I was just watching the news and it reminded me of this story.
When I lived in NY, one of the jobs I had was restaurant manager. Houlihan’s. And either you know that place, or ya don’t. I feel like it might have been a more northeastern thing….hold please….no, it isn’t. I had to go look. At any rate, I was a manager there.
As just about everywhere you get a paycheck these days, we had meetings. Whole team meetings, manager meetings, food tasting meetings (right, I wasn’t complaining about these ones…the Reuben back in the day was fantastic.), meeting this, meeting tat. Well, one day, we were having a manager meeting. Or, I should say that they were having a manager meeting because I forgot about it.
Now, I didn’t completely forget about it like, five hours later, “Oh shit! I had a meeting today!”, but instead I remembered about 20 minutes into the meeting. Being the responsible young lady that I was, *insert maniacal laughter here* I called over to the restaurant
I just went down the rabbit hole on Houlihan’s. Saw that one of the two restaurants I worked at in NY is still open (but not the one in this story). Which then took me down a whole different road of memories and then I looked at the menu and was so happy to see some of the items I loved were still on the menu (and marked as “Classics”, lol). Some of the drinks even survived and that’s pretty amazing after two decades, but I digress.
to apologize for my lateness and to see if I should come in (it was my day off, and yes, they still expected you to come to a manager meeting on your day off). To my surprise, a fellow manager answered the phone, which was odd since we should have been having a meeting. I explained that I had forgotten about the meeting and apologized and asked if I should head in. The reply? Oh, no. We’re not even open right now. A lady lost control of her car and it came into the window, so you don’t need to come in.
I guess something just temporarily erased that reminder to go to work that day, cuz sure as shit that woulda messed me up for life.
Once upon a time, there was a girl. The girl met a boy. The girl and the boy liked each other so they started to date. As things progressed, sometimes, the girl would stay over with the boy. Whether you are a believer or a denier, gas collects in the intestinal track of girls and it must be released in some manner.
Well, like most girls, this girl did not want to fart in front of the boy since they weren’t, you know, married or anything. It just so happened that the boy had to go to work much earlier than the girl on a daily basis. The girl would typically wake up long enough to say goodbye and then go back to sleep for a little while.
One morning, the girl woke up to find the boy was not in the bed. Mistakenly, the girl did not look around the room. Instead, no, she didn’t fart, she totally busted ass. Like pushed one out. Like butt cheeks flapping. Much to the girl’s chagrin, the sound she immediately heard after her own sigh of relief was not silence, but the boy.
Girls fart too. End of story.
Dammit. Yesterday, I looked at the writing prompt. I went and picked out this video. Then I forgot to write the post. Typical me.
Anyway, the prompt was where would you want to live that you’ve never visited, and for me, that’s super easy to say Japan. There are two places outside of the US that I would want to live and those are Mexico and Japan. Since I’ve already been to Mexico multiple times, Japan gets the go ahead for this post. (Living in Mexico is actually in my long term goals.)
I’m not even entirely sure why I feel a draw to Japan. I love to read stories of the samurai, I definitely want to see the cherry blossoms, and their customs are simple and gorgeous. When we had the opportunity to make a trip to the Morikami museum, I simply felt at home. Photos here:
I would like to write more intelligently about this subject, but at the moment, I have to push out another post for today and I’m a few deep in the Bonefish Grill bar, soooooo…….
If I had a regular readership, this would be really tough, but since I don’t, and most of you (all three of you) haven’t gone back and read all of my random ramblings, it’ll be new to you. Commence with the bullet points of things you don’t know about me.
- I graduated from high school at the tender age of 16 after having started school at 4 and doing kindergarten and first grade in the same year. Also, went to Penn State (main campus) on an Air Force scholarship which I survived all of one semester before I lost my shit and needed to come home. I technically have an honorable discharge from the Air Force for my one semester of ROTC service.
- Growing up, I spent a TON of time at the bowling alley. Both of my parents were in leagues, my brother and I did the kids’ leagues for a while, and when I was older, I did a league with my mom. I had hot pink and white high top bowling shoes that looked like sneakers and a Snoopy ball and matching bag. I could also keep score for two teams by the time I was about 7.
