Bush sisters and 500 chopsticks.

Last night I worked a rehearsal dinner for a huge wedding.  Our boss has been talking about this wedding for over a year, so basically put on your best pair of K-mart non slip fake leather grandma loafers… it’s time to bring the big guns.

I looked at the run down for the evening … dinner from 7:00 – 9:00, beets and goat cheese, short ribs, and fruit sundaes for dinner. But then at the bottom I notice the ’service note’ for the evening. It read

VVVIP.

Ok so either someone had a hand cramp and didn’t click spell check, or this was a TRIPLE VIP event.

VVVIP.  Hmm… what do I have to do in my life to surpass the status of VIP and move onward to VVVIP.  At this point if I ever even got an IP I would feel accomplished.

So there were 3 V’s, and 300 people heading our way.

I went into our main ballroom to rally up some silverware.  A lovely little Turkish co-worker comes up to me and whispers in her broken english, “Bush daughter, Barbara. Right there in big poof blue dress.”

What?  Is this little Turkey bundle of joy trying to tell me that little Barbara Bush was in our midst … indeed she was.

I zeroed in on who I though Barbara Bush was, however turns out someone else decided to done a blue poof dress as well, so for ten minutes I was one eyeballing another chick with brown hair who I thought used to roam the White House.  Nope, not Barbara.

Now, as a journalist one would think that I would be familiar with the former president’s daughter, however I wasn’t.  Nobody really was actually.  While I do think I could pick Chelsea Clinton out of a crowd, Barbara Bush Jr. has slipped through my radar.

But eventually I got my brown haired blue dress women straightened out, and there she was.  President Bush’s daughter.  fascinating.  Not really.

One particularly liberal server friend of mine told me that after he dropped Barbara’s plate of ribs down in front of her, he was going to whisper ‘Your Dad stunk as President.  Would you like sauce with those ribs?”

I pulled the whole let me dare you thing and said “You won’t”, and of course, in fact, he really didn’t.

The night pressed on and the small wedding party dinner turned into a beach party with all the guests.

I was on passing duty, and I had my plate stacked with chocolate dipped Key Lime Pie on a stick.  Each pie slice weighs about 6 pounds, and those six pounds go straight onto your left booty cheek after eating it.  And try as I must all night to refrain from indulging in that six pounds of lime lard, I ate one, then immediately regretted it.  But those 12 seconds of eating were the best 12 seconds of my 8 hour shift.

Anyways, as the party expanded so did the Bush family.  Cue: Jenna Bush.

Oh Jenna, with your DUI charge and recent Today show gig.  Again, as journalist I do envy the Today show bliss she gets to experience, but then again I launched my reporting career graduating from a college nobody has ever heard of, while she launched hers from the White House. No big deal, it’s just the White House. (cue me pouting)

But there she was in her white dress and tall heals, and there I was with my plate of pie.  I was walking behind her staring at her blonde hair highlights and all the secrets about the nation they cover.  Then she whipped that secret holding head around and yells ‘HEY!’.

I look over my polyester shoulder, left, right. Yes, she is ‘heying’ at me.

Ah, Yes? I reply.

Do you want to play golf with this guy tomorrow?

I follow her gesture.  There stood a tall, lanky, curly-haired big apple Adam’s man looking at me as confused as I was looking at him.

In true 5 star quality serving fashion I answered with more excitement than I actually feel and say “Sure! Of course I will play golf with you!”  The tall man shrugs, Jenna whips her hair around again, and keeps chattering away seemingly unaware of the question she even asked me. 

Ah.. this is awkward.  And random.  And an ex-first daughter.  How do I handle this situation?  The most natural and un-awkward way possible. 

I offer them key lime pie on a stick.

Blink.  Blink. Sigh.

The group responds with one big ignore session.

Cue awkward turtle.

I walk to the back, with my pie plate still full, beads of condensation forming on the crunchy chocolate shell, my loafers trying to miss all of the Christian Louboutin pumps on the dance floor.

Then, I get to the back and my overly hyper supervisor greets me and my friend with a HEY!  You two, down to the office!  Complete with some huge unnecessary arm gesture.

