of you that have seen it, it's at the end when Annie has hit rock bottom and has taken residence at her Mom's home. She's watching "Castaway," crying, when the big, broad, hilarious Megan comes in and begins beating her up, shouting loudly that she represents "life." And then-- the girl who hasn't said anything of substance the whole movie-- says to Annie:

"You got another best friend sittin' right in front of you, if you'd notice! You can stop feeling sorry for yourself, okay? Cause I do not associate with people that blame the world for their problems. Cause you're your problem, Annie. And you're also your solution."

So it's not Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca material, but it gets me every time. The whole movie does actually. Because I can so relate. And why? Because the movie is the ultimate (and sadly fairly realistic) portrayal of a truth I have realized: Girls intentionally and unintentionally make each other more miserable than any guy could ever hope to accomplish.

Justin comes home today and I walk out with no make-up on, mismatched pajamas, my glasses on and my hair pulled up in a non-brushed ponytail that tilts severely to the left side. He sees me every day, business attire, hair at least sort of dried, make-up hiding my acne scars, but chooses this moment to look at me like I'm a babe.

It's then that it hits me: I don't put make-up on to impress him. I can be boasting bright red lips and he will still ask me, "Is your make-up on? Are you ready to go?" I don't cinch my waist with a belt made in Satan's workshop so that he will know my waist is smaller than the rest of my body. I don't even put on perfume so that he will find my aroma alluring-- I'm just flattered when he asks if I took a bath and I really didn't.

I do all of this for women.

I do it for the women who somehow look at a couture magazine and find identical pieces at TJ Maxx and rock it for $30. Question: Do they spend 20 hours in the store? I'm usually lucky if I find a pair of brand name jeans that don't have a crooked pocket.

I do it for the women who own five shedding Golden Retrievers and still manage to have less hair on their couches than me.

I do it for the stick-thin women in that stupid Chico's commercial advertising slimming pants.

I do it for the women who only post hair tutorials and have 20,000 blog followers (Hurts!)

I do it for the women who will always host a better shower.

I do it because I can look cute walking out the door and two minutes into a shopping trip, feel like I'm wearing rags.

And apparently I'm not alone: Six out of ten women aged between 18 and 30 said they had their girlfriends in mind when they chose what to wear on a big night out. Sorry boutcha boys. But that's the truth.

It's crippling if you let it be. And I must say that I have.

And Megan's character is right. I am the problem. I often project other women's thoughts on me that probably don't even come up in their minds. But, if we're being honest, it's probably just something that I've been guilty of thinking about someone else.

So it's time to start owning up to the problem: me. And finding the solution. And accepting a happiness that fitting into skinny jeans will not bring.

And working to impress the ones that'll claim you in your old college sweat pants that have started forming mysterious fuzzies that are begging you to throw them out.

I've Been Thinking...

We think a lot of things. We tell ourselves a lot of things in complete denial. We try to stay delusional so the little facts won't depress us. Yes, as you can tell, I am trying to eat healthier...again. It seems like every time I write a blog about my intentions I end up doing worse. But I endured two trials from Satan today and passed so I think this time might be different. I heard the girls at work were ordering Upper Crust Pizza-- my absolute favorite indulgence-- so I timed it out to leave before the pizza got there. Guess who got to ride down three floors with the pizza man? That would be me. I didn't tackle him and steal his bag. Secondly, I made brownies for Justin tonight and did not lap up the entire batter mixture like a dog drinks water post-run. So I win.


But back to the 'thinking things' thing. I guess I have just kidded myself my whole life about what things are good...and what things are bad.

Take for instance my freshman year of college when I somehow recalled someone down the line telling me that muffins were good for you-- much better than doughnuts. So every morning on the way to class, I would make a pit stop at the cafeteria and grab a GIANT muffin. It was about the size of a softball. I guess because bran is close to bland and banana nut involves a fruit (hurray) and nuts (hurray), I suppose I thought that this nutritious treat would serve me well in my desire to fight pudginess.

