Saturday, December 19, 2009

another cautionary tale: I love Bars

I love a bar. So much that I had a wall removed in my kitchen to install a bar top. Lord knows I don't use the kitchen that much. Mama prefers to yell in a clown's mouth for dinner than to pull out the pots and pans. Besides, I don't want to disturb the mice that live in the cupboards- we have an agreement I don't hassle them and they don't bug me.

So, I put in a bar- I figured, I feel so at home in a bar I would feel -finally- more comfortable in my own shack if I had a bar. But it hasn't stopped me.

I realized this morning as I stumbled for ALIEVE at 6.a.m that isn't just the bar I love. Don't get me wrong, I love the drinks too. I have a new found admiration for Japanese Whiskey but he hates me back. It's like the worst relationship you ever had - Taylor Swift could write a song about me and Whiskey's codependent relationship.

But, my point is this: I love a bar. Not a dirty, smoky bar but a nice bar. I am weak for a marble counter top or even granite, either beats my formica counter tops. (Cut to vision: one day I will be glamorous and drinking on my bathroom floor from a box of wine while recovering from facelift and yelling at the help... a girl can dream.)

But mostly I love a bartender. Have you noticed the best drinking establishments hire the most attractive staff? And there I sit, hanging off either end of the barstool flirting my ass off and the only thing getting action is my credit card's bar tab... so children I tell you this is a cautionary tale: The bartender is working- not working you. Give up the fight.

It's like strippers... have you ever noticed that every stripper is working their way through school? They don't want to strip forever. No! And, honestly, they like you. You're nice and they are so glad to talk to you... There's going to be a wave of attractive, well educated, Doctors and Lawyer- former-strippers. Look out for it and remember I told you first.

So save yourself a lifetime of heartache and turn on the Days of Our Lives with that box of wine next to your recliner. Don't waste time on bartenders with big smiles and strong drinks. You'll just end up throwing up out the window of a taxi cab in the drive through of McDonalds while begging for extra BBQ sauce for your McNugget. (It's best to eat your feelings with BBQ sauce or Hot Mustard depending on your personal preferences.)

Seasons greetings, be safe

Thursday, December 17, 2009

BaHumBug Crocs

I do love the Christmas season. I love the little childrens singing, I love the Christmas time lighting in my neighbors' yards, I even put up a wreath (although upon close inspection it is bent from where I got it on sale a few years ago at a discount wholesaler that rhymes with Schmaller Schmrenal). I don't like to give free plugs to retailers this time of year but I do enjoy discount decorations. Anyways, I enjoy the holidays and mostly the eggnogs and chocolate covered varieties of things. Do you know any given carbohydrate will do as long as it's dipped in chocolate. Anything is better covered in chocolate- except fried chicken, that was a greecey mistake. And one time with an ex, that was not our best decision, the clean up is not as romantical as you thought when first setting out in your Valentine fondue experience.... but back to the holidays.

I love it, the store signs, the garland, the mistletoe...However, I don't enjoy shopping. I find myself impatient with people- lots of people. Most people. I was at this one big store we will call Schmacy's and there was a woman in one of those hover-around vehicles. I am not a prejudice person and Lawd knows I don't park in the handi-capable spots unless I am just running in to get something real fast. But, this heifer was moving slow until I walked up there and she had to run up behind me like I was in her way. I had been waiting behind her, trying not to disturb, so I went around her - a whole isle around because I respect boundaries. Again, I try to put Christ in Christmas and get out of her way. Until... it happened again. I find myself shuffling over to look at something I don't even want just to give her space. Why am I looking at Martha Stewart Mellon Ballers? Oh wait, Schmartha, oh to hell with it- you know what I was looking at. And, I don't even like melons. No, damn it, I want to look at bathrobes and Miss Big Wheels in my way again now. So, I move on over there and you know what happened? She rolled up on me. I turned around and jokingly said, "Can I see your insurance card ma'am?" She didn't think that was at all funny. She just grunted.... a grunt? If she had been in a Honda instead of a hover-around I could have sued. I've seen the commercials I am entitled to a settlement.

