Niff.Dot

>ARTHUR: Old woman!

DENNIS: Man!

ARTHUR: Man, sorry. What knight lives in that castle over there?

DENNIS: I’m thirty seven.

ARTHUR: What?

DENNIS: I’m thirty seven — I’m not old!

ARTHUR: Well, I can’t just call you `Man’.

DENNIS: Well, you could say `Dennis’.

ARTHUR: Well, I didn’t know you were called `Dennis.’

DENNIS: Well, you didn’t bother to find out, did you?

ARTHUR: I did say sorry about the `old woman,’ but from the
behind you looked–

DENNIS: What I object to is you automatically treat me like an
inferior!

ARTHUR: Well, I AM king…

DENNIS: Oh king, eh, very nice. An’ how’d you get that, eh? By
exploitin’ the workers — by ‘angin’ on to our outdated imperialist
dogma which perpetuates the economic an’ social differences in our
society! If there’s ever going to be any progress–

WOMAN: Dennis, there’s some lovely filth down here. Oh — how
d’you do?

ARTHUR: How do you do, good lady. I am Arthur, King of the
Britons. Who’s castle is that?

WOMAN: King of the who?

ARTHUR: The Britons.

WOMAN: Who are the Britons?

ARTHUR: Well, we all are. we’re all Britons and I am your king.

WOMAN: I didn’t know we had a king. I thought we were an
autonomous collective.

DENNIS: You’re fooling yourself. We’re living in a dictatorship.
A self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working classes–

WOMAN: Oh there you go, bringing class into it again.

DENNIS: That’s what it’s all about if only people would–

ARTHUR: Please, please good people. I am in haste. Who lives
in that castle?

WOMAN: No one live there.

ARTHUR: Then who is your lord?

WOMAN: We don’t have a lord.

ARTHUR: What?

DENNIS: I told you. We’re an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We
take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the
week.

ARTHUR: Yes.

DENNIS: But all the decisions of that officer have to be ratified
at a special biweekly meeting.

ARTHUR: Yes, I see.

DENNIS: By a simple majority in the case of purely internal
affairs,–

ARTHUR: Be quiet!

DENNIS: –but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more–

ARTHUR: Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!

WOMAN: Order, eh — who does he think he is?

ARTHUR: I am your king!

WOMAN: Well, I didn’t vote for you.

ARTHUR: You don’t vote for kings.

WOMAN: Well, ‘ow did you become king then?

ARTHUR: The Lady of the Lake, [angels sing] her arm clad in the
purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of
the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to
carry Excalibur. [singing stops] That is why I am your king!

DENNIS: Listen — strange women lying in ponds distributing
swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive
power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some
farcical aquatic ceremony.

ARTHUR: Be quiet!

DENNIS: Well you can’t expect to wield supreme executive power
just ’cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!

ARTHUR: Shut up!

DENNIS: I mean, if I went around sayin’ I was an emperor just
because some moistened bint had lobbed a scimitar at me they’d
put me away!

ARTHUR: Shut up! Will you shut up!

DENNIS: Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system.

ARTHUR: Shut up!

DENNIS: Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system!
HELP! HELP! I’m being repressed!

ARTHUR: Bloody peasant!

DENNIS: Oh, what a give away. Did you hear that, did you hear
that, eh? That’s what I’m on about — did you see him repressing
me, you saw it didn’t you?

>Thanksgiving is now over. Thank God.

My Thanksgiving went something like this:

Despite the fact that we were serving Thanksgiving dinner at 1 pm, we still had to serve breakfast from 7 – 11 am anyway. So I opened that morning, arriving to work at 6 am to serve oversized breakfasts to people that were going to be having Thanksgiving dinner in a matter of hours. And we were hella-busy, even. (Yes, I used hella.)
Thanksgiving is the only time of year in which I work the evening shift, as each and every table gets their very own turkey carved tableside, and with over 400 people coming in between the hours of 1 and 8 pm, it required quite a bit of manpower.

Service for Thanksgiving went something like this:

– My assistant would greet the guest, offer water and baguettes, etc.

– I approach the table, with holiday greetings and offer wine pairings.

– First course is served, with champagne: Butternut bisque with candied chestnuts, caramelized apples and nutmeg creme.

– Second course, with Chardonnay, is served: harvest greens with vanilla poached pears, toasted almonds, citrus goat cheese and huckleberry vinaigrette.

– Main course is served with Syrah: Yukon gold potato puree, winter vegetables, cranberry, currant and vanilla relish, herbed sausage and sage stuffing, old fashion turkey gravy, and turkey carved tableside.

– Dessert, served with port: Chocolate Creme Brulee Cake, white chocolate ice cream, candied cranberries.
(Selling a couple bottles of a $400 wine was a bit of a bonus…)

I did this about 21 times during service. After a seventeen hour day, I got to go home. Granted, with a quite a bit of cash, as the average bill for a table of two went for $250.00 before gratuity…)

The really exciting part? After not getting home until about 11:30 pm, I had to be back at 6 in the morning for breakfast service. We were unendingly busy until the end of service yesterday.

