Tales from the REAL O.C. - Once, Twice, Three Times Excommunicated
- posted by Legal Bitch @ 1:47 PM | Permanent Link

As some of you may have noted after meeting me last night, I have a limited amount of patience and an overwhelming amount of angst. This is a volatile combination...and believe it or not, I've mellowed as I've aged. So today, in order to prepare any of you that dare be seen with me in public again for what might happen in my company, I will share with you the top 3 stories of organizations/places that I've been kicked out of/asked to leave.

1. The Baptist Faith - I didn't like church as a kid. I had to dress up, wake up early, and listen to old people talk about my chubby cheeks. Sunday school sucked, as the only kid in my class who would talk to me who didn't eat paste or boogers was my friend Clay. One day we were sitting outside in the parking lot and building rock castles with the lot's gravel, and Clay reached over and flicked my castle and it crumbled to the ground. But I was cool. I waited until he got up to go inside, and I threw a handful of gravel and hit him right in the chest. He went down screaming like a big ole puss. Our pastor saw the whole thing and came running over and yanked me up by the arm calling me a hellion spawn or something. Normally, I would have been scared, but I was still pissed about my castle, because it rocked! (HA!) So I bit the pastor's hand. Hard. And drew blood (by this time I had already kicked the nun, so my Mom knew I was probably on the list for the whole eternal damnation thing). My mom didn't say a word, she just put me and my brother in the car and we never went back. About 18 years later, he presided over my grandmother's graveside service. I walked up to him after the service to thank him, and I offered my hand to him for a handshake but he left me hanging and walked off mumbling "Hell no, she bites!"

2. Brownies - Yeah, I never made it to girl scouts because I was thrown out of Brownies. I don't think it was my fault though, I think I was set up by the international Baptist conspiracy. My best friend's (okay, my ONLY friend's) mom was the troop leader, and being a bible thumper herself she wasn't so pleased that I wasn't welcome in the Baptist church anymore, she assumed I would be a bad influence on her child because of my heathen ways. But yet she still insisted I join Brownies. I did it because I didn't have anything else better to do. One night this snot-faced, weasel eyed girl was picking on my best friend, and pushed her down on the ground and made my best friend cry. I saw red! So, I walked up to weasel face and I punched her dead in the snout. POW! She went down crying like a bitch too. The international Baptists conspiracy sprang into action, and the den moms told my mom that if I couldn't play well with others, I couldn't be a part of Brownies. My mom shuttled me into the car and broke the news to me on the way home. My response: "Mom, ask me if I really give a shit."

3. Picadilly Cafeteria - This one totally wasn't my fault. Before Cracker Barrel existed here in Athens, my parents favored the Picadilly for family meals. Taking my father in public to eat is scary and disgusting. His choice in food is strange, as having been a lifelong smoker I don't believe he has taste buds left, and a little known fact about my father is he has false teeth. Dentures, if you will. So he likes things mushy with lots of salt. He salts to texture, not to taste. He also has horrific table manners and yells at the waitresses because he's deaf in one ear. But he never tells them he's deaf so they think they have this crazy-eyed, salt suckin, gun totin maniac yelling at them for no reason. One night, after I made the mistake of agreeing to have dinner with the 'rents during my freshman year in college (you know you're broke when your Dad calls you up and says "Dinner at Picadilly - my treat!" and you agree to it), my father discovered his country fried steak wasn't up to his rigorous standards and brought the oversight to the attention of our waitress, who told my dad "well, honey, you should have told me you wanted it cooked like that when you ordered" Big mistake. He continued to argue with her about how he desired a mushy consistency to his food, until I he finally reached the breaking point. He shoveled about 4 forkfuls of steak into his mouth, chewed them up, spit them out on his tray, looked at the waitress and (God help me) sang "That's the way, uh huh, uh huh, I LIKE IT!!!" However, even that didn't really seem to bother the waitress, but then Dad called her a cock-eyed fat heifer. That did it. The manager was summoned and we were asked to leave. I almost wanted Dad to make a last stand just so I could see the apocalyptic showdown between my father and the mall rent-a-cops. The bright side is at least I never had to eat at the Picadilly again.