After failure (surprised?), someone said, "Well, I don't mean to be mean, but those muffins have like 1000 calories in them."

Heart shattered. Couldn't believe it. I could have been having doughnuts this whole time.

Here are some other things I thought back then:

• You should wait around until you get the perfect job that fulfills your passion-- Hate to break it to you, honey, but people don't want to pay you to know Greek fluently. They want to pay you to do their tax returns. So keep your passion, but go ahead and work like the rest of the passionless world.


• Being skinny is easy. I thought this. I really did. I could do 20 sit-ups and it was like my Spring Break binge-eating never happened. Now I can't even do 20 sit-ups. 


• Trends must be followed. Your dad was actually pretty clever when he said, "You want a belt made out of a seatbelt? I can save $60 and just rip one out of the old van." 
  


• I deserve a new car. You think you deserve a car because you what...made a free throw? Your parents are driving you all over Arkansas and they don't have a decent vehicle. Thank them. 
  


• I should tan until I'm orange. You look like the Oompa Loompa child of the vegetable juicer guy, OK? Cool it. 


• Working out is fun! It's fun when you only have to do it 'for fun.' When your legs peddle on the stationary bike and you get to see your thighs repeatedly high-five each other, the fun is kind of gone.


• Other people have so much to brag about. Let me guess. Their "band" was offered a chance to tour in Europe. That was before they were asked to play on a European basketball team. And they never have to wear a jacket. And they can eat spicy food without any consequences. It's a fancy form of insecurity, this you will learn. 


• Attracting and dating your complete opposite is a good idea. When they say opposites attract, they're talking "high-maintenance vs. low maintenance" or "Calm vs. Uptight." They are not, dear child, talking about "smart vs. idiot" and "driven vs. drive me everywhere." 

It's always funny to go back and think about what you used to feel about things. They're usually quite wrong and narrow-minded based on your human experience up until that point.

You live, you learn and you don't eat gigantic bald cupcakes.

Siri Meets Psychology

I am the proud owner of a new iPhone 4s. Yep, I'm that kid that's always a step behind the new thing. Justin, ever the techie, got the 5. We spent most of last night sitting next to each other on the couch, instructing Siri to call or text the other. I would say, "Tell Justin, 'You're handsome.'" I'd hear a beep on his end and we would both shake our heads in complete wonder at her majesty.

Why am I now incapable of typing out my own text messages? I am no psychologist, but I think technology brings out the culmination of our inner longings.

Ya wanna know why we are now incapable of typing out our own messages? Because our phones let us be the boss. And, for most of us, this is not something we get to experience in our lives. Most of us spend more than half of our lives doing what people tell us to do; if you are so fortunate to be in the other boat, you spend more than half of your life watching people continually do the opposite of what you tell them to do.

I think there is just some sort of small adrenaline rush when you say, "Call Mom" and your phone starts dialing. Even when Siri becomes a confused non-human and it would be easier to type out your question, you keep getting louder when speaking your demands to her. Society may frown upon this tone with your peers, but lucky for you, you have a robot subordinate.

Not to get all Psychology 101 on you, but here are some other deep-seeded feelings technology brings to light.

-- Google. The deep desire to have all of our questions answered lightning fast. First dates used to be interesting because you could babble for hours about what year Journey released what album. Now, in one swift motion, you know when the album was released, how the band members felt about each other, and their respective food allergies. Conversation = dead. This has created a generation of know-it-alls who didn't know they did until technology empowered their dormant ego.

-- YouTube. No one knew that watching a rather large, one-toothed woman sing "Sweet Home Alabama" would be mesmerizing. I sure didn't know that I could watch babies laugh for an hour straight. It's official: we all need some weird in our life. We often feel that we lead drab, very routine lives. Watching Scarlet take a tumble off a table is just the confirmation we need: "You are not that sad. Bravo on being kind of awesome."

-- Overly shared memes. Sometimes I think no one will listen to me. But if I pass along this smarty pants illustration and people like it, they are liking me. Because that's what I wanted to say.

