your mama should've taught you better

I have no patience for bad restaurant etiquette. I've had several friends who've worked as servers, and myself have held the esteemed title of birthday and snack bar hostess:

1. Always tip at least 12%. And that would be for really really bad service. I just realized that most of the time, problems or delays with food are not the fault of the server, but rather the kitchen staff for poor preparation or the manager for not having a good system for placing orders.

2. Order with all your options in mind. If your entree comes with the choice of 2 sides, proudly say you'd like the garden salad and mashed potatoes when asking for the grilled salmon. If you have the choice of fries, chips, or coleslaw, choose your level of diabetes ahead of time. And ESPECIALLY if salad dressings are listed, use your resources and go with the raspberry vinaigrette. Even in fast food, this is a must. If a 7-year-old on rollerblades can order a medium root beer instead of "I want a soda," then you know what size beverage and fries you want.

3. If you are with a party of 6 or more and need separate checks, ASK IN ADVANCE. And if you're on the same ticket as someone, for goodness sakes sit next to each other. Servers already get shafted for large parties, so you should also be generous in this tipping department.

4. If you add splenda or other packaged items to your beverage, stack all the wrappers on a napkin or your plate, so someone doesn't have to scoop them all up later (thanks Weakley for this one).

an open letter

Dear Christina Aguilera-

This is one of your loyal fans. First of all, way to rock Ozzie Osbourne's former house. I hope he cleaned all the dog poop stains off the floor in the living room.

I wanted to write to tell you that I'm a little disappointed. Ever since you taught me that boys had to rub me the right way, I've admired your balance of sexuality, confidence, and jaw-dropping vocal talent. In a pop scene of stunted vocal ranges and plastic packaging, I always felt that you were bringing the real thing. I even stood up for you when the big bad media (whoever that is) said you were "too sexual" as a new mother. I always say a mom should have it easy when it comes to that sort of stuff. After all, the baby had to come from somewhere, and it sure wasn't Jesus...

But I have to say, your new aptly-named single "Not Myself Tonight," leaves me a little sad inside. Of anyone on the market today, you're one of the few artists who is respected for pure, raw talent. You can sing, you have lyrics that mean something, you deliver the whole package. But now, you're all about the backing techno tracks and cookie cutter melodies. I couldn't even find a part of the song to put my hand up in the air in the "hallelujah" stance you usually take at one point or the other. You went down the Britney path, as I call it. A song that will be a big hit in the clubs and dance floors (which is wehre the money comes from), but nothing that lasts past the walk of shame. You're better than the Selena Gomez's of the world (correct use of a pluralized z? not sure), even if you both started in Disney.

So for the next single, make me proud. Bust out a sweet line that cracks wine glasses and forces me to stop singing along in my car because I simply can't do it justice. Step it up.

dream from an afternoon nap

My family decided to vacation in the Arctic, somewhere between the literal north pole and Canada. We rented some sort of trailer that was supported by a combination of blades and stilts, which secured into the ice.

My younger sister and I ventured out into our surroundings, a mix of snow, ice, and a sort of old-time ghost town. About 50 feet from our trailer, she found a polar bear carcass. Well, it was more like the skin of a polar bear with the head still attached, like you see in tacky people's living rooms as a sort of rug. She and I both started to cry, because polar bears happen to be one of our favorite animals. But somehow through our tears, we realized that a shark or orca whale could at any time break through the ice to make the carcass a tasty snack. And since apparently I'm just as irrational about whales popping up at any random moment in dreams as I am in real life, we scampered back to the trailer.

But then, we realized the only reason a whale was a possibility was because the ice was starting to thin. Pools of water started appearing, and I quickly feared the trailer was not equipped with flotation capabilities. I ran into the only store open in the ghost town, and met a curious woman cutting up small pieces of rye bread and wrapping them in beige napkins. She started to tell me about the lone family in the ghost own, an Inuit mother with three small children who lived off microwave dinners run by a generator. We carried on a saddening conversation about the current state of the arctic, social media, and some sort of game involving a hamster ball and "hot seat" type questions. She confirmed my fears of the trailer's lack of buoyancy, and I realized by this point my family was lost to the sea.

(Sorry Karen Weakley, this is the spiciest my life has been lately).

granny smith crisp: a review

Task 1: shop for ingredients
-Since I cook pretty infrequently, I didn't have flour, sugar, brown sugar, or cinnamon. I felt so woman-like putting the powder-covered packages in my Safeway cart. Like I was connecting with so many before me who have taken the plunge into actual cooking. Thanks to my Grandma's housing community's cookbook for the assistance with this bonding experience.

Task 2: peel and pare 6 cups of granny smith apples
-First of all, I didn't really know what paring was. I assumed it was some sort of fancy cut, but really it just meant to peel, remove the seeds, and make the apple look like regular apple slices. I did surprisingly well at the peeling part, especially since I didn't have that thing you can use to take out the core. Approximately 40 minutes.

Task 3: prepare the dry mix for the "crisp"
-Done and done. I was always the dry mixer of my sister and I (she was usually in charge of the more lively jobs like beating eggs and such). Approximately 5 minutes, most of which was spent successfully keeping the flour from casdading all over our tiny kitchen.

Task 4: cut in the butter
-Epic fail. I didn't know if this instruction meant to literally cut the 1/2 cup of butter into small pieces and just toss it in, or if I should break it up so it was evenly distrubted in my beautiful dry mixture. I went with the first option.

Task 5: bake and pray
-I probably could've let it "crisp" more on the 35 minute side of the 30-35 min instructions. And because of the butter situation, parts of the dry topping were left uncrisped and untouched. But once you mixed it in, no harm done.

All in all, a delightful way to end our Easter courtyard feast.