Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
In the wonderful state of Texas, there is this city called Dallas, which is near where I live. I am not sure if this is true for all of Texas, but Dallas and its surrounding areas has a lot of idiots. Like seriously dumb ass people. People that make me afraid to leave the house some days.
When I moved to Texas, I was expecting to see a different world... like a scene straight out of Dallas. I wanted someone to welcome me by sending me a plaid shirt and a 10 gallon hat. I thought I'd meet charming people like Gomer and Barney Fife. I expected to go line dancing, and eat cheap steaks every night. I wanted to meet some red necks with crazy accents that I'd need a translator understand.
However, my eyes were opened bigger than silver dollar pancakes on a Texas spring morning. ((thought I'd try out some Texas slang, how'd I do?))
The people here are just crazy! For example, they make u-turns when their lights are red. They love to drive farm equipment down really busy streets. They also take a kick out of bicycling on major roads where cars are zooming by at 55 mph, and there is no shoulder. And good lord, there are a gazillion of those emo kids running around. I would have thought that Texas kids would be wearing boots and cowboy hats. And there are a so many gay men here ((not that there is anything wrong with that)) That's not at all what I expected in Dallas. ((when I was getting my tattoo, this guy walks in with QUEER in bold letters tattooed down his arm. i was like what the f...))
Anyway, because I get to endure so much of this shit on a daily basis, I decided I would do a weekly post called "Thank You For Being Stupid" which highlights some of the fun and exciting things about Texas that make living here such a treat.Think of it like some undercover expose. Dallas Revealed! ((cheesy, i know))
Exhibit A
A few days ago, I was riding along a really busy road, minding my business when I looked up and spotted a lovely scene. It was a father and daughter riding along together chitchatting back and forth. She looked to be about 10 or so, and rather cute. Normally, I would think nothing of this except that this lovely duo was on a moped.
Now let me explain the situation. This road is one of the main roads through town. It's three lanes of traffic both ways, people speeding along at 50 mph. Not a very safe place for an adult on a motorcycle, much less a kid on a moped.
Yes, she is wearing shorts, she also had on flip flops. Notice he is a genius for not sporting any type of protection. While they were riding along, the little girl would remove her hands from his waist and rest them on her knees. He spent a lot of time looking back at her talking and pointing at different things/people/places. I wanted to pull up and yell at them but I didn't. ((i refrained because my choice of verbage would definitely have fallen into the XXX rating. i am not good at all at keeping my cursing within a G rating)) You could tell everyone else was taken aback by it as well because no one would get near them unless we were at a light. I can not for the life me begin to imagine what this man was thinking. Clearly not much or else she wouldn't have been riding with him.
So, to this dad, and his poor daughter... Thank you for being stupid.
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
It's not like me to keep things from my readers. I have always maintained that I have no secrets, my life is what it is, an open book. Granted, there are some things I choose not to discuss because some people just don't deserve the attention me writing about would give them. ((you know who you are))
But see, what I have been keeping hidden isn't about someone else. It's about me.
No, it's not that I am Jane from the previous post. ((I am going to deny it until someone can prove otherwise)) It's that I got a tattoo.
Several fun weeks ago, when S was in town and we were hanging out in that tattoo and piercing parlor, I went ahead and got my very first tattoo. I permanently inked my body, and now you all know even before my mother does... and boy is she going to kill me when she finds out.
I have always wanted something simple and cute on my shoulder. As time passed and I got older ((and the threats from my mother didn't scare me as much)) I decided that I would get a butterfly on my wrist.
I wanted a small butterfly... I had something in mind for when I would one day go and get it done, but since this was a impulse decision, I chose something from one of the 70 books they had in the shop.
I could have sworn this little thing was A LOT SMALLER in the book, but on my wrist it looks huge!
And oh, it hurt like a mother frosting cake kicker. I was told I got it in one of the most sensitive places, and I did notice that the lower he got on my wrist, the more painful it was. It took a lot for me to not head butt him while he was doing it... but common sense kicked in and I knew if I did it, I'd end up with a not-so-cute-tattoo.
About two weeks after getting it and it was healing it, I didn't like it so much, but now that it is looking pretty decent I'm loving it.
On August 23rd, I am going to get my 2nd tattoo, ((what they say about it being addicting is very true. i was planning my second one within hours... and i already know what my third one will be - if my mother hasn't killed me by then)) which will be a ladybug ((it's super cute, I already have it picked out and everything. its like a heart shaped ladybug))... also on my wrist. Clearly, I learned nothing from the pain I felt before so I need to endure it yet again.