-- 3-D Television. Yay. A way for me to get nauseated in my own home. But really, this is an attempt to liven up the mundane. Do you want to see Titanic? No, that was stupid. Do you want to see Titanic 3-D? Oh yeah, I am so there. I hope it looks like the ship is going to impale me." For one night we get to not feel like a flat, chubby South Park character and see life in 3-D. So hand over the glasses.

-- Facebook Cause Campaigns. If only for my own sanity, I try to see the good in people. And I truly believe most people really do want to make a difference. But most, including me sometimes, don't know how to exit their busy lives fast enough to do so. So we "like" and we "share" and we pass along pictures of hurting children, but we often fail to see opportunities that stare us in the face every day.

-- Anything Touchscreen. "What did you like about that phone?" "That gas station?" "That tablet?" You usually get some form of the response: "It's touchscreen, maaaan." We don't like buttons anymore.

Because people push ours all the time. And all the machines that make us hate our lives have buttons. And while we're in the buttons family, who hates pants?

So yes, I have probably delved into this way more than I should, but I had to find the reason that Siri fascinates me so much.

And I found it without a single Google search.

You've Been Warned

Throughout your life, you get bombarded with warnings--advice passed down through the ages. I was sitting at work today and it hit me: no one really tells you about your mid-to-late twenties. They are like this black hole of time that no one wants to acknowledge.

They tell you to watch out for the "freshman 15."

But they don't tell you about the "Desk Chair Double Digits." Oh yeah. Get ready to get chubby. Considering you at least had to walk to class, your freshmen poundage is nothing compared to what happens to your stationary badonk that only gets up to see if someone made coffee. 

They warn you about not becoming a teen mom.

They don't warn you about everyone and their mother asking you when you are going to reproduce. 

They warn you about menopausal hot flashes.

They don't warn you about the constant change in body heat that occurs when 15 individuals, with 15 different body temperatures, coexist in one setting. One minute you want to peel off your cardigan and douse yourself with water cups, the next minute you want to sit on a space heater. 

They warn you about germs and instruct you to brush your teeth.

They don't tell you that looking at a doctor's face will cost you two weeks of work-- if you're lucky. And that your teeth will disintegrate more after every dental visit. Welcome to your body falling apart slowly and expensively.

They tell you that you should never settle for less.

They don't tell you that sometimes you have to start at less, less, less. And work your way up to less, less. And when you settle for just less, you will be ecstatic.

They tell you high school is the time of your life.

If it is dear Lord, take me now. If acne, weird clothes and being called "Virgin Ears Ashton" is the highlight of my existence, I think I'll jet. 

They warn you about adolescent bullies.

They don't warn you about adulthood bullies. You mean all grown-ups don't act grown-up? Tah-dah. Welcome to 26. The toilet swirlies have subsided, but the misery continues. 

They warn you about the dangers of drinking and driving.

They don't warn you about the dangers of being a cranky, stressed out, 5 o'clocker with a tendency to repeatedly refer to everyone as "idiots." Friends don't let friends drive ticked off. 

Like with any stage, the 20s have their perks and problems. But you can at least say that you've been warned.

 

A Thousand Words

This is one of those weeks where I get home, get on my computer, sign on to Wordpress and just stare blankly at the screen. No inspiration. No ideas. So until my writer's block decides to hit the road, sometimes facial expressions just describe your week perfectly.

"You are now an expert on foreign policy and political strategy, eh? Way to go, you!"



"Why are all the Diet Dr. Peppers gone from the company fridge? I have to get Diet C[h]oke." 



"It's Wednesday. Time to watch some Damages. Oh wait. The series finale was last week. No more Damages. Ever."



"Your meeting had a leftover Chick-fil-a wrap meal? And I forgot my lunch money. Score."



"Unlocked the front door three times in a row to retrieve forgotten items. One of them was a Pop-Tart."



"Who made a dessert cheese ball for two events this week and got asked for the recipe? This girl." 



