If I were to list my top five favorite things in this world, people included, it would go a lil' somethin' like this:

1) Crab rangoon

2) Quarters

3) George Michael

4) My bathtub

5) Breakfast burritos

Oops...guess no actual person(s) made the final cut. Oh well. People come and go. Quarters are forever. 

Last week I had an early meeting at the office. It was my job, the day before, to call in the standard coffee and bagel order to be delivered promptly at 7:45am the following morning. I've done this dance a million times over. I know the drill. Coffee and bagels for 5 and try not to jump through the phone when the woman on the other end asks if you'd like "all the fixins". As if sugar, milk and cream cheese have any right to be called fixins. A true, blue blooded American knows that proper fixins can only be found at a Golden Corral buffet or in your grandmother's medicine cabinet in the form of Hydrocodone and  Xanax to crush up and sprinkle upon your morning mug of lukewarm Coors Light. Don't get a girl all excited only so she can find out that your idea of fun is a few packets of Splenda and a stir straw. 

Anyway, I guess I was feeling pretty frisky when I phoned in because for some reason, after I confirmed the basics, I felt compelled to get it on with a breakfast burrito. As previously stated, I love, love, love a good breakfast burrito. Thus far, Boston has proved a big disappointment in this area as I have yet to sample one here that I have any real desire to visit again. Generally, it seems the concept is unnecessarily complicated when simplicity is what ultimately always reigns supreme. I don't need bell peppers, jalapenos, fancy cheese, steak tips or chorizo in my breakfast burrito. While all of these ingredients certainly have their place, it is not inside of my standard flour tortilla with scrambled eggs, a slice of Kraft yellow and some crumbled Jimmy Dean. If you live in the Boston/Cambridge area and know where I can find such a burrito, please email me immediately. I'll trade you George Michael or my neighbor's exotic slipper collection that she insists on displaying in the hallway as opposed to her closet. 

So like I was saying, just as I was about to wrap it all up, I figured I would inquire about the breakfast burrito situation with the caterer on the other end of the line. If they did offer such a treat, I could easily slip it in with the order and then eat it after the meeting. The perfect plan. 

Me: Um, you know, now that I think about it, do y'all have breakfast burritos?

Lady (such a cheery thing): We sure do!! Can I interest you in an order?!?

Me: Yeah - that would be great. Add on the breakfast burrito. 

Lady: Super! What a yummy way to start the day!! We'll have everything there by 7:45 tomorrow! Fixins included!

Me (what I wanted to say): For the love of God, I'm going to get off the phone now, come to wherever it is that you are and forcibly remove that word from your vocabulary with my (unattractive, but often useful in situations like this) enormous, pummeling man hands. 

Me (what I did say): That's fine. Thanks. If you could just email me a receipt, I think we'll be set. 

Lady: Will do!!! Thank you so much for your loyalty and continued patron...

Me: Nothing because by this point, I'd hung up on her. 

I went along with the rest of the afternoon...yelling for Assistant Whitney to show me how to load a picture to Facebook, coming up with a new nickname for my friend John (he also happens to be gay so I landed on Jomo - which is short for Johnmosexual. Big hit!), drawing a face and putting jewelry on the grapefruit I brought for breakfast but had no desire to eat, and oh, some work. Yeah, I did some work too.  And then, around 3pm, I opened my email to find the receipt for the meeting in my inbox. Let's just say I was a tiny bit taken aback when my eyes fell upon the total cost of $280 for a meeting with 5 people in attendance. Something had gone terribly wrong. Anyone care to take a guess what that might have been? 

After a quick scan of email, I noticed that instead of one unassuming breakfast burrito that I planned to enjoy all by my lonesome in the privacy of my cube, I had been billed for 50 "Supreme n' Tasty" breakfast burritos. Sweet.


Okay, so no big deal, a simple mistake that could surely be corrected with a simple phone call to the catering company. I did a few short breathing exercises in anticipation of what I knew would be another peppy and grossly enthusiastic conversation and got on the horn. 


Lady: Good afternoon!! How I can assist you with your catering needs today!?!?

Me: Hey, this is Allie. We spoke earlier about an order I placed for tomorrow morning.

Lady: Allie!! Hi!! We sure did!! What can I do for you?!? A variety of fresh pastries or some soy milk we need to add on for the hungry bunch?!?

Me: Uh, no. I was calling because it looks like there was a small error on the invoice you mailed over. I ordered a breakfast burrito but have been charged for 50. Can y'all just correct that and resend?

Lady (clearly on script): Oh, Allie. I'm so very sorry if there has been a misunderstanding between us. As you know, we are a catering company. So we do large food orders only. When you said one breakfast burrito, I naturally assumed you meant one order...which consists of 50. You understand, right?

Me: Ummmm, no. Not really. But, okay. Can you just cancel that order then? I don't need that many.

Lady (needs to update the script): Oh, Allie. I'm so very sorry. As you know, we are a catering company. Since we're dealing with a bulk order of breakfast burritos, we've already begun prep and simply cannot cancel the order with such late notice.

Me: It's 3pm. The meeting is tomorrow at 8am. Y'all are already cooking these things?

Lady: We put a lot of time into our food. So, yes. Yes, we are.

