Taco Bell Pacific Shrimp Taco = FAIL.

Day after St. Patrick's day. I'm slightly hung over, not too bad, but it's definitely a fast food day. Bombarded my guts with greasy pseudo-food, more calories than Kate Bosworth eats in a month, and I'm horrified at myself. This is why I'm fat. Oh well, it makes me feel immediately better (most of the time, more on that to come) so screw it.

Sean and I have been talking about the new shrimp taco at Taco Bell since its inception. Who on earth would get shrimp at Taco Bell. That's just poor self-preservation. My stomach is weird with shrimp anyway. I love the stuff but it often makes me hurl. Not sure if it's an allergy or if I just am very sensitive to shrimp-bourne bacteria, but since I am an idiot, I keep eating it. What, it's delicious!

So, here's the first e-mail I sent to my husband this morning.

"I think I'm going to try the shrimp taco today, I'm carrying around enough self-loathing today to give it a shot."

Sean replied:

"Hehehehe, DO IT!!!!! (That was Rorshack's [from Watchmen-S] voice)"

Screw it, it's only food, right? I'm close enough to a hospital at my office that somebody would be able to rush me to the ER before I died.

So I bought it, made a run for the border. And here are my observations.

(from my e-mail to Sean)




"I am eating it now.

It was three fucking dollars! This is not a three fucking dollar taco! There is not three fucking dollars worth of shit in this taco!

First thing--my taco bell order made my car stink. That rarely happens so I'm blaming the shrimp."




"The shrimp scared me a little bit, so as a knee-jerk reaction, I doused the taco in fire sauce and pico de gallo. They gave me a metric ass ton of pico de gallo...ok. Admittedly, I am hung over, but I don't have any vision problems nor do I routinely hallucinate, so I don't know if this is me or some heretofore undiscovered bacteria growing on my food, but it looks like the food is in soft focus. It's freaking me out. Like the tomatoes in the pico look kind of matte. So does the shrimp."



"I suppose it tastes ok. Mostly it just tastes like Taco Bell lettuce in a sea of fire sauce and ranch. It's not terrible, but it's not worth $3.00.

Ok, back to the price. I find it oddly...what's the word I'm looking for here. Not 'satisfying'... I guess reassuring. I find it oddly reassuring that the taco costs so damn much because shrimp is expensive, and if it were any cheaper I'd proabably be worshipping the porcelan god. But who knows, I only ate it 5 minutes ago, I could still hurl.

I predict that in the annals of fast food, this will go down as a bomb. The only issue I currently have with that taco is the price ($3.00!!!!!!!) but it just *feels* wrong. Whoever in Taco Bell's marketing department that suggested this should be fired. Of course I had to try it, and I'm glad I did, but still. Bleah."



It's been about an hour since I consumed the weirdest taco ever...really, it was just weird...and my stomach is not pleased with me. Do yourself a favor, save yourself three dollars, and stay far away from the Taco Bell Pacific Shrimp Taco.

Ugh, my stomach is really, really unhappy right now. Oh God...

Crackhead Laura

This is another instance where I'm loathe to post about job, customers, etc. But it's not like I'm using a last name or posting pictures of the crackhead, right?

A couple months ago, this woman came into the store. She looked haggard, seemed jumpy, and dressed like a day shift stripper at Rhonda's on Page (really classy joint). After interacting with her for about ten seconds, it became obvious that she was on something, whether it's crack or meth, I know not.

How she found my store, I know not.

How she continues to find my store, I know not, because woman is always tweeking out of her mind. Perhaps I call to her, like a homing signal like what bats and whales have.

This broad is a fucking mess, and this is me calling somebody a mess here, so that means she must really be a mess. I don't know if she has a car, but Crackhead Laura has been sitting in my lobby, charging her phone, for about an hour now. She's using our courtesy phone to call a friend to pick her up, and I just heard her yell to her friend, "But I don't want to sit in here and wait for you all day!" Guess what, lady? We're not holding you hostage, and there's a bus stop about 100 yards away.

I can't fucking deal with this anymore, I'm going home. Fuck this.

The need

Depressing. I left this perfectly good blog to languish all these eight months. Sorry blog. I <3 you.

This morning has been rough, so about 20 minutes ago, I designated today a "shoe day". I usually reserve shoe days for when I'm hungover and need to let my brain lie dormant while I appear to work. I'm not hungover today, but I've been working really hard lately, and I just need to relax, ok?

Endless.com is my favorite site to troll for shoes. I used to like zappos.com, but the site itself lacks endless.com's polish and ease of use. Also, I think that endless.com's selection is better, and you can't beat free overnight shipping.

