Wine Institute of Walgreens

I love me a good wine snob. I really do. There is a part of me that wishes I was one of them. Dashing from winery to winery with a navy blue sweater thrown around my shoulders while discussing my father's political campaign.

But, I come from a family of pizzeria owners. Instead of talking wine cellars, we talk deep fried foods. We keep our deli slicer as shiny as a new set of golf clubs and if we go out to eat where the foodies go, we always make sure they have an option of steak and french fries. And, because of this upbringing I know an average Joe when I see one.

While I lived in Chicago, I worked as a waitress like a good average Joe should. The restaurant I worked for wasn't a five star restaurant, nor was it a diner. It was right in the middle, like my family. It was the type of restaurant where people are referred to as "customers," not "clients." But, every now and then we would get a "customer" who thought they were at a place where they should be treated like a "client" and unfortunately I wasn't the waitress who would give that kind of service. By the end of my "career" waiting tables, I was one diet coke away from suicide.

This one Saturday evening, a man was sitting at a table in my section all alone, awaiting his date (so he said). He scanned the wine menu and ordered the cheapest glass of wine. But he didn't say it like he just ordered the cheapest glass of wine; he said it with the same arrogance a man ordering a $500 bottle of wine would be allowed. Personally, if I go with the cheapest glass of wine, I at least give the waiter a nod or a look of apology.  But I mean, good for him, he's confident. Or, so I thought.

A few minutes later, I came back with the glass of house red I could have gotten from Walgreens. He motioned for me to stay while he tested it. I restrained from rolling my eyes as he swirled and wafted and swirled some more, then dramatically dipped his nose as deep as it could go into the glass (again, he was waiting for his date) and then he slowly...let...the...wine...wash...over...the...tip...of...his...tongue...while...I...slowly...died...inside.
Finally, after what seemed like a hour, he shook his head with disgust and said "this is no good."

I couldn't believe it! Really? No good? Maybe it's no good because it was $4! Of course I couldn't say that so instead, I sucked it up, smiled and said without the least bit of sincerity, "Oh, no. Let me go back to the bar and open a fresh bottle for you." But, as I made my way to the bar, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to conduct a d-bag experiment.

When I got to the bar, I told the bartender I wanted to see if this guy really knows what he's talking about. Perhaps the wine was bad OR perhaps it was fine. We would soon find out.

I asked the bartender to transfer the same wine to a new glass. So, when I bring out the "new" wine to him, it would actually be the old wine he had already rejected. If he rejected it again, okay, he knows what he's talking about. But approve the "new" glass and BAM! Confetti goes, balloons release, buzzers scream and a giant sign drops from the ceiling that flashes "asshole, asshole, asshole." The whole restaurant starts pointing and laughing and I am the hero (but I'm still wearing an apron and my shirt is still smeared in barbeque sauce so I'm a humble hero).

So, I bring back the same wine, carefully set it on his table and apologize for the first glass. I tell him this glass is from a brand new bottle. And, once again he swirled and wafted and.. swirled some more then dipped his nose as deep as it could go into the glass (again, he was waiting for his date) and then he slowly let...it....wash...over...the...tip...of...his...tongue...while...I...slowly...died...a...little...bit...more...inside.
Finally, after what seemed like another hour, he shook his head up and down, smiled at me with his now purple teeth and said "Oh, yes. This is much better."

I got him! I caught him being a fake wine snob; an average Joe trying to be something he's not. I have never tasted such sweet revenge in my life.  Nothing in the world could make me feel the satisfaction I felt that night, not even a shiny deli slicer.

Bad Hair Day.

Headline News (HLN) has some of the worst hair in news.

While they're delivering the news on the state of our economy, I'm not wondering how our economy got so bad. Instead, I find myself wondering how their hair got so bad. And, is there any stimulus package out there to make it grow?

I'm sure fixing these hairstyles would create thousands of jobs.

