Everywhere I go these days the chatter centers around the current state of our economy. Big business. Big banking. Big dollars. Big trouble. Big Pork.

Mmm, pork. Crispy bacon dipped in a cascading pool of glorious Vermont Maple Syrup... Cue cheesy porn music...

Sorry, where was I?

Oh, yeah.

And while I love a good dialog - Ok I love a good debate - about the current political climate, I think I have reached the point of being completely fed up. There is just not enough vodka or lemons on the world.

But I would like to say this... whatever happened to personal responsibility? What ever happened to self control?

It was a particularly unruly crowd this night. Although maybe unruly is a harsh word. They were - spunky. And aggressive. And reacted in an overly excited manor to the little things like the mixed nuts at the bar.

Come to think of it, they were unruly - unruly as Hell.

Though I think people have Spring Fever so much so that little things like a tray full of crab puffs make them get all hand-wavy and screetchy like a bunch of little girls at a Miley Cyrus Concert. (Small interjection - that little thing is an annoying little troll)

At one point in the evening I was making the rounds when I found a man - Howard - over in the corner clutching his stomach. I walked over to ask if he was OK and be blurted out, "The shrimp... the shrimp made me sick. You have a problem here." And my heart sank to the very bottom of my toes. I played it over and over in my head - where I got them, how I prepped them, how they were served... and then I looked around the room to see if anyone else was in the same throes of agony. My gut instinct was to pull every last little pink and plumpie off the floor.

And then Howard's wife came walking over.

"Howard. Knock it off. Or go to the car. I am tired of looking at you like this. And you better not be telling this nice woman its her fault. Though I am guessing by the look on her face its too late."

Wow, nice woman? She clearly didn't know me. But I have to say, her eye glare at Howard and her clear impatience with his plight did make me seem like the nice one. And I know the look on my face was saying, 'seriously, your husband is in pain. help him.'

But then she filled me in. "You see, Howard is sick from the shrimp. But not because they were bad - they were delicious, by the way. Can you give up the goods on how you prepared them? Anyway, Howard is sick from the shrimp because he ate - and I am ashamed to say this out loud - but he ate 35 of them. No, wait. 36. That I know of. And that's not even mentioning everything else he threw back. What was the final count on the crab puffs again?"

I let out a huge sigh. And then I folded my arms and shot Howard a raised-eyebrow look. "Well well well, Howie..." But before I could finish he held up his hand and ran for the restrooms.

His wife looked to me and said, "I am sorry if he scared you. His lack of self control is disgusting at times. But so is mine. See these shoes? He asked how much they were and I said One Ninety Five. He whooped and hollered excited over the fact that I found a pair of shoes for a Dollar Ninety-Five. I mean like I found the greatest shoe sale of all man kind. But, he will figure it out when the Visa bill comes. Now... about those Shrimp..."

Self Control, people.

Thank you thank you thank you - you guys are awesome! I printed out your comments and will take with me the wisdom you've given to make the big purchase. Soon I will be posting pictures. Probably still of feet or half-heads, but oh the quality will be sublime!

I wish I had the camera tonight. I could have shared a brilliant photograph of The Employee. His face was a lovely shade of green, and his eyes as red as that sparkly number Beyonce wore during The Oscars. He swayed, burped like a judge at a chili cook off, and went straight for the cooler. Out he came with a gallon of milk and chug-a-lugged the entire thing in the middle of the kitchen.

No one said a word.

I stood there long enough to put my knife down, and was polite enough to let him finish off the jug before asking if he would like a cookie. He giggled, burped, and tied his apron.

"That was one helluva Pong Party - woop woop!". He actually threw his hands in the air like he was doing the electric boogaloo on Solid Gold.

Sadly, this was not the first time he's come in like this.

But today - today was his last.

Buh Bye.

Random thought of the day: Out of all the styles of French Fries - frites, if you will - my hands down favorite is an old school crinkle cut. Crunchy, and slightly oily, salted liberally and served with ketchup. Heinz, only. I cannot be bothered with Hunt's.

Num.

I need your help. I am camera shopping - for real, this time. I've looked before, but when I did I started to freak out at all the buttons and I got sweaty and ended up leaving the store in a fit of stress.

I need something a bit more advanced than a basic point and shoot. But something less advanced than someone who takes pictures for a living would use.

I also need something that would survive the occasional drop or nudge off the table. Because, it's me here...

Happy Belated Valentine's Day.

I hope yours was spectacular and lovely. I just finished off the last of the gummy cinnamon hearts that I love so much and decided it was time to wade through this stack of papers on my desk (!@#$%!! IRS) and clear a space for my Lemon Drop.

Yesterday I listened to all of my friends speak of heart-shaped pancakes and beautifuly frosted cookies and eggs poached in heart-shaped cups. One friend went so far as to iron her sheets and carefully place rose petals all over them.

That is when I had to speak up;

"You ironed your sheets?"

"Oh that was not special. I do it all the time. Don't you?"

I darted my eyes from side to side and from friend to friend to see if I was the only one thinking, "Holy crap, who has time to iron the sheets..." They all had that look, Thank God.

"Um. Yeah, that would be a no. No I do not iron the sheets. I take them right out of the dryer and put them on the bed while they are still warm. Ok, that is not totally true. Sometimes I forget they are in the dryer and by the time I get home at night I am too tired to put them on the bed so I roll up in the Goose-Down comforter like a sausage and hope The Husband will be too tired to notice."

"Please tell me you are joking."

"No."

"Yes. It was awful. It was pretty sexy in kind of a 'Ohhh baby I love the way you profusely sweat and moan while you run to the bathroom' kind of way. The Husband was totally fine. But I was in a Tamale free-fall."

Good times.

I've spent the last 10 days training a new employee. He's basically begged for a job for the last 2 months and I just so happen to need extra help in the kitchen. And when I say begged, I mean showed up every day, called me, left me notes and stared at me like a lost puppy.

So - ok. Let's go for it. Let's dig in and make this thing work.

Yeah, today I got a message on my voicemail at The Restaurant. "Yeah, um. Gosh. I don't know if this is going to work out. It's just... it's so hard. I am really tired at the end of the day. I know it's hard work. But I mean, yeah. I am just so tired. So, I don't think it is going to work out. I am really sorry. It is nothing you did. I mean. Yeah."

Bloody Hell.

The other freezer died. And while I am grateful that nothing was lost, I dare ask when the equipment will stop failing me.

The same question I ask my reflection in the mirror each morning. *sigh*

As you can see, The Blog - she has not changed. It is a very long story involving - nothing. As in, Elvis as left the building, Gladys. The Programmer is too busy, so I've been put on the back shelf. And I am completely not complaining. Sort of.

Ok maybe a little bit. I was asked to refrain from posting while the work was being done. And I did, but every day I checked, I refreshed, nothing.

Whatever.

At any rate, something exciting has happened in the last week - A Customer washed his hair in the men's bathroom.

Yes, you read that right. He washed his hair.

I happened to be on my way to the office when said man stopped me to say, "You are out of fresh towels in the men's bathroom. I was running late this morning and did not have time to shower, but when I got a good look at my hair in the mirror I noticed it was not good and I have a lunch meeting. So I washed it, and used the rest of the towels."

And then he patted me on the shoulder like... like a person does when they say, "I just screwed you over in a really big way. But you need to be a big girl and put a smile on, mmmkay?"

I have so many questions...