You think you’re better than me?

Even though I've been up since 4:30 a.m., I felt compelled to write about my day because never before have I been made to feel less valued than another human being. And it turns out it's a funny story.

I spent the day at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway working the MotoGP for my parents' business. For those who don't know, my family owns a special event concession company that has the contract for ice cream, lemonade and pretzels at the track and other places. I worked an ice cream cart. (It wasn't a good day for ice cream sales. Ick.)

The ice cream prices are $5 this year across the board. Yes, I know that's pretty expensive, but you're at an EVENT. People make comments from time to time, but they can wait to get to the gas station before they buy their Dove bar if they really want. No biggie.

I've worked events for years, and I've never encountered such a rude customer.

A 10- or 11-year-old boy approaches my cart alone from what I can tell at this point.

Me: "Can I help you?"

Boy: "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's going to be a Dove bar with almonds."

Me: (Kind of confused as to what that meant, if he was consulting himself, etc.) "OK, you want the almond one?"

Boy: "Yeah, one of those, and hold on. That's what you want, too, right?" (Waving to his dad.)

Dad: "Yeah, two Dove with almonds. How much is it going to be?"

Me: "It'll be 10 dollars, please."

Dad: "10 dollars!!" (Opening his wallet to reveal a LOT of cash inside.)

Seeing how well-dressed he and his son were and how much money he had stashed away, I should have known this guy was only saying something to be a dick. Note name change from here on.

Douche: "10 dollars. Wow. You should be wearing a mask."

Me: (Still trying to be polite.) "I'm sorry, sir. I'm only staffing the cart. I don't set or have any say in the prices."

Douche: "What? I SAID you should be wearing a mask. You should have a better comeback than that. A mask. That's robbery."

At this point, I'm startled because I'm quite unaware I'm supposed to be coming up with clever retorts for customers. I gave him his change from the $20 he shoved at me, and luckily another customer approached, so I was able to focus on others.

Three more people came up to make purchases and the douche and his son were still lingering under my umbrella grousing to each other about how ludicrous the prices were as they opened the boxes to their Dove bars. After the other customers leave, it's now an obvious ploy to be able to stick around to cause more of a scene.

Douche Jr.: (Holding up his empty box.) "Do you take trash?"

Me: "No, I don't have a trash can at my stand, but there is one right over there." (Pointing to the trash can no more than six steps away.)

Douche: (Interrupting me.) "For these prices you bet you take trash."

Douche Jr.: (Handing his box to his dad.) "Yeah."

Me: "No, sir, I'm sorry. I don't have a trash can."

Douche: "I bet if we just leave them on top of your cart you take trash."

Douche Jr.: "I know."

Me: (Somehow, I am only now starting to lose my pleasant, customer-service attitude on the outside.) "Sir, that's really pretty rude."

Douche: "Rude? I am a guest of this track, and YOU are an employee. Here's your trash!" (Slamming the two boxes onto the top of the cart.)

They start to walk away, and I am completely livid and shocked at this point, so I call after him, "That's really nice for you to be so rude and arrogant and set such a great example for your son!!"

Douche turns and waves his hand backward at me while Douche Jr. rolls his eyes.

This was all before it POURED down rain and a giant tent came flying across Georgetown Road about 8 feet airborne in 60 mph wind gusts. Then it nearly flipped over the chain-link fence that encloses the track before getting stuck in electrical wires where it hung precariously until it crashed back down into the street about 20 yards from where I was standing. Fun.

Though the race ended six hours ago, my toes are just starting to de-prune.

Final note about the track: Men should never wear crocs.

My last blind date ... out with a bang

Date Lab is the Washington Post's version of "Blind Date." They take and review applications, match people up supposedly based on those answers, have you go out for a paid dinner and interview you after. It appears in the Post's Sunday magazine and online. They RARELY do a good job setting people up.

Web-troller Jen reads them religiously even though she has never lived in D.C. She begged me to sign up, and I laughed at her for actually finding them to read since she didn't live there. Eons later, I was bored enough to fill out the application, and I told her it was her birthday present. (Thank god I was bored because it was NOT a short freakin' application.)

That was in April.

Months passed, and I forgot about it … except for when my friend, Melina, asked me if they had responded. (She was slightly obsessed hehe.)

In June, I decided I was going to move back to Indy, and the next week, Date Lab e-mails that they had found me a match. Surprise, surprise … nice timing.

I was not going to do it since I was moving, but both Jen and Melina said I HAD to do it anyway. I finally agreed even though I felt a little guilty.

