tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23306308.post116362639512520353..comments2023-10-11T02:53:32.035-07:00Comments on Five Cent Stand: What Hump?Seth Wardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02027729307468958273noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23306308.post-1163715349843228952006-11-16T14:15:00.000-08:002006-11-16T14:15:00.000-08:00I have those moments more than I would like to adm...I have those moments more than I would like to admit! It keeps me humble. <BR/>So, I pasted all the blogs I have written on myspace to my blogspot, divafal. I hope y'all check 'em out and laugh a little.The Falhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14172207009404952817noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23306308.post-1163688262210972732006-11-16T06:44:00.000-08:002006-11-16T06:44:00.000-08:00When I was in college, I took this girl on a date ...When I was in college, I took this girl on a date to a nice restaurant (first date). My hair was a little longer, then, but not very long. We are seated, and perusing the menu when our waiter walks up and asks "How are you ladies doing this evening . . ." and as I look up from my menu, and he sees my face, he continues "um . . . so sorry about that . . .umm . . . don't know what I was saying". An embarrassing moment for him, but it gave us some laughs. What's worse is that I went back to that same restaurant sometime later, and <I>the same thing happened again</I>! Now, I don't cut a very feminine figure (really!), and it was two different waiters who did this.<BR/><BR/>If there is such a thing as poetic justice, it's working is seen in the fact that the restaurant folded not long after the second incident. I mean, if they can't teach their staff to recognize men from women, then how good can their food be, right?Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23306308.post-1163650268128870882006-11-15T20:11:00.000-08:002006-11-15T20:11:00.000-08:00I won't even hint at the presence of a baby in a w...I won't even hint at the presence of a baby in a woman until she tells me with her mouth that she's pregnant. I don't care if her stomach is sticking out three feet but she has stick limbs. I don't care if she's wearing a shirt that says "One in the Oven." I don't care if she grabs her stomach, her water breaks on my shoes, and she gets all cross-eyed while moaning in pain. Until she looks me in the eye and says, "I'm pregnant," I will carry on as if there is nothing to notice.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23306308.post-1163630917764903852006-11-15T14:48:00.000-08:002006-11-15T14:48:00.000-08:00Ha! I love that clip. I've had a few of those mo...Ha! I love that clip. I've had a few of those moments myself. The most recent was during a trip to New York not too long ago. I wasn't sure what train to take from the Upper West side to Times Square. So I bravely approached the person behind the glass next to the Metro card purchase machines.<BR/><BR/>Me: I have a question about the trains, sir....I mean!....ma'am...I mean! Ummm....<BR/><BR/>What train to Times Square?<BR/><BR/>She/He/It with a golf ball size, wart covered, hairy nose: <I>(no hint of smile, flat eyes, basically entirely pissed off)</I> D, get on A at 59th.<BR/><BR/>Me: <I>(sheepishly, still trying to figure it out)</I> Thanks. <I>(Head down, run away)</I>FancyPantshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00051762758211575101noreply@blogger.com