Ryan and the Week in Review

The week had a rough start to it, my friends. A rough start INDEED.

As my "tender mate's" 98 Ford Escort headed for the parkway entrance, the car began to emit smoke from under the hood. Kory and I pulled over - only to discover that neither of us knew what we were looking at. All we knew was that we were going to miss our hair appointment - not at Supercuts or a local Barber shop - but at an establishment called "All Dolled Up".

So we paced back and forth, discussing how we would die if this were a horror movie, and then recognizing the severity of the situation and quickly snapped into action. We called my father. We figured his mustache would know what to do. We called the work line and asked for Mike Barry, saying that "this is his son, Ryan". As we waited, I began to joke out loud and said "Hi, I'm calling for Mike Barry. This is his son, Barbie." As the joke ran for a moment or two, I suddenly hear "...I can HEAR you."

I believe it was at this moment Mike Barry understood that everything he had instilled into my two other brothers clearly did not stick with me. I could not inform him if the radiator hose was broken, or if the transition fluid was leaking. I could only think about one thing - paranormal activity. Mike instructed me to feel the liquid, and I did so - it was red brown. After telling him this, my father said "oh, yeah, something must have broke off the tranny". I laughed a HEARTY laugh, because clearly we have two different definitions of the meaning. We called for a tow, and we were taken to Precision Auto where the woman who assisted us looked like Jerri Blank*. her idea of small talk was claiming that the weather was so bad because we were "messing with the moon".

We left immediately.

So now, one car down and "All Dolled Up" off the list, the weekend began.

I worked on Saturday and catered to a loud, italian New Yorker who felt she needed to scream everything AT people in order to get her point across. She was obnoxious to the point where even customers asked her the kindly shut up. But karma reared its beautiful head into her life when she accidentally sprayed cologne into her young sons eyes. He said "I hate you" and ran out of the store. She, of course, SCREAMED at him to rub his eyes until the tears washed away the alcohol. Great plan, you ape fuck.

I made a co-worker cry. Not because I asked her what it was like to come to America in a tire on the salty seas, but because I told her that her folds weren't pretty.

My friend and I hid a decapitated Beanie Baby in the store as a welcome gift for our new boss. But not before covering it in fake blood from the Halloween store.

Grey's Anatomy has become so unbearable, I've created a drinking game. Any time the doctors act unprofessional, you drink. Good luck making it to 9:24 pm. I dare you.


Until next time.

Make wise decisions.



* if you don't know who Jerri Blank is, Google image it NOW.