*Read this post second, or you will miss the full nature of my brilliance!
I just thought of a few menu items that should be served at the 5th Amendment Bar & Grill. Now if these are on the menu, I might actually stop in for a bite.
First Amendment - The Freedom of Religion Fries
Second Amendment - The Right to Bear Chicken Fingers
Third Amendment - The Quartering of Soldiers Club Sandwich
Fourth Amendment - The Search and Seizure Nachos (first you search for the chips . . .)
Fifth Amendment - The I Plead the Fifth Garlic Burger
Sixth Amendment - The Right to Counsel Onion Rings
Seventh Amendment - The Trial by Jury Appetizer Sampler Platter
Eighth Amendment - The Cruel and Unusual Punishment by Horseshoe Sandwich
Ninth Amendment - The Retention of Rights Mozzarella Sticks
Tenth Amendment - The Power of the State Mini Tacos
I could only come up with food for the Bill of Rights, frankly because it is really hard to come up with catchy food items for the Thirteenth Amendment (Abolition of Slavery) or the Sixteenth Amendment (Income Tax) or the Seventeenth Amendment (Election of Senators), etc.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Enough Knowledge to be Dangerous . . . or Stupid
When someone is naming something, it usually helps to know a little bit about the name you are giving that something. For instance, if you are going to name a bar "5th Amendment Bar & Grill," I would hope you had actually read the Fifth Amendment before purchasing the giant billboard signs.
Most people know the Fifth Amendment as in "I plead the Fifth!" But here is what the Fifth Amendment actually says:
No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or other infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb, nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.
In other words, the Fifth Amendment covers the right to be indicted by a grand jury, the protection against double jeopardy (being punished twice for the same offense), the protection against self-incrimination, the right to due process, and the right to just compensation for property taken for public use.
But how exactly does this apply to a grill and bar?
Perhaps the owner was referring to his right to be indicted by a grand jury when his burgers aren’t cooked to order. In this case, a "grand jury" means a pack of hungry drunk Bradley students late on a Friday night. Or maybe he was referring to his desire to be protected from the double jeopardy he is facing by opening yet another restaurant in this location where every other restaurant has failed miserably in the past few years. (Just a hint, Mr. Owner . . . it's a personal right, not tied to a specific location.)
Maybe the servers are asserting their rights against self-incrimination when asked what is in the "special sauce" after an outbreak of food-poisoning is linked to such special sauce. Perhaps every tab kept at the bar is guaranteed to be correct in accordance with the patrons’ due process rights. And just maybe customers have a right to just compensation when someone steals their bar stool while they are in the bathroom.
Who knows. But what I do know is that I bet the waitstaff is going to get really tired of asking for someone’s order and being told, "I plead the Fifth!" I bet that will still be really funny when the 1,000th drunk guy says it on a Saturday night.
Most people know the Fifth Amendment as in "I plead the Fifth!" But here is what the Fifth Amendment actually says:
No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or other infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb, nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.
In other words, the Fifth Amendment covers the right to be indicted by a grand jury, the protection against double jeopardy (being punished twice for the same offense), the protection against self-incrimination, the right to due process, and the right to just compensation for property taken for public use.
But how exactly does this apply to a grill and bar?
Perhaps the owner was referring to his right to be indicted by a grand jury when his burgers aren’t cooked to order. In this case, a "grand jury" means a pack of hungry drunk Bradley students late on a Friday night. Or maybe he was referring to his desire to be protected from the double jeopardy he is facing by opening yet another restaurant in this location where every other restaurant has failed miserably in the past few years. (Just a hint, Mr. Owner . . . it's a personal right, not tied to a specific location.)
Maybe the servers are asserting their rights against self-incrimination when asked what is in the "special sauce" after an outbreak of food-poisoning is linked to such special sauce. Perhaps every tab kept at the bar is guaranteed to be correct in accordance with the patrons’ due process rights. And just maybe customers have a right to just compensation when someone steals their bar stool while they are in the bathroom.
