Tag Archives: Rants

I See Drunk People

Dear Moron in the Annapolis Doubletree Lobby,

Let me introduce myself. Last Friday night, this happened:

Guy in Lobby on Cell Phone: ::attempting to whisper:: There are loud drunk people here.

What I Thought: Where?

What I Said (in a stage whisper): Shhhh…we’re the loud drunk people!

My Analysis

Where to begin…let’s address “loud.”A hotel lobby after midnight is empty and quiet. So in comparison…everything seems loud.

And since I could hear you whispering, you were being loud.

Next, let’s address “drunk.” I heard your little comment, so obviously I was coherent. Perhaps the fact that you thought you were whispering means you, sir, were the Drunky McDrunk.

Clinging to Kiefer didn’t mean I couldn’t walk. I was clinging to his arm because I was freezing my tushie off, and I was trying to absorb all of the heat from his body. (My super power is sucking heat from others.)

And as for my response of “Shhhh…we’re the loud drunk people,” it’s called a “stage whisper” because you want people to hear what you’re saying.


Not Sincerely,


PS: You almost ruined my Doubletree cookie with your nonsense. Almost.


This Means War…Or Food Fight

So it’s been awhile since David Zincenko and I have had a spat.

But now he brought out the big guns. He dropped the mother of all bombs with his 7 Worst Supermarket Breakfasts.

Worst Breakfast Pastry: Chocolate Chip Pop-Tarts

Oh no he did-n’t.

His opening argument: Since when has it been acceptable to eat chocolate-frosted pastries at breakfast?

Since always, doo-doo head! How long have we been eating chocolate-covered donuts? Croissants drizzled with chocolate? All of that healthy eating has warped your fragile little mind, Dave!

Unseasoned Pop-Tart eater and hater….

Let’s take a moment to review Dave’s personal vendetta against my eating habits:

Davey did mention one two things on his list that brought a smile to my face. His dissed organic oatmeal and waffles. Organic! I can’t wait to tell crunchy Kiefer that some of his organic food is actually not as good as it’s cracked up to be.

Take that, crunchy hippies!

#3. Cruisin’ for Worms

I’m back from my cruise, and I’m feeling refreshed…and sunburnt. Don’t touch the shoulders!

Top 5 Awesomest Things About Cruising

  1. Access to ice cream 24/7
  2. Snorkeling in Cozumel
  3. Eating Warm Chocolate Melting Cake every night
  4. Grand Cayman’s beautiful blue, clear water

    Me Testing the Water Temperature

  5. Watching drunk people fall down

Top 5 Unawesomest Things About Cruising

  1. Rude cruisers
  2. Waiting in lines
  3. Questioning the cleaniness of the ice in my drink (while in Mexico) after I’ve downed half of it
  4. Seeing 200+ blog posts that I need to catch up on.
  5. Realizing there aren’t any sprinkles for the ice cream

Overall, Kiefer and I had a wonderful time on the cruise. All unpleasant experiences resulted from other passengers. Such as women talking loudly during a show:

Obnoxious women: BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Kiefer: Excuse me, but could you please keep it down? We can’t hear the comedian.

Obnoxious women: ::dirty looks::

Me: Wipe that look off your face before I stab you with this ice cream cone!

I held the ice cream cone high above my head and prepared to bring it down…directly into her heart. Just like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Then I paused to reflect upon my actions:

  • I would be wasting a perfectly good ice cream cone.
  • But it was free, so I could just go get another.
  • But the ice cream machine was 3 floors up.
  • To be fair, several women were talking, so I’d have to stab each of them with a new ice cream cone.
  • I was on vacation and that would be entirely too much work.

One of my favorite parts of the cruise was people-watching. Especially watching the drunk people.

So raise your glass to the guy who dropped his tequila bottle while reboarding the ship in Mexico. He didn’t let the shattered glass stop him from bending down, retrieving the worm, and popping that squirmy sucker in his mouth.

Drunk-worm-eating guy, you’re my hero.

Washington, DC’s Chocolate Shortage

Dear Washington, DC,

You suck. This past weekend Kiefer and I celebrated our Valentine’s Day. (Kiefer had Boo and Radley last weekend, so we celebrated this weekend.)

Let me just say the service at several of your restaurants sucks. Our servers at lunch, dinner, drinks, and dessert were awful. We had to wait for-ev-er.

I should never be made to wait for dessert. Never. You really put the city at risk.

But in particular I’d like to complain about chocolate portion size. Kiefer and I ordered chocolate lava cake, which turned out to be only slightly larger than the size of a half dollar.

Obviously, DC has some type of chocolate shortage. Why wasn’t this on the news? How can we trust our politicians to make the right decisions if they can’t even keep the nation’s Capital stocked with chocolate?

At the end of the day, due to lack of appropriate amount of chocolate, I felt like this:

Do these pants make my butt look big?

After collapsing onto the bed from chocolate dehydration, poor Kiefer didn’t have the heart to move me. He slept curled up on the corner of the bed.

Luckily, the next morning we had breakfast at the Luna Grill. The service was awesome, and the food was delicious.

You should thank the Luna Grill for saving your butt this weekend.



P.S. You’ll be receiving another letter from me shortly regarding protests and picketers and appropriate times for people to be woken up.

No Diapers for Me

I need to vent. About someone. Someones. About mothers.

Let me clarify that I’m not talking about all mothers. Just some. Probably not you. You and me…we’re good.

This weekend was Radley’s birthday party, and Kiefer had to run to the store, so I was the only adult there when children were getting dropped off. Several of the parents know me now, so they happily left their children with me.

But it reminded me of Radley’s birthday party last year when I had an unfortunate encounter with a mother. I know I tend to exagerrate, but this time I’m not.

The mother and I were chatting, and then suddenly she asked the question that doomed our conversation.

Mother: So are you Boo or Radley’s mother?

Me: Neither. They’re both Kiefer and his ex’s children.

Mother (starts looking around for a child she doesn’t recognize): Do you and Kiefer have any children?

Me: Nope.

And that was the end of our conversation. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night.

Seriously? Since when did not having children make me a lower life form and unworthy of your conversation?

Do I have any children? No.

But you know what? I know a thing or two about children.

  • I spent years babysitting.
  • I used to be a teacher.
  • I have friends with children.
  • I have a cat who sometimes wakes me up several times a night. At least your infant will grow out of that.
  • And I’ve spent the last 2.5 years with Boo and Radley.
  • And just because I don’t have a child doesn’t mean I don’t want one.

All of that makes me worthy of your conversation. I swear I’m not going to look at you and say, “Bay-bee? What’s that?”

Refusing to talk to me means I have to resort to other forms of entertainment: Like picturing you buried up to your neck in a mound of dirty diapers.