Twitter in 60 Seconds
…because social networking isn’t for everyone (my mom)

• I’ll believe the yarmulke to be a truly religious hat when it starts staying on without bobby pins.
• Gang membership interview questions: Can you kill someone? More importantly, can you draw bubble letters?
• Dad, if it weren’t for you I’d be on the streets somewhere… administering vaccines to poor people because I could have been a doctor.
• Just saw a billboard that advises us to “Act our wage.” I’ll be right back. I have to go put a lot of shit on a porch.
• Do you think it’s okay to drink while you’re pregnant if you’re going to send your kids to a community college anyway?
• My love affair with Taco Bell ended like so many other love affairs; with an ill-placed pubic hair.
• It must have been awkward for the writers to pitch the movie “Horrible Bosses” to their horrible bosses.
• TLC’s “19 Kids and Counting” would be way cooler if it was “19 Kids and Subtracting.”
• Reason for J Lo and Marc Anthony’s divorce sited as ‘irreconcilable differences in looks.’
• City lights are so pretty until I remember all those lights are just janitors cleaning.
• If you want to be a good person and a bad person at the same time, brag about doing volunteer work.
• The fact that psychic shops stay open for business tells me our future is bleak.
• We should give cops more credit because they risk their lives…. every time they drive home drunk.
• Don’t hate the playa or the game. Just hate the person who uses that phrase.
• Why do we call Stripclubs “Gentlemen’s Clubs?” As far as I knew, “gentlemen” went down on the Titanic, not on emotionally starved women.
• When Freddie Mercury of Queen was writing his amazing rock songs, do you think he was thinking, “These are going to go awesome in a high school basketball game”?
• Just met a really religious guy. We had nothing in common because I’m Catholic
• Game time decision, need answers: Is it okay to drink and drive if you have a really annoying friend in the passenger seat?
• Saw a billboard that said, “Get High School Skinny.” They forgot the rest of the sentence, “Assuming You Were in High School Before 1980.”
• I’m not saying the mothers on “Toddlers and Tiaras” should have had an abortion. What I am saying is, their mothers should have.
• If I go missing, I really hope the news uses a good pic of me; one so good that if someone saw me captive they wouldn’t even recognize me.
• I want to have kids so I can go out clubbing.

Columns

Paying an Emotional Price for Discount Shopping

When I’m not shopping, I spend my time at the finest stores. But, when it comes to actually spending money, like a bad shirt, I’ve been reduced. Every shred of dignity I’ve earned from throwing unworthy Michael Kors handbags at a saleswoman goes out the window when I enter a discount retailer.

But, what do you do when you don’t own a pair of sneakers, you’ve got a weekend of McDonald’s to sweat out and only $30 in your checking account? You go shopping at Nordstrom Rack, of course.
If you’ve never been to Nordstrom Rack, it’s like a T.J. Maxx but with a slight bit of hope attached to it. You hear “Nordstrom” and you think, “Well, it can’t be that bad.” But, going there on a Saturday night will keep your self-esteem emptier than the wallet that got you there.

Upon entering the store I wasn’t greeted by an employee. I’d have to go to Wal-mart for that kind of A+ service. At Nordstrom Rack, they welcome you with a security guard, some perfume I assume is called “Desperation” by Trying Too Hard and a mountain of shoes one can only assume has buried several unwanted children.

As I approached Mt. Killimanshoe, my heart ached. It ached for the employee whose job it is to organize the forlorn shoes. I mumble to myself, “Who was this employee in a past life to warrant such a terrible career? Hitler?” I could have sworn I heard one of the shoes whisper “help me,” but I realized it was just a saleswoman at her breaking point.

After nearly thirty minutes of failed phone calls to my father for money and another thirty of actual sneaker searching, I found a few pairs that didn’t warrant suicide. Unfortunately, though, I couldn’t give them much of a test run because the shoes were cuffed together with extra strength plastic cable ties; the kind used as makeshift handcuffs. It’s also used in retail stores where it’s assumed shoplifters frequent.

I tried desperately to sever the impenetrable plastic so I could give the sneakers a quick test run. But, the plastic was so strong that if Ted Bundy were still alive and bound with it I’d feel quite comfortable, maybe even slightly cozy, sitting next to him in a desolate field somewhere wearing nothing but my new shoes.

Ripping the plastic with my teeth didn’t work and because had I left my handy Jaws of Life at home, I decided to test them out wearing just one sneaker. I tried to simulate what it would feel like to jog in the sneaker but the other shoe dragged behind like a gimp foot. It was like I was dragging a ball and chain, reminding myself that there really is a debtors prison and I’m in it.

