Mr. Bojangles May Be a National Star!!!
November 21, 2012 Written by One Classy Motha
I have some exciting news, Mr. Bojangles has an opportunity to star in a national TV commercial! This is the email I received…
They must have heard of his talents through my letter to our local bank, WSFS. Or maybe it’s because we’ve purchased a shitload of fish oil tablets from them and they expect his coat will radiate under the camera lights. In truth, the fish oil tablets were for us…what? they have better prices than Vitamin World.
Brian says that I’m being ridiculous and that they probably sent this email out to everyone. To that I say, “It must suck to be so pessimistic”.
Anyway, before entering Mr. B, I wanted to take a look at his competition. Here are a few entries:
Hi! I’m Oates! I am curious, a little bit sneaky and full of energy, but I’m always game for a cozy snuggle session. Vote for me!
Oates, I’ve got three words for you…Pre. dict. able.
Love getting gifts in the mail from PetMeds…
Nice sucking up. I’m sure that strategy will pay off. (psst, it’s customers voting, not the CEO).
I’m blind but I can still see you daddy!
OMG, you’re going for the sympathy vote, really? “Papa, are you there?”
Why don’t you just add that he only has 1 month to live and his dying wish is to star in a 1-800-PetMeds Commercial?
What “Stage” do I report to? I’m here to shoot the commercial!!
Is that dog wearing bedazzled shoes? WTF? Don’t lower that car window lady, ’cause this dog’s looking to jump.
After sizing up the competitors, I decided Mr. Bojangles was a real contender. So I stuck a bow tie on him, set up a professional photo shoot, and wrote an elegant introduction. Then I remembered that I bought him in front of a Taco Bell for $49 and he sometimes shits on my rugs. If Bo was going to win, I wanted him to do it by being himself.
Hello ladies, my name is Mr.Bojangles. In my free time I enjoy rolling in deer poo, drinking from the toilet, and nights out at the Litter Box Sushi Bar. When I’m not busy crapping on area rugs, I can usually be found eating rolls of toilet paper and snacking on Halls mentho-lyptus cough drops.
If I win, a portion of my winnings will go towards establishing a Non-profit organization that supports sufferers of PTNS (Post Traumatic Neutering Syndrome), it will be called Paws Without Balls. Our mission will be to provide counseling and, in some cases, reconstructive surgery for suffering canines in the Tri-State area.
A vote for me is a vote for compassion and testicular love (in the Tri-State Area).
Now I know you’re all excited to vote, but voting doesn’t actually open until November 29th. Don’t fret, I’ll send out a reminder on that date, along with the voting link for Mr. Bojangles.
Our family truly appreciates your support!
Tips for Tuesday! Want a better restaurant experience?
November 20, 2012 Written by One Classy Motha
Before I tell you today’s tip, I need to give you a little back story. I’ll try to keep it brief and leave out some of the bitching. (If you skim the text you’ll see I had problems keeping it brief)
About a year ago, Brian and I decided that we were going to try a new downtown restaurant because a few of our friends had been there and had given it a thumbs up. We were excited but, like any abnormal couple, we needed to do a little research first.
After a few days of reading reviews, memorizing the online menu, interviewing past guests, and studying the floor plans provided to us by the county, we made a reservation for two.
Advice: When choosing a restaurant, choose it like you’re looking for a life partner.
Our Dinner
The restaurant was modern but warm, and beautifully decorated. We were seated in a one-bench curved booth, the kind where you’re forced to sit awkwardly next to one another while watching other diners eat. I ordered a martini. Problem solved.
But problems began again when the food was served. ugh. I get so bent out of shape when discussing this meal that I don’t even want to get into it…so much was wrong. Food was sent back, ingredients were missing, etc. And believe it or not, before that night, we had never sent anything back to a kitchen…ever! They had turned us into “those people”.
breathe kim. breathe.
The Fallout
Brian hates to bitch or complain to anyone unless it’s to (or about) friends or family. So imagine my surprise when he wrote a letter to the owner of the restaurant to inform him of our disappointment. I was very proud of him…and then this happened…
We received a response from the owner saying that he had taken our letter seriously. Turns out he was not in the restaurant that evening and had left his sous chef in charge. As a result of our letter, he demoted the sous chef and fired the pastry chef. AND he shared our letter with his staff. OH SHIT.
Later that evening, as we were laying in bed, we heard a car with a loud muffler slowly cruising down the street, then we heard a loud boom, then the car tearing away. We glanced out the window and saw nothing out of the ordinary, so we went back to sleep.
