Angie’s Drama

Walking into the Department of Motor Vehicles will make any self-respecting adult feel like the Dean just busted them for wearing their uniform above the knee. Okay, maybe not any adult, just those that were female and went to a catholic high school.
They have that huge sign that sign that mandates everyone must see the Information Officer at the front desk. Thankfully, I noticed the Sticker Renewal Line Only sign, so I got to bypass the fun of that little group. Slipping past the front desk, I was waiting to hear the Information Officer bark out, “Where are you going?” It’s happened before. My guess is that the 100 person line I was extending was probably a good indicator of my “master plan to deceive the DMV Information Officer.”

Being stuck in a line that size is really no fun. Sure, you could chat up a fellow line detainee, but that just gets awkward after a while. Why chat with someone when there are always multitudes of children that make more noise than a parking lot of bikers during a poker run? I might just be that awful human being that doesn’t think every child I see is a cute, precious little being. The moms’ are oblivious to the fact that the rest of the people waiting in line don’t need to hear the baby talk at top volume. Nor, do we all want to make friends with little Kiera and Bobby.
In a line that size, inevitably, another worker decides to throw some order into the mix. “Does everyone know that this is the line for sticker re-newel only?” Yes. “All checks are made payable to the Secretary of State!” Damn it, I made the check out to Organ Donations. “If you don’t have a pen, borrow one from your neighbor!” Neighbor? That, right there, was straight out of high school.

Now, I’m not saying you have to go to the hair salon and get your nails done to go to the DMV, but c’mon. I can’t be the only person who has noticed a disturbing trend with people coming straight from the swimming pool. The best game you can play while waiting in line is to count the number of t-shirts, worn by women, not children, featuring Tweety Bird, Eyeore, Sylvester, Minnie Mouse or Daisy Duck. No lie, I counted seven.

I’m fully aware that for a little extra you can get your sticker on-line or at several satellite locations around town. I think next year it will be South Side Bank for me-but at least I can say I know Kiera and Bobby, right?

Over the weekend, Papa Walker was involved in a minor fender bender. He was on the ramp that connects Route 29 to Route 150, right below the Goodwill Store on the hill. The car in front of him was at the stop sign, proceeded to move forward a few feet , saw a car and stopped. Not before the Papa saw it was clear, began to go and slammed into the back of her vehicle. While he got a ticket, the police officer said that he gives out these particular tickets 100 times a year. That’s like one every three to four days. I’d say our traffic systems are a little dangerous. I will admit that I am so that driver. I drive so many different sized vehicles that sometimes it’s safe for me to merge and other times I suddenly remember that I’m in a long cargo van and there is no way I can make it.

To The A**holes on Hamilton and North:
I thought we cleared this up a while ago-obviously you need a re-fresher. As I’m proceeding towards Peoria Central High School from Main Street, I have a stop sign. The cars coming up Hamilton have a stop sign on North Street. The cars coming from Peoria Central High turning left down Hamilton DO NOT HAVE A STOP SIGN. YOU MUST YIELD TO THEM. That is how the stop signs read. Because I am yielding to cars that are turning left down Hamilton, when it is clear, I fully expect those at the Hamilton and North stop sign to wait for me to go through the intersection. IF YOU SNEAK IN AS I’M APPROACHING, YOU’RE AN A**HOLE. Not to mention rolling stops are illegal. Please have consideration and respect for your fellow drivers. Hate to break it to you, you’re not that important. Don’t be an a-hole.

Not that I have much time (unlike friends of mine who do nothing but take their children to the pool) this Summer, but I’m trying to get a few books read. Some are easier than others.

The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst: I’ve read about 8 chapters and I have no problem putting the book down. The premise is just a tad too far out there for me. A widower (linguistics professor) vows to teach his dog to speak so he can find out how his wife died. The dog is the only witness. If I, of all people, are having problems with this, it may just be a little to wacky.

God Knows His Name: The True Story of John Doe No. 24 by Dave Bakke: A deaf man is institutionalized because he can’t speak. So far, very interesting and written by a Springfield reporter.

Writing and Reporting News: A Coaching Method by Carole Rick: Senior year text book from a journalism class.

