Joy Brings a Whole New Definition to Safety Dance

Joy's Safety Dance
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

This one goes out to everyone that thinks I should protect myself before walking/driving/breathing. To my dad, who told me to wear a helmet at all times. To Sheila who told me to draw a pic of me in a walker, and to Omar who laughed right along with her. And to Geoff who thinks I should get a retard ramp for our stairs at work, and hoist myself down so I don't fall. Jackasses.

Maybe this type of device would help prevent me from falling on my ass.

So there you have it. I am not going to rant and rave about work tonight, I'll save that for another day, I just wanted to appease the many (ok, 2) requests for another MS Paint exclusive.

Fatherly Advice is Cheap in Burritoville

I almost bitch slapped Charles today, which he probably would have liked. The day started off good, as I brought him breakfast and tried to help him out, but man o man is he a little baby. I think he has more estrogen flowing through his body than me and by the end of the day it was all juvenile and I am buying a voodoo doll to stick some needles in it for kicks.
I worked a 10am-11:30pm shift today, again proving I love to be around burritos. I covered for another manager who was utterly sick from "celebrating" his birthday on Saturday. We had drinks around 5 or 6 on Friday and he didn't stop drinking until the wee hours of the morning this morning, so suffice it to say his toilet has seen better days, but he had a lot of fun.
I have a bottle of jaeger in my car to give him, but just mentioning it made him break out into a cold sweat. It was awesome.
My roomates (who are guys to those of you who didn't know, it makes a big difference in this story) cleaned the house when I was at work today. I was so amazed I thought we had company or someone died or something. It's awesome. In a year this has happened twice before. And once was after an amazing party in which I had to work an early morning shift at my old bar where I puked all day as they vaccuumed and buffed their way into my heart.
I told my father about my stalkers and my hair cut tonight. I haven't spoken to him in like 3 weeks. We argued about why he doesn't get voicemail (He doesn't know how to set it up) or how I don't return phone calls...we each wait a week to call each other. It's the Beattie way. I was at work and it freaked him out that I all of a sudden started going off in Spanish (I was talking to the kitchen crew about cleaning something). I told him that a couple of the weird dudes I work with have a crush on me and he told me not to do anything stupid. My own father! I thought he'd give me a little bit more credit. I told him that I plan on having random sex with someone I can talk to in English and he said that that sounded better. And he didn't care I got my hair cut. Apparently he shot a deer and is all excited, he is saving the arrow, and got a pin from whoever skins and does what they do to dead deer. But he's not allowed to go after bucks because the law has only permitted does to be killed this early in the season because they are over populated. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isnt' that deer sexist? I mean, it's ok for the bucks to go laying whoever they feel like, but the pregnant ho bag deers have to suffer? He is all proud of my brother (playing football at an awesome school), we have gotten no rain at home in a long time. And I shouldn't sleep with my kitchen staff.
In 3 weeks I'll tell him I may be pregnant with either Javier or Jose's love child. Maybe he'll come out and visit ME for a change.

Ice Queen Confronts Girly Man about his Obsession with Dancing

I think I may start drinking on the job. What fun is it to say that I am managing a taco stand after graduating college, if I don't have a drug habit or an alcohol addiction...wait a minute...to fall back on. Maybe if I started coke I'd be very excited to make burritos for the world and would be able to cope with Arlington's finest.
I felt like I was being watched all night, and that is probably because I was. The dude Jose is getting a little too close for comfort. I thought the butch haircut may have delivered a message that I am not interested (not that I am saying I am into women, I just am not into Hispanic men who roll a burrito like ass, whereas I am a champ. I mean, C'mon, if I can show you up in taco skills you have to be a retard). I'll update as the stalking progresses.