"Am I going to work out at all this week? Ehhh...no. Note to self: Come up with killer excuse for Monday." 



"Must. Smile. In. Morning. Time."



"I am making this face to hide the fact that I have a hole the size of a human fist in my pants right now."



"No hologram figure of the person you're talking to? Come on, iPhone 5."



"Will I ever think of a blog post again?"



Send me your ideas so the madness will stop.

In the meantime, make a bunch of funny faces.

7 Fashion Lies

Raise your hand if you watch shows like Project Runway and follow pop culture way more than you should. Because I can't see you out there, I am going to assume there are some other guilty parties joining me in a good old-fashioned arm lift. 

I always dreamed that when I worked in a professional setting I would get all "The Devil Wears Prada" on everyone. High heels, pencil skirts, blazers. 

And then life happened. 

I leaned over to pick something up that I dropped today and I saw a flash of flesh tone. Oh no. I subtly move my leg a little, only to see a gaping hole in my black pants. Hot, Ash. Real hot. Miranda Priestly and Meryl Streep would have simultaneously kicked your bootay out of corporate for such slouchiness. 

That is when they're not shaking their heads at your frequently wet sock bun, bursting middle button (why hello there) and the five identical pairs of flats you own.

When did I downgrade from my idealistic picture? When I found out that high heels make my entire leg go numb. And that blazers might as well double as straight jackets. 

And while we're on the subject, let me tell you how these new trends would do in the real world, ladies:

1. High-Waisted Shorts/Pants. You know when you sit down after Thanksgiving dinner and you lie back like you're a Macy's parade float they just pulled the plug on? Well, try sitting at work for 5 hours post-lunch feeling like someone is trying to fit a float into a Subway sandwich bag. Oh, and you look like your Mom circa 1982. 

2. Halfsies Hair. You would flat out never get a job. Except maybe at Hot Topic. People wouldn't assume you were on the edge of fashion glory; they would assume you handed your two-year-old some scissors and then fell asleep. Either that or you are going to staple them to smithereens.

   

3. Draggin' Drawers. If I wore these to work, people would probably assume I never had to get up to go to the bathroom. Your performance scores may rise because of the lack of breaks you have to take. There's room for at least 3 pairs of Depends in there. 

4. Thick eyebrows. These ain't so sexy down in normal land. I can think of two purposes: If you're a school teacher, great for lessons on caterpillars. If you're a Coach, not a drop of sweat will reach your eye mid-huddle.

5. Jumpsuits. It's 4:55. You've been trying to knock out last minute paperwork so you can hit the elevator. You feel like at any minute your bladder might burst. Well, fashionista, enjoy getting out of this one in time. Hope you brought some extra draggin' drawers for the ride home. 

6. Over the forehead headbands. Not gonna lie. I've tried this and wished it would work. But I somehow feel like I should love people more and talk several speeds slower. Plus, people just won't take you seriously at the office.

7. Scarf mania. I get a kick out of this one on Pinterest. There's these itty bitty girls drowning in a sea of knit. I can see the play by play of this one. I come in, sit at my desk, and unravel myself for 10 minutes. Before I know it, a Hansel and Gretel trail of yarn darts down the hallway and out the door. 

 

So I have holes in my pants 80 percent of the time. And I sometimes, in moments of despair, wash dry-clean only garments.

But I'm a real girl living in the real world. And comfort and practicality will always rule. 

Because I don't get paid enough to look ridiculous. 

 

Hey, It's OK...

I don't know how many of you read Glamour magazine (you don't have to admit it) but one of the first pages you open up to is the "Hey, It's OK" page in which they condone stupid things that we may all act on or think. For example, one of the less dumb ones this month was, Hey, It's Ok "...to feel like it's some kind of torture when your gym plays the Food Network." Been there. Hanging on the lat pull machine watching an Olive Garden commercial.

