The Morning After

...I want to lie down in my bathroom and die!

We had our restaurant Christmas party last night. I wouldn't call it the best we've ever had but it was a lot of fun. Maybe a little too much fun.

I got all dressed and picked up my Plus One, my BFFF of course, and we were on our way. From the get go, I knew it was gonna be a good night when I saw a group of people hopping from restaurant door to restaurant door only to realize that almost everyone on our block was having a closed party. Heh.

There was so much food! Irish car bomb cupcakes were my contribution. Now, those bring all the boys to the yard. It's always a good feeling to not have leftovers. It's like being the first of the girls to get picked in gym. They like me, they really like me.

Anyway, so we drank, ate, and complimented each other's dressy outfits. Oh, remember the mistletoe thing I mentioned in an earlier post? We had two mistletoe bushes hanging from our ceiling fans. Man, I hope someone got laid.

After the food, it starts to get a little hazy. With demands of some ass shakin' dance music, I ended up being the DJ. Nothing moves people like T.I., Ludacris, Michael Jackson, and Destiny's Child. You can shrug at the choices but it got people on the bar. Yes, ON. We danced the night away...

And now back to the present. I woke up with smeared makeup, regretting my drink choices, and mysterious bruises. I groaned while making my way to the bathroom. I had to get ready for work!

I've been in this situation before but no matter how hungover, I'm able to pull myself together and get the job done. I got to work, plugged up my iPod, and started on my side work. Little did I know that when the smell of soy and fried food crept into my nose, I was done for.

I reached deep and fought through my unforgiving nausea and succeeded in getting the restaurant set up. But, I didn't think I had it in me to last the whole shift. I had to call in a pinch hitter. Thank God exams were over! An angel called me back and agreed to relieve me. After she tagged in, I went home and crawled into a dark hole.

I emerged hours later, still not feeling 100% but alive enough to want to tweet about my current status. But gasp! I remembered forgetting my iPod at the restaurant. I had to retrieve it. When I got there, I couldn't help but giggle at the sight of the night crew. Including myself, we were all dressed like we were about to go to the Health Clinic. The fitted clothes we wore the night before were replaced with everything baggy and loose. It also didn't help that we looked like we were diagnosed with H1N1.

"Man, we had fun...right?" Was the fact/question of the night. After promises of swapping stories and not drinking for the rest of the week, I bid them adieu.

i do not want to drink like that for a while. Then again, Christmas and New Years are coming up fast. God help my liver!

Coming of Age

With all the fake IDs and easily seduced security guys/bartenders, it's becoming less of an event... turning 21.

I'm glad that a lot of my friends and acquaintances from grade school, who are younger than me, don't come into my place of work to drink. I've probably said this before but I don't care how "cool" we were in school, if you're not legal, I'm not serving you. I'm positive that you won't come to my rescue when I'm paying my $1000 fine in court.

The funny thing about these infamous underage bar hoppers is that they announce THE DAY on social networks, when they've been 22 for...3 years now. That day's exchange with your bartender's gotta be a little awkward, right? You go out to celebrate your birthday and the bartender offers you shots. After some high-fiveing, they ask how old you are. Could you really hold your head high and say 21?!

Maybe I'm angry because I wasn't a partier in my younger years... Or maybe it's because I'm getting old(er).

Look There She Goes...

...that girl is so peculiar. What a puzzle to the rest of us, this Belle.

Belle, in Beauty and the Beast was considered a "funny girl" because she was a bookworm. I wonder what that poor provincial town would have thought of these girls (characters) in movies now a days.

Don't get me wrong, I like that the un-mainsteam girl is scoring the man but the degree to which they're odd is...getting to be a bit much. The unconventional girl has since changed from the artistic, dark haired type to someone who wears Converse with a party dress and gasp! gets dessert before their entrée. How pleasantly quirky.

She probably has Christmas decorations up in April to help keep the Christmas spirit alive and reads books starting at the end. Does it sound more intellectual when it's paired with a meaningful explanation?

We need to draw a line between cute and bizarre or else the girl who wears socks with sandals, just to express her serious individuality, will become acceptable. And the thing is, the guys eat that shit up. "She's so mysterious. Maybe if I spend enough time with her, I can be more enlightened about the world around me."

I'm definitely not a blond and pink type but I'm also not a cat eye glasses with a faux leather jacket with fur type either. I'm just a regular girl who wants a particularly gorgeous and talented Australian or English guy to fall in love with me. He'll show me the world. Shining, shimmering, splendid...Wait, maybe I need to go to Agrabah. Road trip?!

Murphy's Law

Definition: An epigram that's typically stated that "if anything can go wrong, it will, and it will happen at the worst possible time." The Law of Gravity is felt every moment of every day. I feel the effects of Murphy's Law every couple of shifts.

It's getting to be that time of year. Perhaps because of the lack of football, the cold winter air, or because of exam week followed by winter break, but everything slows down. Lots of stores and restaurants are forced to cut back but this doesn't mean it's always slow.

You would never expect a restaurant to be in full swing in this town on a Monday. But, it's always when you're under staffed, minimally stocked, the bartender is on a liqueur run, and the veteran kitchen guy is sent home when Murphy's Law rears its ugly head. And when the ball starts rolling, it does damage:

My whole section needed refills, I had kids running around, a keg floats, the computer is unresponsive, the food is burnt, and a table wants to play 20 questions about the menu. Ugh! I have been near tears because of this chaos. Honestly, it's scary. It's not a fun thing to have to constantly apologize... to everyone.

But, just as fast as it hits, the storm subsides. It's good to take in that long breath after a rush! Very calming. I assume that's what smoking a cigarette would be like. So, on a particularly slow night, tempt Murphy's Law by sending a couple people home. But make sure they're just around the corner cuz I don't wanna cry!

Let's Get Physical

I physically can't go to the gym with a ponytail and leave with one. I go in with my hair all situated and come back with bump-it bangs and matted fur...

For the longest time, I was really intimidated by gyms. I tried to go to the one on campus when I was still a student but I was not at all prepared. First of all, I didn't get the memo about the dress code. I lacked the Nike shorts that were in this season. I only had my old polyester Umbros and a high school musical production t-shirt. Don't worry, I've upgraded since then. Secondly, I had NO idea how the machines worked. I would have asked the man who's shirt was barely keeping itself together around his huge biceps but the fear of getting judged and being asked, "Is this your first time?" kept me from approaching any of the equipment. Lastly, I am NOT hot working out. I'm so jealous of the girls who can exercise for hours and emerge with a nice sheen of sweat above their brow. When I work out, my face turns beet red, my hair in disarray, and sweating bullets. BULLETS! Nothing is hot about that.

Still, a girl's gotta get her heartbeat up. After a week of gym hopping, I finally settled on one. I'm really happy with my gym. Still has Nike shorts girls but they're off set by the soccer moms, cops, gym junkies, and the yoga queens. A nice balance for me. It also doesn't hurt that there's this one guy who works out in glasses... He is adorable!

Now, the only problem is getting fit enough to call working out a hobby instead of a must do.

Employee Christmas Party

You thought Halloween was bad...

This is the annual main event! The employees and a couple friends of the restaurant come out to get wild. We get to see the whole crew looking sexy and smelling nothing like an Egg Roll.

