Pretty Aunt Nancy's Home Page
STOP, DROP AND SCROLL!!
A little bit about me: I am 3/4 Jewish and 1/4 Showbiz. Deal with it!
A cheap and easy way to child-proof your house: Get a couple of really big glue traps. Put cookies in them.
You can find out why I hate my aunt.
Good News On The Health FrontThere are people who are sexually turned on by colostomy bags. Any one of us might eventually need one. It's good to know that there is " a lid for every pot."
Someone also mentioned to me that for those who don't have the bag, but are in love with a colostomy lover, you can get a bag, take a crap in it, and glue it to your abdomen. Simple as pie and no fuss.
I've got my Aunt Assie visiting for the holidays, so look for an update shortly. Aunt Assie is quite the character.....Well, Aunt Assie left after a long, long stay. Her real name is Elsie, but nobody calls her that. She has a huge hindquarter. Hindhalf would be more appropriate. Not only that, but she doesn't wipe like you would want her to. I know, not just because I've been doing her laundry for weeks, but because she has a favorite spot on the sofa, and when I lay down on the sofa, I could almost faint from the "polite reminder".
Anyhow, she's gone and she'll be back, so I don't want to talk bad about her. But, over time, I will.
Starting the new year fresh on 12-29-99 at
I used to order lattes and cappuccinos when I was out at those kind of places where you do that. I don't bother anymore. I just say, "I'll have a cup of coffee." And then I put a few Equals and some cream in it. The lattes and cappuccinos just aren't that good when you have some minimum wage pimple faced bastard fixing it with no pride and probably he/she isn't even of legal age to drink coffee anyway. They never get it right and they charge almost three dollars for a gussied up cup of coffee in a pretty glass. What's the point. I'll just have a cup of coffee and I suggest you do the same, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
BASTARDS AT BORDERS
For some reason, I can't find the web page where I wrote bad things about the coffee jerks at Borders. But someone found it because she wrote me an angry e-mail. It was a poorly written missive telling me how smart she and her fellow coffee jerks are, and how they look down on the people who sit there and drink coffee. It was funny. I guess you have to read it. But you can't. I lost it. Also, I think she was under 18, and I don't want to be involved with minors on the internet in any way. I'm scared of laws.
My brief but concise explanation of Quantum Physics.
I almost hate to go to restaurants because I usually leave in a bad mood. It just seems like I attract bad service. I may be hypersensitive as most former waitpersons are. But I don't think that's it. It's been many years since I waited on tables and even back then I was more empathetic to the servers than to the customers.
I think it may be that the minimum wage was raised too high and they don't have to worry so much about tips. I don't know.
I recently saw a web page by a waitress who said we should automatically give twenty percent because the IRS taxes at that rate. I think she is incorrect, but even if it was true, so what. I wrote back the following:
Twenty percent is only for good service. We don't have to tip you according to your IRS problems. Take your whiny ass problems to the irs. We are not responsible for the Guvmint or for your employer. If you do a good job, and you don't and you know it, and you know who you are, you can have twenty percent, but you aren't entitled to twenty percent just because you call yourself a waitress, take my order and basically forget about me and the condiments I asked for.
I'll tell you what. When I get breakfast and coffee, and get a little cup of coffee and no refills, and I've hardly tucked into my breakfast, and I don't see my waitress until the check and tip time, my meal has been ruined and I got some bitch with her hand out.
To tell you the truth, I'd prefer if the waitress just said, at the beginning, "The coffee pot is over there. Just help yourself if I'm too busy (chatting with coworkers and flirting with the cook).
One Italian restaurant I frequent because of it's location is called *****. Our family always orders the same crap. And they never get it right. They bring out parts at a time. Like, my salad and then there's a long wait for the kids' food. We usually order breadsticks with roasted peppers. It's supposed to be together because you put the peppers on the soft breadsticks. So they bring out the bread or the peppers seperately and it's 20 minutes before they get the other thing out.
They hide in the kitchen so you can't find them. Sometimes I have to actually go to the service area to get my own sweet and low which I asked for with my iced tea.
There are a few restaurants in the area where the service is good but the staff invariably has B.O. It's very distracting.
Once I went to one of the B.O. restaurants by myself for lunch. I ate and left and was in my car about to start the ignition when the driver's side door opened. I screamed. The waiter was there with my sweater, telling me I forgot it. It was nice of him to come out, but a tap on the window would have been even nicer.
The thing that makes me the maddest is the end-of-the-meal-tip-shuffle. This is when the waiter who has been ignoring you throughout the meal starts sucking up right around your last bite of food. He's at your table ten times now to make sure everything is okay. Where was he when you wanted a fork and a coffee refill? Bastard!
I recently wrote a complaint on my webpage about Pier 1 Imports. In the complaint, I called the cashier a cash register whore. For expedience in complaining directly to Pier 1, I just copied what was on my web page and forgot to take out the word "whore." Don't anyone make this same mistake. I'm quite sure they won't be sending me any gift certificates.
THE PEOPLE THAT BROUGHT ME INTO THIS WORLD
In other news, my elderly parents bought a big car, as Jews their age are supposed to. So now they figure they have to take a long drive. It must be some concept they learned from the I Love Lucy gang driving to California. And you know how that turned out!
So they decided to drive up to Canada, but then the forecast called for rain. So they decided to go to New Orleans, but the forecast called for heat and humidity. The morning of their departure, they decided to drive to Michigan.
They only have ten days and I don't think they'll make it. They have to pull over every 30 minutes to use the bathroom and my mother won't drive because the car is too big. She wanted a big car because she had one when she was a teenager. But that was back when she could see over the steering wheel.
They have been fighting like dolphins and tuna for the last week, so I would like to be a fly on the wall of the car.