- I’ve always had an over-active imagination which led to writing some really and truly messed up stories and some even more effed up dreams over the years and to this day. Like just last night.
- Adrenaline. Junkie. See also: four-wheeling, sneaking out, snowboarding, roller coasters, flying trapeze, pole dancing, skydiving.
- I’m slightly OCD and the fact that I couldn’t get this list to continue at 5 instead of 1 drives me nucking futs.
- I’ve lived in six states, and spent time in four countries on two continents.
- An ex-NBA player once told me that I was intimidating. At five foot three. Compared to his six feet something or another.
- While I’m not an overly picky eater, I’ll punch you in the face if you put asparagus, okra, or olives in my food.
- One of the many careers I thought that I wanted to have when I was growing up was architect/architectural engineer. Then I found out in eleventh grade physics that I only think in two dimensions. Build a bridge out of toothpicks project was an utter failure.
- I’m a pretty damn good shot with both rifles and handguns. Country girl life.
And there you go. Ten random tidbits about me that you never wanted to know and will now be stuck in your head.
Tonight’s the night. We’ve planned a surprise birthday party for one of the crew. We’re about ten deep and thick as thieves. It happens when you’re mostly all neighbors and have been hanging out together for the last six or seven years.
We’re all what you would call “good kids” which is probably why all of our parents trust us with any other member of the crew. Everybody’s mom is Mom, everybody’s dad is Dad, and the doors are always open at every house. You’d get a funny look if you asked before going into the fridge or you uttered something about leaving because it’s dinner time.
Even though we’re all tight, we all have our favorite people in the crew. Mine happens to be a guy. Do I have a crush on him? Maybe. A little. Ok, yes, I do. But it’s natural, right? When you hang out with the same people, all the time, for extended periods of time, you tend to start finding yourself attracted to people you might not otherwise be attracted to, but I digress.
As is the norm, I’m riding to the party with my crush, Andy, to surprise Bob, the birthday boy. Our conversation in the car flows naturally, like it always does, and we laugh about stories we tell each other – reminiscing about silly stuff that Bob has done, as well as ones about what other crew members have done. We pull up to Bob’s place, which his folks have so thoughtfully vacated for us (it’s that trust thing), and finish one last story before we head in to see everyone.
We enter the house and get all of our greetings out of the way and wait for Bob as we were the last to arrive. We don’t wait long before Bob arrives and the laughter ensues. Gifts are exchanged, cake is eaten, and even though we’re underage, a beer or two is consumed. The jokes start flying and are sometimes harsh, but no one cries about them. Most of them are aimed at Bob since it’s his day. We all fall into a comfortable hum of conversations as the hours slip by. After a bit, I duck my head to stifle a yawn, and when I look up, Andy is staring right at me. I give him a little nod and we each start to say our goodbyes so we can head out.
We step outside into a gorgeous summer evening. We’ve finally caught a night where it isn’t chilly, it isn’t crazy humid, and there’s a half moon giving off a bit of light. As we drive home, Andy asks me if I’m tired. I say I’m not, even though I am, wanting to pick up on any opportunity I can to spend a little more time with him. He asks if I wanna hang out a while and, yeah, of course I do.
Andy drives us to the softball field where some of the crew plays and the rest of us watch. He parks the car and hops out. As I get out, I see that he’s headed towards the back of the car so I head that way as well. In those quick moments, Andy slides himself up onto the trunk of the car. I start to follow suit, but he instead directs me into a position where I can lean on the trunk but he’s behind me.
In the sweetest gesture of my young life, Andy maneuvers both himself and me so that he can hold me as we look at the moon and the stars. We talk for a while, and without warning, he turns me around and kisses me. It’s my first kiss and it’s sweet and warm and it’s from the guy I’ve been crushing on (and in puppy love with) for the longest time. When he breaks the kiss, he simply looks at me, watches me, to see if I’m ok with what has just transpired. While I’m on cloud 9 on the inside, I just smile. He smiles. And then we both end up falling into a fit of giggles.
First kiss. First love.