My and my blonde bombshell friend trot our little tux bodies to the basement, expecting to get cut early. Score!

We walk into the office, only to be faced with

500 pairs of chopsticks.

Another boss of mine goes girls, before you go, can you peel the labels off of every single pair of these chopsticks?

Um….excuse me?

I pick up a pair and try to get a sticker off.  About one inch of the label peels off, leaving a mass amount of sticky residue and paper still plastered to the side.

You have got to be kidding me.  This is going to take all night.

In my slightly spoiled upbringing and very outspoken fashion, I pleaded with everyone in the office that this job is completely unnecessary, and absolutely ridiculous.  One boss just looked at me and said ‘It’s not even worth trying.’ and left us with our massive pile of stickered chopsticks and misery.

We began. 15 min goes by, 20 min, one hour.  The rest of our team that was finishing up upstairs come down.  Alright!  Teamwork, we can knock out this ridiculous tedious job in ten more min.  They look at our fingers, raw from trying to peel off hundreds of tiny stickers, shake their heads, and make up every excuse possible to get out of that office and leave us to our own peril.

DFKJDHFJHDKFJD.  This was my frustration at this point.  Another hour goes by, and we have about ten boxes left.  My overly excited supervisor comes down to our chopstick hell, and says ‘Your not done yet?!”

I almost jabbed a chopstick into his right eye.

He picks one up and begins trying to peel the wrapper off with his pudge fingers.

What!  This is Ca-Ca!  He exclaims. 

That is what were trying to explain two hours and 480 chopstick sets ago.

Alright, he says, go home.

OMG.

I literally just completed the most pointless job of all time.  My dark purple manicured nails were chipped, and my thumbs were cramping in ways never before thought possible.  But I was released, and at that point it was all I cared about.  My K-mart loafers somehow led me to my car, after a long night of Jenna Bush and Chopsticks.

Whoever uses those plastic sushi picking up devices tonight better appreciate them and all of their sticker free glory.

And lets hope we didn’t slap swine flu all over them.

Cheers!

Just another day on the job.

17

17 more stories and this little blog is being turned into a book!  God willing?

PEACE

 

Celeb Sightings: These blasts from the past are sure to tickle your fancy.

There is a foofy poofy golf event that went on at the hotel over the weekend, called The ADT Skills Challenge.  Doesn’t that just send shivers of excitement down your spine? Blah.  For some that may seem like an amazing weekend of fine dining and golf playing bliss.  For me all I can think about is how one time while parking in a designated and required employee parking space, a golf ball came whirling through the air and dented my Toyota, only to have the golf ball hitter yell at me for picking up his ball, off the hood of my car.

Golfer “Thats my ball!”

Me  “This is my car.”

 Really?

That dent still lives there proud and strong.  The hotel pretends like they will pay for it, sending out a security guard to take notes and pics.  Lies.  Golf ball lies.

So besides my bitterness over white plastic round objects, the golf tournament is good for one thing.

CELEBRITY SIGHTINGS!!

OK all you Perez Hilton fans, add my name to your blogroll because I am about to blow you away with the amazing celeb sightings encountered only mere hours ago.

Was it the infamous Brangelina duo? with their 87 kids tucked in Angelina’s oversized Hermès Birkin bag?

No.

Better.

Remember the show…Fresh Prince of Bell Air?  Who could forget that crab.  Art, true art.

OMG did you I Will Smith?

No.

Better.

Remeber the Fresh Prince’s annoying short and chubby cousin?

BINGO!  We have a Carlton sighting on our hands.

SO AMAZING.

And who could forget this little diddy!

And yes ladies, he did whip that dance out on the dance floor, and yes I did faint in lust.

IT GETS BETTER AND THE CELEBS GET BIGGER.

Sighting number 2.

So….remember Seinfield?

Did I see Jerry himself?

No. Better.

Remember Mr. Peterman, Elaine’s extremely awkward boss? 

Yes, there he was in all his white-haired glory.

I don’t even know his name… but I do know his fame. Whoot!