This morning is the first time I’ve been able to breathe in four days. Ahhhhhh.
fortunately, Thanksgiving is the only holiday where it is impossible to have any family time. Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day…since I only work breakfast the other 364 days of the year I still have evenings for family things.

So no more turkey for another 361 days. Bonus.

Voulez-voulez-vous gobble gobble.

>Dammitall.

I was going to contribute something clever and witty, but I made a mistake of reading AJ’s blog beforeheand, and now all I keep thinking is, “ding fries are done ding fries are done”.

This sucks. So does AJ.

I have to get beyond this. I have to figure out what the hell I was going to blog about.

“ding fries are done ding fries are done.”

Oh! I know. I can now leg press 280 lbs. I rock.

I build muscle like a fiend. I’m gonna get all cut and go around kicking people’s asses. Mostly AJ’s.

“Ding fries are done ding fries are done.”

I wanna learn how to fight. I wanna do the “Trinity” in “The Matrix” style of ass-kicking. Wonder if my gym has a “street fighting” class. Fuck pilates and yoga. The waifs in the pilates studio can kiss my ass.

“ding fries are done ding fries are done.”

Waiting on my spousal unit to get his ass home so we can go to the gym. I’m feeling hostile.

“Ding fries are done ding fries are –”

DAMMIT!

I think it’s best that I go.

Voulez-voulez-vous hostile.

>

voulez-voulez-vous joyeux noel.

>I’ve decided that if the menfolk in the blogsphere can blog about poker all the damn time, I can blog about hiking more than a couple times a week. Stick that in your smoke and pipe it.

So yesterday I decided to go with the Little Si trail since it’s only 5 miles instead of 8 and took about 2 1/2 hours to finish instead of 4. Since the sun sets about 4:30 pm these days, and hiking in the dark by myself isn’t the best idea, I feel I made the right choice. Little Si is not quite as intense as Big Si, but it still has a 1,250-foot elevation gain. Not so little in my humble opinion. Today my calves would agree with that assessment.

One of my favorite things to do when hiking is to torture my husband. He is not fond of heights. Flying, he’s okay. Standing on the precipice of a mountain 1300 feet from the ground, not so much. So, since I am such a sick and twisted cookie, my torment of choice is to dangle my feet off the edge of said precipice then email the picture to him. Here is the picture I sent him yesterday. Observe:

Heh.

I was informed in a cell call not five minutes later that it was indeed not funny.

Voulez-voulez-vous acrophobia

I have re-discovered hiking. I used to be outside all the time, I got itchy sitting round the house on my days off. I would even go in the rain with my waterproof gear. But then I got my server job, and having such a physical job made me lazy in my free time, and my hiking excursions tapered off to about one every month or so. I forgot how much I loved it. Now that I’m doing my personal training program, I’ve found that on my two “solo workout” days a week, on which I am supposed to do cardio only, it is rather unenjoyable to plod along on a treadmill for an hour staring at a television screen with dozens of other plodders staring at television screens. Last week, it occured to me: DUH! I live much closer to trails than I do to the gym, the weather has been rain-free albeit chilly, so why the hell am I not outside?

For a while, before I discovered the Alpine Lakes area, Mount Si was my favorite trail. It is an 8-mile round-trip hike, with a 3,300-foot elevation gain. It’s a doozie. The view from the top is unbelievable; you can see Mount Ranier and Mount Baker, not to mention the entire Cascade Mountain Range, which right now, is covered with snow. I’m thinking of heading out there today; there is just a tiny amount of snow at the top, but not so much as to impede my efforts. There’s blue skies and it’s about 47 degrees out, which it great for hiking since it lowers the nasty-funk-sweaty factor. The entire hike takes about four hours, which should make my trainer happy. I’m kicking my own ass in my free time.

The last time I hiked Mount Si I got a little cocky. I made it to the top in my own personal record time. So, on the way down, feeling spunky, I pretty much ran down the entire 4 miles. Life was good. I kicked ass.

At work the next morning, life was not so good.

At some point mid-morning, my quadriceps decided to not work anymore. They just gave up. Serving tables with retired thigh muscles is not altogether that easy. But, I struggled through it. I almost made it through the morning until I turned the corner out of the kitchen with a tray of mimosas and in a big “f— you” gesture, my legs gave way. Right there in the hall. I was covered in orange juice and champagne. As I had done this to myself, I received little sympathy from my manager. What I did receive, however, were a round of guffaws from my co-workers. Bastards.

So, needless to say, from that point on, I left my ego at the top. I think it’s still hangin’ around up there someplace. I’ll have to look for it when I get up there this afternoon.

voulez-voulez-vous see ya.

>Mac keyboards aren’t waterproof.

For some reason mine just stopped working when I tipped over 16 ounces of water on it.

I was jipped.

voulez-voulez-vous jipped.

>Just what the hell is “teh?

Be gentle.

>Of things I dislike. Enjoy.

1. The word “however”. As in, “it looks like a mosquito bite, however, it could be a flesh-eating bacterium…”

2. Flexi-straws that split when you expand them, and you get this half-fluid half-air combo that bulges through your esophagus in the most uncomfortable way.