I got into another riff with Mr. Sensitive aka Charles the gay manager. He's not even cool gay, like I like em, but "I cry because the world oppresses me," gay.
Let me describe him before I go into any more details. He is like the human form of Grover. Only he takes everything, and I mean EVERYTHING to the extreme. He can't take criticism, assumes everything IS criticism, and probably cries at home at night. He hides out in the kitchen, and has an extreme fondness for making beans and rice. He is a close talker and likes to touch you when doing so. I am an ice queen, and want to breathe my own air, so I move backwards, sideways, anywhere away from a close talker, and he always comes closer. And he hates being called Charlie. I think I may start doing it, because it really does make him mad...either way, Charles or Charlie isn't all that hot of a name. No matter what he's talking about, whether it is that someone is choking on their blackened chicken burrito, or that the back kitchen is burning down, it will take 10 minutes for him to wrap up his part of the story. And the whole time he's talking I am thinking to myself, "Fucking A...this is like 10 minutes I will never get back and I would rather eat lead paint that listen to the rest of what he has to say." I think that about does it for the introductions.
I came into work 20 minutes early, WOW, and got breakfast next door. I didn't feel like sitting alone and I had a flashback of a school cafeteria scenario and saw him sitting all alone in the corner of the restaurant, with obvious barriers set up. He had his food all situated around him, he had a newspaper, and a book too. So I figured I'd go ruin his quiet lunch experience, for shits and giggles, and I found out some important info about his personal life that I am going to broadcast to all of you who probably don't give a shit:
He reads fantasy novels...and by fantasy novel I mean: he is now reading a shameless paperback novel about a modern day boy that finds out he is King Arthur and is chased by a motorcycle gang that wants to make sure the world doesn't realize his powers...ok. I asked about it and apparently it isn't as good as the other two books in the SERIES. Hmm.
He likes to dance. Oh really? What kind? Oh, I like a whole lot of dancing. I like swing, square dancing, and (can't remember the name, but it's an African dance that is popular in New Orleans...I swear that's how he described it)...So, do you dress up in costumes for these dances? Oh, I sometimes wear a nice shirt and tie...(I meant, like COSTUMES, like robes and such, but he didn't get it). His dances, especially the dance I can't pronounce, occurs in a gym room in Shady Grove, MD. Another dance session is in a converted amusement park...but he went into detail on how it's 3 times the size of our restaurant and much wider/longer...etc. (Oh boy.)
Apparently his idea of living it to the extreme was drinking wine with friends in Maryland while eating chips until 2am. But he won't be doing that any time soon, because it took a lot out of him. Fun stuff.
I think that's it. We aren't any closer than before. But I am pretty sure I ruinned his lunch as we don't get along and I yelled at him twice in the past. It made my day, so we'll see. I think he has the hots for this new kid named Colin. If I find them makin out in the cooler, I'll fill you all in. Colin looks like he likes to dance. I bet he'd lead. And it's pretty obvious Charles likes playin the bitch, so it all works out.

Bitter Burrito Slinger Amends her Stalker Plea

Ah. Work is starting to get political. I am getting more and more bitter as I find more things that piss me off. Last night I was told two of my favorite cashiers (who are just kids) were getting canned, and I wasn't given a reason. I got pissed and told the GM that I was leaving as I didn't want to be around one of the kids since I couldn't give him any info and I was so mad I wanted to punch the idiot GM. So I went next door and bugged Sheila and drank for like 5 hours. When I left to go home I passed the asswipe GM's car and spit on it, right in front of the dishwasher who was throwing out garbage. I was totally not suave about it either. Here's a little description.
Me: "Hi, Macario (dishwasher)!" I wave at him.
Macario: Wave, "Hola"
Me: "hoick, spat" (onto buttmuncher's car, parked right by the back door of the restaurant)
And I keep walking, as I turn the corner, there's the asshole and like 4 other employees. Woops. I don't know if he saw me, but he definitely heard me spittin. They all tried to talk to me, but I didn't look up or respond and got into my car and drove away. How's that for slick? I hate the asshole, and don't hide it anymore, so either his days or mine are limited at the restaurant. I'm gunning for me to be the one that goes. Oh and is it trailer park hick to spit on people's cars? It backfired on me once and I accidentally spit on myself...so I need more practice, but do I look like I am from the back woods by taking out my frustrations with spit? Should I take out some windows with a bat instead? I can create a new approach, I am flexible.
I went to pick up my check today and almost fainted with the massive amount of money I am making (EXTREME SARCASM that probably won't transmit over the internet to my internet diary). I saw Geoff (the only cool person that I manage with) was there and it's his birthday Sat, so I went over and had a few drinks with him at the Courts. I had a hidden agenda to get any info out of him over why the kids were getting canned and found out that a few more are on their way out as we are cleaning house apparently. I kinda want to go back to workin for the man and not being the man, if you know what I mean. Unless I have the power to fire the people who actually don't do their jobs and who I just plain don't like.
So, I found out that I have a few more stalkers at work. About 4 of the guys there have "crushes" on me and I am kicking myself for praying to God to send me some stalkers. When I asked for a man, it wasn't a handful of Hispanic ones named in this order, Miguel, Jose, Miguel #2, Adelio, Luis, and I think that's it. Good god I could turn into Sara from our Sine days who fucked the whole kitchen staff, if I get desperate enough. So I am creating an amendment to my prayer and askin for a hot stalker that speaks English and doesn't walk across the street to work from the Hispanic ghetto, call themselves Eses, or comb grease into their long hair. PLEASE send me a hot one. You can take back the others, thanks.