Well children, let's just say I was pleasant. I moved over to the vacuum cleaners section. But there she was again. Now how can you come up in between me and my lustfulness for a Dyson? At this point this woman had followed me around the store for more than half an hour. She had done ran up on my leg -and she was rude. I even offered at one point to help her pick up tray she couldn't reach. Do you know what I got? Nothing. No "thank you"... no "excuse me." She should have been picking up a scale is what she should have been putting in that basket. I love big people- but I can't handle rude big people. (Yes the windows in my glass house roll down so that I can throw the stones upon them.) I felt she had it out for me. I don't know why. I had tried to be nice and I had even tried to help her. But come between me and this dyson- you know they have been engineered for cleaning efficiency. No, this time she could move around me.

So, this was a spiteful little thing. But, I left the vacuum out that I had been pretending was mine. In my fantasy it was in my foyer, that I do not yet have. And, I took petty comfort as I heard the beeping sound of her reversing out the vacuum area.

I tell you one thing: this is a cautionary tale children. My spiteful karma got me in the end. I got home and found out my second order of Crocs has been cancelled. Now, I hate crocs, but some knot head in my family put it on his Christmas list. In my day crocs were loafers made of expensive endangered materials that I could not afford. Now they are plastic shoes with big holes in them? And the Crocs folks don't even email you to tell you the order is cancelled. They don't call you, or email or write you a letter like in the olden days. They don't twitter but you can follow- them there. Ironically, it's a one-way communication with the Crocs folks. Give us your order and wait....Nope you check the order after a week and if it still says "processing" that means you're gonna be crock-less under the tree on Christmas morning. What am I to do? Put a picture of those damn ugly shoes in a box? "Here you go, Santa's a little behind this year" No, I am a giver. I will go back out to Schmacy's and find some ugly Crocs in a size 11- so we can look at those big ugly clown shoes with holes in them. I just hope I don't run into that Big Wheel lady. She might drag me down the escalator behind her assault hover vehicle.

I hate crocs, but I do love eggnog

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Rules of travel

Since it's Holiday Travel Time I want to let in on some fun rules of travel:
If I were writing for the NewYorker and if I believed in subtitles it would say:

I spent 13 hours getting no where. 4 airlines; 3 delays and 2 cancelations

passengers bill of rights, is non-refundable. I hate the airlines. If I ran my business that way I would be defunct... however we have to learn to be better passengers to each other.


1* Please do not pass gas. It is a small confined space and the smells are toxic. If no one guesses it was you, you still don't win. The same goes for number two in the lavaratory - wait damn it. The same goes for obnoxious food odors. Just because you want to eat it, doesn't mean I want to smell it for hours with no windows and recirculated air. Pizza hut "the works" tastes good to you but it doesn't sit too well with me in 19C

2* It is beyond rude to recline your seatback in COACH. The seats should not recline at all. I sustained a shattered hip and a broken fibulah I am sure. As soon as I find it and remove it from my pelvis, I will know if it is broken or dislocated. I didn't sign up for yoga 10,000 feet up. Worse yet. I only had pretzels and peanuts to comfort my pain.

3* No making out. While it may sound porno-hot, it is not a good idea. you are a spectacle for the poor fool in 19C who is forced to share the isle with the amorous couple- lucky me

4* DO NOT lean across the isle to stare out the window on the opposite side from you. Now I can imagine how disturbing this must feel for little newborn babies. Get out of my damn face with your big head and stupid face.

Bonus: dont bitch about your flight. odds are your co-passenger's wasn't any better and they don't give a fuxx about your layover or how you have something important to do that day. shove it. we are all strapped into the same gigantic aluminum suppository with wings hurling us above the earth at firey speeds. get a damn book and shut up

***my theory of the universe is that for every bad thing, you are due one good thing to come around. afterall it is the bad things that make the good things feel so good***

I'm so sick of Tiger Woods

So today I started to blog and tweet at work- but only about work stuff. This blog, however, is just for fun. It makes me think though, do you always want to be connected to work? I mean it's one thing that we are all hard wired in with our blackberry and iPhone and what not... I do miss the days of a thermal fax machine and a telegram. But now I am going to write about work as though I am not just at work ... do you think a bank teller rolls coins at home in his or her spare time? Does a Doctor play Doctor at home? (well I did date a foolish Doctor once and I can tell you that "stick out your tongue and say ahh" isn't the same at home) Does a pro golfer like to unwind and hit a few holes? Yes this is a Tiger Woods set up...