The dinner was nine days prior to my leaving town. The set up finally showed up in this weekend's Post. You can read it here.

According to the comments, fellow D.C.ers didn't agree with Melina and Jen's assessment. Thanks, guys. :)

Moving, lack of blogs, other random

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She’s just not that into you

I'll admit that I read some advice columns. A lot of times it's because during work, I have to go through newspapers to search for graphics or illustrations our company can request from contributors.

I had to share this one because it is one of the most hilarious questions I have heard from a situational standpoint:


Dear Amy: My girlfriend is a bit of a neat freak.

This weekend, things were getting amorous, and we were heading to the bedroom when I lost track of her. Her explanation for the delay was that she stopped to clean the cat litter box.

I found the mental imagery disgusting, and it ended my interest in cuddling.

She is completely unapologetic. She insists it's no big deal and that I'm being a baby.

I cannot get her to understand how unromantic it is to clean the litter box somewhere between passionate kissing and lovemaking.

—Upset Boyfriend

Dear Upset: I'm with you.

Also, when your partner denies that something you find upsetting should be upsetting, she is denying your right to your own feelings and reactions.

Even if she doesn't share your reaction to this, your girlfriend should confirm your right to your own feelings and do her best to see things from your perspective.

If your girlfriend can't imagine how this interruption would make you feel, then perhaps the next time she is feeling romantic, you should take a little "break" and rotate your tires.


I say it could be because she's making out with a guy that uses terms like "amorous" (ick), but no matter the problem ... dude, she couldn't have been THAT into it if she got sidetracked by the cat litter box. Seriously. You've got bigger problems.

Apparently I’m pregnant

Jemaine: "I made all of the ladies in the first two rows pregnant." -Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenoceros

Yeah, we were in the second row of the Flight of the Conchords show tonight, so the lyrics applied. They were closer to me for part of the show than my office mate in the next cubicle. It was awesome, and I didn't even have to make any effort for the tickets. Thanks, Mike. :)

For all of you who immediately clicked on this blog because of the title and its rumorous implications ... you didn't REALLY think I was pregnant did you? Hahahahaha. Sorry. No. No. Negative. Not.

OK, now that that's out of the way, great show. "If You're Into It," check. "Mutha'uckas," check. "The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room," check. And Nick, if you were there, this could have been you during "Business Time":

They asked if anyone in the auditorium could play drums, the room was silent, and it totally took this dude at least 15 seconds to speak up. I couldn't believe it. You could have been up there in a flash from where we were sitting.

And did I mention, I <3 Bret.

That's all I've got. Good night.

And she married the creep

"I scouted her out for a month," he said. "I wanted to see her routine, and I wanted to see what time she came in, see how consistent she was. And sure enough, she was like a machine. She would come in right after work and get on the treadmill and do her abs. And finally, I build enough courage after about 3½ weeks. And I said, 'I know you are going to go do some abs after. And do you mind if I join you?' "

Smoooooth.

Oh, these days of being skeptical of everyone. I read that and I think, "GAH! And I would be FREAKED out and change gyms. Immediately."

But no, this woman* marries the guy that bluntly admits he has been stalking her routine ... one young Alex Rodriguez. (He also apparently passes out at births. Puss.)

I guess I'll miss out on my ticket to millions. I mean ... if I went to the gym. ;)

*She says she did not know he was a celebrity at the time.

Airport hell

Friday night, my 10:05 p.m. flight turned into an 11:45 p.m., then 12:25 a.m. and finally, a 1 a.m. flight (and I wasn't even flying American).

I already felt a little subdued and blah from drinking a couple of pints after working all day then riding a bumpy as hell bus out to Dulles for about 45 minutes (not smart) ... and my dad now lives about 1.5 hours from the airport, so you can imagine the great mood I was in thinking that I wouldn't see a bed until about four in the morning.

I go get some food, waste time and when arriving back at the gate ... that is when I started feeling like Neal Page.

I went to the counter to check the flight status fearful because it was no longer on the departure screen. The airline agent knew nothing about what was going on.

Enter my own Del Griffith who quickly stepped up to give me the updates his BlackBerry was feeding him. I was happy to hear the flight was still a go, but I should have known ... He was just too eager.

We stood waiting for the news we were switched from a C gate to A terminal. "Come on, let's trek!" he says after introducing himself as Michael.

NOTE: I know this list gets crazy. Feel free to skim to not feel overwhelmed, but I had to list everything I could just for the sheer scope of it all.