Who knows. But what I do know is that I bet the waitstaff is going to get really tired of asking for someone’s order and being told, "I plead the Fifth!" I bet that will still be really funny when the 1,000th drunk guy says it on a Saturday night.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Next Step - That Book Deal
Last week, I got an email from a nice person saying she would like to quote my blog on her blog, Blogtations. I was honored and thrilled. Finally, I thought . . . someone has recognized my genius!
Of course, I can never be completely gracious about accepting a compliment and was just a teeny-weeny bit disappointed she picked one about potty training. Surely, I have been brilliant about something cooler than potty training . . . right?
I mean, I'm sure when Al Capone got busted for tax evasion, he thought to himself, "Of all the brilliant and dastardly criminal acts I have committed, they get me on tax evasion??"
I would also like to give a shout out to Sarah over at Sarah's Blogtastic Adventures, because she got quoted first and her blog directed Blogations to my blog. Thanks Sarah!!
Anyway, I am honored and I am sure the publishing house is my next email, other than the hate-emails I get from anonymous people who think I am a bad mother. Here is the link to my specific quote.
Of course, I can never be completely gracious about accepting a compliment and was just a teeny-weeny bit disappointed she picked one about potty training. Surely, I have been brilliant about something cooler than potty training . . . right?
I mean, I'm sure when Al Capone got busted for tax evasion, he thought to himself, "Of all the brilliant and dastardly criminal acts I have committed, they get me on tax evasion??"
I would also like to give a shout out to Sarah over at Sarah's Blogtastic Adventures, because she got quoted first and her blog directed Blogations to my blog. Thanks Sarah!!
Anyway, I am honored and I am sure the publishing house is my next email, other than the hate-emails I get from anonymous people who think I am a bad mother. Here is the link to my specific quote.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Think
I hate February. I think my lack of posting is a symptom of the hatred I have for February. Granted, for the first time in years, I actually had someone to spend Valentine's Day with, but I still hate the rest of the month. It's cold, grey, dreary, depressing, a let-down after January, boring compared to March, and all around sucks. The only thing good about February in general is that it is usually only 28 days.
As long as I am on the topic, I think whoever made up the modern calendar with the concept of Leap Year should be shot. Why, oh why did we have to add an extra day to THE WORST MONTH OF THE YEAR? Why couldn't we add an extra day to June every four years or so? June is the type of month where I want extra days. But, February? Puhlease. The only thing I want more of in February is sleep, chocolate, and alcohol. Not another day of THIS crap.
So, my posting has been sparse lately and I'm blaming February. I could blame my own laziness, but that would be taking too much responsiblity for my own actions during a month I hate. That's not acceptable.
It's not like I don't have anything to say. I mean, I have entire posts written in my head about high school, a new restaurant review, funny kids stories, prom, books I've read recently, stupid people I've dealt with, family dramas, old people falling down, and everything else. I even have a post about Sweet Ass Degreaser, but I have been told that topic is off limits.
But, because it is February, I have to go the easy route. I stole this post from Katie, who stole it from Pammy. You know who they are. If you don't, go find them. It's February. I don't have to link to them. They are the type of people who will love me no matter what. Well, Katie will for sure. I've never actually met Pammy, but given her fondness for the phrase "Cat-raping Thunder Cunt," I'm sure she's my kind of gal. And look, I just stole more things from other bloggers - Jennifer who first posted about thunder cunts and The Rotund Reader, who coined the phrase. And they like me too so I'm not going to link to them either.
So this is what I stole this week. I really like it.
As long as I am on the topic, I think whoever made up the modern calendar with the concept of Leap Year should be shot. Why, oh why did we have to add an extra day to THE WORST MONTH OF THE YEAR? Why couldn't we add an extra day to June every four years or so? June is the type of month where I want extra days. But, February? Puhlease. The only thing I want more of in February is sleep, chocolate, and alcohol. Not another day of THIS crap.
So, my posting has been sparse lately and I'm blaming February. I could blame my own laziness, but that would be taking too much responsiblity for my own actions during a month I hate. That's not acceptable.
