Crazy Thai ladies that pinch my nethers

All right now crazy Thai ladies, I know that ya'll get real happy when my crew rolls up into ya'lls establishment. God knows that nobody else shows up there to eat. I don't know why. Ya'll got the best Thai food for 40 miles.

Although really – if one of you bitches pinches me on the ass again no amount of free chicken pad thai is gonna save you. Green curry – not green card. Don't want none of that. Ya'll need to get a work visa or something.

Anyway. Ya'll got good stuff and you will have the chef make just about anything we want – she comes out and talks to us and asks if we like it or if we'd like to try the new broth or whatever. I love your place and I hope you never close.

However. And this is a big however. Your food is great but the service is iffy at best. Ya'll need to hire a waitress or three and not try to run the place with just a cook and a sushi chef.

We sat and waited for water for five minutes. We started waving menus because there was NO ONE in the dining room. NO ONE. Five tables of people and NOT ONE SERVER.

The woman sitting three tables away laughed and said she'd been waiting on napkins. I picked some up off a stack sitting at the table next to us and gave them to her – I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHY THE DUMB HEFFA COULDN'T GET HER OWN DAMN ASS UP AND GET THE DAMN NAPKINS HERSELF.

But back to me. Ya'll need to come take our damn order. We hungry. It is a reason people don't come up in here even though everyone I know recommends it – people don't want they lunch hour to stretch to 2 p.m. Damn.

That new Thai chain that opened up five blocks south is gonna put you heffas out of business. Seriously. And ya'll need to learn how to pace a meal. Don't bring the soup and then three minutes later bring the entrees. I'm not complaining though – we was hungry. And then we all feel obligated to tip well because we know you and we want to keep coming back. What are we going to say? We love you but we don't want you wait on us? Really? That'll go over like La Migra at a day labor camp in Tiajauna.

And it gets worse. We're TRYING to get back to our office park and traffic is backed up like a Woodstock '99 toilet. My friend cuts through a parking lot with some thrift stores in it and I will be damned if three WOACAs don't start holding a conversation right in front of her car.

I'm screaming at her "HIT'EM VIDA, HIT'EM. I WILL PAY THE DAMAGES."

One bitch with nothing better to do with her time than shop all day was dressed in black and white print culottes, a white blouse and fugly turquoise sandals. Damn bitch. Are you colorblind? And you really did NOT need those big plastic swingy turquoise earrings. It was like an ugly cherry on top of an ugly cake. And I got a full on view too because your fat ass would not move – because you had to wait for your friends to get out of the car and trip-trap across the parking lot into the Garden of Slightly-Used Delights.

YA'LL BITCHES NEED TO MOVE. If I had been behind the wheel the parking lot would have noticeably fewer holes. You are not that special. You are not an employee of public works. Your hair does not glow and your skin does not produce an aura that repels automobiles. Bitch. MOVE!

If you are waiting for your party, get out of the flow of traffic. Especially if you're dressed like a piece of Navaho art threw up and then got tossed into a blender. You never know when Chief Eagle-Craps-on-Head will show up and want his turquoise back.

PS: 7-Eleven bitch – I was not making a face at you. I have damn headache and a fever and I wanted an ice cream and a coke. Screw you and your bad bleach job. Get your roots done and wash your face more often. With soap. Unless your boyfriend likes that Papa John's look.

--filed by Charanda deKristeaux from the Curry Shack

Mini-golf parking lot, 11:25 p.m. – My creepy vibe, let me show you it!

There is a seriously skeezy vibe going around town tonight. My friend and I were going to sit on the patio at Sonic and enjoy the cool air, but the hood rat Mafia gangs made me fear that if I let loose a spare shekel they’d grab it – much less my bejeweled laptop.

I drove over to the movie theater – and the place was like a ghost town – except for the random acts of domestic violence in the parking lot. I swear to Kali I saw some people having a throw down out side of a silver Jeep Liberty.

I wanted to watch because it really looked like a ghetto heifer in a silver mini-dress and some hooker heels was about to give her man a “what for.” I reconsidered when I factored in the fact there a) might be a random act of gunfire and b) might be police, which would necessitate witness statements.

I tried the parking lot of the 7-Eleven – and it looked like I interrupted a drug deal when I pulled in. The parking lot of the mini-golf place next door has a decrepit mobile home parked in it and all the overhead lot lights are out.

I’m sitting in my locked car and I’m prepared to drive right over anyone who comes within thirty feet of me.

Great. Now there’s a random bum stumbling through the 7-Eleven parking lot and toward the highway. Please Kali smile upon this lost soul and guide the cars away from him. Unless it is his time to die. In that case, people pancake. Extra syrup for the buzzards on table 4.

There is something vaguely dirge-like playing on NPR. How appropriate. In retrospect, I should not have picked a tree to park under. If by chance a branch falls on the roof, I think I just might have a coronary.

I never realized there was so much action in town as we approach the midnight hour. The 7-Eleven is doing a land-office business.

There’s a TV news crew and a satellite uplink truck here. They’re getting gas. The nearest TV station is more than 40 miles away – in the next county – and there aren’t even bureaus here. I REALLY want to know what the heck is going on tonight.

I check my mirrors more often than a student driver. Please Shiva let me survive the night.

Oh. The TV correspondent is cute. Short (like all TV people) dark and handsome. Hi Mr. Anchorman. Can I play with your TelePrompter?

Random people on bikes are now approaching. Don’t they know they need to go home? I wonder if they have a home to go to. And they’re stopping. I don’t for one second believe that they actually have a flat tire.

I will not be easy pickings. One SUV vs. three bikes. Who’s going to win this fight? Think about it. Think about it. That’s right. Leave.

I think they’re gone, but I’m not certain. The doors are locked. There are parking barriers in front of me, but this is a Jeep. It has high clearance. I’ve hit every curb in two counties and lived to tell the tale.

Screechy violin music is playing on NPR now. Not cute. Not cute for one second.

I seriously need to write a letter to someone about the lack of parking lot lights here. This is a civic disgrace.

Moreover, there is a DISTINCT lack of amenities in town for people who revel in the post-midnight hour. There are two IHOPS, more Wal-Marts than anyone wants to care about and a greasy spoon diner that even the rats avoid. All the coffee shops and bookstores close at 11 p.m. I wonder if I could start sneaking into hotels or hospitals?

Does anyone have suggestions for safe public spaces in the late hours of the night?

The 7-Eleven is empty now. I wonder if the rabble has to be home before midnight – like Cinderella – or else they turn into cigarette butts, empty soda cans and used condoms?

There’s a cop car rolling in; the police are on the prowl. It is an out-of-town cop car no less. Something is DEFINITELY up tonight. I wonder if I should go try and flirt with the cop? No. Police are not worth the time or effort – except for that one cute downtown cop.

It is December and there is green grass everywhere. There are green bushes, palm trees and shrubs all over. It is December and the grass is green. Sometimes, I forget that I live in Florida and stuff like this IS NOT NORMAL for most of the people in the country.

OK. I’ve hit the twenty-one minute mark and probably gotten a pretty good cardiovascular workout in the bargain. Disengage panic mode and try to calm down enough for bed.

Peace out.