Yea, we do it up at the restaurant. Everyone dresses up like were heading to the small town Oscars. The food is potluck so you get a little bit of everything and all "off the menu." The alcohol, depending on how the restaurant did that year, is free or BYOB. Either way, everybody gets trashed.

Of course we all get to bring a guest. Ah yes, the Plus One. It's always iffy bringing in someone from the outside though. If they're not already friends with the staff, you'll have to spend most of the night entertaining and keeping them comfortable. It's also a pain worrying about being judged when you kiss every single one of your coworkers under a mistletoe or a lettuce leaf (Whatever's handy). We all get mighty friendly!

The party has always been at the restaurant so I definitely get a kick out of customers who don't know how to read a CLOSED FOR A CHRISTMAS PARTY sign and walk in. They'll be greeted drunkenly with a "WE'RE CLOSED!" Haha. Good times, good times.

I wonder who's gonna be dancing on the bar this year...

Can You Read Me Now?

Good!

Don't worry my dear readers. I'm here! I have been without Internet for...maybe two weeks now. I have missed a total of 37 e-mails, 7 Facebook event requests, 2 birth announcements, 1 break up, and an unspeakable number of tweets. The e-mails were mostly ads...

I think something happened in my house that caused my room to be an electronic black hole. I was also deprived of TV! You would think that with all the free time I now had to be productive, I would have done...something productive. But nah.

I have a shelf full of books, good books, I needed to get through. But, move over Haruki Murakami, I've got a game to play! I picked up my Nintendo DS. It had collected about an inch of dust and I saw it glaring at my iPod using its double screens but with one touch, we were friends again.

I started a game that I had impulse purchased at the local Gamestop. It's called Rocket Slime. A spawn of the Dragon Quest franchise. I know you're excited. Let me explain the storyline:

It starts in a little town called Boingburg. Its inhabitants are creatures called Slimes who look like colorful Hershey's kisses with eyes and various accessories to tell them apart. So, what's come to disturb the peace in this adorable little wonderland? Mutant Platypus called Plobs. They captured all the citizens except for the hero (who is named after me, duh), who now has to search far and wide to save them and restore the town.

I know. It's so awesome. Forget all this Assassins Creed and Halo nonsense. I'm saving chocolate morsels!

Believe it or not, this will be the first game that I EVER finish on my own. I've never been a gamer, although my looks may allude to it. In college, I used to fall asleep listening to my friends play Madden. John's voice is like a lullaby...

Well, gotta run. There's a rabbit with a single horn waiting to battle. Bring it on!!

Rudeness Has No Borders

It's bad when the second table of the night upsets you so much that you want to slap them across the face even before the drinks are out. Since it was the day before Thanksgiving, we all expected a slow night. It ended up being pretty busy. Unfortunately, the money didn't make up for the anger I felt for this particular couple.

It started all wrong. They came in and were rude to my Hostess. Strike One. They couldn't be bothered to look at me when they asked about the drink specials. You know how I feel about that, Strike Two. They were out-of-towners. Strike Three!

They asked about the specials THREE times because they just didn't "get" it: "Wait, it's two for one? What if I only want one? Well, I'd want two. Why is it just domestic? Is Heineken not domestic?" Sigh. Then, of course, they got mad at ME because the girl didn't have her ID. She forgot to get it back the night before. "I mean, I'm 24!" Ok? I can't really just take your word for it..

Next, they decided to bitch about how over priced our food was. "We're from L.A......." Long ass pause. Okaaaay. Am I supposed to give you an L.A. discount? Aggravated beyond belief and not being able to suggest going back to where they came from since it's so awesome, I told them I was going to give them some time to decide if they were going to stay or not, and walked away.

Despite our alarming prices, they decided to stay and ordered the very thing they complained about. If they represent people from L.A. I NEVER want to go there. Plus, apparently, they don't tip in L.A. either!

Do you know how we deal with our pent up anger? No, we don't do anything gross with your food. As soon as we walk away and get to a safe distance, we tell everyone that's working and other employees who happen to be there to drink, about you. So yeah, we're all looking at you: while we get you that extra napkin, or walking by the mirror, or stepping out for a smoke... We're watching!

The List

It was brought to my attention that I have yet to write about the adventures, real and imaginary, that my BFFF (For those of you who haven't watched Pineapple Express, the extra "F" is crucial) and I have gone on. I've had what seems like months to think about them, especially since my partner in crime has left me for the exotic and unfamiliar North, two days ago.

To bring you up to speed, I'll explain a little bit about the List: It's a very important mental note that we keep about men who are on the verge of running into us, conversing with us, falling in love with us, chasing us, and catching us (swoon). The top...ten are pretty solid but the rest, easily interchangeable. Just put an attractive man in a period piece and he pops straight up the line.

I would probably have to write a whole 'nother blog about the situations we've cooked up over the years. Here's the most recent exchange via text:

My BFFF told me that she had gone to a diamond exhibit in Chi-town. Naturally, she scouted potential engagement rings for Hugh J. and Chris P. (think Star Trek, not SNL) to buy us.

I started to doubt. Maybe they weren't even thinking about finding us... But NO, my brilliant BFFF steps in to tell me that our men were gazing up at the moon, hoping that we were looking at it too. It's hard to know their true feelings for us when all they do is leave us cryptic hints and subtle gestures when doing interviews. We can't always read between the lines you know!

Of course, all would be forgiven if each man sent us a love letter, a sonata, or an ode even. Daniel Johns must do an entire album though. He owes us for that 20yr. old he's been accessorizing with!

Never Have I Ever

There are many things that I have done at the restaurant over the years but there are also many things that I have not. Thanks to the crazy weekend, I can move some of the things from the haven't column to the have...

Never have I ever been so excited about a football game. It was so exciting. I realized that I too am one of those people that yell at the TV and jump around. A sad realization on my part.

Never have I ever dropped the F bomb in front of customers till tonight. It was the most (if there is ever) appropriate time to do so, though. I was, as always, weaving through a jungle of people with a tray full of food and a hand delicately balancing a fresh-out-of-the-kitchen hot bowl of soup. All of a sudden, a group of intoxicated monkeys pop up in front of me to do a faux wrestling/hugging match. As I gently yelled out my current situation, one of the dudes backed up into me.

Thank God the years of maneuvering around drunkards had taught me a thing or two! Instinctively, I jerked back without spilling the hot lava. Unfortunately, my irritations allowed the fatal words to escape my lips. I couldn't help it. I almost burned myself and perhaps an innocent bystander (bar-sitter).

Never have I ever high-fived so many times in one shift. I swear, every trip to my section resulted in a total of...4 high-fives. That's not including the trip back. And they were for the lamest things: "Sake bombs!" High-five. "Football!" High-five. "My name's Sam!" High-five. "You're working!" High-five. Thanks for reminding me. Boo!

And never have I ever been so glad to have missed the drama the night before. I don't know much detail but I do have some key words: People, Alcohol, Loud music, Crowd surfing, Cops, Big mess. Why is it that college town cops are so eager to abuse their power? Ugh! Never should they ever.

Heaven and Hell

What is Heaven?