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
All of that changed when I moved to Texas.
I am not a big fan of Texas. I don't like living in Texas. I don't much care for the weather in Texas. I especially hate the drivers in Texas. But more than that, I hate going to restaurants in Texas. Especially fast food places.
You see, in order to work as a waitress, or a cashier, or an order taker, where you deal with English speaking people, you are NOT required to know how to speak English.
Where Am I Going With All This?
Today, I went to Wendy's to grab some lunch for myself and RoRo. It was a pretty simple order. I wanted a Big Bacon Classic Combo and she wanted something similar. I asked the young lady on the other side of the speaker box if the BBC came with one meat patty, or two. All I got was silence. So I asked again. More silence. She asked me to pull to the window.
When I pulled up she gave me my total, and since I wasn't really done ordering I asked my very simple question for the third time. She answered me with a blank stare and then she said, "Meat patty? Next window."
I pulled up to the next window and a different young lady begins to hand me my order. She hands me three drinks ((I ordered two)) and when I tell her it's wrong, she also gives me the dead deer stare. Someone else had to walk up and ask me what was wrong and then translate to the girl handing me the drinks. Next I ask which one is the Dr. Pepper ((which RoRo had ordered and I don't much care for)) and she proceeds to give me the death stare. So I say it again, this time much slower hoping maybe she might grasp it, but that doesn't even work. She turns and speaks to the translator who comes to the window to help.
I made the mistake of saying to the translator, "Maybe you can stay here and help with my order. I really am getting frustrated with your co-workers just staring at me when I ask something." I was expecting an "OK!" or even something slightly positive. Instead I get:
"Are you a racist or something?"
So I said, "Why yes!! I am one... and because of it, I like to speak to people who actually speak my language!" ((In truth, Spanish is my language. I speak it all day and night. I am Puerto Rican... it's what I do. However, when I am ordering food, I speak English. I won't change this for someone who decides to come to the US and tries to get by not even knowing how to communicate at their own job))
I guess the death stare is somewhat of an epidemic at this Wendy's because now the translator was giving it to me. I take a glance in the rear view mirror and see a long line forming so I once again cover the questions I was trying to get solved.
The woman won't even speak to me now. She proceeds to hand me the drinks again and tells me to have a good day. I was shocked.
How can you possibly work in that field and not even know how to answer a simple patty question??? Or even tell me what drink is which???
My grandmother came to this country from Puerto Rico. She knows how to say two things in English: Nestle Quik and stupid. They came in very handy when I was younger because she would just yell at me "STUPID! Tu queres Nestle Quik????" She is the only family member I have who does not know English, and if she were to try to get a job at anywhere other than some Spanish restaurant or factory, I would tell her the same thing.... LEARN ENGLISH!
And of course, we all know I speak Spanish. No shit. It's my native tongue... I suppose I could ((or should)) speak to others in Spanish but I don't. To me, it's a cop out. What about the person behind me who might want to know which drink is their Dr. Pepper and instead get a death stare? Are we now required to know Spanish in order to be able to get our food the way we want? Am I forever doomed to get the death stare??
Maybe tomorrow I will try Burger King. They say I can get things my way, so maybe if I ask nicely to get an English speaking cashier, they will have one stowed away in the back waiting just for me.
A girl can dream can't she?
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
All of that changed when I moved to Texas.
I am not a big fan of Texas. I don't like living in Texas. I don't much care for the weather in Texas. I especially hate the drivers in Texas. But more than that, I hate going to restaurants in Texas. Especially fast food places.
You see, in order to work as a waitress, or a cashier, or an order taker, where you deal with English speaking people, you are NOT required to know how to speak English.
Where Am I Going With All This?
Today, I went to Wendy's to grab some lunch for myself and RoRo. It was a pretty simple order. I wanted a Big Bacon Classic Combo and she wanted something similar. I asked the young lady on the other side of the speaker box if the BBC came with one meat patty, or two. All I got was silence. So I asked again. More silence. She asked me to pull to the window.
When I pulled up she gave me my total, and since I wasn't really done ordering I asked my very simple question for the third time. She answered me with a blank stare and then she said, "Meat patty? Next window."
I pulled up to the next window and a different young lady begins to hand me my order. She hands me three drinks ((I ordered two)) and when I tell her it's wrong, she also gives me the dead deer stare. Someone else had to walk up and ask me what was wrong and then translate to the girl handing me the drinks. Next I ask which one is the Dr. Pepper ((which RoRo had ordered and I don't much care for)) and she proceeds to give me the death stare. So I say it again, this time much slower hoping maybe she might grasp it, but that doesn't even work. She turns and speaks to the translator who comes to the window to help.