It's not like I don't have anything to say. I mean, I have entire posts written in my head about high school, a new restaurant review, funny kids stories, prom, books I've read recently, stupid people I've dealt with, family dramas, old people falling down, and everything else. I even have a post about Sweet Ass Degreaser, but I have been told that topic is off limits.
But, because it is February, I have to go the easy route. I stole this post from Katie, who stole it from Pammy. You know who they are. If you don't, go find them. It's February. I don't have to link to them. They are the type of people who will love me no matter what. Well, Katie will for sure. I've never actually met Pammy, but given her fondness for the phrase "Cat-raping Thunder Cunt," I'm sure she's my kind of gal. And look, I just stole more things from other bloggers - Jennifer who first posted about thunder cunts and The Rotund Reader, who coined the phrase. And they like me too so I'm not going to link to them either.
So this is what I stole this week. I really like it.
| Your Word is "Think" |
 And sometimes you feel like you don't have enough time to take it all in. You love learning. Whether you're in school or not, you're probably immersed in several subjects right now. When you're not learning, you're busy reflecting. You think a lot about the people you know and the things you've experienced. |
Friday, February 13, 2009
And Then We Went A-Valentining
We went to Target on Wednesday night after work to purchase Valentines. The party at school is today and my daughter needed to have Valentines to give to all of her "friends." As we were making our way to the Valentines aisle, we discussed what was going to happen to these Valentines - that she was going to write her name on all of them and then give them to her friends at school at the party.
After getting the important questions out of the way (first, will there be candy at the party and second, can she use a marker to write her name), she agreed to write her name on 20 cards for her classmates plus on the card she picked out for my parents, Gran and Papa.
We barely had to stop in the Valentines aisle because she immediately saw the box she wanted - Hello Kitty with temporary tattoos (I'm so proud!) We wandered through a few more aisles and I picked up a few more staples . . . diet coke, hairspray, animal crackers, fruit snacks, and a couple of packs of underwear for me. (Yes, sometimes I buy underwear at Target. Sexy, huh?)
Our last stop was the greeting card aisle so we could pick out some cards for Gran and Papa and various other people. Unfortunately, she found the musical cards and wanted to open all of them. I let her open one (of course, she chose one that played "Wild Thing" very loudly) and no more. She was disappointed, but was quickly distracted by the cartoon character Valentine's Day cards.
First, I had to convince her that Gran and Papa would not like a SpongeBob SquarePants Valentine's Day card. I'm pretty sure my parents have no idea who SpongeBob is and, more importantly, probably don't care. My dad can't even get Thomas the Tank Engine's name right, even though he's my nephew's absolute favorite thing (and the only thing he's allowed to watch on TV - my nephew, not my dad). My dad always calls him Tom the Train or Thomas the Boring Engine or something like that.
Recognizing she was losing patience quickly with the Target experience, I gave in and let her pick a Go, Diego, Go! Valentine's Day card for Gran and Papa. I glanced at it, threw it in the cart, and paid. We left the store before the hunger-induced screaming started.
When we got home, she was excited to write her name on all of the cards. Since I knew she probably wouldn't make it through all of them, I made her write on Gran and Papa's first. After she finished her name, I read the card. It was only then that I realized the card said, "I hope this Valentine's Day is full of the Wildest Adventures!!" or something like that. Great. Now my three year old has given my parents a card that implies they should be having wild and crazy sex on Valentine's Day. I wrote an explanation in the card that she picked it out and that they were lucky they weren't getting a SpongeBob card.
Then we got to the school Valentines. She was still excited until she realized the cards were pretty small and her name has eight letters. She made it through two cards with all eight letters of her name. The rest of them have some combination of the letters of her name. As she was writing her cards (and growing more bored by the second), I started unpacking the rest of our stuff. I sat next to her to unwrap all of my new underwear.
She looked over at me, let out a long dramatic sigh, and said, "Do I have to write my name on those too??"
Now, that would be even sexier, huh? My three year old's name written on my underwear?