I'm not really religious but I have many answers to that. If you are asking what my fantasy/near future is, then the answer's easy: Waking up from a nap to Daniel Johns playing a song for me on the piano. He'll sit next to me on the couch and we'll watch classic movies. He'll attempt a Clark Gable persona but ha, you can still clearly hear that Australian accent of his. Ahhh...wow, sorry, lost myself a little there.

If you ask that question in a more practical sense, then my answer is: A hot shower after a hard night's work, curled up in covers with heating pads on the bottoms of my feet and a big ol' glass of ice cold water. A marathon of CSI or anything on Food Network would make it complete. Ahhh...

What is Hell?

That's easy: A restaurant full of angry people, running out of liquor, late food orders, and people who are all up in my way!

Luckily, that was not the case Friday night. Very busy but not hellish. I was worrying about this weekend...all week. I think we all were.

It was a BIG weekend for us! LSU's in town. I don't understand the whole smells like corn dogs thing but our town's sticking to that insult, so I won't question it.

Drunk. Wasted. Trashed. Shit-faced. You can call it whatever you want but people were drinking in full force. I saw that the cops even closed down a road because there were so many people spilling out into the streets. Girls were already falling over and it was only 9. Nuts.

I saw a guy finish off an entire pizza and I avoided looking at a girl peeing behind a trash can. I wonder if that is their idea of Heaven and Hell?

Is It 10 Yet?

Waiting tables can be like being stuck behind a slow moving car. It's frustrating, you're screaming on the inside (car/brain), you try not to hit anyone, and there's no backing out.

It seems like on the days you work the longest, nothing seems to happen. On my dinner shift, I didn't get my first table till 2 hours after I clocked in. I was so bored, I was on the border of harassing my one table with water refills. After another grueling hour of nothingness, I was told that I could go as soon as my remaining tables cleared out...

I had to wait a whole 'nother hour till I got to leave. I only had two, TWO tables mind you.

One, consisting of three people, was determined to get trashed. Every time I was in a visible distance, the speaker of the table flashed me the another round gesture. Considering the amount of beer they were guzzling, they were docile and quite sweet.

My other table consisted of two ladies. They too started off with some drinks. Unlike their neighbors, these women preferred to nurse their beer. It all seemed rather normal till their sewing needles came out. They started to vigorously knit, what I think was, an afghan. This worried me. Even at the alarming pace they were going, if they were going to finish it, I wasn't going anywhere.

Why, oh why, is it when I get to leave early, I can't?! I would walk by each of them, hoping to hear the magic phrase, "Check, please" but only hearing, "Another round."

By the time I finally dropped the bills, it was near closing time. What a weird night.

Rugrats

I've never considered myself a baby person. I, of course, adore my friend's kids but random strangers... I won't go out of my way to pick them up or chat with them. Regrettably, I think my job has caused me to dislike them and their parents, just a little bit more.

Whenever a family walks in the door, I prey that it's not my turn. I've had so many bad experiences with children, just the thought makes me cringe. If the child is still in diapers, I get to look forward to crushed cheerios and Goldfish that gets embedded into the floor. If the child is old enough to complain about their order, I get to look forward to running back and forth making Shirley Temples or Roy Rogers (which an angry mother insist me calling it when getting one for her son. Although a Roy Rogers is technically a cherry Coke).

Advice to all parents: Check out the menu BEFORE you walk in. Getting upset and asking me why we don't serve regular fries and sandwiches for kids is just ridiculous. Bring your own ketchup please. We're an Asian fusion establishment. All we have that resembles ketchup is sweet & sour sauce.

Teaching your stubborn angel manners is also a tool to make your waiter really uncomfortable. Especially when it's busy, I don't have time to stand idly by while you angrily request your child to say, Thank You. "Tommy, tell her Thank you. Tommy? You're not getting another soda till you tell her, Thank you. Tommy, you look at me..." Man, I don't want him to thank me if his heart's not gonna be in it!

If your munchkin is very shy, please don't force them to place their own order. This usually makes me have to get so close to them that their nose is in my ear. "Speak up, honey."

What I hate the most though, is when parents let their rambunctious kids run wild in the restaurant as they each talk on their cell phones. And you KNOW those parents are the ones that would freak out if you corrected their precious darlings. It's hard carrying a full tray of food and cocktails while dodging three boys running full speed and dragging a little one who's tugging on your towel asking repeatedly, "What's that? What's that? What's THAT?"

After babysitting, I feel like I deserve a smile or two from the parents but all I get is a credit card in between the fingers of the hand that's still holding the cell phone. Cold.

What I should do is stand there. "You're not leaving till you say, Thank you. Say Thank You! You're not getting your phone back till you behave!"

Run It Again, Sam

Dropping off the bill at a table can be the most relieving as well as the most tense moment. Is the bill split up the way they want it? Was everything charged correctly? Are they going to tip well?

Whenever there's a dispute about who's going to pay for what, it can get a little funny. I call it the Bill Tug-of-War. "Susan, put your card away! You got it last time." "But Diane, you just brought over that lovely cheesecake last week for brunch! Here, take my card." La la la. All the while, I'm left shrugging awkwardly by the table as cards come flying at my face. Honestly, I don't care who pays. Just as long as someone does.

Running cards can be rather tricky. Not the swiping part, obviously, but there are many things that can go wrong: The online server can be busy, the computer can be unresponsive, we could be low on paper...the worst though, is if your card is declined.

Believe me, we will do our very best to break the news to you discretely. Just slip us another payment method and we'll be on our way. What we don't need or deserve is for you to take your embarrassment and frustrations out on us. How can it be our fault that you have insufficient funds due to your splurge on golf clubs or a new pair of D&G booties?

Trust me, it makes us just as nervous as you when your card's declined. Yes, we have tried to run it more than once! Our computer has a way of telling us who is to blame for an incomplete transaction. Besides, we want to be absolutely sure before we have to walk the Walk of Death back to the table. Staring me down while saying "That's not possible" doesn't help the situation because the impossible just happened. Your credit limit is a problem you need to discuss with your credit card company. Not me.

By this point, no matter what I say or do, I know that you think this is all my fault: I am just a bitter waiter causing a scene because I am unhappy with my current situation and want those who have the luxury of having a lovely dinner out to suffer. I can assure you that is never the case but if you're mad, you're mad. Just ask your friend(s) to pay, take out your anger by slashing my tip down to mere pennies, and have a good night.

Appetizers: $6

Bottle of Wine: $28

Dinner: $32.75

Yelling at your server in front of friends: priceless

Happy HalloThanks Christmas

Many people in the surrounding neighborhoods are hopping on the Wal-Mart holiday schedule. You know the one. They're always ready for the next, next, upcoming holiday.

We haven't even opened the remaining bag of Halloween candy yet and folks are already setting up reindeers and scattering styrofoam snow. Please, did you forget about Thanksgiving? You can't skip over the brown and yellow color scheme that connects the orange from Halloween to the red and green of Christmas. I love Christmas but it just seems too early for lights. Like white shoes after Labor Day...just wrong.

We all need to take a moment and focus on the now! Slow down and pick up a can of cranberry sauce and Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup. This is also the perfect time to get out a Paula Deen cookbook. After all, a Southern Thanksgiving=Casseroles=Butter=Coma.