Fastest Pooper in the World Loses Hair in Edward Scissorhandesque Massacre

I did it. Well this gal named Angela did it for me, actually. My hair is gone. Like, half of it. I now have a super short angled bob, but Sheila thinks it looks good and I am talking myself into liking it. Do any of you find yourselves telling yourselves to breathe? Or is it just me? I have realized that I have been telling myself to breathe A LOT lately. And I am thinking that's not exactly a good thing. Regardless, this afternoon was one of those times I had to conciously tell myself to breathe. I was sitting in the chair watching all of my hair hit the ground and seeing her use the razor and swipe my hair with it and felt the painful mixture of wanting to cry and choke on my tongue at the same time. And then I breathed. And I am alive, so it's all better. But you know it's a bad sign when the first thing you want is a drink as soon as you leave the hair salon. Sheila left me to go shopping and I panicked like a little kid, and wanted to go grab a beer. Don't worry, I got a beer and everything starting to turn around for the better.
Oh! And I got phantom pains today too, when I was getting my hair cut! It was kinda funny, I was in the chair and jumped a little bit when Angela started ran the scissors close to my eyebrow. (Every time I get a hair cut when I wear my eyebrow ring, and I mean EVERY time, it gets swiped with the scissors or the comb. It's not fun)
Ok, for the second time I told myself to breathe recently. I was cleaning/doing inventory at work and I am the shortest person on the planet, but was standing on the counter organizing a gazillion shelves, right next to our grill. Needless to say the ventilation hood doesn't work so good at the edge of the hood and all the gas fumes hit me. I was up there for a good 40 minutes to an hour, and man did I feel tipsy. To the point where I was imagining myself falling into the sink and onto the ground in front of the entire restaurant. I imagined a good 5 falling scenes that all winded up with me on the ground amidst a million hot sauce bottles.
It didn't happen. Probably because I told myself to breathe and got my ass off the shelf and breathed non-contaminated air. I should have done the inventory when I started work. Maybe I should start huffing. I've never tried it, but man, my tummy got all fuzzy and I got a headache and started feeling like I was doing some heavy drugs. Don't be surprized if you come in to see me at burritoville and the hood fans are off and I'm standing by the gas line.

What else...Sheila and I checked out Finn and Porter, and it's pretty nice. We were underdressed, but sat out in the "Lounge" hotel bar and got hooked up by this old dude smoking a stogie named Tony. He bought us a round of wine (must be the new hair cuts) and man, I got pretty drunk (enough to trip up the stairs and make O's night) off of like 2 glasses of wine, what is happening to me? It must be the gas fumes.

Where is this post going? I'm just filling in the blanks in the last few days...so I may attempt bartending again as I am finding the need for money. The clientele seem to be older, but drink like fishes, and this was a Tuesday...we'll see.

One more thing before I stalk some blogs and hit the sack with my new head o' hair. I got this new nifty site meter and I can see where my "audience" is from and how they found out about me. I am stalking YOU now, people. Well, this dude (maybe it's a chick, I don't know that much about stalking yet) from Ohio found my site by searching "fastest pooper in the world" on a yahoo search engine. Ok. Should I be happy that you found my site, or freaked out that my site comes up with that phrase? And WHAT on earth were you looking for? An amazing ass hole, a pooper scooper? Are you trying to see if anyone shits faster than you? Or your dog? I am not a fast pooper to my knowledge...Regardless, Yahoo picked me up because my blog was originally called "Joy's World", but that was boring so I changed the title. So there's the "World" part...and the pooper part is on my blog somewhere, probably talking about Bandit or O...and the "fastest" is about me interviewing the fastest bartenders in DC for the magazine. But my site came up TWICE on the first page of search results for the fastest pooper in the world...I hope you found what you were looking for, buddy, but I'm flattered you stalked me. Keep it up, and I will fill you in on the length of my dumps in the future if they are exciting.

