I love you all

Really, all of you.

Seriously.

How did I just finally hear Pink's "Dear Mr President" yesterday? Am I seriously that far out of the loop? I love on that song.

Look at that, I'm just full of love today.

So today my Hefe and I went to Yosemite National Park, and can I be the first to say that 4 hour drives behind douche-muffins who refuse to abide by the If5CarsAreBehindYourPullYourPunkAssOver Law can kiss my ass. Repeatedly.

So the drive kind of sucked. And we didn't really have any clue what exactly Yosemite held that was so great as to be worth a 4 hour drive each way, but it's a 4 day weekend, and we were bored. Hefe's lived here (collectively) for 4 years without having yet been, and I've seemed to have avoided it for the last 2.5. Maybe avoided isn't the right word. There's a lot of stuff around here I haven't gotten around to yet. For example: Reno, San Francisco, Lake Tahoe, Chico (a college town that's supposedly The Shit during Halloween)... Today was the first time I'd been through Stockton. I have no idea what's there. Maybe it's my inner SmallTownGirl that's causing all this hermitness in me. Maybe I'm not adventurous. Maybe it blows to go places alone, and most of my buds have already been everywhere (they've been here longer than me).

Back to the topic at hand, we finally got to one of the Park Entrances, and those fools want $20 bucks for a 7 day pass. Why the hell don't they have one day passes? Yeah, that's right, they're fucking people in the ass. In the ass folks. They give us a bunch of shite, a newspaper thing with a map, some useless booklet on the park, and your receipt from paying The Raping to enter the park (that you're supposed to hold onto and show the wonderfully frumpy looking park rangers upon exiting the park.) We decide that Yosemite Valley is probably where it's at, although we have no idea how long it's going to take to get there (windy ass roads + a map that doesn't really make much sense at all + millions of fools pulling over ever 5 seconds to take pictures = an inability to accurately gauge the distance vs time ratio.) Plus, we were one of those millions of fools pulling into every turnoff for a photo opp. My favorite picture from today (That I took. I haven't seen Hefe's pics from his camera yet): The classic "Hey Hefe, pose for me" = *Immediate shift into the Heisman Trophy Stance* Crazy kid. Doesn't he know that you're supposed to switch it up every now and then? Of course, all my attempts to look hardcore during pictures are ruined by me cracking up at the last minute; thus turning all my pictures into FroHead cheesin while in The Thinker pose. FroHead cheesin while looking hella buff. FroHead cheesin while throwing up the biggest standby in the book (the thumbs up). That's right. I am almost completely unable to take a picture that doesn't have a huge cheesy-ass grin. And if such a thing does happen, it's usually not the first take.

So after we bought some shit that's marketed to all Tool Bag tourists, we bailed and headed home. Deciding we were mildly hungry, we stopped off on the way home at a little place called Lucille's BBQ. I've been there once before, and this shit is awesome. Being me, I got my usual Chicken Caesar Salad, and Hefe got a chicken sandwich or something. During our wonderful dining experience, we somehow stumbled upon what was to become the most important part of this whole damn post. We were having a rather intense discussion (that followed us out into the parking lot, then continued for part of the drive home) regarding the appropriateness of trying to holler at a waitress in her workplace. Having just spent countless hours listening to a wonderful CD mix featuring such classic songs as Rod Stewart's "If You Think I'm Sexy," Donna Summers' "Hot Stuff," K.C. & The Sunshine Band's "Shake, Shake, Shake," and many others of that genre, Hefe's idea to get a waitress' attention was to step up to said waitress and say something along the lines of "Hey. If you want my body and you think I'm sexy, come on sugar let me know... I'm sure you get plenty of fools hitting on you every day, but maybe after you get off we could go out and shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake our booties or something." This fool had so many cheesy ideas that I couldn't stop laughing the whole way out the door as I was adding my input and arguing that there is no way in hell a waitress wants to be hit on in her workplace, no matter how original it is. Then he was coming up with a bunch of shit I should have said to her. One was something about "On my way back from the restroom I overheard some guy saying that a pretty girl like you belongs at home in the kitchen, not out in the workforce. I had to beat his ass for making such sexist comments, and I think you should totally take me out to coffee sometime to thank me."

On a serious note, waitresses, bartenders, any and all people who have an opinion regarding this:
1) Such behavior would get a person bitch-slapped, right?
2) Is it ever appropriate to holler at a waitress/bartender/anyone at work?
3) Girls, has a chick ever hit on you?
4) What's the craziest shit some customer's ever said to you?
5) And finally, do you think either of these would have worked?


What say you? Do I win or lose the argument?
1) Hell yes
2) Hell no
3) Not that I can remember, no
4) I had some nasty old guy who'd come by every day (Back in my Barista days) and just made uncomfortable remarks about any and everything. It was a small-ass town and one could not tell off a customer if they wanted to continue to work in said town.
5) Hell to the no.


***I like to color fuzzy posters. I take pictures of my progress and text them to MarkyMark all the time. Today, you get pictures of my fantastic artwork instead of my nastyass neck. That's right. Be jealous of my mad skills.