HOT-T-T-T.
After getting the important questions out of the way (first, will there be candy at the party and second, can she use a marker to write her name), she agreed to write her name on 20 cards for her classmates plus on the card she picked out for my parents, Gran and Papa.
We barely had to stop in the Valentines aisle because she immediately saw the box she wanted - Hello Kitty with temporary tattoos (I'm so proud!) We wandered through a few more aisles and I picked up a few more staples . . . diet coke, hairspray, animal crackers, fruit snacks, and a couple of packs of underwear for me. (Yes, sometimes I buy underwear at Target. Sexy, huh?)
Our last stop was the greeting card aisle so we could pick out some cards for Gran and Papa and various other people. Unfortunately, she found the musical cards and wanted to open all of them. I let her open one (of course, she chose one that played "Wild Thing" very loudly) and no more. She was disappointed, but was quickly distracted by the cartoon character Valentine's Day cards.
First, I had to convince her that Gran and Papa would not like a SpongeBob SquarePants Valentine's Day card. I'm pretty sure my parents have no idea who SpongeBob is and, more importantly, probably don't care. My dad can't even get Thomas the Tank Engine's name right, even though he's my nephew's absolute favorite thing (and the only thing he's allowed to watch on TV - my nephew, not my dad). My dad always calls him Tom the Train or Thomas the Boring Engine or something like that.
Recognizing she was losing patience quickly with the Target experience, I gave in and let her pick a Go, Diego, Go! Valentine's Day card for Gran and Papa. I glanced at it, threw it in the cart, and paid. We left the store before the hunger-induced screaming started.
When we got home, she was excited to write her name on all of the cards. Since I knew she probably wouldn't make it through all of them, I made her write on Gran and Papa's first. After she finished her name, I read the card. It was only then that I realized the card said, "I hope this Valentine's Day is full of the Wildest Adventures!!" or something like that. Great. Now my three year old has given my parents a card that implies they should be having wild and crazy sex on Valentine's Day. I wrote an explanation in the card that she picked it out and that they were lucky they weren't getting a SpongeBob card.
Then we got to the school Valentines. She was still excited until she realized the cards were pretty small and her name has eight letters. She made it through two cards with all eight letters of her name. The rest of them have some combination of the letters of her name. As she was writing her cards (and growing more bored by the second), I started unpacking the rest of our stuff. I sat next to her to unwrap all of my new underwear.
She looked over at me, let out a long dramatic sigh, and said, "Do I have to write my name on those too??"
Now, that would be even sexier, huh? My three year old's name written on my underwear?
HOT-T-T-T.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Well, You Better Get Used to It
There is a myth in parenting that no one ever talks about. The myth that potty-training is a short term process and that, after a few weeks or a month, your child is wearing underwear, you no longer have to buy diapers, and life can return to before-child normal. You know, the time when you didn't have a daily conversation about poop.
Not so much. My three and a half year old has been wearing underwear for a year. But relieving herself in the toilet was only one step of potty-training. There are about 40 other steps that are conveniently skipped over in parenting books. The "transition from little potty chair to big potty" step. The "yes, you must flush every time you go potty" step. The "weening from potty-rewards step (otherwise known as, "no, grown-ups don't get M&Ms for pooping" step.) The "privacy without locking yourself in the bathroom" step. The "not everyone wants to see your new Hello Kitty underwear" step. The "not discussing what mommy is doing in the toilet in public bathrooms" step.
And then there is the "I wipe my own ass" step. We are currently working on this step right now. Yesterday, we had this conversation:
Daughter: Mama! I need help! (from the bathroom)
Me: With what?
Daughter: Wiping my bottom! I pooped!
Me: You can do it.
Daughter: No, I can't! I need help!
Me: I want you to try to do it. If you can't, I will help you.
Daughter: I CAN'T . . . you need to HELP me.
Me: You need to try and then I will help you.
Daughter: (Long, dramatic sigh) Allllllright, I'll try. I'm getting really tired of this though.