Dean Koontz’s Frankenstein: Book One Prodigal Son: At one point, I owned a copy of each of his books. That was before he became involved in all things science fiction. This book is a terrific return to the writing of his past. I read this one in 6 hours.

Anyone else reading anything interesting?

Mama Walker came home for the weekend! She was up in Chicago for 54 days. She had to go back yesterday but the odds are great that she’ll be home tomorrow. Then, barring any infections or mishaps, it’s back to Chicago every Wednesday for testing. While she was home and probably for the next week she’ll be on an IV for an hour twice a day to fight the infection. We had a quiet dinner the night she came home with just the immediate family. Being home for those three days probably did more for her spirits and health than anything in Chicago would have.

Over the weekend, there was a perfect example of what a party of 9 can do to piss off everyone in a restaurant.

1. Walk into restaurant and declare how many people are in your party and demand to know exactly how long it will be until you’re seated.
2. While the host is setting up your table do any of these:
a) crowd around the host so he/she can’t move or get the job done
b) sit at the table before it is correctly set
c) when a member of your party says, “I think we should wait to sit until he/she is finished setting the table,” respond with, “What the hell is he/she going to do about it?”
3. Snap your fingers to get the server’s attention
4. Assume everyone working in the restaurant is a grade school drop out and treat them as such.
5. Talk loudly, boldy and vehemenlty about sensitive subjects such as abortion, school districts and gun control with their being no chance that some of the employees are nurses, principals and avid hunters/conservationists.
6. Ignore all rules of etiquette, put your elbows up on the table, hang your head over your plate and dive in!
7. Never tip more than 10 percent when gratuity isn’t included because the grade school drop outs should get better jobs.

whatever.

NOTICE: The views expressed in Rob’s Rant may or may not be the views of this blogger. From time to time, Rob gets antsy to see his name on this blog. What a glory hound.

Rob’s Rant:
Well, I tried to write a rant but just had to quit after more than one page. I won’t submit you to that much “Rob.” If you want the full diatribe, I’m sure to oblige some night, on a barstool at the Recovery Room. Angie’s note: He’s the guy at the end of the bar talking passionately about a subject, usually rather loudly. I’ll be the girl at the opposite end of the bar playing the touch screen game so I don’t have to hear the same story 36 times.

The whole thing was about how the gun-ban crowd will hack away at the 2nd Amendment until it’s gone. How they will vilify a category of firearms until the unknowing public thinks that type of gun will cause the collapse of civilization. Read: Assault weapon, high-capacity & .50 caliber sniper rifle. All the while, this bunch of fear mongers will tell the gun owners of the U.S. “We just want the evil guns.”

I say BULLSHIT.

The gun-banners are just taking a page from the Brit’s book. That’s just what they did over there; first they took the pistols, then the rifles, then grandpa’s shotgun. Then they felt safe. NOT. After they took all the guns and only the criminals had guns, crime went rampant. Thugs were roaming the streets and attacking anyone in broad daylight.

So, what do they do? Ban criminals? Nope. For some reason, they thought restricting the power of airguns would solve the crime problem. I guess Ralphie is safe. How much farther can they go? Last week saw how far as liberals convinced a group of doctors in the U.K. to call for the banning of all pointed kitchen knives. Why-because violent people were using them to kill people. All knives should be ground down to a dull-rounded point. The even got a group of chefs to say that there is no need for a point on a knife longer than three inches.
That will do it. Right? Sorry. Last week was the best ever. Now there is a strong push to ban all toy guns in the U.K. I guess someone used a toy gun to rob a lady or something. Boy, I hope nobody uses a soccer ball or cricket bat to kill someone over there. They won’t have anything to watch on TV.

An open letter to drivers that are now taking Main Street or Hamilton Street to North Street because of the closure of Knoxville:

I’ve been driving this particular route for about 5 years, not just because I-74 construction has closed every street near downtown Peoria. Here’s how it goes. There has always been a stop sign for traffic coming from Main, to the intersection of Hamilton and North Streets. In all legality, drivers coming up the Hamilton hill, really didn’t have to yield to the north bound traffic on North, coming from Main. This changed a few months ago when a new stop sign was added to the top of Hamilton Hill at North Street. The idea is that traffic southbound on North, turning down Hamilton, will have the right of way-then the car at Hamilton and then the car on North can proceed if no car is turning. What this does not mean is that the car behind, the car at the Hamilton stop sign gets to sneak in too. The car waiting on North, already has to worry about the oncoming cars turning-don’t make them slam on their brakes because you really want to go.

