Friday, March 31, 2006

Scenes from a Mexican restaurant

I love spicy food. Any food that burns my tongue, warms my heart. (Feel free to quote me on that. LOL) This includes ethnic foods such as Mexican, Thai and Moroccan. Well today for lunch I wanted something different, something spicy. There is a Thai place right near where I work, but their food is more like your typical Americanized Chinese food with some curry added. Moroccan places are very hard to find in this area. So that leaves Mexican, which I know I can get around here. (The population where I work is predominantly Spanish/Cuban/Mexican.)

There is a quaint little Mexican place right in the heart of Hightstown, NJ called "Orchideas." If you are ever in the area and you like Mexican food, this is THE place to go, just short of Mexico itself. By the way, that last statement came from a "legal" Mexican that I work with, so it is that good. Well, I walked in and the place was packed as always. I go there enough that the owner knows me well and kindly gives a "hello" wave. As soon as I sit down, a waitress comes over with home-made tortilla chips, fresh salsa and even-fresher guacamole. By the way, she is a smoking hot Latina with Selena-esque features. YUMMY! Anyway ... with a blink and a smile she asks if I would like something to drink, to which I politely replied, "a bottle of water please?" Sure enough, I looked out the window and just as I looked back, my water was being placed on the table. The fantastic service is one of the reasons I love this place. That and the food is simply amazing.

Well, I scan through the menu and decide that I want something that won't take that long. When she comes back, I am going to order the tacos with chorizo. Unfortunately for me, she didn't come back. She had left for the day and I was pawned off to another waitress. Oh well, no big deal, right? **insert buzzer sound here**

My new waitress comes over and in as broken of English as you have ever heard, asks "Ledd-dee (Ready)"? "Yes, I would like to have the tacos with chorizo please." ... With widened eyes she replies, "no comprende." Ok, so then I reiterate in Spanish. "Tacos de chorizo, por favor?" Again, she says "no comprende, lo siento seƱor." Ok, now I am getting pissed. I am in a Mexican fucking restaurant and there is a waitress that doesn't speak English or Spanish?!?!? Well, she did reply to me in Spanish, didn't she? Maybe she just doesn't speak menu, LOL. All I could think of was "please, oh please tell me you are just visiting". Oh, and this dummy of a waitress was NOT hot in any fashion. Just in case you were wondering. So, I pointed to the exact item on the menu and she had to call someone over to confirm what it was that I was ordering. Holy shit! Now I'm pissed and aggravated.

I had better communication with the waitresses in Cancun fucking Mexico. I never had a language barrier to cross. Even if they didn't speak English, they knew enough to know what it is that you order. Why? Because that is there fucking job and that is what puts bread on their table, that's why. Obviously, this bitch was fresh over the border, obviously not educated in English and in Spanish for that matter. In my head, I am laughing that disturbed, overheated bellow that we all get just before we put our fist through a wall.

God, I wanted to take a dictionary and beat her over the fucking head with it. First an English dictionary and then a Spanish one. Hell, I may even finish her off with a Portuguese dictionary just for good measure. I looked down at my table just to try and hide my rage, but when I saw my fork I had aspirations of jamming it in her eye and yelling "LA FORKA! LA FORKA!" How about jamming a stick of chorizo down her throat to cut off her air supply? Yeah, that was be poetic justice, wouldn't it. (The idea of "jamming a sausage down her throat" as being a phallic statement of a sexual nature did cross my mind. ROFL) Well, my food arrived and it smelled so good, it washed away my aggravation.

Lucky for her, I did get what I had ordered and it was fucking great. So I did what any good man would do (with a full belly of great food). I pardoned her.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Watch what you "Che"

Thanks to stores like Hot Topic, kids of all creeds have found it stylish to wear "Che Lives" t-shirts. I understand the need to express yourself and how t-shirts are a great way to convey your expressions. What pisses me off about these particular shirts is that the majority of those trend-whores wearing them know nothing about him. I was in the mall yesterday, walking around before heading to the gym. As I was headed towards the book store, I had to weave my way through a flock of skater styled grunge-lings. Well, 2 out of the 10 or so of them were wearing Che Lives shirts. One boy and one girl to be exact.