I decided to put both of the shoes on at the same time. But, I couldn’t take a step wider than half an inch. I ended up shuffling up and down the isles trying to get a feel for the fit like an old man trying to keep a beat on the dance floor. Or, better yet, Charlie Chaplin.

Finally, I gave up and waved the white flag. Well, actually, I just started throwing around some white t-shirts from the plus size department but I knew that meant it was time to go. I grabbed whatever sneakers were the cheapest and made my way to the register.

“Is dat all?” the cashier enunciates. “Your total is $24.75.”

“Okay,” I say. “How much is that perfume?”

“Desperation by Trying Too Hard?” the cashier says. “Dat’s $5″

“I’ll take it.”

Wine Institute of Walgreens

I’m at work, wearing an apron, covered in bar-b-que sauce and regret. It’s just another day waiting tables. Everything is going terribly, that is, until a middle-aged man is seated alone in my section. That’s not the good part. Let me explain.

He’s another semi-bald, personality starved businessman I have to please like it’s 1865. If I didn’t look down to see what I was wearing, I would assume it’s just a bustier with a name tag that says, “Wench Kristen.” I think to myself, “Yes. Awesome. Cool. This is really going to go great.”

I approach him with all the fake enthusiasm I can muster. “Hi, how are you? I’m Kristen and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” He doesn’t look up. Silence. “Okay? Can I start you with something to drink?” His eyes are still fixed on the menu and I’ve yet to be acquainted with anything but his bald spot. “Give me your cheapest glass of red wine,” he says arrogantly.

Okay. I’m fine with ordering the cheapest glass of wine on the menu. That’s O.K. However, I’m not cool with it being requested with unbridled confidence. Personally, I suggest slouching slightly, or giving the server a nod or a look of apology, or even a slight raise of the inside corners of your eyebrows. This tells me that you, like the wine you’ve chosen, are humble.

But, I don’t have time to judge. I know this type of patron will consider any lagging on the job a dollar-by-dollar subtraction from my predictable 12% tip. So, I hustle to and from Walgreens, I mean, the bar, to bring him his crummy glass of wine.

I set the glass of wine down as elegantly as possible, which can’t possibly be elegant. I pivot to walk away but before I make my escape, he motions for me to stay while he tests the glass.

“Strange,” I thought, being that wine is generally tested when a full bottle is ordered.

I felt like a voyeur watching as he dramatically dipped his nose as deep into the glass as it could go. He flicked his head back, no hair available to go with it, and let the wine wash over his tongue. Suddenly, he paused and starred into space like a squirrel in the middle of the road, taunting an oncoming motorist.

I’d like to imagine while he was gazing at nothing, he was thinking, “I’m really wasting this girl’s time.” But, when he shook his head in disgust and said, “This wine is no good,” I’m pretty confident “my time” wasn’t on his mind.

“Well, what are you expecting?” I fantasized shouting. “It’s a $4 glass of wine!”

But, it was a lot easier opting for an apology. I didn’t have to search very far for shallowness and I quickly faked a valley-girl voice, “Oh, nooo! I’m so sorry. Let me open a brand new bottle for you!”

I, once again, rush back to Walgreens (the bar) but am stopped in my tracks. “Ah ha!” I realize I can finally, after years of humiliation, get justice for all the servers that have gone before me. This is my, no… our, moment of liberation.

In what is the boldest attempt at getting myself fired from the notoriously dehumanizing service industry, I concoct a plan with the bartender. We conspire to reuse the same wine the businessman has deemed to be “no good” and only replace the glass.

The plan is simple; if he rejects the “new” glass of wine, he’s right, the wine is bad and he has our respect. But, approve of the “new” wine and revenge will be served hot, even if it’s just amongst the justice-starved, giggling servers in the back.

I bring back the same wine, carefully set it on his table and apologize for the first glass. I tell him this glass is from a brand new bottle (wink, wink). And, once again he swirls, wafts and swirls some more.

Finally, after what seems like an hour of foreplay, he shakes his head up and down, smiles at me with his now purple teeth and said, “Oh, yes. This is much better.”

I drift into a superb fantasy where confetti shoots into the air, balloons release, buzzers wail and a neon sign drops from the ceiling that flashes, “ASSHOLE!”

I fade back into reality but for the first time waiting tables, a genuine smile grows from ear to ear. I say in a sincere voice, “That’s Great! What can I get you to eat?”

And, just when I think I’m done judging the man he says, “I’ll take the steak, well done.”