You need a whole month to work off that meal anyway and what better exercise than to climb up and down a ladder and untangling yards of lights. The frustration of finding that one busted bulb probably burns calories too.

So, don't get too ahead of yourself. I promise, if you're patient, Black Friday will tie you over till you hear Bing Crosby or a Disney Mania Christmas Remix on the radio. Nothing says Christmas like the Jonas Brothers rockin' out Adeste Fideles.

And really, you can rush the holidays all you want but you're still required to spend time with extended family.

Infidelity

When you've worked in the same restaurant for so many years, nothing is ever really new. I've eaten everything on the menu wayyy too many times. At least our food items lean on the healthier side. I'd be a goner if I worked in an ice cream shop. Although I don't get excited about our menu anymore, it doesn't stop me from craving the same cuisine...but from another restaurant.

I feel guilty but baby, it's not like that. I'm not really cheating. I just need something familiar but different, you know? Our relationship has become a little bland over the years. I try to throw in some Habanero sauce to spice things up a bit but in the end, it's still the same. You think of specials every weekend but to me, it's just a twist on the regular. We're just together so damn much. It's just too routine with us. I need a new scene from time to time. Can you blame me? When I go out, I'm worry free. I get to wear whatever I want and the luxury of not knowing the person preparing my meal.

I donno. Maybe I am selfish. But it's not like I'm not always reminded of you when I go out. Since I'm always seen with you, when people see me, they ask about you. I always have to drive by your place when I go anywhere. I can never truly be free from you in this town...

I don't mean to be harsh. I appreciate your availability. You're there for me when I'm hungry after a shift... Look, time away from you is not necessarily a bad thing. To be honest, if I'm away from you too long, I start to miss you. So lets just try to give each other some space so that we can keep going and so things don't get too old.

Fairy Blogmother

Sometimes, I'm involved in things so bizarre, I can't make heads or tails of them. Happenings so strange that it leaves my face contorted in a way that the only applicable subtitle would be: Huh? After thinking long and hard, there is only one explanation: I have a Fairy Blogmother who is giving me material to write about.

One night, when I was still a mere hostess, a man came into the restaurant. There was a little time before we opened and the waitresses were still setting up. Before I could give him my "we're not quite open yet," spiel, he hit me with the strangest query. "I'm going to break up with my girlfriend," he says. "Can you get me the most private table?" We did not have any booths and none of our tables were intimate enough for a very public break up... Why would you tell me that? Refer to my Separate Ways entry. Eyebrows furrowed.

One time, I was waiting on this group of guys who were obviously International Studies students. By obviously, I mean they were discussing the economic situation in South East Asia. They really wanted to guess my ethnicity. Glad to be a walking guessing game. After our customer/waiter engagement had expired, I ran their cards and went on my way. When I stopped back at the table after they left, I noticed a note on one of the credit card slips. A phone number written in characters not numbers. And what is that below the digits? A 9% tip... Did he want me to call to ask him why he tipped like a foreigner? Shrug.

[Explanation: For those of you who don't know, in most other countries, the tip is included in the bill or in their staff's pay. So, it is not part of their custom to tip. Foreign travelers, when they come to the States, tend to forget they are in a country whose servers live off the tips they make, thus, making them unfavorable patrons.]

And last night, after I got done with my shift, some guys walked up to my friend and me. One guy asked if I knew who the band was so I told him. Then, he said, "You have a very crisp accent. You must not be from here." I had to tell him to not be fooled by my exterior and that I was in fact a Southerner. After a few more introductory exchanges I learned that he was from Italy and was in the area to see what the South was all about and why it had such a bad rap. His hobbies included break dancing and most importantly, he was an exotic dancer who got into the biz thanks to his ex who was a stripper. Was he hitting on me?

As my mouth hung open, I wondered: Should I have given him a $20 to see if he was bullshitting me? I don't even think I heard an accent. But, it was loud in the bar...

Thanks for the last one Fairy Blogmother. Maybe you can send Hugh Jackman my way. I would TOTALLY be psyched to write about that one!

:(

The sideways emoticon embodies everything I'm feeling at this very moment. I am so tired of smiling, all I can do is lay on my side and frown. It was a pretty decent Friday night before a big game. I don't know if it was because I wasn't wearing my 20%-tip earrings or if it was because it was Friday the 13th but people weren't tipping. And THAT is contagious.

This isn't uncommon though. There are always a couple days in the month where everyone who sits in my section decides to tip the minimum, if at all. And I am 100% sure that it's not me. I was giving away smiles like condoms at a free clinic and making jokes to make the table laugh to divert them from their appetizer's late arrival. I even gave chopstick lessons... Deep breath

After a busy night, when tips are particularly bad, not even the smoothest tequila can kick the aches away. I have to turn down invites to late nights in favor of retreating back home to some sweats and bad TV. Besides, by the time I'm done with side work and clock out, I'm already several drinks behind the crew. I don't like to play catch up.

The night looks a lot less appealing when you go out tired, irritated, and sober. The stumbling dudes aren't as funny, the music isn't as bumpin', and the pizza slices aren't as gourmet. Sheesh, hope next weekend is better!

The Aristocrats

Fifteen minutes till close, this foursome walks in head held high as they push past the hostess to seat themselves. The man flags me down as he whispers a witty remark, making the three women giggle. "Three Michelob Ultras and an Amaretto Sour." Don't let the drink order fool you. These people are high class, these people are important, these people are...Aristocrats.

I give them a couple minutes after taking their top shelf drinks to get their dinner order. I don't mean to rush them but time is rapidly approaching. The man orders a couple starters. The lady across from him lifts her head from her menu to inquire, "What the fuck is that shit?" The group join in for a hearty chuckle as I leave the explanation to the host of this soiree. After I drop the appetizers off, I overhear them in a deep discussion about sexual acts with animals, from across the restaurant...

Seriously? It is unbelievable how these people have the gaul to call others lush and tasteless when they're asking me to recommend something that's not some weird Chinese shit! Your fourth Amaretto sour before your entree has even seen a flame isn't making you fun, just obnoxious.

If you are puzzled by our menu and everything recommended makes you regurgitate profanity, this is not the place for you. May I suggest an Applebee's or an Olive Garden? I hear they have fantastic drink specials and menu items you may be more accustomed to.

After I had taken all their plates away, I thought I'd finally be able to bid them adieu. But oh no! I turned around to see the gentleman waving me over. What did he want? He wanted to challenge my math skills. He was convinced that I had short changed him. In his Mich Ultra haze, he must have forgotten that he was drunk and I was Asian. It was time for this Yuppie to get schooled in 2nd grade arithmetic.

After the battle of wits and pencils were down, I emerged victorious. Unfortunately, his companions were no better and couldn't add in a tip...

Joke's on me

Skills and Qualifications

Working at a restaurant that's located in the middle of town has its ups and downs: Parking is a bitch but at least all the bars are clustered together. So, it's not surprising that job seekers start in the center first.

I've seen many job applications get filled out. Honestly, if you want a job at our or any other restaurant surrounding us, make a friend with an employee. We'll skip over month old applications with above average experience for a reference by a coworker. You could have an outstanding DUI and a prescription drug addiction but hey, we'll give you a try. If you don't have a strong ally though, don't be discouraged. We may personally lay your application on the boss's desk if you bat your eyes and impress us.