I made my way through their congregation and into the books store. I browsed for a bit, scanned a bunch of covers and found some really good bargains. I'll be doing some good reading for the next week or so. Unfortunately, there were no books about Ernesto "Che" Guevara at basement prices. I had actually hoped there was so that I could buy it and give it to the mall rats who donned their chest with his face. Oh well, my intentions were good.

Anyway, I paid for my books and headed out. The flock was still buzzing about, jawing about movies, I believe. So, I stopped to ask them if they knew anything about the person on their shirts. The boy was actually honest and said, "No, I just thought it looked cool." Due to his honesty, I actually had an ounce of respect for him. The girl then chimed in and said, "I know he was a great man and that we should respect his beliefs."

Did ... Did she just say what I think she said? ... Did she?

"A great man," I asked. I immediately felt the need to elaborate further. "What was it that made him a great man?" She replied with a pitiful, "I don't know." Oh boy! In certain situations, that is the absolute worst answer anyone could give and this was one of those times.
Even if she had said something like "He helped free Cuba from Batista," or anything somewhere near that in her own words, I would have been satisfied and just walked away. I mean, they are kids who are still in the midst of an education. I understand that, but to reply with "I don't know?" Hell, my 3-year old has a better understanding of the inane cartoon characters that decorate her t-shirts. How the hell can you exercise your freedom of expression when you don't know what the fuck it is you are expressing?

Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to get into a long discussion about Che Guevara, July 26th, guerilla warfare and Marxism. So instead, with an even temper, I suggested that she take the time to thoroughly read about him. To research what he was really all about, and that she would find that he was a scumbag (to put it bluntly, lol). I told her that the only reason why those shirts are popular is because bands like Rage Against the Machine started the so-called trend. I ended with letting her know that wearing a shirt of that magnitude is as stupid as walking through New York with a "I (heart) Al Qaeda" shirt.

Did I make a dent? Did I peak her interest enough for her to actually take my suggestion and read about "Che" ? As much as I would like to think so, the blank, bewildered look on her face told me otherwise. THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is the future of our Country. Uneducated, uninformed drones of the digital media movement. I swear if I see my daughter (when she is older) wearing a shirt such as these "Che Lives" rags, and can't tell me WHY she is wearing it, I will publicly humiliate her just to teach her a lesson. Lucky for me (and her), I know for a fact that I would never let that happen.

I apologize that there were no graphic images of violence in this post, but as angry as I was, I was actually more disappointed than anything.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Upgrade ... I think.

I have upgraded to Haloscan. . I have seen that the majority of you use it and I like the options it offers. I believe I have it exactly how I want it, though I may make some adjustments down the road. I think it looks good, but I am open for suggestions, so feel free to give me your thoughts. Hopefully not too many comments will be lost and my readers will be as content as I am.

By the way, I recreated all of your previous comments. The post times are different, but the message is there as well as your links. Unfortuantely, Haloscan didn't pick up your avatars when I re-posted your comments as "you". Oh well, I guess everything can't be perfect.

Also, if you haven't noticed yet, I added a feature on the side bar (right) that lets you "subscribe" to Violent Daydreams. This will make it so that when a new article is posted, you will receive an email letting you know. The only catch for it being free is that you have to sign up with Bloglet. It's FREE, and who knows? You may want to use it on your site as well. I've tested it and it works well.

Well, that's about it for now. Happy reading.
Monday, March 27, 2006

Sweatin' to the Oldies

Tonight, while I was at the gym (which was packed), somebody flipped my switch. Monday is for cardio, shoulders and back. Well, I started my normal routine of heading to the (dry) sauna to warm up. Then it was off to the elliptical machine, treadmill and rower. Next was lat pulls, overhead press, upright bench press and shoulder press. I always finish off my routine with a series of stomach crunches and then back into the dry sauna for a good stretch. So, I headed towards the crunch press.

