Sometimes I don't like my other job.
Most days it's cool. The people I work with understand why they're there, and they get the objective done...
...and then some days, I have to deal with some people that make me want to sin my soul. But I am a professional, so I have perfected the art of baring my teeth but make it look like I'm smiling sweetly and serenely. Nothing drives them more crazy than when I do that.
I think it's the sense of entitlement. Many of the disgusticating (it's a word my mother uses) ones are the ones who think that just because they have skills, the world needs to fall at their feet and do their bidding. I, on the other hand, am not impressed by their skills, nor their stature. I have moved in circles involving politicians, the rich, the young and elite, the people who make things happen and really help run this world. The people who buy and sell such persons of perceived entitlement. So I'm not impressed. I don't go around boasting about this, however, partially because my interaction with these people are purely business. But I'm still not impressed.
Also, it's not an enshrined and protected right to be on facebook. Yes, I like Facebook too, but there is no law, right, policy, international document that protects users from being denied Facebook. You're not supposed to be on Facebook anyway at this office. So when I kindly, and softly ask you to come off of Facebook, having a temper tantrum at me about why you need to be on facebook is only making your case worse, because on top of breaking your contract with the department (for being on facebook), you're displaying "ungentlemanly/unladylike conduct" and possibly threatening an employee. Take it from me, it just doesn't do you any favours to behave like that.
As well, basic manners are still quite fashionable right now. Let's start with simple things: Responding properly when I greet you with: "Hello."; "Good night"; or any of the variations of those two phrases. Then, after we graduate from that module, we'll work on the use of speech responsibility portion: just because you have a mouth and a vocabulary does not mean whatever you say and however you say it is acceptable and will be tolerated; no matter what your mother, girlfriend, main outside girlfriend, and other groupies will say. It's not funny, especially since, if you had tried that on me 3 years ago, not only would I have made charcoal of your ass, but I would do it with words you probably do not know and will never understand.
I matured alot in the past 3 years. My quiet demeanour is not the indication of a doormat. It would be unwise to think so, just as it's unwise to assume that I'm smiling.
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A Few of My Favourite Things: (drinksmixer.com)
1/2 oz amaretto almond liqueur
1 oz Bailey's Irish Cream
1 oz Kahlua cofee liqueur
1/2 oz vanilla liqueur
1/2 oz butterscotch schnapps
1 oz vodka
7 1/2 oz milk
Shake ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Strain into a highball glass and serve.
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May you have a good night!
The Bartender
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
It's just one of those nights you drink out of the bottle, no cocktails spoken here.
I took Friday night off and found my way to another bar not too far from home. I've been there before, it's pretty decent, and the view is amazing.
In this city, it's hard to find a reason to dress up to go out. Friday night was even harder. I was feeling really comfortable. I could have looked cute, but I decided it was too much effort to be uber cute. A sweater, some fitted jeans, and some boots and I was comfortable and swanky. I ran a comb through my hair, ran some gel through my hair to enhance the curls and I was ready to go.
I started with wine, but it didn't feel like a wine night. I downgraded to Smirnoff Ice, and it got better fast. I was sitting at the bar, looking at the *social networking* going on, hedging bets against who was actually going to get punanny that night, who may get punanny if they worked their charm right, and who didn't have a chance of even getting touched by fire in hell, far less for any punanny. Yes, with a Smirnoff in hand, I am easily amused.
All of a sudden, I recognise someone. Cool, I have a cover while I mind other people's business, especially since it's more platonic than romantic right now. So we're sitting upstairs, observing the people of the night, when he introduces me to his crew for the night, one of whom I already know. Okay, I know I wasn't planning on man-trapping (sorry Gatita, I know I told you otherwise but my heart wasn't in it without you and Russo), but I think Chef-Dude is cute, and I always get extra helpings :D. Chef-Dude is flirting. I'm flirting back. Original friend is cool about it, he's investing in another drink. Chef-Dude is offering to buy me a drink. Okay, I'm among friends, cool... except the bar upstairs does not have bottled drinks. So we have to go downstairs. I grab his hand and take him downstairs.
We're flirting, we're laughing, and then I happen to glance at his hands because we were talking about the significance of him drinking Heineken and he reaches for his bottle at the same time and I realise there is a band on his left hand, ring finger.
I couldn't help myself. I literally asked: "What is that?"
"Oh this? I felt like having a little bling on tonight."
I had been a little friendly with Smirnoff but not that friendly. Ring finger, left hand is not "a little bling"!
I must have had the "are you serious" look on my face, because he followed up with, "But I am engaged."
I bared my teeth. It looks alot like I'm smiling, but those who know me knows there is a difference. Chef-Dude thought I was smiling at him. I didn't care to tell him the difference.
I took him back up stairs, Smirnoff refilled, and deposited him in the care of his drunk friend, who, to my amusement, proceeded him in a rousing game of "Let's chase the drunk guy around the bar for half an hour in an attempt to get him home". Meanwhile, original friend played for about 5 minutes, then settled in for another drink with me to watch his friends chase each other around the bar.