What to do when someone you love dies and leaves behind a bad Myspace page

Our twenties is not too young to start thinking about our last will and testament. Although we may not yet have acquired thousands of dollars worth of assets or families of our own, we do have some things that will need managing... like our Facebook, Twitter and Myspace accounts.

I, for example, have chosen to give the password to all of my social networking sites, including this blog to my boyfriend. If I happen to die unexpectedly, (get trampled in a Wal-Mart stampeed for example) I have given my boyfriend, by way of a post-it note, signed and dated, the orders to erase my precious Facebook, Myspace and Twitter accounts, immediately.

There is nothing creepier than wishing someone a happy birthday on their Myspace page after they're dead. "Happy Birthday Billy." Happy birthday Billy? Billy's dead. It's not happy birthday, it's Sad Birthday. Come on, sing along... "Sad Birthday to you, Sad birthday to you, Sad birthday to you. How old are you (if you were still alive) now? How old are you (if you were still alive) now?" (This sounds a lot less morbid if you sing it with a keyboard or in G on the guitar.)

I don't understand why someone would write on someone's Facebook or Myspace wall after they are gone? Do they think the afterlife is so unexciting that the spirits are checking their Myspace page to see who did and didn't wish them a Happy Birthday? Man, I hope not. Or, perhaps this is the modern day equivalent to bringing flowers to someone's grave site?

 I wonder if there is a sympathy flower app on Facebook so it can be like the real thing? If there isn't one already, I am patenting it.

A meaningless happy birthday wish isn't the only reason I want my social networking pages erased from history. I don't want to die with my last Facebook update about Jersey Shore floating there forever like a bad lower-back tattoo. And, the good thing about a lower back tattoo is that when you die it's gone but a bad Myspace profile is there forever.

I would at least want to go out with a genius yet hilarious update about something that means something to me, something deep and profound about the Buffalo Bills or Curb Your Enthusiasm.

All I know is that if I die, and I'm still on Facebook and Myspace, I'll know I'm officially in hell.

How to Raise a Child

I am not a parent. I can't even make it to a flight on time so parenthood is no where in the near future. But, I do know if you want to raise good kids there are four rules you must follow, otherwise you'll have an emo-wearing, no-good huffing, sexting-craised child.

Rule #1. Your child must watch Seinfeld from a very young age. He or she must understand the the very foundation of life before anything else.

Rule #2. Forget about Pokemon and Dora the Explorer. These cartoons are too hip. Every Saturday morning, you must only allow your developing child to watch the classics like Bugs Bunny, Tom and Jerry, Bullwinkle and Pink Panther. But, not the modern movie version of Pink Panther, that one was terrible.

Rule #3. If you have 3 different types of potato chips in the house, don't be that parent who only let them open one bag at a time. That rule is dumb and nonsensical.

Rule #4. Make your kids do their homework. But, only after they've watched at least one episode of Seinfeld.

Follow these guidelines and I promise you will have a well-adjusted, non-extremist and down-to-earth child who will grow up to do great things. Or, good things at least. I am completely serious.





He had overly strict parents who never let him drink soda. Thus, pink eye shadow.

We got to drink all the soda in the world. Thus, awesomeness.

The Joe Donatelli Column and The Second Column Podcast

What do you get when you get two writers around bar food? Jalapeno Poppers and great conversation, that's what happens.

Meet Joe Donatelli. That is what I had the pleasure of doing the other day. He gave me lots of great advice for going forward with a writing career. Joe used to write a humor column for Scripps Howard News Service that appeared in newspapers across North America, including the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Orange County Register and Chicago Sun-Times, lucky guy. Currently, he is an editor for Break.com and brings you tons of funny material in his podcast called Second Column Podcast.

I advise you to check him out. I also advise you to stay away from Jalapeno Poppers.

Receipts Getting Longer?

Has anyone else noticed that receipts are getting longer and longer? This is usually the length when you spend $200 on groceries. Embarrassingly, I didn't stock up on groceries, instead I bought a single fish taco and diet coke. And, this is how long the receipt is. It almost makes buying this for my lunch all the more embarrassing.