Can you say sexy?

And yes ladies, this IS the current host of Family Feud,  a show I know ALL of you readers out there ti-vo on a daily basis.

 

Alright so how is that for A-list celeb sightings on the grand island of Palm Beach?

Don’t you all be jealous now of these amazing encounters.

Loves it and Loves you.

Palm Beach Waitress Halloween Special: Only on the island do things like this happen.

 It was Halloween time, the autumn air was crisp and cool, and colored leaves scattered across the ground. Ok who am I kidding we live in a tropical sauna. The palm trees were bursting with coconuts that have the potential to fall and smash a Lamborghini, the air was still 85 degrees and just humid enough to make my chi-straightened hair curl again, and there were no colored leaves … anywhere.

My friend Coco was asked if she would be a waitress at a private party separate from the hotel. Another server used to work for a woman living on the island, so she recruited a few co-workers to be the woman’s slave for the night.

So Coco gets in her beat up old Plymouth, swings by City Place to pick up Tony, a guy who was also a server recruit for the night, and they putt their butts to the island.

Tony is tall and lanky, with a big adams apple and an addiction to UV rays.. His sun burned nose is always freckled and a pealing just a bit. He has a southern surfer way of talking, and loves kegs of beer. He is not in college but basically fits the stereotype mold of college boy, except has more time to party without class getting in the way.

They turn east on Clark Ave and a couple houses down there it sat, a massive mansion that our dorm room could fit into 50 times. The stare in amazement for a moment, and then step out to begin their nightly endeavor.

See for all us mainlanders, we just gawk at these beautiful houses when we go to the beach, or drive past and show them to our mom when she comes and visits. They are like a mysterious wilderness for us. Big, foreign, and never been entered. Coco and Tony got a glimpse into the forbidden world of the Palm Beach rich. Jealous.

You may remember me telling you about Coco from a previous story, where she somehow managed to get more free makeup than if she modeled for Cover Girl. Coco is that friend that we all have where luck literally sometimes falls onto their lap. As she went to this party on the island, we all sat back in West Palm eating reduced fat Cheez-it’s and laughing at Youtube videos, all the while fantasizing about her Palm Beach endeavors and how we wish we too were on the island in a mansion, even if it’s only to pick up dirty napkins after wealthy people.

They walk inside and are greeted by the hostess. Remember, this is a Halloween party, so naturally you must where a slutty outfit. Cough. The lady hands Coco a tiny little sexy bumble bee costume, you know the one that every girl on Clematis wears Halloween night, thinking it’s original when really it is just degrading. Cough. The lady, who clearly already had been drinking the magic juice, says “Put this on it’s cute! Oh and you can keep it.” Coco looks at her, looks around, then throws the thing over her t-shirt and jeans.

This is why she is my friend, because she rocked the bumble bee over her jeans. That bee costume resurfaced again of course, jeans included, as we all made our way to Fright Night at the South Florida Fair Grounds. Appropriate, a bumble bee being chased by Freddy Krugers with a fake chain-saw. Appropriate.

So Coco and Tony start making the rounds, passing out brie cheese and grapes, or glasses of champagne. Everyone was in their dressed in their costume finest, some of them looking like they walked out of Rachel’s Steakhouse. (A topless little steak joint in West Palm. I swear honey, I go there for the fine dining, they have the best steak around. Just like Hooters across the street has the best wings.) LIES.

Anyways, the night wraps up, and it is about time to go. Coco and her bee butt walk up to the hostess and begin the awkward “Hey there, heading out… where is my money?” run around. The lady by this time has more alcohol in her system than when David Hasselhoff tried to eat a hamburger.

She gives them two white envelopes, kisses Coco on the cheek and Tony a little too close to his mouth. The pair walk out, Coco’s glittery wings blowing in the ocean breeze. They pile back into the junker car and tear open their envelopes. They worked about five hours, so they were expecting around one hundred bucks. They reach in and pull out five crisp $100 bills.