I try to keep this blog pretty light, but recent events have led me to pull out a few serious-face entries. It's like my blog is furrowing its eyebrows at you. Well, that is not me all the time. So, to make up for it, here is an entry that requires absolutely no brain power whatsoever. This will probably serve as a filler from time to time when work has fried my brain into a pile of mush.

HEY, IT'S OK...

... to look forward to going to the bathroom at work. It's relaxing. And you only have one task to handle.

... to try a Pinterest hair-do and then laugh at yourself in the morning.

... to think that candy that is freely offered in bowls at businesses has no caloric value.

... to want to throw a Snuggie (Ok, maybe 5) on Christina Aguilera.

... to repent for thoughts you had on the way to work every. day. 

... to see people pick up their dog's poo out of a neighbor's yard and think, "Being a non-animal person isn't so bad."

... to think about supper while you're having lunch.

... to make big plans about what you're making for dinner the night before and then call Domino's instead.

... to kind of relate to a kid when he starts screaming in Wal-Mart.

... to arrive somewhere and not ever recall driving.

... to get a pedicure last minute without a prior leg-shaving. Let them talk.

... to assume that every skinny, tone person was born that way and has never put effort into it.

... to fast forward through the sob stories on singing competitions. Now they're just getting plain ridiculous.

... to pooch out your lips in the rearview to feel mighty fine.

... to shout, "I love this song!" and then butcher the first line out loud.

Umm, It's Not Ok...

... to turn into a troll during an election season.

... to leave your shopping cart in the middle of a parking spot.

... to keep inching forward to block the other person's view of oncoming traffic. I just want to turn right out of Sonic, Mr. I Turn Left on Busy Streets.

... to give your little girl a beauty complex when she's 2.

Now...

Though most of the people my age and younger can recount to you where they were when they learned of 9/11, I dare say that we in no way knew our lives were changed. I know I didn't. I remember still having a Geometry test, with the TV playing in the background. I remember the adults were very anxious. But I had a volleyball game-- and to a 15 year old, that is of utmost importance.

I've read several statuses today where people mentioned where they were when they learned of the news. Reflection is important-- but I will go a step further and ask an even more prominent question: Where are we now?

This isn't the time when I go into our political advancements and war successes and failures since then. Because frankly, I don't know.

It's when I ask myself: "Are you still that naive 15-year-old?" "Do you still think you can conveniently turn the impact of situations on and off like a light switch?" And sometimes the answer is yes. A resounding, pitiful, honest yes.

The event 11 years ago is more present to some people than others; some of us still haven't quite accepted it-- if for no other reason than our inability to touch it, feel it, see it. Some of us sent loved ones away to foreign lands, stirring up an anger to make their absences quiet down in our hearts.

But I am here to say that 9/11 is more than an angry country song about sticking boots certain places... it is more than a business painting "God Bless America" on their windows. It is certainly not a church equating it to God's wrath. It is not the creation of hatred for a certain group of people.

Instead, it convicts me.

Why are the salaries and benefits of police officers and firemen so acceptably low in this country if we are indeed so grateful?

Why do we uphold our soldiers until they come home to find that no one wants to accept their insurance? 

Why do we quarrel so much about the sacred ground of the fallen that we forget to just be solemn in their memory?

What do we tell the 18-year-old boys who are being sent to Afghanistan about why they are going? After all, they were 7 when it happened. 

Why does writing a Top 10 hit now make you patriotic, but asking deep questions makes you hate America?

Why do those bemoaning the state of our country suddenly, for one day out of the year, announce that we are a Christian nation? 

Why does the Office of President not call for any amount of respect any longer?

Why do political parties stop terrorizing each other on this one day rather than adopting it all together?

You're probably wondering where all this is coming from. And I guess, for me, it's something that always returns about this time. I guess because I truly want to see this tragedy alter our vision, however long it might take.

So don't think that 9/11 can't make its way into legislation, into city council decisions, into Supreme Court cases, into the everyday facet of our lives. It can even be the voice inside us reminding us how to treat our neighbor and what causes to support.

It can if we let it.