First of all, am I the only idiot in the room who didn't know that catering companies (which, in my defense, the name of this place has the word "restaurant" in it. In no materials I could find was the word"caterer" or "catering" mentioned) can only make things in batches of 100 or more? Sure, when I think about it, it kinda makes sense. But, please, honey...you really thought I wanted 50 burritos for a meeting with 5 people in it?? Do you think I'm carbo loading a bunch of teenage boys so we can fuel up and kick  ass at the small town football game later??

Since I am mature and accept responsibility for my mistakes, I went into full panic mode and began to devise a plan so no one would ever have to find out  I was trying to sneak one by Big Brother when karma decided to intervene and punch me in the face.

I arrived at the office promptly at 7:45am in the morning and as soon as I entered the building, I was knocked over by the delightful, and not at all nauseating, smell of room temperature eggs. Not only that, but the delivery boy had included two large picnic table cloths, several sets of oversized tongs, and three festive, Mexican themed platters on which to display the burritos. After I got over the horror of envisioning a bunch of suits showing up to my meeting to find the boardroom looking like the exploded innards of an obese donkey pinata, I quickly loaded everything onto a dolly (I'm not fucking kidding you. This shit had to be transported on a dolly) and took in up to my office. I had fifteen minutes to hide my stash, set up the coffee and bagels and squirt on my signature scent, Debbie Gibson's, Electric Youth, to mask the stench of burrito that had done a superb job of seeping its way into the cotton blend of my sensible and professional Banana Republic button down.

With so little time, I knew I only had one option for the burritos. I had to hide them under Jomo's desk in the very back corner of the office. I carted everything over, threw his personal belongings out of my way and mostly into the common hall area, shoved the goods beneath his chair, tossed some paper on top and then went back to my desk to email him.

Dear Jomo, 


When you get to work today, you're going to notice some burritos under your desk. Don't ask stupid questions and don't move them until I say you can.


Love, 


Allie

And with that, I had cleaned up the crime scene and pulled off the meeting without a hitch.

I wish I could say that I learned some sort of lesson and I will never make such a stupid mistake again. Afterwards, with John's help, I took the burritos to a staff lounge on another floor where, within 15 minutes, they were all gobbled up and gone. I got away with it and lots of people had a delicious breakfast burrito on the house which probably made them happier, nicer and fatter people that day. I see nothing wrong here.

Several years ago, I was on a work trip in Miami Beach for a week. My place of employment had put me up in a posh hotel with the most glorious minibar I had ever seen. It was both a refrigerator and a full size pantry of fun snacks and treats. As I'm sure was true for you as well, when I was a child, removing anything from the minibar was strictly prohibited when on family vacation. I firmly believe that this has had a significant impact on me as an adult. When I see a minibar, I have to eat stuff out of it. If I were in a hotel room with a 7-Eleven located in the fucking bathroom, and I could go in there and buy Cheetos and a Coke for a total of $1.50, or get the Cheetos and the Coke out of the minibar for $7.00, I would, no question about it, go the route of the minibar. I love them so very much.

A week in Miami is quite a long time for one to be in the same hotel room night after night. By the time we left for home, I had eaten every last item and drank every last drink out of the minibar. There was nothing left except for a few nips of gin (I prefer vodka) and a granola bar (because, yeah right. Like I'm eating a granola bar).

I returned to work and settled back in to the same 'ol routine after getting over no longer being able to flaunt my tight ass in a gold thong on the beach everyday while shoving street tacos in my mouth and simotaniously blowing kisses to cute Cuban boys...a sight not to be missed. Trust.

And then, one afternoon, my boss stopped in to review the Amex bill from our time away in Florida. It seemed my minibar affair had not been a cheap one at all. Rather, she was a high profile vixen with expensive taste and her services had cost us something like...oh, I don't know...$450??

There is no way out of that awkward and embarrassing conversation with your boss when you must admit to an addiction so strange and twisted...and then leave them no option except to politely ask that next time you travel on the company dime, it would be helpful if you could buy your Dorritos and Bloody Mary mix at the corner store, or even pack them in your bags if they're such a dire necessity, instead of raping the minibar in your hotel room. Check and check, sir. You can expect nothing less from me! Unless, of course, there's a breakfast burrito involved.

This shit never ends. And that's what you have to accept when you invite me, or more accurately, I break the door down with a sledge hammer and catapult my way into your life. It's a lose/lose, baby. Get used to it.

Hope y'all had a lovely weekend and a Happy Mother's Day. If you've got one and you like her, be sure to give her a buzz today and let her know, that despite the accident she and your father had when they conceived you, you're still quite grateful to them for deciding to "keep it" and at least say to your face that they love you even if, behind your back, they're quietly sobbing as you kidnap the remote control and deviled eggs during holiday visits and drink all the nice wine before passing out in their bed.


And in the spirit of Mother's Day, while I do loathe humans who refer to themselves as parents of their pets, I couldn't resist sharing the closest thing I gots to a real little guy. A few days ago, George Michael and I had our first family picture taken by my good friend, Catherine. Look how cute we are!

And then look what happened when he thought the session was over. A more accurate depiction of our relationship.

How Could I Know, My Morning Jacket - it has been getting the best of me lately. Maybe it'll stir you up a bit too.

Later.

P.S. I still haven't gotten over the Twitter fight we're having. Come on.