What I really *need* is a pair of closed toe, black, patent leather flats for fall and winter, but what I really *want* is a pair of ridiculous cut out booties. At first I took issue with this trend. Why would anybody want a pair of boots with holes cut in them? That's quite counterintuitive to staying warm in winter. Alas, there isn't a functional angle to this trend, just a cute one. So I'm down with it. But I also don't want to spend a lot of money on a pair of shoes that will more than likely be relegated to the gauche bin after one season. So, it is with much sadness that I say no to all of these.



These Boots by Velvet Angels are pretty hot, completely impractical and much too expensive, but hot. Ahh, I remember the day when I could wear five inch heels with abandon. I'm 5'5"ish, and everybody in my office thought I was 5'9"ish. I guess they never really noticed that I was wearing ridiculous heels every day. One day, I stepped out of one of my shoes and one of my coworkers was like, "Holy crap, you're short!" Great observation there, Sherlock. Same thing happened with my husband. I wore 4 inch heels everywhere I went, so everybody just assumed I was taller. I guess I carry myself tall. Anyway. Need more coffee since I am babbling. On to the next (and off to get more coffee).



This is the first pair on the cut out booties page that caught my eye. The price tag is steep but not ridiculous. The color is less "day shift stripper" than the previous pair, as is the heel. A four inch heel with a 1 inch platform isn't too excessive, right? Right? Right, doctor who did my ankle surgery last year? And the way that this pair of shoes is designed--these could also pass for simply sandals after this trend is over. They certainly show enough skin. At any rate, don't be surprised to see me wearing these at some point this fall. I think this is going to be my next fast food moratorium save up purchase.



These badboys from LAMB are sexy as hell. They are also expensive as hell and, with that narrow, 4.5 inch stilleto heel, dangerous as hell. Walk away, Sara. Just walk away.



Ahh, Stuart Weitzman. I don't have the pleasure of owning any of his shoes, but I was really close this one time at Plaza Frontenac after I'd had a few margaritas. One thing I love about Weitzman is that he's realized that people with big feet also have plenty of money to spend on shoes, so he makes several of his designs in wide widths and extended sizes (well, extended sizes in the designer shoe world). It's very egalitarian of him. Well, everything but the price is egalitarian, but dammit, you're going to pay for quality. That being said, I unequivocally cannot see myself spending $425 on a pair of sandals that will be out next season. I can't see myself spending $425 on a pair of sandals, period. Now, boots, that's another story. But not sandal boots. Not sandal ankle boots. No way. Sorry, Stewie, thanks for trying.

Well, that was fun. Back to work, or back to shoe shopping? Who am I kidding--shoe shopping.

Stuff that annoys me

Yes, yes, I realize that I've let another blog languish. What can I say, that is how I roll.

Anyway, i'm agitated today so here is a very short list of things that piss me off.

1. "Supposably". As in "Supposably, I am a douchebag." It's not "supposably", douchebag, it's "supposEDly". I don't know why but that drives me crazy.

2. "The Chia Pet was from Mildred and I." This is another common grammar mistake, so common that I'm often corrected by morons when I speak properly. "From" is a preposition. One needs an OBJECT at the end of a prepositional phrase (an object is me, him, her, them). If you put a SUBJECT at the end of a preposition, then not only are you wrong, but you sound like a pretentious retard who is trying to "talk all fancy" (that is the technical term, by the way). The sentence above should read "The Chia Pet was from Mildred and ME.", because if you take Mildred out of the sentence, what sounds better? "from I" or "from me"? Whatever. Also drives me nuts. Grr.

Ok, that's it, I have 15 more minutes to kill before I'm out of here. Hooray.

Type the nerves away

I'm leaving for Florida in four and a half hours, and I'm kind of silently freaking out at my desk. You see, I'm not a good flyer. I get claustrophobic and panicked, and on most flights, I wind up drinking vodka the whole time, and I arrive at my destination calmer but shitfaced.

Today, I'm going to try to be more zen about the whole thing, but I know my thoughts will be like this for the whole two hours I'm up in the air.

"Dear God. Please don't let me die. I have a lot of stuff to do, and I have a lot of cool people who will be sad if I die. I think. So please, keep this damn plane in the air!"

"Sorry God, not trying to boss You around or anything, but I'm really freaking out here."

"Dear God, thanks for inspiring a scientist to create Xanax. It is pretty awesome."

"La la la. Empty brain. More peanuts, please!"

Time to roll. Wish me luck. If I crash, well, it was nice knowin' ya!

Gun Control means Hitting Your Target

Wow! Today is so fun.

I don't usually like to talk about this kind of stuff because one never knows when her blog will be found by coworkers or bosses, but I have to get this off of my chest or I swear to God I'm going to beat the shit out of somebody.