And only then will we be able to glance behind us, but keep walking forward.

Not a Fan

I always semi-dread this time of year. What time of year, you ask. Fall? No. Fall in itself is pretty awesome. Leaves, scarves, my face not pouring sweat. My kind of thing. What I mean is: the time of year when I again realize that I am not a passionate super fan of well, anything. 

I have never-- not once-- written "WPS" on my status. Just a year or two ago I had to ask someone what it stood for. I thought it was probably some raunchy abbreviation that I didn't want anyone to say to me. But nice people were saying it also so I had to inquire further.

I have never had so much as a face-painting. The sports t-shirts I do own make me feel like a traitor every time I wear them (which is hardly ever) because I feel like such a hypocrite. Like someone will come up and say something to me about them and I will have to act like I have the faintest clue. And usually, when I cave and buy a sports shirt, the person's name who is on the back trades or quits or something. I am to blame, Cardinals' fans, for the Pujols abandonment. Bought a shirt. Boom. Gone.

But it's not just sports. I have never fanatically followed anything. I stood in line with some friends during a Harry Potter release. While they couldn't wait to get their paws on their copy, I couldn't wait to tell people about the popular people I saw donning capes at Wal-Mart. 

The ASU game was at 6 p.m. this evening and people were already camped out at 11 a.m. when I drove by today. I just can't fathom a love that plants in me the desire to eat hotdogs for 7 hours in the heat, dodging idiots throwing footballs who think they could start on the team. 

But a part of me is sad that there is no wick to be lit in my heart at all. I've tried. Believe me. I have gone to midnight premieres. I have inwardly wished I would have worn a pirate's patch to Pirates of the Caribbean. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

If only there were crazy fanatical clubs for:

1. People who love bakery cupcakes.

2. People who get to the movies early, eat the popcorn and get refills before the movie starts.

3. People who love sleeping.

4. People who always pick books by their cover and then quit reading them because they are terrible.

5. People who don't like to wait in long lines. Or be up past midnight.

6. People who only know teams by their colors.

7. People who refuse to stop at any place where a radio station van is parked and flashing.

8. People who think you should have to go through extensive team-quizzing before being able to put up a team status. Yeah, I'm talking to you bandwagon babe.

9. People who don't want anyone on either side of them at the movies. Or behind. Or in front.

10. People who have never raved about anything to anyone for fear that their judgment and Rotten Tomatoes abilities are nonexistent.

If you fit into any of these categories, we should totally tailgate. I'll bring the cupcakes.

And I might get kind of excited.  

Oh and WPS, ya'll.

Robots

We've all heard the foretelling. We've all wondered when robots will take over our jobs and make us obsolete. Ok, so maybe it's not something that is at the forefront of our minds-- but we've all heard of the possibility. 

After working with numerous office machines the past few years, all I can say is, "Good luck future generations!"

Because if you are working in the cubicle next to a robot who is anything like my scanner, you will want to Ctrl+alt+delete him until he melts into a pile of parts.

Here is what I think that future would look like if our new replacements anyway derived from our office machine counterparts.

• You hand the necessary paperwork to the robot to your right. In true scanner style, she will crumple up the reports as she simultaneously grabs more from your hand. Because stopping is for sissies. Just try to get your important data back fast enough. Crush.
• "I'm going to need a few copies of this," you instruct Robot #2. "I know I told you I can do two-sided pages, sort and staple all of these-- but I was just punking you," he says while he immediately spews paper into every robotic body part. "Guess you're going to have to open every tray and find the paper," he taunts.
• You're in the middle of giving very important instructions to Mrs. Microsoft when she decides to just shut down and take a nap. Oh, and she didn't save or remember anything that you said.
• The hot robot in the corner, Ms. Faxy Lady, screeches all day to let you know information is transmitting through her brain. Most of the time, she says, "Transmission Not OK," while other random occurrences inspire her to repeat the same message 10 times. 
• You have to be careful around Bon Qui Qui Robot. She will cut.you. Or at least staple you to death. Like her electric stapler sister, she will attack your worksheet until it looks like it has been the victim of staple crossfire.
• You can't really count on the robot across the hall. Sometimes you will be in the middle of company protocol when he will just freeze. Restarting him will usually do the trick, but he will wake up and tell you that you didn't shut him down right.

