I left the house today! In a car and everything. I spent the day battling crowds at Target and didn't even mind when others brushed up against me. It ate up a good 4 hours of my day. Since I haven't been able to go to the gym since Friday, I've been awake since 3am or so every night, exhausted but not being able to sleep. Hence the four posts in two days.

And you're so right Nathan, you wouldn't want to be around. I almost cried from boredom and snow frustration yesterday. I wrapped all the presents I swore I wasn't going to purchase but then did anyway. I just like to buy people things so much! I don't care that I only have $6 left in my checking account and won't be able to pay my phone bill next month. It's Christmas!

Also, I think I'm getting sick. I've been going through cough drops and emergen-c like they're candy (though they kind of are.) My throat hurts and I sound sexy like an 80 year old life long smoker.

So here are some things that have been keeping me occupied the last few days during the doom and gloom. Some are a little bizarre and I may have only found them funny due to lack of sleep, too much family time, cabin fever, or that flour tortilla that is now wreaking havoc on my small intestine.




see more funny political pictures




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Boredom breeds nostalgia

There's not much to do with 8 inches of snow sandwiched around a thick layer of ice. I've started stroking out and going a little bit stir crazy. I did all my Christmas shopping at QFC, Hallmark, and Walgreen's; all are within walking distance of the house. I can't even take the bus to Target because they've shut down where I live. I've never missed work, the gym, or Christmas crowds this much in my entire life. I could go into more detail about which parts of my life are crumbling around me, but I feel that might be a violation of basic interweb conduct.

Using this past week to write more would have been a fabulous idea, but what am I going to write about? All I can focus on is snow and how much I want it to go away; how I want to stop talking about it, but I can't because it's stopping any chance at a normal life in the foreseeable future.

So I dug my Super Nintendo out of the closet and have been honing my Super Mario 3, Mario World, and Donkey Kong Country (best. game. ever.) skills. I've finally finished the two books I was in the middle of (Sarah Vowell and Laurie Notaro.) I've walked to the store at least 20 times and taken almost 400 pictures of the same damned branches covered in snow. I'm all caught up on my Tivo and have started watching The X-Files and Arrested Development from the beginning.

Final sign of boredom and the coming apocalypse? I cleaned out my closet.

This is a supreme undertaking. I'm not the best organizer, but quite possibly the best crammer of things I don't know what to do with in tight spaces. My closet had bags and bags of crap piled many many feet high, much like the snow outside, but less pretty to look at. And not surprisingly less aggravating to deal with. Good news? I found all kinds of things I'd thought had been lost forever. Bracelets, pictures, purses, books: it was like going shopping in my closet. Of course there were also bags and bags of garbage and recycling. CD cases for CDs stolen out of my car years ago, boxes for DVD players and batteries, shoes that should have been thrown out long ago.

What has kept me occupied for the last hour and prompted me to write, you ask? Why, my old yearbooks, of course!! I've had my 11th and 12th grade yearbooks around, but had lost track of the ones from my freshman and sophomore year. I was geeking out for a bit, remembering people I'd long forgotten and looking some up on Facebook. There were boys I had crushes on that were not as cute as I remembered (and some that were way cuter!) Friends that, upon reading what they wrote, I realized they were way more clever than I ever knew and I wished I'd kept in touch better. Most of the inside jokes I don't have any recollection of: there's talk of "Mushroom Head" and wombats; and as I was turning pages, I said out loud, no fewer than 3 times, "Isn't he dead now?" and that kind of ruined the nostalgia for me.

So, yet again, 1994-1998 will be stored, in book form, shoved in the back of the closet. But don't worry, those memories will be resurrected in a decade or so, most likely in a fit of total boredom in the midst of the next 'arctic blast.'

My favorite text message exchange of the day.

Me: My eye is still twitching something fierce. When should I be worried about a possible brain tumor?

Tara: Yesterday.

Another Daily Show clip

This is one of my favorite Daily Show rants ever. EVER. I definitely lean to the left, and most of the people I associate with do as well (we ARE in Oregon).

While I love the Daily Show with all my heart, and even though it has the best intentions, sometimes it's a little too far left for me to be able to agree with and watch with an open mind.

This clip, however, is fully non-partisan and therefore fully awesome.

We even get a Lord of the Flies reference or two. Those are pretty much my favorite.

No Piggy, though.

Perfection.

I've seen this video a few times. Months ago courtesy of Nathan, and just this evening courtesy of Tara. So I felt the need to share it with everyone as well. I just love it so much. It's awful, but I know for damn sure where I'm getting a futon if I ever live in Alabama. Which, I do believe it's safe to say, I won't.

My very own Oktoberfest.

I made my favorite German dinner tonight for the first time. It's called rouladen, and for those who don't know (and I'm assuming that's pretty much everyone), rouladen is top round beef tenderized, thinly sliced and wrapped around mustard, paprika, onions, bacon, and a pickle. This might come as a surprise but I TOTALLY did not have enough bacon to go around, so one of the eight roulade was sprinkled with a generous portion of bacon salt in lieu of actual delicious bacon. I'm sure that one tastes fine, but I'm secretly hoping I don't get it as my left over.

To round out the meal I made rotkole (red cabbage), green beans and spaetzle (dumplings), potatoes, and cucumber salad (my FAVORITE food). And even with my allergies, I was able to enjoy the gravy. Just a little bit of gluten free flour (I love you, Bob's Red Mill!) and some fake sour cream (it's made with tofu, WEIRD!) and YUM!