In the morning, I found our mailbox on the ground decorated with a size 12 shoe print.
Me: “Hey Brian, by any chance did you put your last name and address on that letter?”
Him: “Maybe” He totally did. Classic rookie move.
Your Tip is coming (that’s what she said! sorry)
Thanks for being so patient. The obvious tip is to use a fake name when complaining but that’s not where I’m going with this.
We received a coupon recently for this very same restaurant. Well, maybe not recently. We’ve been sitting on this coupon like it were a ticking time bomb. But we decided to give it one more try because we’re twisted and beg for abuse like that.
We made the reservations under my maiden name and planned to pay in cash for fear that we would be identified. So now that our identities were safe, how could I ensure we would be served a well cooked meal? hmmm? Then I found the answer waiting for me at the bottom of my margarita (where all the best ideas are kept)…
PRETEND TO BE A FOOD CRITIC!
You’ll need:
1. glasses
2. a professional looking notebook (do not use your kid’s Spongebob folder)
3. a pen (again, not your kid’s)
4. a judgemental expression (fortunately, this comes natural to me)
Steps:
1. When you first sit down, relax, chit chat with the waiter, order your drink.
2. When the waiter comes back, ask him his name. When he answers, pull out your notebook, ask him how he spells it (I don’t care if his name is Bob, ask him), and jot it down. He’ll ask why you’re writing his name down and you should answer very cryptically “Just curious. This is absolutely NOT for a food column” *wink*
3. As each course is served, I want you to pull out your notebook, take a bite of food, nod, jot notes. And look bitchy while doing it. Like this…
Of course, you can take real notes if you like. But I prefer to spend my time drawing scenes from my life.
“My Mornings” by K.S.
I recommend you continue your notes right through dessert and into your after-dinner cordial. Though Brian didn’t think that was necessary…
4. Once the waiter hands you the bill and says “Have a great night folks!”, you can either give up the gig or really round out your performance with a “Can I quote you on that?”. It’s up to you and your acting ability.
I believe this is a fool-proof way to experience the best food and service that a restaurant is capable of providing. And I must say, we had a terrific meal thanks to me- but Brian thinks it was a coincidence. I swear I don’t get enough credit in this household, so try this and validate me, please.
A Complaint Letter to Nestle – Give Me A Break!
November 19, 2012 Written by One Classy Motha
Dear Nestle,
Let me begin by giving you a little background.
My love affair for the Kit Kat bar goes back to my childhood. Every time my grandmother came to visit she would bring me a Kit Kat and a dollar bill, sneaking them both into my pocket like it was our little secret. They have a delicious hold on my heart. Of course, one could argue that I’ve become conditioned to love Kit Kats, much like Pavlov’s dog salivated over that stupid bell. But that’s not the case. If it were, I’d crave a wine cooler every time I smelled patchouli and sat on a couch with questionable stains. But that’s another story.
So last week, when I performed my daily Kit Kat eating ritual, this happened:
I unwrapped my Kit Kat Bar
I broke the bars into sections so that I could savor each one individually.
I acknowledged the bar and thanked it for its sacrifice (I learned that from my studies of the American Indian)
I sang the song “Give me a break, give me a break, break me off a piece of that Kit Kat bar!”
I bit into the bar…but whaaaat??? No “snap” happened! NO. SNAP. HAPPENED.
Suddenly, questions were swirling around my head
Why didn’t I hear a crunch? Where’s my cookie wafer? What’s my purpose in life? Why does my dog always crap on my area rugs and never the hardwood floor?
In an attempt to avoid the dramatic, I’ll just say that everything I knew to be good and true in the world came crashing down the moment I bit into that soulless chocolate stick. Everyone knows that the cookie wafer is the heart of the Kit Kat bar and the crunch is the heart’s beating.
What shenanigans are going on up there?
Nestle, please explain how, in today’s world of quality control, a travesty of this nature could have happened. Nothing in life is certain anymore.
I was forced to drink my Cabernet wine (from the Napa region) with a chocolate chip…a chocolate stinking chip. The reality of it all made me cry. I cried for my grandmother, for my childhood memories, for my wine glass that shattered into a thousand tiny pieces when I screamed “NOOOOO!”. Shattered like my heart…like my heart, Nestle.
If, and I said “IF”, I can go back to Kit Kats, do you promise me this won’t happen again? If so, please tell me the precautions you are taking to ensure this. Just like anyone in a relationship with an inanimate object, I need to feel safe. Nestle, make me feel safe again. “Give me a break”.
Sincerely,
Kim S