Green Faced Sot Scores Beer Points Against Albino Rival

Ginger Altoids. What an evil, evil creation. I bought a pack for $1.69 this weekend on a personal dare. I just wanted to see what the fuck Altoids was thinking by making a Ginger breath mint. Well...it's weird. I spit one at Omar tonight in self defense. I don't quite know what the defense was, but my best retaliation involved spitting the altoid at him. Sorry O. It tasted like ass and I was pissed at you for some reason.
Today was eventful. I sliced myself on a plastic bottle at work...what are the odds. I should live in a bubble. Got into meaningful conversations with random men at Sheila's bar. I must have been pretty hammered, as she offered food for me to soak up the booze. I totally kicked O's ass in beer pong. I nailed his beer with a french fry. Which, for those of you who do or do not aim random objects at your friends' beer, well...it's hard to get a long french fry into a pint of beer. A perfectly shaped ball of paper is easy, however. Speaking of which, he got me back with a measly piece of paper. Totally not as cool. But I guess I won in the end...with the altoid.

Burritoville is giving away shitty coupons to shitty clientelle. I think the last batch of free shit was sent to an oldspeople home because. Whoa. Sheila just walked in on me. Blogging. I feel so violated. I am blogging in bed. And I just got out of the shower. And before you are all like, "WHOA." Let me say, I am in pjs, all hiding from her and I am wearing a mask (as in green face mask, cause I haven't done it in like a week). So...Now that I was driven off my line of thought I will go on to say,
who the fuck orders ONE measly shooter from a bartender? Who does that. Single people (people who go to bars alone, not single as in not dating, people) order TWO shots. One for me, one for you, type of things. Well this one girl (who, by the way is like Sheila's big butch sister, orders 8, EIGHT, shooters for a group of people she is serving. Eight shooters, no big deal, Joy... Um, yeah, it is when you get eight individual shooters. What was she thinking? Here is the list,
1 Alabama Slammer
1 Anti-freeze
1 B52
1 Baby Guinness
1 Bahama-Mama
1 Between the Sheets
1 Girl Scout Cookie
1 Jolly Rancher
1 Kamikaze
Oh, Ok, nine shooters. NINE. Why not make it ten, at that rate...I can only imagine Heine Ho's face. I would have laughed my ass off. And then proceeded to make 9 wimpy kamikaze shots in spite of the 5 inch ticket at service bar. Which, thank God, Sheila (sort of) did. She make 4 Red Headed Sluts (isn't even on the ticket) and 5 Kamikaze's which she added color to, to make them into Jolly Ranchers, Between the sheets, bahama mamas, anti-freezes, etc.
Those bastards should die for ordering that, and the clone of Sheila should wake up and improve her game.
Now, back to my story on work...so we have been getting random people coming in clutching these huge postcard coupons for free burritos. Despite the fact that I give a shitload of the same coupon to my friends for free food, I find it offensive that these people expect free food from me. I don't know them. They are too cheap to buy a drink. Or chips. And are breathing my air. They should really just go away and leave me alone. So, these people are hilarious in the fact that they don't know how to pronounce "burrito" let alone understand what it is, and it's even better to get them to say "queso" or "quesadilla." It's almost worth the coupon.
I miss bartending. You can be an asshole to someone that orders 9 different shots. But to holler at an old lady that wants a free steak burrito, with no beans, a little rice, no salsa, extra sour cream, with guacamole, only romaine lettuce, and extra chease just makes me feel like an ass.

Burrito Hating Klutz Foresees Bar Opportunities on the Horizon

Ough. I totally bit it today at work. I was all ready to close up shop, really early cause I am awesome at my job...and I sling open the door to our hallway and fwooop, on my ass. This dude from Mongolia (who's really cool as far as I'm concerned, but the other managers wanted to fire, I told them no) was mopping the floor, but wasn't squeezing out the mop, so it was like a fucking slip and slide. Wow. I was contemplating staying on the ground for awhile too. Anyway so my ass was all wet (it was only the diswasher, the water slinger, and me, so no one saw my wet ass. But dude I'm in for a bruising.
Total # of wipeouts at CT: 2
Although I almost break my neck like 5 times a day, this body was NOT made for walking apparently.
With that said, I saw this girl that I bartended for when I was at the Irish hell hole known as Sine. This was a really cool chick and I remember clicking with her and her boyfriend, who manages a nice restaurant/bar in Alexandria. They said they wanted to hire me, but were fully staffed, and well what do you know, a year later they desperately need bartenders and I am very much sick of beans and rice. I'm not sure what I should do at this point as I don't want a piss poor resume management wise, but man, I am thinking I should seriously consider getting back into the bartending game that I miss (a helluva lot).