Oh, and a touch of advice from me to you: Firstly, if you come in as a customer and ask your waiter for an application, it is not smart to tip sub par. Because then, the "boss" we told you we'd hand your resume to? It's the trash can. Secondly, please don't be cute an write with purple ink or draw on your application. We may not be corporate but we're also not your pen pal. If your doodles are particularly eye catching, we'll keep it. It'll be hanging on the cork board right next to the drawing one of our 2yr old customers gave us. You get a gold star for your creativity, not a job.

And thirdly, I'm aware that not everyone has work experience and therefore don't have a list of job references. Writing down your great grandmother Dorothy is not a really good idea. Even if you only visit her to get drug money, she's still not gonna talk shit about you. A little biased...just a little. And most definitely, don't write down your boyfriend as a reference! What are we going to ask him? We don't care to know your skills at that kind of job.

Be smart or at least act smart, make a friend or two in the biz, and for God's sake, at least ask your neighbor who's yard you mowed once, a year back, to be a reference. Happy Hunting

The Dreaded Alphabet

A-B-C. In that sequence, it'll make any baby's mom squeal but a server cringe. Sesame Street with a badge, it's the ABC.

Big events such as concerts and football weekends bring customers who are looking for a good time and the booze that will help them along. Sometimes, with the crowd comes the uninvited guest, the dreaded alcohol police. Usually, someone in will sense their presence and alert the town's alcohol dealers. But every once in a while, they'll get rather sneaky and plan an ambush during a particularly busy weekend. The last big home game landed a couple bartenders in jail. They send underage undercover agents into the bars. Once they're served, anyone behind the bar is out.

When the word gets out about the ABC sneak attack, I naturally get nervous. I feel like I can judge age pretty well but... More often than I like, I get the girls who cake on the make up as well as guys with so much facial hair, they could have been Brad Pitt and I would have never known.

Most of the time, I card everyone. I'm met with giggles and enthusiasm, "Oh Yeah! I'll show you my I.D. Woop, Woop." I do my courtesy laugh but really, just hand over the plastic. I'm not going to risk going to jail because your tanning bed habit misleads me. And if, for whatever reason, you forget your I.D., please don't ask me to just TRUST you. Seriously, we can't even trust that you'll tip... Oh and one more thing: Keep in mind that it is not OUR fault that you forgot your identification or that you were born before 1988. Are you promising to bail us out of jail? I didn't think so. So tip for the service we are legally allowed to give. You should have drank before you came (and let your DD drive).

Occasionally, I go with my gut instinct and don't mold my fingers into the "card" shape. I always second guess myself though. I had a couple that came in the other night that had me sweating bullets.

The guy was obviously older but the girl...on the border. I swore I saw some pre-30 wrinkles creeping in but it could have been clumps of foundation but I took them their drinks anyway. For the next 40-45 min., I was freaking out because the whole time they were eating, she didn't touch her wine.

I was just imagining myself taking them their ticket, only to be met by the alphabet monsters. It was not a good feeling. Luckily, she drank her wine, they paid, they left, and nothing happened... unless they're planning on picking me up at my house. In which case, my next entry may be from prison.

The Boobfest Before Christmas

One day out of every year, you are allowed to dust off your pleather, thigh-high boots without objection. On this day, you are able to borrow a bra from your girl-friend without hesitation. It's the day you can wear last year's Comic-con outfit without any judgement. This is Halloween, everybody make a scene.

Every Halloween, College Town, MS turns into Universal Studios and the people, Playboy playmates and the guys that Oogle at them. The skirts get shorter, the guys even douche-er, and libidos at an all time high.

What specifically am I complaining about on this day? Couples costumes. Another holiday has crossed over to make those of us who are single feel even more alone. Please, no, go on. Tell me about how your Prince Charming and Snow White costumes are so awesome. Don't spare any details about how you won't be able to leave the apartment without a quickie since she'll look so hot in it. I'll clap, awe, and be sincerely excited for you. But, after your story, I'm gonna excitedly tell you about how I'm going to have a shot of tequila and a self pity martini.

From the unbitter part of me comes some advice for you love bugs out there: If you are a part of a group costume, don't let the group disperse! As a group/couple, you may look awesome but individually, you may look silly. For example, if you decide to go as the Dish that ran away with the Spoon, you can't hop to a different bar without your Spoon. Standing alone, you'll look like a flying saucer.

Halloween is now the new Valentine's Day and others are sure to follow... Bring it on President's Day.

Customers Say the Darndest Things

When your 3rd grade teacher told you there are no dumb questions, they clearly never worked in the service industry.

From the tame: "Can I have a Grey Goose and Vodka?" To the just plain sad: While looking at her credit card receipt, "Am I the merchant? Do I keep the merchant copy?"

People say the strangest things in a restaurant. You'd think that the dim mood lighting also dimmed their brains.

There have been people who would walk in and not know what kind of food we served. To be fair, our decor doesn't exactly scream Asian: A bamboo plant here, a fish tank there. Assuming these patrons missed those markers and the subtle hints from the chopsticks on the tables and the visible sushi bar, the menu is a dead giveaway. So, when you walk up to the bar and as you thumb through the menu, demand a Cheeseburger, be prepared to be faced with wide-eyed service.

You would think stuff like that only happened in Chuck Norris, he walked into a McDonalds, ordered a Whopper and Got it, jokes. Unfortunately, no.

I've had customers ask me if they could pay 1/2 since she only ate 1/2 her meal...When I told her no, she ASKED WHY! In what world are you able to pay for the portion you ate? Even at a buffet, you pay before you eat. I'll also never forget the time I had to explain that the salad that comes with the lunch special cannot be substituted out with a lunch entrée just because the price-is-the-same. When met with confusion and a hint of anger, I had to explain the silliness of the query using the McDonald's combo menu as an example. Yes, I felt slightly dumber after that exchange. Especially, when I had to do it TWICE.

Seriously, in order to survive some of these people and their questions, I have to grit my teeth when I smile and drink heavily after.

Separate Ways

Please, for the sake of our sanity, please do NOT breakup with your significant (or not so significant at this point) other in a restaurant.

I know you think this is the best way to have a civil conversation without yelling, throwing of things, and slamming of doors since you're out in public but keep in mind that while you're breaking it off, we, the waiters are still committed to serving you till the end of our 30min to 1 hour relationship, no matter how uncomfortable and uninvolved we are. It's in our job description to keep a smile and ask for total payment so...

So, if there is no other way, do it but don't look at us like we're being insensitive when we drop the bill off and wait for you to pay while the other person in your party is stealing the napkins off neighboring tables to cry into them. YOU made this decision, not us.

And for those of you who are particularly rude and fail to understand how the situation is surprisingly more awkward for us, I will come by and suggest that you stay for dessert and ask ever so politely, "Is the check together...or separate?"

Cluster. Fuck.

Gotta love football weekends. The restaurant fills up to near maximum capacity and we're all hopping from table to table like fleas.

For a crazy night, I don't have a particular episode to note. Well, except for the table of 13 kids who couldn't get their cash to add up, regardless of their iPod calculator app. How is it that not one person in the group can total the cash ON A CALCULATOR and compare it to the total, which I highlighted with a pen? The education system has failed them. They clearly need to add a Restaurant Bill chapter to the Math curriculum.