3. Comments on my blog calling me a “diry little slut”. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone, you.

4. When the Spurs lose to shitty teams.

5. I know I have covered velour jogging suits, but my hate of them has been renewed thanks be to a new mutant strain of the as-of-yet incurable trophy-wife epidemic: the velour jogging suit featuring the wearer’s initial as the zipper pull. Christ help me.

6. Those little animated advertisements on channels like Spike and Comedy Central that appear in the lower left corner of the show you’re currently watching. They’ve even integrated sound effects. Bastards.

7. This one I find more amusing than annoying but here goes: those ads for pharmaceutical companies that go along touting the miraculous benefits of the drug they’re advertising, then possible side effects. Observe: “(name of drug here) may cause nausea, vomiting, headache, gastrointestinal blockage, bleeding from the eyes and ears, paranoia, hair loss, and in extreme cases, has been known to cause people to be hit by a bus. Contact your physician if these side effects persist for longer than a week.”

8. Slow news days. “Why your favorite dog treat can be a danger to your beloved pet. Only on WTF7 news, at 11.”

9. Censors who, rather than just leave a silent pause in place of the profane word, instead dub over a completely new word in a voice quite unlike the actor’s which delivers none of the passion of the original word. “What the (fudge) are you doing?” “I’m gettin this (spit) out of my car.” “Well hurry up. I gotta get home to my (priss) of a girlfriend.”

10. The fact that I went to Barnes & Noble on October 29th and they already had their Christmas shit out. I think it’s the goal of retailers to just obliterate Thanksgiving altogether.

Voulez-voulez-vous mmkay.

>
Yesterday was a good day.

We went to my grandparent’s house, only because we meant to go Wednesday but Grandpa had a Dr.’s appointment so the visit needed to be postponed ’till Friday.

So, we went yesterday. I don’t visit them very often for two reasons:

(keeping in mind I love my grandmother dearly…)

1. They live 2 hours away
2. Every time I visit, I am made very aware of every medical condition my grandmother is afflicted with. And repeatedly updated on the status of daily bodily functions. I feel this falls under the rubric of “eww”. But I let her go on. Not much else for her to talk about.

Lately, though, she has begun a new trend which, though has nothing to do with ailments or bathroom activities, is almost as disturbing.

She has been taking me on tours around the house showing me what she’s going to give me when she dies.

“This ceramic dog…do you like it? It’s for you when I die.”
“Do you like these dishes? This ladle? This will be…all for you.”

She also makes sure to let me know what my mother is getting so I know what I will be getting when my mother kicks off.

“This curio cabinet is for your mom, so you’ll get it when she dies.”
“You like this clock? You’ll get it someday.”

If ever I want a mortality check, I’ll go to my grandmother’s.

My grandfather, however, is a different story.

“Hey, grandpa…how are you?”
“Old and ugly.”

This is his usual response.

When informed that my 9-year old cousin was spending the night at her friend’s house, and that her friend was a boy, his opinion was: “she ain’t spendin’ no night at no boy’s house!”
My grandmother to the defense: “He has leukemia!”
His counter: “I ain’t carin’ if he got syphilis!”

So, I spent about 4 hours at my grandparents house, being shown my inheritance inventory which unfortunately did not include the remodeled ’67 mustang with factory paint job and 120,000 miles nor the ’65 Plymouth Barracuda occupying the basement. Maybe when my mom and uncles die. Grandma predicts that they will all die from diabetes and cancer, so we’ll see how long I’ll have to wait. She hasn’t informed me of what I’m gonna die from. Suppose I’ll have to wait for that, too. Bollocks.

So, we began our 2-hour cruise home, and on the way, despite the fact that my husband and I are on his Nazi-esque boot camp diet and fitness program, I made him take me to Hooter’s for some hot wings. It’s my damn birthday. I’m gonna eat what I want on my birthday. Trainer be damned.

And, bonus! The Sonics game was on and we were seated right in front of the TV. Sonics sucked ass, but the wings were tasty. Good birthday so far. Waitress kinda forgot about us after a while, probably because she had several tables with some rather cute GI’s to flirt with. Cha-ching.

Great location for a Hooter’s, though. It’s right near Ft. Lewis which is where, coincidentally, I was born. Thirty years ago. Funny, that.

The evening ended with hubby and I chillin in the recliner and couch respectively watching “The Longest Yard” on Pay-Per-View. That was a kick-ass movie. We’re gonna watch it again before it passes it’s 24-hour expiration. Stone Cold Steve Austin shitting himself was one of the funniest damn things I’ve seen in a while. Too bad it won’t carry over to Smackdown! or Monday Night Raw. Triple-H or John Cena would start having “shit yourself matches” where the one who shits themselves first loses. They could have a World Shitter Title belt. Eww…carrying this too far, I am.

So, I didn’t go out partying all night and getting blitzed to celebrate a monumental birthday. I spent it with my family and my husband, and some hot wings, and it was more than awesome.

Voulez-voulez-vous hollah.