I got the new Chuck Palahniuk book, Stranger than Fiction, and it's not all that funny...I never thought I'd say I was disappointed, but damn.

reeree race
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

Two Sots Prove to be Losers in Woodley Park Special Olympics

Damn grand marnier. Seriously. I am so hungover from drinking all night yesterday with my partner in crime, Heine Ho.
We started early, like...4ish...and well I guess the rest is history, but I have been getting tipsy off of practically nothing lately, but man o man did I show myself up last night.
We weren't happy with Murphy's in DC so we decided to walk over the bridge to the 4 Ps. My lazy ass didn't want to walk and get all sweaty and nasty, but we did it anyway. As we're approaching the bridge there are these two old ladies on motorized chairs, the buffed up wheelchair if you will. So...we're walking at a snail's pace behind these two ladies that are taking up the sidewalk and Sheila attempts to get around one of them. The old bat sees Sheila, cocks her head, and revs her chair to max speed and totally beats us up a quarter of the block. She left her friend behind too. What a ho bag! I think Sheila wanted to strike me dead for laughing, but I was drunk, it was hilarious, and well, we got showed up by two old ladies in wheelchairs.
So we finally make it to the 4Ps and continue to get blasted. We get approached by old men at every bar, but this one dude interrupted our conversation to shake my hand and introduce himself...and then almost fell off his stool.
All in all it was a fun night. Except for the damn Grand Marnier.
I woke up naked with my clothes EVERYWHERE in my room, suspiciously looking like a one night stand (that didn't happen). I am so glad I don't have to work today.
As for the weird dreams,
Sheila, Omar, and I were in almost all of them. In one, Omar and I were hanging out in the living room and kitchen while this weird group of guys fixed his bathroom. They were removing tiles and replacing them and this little Asian kid was filing the walls with sandpaper. Apparently the tiles on the tub weren't safe to eat...so they were fixing it cause I guess O likes to bite his tub...
And my teeth started falling out. :( I hate those dreams. And Sheila and I were walking around this museum/zoo of a town and we passed this "exhibit" that she works on and there was a small sign in the front yard that said, "Maintained by Heine Ho."
And that's all I have for you. I am beyond excited that I am off two whole days from the burrito bordello. I spent one night in a drunken state and am recovering today. I am such a grown up.

Frazzled Manager Destroys Mutant Cockroach in Suspicious Dining Incident

I can't think of anything all that exciting to talk about, so I am just going to give a run through of my day at work.
Rain. Rain. Rain. It ruined my hair, made us swarm with fruit flies and whatnot, kept business away for the most part, almost made me bust ass on the staircase, etc. etc. But whatever.

I had to reprimand people for slacking at work today. I think they think that I don't give a shit what they do...I totally felt like a Mom today trying to keep them inline. It sucked, because almost all of you know that I hate having that role in any way shape or form apply to me. But alas, I think it all worked out. But I am not leaving my soda cup/food lying out for anyone to spit in, just in case.

We (as in managers) have been trying to teach the crew at night to start breaking down and cleaning early so we can all get out pretty early and it has been working, they are finally starting to do it on their own without being told. We tell them to cut back on grilling meat, etc. as the night brings less people, and what not. Well we close the doors at 10pm, so almost everything was put away at 9:30, this one lonely guy comes in, hesitates...backs up, and starts to leave. He then turns around and comes back, hesitates again. I tell him, he can come talk to us and that we don't bite. He's all, "I know you don't, but I have 36 that do." I'm like...hmm. "You're a teacher, huh?" No response. He leaves and I just think he's a dork. Like 3 minutes later I tell the crew I'll be in the next room starting my inventory and I look up and there are 36 teens/20somethings in line....Keep in mind that the only person that is, um experienced, is me...and I'm fucking tired. And not in the mood to make all that food. It was kind of a disaster for 4 minutes, but worked out. I won't digress on it any further than we looked like deers caught in headlights and the pep talks about not making a shitload of food really didn't pan out well as we used it all and then some 10 minutes before we were supposed to close.
But the guys were pretty hot, so it was ok.
Ough, for the gross out story. I am jumping back and forth helping out on expediting the food for awhile tonight. I move down the line and hear a yelp from one of the ladies on the line. She freaks out and stops working...and I think she's burned herself, but she is surrounded by cold stuff. So there is no way...I ask her what's up and she squeeks out, "cockroach" EEEEEWWWWW. I totally didn't believe her. We sprayed for bugs and what the fuck would it be doing hanging out in the cold section of the restaurant, with major light, etc...But there are customers so I try to play it cool. I move stuff around and investigate and sure enough, there was one fucker crawling around in the sides of salsa (they were all individually wrapped, don't worry...but I threw them all out anyway). I jumped like 10 feet, so I wasn't really suave. And I am still mistified. It either was hanging out in the fridge (can they do that?) Or fell from the ceiling ? cause it landed on her neck...I am so glad I wasn't on expo at that very second...I am still creeped out so I am a major wuss.
The end.