In the 15-20 minute walk and shuttle ride, I learn:
-North Carolina is home for him
-He grew up in New York
-He's a rocket scientist, but now travels as an information technology salesman
-He has two girls and a boy, 8, 5 and 2
-If he moved to Indianapolis, he'd have Colts season tickets and go to the 500 every year
-The first 500 he watched was Danica Patrick's rookie year
-He's more of an F1 guy, but not NASCAR because the cars look like they're driving through mud
-His wife started liking F1 when he demanded to watch qualifying on TV
-Her favorite driver is Kimi Raikkonen
-His friends make fun of her because he's a drunk
-Her sports interest goes 1) figure skating 2) "American" football 3) F1
-She's a Patriots fan
-He feels bad having a second car since he travels so much, but he loves his Acura MDX
-He deserves it after keeping a Camry for 10 years
-He liked it so much he traded in his wife's 7-year-old minivan for another one

Here is how I feel on the shuttle:

When we reach the gate, I'm able to get away to use the restroom and make some calls to let people know how delayed I am. I tried switching rows of seats as a hint.

When he realizes I'm off the phone, he moves into my aisle and starts up again. I check the time ... still 1.5 hours to go.

The additional things I know about this man:
-His kids go to a private school that has grades K-12
-Elementary school students make banners for homecoming
-He's thinking of taking a teaching position there to stop traveling, and he'd at least get tuition reduction
-One parent working there gets a 50 percent reduction, both parents working there gets 75
-Trying to make finances work, but his wife would have to go back to work to do it
-She had a master's in health administration, but hasn't worked in nine years
-His dad was a lawyer that worked long hours and went to teaching to spend more time with him
-He was an only child
-Doesn't understand sibling rivalry
-His family has five cats
-His house has a walkout basement with screened-in porch that the cats love
-The cats all got along except Daniel didn't like the last one to come
-Daniel hates Wendy and bites her tail and it gets infected
-Their 2-year-old pet frog just died
-He thinks it is because she just laid eggs, and it really wipes her out every time
-He worries that his son should have a dog
-He had a British Blue cat as a kid that loved being brushed (he acted this out from the cat's perspective)
-The cat could differentiate the sound of the brush dresser drawer opening from others and would come running
-His oldest daughter doesn't get her room painted until she cleans it
-He'll have to paint it purple with a pink border

I'm sure there was more, but I can't remember it all. I have never been around someone that would just NOT STOP talking.

It was amazing. I may not know this man's last name, but I know more about what is going on in his life than I do about many of my friends.

This is how I felt when finally boarding the plane:

UPDATE: Robert Montgomery Knight will bring me back to Volkswagen

Best part of the evening:

Jayhawks do NOT make me happy, but Bob always can. :)

I appear put together, but I might be losing it

When I got home on Monday, a folder awaited me on the floor. In it, a request to answer more questions for an Indy company I submitted a resume to ... on which they would base their decision to bring me in for an interview.

Of course I was happy they were interested, but my mind raced with what to say to make sure I’d get into their office. I spent all last night on it ... walked to Kinko’s at 1:15 a.m. (even after some motherly questioning from Jen), and this morning it was ready to send off.

I wanted to feel relief that I completed it before their deadline. Relief that it was finished, and I could sit on my ass and relax after work for the rest of the week. Or just relief to not have to think about it.

That didn’t happen. Instead, the morning devolved into a signature Elaine-type moment. I walked to the post office, paid the man my postage and watched him toss the envelope back onto the mail counter.

Sitcom-style, I had flashes in my mind of all the things I wrote in response to their questions. Should I have put this? Should I have added that? Was it too much? Not enough? I can’t let this good career move slip away.

On Monday, I felt excitement they were giving me the chance to move up in their candidate list. On Tuesday, I was tired from the writing and making sure everything was perfect. And on Wednesday, I looked at it one last time on the counter feeling clamped down upon because it’s out of my hands, and as I have been doing for months, I wait.

I walked to the metro and three times considered running back into the post office to ask for it back. I still had two more days after all. I could still write more for the first question. I could add more insight. I could do SOMETHING.

I pushed forward as I wondered ... Would he give me it back? Is there some rule that after the postage goes on, it can only go to the mailer? Would I go back and see beady, Newman eyes as he laughed? I could see "Seinfeld" unfolding in my head.

So I kept going. Even halfway down the escalator into the subway I paused and thought I should go back up, but I didn’t.