Sadly, this is nothing new. You won't believe how many times I've gotten credit card receipts and found that in the process of adding the tip into the tab, the patron mysteriously reached a total less than the actual bill.

But back to tonight. Let me first set the stage: The restaurant is very narrow and long with a tight little waist near the bar (like an hourglass). So, when the bar is 3 deep, there is a tremendous traffic jam. A cluster fuck, if you will. Now, try pushing against the current with a tray full of food and top heavy wine glasses. Top it all off with being vertically challenged. Thank God my voice carries! Weaving through the crowd sideways, really slow gets very tiresome. And that's not all.

Not that this town needs any excuse to drink but football definitely calls for liver churning binges. Inebriated, the inner crazy and perv come out to play. In my case, a drunkard seized the opportunity to grab my butt and towel (which is also back there) while I was hopeless: walking sideways, both hands occupied with various items, only allowed to go forward, and unable to look back. Sneaky bastard darted out the door before I could even think of obscenities.

Football weekends: Rowdy either way but always better when the team wins!

My Name is ___

I always have a mini panic attack when customers ask my name. I immediately replay our entire interaction up until that moment to make sure I didn't do anything wrong or possibly made a facial expression that could have been misconstrued.

Most of the time, they just want to know so they can act all buddy-buddy with me and make it easier to get my attention; for instance, from across the restaurant. These guys are all complements and no buck. Such a tip tease.

This particular time, it was an older couple. As soon as I walked up to get their drink order, I saw potential warning signs. The wife was not smiling and the man was rummaging through his wife's purse to look for his glasses. "I can't see in this light," he said. After I had brought out the appetizers and answered a few questions about the menu, the husband asked me for my name.

Uh oh. Rewind....Replay. Nope, no incidences that I could think of. I continued the routine and brought them their entrées. After their last plates were taken away with a little chuckle about wasabi, I brought them their bill. That was when the husband said something to me that I was not expecting at all.

"You did a good job." Wow, didn't see that coming. I don't think I've ever had anyone tell me that before. I've gotten Thank You's and We enjoyed it's but never telling me I did a good job. Although I was taken back, I did feel like I earned a gold star that day. Haha, my mom would be proud.

This Chair Can't Hold Me

How wonderful. The same adorable flight attendant is sinking free throws with the roasted peanuts. I hope he doesn't intend to try that with the food trays.

The man in front of me has a head as big as a watermelon. I'll be enjoying the in flight movie as if I were watching it while taking an eye exam.

Oh shit, here comes a little ol' lady with a plastic cup full of fine Delta Air Merlot. The plane is experiencing turbulence. Please God let her pass with no spillage! Phew. This flight already has more going on than usual. Not necessarily a good thing.

Ugh, more turbulence. If I was a dude, sitting next to a hot 36DD, this would be a fun ride. Unfortunately, not the case.

All this excitement is also preventing me from composing full paragraphs. Instead, I just have some jumbled ideas. I'm just going to leave them that way. Maybe that'll better convey how scatterbrained I am at this moment. Seriously, I'm pouting like a 2 year old. Are we there yet???

The Long Flight

Oooh, off to a bad start!

To my right, I have a couple and their third wheel, a sleeper on the left, and Tom, the hilariously irritating clown as my flight attendant. He's whistling something with no apparent tune and speaking in German as he closes the overhead compartments. He's also really loud. Kinda like Joe Pesci in Lethal Weapon but not as quirky.

He's either being really nice (if you want to call it that) because he just took a hand full of Lortab or because this is his way of not freaking out (knock on wood) while in the air. Maybe being overly friendly and giving people "clever" nicknames based on clothing lets him relive his ambitions of becoming an actor. A dream he gave up when he discovered his stage fright.

To top my list of annoyances, there is a maintenance "issue." An hour goes by and we're still on the tarmac. I should have bought more snacks... I always get caught in a savory or sweet predicament when packing snacks for trips. I usually get both and eat neither. So, I made a bold decision and went with sweet...where are those damn airplane pretzels?

Insert John Denver Lyrics Here

Through the yard of man purses and sea of husbands taking pictures of their wives in an airport waiting chair, I crossed my fingers. Praying, hoping, wishing that this would be the day that I finally sit next to the man who would make my mashed potatoes fluffier, Will Ferrell movies funnier, and my flight, a little less tiresome.

And there he was. A tall guy in glasses. A business man I gather. I could only see him from the side because yet another couple was busy snapping photos. My heart jumped a little when I saw him make his way toward the gate when the intercom shouted for World Class Elite customers. He's a frequent flyer! When my row number was called, I hurried to the gate, hoping that he'd be the one I'd have the Fight Club airplane dilemma with: Ass or Crotch?

No such luck. Couldn't get a good look because he was too busy storing his briefcase under the seat.

My single tab of Dramamine put me right to sleep. I woke up just as the plane was landing. My first layover. As we were exiting, I noticed that he was lagging behind. I hopped along, hoping to get a glimpse of my frequent flier in glasses. Oh...not as cute as I imagined.

And so, my mid-flight love affair ended silently in my brain as I looked for my next target.

Across the Sea

Who said scrunchies were dead? A fashion taboo? Asia thrives on taboos and even makes them, well, fetchy.

I think the Sex and the City type ladies shun scrunchies because they`re too busy being women. Women of Asia, are girls. Girls who just wanna have fun! Who doesn`t want to wear sparkly pumps with leopard print leggings with a flowy, solid micro-mini with a metallic tank with a cute vest with clunky jewelry with fake lashes with glittery cheeks with bright eyeshadow and topping it all off with a fun scrunchy to hold those loose buns (of hair). B r e a t h e

We (they) live in a Lolita-fashion world, folks. So, cover your mouth and laugh all you want but there is a Hentai/Cosplayer in all of us.

My Husband`s on TV

As I was flipping through the stations, saddened by the absence of CSI and Law and Order reruns, I settled for a variety news program. I was half asleep when suddenly, GOOD MORNING! There, on the TV, was my husband. Yes, the actor, Hugh Jackman. He had chased me all the way here..and also to promote his Wolverine flick. But mostly for me.

Yes darling, I see you. I see you being sweet to EVERY person you come in contact with. This country is now in love with you. And I will represent them!!

Yea, I freaked out a little. After regaining my composure, I calmly pointed at the screen and introduced my grandmother to my man. She coolly replied, ``Well, I guess I`ll have to be healthy till you bring him here.`` A sexy man is all it takes to keep this woman alive.

Wow, I do belong to this family.

Andrea Zimmern?

Wow, I`ve already eaten a months worth of food. Enough for eleven episodes on Travel Network, including Bizarre Foods.

Last night, my uncle took me to a fancy Korean restaurant where I ate some strange yet fantastic things. We grilled some veggies and high quality meats, perfectly marbleized (I have my pinky straight in the air, holding my monocle). Then, came the ingredients that`d make Andrew Zimmern proud: esophagus, intestine, cheek, tongue, stomach, and many others that I forgot to study in A&P. It was all really good. Trust me, if you did`t know what it was, you`d eat it.

Speaking of strange, I just watched a commercial advertising meat sprinkles for your rice...and the ShamWow commercial. I guess news hasn`t traveled about the beaten hooker. Too soon?