Well, when I got there, all 5 machines were in use. They have a new machine (1) which I prefer to use because it gives a better result. Well, I waited patiently and drank my water. There was an older guy on the machine and he was a good 2 or 3 sets in. On his final set, he got up, stretched and walked away. Yes, that's right, he just WALKED AWAY! The machine was drenched in his disgusting geriatric juices. He never went to get the cleaning fluid they have everywhere. He didn't even so much as wipe it down with his towel. He just up and left. How fucking disgusting is that?

Well, I have told management about this kind of shit in the past and their canned answer is, "I'll let them know." So, it was obvious that I couldn't just go tell management again, just having to clean it off myself. So, I asked someone to watch the machine and not let anyone use it. Yep, I hired an accomplice. LOL

After appointing an assistant, I went after Captain Cro-Magnon. When I caught up to him, I kindly asked "Excuse me sir? Do you realize that you left the crunch press dripping with your sweat?" He looked at me crooked and replied, "I'm clean." Oh boy, that was the wrong thing to say. My eyes narrowed and I could feel the heat rise beneath my skin. I damn near growled out the words, "You're CLEAN?!?!?" By now, I have the attention of a good portion of the gym. "What the fuck do you mean by you're clean? Are you saying you don't have AIDS? Are you telling me that if I was so daring enough to sit in your putrid, ointment-infused sweat that I wouldn't catch anything? Are you saying that unlike every other human fucking being, you sweat pure, uncontaminated water from your skin? Is that what you are telling me? Because if it is, I think they should put a big fucking picture of you up on the wall with the caption, "Don't mind dick-face's sweat, it is pure and safe."

The look of sheer befuddlement on his face told me that he was searching for a response, but was coming up blank. I looked at one of the cable machines and could just see myself strangling the fucking life out of him. I thought about holding his head under a good 250 lbs. of weights, crashing them down and cracking his skull like a walnut. I now know when everything at the gym is attached to something, because I looked for something to pulverize him with. I swear I had fire in my eyes and it was burning like the sun.

Just then, he mutters out with, "I didn't want to wipe it with my sweaty towel." His excuse was so pathetic that I actually laughed. You all know that laugh you have at the point between yelling and physical violence? Yes, THAT laugh. Well, before I could snap back with another typical "me" reply, someone else kindly pointed out that they have cleaning solution and paper towel every five-fucking-feet or so. Without saying a word, he walked away, only to get the cleaning stuff and thoroughly clean the crunch press (which was still being guarded by my appointee.) Problem solved.

Now, what pissed me off the most is that management had the balls to come over to me and tell me I was out of line. I explained that I had asked a multitude of times to tell people, post signs or do something to help alleviate the issue. I further explained that absolutely nothing was done. I can understand it if they don't want to verbally tell folks. Most of the people working there are still in high school and wet behind the ears. Not only that, but they are running a business and it's not good practice to piss off your patrons. I can accept all of that, but put up a fucking sign for Christ's sake! Something, ANYTHING!

Well, after all was said and done, we all parted and went our separate ways. I'll be interested to see if now they put up signs to avoid a second coming of my wrath. LOL
Sunday, March 26, 2006

Cereal Killer

I decided to brave the supermarket again today. I only had a few things to get so it shouldn't be that bad. Sunday is the busiest day at our Shoprite, but with what little I needed, I could stand in the 10 or 12 items-or-less isle. Well, I went and got my milk, eggs, bread and english muffins, and now it is off to get some cereal. No big deal, right?

Well, I turn the corner to the cereal isle and there is a little kid screaming, "I want Captain Crunch! I want Captain Crunch!..." While he is berating whom I assume is his mother (he later did refer to her as Mommy), she is just standing there and taking it. What the fuck is that? I understand that all kids have fits at times, but the good threat of an ass whooping is usually the cure. Only this lady didn't threaten her child, didn't raise her hand to him and she didn't even use the now-popular "time out" theory. She just stood there, putting the boxes back that he was throwing in the kart. The fucked up part about the whole thing is she didn't even look embarrassed.