I made the mistake of saying to the translator, "Maybe you can stay here and help with my order. I really am getting frustrated with your co-workers just staring at me when I ask something." I was expecting an "OK!" or even something slightly positive. Instead I get:
"Are you a racist or something?"
So I said, "Why yes!! I am one... and because of it, I like to speak to people who actually speak my language!" ((In truth, Spanish is my language. I speak it all day and night. I am Puerto Rican... it's what I do. However, when I am ordering food, I speak English. I won't change this for someone who decides to come to the US and tries to get by not even knowing how to communicate at their own job))
I guess the death stare is somewhat of an epidemic at this Wendy's because now the translator was giving it to me. I take a glance in the rear view mirror and see a long line forming so I once again cover the questions I was trying to get solved.
The woman won't even speak to me now. She proceeds to hand me the drinks again and tells me to have a good day. I was shocked.
How can you possibly work in that field and not even know how to answer a simple patty question??? Or even tell me what drink is which???
My grandmother came to this country from Puerto Rico. She knows how to say two things in English: Nestle Quik and stupid. They came in very handy when I was younger because she would just yell at me "STUPID! Tu queres Nestle Quik????" She is the only family member I have who does not know English, and if she were to try to get a job at anywhere other than some Spanish restaurant or factory, I would tell her the same thing.... LEARN ENGLISH!
And of course, we all know I speak Spanish. No shit. It's my native tongue... I suppose I could ((or should)) speak to others in Spanish but I don't. To me, it's a cop out. What about the person behind me who might want to know which drink is their Dr. Pepper and instead get a death stare? Are we now required to know Spanish in order to be able to get our food the way we want? Am I forever doomed to get the death stare??
Maybe tomorrow I will try Burger King. They say I can get things my way, so maybe if I ask nicely to get an English speaking cashier, they will have one stowed away in the back waiting just for me.
A girl can dream can't she?
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
And oh... anyone who had been wanting me to throw their link up on my sidebar or whatever, now is the time to remind me. I only attempt to destroy improve my site once every 3-4 months. So leave a comment and I will add you today.
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
And to avoid me beating the living shit out of someone, I decided to use my hands to type.
I think I made the right decision.
Long story short, it's a Monday. I don't know any place of business that deals with the general public that is NOT busy on a Monday. Not to mention that it is a Monday following a holiday weekend. So, we are super busy.
Now... tell me.... would you decide to do a bank run, and go to lunch at 10:30 in the morning leaving one person alone to run the office on a MONDAY? I sure as shit wouldn't. How about the Monday after a long holiday weekend??????????
Well, I was left alone to work in this shithole office with phones ringing off the hook, deliveries to accept and packages to ship all while this inconsiderate jackass took off for two hours.
ON THE MONDAY MORNING AFTER A HOLIDAY!!!!!!
Now that she is back, I considered choking the living shit out of her, but I love her far too much and life without her would absolutely suck.
So... I will just deal with it.... after I yell at her.
:)
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
Before we headed out, we went and spent far too much money on our own fireworks. They are illegal within city limits, but since we live out in the country, we have the right to blow ourselves up or set the house on fire if we please.
I am not a fan of fireworks. Frankly, they scare me. Even those little sparklers freak me out. So, they were setting them off in the backyard, and I would watch until the fuse was lit, and then I'd haul ass inside. It kind of took away from the point of actually watching them.... but I figure if I am going to get severely injured, I'd rather it be during something I enjoy. I mean really, who wants to tell the story of how they hated fireworks, but chose to stand outside watching people set them off, only to have a tube fall over and the fireworks shoot them in the face? Not me... which is why my whole watch and run plan is brilliant.
Even the professional fireworks made me a little uneasy, but I did enjoy them. I recorded a ton of it, and took lots and lots of pictures, which I will eventually get around to posting. Don't hold your breath though since I'm still trying to get my vacation pictures in order.
I hope everyone else had a wonderful and very safe 4th of July. Whether you live in the US or not.
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
One of the questions that I was asked for the FAQ Free for All was "How is it even possible that you are as confident and self aware as you act?" I really didn't take the question all that seriously and was going to answer it in a long list with along with the others.But then this weekend changed all that for me.