Not so much. My three and a half year old has been wearing underwear for a year. But relieving herself in the toilet was only one step of potty-training. There are about 40 other steps that are conveniently skipped over in parenting books. The "transition from little potty chair to big potty" step. The "yes, you must flush every time you go potty" step. The "weening from potty-rewards step (otherwise known as, "no, grown-ups don't get M&Ms for pooping" step.) The "privacy without locking yourself in the bathroom" step. The "not everyone wants to see your new Hello Kitty underwear" step. The "not discussing what mommy is doing in the toilet in public bathrooms" step.
And then there is the "I wipe my own ass" step. We are currently working on this step right now. Yesterday, we had this conversation:
Daughter: Mama! I need help! (from the bathroom)
Me: With what?
Daughter: Wiping my bottom! I pooped!
Me: You can do it.
Daughter: No, I can't! I need help!
Me: I want you to try to do it. If you can't, I will help you.
Daughter: I CAN'T . . . you need to HELP me.
Me: You need to try and then I will help you.
Daughter: (Long, dramatic sigh) Allllllright, I'll try. I'm getting really tired of this though.
Friday, February 6, 2009
I Think I Have PTSD
Yes, it is true. I am suffering from PTSD brought on by eight years of a George W. Bush presidency. I had no idea this affliction had taken hold in my psyche until I read the news story that reported that Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had been admitted to the hospital for pancreatic cancer surgery.
My initial reaction?
God FUCKING Dammit!! Great! Now she's going to retire and that baboon's ass Bush is going to put ANOTHER uber-conservative 50 year old white guy on the Supreme Court who will spend the REST of his FUCKING ivy-league, stick-up-his-ass, dumber-than-a-bag-of-hair, no-compassion-for-the-little-people, waste of a life fucking up our country, destroying what is left of the Bill of Rights, pushing his religious agenda, and generally making my life MORE of a living hell than it already is. I mean, REALLY. That excuse-for-a-president-of-BumbleFuck-school-board Bush apparently thinks packing the Court with people like Samuel Alito and John Roberts (who can't even get the fucking PRESIDENTIAL OATH OF OFFICE right) is the best way to have the Supreme Court of the United States represent the actual people of the United States because anyone with a vagina or non-white skin doesn't have any value whatsoever . . . .
Wait.
Wait a minute . . . .
And the clouds parted, and I realized . . . George W. Bush is not the President anymore.
And the relief washed over me like a warm rain in August. Ahhhhhhhhh.
Not that I want Ginsburg to retire. I love Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I've met her personally and she is a lovely woman with an amazing sense of justice, fairness, and reason. But now I don't have to live in fear of the day that either she or John Paul Stevens retires. At least for the next four years, we are safe.
My initial reaction?
God FUCKING Dammit!! Great! Now she's going to retire and that baboon's ass Bush is going to put ANOTHER uber-conservative 50 year old white guy on the Supreme Court who will spend the REST of his FUCKING ivy-league, stick-up-his-ass, dumber-than-a-bag-of-hair, no-compassion-for-the-little-people, waste of a life fucking up our country, destroying what is left of the Bill of Rights, pushing his religious agenda, and generally making my life MORE of a living hell than it already is. I mean, REALLY. That excuse-for-a-president-of-BumbleFuck-school-board Bush apparently thinks packing the Court with people like Samuel Alito and John Roberts (who can't even get the fucking PRESIDENTIAL OATH OF OFFICE right) is the best way to have the Supreme Court of the United States represent the actual people of the United States because anyone with a vagina or non-white skin doesn't have any value whatsoever . . . .
Wait.
Wait a minute . . . .
And the clouds parted, and I realized . . . George W. Bush is not the President anymore.
And the relief washed over me like a warm rain in August. Ahhhhhhhhh.
Not that I want Ginsburg to retire. I love Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I've met her personally and she is a lovely woman with an amazing sense of justice, fairness, and reason. But now I don't have to live in fear of the day that either she or John Paul Stevens retires. At least for the next four years, we are safe.
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