Hair of the dog that brit me....

So this weekend was pretty interesting. I went to a quincinera for a coworker's daughter and had a pretty good time. Although, funny thing happened. The caterers were late with the food and after delivering the food they left. So, my poor coworker, heretofore to be known as Thanks God, had no one to serve her guests. Cue the superman theme song. All of my coworkers that showed up to the reception and their respective spouses/ significant others, served food for guests in what looked like a Puerto Rican lunch line. It was a strange moment but it seemed so familiar and I felt completely comfortable doing it. The highlights: Stephen was scolded several times in Spanish by one of Thanks God's relatives for spilling the rice (he'd had 3 margaritas by that time). Stephen who doesn't speak a lick of Spanish just smiled and nodded. Another employee whom I love dearly and heretofore will be known as Westsider (c'mon keep up) served the pork. All she had to serve with was a pair of tongs, so to stabilize the food before serving it, she grabbed it with the other hand (ungloved). The looks on the guest's faces were priceless. And, finally, West Sider's very short husband served the salad which nobody wanted. All in all, it was a great time, but I'm surprised at how well they train us here....a veritable army of Johnnies On The Spot.

Then, after the quincinera, I went over to my friend Kim's house for a birthday bash she and her husband were having. As I walked in the door, her very skittish dog, Toga, greeted me at the door. Toga never does that, she usually growls and barks from a corner until I sit down and then she's as sweet as pie. I thought it odd that she would greet me at the door but I still reached down to pet her. Bad idea. She barked AND bit me the same time...she brit me. So now I have a bruise on my forearm under my wrist. That'll teach me.

Sunday I volunteered at this year's Jazz Festival at the beer booth. Our organization benefits from the beer booth proceeds. I was pretty bored the whole time. There weren't that many people there and the other volunteers were army guys that spent the whole time checking out the women. They tried to get me in on the fun but I just turned around and ignored them. I'm too old to pretend to check out women. It was awkward but, as I expected, nothing was said about it. So, this weekend I was a lunch lady, dog brite victim, and a total unapologetic fag. I couldn't make it up if I tried.