About 8 years ago, I met a girl named S. At the time I was really addicted to online games... you know, where you log into a room and play silly things like chess or scrabble with a group of stranger. Anyway, I met her playing Family Feud. Back then, we formed a clique of women who would group together to cheat the system. We would remember the answers for the questions and then share them with each other. That way everyone would get points etc. It was a lot of fun.
From that, spurred an amazing online friendship where we spoke often, and shared common problems and issues. We always wanted to meet but due to her own insecurities, she put it off and off and off.
Last week she emailed me to tell me she was coming to Dallas and that she wanted to see me while she was in town. I was SO excited to FINALLY get to see S. Eight years is a long time to wait!
We met Saturday evening at a tattoo parlor and as to be expected, we instantly hit it off. She was getting a piercing fixed, and then a tattoo. I sat and watched, and we talked and talked. The tattoo artist had asked her to stand up and look at herself in the mirror and she said to him "I don't like to look at myself..."
Her words were no joke... she has always been like that. Doubting her own beauty. Questioning who would want her... even though she is married. It has always broken my heart. Neither of us are skinny minnies, so I thought she would at least feel confident in my presence, but that wasn't the case either.
After she got her tattoo, we went to eat at Hooter's. There she continued to speak about her own lack of beauty... and no matter what we said to her, you could just see it in her face that she had convinced herself that she was just a big blob making her way through life.
It seems lately that I am having this very same conversation with so many of my friends. It really got me to thinking about me, who I am and how I carry myself...
The Hooter's is located near the House of Blues in Dallas, and while I was eating, I watched the groups of 3-4 females walking to the building. Four out of five of the groups had the typical "fat" friend... and it was the bigger girl who looked frumpy and plain. Most had on clothes that didn't fit, or some big flower printed tent that they thought they could use as a shirt for the night. Far too many of them had not a lick of make up on... hair looking awful. Meanwhile the skinny girls looked amazing. Decked out from head to toe. Is there some secret rule that if you weigh more than 175 pounds you aren't allowed to also look AMAZING??? I wanted to grab each one and ask them WHY.
Out of all my friends, I am one of the bigger girls. I'd be in the plus size to the world. I'm a fatty. But I'll be damned if I am going to act like one. When I am out and about, you better believe I am the best looking chick in the room... and if you don't believe it, then too bad for you, because I do.
And I will be honest. Do I think I am some stunningly beautiful woman? No. Do I think men become paralyzed in amazement when they see me? No. But I will carry myself as if they do. And at the end of the day, I get hit on more than any of my other friends. And it's not that hoochie hitting on... it's the "hello miss... how are you doing... can I get your number?"... All while I am wearing a wedding ring with a rock that you can see across a room. I actually get embarrassed when people give me compliments... inside I am all in knots, having major panic attacks but on the outside, I am smiling and nodding... I say thank you.
It's the topic of many of the conversations with my friends... they say it's just how I carry myself. Well no shit. And if I, a woman who for years was made to feel as if I was less valuable than a pile of dog shit can pull it together, then so can anyone else.
I have no doubt that that confidence comes from having been made to feel useless and pathetic. I vowed that I would never again let a man, or woman make me feel like I am worthless. And don't get me wrong, when I am at home I look at myself and wish for a smaller nose, less blemishes, smaller waist, longer lashes, no scar on my lip, perfect eyebrows, and so much more... but hey, I am not perfect. And that's fantastic!!!! When I leave my home though, no one will know I think less of myself. In the public eye, everything about me is exactly how I wish it to be.
So ladies, and even men... get it together! No matter what size you are, no matter what you look like, no matter who you are or what you do, DO YOU. You are number one. And if someone tells you you aren't then oh well it's their loss. And don't even think about letting them know that you believe their nonsense either.
As I love to say, "If I don't believe in me, why should you?"
And that's enough of that... for now.
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
One of the questions that I was asked for the FAQ Free for All was "How is it even possible that you are as confident and self aware as you act?" I really didn't take the question all that seriously and was going to answer it in a long list with along with the others.But then this weekend changed all that for me.
About 8 years ago, I met a girl named S. At the time I was really addicted to online games... you know, where you log into a room and play silly things like chess or scrabble with a group of stranger. Anyway, I met her playing Family Feud. Back then, we formed a clique of women who would group together to cheat the system. We would remember the answers for the questions and then share them with each other. That way everyone would get points etc. It was a lot of fun.
From that, spurred an amazing online friendship where we spoke often, and shared common problems and issues. We always wanted to meet but due to her own insecurities, she put it off and off and off.
Last week she emailed me to tell me she was coming to Dallas and that she wanted to see me while she was in town. I was SO excited to FINALLY get to see S. Eight years is a long time to wait!