Arlington Resident Finds Himself Living in an Actual Shit Hole

weekend fun
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

I woke up this morning to Omar asking me if I just got done taking a big shit.
Um. Not unless I did it in my sleep and threw it downstairs. Turns out the septic tank like smell that wafted around our 3 level townhouse ended up being a couple days' worth of shit. FUN. That's a lot of crap if it saturated 3 levels of the house - we need to get Jason to eat fat people food and leave the fiber alone.
We all know about how every part of our house has actually been covered by shit or pee at one point or another. And I'm not talking about those drunken nights where we "forget" where our bathrooms are, I am talking about the Bandit. I can safely say this house (ok...well, the floor) has been cleaned more than all the houses I have ever lived in. EVER. I think it's safe to say we live in an actual shithole. No one knows that better than O when he became McGyver, (He found the source of our nasal discomfort, broke in, and rescued the crying toilet) a plumber, and a Merry Maid. He may have plunged and mopped the remains of 2 weeks worth of hard boiled eggs and all of the other crap our roommate eats...I am SO glad that I worked 11 hours and didn't have the day off...Sorry O, but thanks for taking one for the team.

Weight Lifter Extraordinaire Demolishes Unsuspecting Egg in a Fight to the Death.

making eggs
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

We all know my roommate Jason loves to work out and eat healthy...and pretty much has this routine down to a science. He has a 5 course meal set out for himself every night. Course 1:Plain old nuts. No salt. No fun. Course 2: a medley of frozen berries with some mulled oats...no sugar. No fun. Course 3: (same bowl) black beans, maybe chick peas, and organic tomato paste...No fun. Course 4: Some wheat meat, maybe a prune/apple/nectarine while he is nuking the fuck out of some veggies. This I can handle. Unless it's grapes, in which case they are discovered after being squished under our lazy asses for weeks in the couch. Course 5: BROCCOLI!!! Yay. Broccoli mixed with brussel sprouts, cauliflower, and a shitload of other frozen veggies that get nuked into oblivion. No salt, no spices. No fun.
But wait! Replacing the wheat meat and protein substitutes, we have hard boiled eggs. O and I were not all that excited to find bags of eggs chillin in our refridgerator waiting to die as they resided in plastic bags, not their safe little cartons. Not to mention the smell of really bad gas.
So I am lazing around on the couch after dying my hair (it's NOT pink or orange this time) and Jason comes back from the gym and breaks his post workout routine and sits down to crack open like 10 hard boiled eggs.
I kind of pull my shirt over my nose, cause I have this bad reaction to the smell of hard boiled eggs. They are gross. He's separating the whites from the yolks. Me, "What are you going to do after you do that?" Jason, "Eat them." Me, "Just like that? Not mixed with anything?" Jason, "Nope. Like what?"
Um...there's got to be a better way. Let me show you how to make an omlette. You can throw course 5 into course 1 and make life easier.
So I am all excited that I am spicing up Jason's food life and I think it's something he can actually use in the future. Wrong.
How hard is making an omlette? I am seriously reconsidering my abilities as a cook. In 10 mins. I went from zero talent to master chef.
I showed how to crack a raw egg and separate the yolk from the white. Easy...no, not really. Jason tries and smashes the whole raw egg into the counter.
Um. EASY. Be gentle, Jason. Try it one more time. This time he smashes the whole egg in his fist and still tries to separate the white from the yolk.
At this point I am laughing out loud and looking around me to my fake audience to get some more laughs. No one is there to share in the moment. We try it again. The egg again gets molested.
We end up making scrambled eggs mixed with red and orange peppers, cherry tomatoes, and broccoli.
(I fucked up on the omlette part). He allowed me to put onion and garlic powder in the eggs, but no salt or any other spice was allowed. :)
It was so much fun. But he will never make an omlette for himself again. We are doomed to smell hard boiled eggs until Jason tries health shakes.