Archive | February, 2013

Happy Birthday, You Old Bitch

22 Feb

I’ve recently developed a complex where I’m afraid that I’m old. Obviously, at the ripe age of 26, I’m not ACTUALLY old. I’m scared that I am mentally old. I’m having a hard time staying up past 11 PM on school nights – I used to stay awake till 4 am like a god damn tweaker, dicking around on the internet and listening to undiscovered bands on their Myspace pages (yeah, so did I mention I’m old?) Now, I’ll pass out halfway through an hour long show taped on the DVR, snoring and even drooling once in a great while.

I’m scared that my dayjob has turned me into a middle-aged woman overnight who complains about the price of cereal in a grocery store (six bucks, really?!) and wears nothing but cardigans and orthopedic looking shoes. I just bought a new car- my first concern was that it would look too much like a “mommy-mobile” for a 26 year old unmarried girl with no kids.

So anyway, last night I’m opening my bar for the shift. A large group of young, extremely pretty girls (all of them blonde- is this some sort of cult?) is anxiously waiting so they can order their juice vodka shooters. It is a birthday party. YAYYYY. They’re drinking and laughing, and the men who adore them are desperately trying to buy them more shots and take them home.

On the third round, one of them proposes a toast.

“As we all know, it’s Amber’s birthday. Since you’re the oldest one here, Amber, we just all want to wish you the best 23rd birthday in the world! Happy birthday, you old bitch!”

Harrumph. Cue eye roll.

Then I make the conscious effort to remind myself that it is all fun and games. I, too, was like that when I was 23.

Lighten up, right?



And then they start squealing.


Eyes narrow. Change in mood.

calm slap


Way to make me feel like I’m 90 years old… I already carry hard candies in my purse and call young folks “whippersnappers.” It’s just a matter of time before I completely lose it and start buying prune juice in bulk and hoarding Polydent.

What happened to the Chrissy that took shots and danced on the bar? I really am going to make a conscious effort to chill out and have a bit more fun. Like this guy:

lighten up


Get Me Something Disgusting

22 Feb

I had a group of young-ish guys as patrons last week.  Apparently, it was one of their birthdays.

As his good friend, one of the other guys wants to buy him a shot.

“Get me something disgusting,” he says.

 “Like what?”

 “I don’t know. A shot of Crown or something.”


Moment of silence here.

 Crown is my DRINK, y’all.  How dare he.

anger baby

The Slow Tongue Kiss

8 Feb


One thing that completely horrifies me and makes my skin crawl is when I have to watch the slow, romantic, gentle tongue kiss.  I see it and I instantly want to rip out my eyeballs, throw them to the ground, and stomp on them.  My disgust is magnified a thousand times over when I see it happen at night at the bar.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much.  But allow me to attempt to explain my frustration and disgust:

As you know, the bar is full of loud music and sweaty crowds.  These are not exactly the things that make a romantic setting.  Not during regular business hours anyway (might I note that I know of two blissfully happy long-term couples that had their first kiss at this particular bar).  I’m sure people have those “all-time-is-frozen-because-we-are-in-love” moments.  Read Another Lesbian Makeout Show (

Great. Fine.  But how the hell does that happen when people are ramming into you, sloshing their beers on you, screaming off-key karaoke into a microphone that blasts out over the speakers?  I don’t know. I just don’t see it.




old love

So last night was no exception.  I saw a young couple have the lingering gaze.  Slowly pull each other in.  Breathe each other’s breath.  Then sensually kiss, tongues probing.


That’s the part that kills me.  I’m terrified, eyes locked on the trainwreck in front of me, and I see the dude SLIP HIS TONGUE INTO HER MOUTH. Like a LOT of tongue.  AND SHE’S INTO IT! Barf.  I can’t look away.  The whole time I’m watching with horror.

The Kubler-Ross model explains the five stages of grief as being: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.   I too feel five symptoms.  However, my grief is better described as being:




kidding me




honeyboo boo

oh, what the hell.  one more for the cheap seats in the back:




This cycles through rapidly every time I see people doing this.  I have the amazing ability to experience all five within the span of ten seconds…

C’mon.  You’ve seen it. TELL me I’m not the only one that hates this…