One more thing: When I’m driving up the windy hill on Main to turn right onto North Street, my blinker won’t work. My car thinks I’m turning so the blinker is locked. For all the people behind me that think I’m a total jerk for braking and turning abruptly, I’m sorry, it’s all about the blinker.

One of my dearest friends is finally divorced from a guy whose picture is in the dictionary under Shithead. Not that he would ever pick up a dictionary-but if it had his picture in it-maybe. Anyway, due to being an extremely hard-working, single mother of two, it’s taken awhile for her to actually file the paperwork. Shithead has not seen the two boys since January and has all but disappeared from the scene. Child support? Right… King of getting paid under the table so nothing is reported…Taxes? Right…Hasn’t filed a tax return in years. Clearly-very worried about the law, much less providing for a family. I just have to say congratulations dear friend..the worst is behind you…and you’re free!!! No more ties to Shithead.

Cheers!!

Well it’s official. I’m sucked into summer programming on Fox. Hell’s Kitchen is a pretty good show, especially if you’ve ever worked in a kitchen or dining room. Apparently, Gordon Ramsay is a huge chef in Europe and has opened several wildly successful restaurants. He doesn’t take crap from anyone which is why I like him. I’m still not sure if the winner get’s the restaurant, or becomes the head chef at the restaurant-that part wasn’t too clear. So you have the contestants who all have varying degrees of expertise in the kitchen and they are divided into two teams. They compete in challenges but also have to work together to serve the restaurant. Each team has its own state-of-the-art kitchen which serves the tables that correspond to their team color (red and blue). On their very first day, they find out that the restaurant will be opening in 4 hours. They have until then to learn 4 appetizers, 4 main dishes and 4 desserts. Now, I’m assuming that patrons were aware of the reality show being filmed and its premise. We’re talking about LA where everyone is vying for face time. Right? Also-most soft openings (since these are novice cooks, I assume it’s a soft opening) don’t charge the customers for anything except alcohol. There weren’t any prices on the menus! If it takes 3 hours to get your food-stop complaining and for the love of God, don’t complain to Gordon Ramsay. He hates you. “Really, it’s been an hour and half since you ordered? Your friend is offended because I told her to f*** off? Please escort these ladies back to Plastic Surgery.” So funny!!

So two days later, they try again. Since the blue team lost a squid cleaning challenge, they had to cook with no air conditioning. I think at one point it got to 140 degrees. Things seemed to be going well for both teams and then of course, you have your token gay-country boy meltdown. Then the food that is being turned out isn’t good enough so they’re all starting from scratch again. So all of this leads to a huge revolt by some prissy-ass patrons who’ve had to wait too long for their food. While most people would just leave and go someplace else-The Brainaic Table orders in pizza to go along with their wine and champagne. You can tell they’re really proud of themselves because they’re smirking and laughing and grubbing on the pizza. The maitre ‘d comes to the table and lets them know they can’t do that and then all hell breaks loose. The maitre ‘d, Jean-Phillipe came over to let them know that it wasn’t acceptable. Insulted-sloppy-dressed man stands up and gets in his face. Jean-Phillipe made a reference to his social education-which insulted sloppy-dressed man immediately took as a reference to his actual education. He started screaming about having a Doctorate in Music, getting in Jean-Phillipe’s face, ranting about his education and the lowly maitre ‘d’s education. It eventually ended with the pizza-loving posse being kicked out for repeatedly jabbing Jean-Phillipe.

Rob says that a Doctorate in Music translate to: wealthy parents put me through school so I could listen to symphonies and operas and I’ve never worked a day in my life.

I say that Health Department 101 says: you can’t serve prepared food from another establishment in an open establishment. I don’t have a Doctorate in Music (obviously) but I did take that Health Department Class when I was 16-and passed.