There was no sign, I swear.

The mother of all blogs is coming....tomorrow.

Okay, I'm back.

Hi.

So, it's not really the mother of all blogs...but at the time I wrote the above, I was irritated.

Here's the story.

We went out Saturday evening and decided to stop by Ruby Tuesday for some dinner. I requested it actually, because their salad bar is slamalama-ding dong. As I'm approaching the salad bar, there is nobody up there and this makes me incredibly happy. I like to take my time assembling my salad, you see. Usually I start of super healthy. Lettuce..tomato..cucumber..mushrooms, all that good stuff. That all starts to go to shit once I see the cheese, bacon, pasta salads and of course, ranch dressing. I suppose I could get light ranch or fat free..but that shit just won't do. All of the healthy items on my salad so totally balance out the fatty ones, no?

Great. Now I want a fucking Gandhi-ass salad.

Where was I? Oh yes, I was pissed.

So I had JUST gotten the lettuce on my plate, when crazy-Adderal snorting-huffy puffy bitch grabbed her plate and started on her salad. She still pisses me off 2 days later. Hmph.

Anyways, I'm moving along at a fairly reasonable pace. Not at all too slow in my opinion. This crazy bitch starts slinging her items on her plate and scooting as close to me as she possibly can. I'm not even shitting you when I say you couldn't slide a piece of paper between us. I can also tell you that she was wearing Estee' Lauder Pleasures and her breath smelled like Amaretto Sour. I don't lie.

So, I keep going..trying to quicken my pace just a little as not to get my ass trampled and lose my salad, because it was a masterpiece. Finally, halfway down the bar as I was getting my eggs is about the time I lost it.

Those eggs were not cooperating with me and the plastic tongs. Not my fault, dude. In the middle of trying to coax the eggs on my plate, psycho bitch lets out a loud and exaggerated sigh. I immediately started looking around the bar for a moment and then I took 2 STOMPS backward. She looks at me like I have two heads. "Please, by all means..go ahead" I said while presenting the bar to her a la Vanna White.

"Huh?" She says.

"Well you are obviously in a much bigger hurry than I am, so by all means..PROCEED."

I would like to point out that I am a fairly calm and easy going person. It takes a lot to really piss me off to the point of putting your ass in your place. But do not FUCK with me and my salad. Period.

I mean, I looked around for a sign saying something about the fastest one at the salad bar wins..but this was not the case. Because if it had been, bitch you know I would've straight up been in it to win it.

She mumbled something under her amaretto tainted breath, but this didn't matter to me. I had a fucking salad waiting to be eaten.

I'm not even going to go into the 80 year old couple that sat in the booth behind us bitching about EVERYTHING. Okay, that's a lie because they were straight being nasty! Well, the lady was anyways. The man was trying to get her to shut the fuck up, I think. He is probably secretly counting the days until he doesn't have to listen to her mouth anymore. Was that mean to say? Yeah, I decided it was too mean but I'm keeping it in here.

I honestly wanted to turn around and tell her, lady..do not FUCK with the people who are handling your food. It's a rule that pretty much everyone understands. Have you ever seen the movie, Waiting? Unless you wants pubes in your broccoli quiche, be nice to your waitress.