Original friend walked me home. We chilled on the countertop of my kitchen in the dark for about 15 minutes before he left. Somehow that was the part of the night that hit the spot. That and the Smirnoff.
In this city, it's hard to find a reason to dress up to go out. Friday night was even harder. I was feeling really comfortable. I could have looked cute, but I decided it was too much effort to be uber cute. A sweater, some fitted jeans, and some boots and I was comfortable and swanky. I ran a comb through my hair, ran some gel through my hair to enhance the curls and I was ready to go.
I started with wine, but it didn't feel like a wine night. I downgraded to Smirnoff Ice, and it got better fast. I was sitting at the bar, looking at the *social networking* going on, hedging bets against who was actually going to get punanny that night, who may get punanny if they worked their charm right, and who didn't have a chance of even getting touched by fire in hell, far less for any punanny. Yes, with a Smirnoff in hand, I am easily amused.
All of a sudden, I recognise someone. Cool, I have a cover while I mind other people's business, especially since it's more platonic than romantic right now. So we're sitting upstairs, observing the people of the night, when he introduces me to his crew for the night, one of whom I already know. Okay, I know I wasn't planning on man-trapping (sorry Gatita, I know I told you otherwise but my heart wasn't in it without you and Russo), but I think Chef-Dude is cute, and I always get extra helpings :D. Chef-Dude is flirting. I'm flirting back. Original friend is cool about it, he's investing in another drink. Chef-Dude is offering to buy me a drink. Okay, I'm among friends, cool... except the bar upstairs does not have bottled drinks. So we have to go downstairs. I grab his hand and take him downstairs.
We're flirting, we're laughing, and then I happen to glance at his hands because we were talking about the significance of him drinking Heineken and he reaches for his bottle at the same time and I realise there is a band on his left hand, ring finger.
I couldn't help myself. I literally asked: "What is that?"
"Oh this? I felt like having a little bling on tonight."
I had been a little friendly with Smirnoff but not that friendly. Ring finger, left hand is not "a little bling"!
I must have had the "are you serious" look on my face, because he followed up with, "But I am engaged."
I bared my teeth. It looks alot like I'm smiling, but those who know me knows there is a difference. Chef-Dude thought I was smiling at him. I didn't care to tell him the difference.
I took him back up stairs, Smirnoff refilled, and deposited him in the care of his drunk friend, who, to my amusement, proceeded him in a rousing game of "Let's chase the drunk guy around the bar for half an hour in an attempt to get him home". Meanwhile, original friend played for about 5 minutes, then settled in for another drink with me to watch his friends chase each other around the bar.
Original friend walked me home. We chilled on the countertop of my kitchen in the dark for about 15 minutes before he left. Somehow that was the part of the night that hit the spot. That and the Smirnoff.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
"Baby, let me feel like a man."
This is not a full post - yet.
I got this as a text message response to something I said: "Baby, let me feel like a man."
WTH? What does this mean? Why is it you're not feeling like a man? Do I have to pump your...*ego* up? Do I do it manually or is there some sort of machine/online web generator that does this for you?
Ding ding ding!!! Warning sign!!!
The conversation, to this point:
I'm so horny.
See, that's a problem for both of us, because I'm friendly drunk, you're horny, I'm in NM and you're in Cali.
(insert subject line here)
I will probably make some man a very poor trophy wife because I can't make regular guys "feel like a man". Whatever that means.
Maybe I should send him an invoice for such services, based on the current market rate for the top 7% of these services (might as well aim for the best, right?), plus incidentals, traveling and accommodation, no-show fee and any other fees associated with such services. And of course, request 50% downpayment.
Or maybe I should lose his number and move on... he may have been hot, but not that hot. Plus I don't have the time to raise anyone right now, whether it be my man or my children.
Baby Love, take a shot of tequila, grow a pair, let them ripe, and then call me back. Maybe then you'll be ready.
I got this as a text message response to something I said: "Baby, let me feel like a man."
WTH? What does this mean? Why is it you're not feeling like a man? Do I have to pump your...*ego* up? Do I do it manually or is there some sort of machine/online web generator that does this for you?
Ding ding ding!!! Warning sign!!!
The conversation, to this point:
I'm so horny.
See, that's a problem for both of us, because I'm friendly drunk, you're horny, I'm in NM and you're in Cali.
I will probably make some man a very poor trophy wife because I can't make regular guys "feel like a man". Whatever that means.
Maybe I should send him an invoice for such services, based on the current market rate for the top 7% of these services (might as well aim for the best, right?), plus incidentals, traveling and accommodation, no-show fee and any other fees associated with such services. And of course, request 50% downpayment.
Or maybe I should lose his number and move on... he may have been hot, but not that hot. Plus I don't have the time to raise anyone right now, whether it be my man or my children.
Baby Love, take a shot of tequila, grow a pair, let them ripe, and then call me back. Maybe then you'll be ready.
Chapter 6: The Man With the Golden Eyes
Wow, That title sounds like a bad James Bond movie.