So as you can see, I fear the world where technology rules. Yeah, we've all worked with our share of interesting individuals, but at least they can usually express what they need without spitting paper wads of expressionless anger.

I once verbally assaulted a copy machine in the (accidental) presence of another human being. Today, I sat there as my scanner spit paper at me faster than I could grab it while crunching part of it at the same time. Way to multi-task there, Betsy. 

You kiddos enjoy your Ipod 5s and 3-D televisions. Looks like I can't retire until I'm 80. So please don't let any of these one day be my boss.

 

My Pancakes

I remember when leaving the house, eating out and other extracurricular activities were enjoyable. I remember when we would load up the van and Dad would say, "We're going out to eat." You would have thought we were on a bus to Six Flags. I remember, even as a teenager, going out to eat with friends and laughing over a big, no-consequences cheeseburger.

I don't know if the times are changing-- or if I just incorrectly remember every eating out experience being fairly blissful. Going out in public was something to look forward to; now Justin and I come home frustrated and wishing we would have just cooked and done the dishes.

We decided earlier this week that we would reward ourselves with IHOP omelets and New York Cheesecake pancakes on Saturday morning, a sort of kickback for surviving the week. So we woke up today in a good mood ready to claim our syrupy prize.

"Hey, what can I get you guys?"

"We would like the Bacon omelet, the Garden omelet, and 2 sides of New York Cheesecake pancakes. And can we also.."

She's gone.

30 minutes later.

Buttermilk pancakes with a runny strawberry on it.

Justin politely inquires, "Every time we get the cheesecake pancakes, they have cream cheese icing on them and strawberry sauce. Did we order the wrong thing?"

"You must be thinking of our other New York cheesecake pancakes. They have icing on them. These don't."

Not to get the blood boiling again, let's just say that my milk didn't come until my pancakes were complete and Justin's hash browns were nowhere to be found. And you better believe our omelets were sans salsa.

I wish I could say this kind of thing only happens at IHOP or McDonald's. But it's becoming an accepted epidemic. Restaurants that charge $10 or more a plate are now getting on the bad service train.

Let me clarify one thing: I do not and I mean do not condone being disrespectful or rude to people who serve you in restaurants and other places you may find yourself. And that's probably why going out in public is getting more challenging.  Because I feel like people are trying to test me in this philosophy. Like the guy at Sam's Club who kept cutting me off from every product I was looking at by ramming his cart in front of me. Like the waiter at Olive Garden that overcharged me by six dollars and said, "I'm sorry, I already ran your card. It's really hard to change." Like at Target when the lady forgot to take the items I bought off the baby registry and said, "Well, it's hard to go back. People with babies can always use more than one of something." Like the times you sit there and no one greets you or smiles at you. Like all the times they make you feel like you're the crazy one who only thought you ordered no ketchup.

I think it's been a while since Chick-fil-a has been brought up. Regardless of your social views, they have long been put on a pedestal for their amazing service and their cheery, "It's our pleasure to serve you," catchphrase. Here's the sad part: That should be the norm. Why are they hailed as kings for being polite and giving you what you paid $20 to receive?

Why is tipping now considered expected rather than something to show a token of gratitude for a fun experience?

I in no way expect perfection. I know things happen. But I do miss people who say they're sorry, people who ask if there's anything else they can do, people who go the extra mile to be friendly, people who don't make you feel like you're scum for asking for a refill.

I miss the days when going to the grocery store didn't cause homicidal thoughts. I miss the days when kids were the ones you were embarrassed of in restaurants.

But for the time being, this now hermit crab is going to reside at home.

And my New York Cheesecake pancakes have icing on them.

"Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity."
-Anonymous