Saturday, May 17, 2008
I'm staring at the charge slip you just signed. I see your signature, the charge amount, the suggested tip amounts, and then your tip. Why? Why so little? You just paid over $100 for your dinner, and yet you leave $2.00 for the tip. Why? You raved about how good everything was, you had no complaints, I put up with your stuck-up bullshit and your ugly ill-mannered children who made a complete fucking mess by throwing rice everywhere. Yet still, there it is, you perpetuating the stereotype that Indian people are cheap and don't tip, which isn't really a stereotype since the majority of them are cheap, like you, you douchenozzle. You're not in India anymore, you can't pull this bullshit here. I hear you complaining sometimes about how Americans treat you like you're an Indian stereotype for "no reason," but the problem is that you have your head stuck so far up your ass that you can't see that their actions are sadly justified. The worst part of your lack of intelligence and disregard for human decency is, your bastard children are learning this habit from you, who will undoubtedly instill it in their children, and so on and so fucking forth. So next time you're in, please, man up and try to leave, oh, I don't know, I'll be lenient, 10% for the tip. Just remember, if you don't, I'll add it for you, because I fucking can.
Pissed off NRI
P.S. Get a decent haircut. Your head looks like a poodle's ass.
Friday, May 16, 2008
2. Meeting interesting people. People are fucking weird. And ballsy. I've already had two people ask me to give them a ride around parking lots (which I did) and one (huge) guy ask to sit in the front seat (which I allowed out of fear). I also don't enjoy sitting in a restaurant and watching people paw, stroke, and look inside the car while I'm eating. I'm looking into shock-alarm systems...
3. Idiots trying to race me. Now I'm always down for this at least once a day, but I don't need every other Beamer-driving asshole looking over at me, waving, honking, or otherwise indicating to me that they want to race. At this point, I may just swerve into you and force you into a ditch, and there's a shitload of ditches around here.
4. Drivers slowing down to look. This is extremely annoying as of late, even more so when I'm in a rush. The fact that I have an adorable car does not mean you need to slow down to look or take extra time at a stop sign, especially when YOU'RE IN FRONT OF ME!
5. People laughing. I don't get what's so funny about a small Indian guy driving a cute tiny blue car while blasting Tori Amos with his windows down. Someone explain this to me.
I'm sure there will be many more of these to come as well.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Oliver: Like when you were a baby?
Me: Seriously? Are you really asking me this? Do you think I was born white and got browner over time?
Oliver: No, I mean like, were you whiter than you are now, and like you got browner after being in the sun more growing up?
Me: Do you think black people get blacker over time?
Oliver: Yeah dude. They like come out brown and get black, and I thought like brown people are less brown and get really brown.
Me: Did you grow up with any black friends?
Oliver: Yeah, a lot man.
Me: Did they get darker over the years?
Oliver: I don't know, they just beat me up a lot.
Me: I wonder why...
Oliver: Cause I was fat bro and couldn't run away fast.
Me: That's a good reason too.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
She never makes cupcakes. I have never seen her make them or heard her mention any stories in which cupcakes were involved, but fuck it, she was excited, and now I had something to get her. I drove like a madman (everyday driving) to the nearest B&N, grabbed the only copy, a card, and an iced tea for myself (I require positive reinforcement). All that was left was the easy part: breakfast.
Woke up at like 6 this morning to start cooking some cupcakes to decorate with one of the ideas from the book (which are pretty nifty). Yes, I just used the word nifty. Breakfast itself consisted of a light fruit salad to start, followed by Eggs Benedict, and finished off with the cupcakes. Here's how it all turned out:
"Spaghetti and Meatballs" Cupcakes. Made using Ferrero Rocher chocolates, raspberry jam, and regular frosting.
Needless to say, she was ecstatic and amazed at not only my culinary ability (which she regularly has no faith in) but the fact that I didn't fuck up. And of course, after happily thanking me, she tacks on the disclaimer "But there's always next year..." So much for guilt-free.