Oh. My. Gosh. That is more money then we make in two weeks work! This is our car payment two times over. This is ridiculous, this is Palm Beach. So they both do a little happy scream, then a happy little car restricted dance. They couldn’t believe their luck (although I can, Coco has magical luck farts coming out of her all the time.)

 So after their screams and celebrations, Tony suddenly gets really quiet, and really serious. He looks slowly over at Coco, and stammers,

“Want to make out.”

 Coco blinks, her $500 still fresh in her hand. She looks at it, she looks at the mansion, then she looks at sunburned Tony. She blinks again, and says

 “No.”

With that she puts the crap car into reverse, drives back over the bridge to the mainland, drops of Tony and drives back to her dirty apartment.

Singlehandedly the most awkward yet perfect ending to the most awkward and perfect night, on Palm Beach.

Another ridiculous poodle that roams the earth.

This picture needs no words.  Simply amazing. 

At this point I don’t know what this poodle has to do with being a Palm Beach waitress, but just appreciate it for all it’s glory.

metro.co.uk.

Another hot blog. Check it.

Check out this blog and it’s funky stank.  It is written by another astounding aspiring West Palm Beach journalist.

Click here to check out “Hey I like Your Afro” by Mitzi.

Kiss.

Palm Beach socialite goes ghetto…

It was an evening event and all the Palm Beach ladies were dressed in their finest.

The silk was flowing; the intricate beading was sparkling in the light. Hair was elegantly wrapped in French twists, or freshly blown out from the Edward Beauty Salon. 

The men’s suits were new and wrinkle free, the ties and pocket squares loud with color, patterns and Palm Beach style.

It was cocktail hour, and the Frank Sinatra wanna-be was crooning the crowd with all the classics. I went back into the kitchen to bring out a plate of California rolls and fresh tuna. Always a crowd pleaser.

As I re-entered the ballroom, I could sense that something was different… somthing was going down.

Ladies eyes were darting to one part of the room, hidden under their thick eyelash extensions. The tone of the party was more hushed, people slipping out comments half under their breath. Then I saw what everyone in the room apparently had as well.

A Palm Beach gent had entered the room, grabbed some champagne and began his mingle session like all the rest.

But his date, a caucasian woman, her lips plumped and her hair big, clearly accustomed to the ways of the island, had on a very peculiar outfit. Let’s just say this Palm Beach socialite looks like she just walked out of a house party in the Bronx. 

The woman….was dressed ghetto. While the rest of the Palm Beach ladies were in floor length gowns and vintage, she chose to wear booty shots and a belly chain. She had in big hoops that had the word ‘phresh’ across them. Her lipstick was bright red, her shorts screamed Apple Bottom and her shirt read Baby Phat. She had boots that went up past her knees with stiletto heels that could hurt someone in a brawl. Her blond hair had corn rows. Corn rows. Yes, corn rows. On Palm Beach. This was a first in the history of the island.

Everyone was staring at this urban elephant in the room, but she and her man were rocking it and not thinking twice about it. If this woman had enough confidence to walk into the hotel wearing booty shorts and corn rows, who knows what else she could do. She was fierce and a hot tranny mess.

More poodle bliss.

This is a little something for you dozens of people who come to my sight via googling poodle, ugly poodle, or weird poodle.  Who knew I would get such traffic from you poodle lovers and haters!  Here is my update to the Palm Beach poodle madness.

I was in Publix the other day on the Island, fresh from the beach, covered in sand and smeared mascara and looking way sub par to the Palm Beach ladies who put on their finest for a trip to the grocery store.

Side note to this side note about poodles …. the Palm Beach Publix has valet parking.  The parking lot literally is 20 feet long.  Why would you valet?

Anyways, I was in there purchasing hot dogs for an upcoming camping adventure to St. Augustine (balla!).  Then, as I veered out of aisle 5 I came face to face with a massive. white. gigantic. poodle.

Visual aid:

 

 Yikes.

 Oh my goodness I just about dropped my mystery meat sticks encased in synthetic cellulose casings.  These giant poodles freak me out, and who let this big fluff puff into Publix?