At my job, we do both service and sales for a nationwide cell company infamous for their shitty customer service. It's very fast paced, and I make commission for sales, so the money isn't too bad. Also, when I leave the office for the day, I can truly unplug. Any problems that my customers experience can definitely wait until tomorrow. If they can't? Well, customer service is 24 hours, why don't you try them?

Part of our service department depends on technicians who analyze and fix phone problems. One of our longterm techs, who was socially retarded but a genius with technology, recently got another job, and my company hired his younger brother as his replacement.

His younger brother is lazy, slow, and unwilling to learn. We might have 10 phones sitting in the back for repair, and brother will be looking at a video game forum. I need to go smoke right now because otherwise I'm going to strangle him.

"Have you seen this phone?"

"Wha?"

"Phone. The one you were just working on. Is this it?" I said pointing at a phone. "Is this one it?"

"How would I know?"

"Because you were just working on it."

"Well, I dunno. Maybe [coworker] took it."

So I called the phone number.

I then went into the back. "Hey, a second ago, did this phone ring?"

"I dunno."

"It's right..." I refrained from saying 'fucking' "...in front of you."

"Well I don't know."

"Is there anything you *do* know? Jesus!" And I kind of stormed my ass out of there.

That wasn't very professional. I know, but I'm snapping here. I understand if people are disabled, but here is an able-bodied (and presumptively able-minded) 19-year old, punk ass kid, who doesn't give a shit.

I don't know what's worse though--dumbass punk, or the "service manager" who doesn't do a goddamn thing when it comes to punk's slacking, who sits in a tunnel-visioned bubble all day, and unless I practically shake him out of his reverie, he seems to remain clueless to the chaos for which he's responsible. Grr! Normally, the manager is a very astute person, clever, hard working. I can't believe that he's turning what seems to be a blind eye to this situation.

Seriously, people. I'm almost at my breaking point.

I need to win the damn lottery.

In which I rant

I'm in a pissy mood today, and one thing that helps me when I'm angry is to chop things.

My lunch hour starts in a couple minutes, and I'm going to go get some stuff that I can prep for tonight's dinner.

I think this sounds pretty good, and I'm excited to make it.

1 loaf French bread, sliced in half lengthwise
2 tbsp olive oil
4 roma tomatoes, seeds removed and chopped
1 shallot, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup fresh basil chiffonade
1/2 lb shrimp, tails removed
6 oz bacon, chopped
Shredded mozzerella cheese
Salt and pepper to taste
Italian seasoning to taste

Preheat the oven to broil.

Slice the bread, and then brush it with the olive oil. Stick it in the oven, open faced, until it's golden brown and delicious (I <3 Alton Brown). Do not burn it. When it's done, remove it from the oven and set it aside.

In the mean time, toss the tomatoes and basil with salt and some black pepper. Set that aside.

Cook your bacon. When it's almost done, throw in the garlic and shallots. Cook for about a minute, and then add the shrimp. For best results, you should probably use raw shrimp, but I'm lazy as hell, and peeling and deveining shrimp is torture to me. So fuck it. It's not ideal, but cooked shrimp will do. If the people don't like it, they don't have to eat it.

Anyway. Throw in your ingredients and only cook the shrimp for a minute or so if you're using my lazy method. The bacon should be crisp, and the shallots and garlic should be translucent. The kitchen should smell like heaven.

Now. Assemble the beginning of your bruschetta sammich type thing. I like to cook the tomatoes and basil first so the other ingredients don't overcook. So, put your tomato/basil mixture on the bread and put it under the broiler for a couple minutes. For God's sake, watch it closely. This is where I always fuck up when I'm broiling something. I'll go off in la-la land for a minute, and then yay, I burned everything.

After the tomatoes and basil are warmed, place the shrimp/bacon mixture right on top. Top that with shredded mozzerella cheese. I like this stuff. It is fabulous. You could also go really crazy and top it with whatever you want. I think Manchego cheese would be really delicious with this, but I've been obsessed with Manchego cheese lately. So I'm biased.

Anyway, place the toppings on the bread, and stick it under the broiler until the cheese is bubbly and golden brown. Once again, watch your shit so you don't make shrimp and bacon bruschetta briquettes.

Fold the sides over to make it into a sub-sandwich type thing, and then slice the bread down the middle to make two sammiches.

These are big ass sammiches. You could also cut these into smaller parts to serve more people, or if you're into portion control. I'm not, so I'd just eat my half. Screw you, food pyramid.

This would be good served with a fun little salad, but I think that these would be even better. They're like chips, but they're made out of cheese.

Ok, I'm less pissy now. Time for lunch and to do my grocery shopping for what could be a pretty kick ass dinner tonight.

One good thing about starting the day in a rancid mood is that there's nowhere to go but up! So, onward and upward with me!