I am fairly fond of that transition... I am not fond of Tiger Woods. We need to get up off Tiger because too many people have been on top of him. The real victim as we all know is his family. I tell you one thing- when my Grand Mame found out Grandpa had been "going out on her" she tossed a pot of boiling beans on his head at the dinner table. Now, I don't condone violence- at all- not one bit. But, I think the greatest punishment for Mr. Woods is to leave him alone- forget all about him. I hope his wife can move on, too. It's not about net worth- it's about self worth.

And more importantly... stop giving publicity to the Ho's. Every good ho knows you keep it on hush-hush. Again, the best thing we can do is forget about these trashy slurts. I'm going to let you in on a little secret here- some juicy tid bids for my reader(s), I too had once been a ho. There's a time or two MotherBarry fell into the wrong bed with the wrong person. We all make mistakes. We all fall down (or lie down as the case may be) but we didn't go after money or a movie or a spread in People. That's tacky. That's the difference in having some class or being a sloppy piece of ... you get my drift. Now, don't go and paint a mental picture of MotherBarry in a leather jacket with ripped fishnets. That was a long time ago in a far away land- we all make mistakes. I think we have all waken up in a hotel with more mascara than Adam Lambert, a beating headache and no idea where our underoos might be ... and thought, "this wasn't my best decision." If you haven't you're a better person than me and we probably wouldn't be friends unless you like to pick up the tab. But, when you've made that bad decision with 14 hookers it's time to take the trash out with the garbage.

Remember- make love not war. And, if he's married he's cheating you just like he's cheating her.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

the blogger has two faces

So today my day job asked me to be a "Social Media Expert." Being that I only launched this blog yesterday (which is in no way related and just for fun) I thought to myself, " Damn, I am good." I am blog master of the Universe. But Social Media Expert just sounds a little over-powering. I mean the social part gets me. I still second guess my water glass at dinner or which fork to use. Don't you just hate when you drink after your kin folk? I mean, hopefully they are clean people but no body wants to think about drinking after Uncle Larry. I mean, he's been eating turkey and dressing and popping tums like Aunt Lorna pops valium. And, since they're married I might be getting some residual valium with the turkey which likely explains why I am so tired. All this time I thought it was Epstein Barr (no relation to Roseanne Barr who I find fascinating although tiring as well.) So you see there's a lot of pressure being a social expert of any sort.

I prefer the title FACEBOOK CZAR. Of course I get no pay raise for any of this but it makes me more insufferable at cocktail parties. Guess what I am now... that's right a CZAR. Well I hope you are feeling empowered by my rise to this thrown. Maybe you can work the checkout counter at Woolworth's one day too if you put your mind to it and stop giving people those crazy eye looks. Back to the day job-
Mother Barry

I guess I don't need to sign every blog moving forward, you might guess who this is after a while

Monday, December 14, 2009


Welcome to my blog. Today, I am a blogger. It is official, I am a writer, in fact. Or is it... I am, in fact, a writer? You are about to learn that I don't know the rules of punctuation but I am generally very punctual. I also don't know much about conjugation, or is that when you have a relations with your husband in prison? See, I tell you I don't know these things. This is about to be an adventure, and experience. (note my love of the "," comma). I am a commaholic.

I also tend to go on rants but I'll save you the boring stuff like how I am mad that my queso dip was left out of the bag today and a squirrel danced on the hood of my bmw and scratched it all to hell. I won't bother you with my political views because you should see your own views for yourself. My goal is to tell you a story everyday. If you don't like me- get to know me better. Because I am Mother Barry.