Fast-food-to-bridal-party bitch fest
Hey y’all. I have a confession to make: I am a complainer and a hypocrite. Every week I say to love more, bitch less and be fabulous. Well, I got the love in abundance, and I am fabulous for days. But I don’t practice what I preach: I bitch more than anyone I know. My poor husband and best friends have to listen to me bitch and complain almost constantly.
I swear, I don’t know how I ever have anyone around me without them rolling their eyes constantly. Hell, maybe they do, but I am so self-absorbed and running my mouth so much, I don’t even notice it.
I also say “I hate …” so much. “Hate” is such a strong word, and I use it too freely. I need to reserve the word “hate” for when I actually hate something and am not just slightly annoyed by something.
Since I am going down that bitchy rabbit hole, I might as well jump in with both feet.
Taco Bell, I fucking hate you so much sometimes. Taco Bell has items that I really like: the Quesarito, in this case, that you can only get if you order through the app or online, yet you have to go to the store or drive-thru to pick up your order. But you can’t order it in the store or drive-thru.
My blood pressure is going up just thinking about it. My blood pressure is probably up because I eat at Taco Bell in the first place. The food isn’t even that good. You never finish eating Taco Bell and think, “Oh my Gaaa! That was amazing.”
I remember in the early ’90s, Taco Bell was so good. The quality of the food was on point. The meat tasted like meat; the cheese actually tasted like cheese. The sour cream was actual sour cream. Now it is some nearly translucent, milky looking, oil-based abomination.
Back in the day, for 59 cents, you got a scrumptious bean burrito. Taco Bell and Blockbuster made for the perfect evening.
Woe is me; take me back to the good ol’ days!
Oh yeah: Taco Bell, why did you get rid of the Mexican Pizza? Dick move, Taco Bell; dick move.
Since I am on a fast-food rant: Dairy Queen, I am coming for you next.
Their vanilla ice cream used to be amazing; now it tastes fake and has a weird aftertaste. Their buns now have some funky, powdery consistency. The steak fingers are so processed that it feels like you are eating powdered meat.
I miss quality in my “fast food.”
I blame companies cutting corners to make their costs go down, but, in the process, it affects the quality of the product. I also blame over-population. There are too many fucking people buying stuff that I like. I have basically turned into the drag queen equivalent of an old man yelling for those darn kids to stay off his lawn.
Another thing I fucking hate is how many previews and commercials they show before they actually get to your movie. I’m talking to you Cinemark.
Damn y’all! They literally show 25 to 30 minutes of bullshit before every movie. Now, I love a good movie trailer before a movie, and, like, two or three are plenty. But these motherfuckers make you watch at least six, plus a commercial for XD/Imax featuring one of the previews you just watched.
It is maddening.
Plus, movie trailers give away too much. I feel like I have watched the entire movie by the time the preview ends.
On a side bitch, the Cinemark commercial for Cinemark that they show before every movie has two hot, bearded daddies, and I love that. But one of them has a pepperoni pizza in his hand. and the other guy says, “Yeah, get me one.” So, he is expecting his date to get back in line to get him a pizza.
Bitch, whatever! Don’t you see his hands are full?! Take your fine, plaid-wearing ass over there and get your own damn shitty pizza! Makes me want to slap — then kiss — his pretty face every time I see that commercial.
My final rant for this bitchfest has to do with people who come to the shows with no fucking manners. One of my biggest pet peeves is when I am in the middle of a joke, bit or monologue and some bitch yells out “IT’S HER BERFDAY!” or “SHE’S GETTING MARRIED!”
I usually get around to birthdays and bridal parties — but in my time. Some nights, I haven’t even finished saying “Welcome to the Rose Room!” before I hear the shriek of some banshee making sure that the one and only time these girls have ever been to a gay bar in their lives they get their shout out. It always seems to be the drunkest most ridiculous girl in the group who yells and interrupts me, then by the end she hates me because I go in, hard, on her.
To be honest, I love that we get a lot of bridal parties. We put on a great show and usually make fans for life. I’ve seen brides eventually bring their husbands, and, on a few occasions, have even seen them bring their kids. … I’ve been there a long time.
But the ones who don’t have a great time are usually because they have a loud, rude “best friend” who just won’t shut up. If they would just respect the show, respect the entertainers and maybe not get so shitfaced, they’d have a great time.
Okay, okay — I will stop bitching now. For the record, I could literally go on for five more pages, but I will spare you any more of the drama that is me. I actually feel a little better, a little lighter. Maybe I won’t complain so much today. I’m sure my husband would appreciate that.
Remember to always…Blah! Blah! Blah! You know the rest. XOXO, Cassie Nova