Masks, But Not the Mysterious Kind

My flight(s) was...what you`d expect from a 10+hour plane ride: The inviting and unimaginably vertical seats, the electrifying fleece/nylon combo blanket, the ever so MOD lighting, and equate-IKEA inspired tray tables. Not to forget, the overwhelming aroma of stale flight food and B.O. that overtakes you after about hour 8.

My connections all went smoothly. I even had enough time to create an entire dramedy between an international flight attendant and a meek airport security guy. He loves her overseas stories and how professional she looks in her low pumps and high bun. He only gets to see her when she happens to fill in the Toronto to Minneapolis/St. Paul flight for her friend, which doesn`t happen often enough. He dreams of them mile high-ing it but quickly pushes those thoughts aside. She is a first class lady! Not an economy whore. He can only relish in the moments it takes to escort her to her connecting flight... I digress

Speaking of dramedy. Yet AGAIN, the romantic comedy Gods have frowned upon me. I did not have a gorgeous seat-neighbor in 54E. Sigh

All I asked is to, in a random happenstance, meet a beautiful and funny guy who`d think I was still adorable after the international flight odor had set in and my hair had taken a strange form after the static had taken hold of it. All the while, enjoying our witty banter and sharing my love for food and theatre. Didn`t think that was too much to ask.

Instead, I was surrounded by the early-bird vacation tour group and the masked avengers (the sneeze-cover masks, not the `Ooh, I want to know your alter ego` masks). Did I say avengers? I meant the masked strangers. The one military guy, who`s back of the head looked promising, was bumped up to a better seat because the flight attendant also had a son in the navy or whatever. Just my luck. Oh well, it may not have worked with him anyway. He probably had a grandparent or great uncle who fought in the war and loathed Asians, making Christmas with the family nearly impossible.

If I can`t meet people in planes, maybe I should try and trip constantly. Sooner or later, I`ll have to fall into some strong and caring hands, right? But, I have been doing this plane thing for a while with no luck...Where are the bars around here?

Tea? Coffee?

I don`t know why I thought being a flight attendant would be a good back up career plan. I mean, not that I could. I don`t measure up to their height requirements, I wouldn`t be able to help put luggage in the over head compartments, and I wouldn`t be able to assist in an evacuation (because no one would see me flailing my arms to indicate the exits).

It would also be hell for me. I don`t like prolonged time with the people I wait on, on the ground. Can you imagine, in the air? It would be like being stuck in a full restaurant without having a turn over. Sucks having exits you can`t leave from. Geeze, you couldn`t even scream or quit (mid flight). Man, that would be awkward.

I constantly need a quick exit plan. Bye bye, bye bye now.

Travel, Let Those Dreams Unravel

Travel becomes more of an ordeal every year I get older. I'm still excited going home..my other home. All I used to worry about was having pencil and paper and making sure I was seated in between my parents. Now, there's so much more to fret.

Did I pack my chargers? Do I have enough clothes? Do I need some snacks? Do I have enough gifts? Did I pack my passport? Where is my passport? Aaarrrrggggh

The first thing I do when I get on the long leg of my trip is to check the in-flight menu. I rarely eat on the plane. Something about those overly hot chicken/beef and overly cold rolls...makes me nauseous. Who are they trying to fool with those grill marks anyway. The next thing I do is check the in-flight movies. It's usually something I've seen or something I tried to avoid, like a Miley Cyrus or Jonas Brothers in 3-D movie!

After I'm settled, I imagine who my seat-neighbor (singular because I'm in the aisle) could be. I secretly hope that it'll be a super hot actor who sits in Coach because, hey, he's an average guy. Maybe he'll help me get my carry-on from the over head compartment. Maybe I'll accidentally spill my ginger ale on his lap. Maybe I'll strike up a conversation by offering him a Pez. Who doesn't like Pez? Or maybe he'll notice I'm reading Dead Until Dark and casually mention that he's in it...You never know.

I just hope that I'll be able to wedge my legs between the armrest and tray table to sleep as much as I can. I hope that my iPod will not run out of juice. And I hope that my luggage does not stray. Fingers crossed!

I'll keep you updated on my trip, just as long as I can find WiFi! Stay tuned~

You or Your Son?

Yikes! I just started this blog project and already a week has gone by since my last post. Gotta catch up. Unfortunately, I haven't come in contact with many notable happenings so I'm forced to reach into my past-stash. The feelings and memories aren't fresh but I hope I'll be inspired as I share the stories.

I used to have these regulars who would request me on Saturdays. They were a cute, older couple and were generous tippers. That is probably the reason why I tried not to notice when the gentleman (har har)'s hand would go awry and nudge my bum to "hurry me" along. It was also not uncommon for him to ask me to park myself on his lap. "Hahaha, you are just the worst (wink)!" With every wink, a waitress loses a bit of her soul

The wife, on the other hand, would always tell me about her good looking son and how much he'd love me. He's a world traveller, you see. I'm sure he has a great, white-collar job but by the looks of his parents, he'd have to be in his mid 30s and would probably prefer a bubbly blond. Just sayin'. They even invited me on a cruise once, which I had to miss since I had a big school project coming up... Nuts!

I never got to meet this gorgeous son of theirs so I'll never know what could have been. But, if I happen to marry that son, I've gotta be honest, when the father-in-law becomes in need of care, off to assisted living he goes. He is old enough to know better but obviously too old to care.

Whiskey Dick

Not the unfortunate "after bar" situation, but the Connoisseur.

I'm fascinated by people who are very knowledgeable about their field of work or about their hobbies. I think it's that passion, that sparkle in their eye that draws me in. Having someone explain the mechanics of the brain would transfix me for hours...

Unfortunately, this had nothing to do with brain science. It was about whiskey and I had no choice but to listen. Why is it that when you want any excuse to leave a conversation, there is nothing going on?

This "hot shot," sat down and gave those of us behind the bar a quick Whiskey 101. First off, he groaned about our choices then settled for, I think it was, Glenfiddich. Thank God we had a single malt scotch whiskey or else he would have taken his business elsewhere! He proceeded to explain to us the differences between single malt and blended whiskies. "It's like comparing a Honda and a BMW. They're both great cars but I'd much rather drive the BMW. I drive a BMW." Oooow, stop right there mister, you're getting my panties all in a twist.

He then volunteered us for an experiment. He warmed his glass, put his hand over the top, and told us to close our eyes and imagine dark fruits. After our visualization, we smelled the whiskey. "Doesn't it smell like cherries?" FYI, that's leading sir. This would make a horrible experiment. But no, I didn't smell it. He was not amused by my amateur olfaction. So, when he asked again.. OMG just like cherries and a hint of chocolate!! Get out of town.

If Kristen Stewart gets a VMA for her "performance" in Twilight, I want an Oscar for all my acting at work. Hell, we all deserve one.

If you still think this guy is not that bad, let me add yet another charming feature. After the whiskey experiment, after the I am a successful guy talk, and still after the I've got money detail, this guy had one more thing to add:

"This town is not a place for my little girl (going to be a high school freshman). It has too much of that college town vibe." To that, I added that I went to the local high school and managed to stay out of trouble. Apparently, I wasn't very convincing because he finished with, "Anyway, I wouldn't want her coming into a place like this." *Ugh*

In the end, I guess we looked like delinquents that would take daddy's BMW out for a spin after consuming rows of single malt scotch whiskey. If I had a dad like that, I know I would.

