That belch tasted like rotten milk…

Six of the most horrific words to ever exit the mouth of another human being while sitting in an outdoor Johnny Rockets – a crowded public venue.

The day was already bizarre enough as is. Every day seems to be here in beautiful and unpredictable-weathered California. We had an early morning phone call that swimming class was canceled because a kid in the earlier class had taken a dump in the pool, so I figured – what the hey, we’ll go out for lunch today.

We go out for lunch most days, but not usually “sit down”-type lunch that takes time and effort and “quiet down, we’re in public” on repeat. I’m not saying we go to McDonalds every day, just usually grab salads and sandwiches to-go as we travel from place to place during the daily activities. Because that kid took a growler in the pool, though, we had some extra time and Johnny Rockets was the place of choice simply because it was close and has grilled cheese.

The lunch was fine; service was good; atmosphere was as acceptable as a California-restaurant’s atmosphere can be. There was a guy sitting behind us who was running for city council, and apparently everyone knew because they all had to stop and gab with him about his race (having worked in politics and spent time with most of the politicians in the forefront of government today, I am usually unimpressed by such pomp and circumstance).

We were finishing up our lunch, though, and the check had just come, when all of a sudden the man sitting next to us let out the most uproarious, outrageously loud belch I have ever heard.

Now, I have heard some loud belches in my time. Growing up with just my father, burping was something regularly done in our house. My grandfather (my mother’s dad) still insists on saying the word belch while he does it in a room full of people. My husband – well, we all know he’s a pig.This guy at Johnny Rockets today, though, really took the cake.

What made it barf-worthy, though, was not the belch, itself. No, no, faithful blog followers. It was what he said afterwards to the guy he was lunching with – who, I might add, flinched not one bit at the guy saying it. What was it he said, you ask?

That belch tasted like rotten milk.

Fucking sick. I’ll be taking the Pookies elsewhere from now on if that is the kind of clientele that frequent our local Johnny Rockets.

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Donuts, Thievery, and a Public Pregnancy Test: My Friday Wrap Up

You faithful blog followers may have noticed I haven’t posted in about a week. I’ve been dealing with technical issues regarding my book that was supposed to be released via eBook May15th, but was postponed until this upcoming Tuesday, June 5th because of said issues. If you haven’t checked out the trailer, you can watch it here.

In the meantime, here is my Friday wrap up:

I was just thinking to myself this morning on the way to Best Donuts to get the town’s best … donuts … in honor of National Donut Day: man, B(itch) … you really haven’t had much to b(itch) about lately. Sure, I’ve had this Kindle publishing issue, and I have had my fair share of jerky statements from my husband and other locals, but I really haven’t had much to complain about in the last week that has comprised an entire blog post. Life has been pretty blasé.

Until I went to the fucking mall today.

We are housesitting for my father and have very little to do with our time, so decided after eating breakfast donuts and milk that we’d go shopping at the mall. I didn’t have any homeschooling planned out for this week because we were actually supposed to go with my father to this sports dork convention he is speaking at, but we decided at the last minute to stay home to take care of some other stuff around his house for him.

At the mall, I found some awesome kid’s White Sox t-shirts (FINALLY!!!), as well as some great make-up deals at Sephora. I even got two shirts at Express before we headed to The Gap to return a dress I had bought last week and pick up a few other things we needed to replace (ahem, jelly shoes). I would say I had about $200 of merchandise in my hands when we got to The Gap – merchandise I had already purchased – and the cashier asked if I could fill out my name and address for the exchange of the dress for the jelly shoes. I set my bags down on the counter right next to me and in a matter of seconds, the woman standing behind me grabbed my bags and ran.

The cashier screamed “she just stole this woman’s bags!!!” as we saw the lady run out of the mall. No one chased her. I certainly didn’t (knowing four people from my time working at Longs Drugstore who have lifetime injuries from chasing thieves). I also immediately checked my purse, which was still slung over my shoulder, to make sure that everything was in it (it was). But then I was seriously annoyed in the coming minutes because of how poorly the matter was held.

First, the cashier told me they aren’t allowed to call mall security if the actual store is not getting robbed. This – in and of itself – is a stupid and pointless rule. What would it hurt anyone for them to call security?

Next, after walking all the way to mall security, I was informed that they are not allowed to “chase after” people, and that if I would like I could walk around the mall and look for someone carrying our bags.

Finally, I realized the most egregious of things regarding the theft. I was super upset about the fact that about $200 was wasted, for which I would not get any of that or my merchandise back. When I went back to the sports store, though, the White Sox sizes I needed were out. When I went back to Sephora, I learned that the eyeshadow I had stolen – which I have worn for years – was discontinued and the one I had bought was the last one they had. And in the final straw – the real kick in the face – I realized that I had put my book in one of the bags that was stolen because the weight it added to my shoulder was hurting my neck, and inside of that book was my super-nice bookmark from the Hemingway Museum in Oak Park, IL. The bookmark has been a sentimental thing for me – it reminds me of home and makes me feel less sad having it with me as I remember the last time I was there, when I purchased it.

Such bull shit.

Later this evening, I was then pitying myself, and emotionally eating and drinking, when I had to hit up the bathroom at my local Mimi’s Cafe. We go to this Mimi’s all the time, so much so that I am the mayor of it on Foursquare and the employees know us. What can I say, I’m a fan of faux French bistro food and Happiest Hour $5 soups. So I went to the bathroom to wash the filth of the day off my hands and while in there I saw a woman standing there, dipping an EPT pregnancy test into a paper McDonald’s cup she had peed in.

Who the shit takes a pregnancy test in a  public restroom like that?

Further, why in the name of all that is good would she pee into a McDonald’s cup, rather than what a normal person would do, which is pee on the fucking stick? Those things have splash guards for a reason.

It was quite a day, faithful blog followers. Quite a fucking day. The only redeeming thing about it was my strawberry frosting- and sprinkle-covered donut that I had for breakfast. It’s a rare occasion that I eat a donut, and after that whole Donut Dick conversation with my husband last month, I was even hesitant to have them today. After all the BS from the rest of the day, I may just have one tomorrow though. Or maybe two …

… or maybe I will just have a whole box.