Then I saw.  The precious old man who had this cotton candy dog on a leash had also taken the time to put on a “Service Dog” vest on it.

Service dog?  Really? Really?

Service dogs are labs or German shepherds … but not fluffy afro puff poodles!  What service exactly could this poodle provide?  Could he sing you Tina Turner songs when you feel like you needed a big hair tune to dance to?

 Please note this resemblance.

 

Anyways, the old Palm Beach man and his massive poodle were so adorable and precious, but so ridiculous at the same time.    Although I highly doubt that his poodle companion was a trained service dog, I don’t doubt that the little old man loved that fluff enough to take it into the grocery store.  I should have fed it a hot dog.  Onward soldiers!

Check it! Another Palm Beach blog.

Friends!  Great blog by a great author that also speaks on the joys and hilarity of  Palm Beach. Holla!

Visit The Rich Life by David Desmond here.

Weird watch: Just because you live on an island doesn’t mean it’s not weird: Food.

 I have seen some weird food in my days serving. It never ceases to amaze me how a slimy fatty liver or something that is cut out of a fish can be considered a delicacy. This is a little section that discusses 3 foods I think are absolutely disgusting, but still cost more than a week of groceries.

1. Caviar.

I love how at parties I will carry around trays of something absolutely delicious, such as a mini Cuban sandwich. Everyone will turn their noses at the sight of a tiny smear of butter and cheese. Then I will bring around a huge tub of forest green, stinky caviar. (When I serve it I almost want to speak in a British accent … it just seems appropriate.) So I offer the tub of gooed fish eggs, and everyone actually begins to acknowledge that I am a human being and start oohing and ahing over this mass of undeveloped minnows. ‘Oh caviar! How lovely. I adore Caviar” Yadda yadda yadda .,.. you probably actually hate it but you can’t let Nancy sitting at your right think that you aren’t made of all class. So the caviar always sells.

But I was researching the fish that the eggs actually come out of, and it was quite… disgusting. I wonder if people would be so excited about the ‘delicacy’ if I served it wearing a T-shirt with this image on it. Muahaha:

 

Sick. You realize you are eating the eggs of a fish that sports a moustache tackier that Hulk Hogan’s. Honestly it doesn’t taste that good.

2. Foie Gras.

For all you people not accustomed to fine dining I will translate foie gras for you. It is is French for ‘fat liver.’ They take a duck and stuff it until it is resembles Michael Moore in Supersize Me. Then, they slap the slimy slab right on the plate and top it with whatever they feel like. At the hotel, we often serve it topped with …ready for this ….brace yourself…. peanut butter and jelly. I just threw up a little typing that. Say WhAt? PB&J over a slice of obese DUCK LIVER? Lets just say that is a far stretch from the PB&J my mom would pack me back in the good old days. At what point in life do we stop wanting peanut butter and jelly on delicious white wonder bread and instead turn to fatty duck liver? This is the worst part. They stuff tubes down the goose’s throats and don’t let them move just so their liver gets fatty enough to be enjoyed on a cracker.

 Example A:

 

Now pair that with this:

 

Are you hungry yet?

 3. The Oyster.

Ah seafood. I know oysters are not that fancy schmancy or even that gross. Many people like them. However slurping down something that has the consistency of a slimly lymph node does is not appealing to me, especially when it smells like a marina. But this is why I added the oyster to the list of foods I won’t eat no matter how dignified I become.

A lovely gentleman, who works at the hotel bussing dishes down into the dishwashing room, told me this tale of oyster horror. Since he gets to encounter all the left over food (and trust me there always is enough to feed every homeless person in Florida), he endulges here and there. He told me that he loved oysters, and whenever a raw bar would come through he would eat a couple. Then…(cue dramatic and frightening music) …one day he crack opened the shell…and he found a worm. This worm had by itself consumed the entire oyster before any human even had a chance. A WORM. That is just wrong on so many levels.

All right kids, there you go. Take this as a lesson on how to truly eat with class and dignity at a high society event. Pass on the fish eggs and parasite ridden oysters, and say yes to the hummus platter and fried cheese. Onward soldiers!