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I should not be surprised there is a drink called Golden Eye. It sounds interesting. I should have my resident bartender work on this one for me.
Courtesy of DrinkMixer.com
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I know, I should be studying academics, not investigating possible leads on men-friends, but I, too, get lonely. Plus, I keep having this curiousity about why certain girls always get guys. I’m not being intentionally mean, but I have my shallow points and that sticks in my craw.
I digress.
I had decided to scale back my active pursuit of men to by about 90-95 percent for various reasons, some of which involved what felt like maturity. So that day, when I ended up at that student organization board meeting, man-trapping was not even on my agenda. I was in a t-shirt, a denim skirt, and covered in war paint and paraphernalia related to a sporting event I had attended. I had not changed because I was planning to attend a soccer match for my school right after and would probably end up looking the same way, just with different colours.
Unfortunately I was distracting some of the other board members, including this one guy who had the most beautiful golden eyes. Soon we were flirting across the meeting. I know, how very unprofessional, but if a guy can excite me without touching me, I’m in heavy lust.
I forgot to get Golden Eyes’ number when I left the room. But I figured it wouldn’t be hard, since he and I work for the same organization.
About three days later, I sent him an email. No response.
About a week after our initial meeting I was in a student lounge, looking like a hot mess, once again. I think I had 2 hours sleep, and was at the point that once I was functioning, I would keep moving. I was on the phone with another friend when someone says, “Hi.”
I was so sleepy I did not recognize the person, but as I am not rude, I said hi back. On his second time passing by me, I pulled him aside and asked him if we had met. Ooops. Yeah, it was Golden Eyes. I shook it off and begged forgiveness on the account I was exhausted, but still he should check his email for the email (about a coffee date, but I didn’t say) and get back to me.
Three hours later: I was packing up in my second to last class when someone calls my name. It was Golden Eyes. I’m surprised. That was fast.
Golden Eyes told me he read my email, but this was a bad time for him, he just broke up with his girlfriend but he wants to remain friends, etc.
I’m not going to lie. I’ve matured enough that I’m recognizing the bullshit from the time it starts to drop out of his mouth. Fine, I have my own bullshit. I told him I understand, it’s okay, and I made him laugh, while I’m thinking, you cowardly little bitch.
There have been other instances that I could have clearly called him out on, re: not being friends since we have not one, but two classes together. I can’t rely on him to call me back on time with respect to assignments, especially when I clearly specify in the voicemail that I’m calling to get data on (insert class here) for (insert date here). Friends my ass.
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I should not be surprised there is a drink called Golden Eye. It sounds interesting. I should have my resident bartender work on this one for me.
Courtesy of DrinkMixer.com
Pour goldschlager schnapps into a glass, add a nut, then layer the baileys irish cream on top.
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I know, I should be studying academics, not investigating possible leads on men-friends, but I, too, get lonely. Plus, I keep having this curiousity about why certain girls always get guys. I’m not being intentionally mean, but I have my shallow points and that sticks in my craw.
I digress.
I had decided to scale back my active pursuit of men to by about 90-95 percent for various reasons, some of which involved what felt like maturity. So that day, when I ended up at that student organization board meeting, man-trapping was not even on my agenda. I was in a t-shirt, a denim skirt, and covered in war paint and paraphernalia related to a sporting event I had attended. I had not changed because I was planning to attend a soccer match for my school right after and would probably end up looking the same way, just with different colours.
Unfortunately I was distracting some of the other board members, including this one guy who had the most beautiful golden eyes. Soon we were flirting across the meeting. I know, how very unprofessional, but if a guy can excite me without touching me, I’m in heavy lust.
I forgot to get Golden Eyes’ number when I left the room. But I figured it wouldn’t be hard, since he and I work for the same organization.
About three days later, I sent him an email. No response.
About a week after our initial meeting I was in a student lounge, looking like a hot mess, once again. I think I had 2 hours sleep, and was at the point that once I was functioning, I would keep moving. I was on the phone with another friend when someone says, “Hi.”
I was so sleepy I did not recognize the person, but as I am not rude, I said hi back. On his second time passing by me, I pulled him aside and asked him if we had met. Ooops. Yeah, it was Golden Eyes. I shook it off and begged forgiveness on the account I was exhausted, but still he should check his email for the email (about a coffee date, but I didn’t say) and get back to me.
Three hours later: I was packing up in my second to last class when someone calls my name. It was Golden Eyes. I’m surprised. That was fast.
Golden Eyes told me he read my email, but this was a bad time for him, he just broke up with his girlfriend but he wants to remain friends, etc.
I’m not going to lie. I’ve matured enough that I’m recognizing the bullshit from the time it starts to drop out of his mouth. Fine, I have my own bullshit. I told him I understand, it’s okay, and I made him laugh, while I’m thinking, you cowardly little bitch.
There have been other instances that I could have clearly called him out on, re: not being friends since we have not one, but two classes together. I can’t rely on him to call me back on time with respect to assignments, especially when I clearly specify in the voicemail that I’m calling to get data on (insert class here) for (insert date here). Friends my ass.
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