Tongue Tied

Tongue tied: being speechless about the PDA graphically displayed a foot away from me.

Alright, alright. I'm guilty too. I'm a casual PDAer, just as much as the next bar hopper. But, I usually aim for the, "It's last call, wanna leave and go to my place?" hour rather than the, "Hey, we can still catch the matinee for Angels & Demons after this." Really..Really? It's still light out! Not only that, YOU'RE EATING RAW FISH.

I'm sorry, kissing through dessert..I get it. Chocolate ganache and strawberries are sexy but FISH? I like salmon too but not if that flavor is still lingering in your mouth. Sorry about the visual. There's more:

They're sitting smack dab in the middle of the bar, right where I have to grab cups for my customers who are not licking each other's faces. There was no escape. I had to pretend I didn't hearing them "swap sashimi" by being really serious about counting the $7 I had in my book. They had to know that I knew what they were doing. I mean, THEY'RE RIGHT THERE. It's so uncomfortable.

I have been in worse situations though. When I was a busser, I actually saw a girl, drunk out of her mind, bending toward her date's fly. *Sigh* Can you just stop for one min to think about what you're doing so I can pour water in your glass or lap?

Mouth-wrestlers beware: we may be all sheepish and hesitant while serving you but you better believe, once you're out of hearing range.. we're sharp-tongued.

Congratulatio....

I feel like I'm congratulating everyone around me. I'm also having to defending myself to those I'm congratulating...there's something really wrong with that.

Still living in the same town that many have left is not easy. You've basically volunteered yourself to being the welcome wagon when they return for/from their school, break, honeymoon, yadda yadda yadda. And yes, you are kinda obligated to ask:

"Hurray for you! How's your (insert here the happy occasion/accomplishment that you heard or found out about via facebook)?" They will reply and provide me with details about what they're doing. I'm generally pretty interested up to the point when they stop to ask me, "So, you're still here?"

...Umm. Yea, I AM standing in front of you in my work uniform, in the restaurant I've been working at since high school. Yea, I'm still here.

Of course I'd never say that. I smile, laugh, and give my condensed schpeel about the future I'm planning and becoming progressively stressed out about because people keep asking (thanks a lot). I'll pepper in some jokes to fill the awkward silences. Most just accept my explanation and move on but for those who try to help me out or give me advice, I have found the best conversation stopper, "Can I get you something to drink?" I am at work after all.

I know it's not their fault for the choices I made but bringing attention to them is not..helping. It's not like I'm not aware that I'm stuck. There's no light bulb that you're lighting above my head with your pep talk about "just going out there and doin' it." Telling me it'll all work out because I'm bright doesn't help either. On the contrary, it makes me want to stick my head into the fryer.

Just support me by buying me a drink, giving me a high five, or leaving me a good tip. Just as long as the good tip isn't life-coaching related.

Feeling a little micro

Yea, that's how small I feel.

It is the weekend before the (college) students start back. I'm always measuring the pros and cons this time of year. Pros: Business at the restaurant will pick up, we'll make more money than we did during the summer, and College Town, MS will be ALIVE. Cons: No parking, Bad drivers, and the people that make College Town, MS a Top 5 party school.

Like today, I had a big group of sorority girls that O-M-G, haven't seen each other in, like, months!

I get it, you can't believe you missed each other when your beach condos are so close and I get that you have lots to catch up on but can you PLEASE look at me when you order your drinks? I hate when I feel like I'm intruding when you're here to eat (or pick at a 1/3 of your meal).

I always feel so small when I get no eye contact. Hellooooo? I'm right hereeeee! I just want to take your orderrrrr. I promise to go away when I know what you want. *Sheesh*

At least I'll have crazy customer/situation stories to blog about...why is that not comforting?

The Maxi Dress

The Maxi Dress. It's not just the name that irks me, but the length.

I haven't bought one myself but I see them on beautiful and tall college women. They wear them so well. So flowy.. I can't even imagine how it'd look on me. I'd be drowning in fabric.

This was the topic of the day for me and my coworker/friend as we waited our turn on the computer. We're both short, you see. With shortness, comes some impossibilities...

I can't even wear gauchos: On average, American size women, it comes down a little past the knee. For me, they're practically "flooding" pants. I do wear them but there are consequences. I work in a restaurant that has a little stage for a few tables. The stage is lifted just enough that I have to do an aerobic step up to get there. This is a dangerous situation.

Long gauchos + Big step + Anti-slip shoes = Uh oh. I've found myself on the brink of pants-ing MYSELF one too many times. I am my own bully. Thank God the stretchy material keeps me from actually completing the act!

There will probably never be a Maxi dress in my future but I'm ok with that. I'll enjoy being "fun" size and wearing heels.

Food, Glorious Food

I think I could be an awesome chef if I had Ina Garten's kitchen or Giada's boobs. I already have a partial Paula accent so that's covered.

I recently purchased my very own Le Creuset dutch oven. It's not the hot and hip cherry red or the bad ass (For a visual, I'm doing some rap gesture) flame color. Instead, it is cinder block/post-war grey. It's not that, that color goes well with my kitchen decor or that I think the wonderfully colorful dishes that I plan to cook will pop more with that shade...

It was on sale.

Seriously, those things cost a pretty penny and I am no Thomas Keller. A dutch oven that's on sale because it has a color flaw is just fine with me.

I am no foodie or a gourmet chef and I will never claim to be (I will occasionally frown upon the fast food joints but secretly thank God for their neon glory after my shift is over). But, I do love good food.

The thing I love most is cooking for friends and family. This whole Le Creuset purchase only happened because I invited my close friends over this weekend to cook beef bourguignon. Yes, THE beef bourguignon that's all over the movie, Julie and Julia. I was very inspired by that movie. It would be a lie if I said it didn't also turn me on to starting this blog.

Not to say that all movies influence me. I didn't go out and buy a bottle of Pinot Noir after watching Sideways...bad example. Man, that was a lie AND it makes me look like an asshole. Shit

Even though I will never have a kitchen in the Hamptons or get breast enlargements (I'm referring to what I wrote up top, incase you were joining me from the end first), with my new cookware, I'm one step closer to not calling a sandwich a Sammy and actually cooking more at home.

Ta-Dah!

Hi, it's me, the naysayer.

Well, not all negative and self-loathing. More like a naysayer with a pinch of optimism (and sass), don't worry.

I'm starting this blog in hopes to clear out the hard drive in my head. Being in the service industry, I come across many (too many) people and situations that I'm just dying to talk about and hopefully forget. Yes, I'm enduring these debacles so we can laugh about them later.

Also, while documenting my work atmosphere I also want to be more productive. You see, my life has been plateau-ing for a while and I feel a blog would be a good way to monitor how things are...going.

I'm already assuming that I'm articulate and charismatic enough to get readers. See, I'm not just a naysayer.

SO, if you want to read about another waiter that rants, another post-college student trying to survive, and adventures (real and imagined) that my lovely partner in crime and I go on, please join me!