Why the fuck do these new-age, nuveau parents let their kids walk all over them? Are they afraid they are going to psychologically destroy their child by applying firm discipline? Are they afraid to make their loving, caring child turn into an axe murderer? Hell, my father used to kick the shit out of us for doing "dumb shit" and you know what? It deterred from continuing to do DUMB SHIT! My mother was a pushover, but even then my brother and I constantly made her throw a shoe at us. LOL

This kid just screamed and screamed and wouldn't let up. Now my blood is boiling and I am torn between smacking the kid around and beating the fuck out of his stupid mother. I smiled as I imagined holding the kid down and beating him with a box of Captain Crunch until the toy went flying across the isle floor. Then I looked at the dumb bitch and took pride in the idea of throwing her in the kart and pushing it into a brick wall. Hmmm, maybe I could line them up and kill two birds with one stone, smacking them both in one swipe like in "The Three Stooges."

I calmed myself down, remembered where I was and went about my business. Though, when I walked by them, I just shook my head in disgust. That alone was enough to watch her go flush with embarrassment. Mission accomplished. Sorry folks, no vigilante antics this time. Just a good old fashioned look did the trick.
Saturday, March 25, 2006

They call me Rubberneck

Car accidents suck, unless of course you are watching NASCAR. I think anyone and everyone would agree with that. Well, today it's raining here. Some steady rain, mostly drizzle but certainly not a torrential downpour. Well, while I was out on the road running some errands, I came across an accident. Everyone looked ok and the damage to both vehicles was minimal at best. So, knowing that, why the fuck must people slow to a crawl and examine these accidents like it is there fucking job?

I was on a rather busy road which has a speed limit of 45. So for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why I was only going 10 mph. Well, that was answered when I saw the accident. What pisses me off is these people are not slowing down or stopping to see if everyone is alright. Perhaps they lie to themselves and honestly believe they are looking to help, but the truth of the matter is, its their sadistic side that makes them watch. Everyone passing an accident is "hoping" for carnage. Something so exciting that they can rush home and tell those they know, like they had just seen a spaceship. They are driven to slow down in hopes of seeing blood, massive damage, someone slumped over the steering wheel or maybe even a severed head. Man what a great story that would make, huh? Something they could pass down from generation to generation.

I understand the psychology behind it. We, as people are natural thrill seekers. We need to experience things that make us say "Wow!" Well, going 10mph in a 45mph zone didn't make me go wow. It made me say "What the fuck?!?!?" LOL

I was hoping with each and every car that slowed down to "rubberneck", that they would burst into flames so that the rest of the passers could marvel at their misfortune. At times, I wanted to get out of my truck and smash their fucking heads into their steering wheels. I could even picture me doing it and their horn honking with each violent thrust of their face. I carry a bat in my car for a "just in case" scenario, but today I imagined that it would become an "offensive" weapon. Swinging at their tragedy-seeking heads like I was Mark McGuire. I thought of the scene in "Platoon" where Kevin Dillon smashes a gook's head in with the stock of his rifle and then asks, "Man. Did you see the way that head came apart?"

I then took a deep breath, calmed my thoughts and rolled my window down and yelled "forget about the fucking accident and just fucking drive." Did it make a difference? I doubt it, but I still like to think so.
Friday, March 24, 2006

Murder at 1600

At around 8pm last night, I had to run to the store to get a few groceries. Romaine lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli, eggs and milk were just a few of the things on the list. Well, since the fruits and vegetables section is right where you walk in, naturally, I began my shopping there. As I was browsing the "good for you" isle, I saw that they had some fresh looking fruit, so I headed that way.

Apples? Yum!
Pears? More yum!
Grapes? My favorite!

Well, as approached the grape baskets, there was a rather dirty-looking woman fondling each bunch. Now, the dirty part is unavoidable since I live in a predominantly white-trash area. Knowing that, it is obvious that her lack of cleanliness wasn't the issue. Ok, are you ready for it? SHE WAS COUGHING ON THE SAME HANDS THAT WERE FONDLING THE GRAPES!!! How fucking disgusting is that?

In addition to germinating each bunch she raped of wholesomeness, she was picking from them and eating. Oh man, as much as I wanted grapes she sent me into a verbal frenzy.