It’s en route. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Tourney talk

I don’t know if I’m more irritated that Indiana actually bowed out in the first round of the tournament (yeah, I know ... it was kind of expected), or that this guy had a part in it:

I guess that headband is simply for fashion, since any purpose it might have ... say, keeping your man-bangs out of your face ... is obviously ignored.

Oh, how I’d like to see him in person. A 7-foot dude who styles his hair and quite possibly rocks accessories on a regular basis. Not something you see everyday. And not something you want defeating your basketball team.

Names

I usually read stories about baby names because one of my pet peeves are parents that come up with utterly ridiculous names like Jack Hammer, Candy Kane, Kitty Katz ... stuff like that. Why would you do that to your child?

Or the parents a few years ago that used "Version 2.0" instead of "Jr." Come on.

I'm not even a real fan of unusual spelling because I would hate to always have my name misspelled/constantly have to correct people.

I've always said I'm going to pick something taking into account possible nicknames and the like, so a story today caught my eye.

A person selected the name "Fiona," and her co-workers told her, "Oh no!"

"They automatically thought of all the bad nicknames," it read.

I might be being dense here, but I can't come up with any. I asked one of my friends, and she couldn't either. What are the bad nicknames associated with Fiona?

Help me out.

Funny photo of the day

Oh, young Brett, I don't care that it was the early '90s when you were in college and getting your call to the NFL ... those shorts were never a good idea.

Ill effects of sippin’ on gin and juice seen in next decade

A few weeks ago, a couple friends asked me what I thought of Snoop's new(ish) song, "Sexual Seduction."

Being that it was at the askers' wedding that I could be viewed singing "Nuthin' But a 'G' Thang" (after a rousing rendition of "Gin and Juice" a year earlier), I responded that no amount of coaxing or alcohol could get me bustin' that out at future wedding receptions. EVER.

Now today, a quote from the D-O Double G himself in a story about his transition to R&B, "I done made you party my whole career. Now I want to see if I can get you to cry."

Oh, Snoop, you're making me cry ... for Doggystyle. Seriously.

NOTE -- Still searching for someone to have a D.J. who will play me "Lodi Dodi" ... who knows, now I might have to wait for when my time comes. What do we think? Poor form for the bride to be on the head table rockin' the mike riiiight instead of mingling with her guests? :)

It has been a year

It hit me today that it's the 1-year anniversary of selling the Jetta. SO weird.

Surprisingly enough, I haven't missed it a bit. I wish I would have sold it as soon as I moved to D.C., but at that time, not having a car was complete crazy talk. I thought I'd never be THAT citified.

As much as I still feel a twinge of desire when I see a nice car drive by, as much as I'm thinking of going to the auto show this weekend just because I love cars ... it is SO nice to not be paying to park it, getting oil changes, having the emissions checked, going to the DMV, filling up the tank at +/-$3.09 per gallon ... all that stuff.

Yeah, if ... er, when ... I get the opportunity to move back to Indiana, that gas thing is going to be painful.

But it's one painful trade off for another ... take this for instance:

I have to tell the management company what my intentions are for the coming year by Feb. 1 ... even though the current lease period isn't up until April 1. Irritating.

They want to raise the rent $40 per month ... and I actually feel like this is a deal because last year they asked for a $75 per month increase. Sad.

I can re-sign for a year, or go month-to-month for an extra $100 per month ... which would put the rent at a whopping $1,895 a month. Painful.

After two years here, I'd like the freedom to be able to move at a moment's notice ... just in case, but if I'm still here a year from now I'll be SO mad at wasting $1,200. Better than the $7,000 early termination penalty I guess. Blah.

Having to make adult decisions: Total suck.

PostSecret

For anyone out there that hasn't heard of or doesn't read PostSecret every week, start.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Warning: It's one of the greatest and single most-annoying Web sites at the same time because ...

1) Frank posts new secrets every Sunday, but the new week's secrets replace the old ones. There is no archive. I get the worst feeling on some Mondays when I realize I forgot to check it the previous week.

2) There can never be too many secrets to read. It takes about two minutes to read the blog each week, and you're always left wanting more ... but you know you have to wait another seven days for it. It's not nice.

I've known there are books out there for awhile now, but for some reason tonight I decided I HAD to read them. Like NOW. I walked to the bookstore at 10 p.m. to buy one even though I can get them for much cheaper online.

I was through more than half of it in 20 minutes. I'm posting this blog to try to get myself distracted from reading it, so I still have some to read while I'm waiting for the others in the mail.

Now I'm looking at the book longingly ... I don't think I'm able to stop. And I can't stop thinking of the secrets I should send in ...