We met Saturday evening at a tattoo parlor and as to be expected, we instantly hit it off. She was getting a piercing fixed, and then a tattoo. I sat and watched, and we talked and talked. The tattoo artist had asked her to stand up and look at herself in the mirror and she said to him "I don't like to look at myself..."
Her words were no joke... she has always been like that. Doubting her own beauty. Questioning who would want her... even though she is married. It has always broken my heart. Neither of us are skinny minnies, so I thought she would at least feel confident in my presence, but that wasn't the case either.
After she got her tattoo, we went to eat at Hooter's. There she continued to speak about her own lack of beauty... and no matter what we said to her, you could just see it in her face that she had convinced herself that she was just a big blob making her way through life.
It seems lately that I am having this very same conversation with so many of my friends. It really got me to thinking about me, who I am and how I carry myself...
The Hooter's is located near the House of Blues in Dallas, and while I was eating, I watched the groups of 3-4 females walking to the building. Four out of five of the groups had the typical "fat" friend... and it was the bigger girl who looked frumpy and plain. Most had on clothes that didn't fit, or some big flower printed tent that they thought they could use as a shirt for the night. Far too many of them had not a lick of make up on... hair looking awful. Meanwhile the skinny girls looked amazing. Decked out from head to toe. Is there some secret rule that if you weigh more than 175 pounds you aren't allowed to also look AMAZING??? I wanted to grab each one and ask them WHY.
Out of all my friends, I am one of the bigger girls. I'd be in the plus size to the world. I'm a fatty. But I'll be damned if I am going to act like one. When I am out and about, you better believe I am the best looking chick in the room... and if you don't believe it, then too bad for you, because I do.
And I will be honest. Do I think I am some stunningly beautiful woman? No. Do I think men become paralyzed in amazement when they see me? No. But I will carry myself as if they do. And at the end of the day, I get hit on more than any of my other friends. And it's not that hoochie hitting on... it's the "hello miss... how are you doing... can I get your number?"... All while I am wearing a wedding ring with a rock that you can see across a room. I actually get embarrassed when people give me compliments... inside I am all in knots, having major panic attacks but on the outside, I am smiling and nodding... I say thank you.
It's the topic of many of the conversations with my friends... they say it's just how I carry myself. Well no shit. And if I, a woman who for years was made to feel as if I was less valuable than a pile of dog shit can pull it together, then so can anyone else.
I have no doubt that that confidence comes from having been made to feel useless and pathetic. I vowed that I would never again let a man, or woman make me feel like I am worthless. And don't get me wrong, when I am at home I look at myself and wish for a smaller nose, less blemishes, smaller waist, longer lashes, no scar on my lip, perfect eyebrows, and so much more... but hey, I am not perfect. And that's fantastic!!!! When I leave my home though, no one will know I think less of myself. In the public eye, everything about me is exactly how I wish it to be.
So ladies, and even men... get it together! No matter what size you are, no matter what you look like, no matter who you are or what you do, DO YOU. You are number one. And if someone tells you you aren't then oh well it's their loss. And don't even think about letting them know that you believe their nonsense either.
As I love to say, "If I don't believe in me, why should you?"
And that's enough of that... for now.
Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. You can comment here or there.
For the first time in years, I actually got off my ass and went to watch some fireworks. Rumor was that the largest fireworks display in North Texas was taking place across the way from where I work, so we were able to park in our own lot, and have front row seats. It was an opportunity I didn't think I could pass up.
Before we headed out, we went and spent far too much money on our own fireworks. They are illegal within city limits, but since we live out in the country, we have the right to blow ourselves up or set the house on fire if we please.
I am not a fan of fireworks. Frankly, they scare me. Even those little sparklers freak me out. So, they were setting them off in the backyard, and I would watch until the fuse was lit, and then I'd haul ass inside. It kind of took away from the point of actually watching them.... but I figure if I am going to get severely injured, I'd rather it be during something I enjoy. I mean really, who wants to tell the story of how they hated fireworks, but chose to stand outside watching people set them off, only to have a tube fall over and the fireworks shoot them in the face? Not me... which is why my whole watch and run plan is brilliant.
Even the professional fireworks made me a little uneasy, but I did enjoy them. I recorded a ton of it, and took lots and lots of pictures, which I will eventually get around to posting. Don't hold your breath though since I'm still trying to get my vacation pictures in order.
I hope everyone else had a wonderful and very safe 4th of July. Whether you live in the US or not.