I began to see flashes in my head. A vision of grabbing her by the back of her fucking head and pushing her face into the grapes basket until she stopped kicking. I wanted to grab a bag of oranges and beat her into a bloody pulp (pun intended.) I wanted to rip her eyes from their sockets and squeeze lemon juice in them just to hear her fucking scream.

The flashes finally came to a hault and my sanity returned and I approached her.

"Excuse me, Mam?"
- "Yes?"

"What the fuck are you doing?"
- "Excuse me?"

"Do you realize you are coughing your disgusting germs on the fruit?"
- "I'm sorry, I hadn't..."

"Don't you dare say you didn't realize you were being a disgusting slob by contaminating the fucking fruit with your germs. Don't you fucking dare."
- "..." **she walked away in a huff**

I was so fucking furious, no, livid! Well, she went to the Manager to complain that I was "rude, obnoxious and harassing her." Well, by the time the manager got back to me I was still fuming, standing in the fruit isle. Well, his eyes widened as he took notice that I had bagged up the entire basket of grapes. When she and the manager approached me, I placed them all in HER cart. The manager was speechless for the moment. I swear I saw him smirk.

So, we all went back and forth. She explained her side of the story and I explained that she was lying. The manager (impartially) listened to both of us and was again at a loss for words. He called a stock person over, asked her to take all of the grapes in the back and bring out a new load. He then turned to me and asked, "Will that settle the issue sir?" I was honest and replied, "Normally I would demand that she buy them all as I had originally intended, but in a gesture of good faith, yes it does."

Well, we could have ended it all there, but apparently the scummy bitch was intent on having me banned from Shoprite. Yes, that's right, banned from a fucking supermarket. Well, the manager explained that "technically", I was in the right. Well, she literally stomped her foot and said, "I will never shop here again!" To which I quickly replied, "GOOD! Now we'll know the fruit will be germ free."

The manager laughed, she walked away and I smiled proudly having done a great service for my fellow shoppers. Now I just feel bad for the supermarket that will be next on her germ-warfare hit list.

In fact, writing this made me laugh all over again.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

The Kids in the Hall

First off, I would just like to take a moment to welcome you to my new blog. Even though you may find my posts graphic and offensive, I am sure to touch on a subject that everyone can relate to. So, be objective and enjoy reading.

Now, for my first post, "The Kids in the Hall".

While I was out Tuesday night, I was doing some window shopping at our local mall. Well, as I am walking I hear a kid screaming. It catches my attention, I glance over and see what I perceive to be a 6 or 7 year old berating his mother. I mean, this kid was using more obscenities than a gathering of truckers (no offense to truckers). At the top of his lungs, in front of everyone, he's screaming such phrases as...

"Buy it for me you bitch."
"Fuck you."
"Daddy's right, you are a whore."
"I want that fucking game."
"I hope you die."

And then the big bomb dropped...

"Fuck you cunt!"

Now, as if this wasn't all bad enough, the boy's father was standing there laughing and literally cheering his son on. My blood went way past boiling and the pressure cooker in my head burst. That very moment, I had visions of grabbing that little fucker by his feet and beating his white trash father into an indistinguishable pile of human remains. I wanted to decorate the the mall corridor with their entrails. I waned to grab the father by his mullet and throw him off the balcony, just so I would watch his body burst like a water balloon. I wanted to put plastic bags over their heads and watch them gasp for air until they faded away.

My violent dream quickly faded to a calm, controlled anger. I got my composure, took note of where I was and gathered my wits. I then calmly approached the disturbed family from hell, looked to the father and said, "I find it utterly despicable that you would let your son talk to his own mother that way." He appeared dumbfounded that someone would have the balls to say anything to him. I then looking to the mother, I added "...and Mrs.? If I were you, I'd seek divorce ... fast!" Before he could say a word, I looked at the father and said, "If you say one fucking word, I swear I will crack your skull with my bare hands."

I walked away, leaving them all in shock.

Now, some of you may not believe this to be true, but if you ask anyone that knows me, they will surely back up everything I have said. No, they weren't there but they know me, and that is exactly who I can be.