Even though it was beef and potato dinner, I'd purchased a fancy German riesling at New Seasons when I went there for their Oktoberfest tasting. I thought it paired deliciously.

Usually I'm not the best cook, but when it's my heritage at stake, I follow through pretty well. And I must say, it was delicious!

Volvo, anyone?

If you knows anyone that loves to fix up cars or loves Volvos or both, have I got the car for you! Or your friend. Or your friend's friend.

Her name is Mulva.

She's 22 years old and a lovely shade of light blue. She's a wonderful girl and needs to go to a home that can give her more love than I can.. afford. I've spent a lot of money in the past, but once I bought Jack, started neglecting her. I have itemized info on what I've had fixed and what is still waiting for work. Also, there's no faceplate for the stereo, both driver's side door handles don't open from the outside and the reverse lights and dome light don't work. And that's just the icing on the cake. I'm going to ask $700 but will be happy with $500. But, shh, don't tell anyone.

I'm sure I can get a buyer on Craigslist, but was hoping to first offer to her someone, anyone, I know. She's been my baby for 9 years and I can't just send her off to anyone.

I'm anticipating tears, pints of gelato, and days spent in pajamas, but it's time to let her go.

It's official.

I'm really excited for my birthday weekend. Not just because I love a day (which I usually drag into an entire week) where I get to celebrate all that is NJ and have others pay attention to me, but.. no, that's pretty much why I love it.

This year is 28. It's not really that old in the grand scheme of things. And I know anyone who is older than 28 will tell me to shove it, but bear with me.

Since I am ONLY 28, most of what I remember in my life has happened in my 20s. As I get closer to 30, I know things aren't really going to change, but shouldn't they? Will they? All I'm sure of is that I'm going to spend the weekend drunk at the beach and it's supposed to be 75 and sunny and I can't WAIT!

Now, this was all a set-up to get you into the mindset I've been in for a few weeks. Now, fast forward (or rewind) to this evening at work. We hired a new girl, senior at Sunset, 17, adorable. She tells me that I remind her of someone. Someone from TV. Uh-huh, I say, go on.

Do you remember the show Gilmore Girls, she asks? Oh, I used to love that show, I respond. Sensing something big, and preparing for the worst, I urge her to continue.

You remind me of the mom. Remember when she opens the bed and breakfast? I can totally see you doing that, she states, unwittingly and casually ruining any false hope I had of staying young forever.

Now, don't get me wrong here. There are FAR worse people I could remind a young person of... I suppose. And Lorelai was only a teenager when she had Rory, so I guess in the first few seasons the mom was barely older than I am now.

But still. The mom. THE MOM. As in, I am now officially grown up. Old.

At least I didn't remind her of Gangy from Arrested Development. If I'd had a martini in hand, it'd be a different story.

I heart the Daily Show.

How to disarm a solicitor.

The scene: 8:30ish on a Wednesday. Friends from out of town are visiting. We haven't seen them in 12 years and it's been quite a night.
Everyone's been drinking, except for Nicole Janelle (she has to lose those last 20 pounds by Oktoberfest.)

The doorbell rings. The porch light is out. Nicole jumps up and runs to the door, yelling, "I'll get it!"

Nice Looking Young Man in Button-Down Shirt: Hi, how are you this evening?

Nicole Janelle: I'm great! How're you?

NLYMIBDS: I'm fine, thanks. I'm here with the Democratic National Committee...

NJ: Oh, good for you!

NLYMIBDS: Oh, yes. Um, so I'm hoping to talk to you about Sen. Barack Obama, have you given any thought to his message?

NJ: Oh, sure, hope, change, all that good stuff. But I'm still undecided. I need to really look at each candidate, what they really want, their voting records, all that. But I am leaning left. I usually do.

NLYMIBDS: You know then, that Sen. McCain has been through four cancer treatments for...

NJ: I know, right?! Plus he's really old. I was totally just talking to a co-worker about that. He's like two generations older than me, that probably won't end well.

NLYMIBDS: Right. So what do you think of the choice McCain has made?

NJ: Dude, I don't even WANT to talk about her. That woman pisses me totally off.

NLYMIBDS (slowly backing away): Okay, sounds like you're pretty involved in what's happening.

NJ: Damn right, I have a voice!

NLYMIBDS (backing away further): And you're planning to vote, you're all registered and ready?

NJ: You better believe it! (chases NLYMIBDS down the steps) Look at my temporary tattoo! It says "Smart Women Vote" and she's wearing a crown!

NLYMIBDS: That's a good one. Well, you have a great night.

NJ: Thank you! You too! Keep reaching for the stars!!

END SCENE

To serve man.

I've stopped. Stopped serving, stopped caring. For the last month or so, I was never happy with anything. Too stressed, too pissed, not ever pleased. That's when I knew it was time to leave. So I left. I'm not a waitress anymore. I'm still in the food industry, and I have fun at my low stress, boss people around, mostly old people clientele job, but I'm ready for a change.

So I'm going back to school. Fourth time's a charm, right? I'm certain it'll stick this time. I'm shooting for a degree in journalism, I'm just not sure what kind. I'm too much of a fatty to be ON TV, so maybe in the shadows writing the teleprompter script for all the pretty anorexics. I'm far too skinny and attractive to be working in newspaper (those people are UGGOS!) so perhaps I'll settle for magazines or the Interweb. Anyone can write on the Interweb.

The goal? To write travel books. But how many other people have that goal? I imagine it's pretty much the best job on Earth. Especially if you're forced to write about Ireland or the Bahamas.

Oy.

So here's to high hopes and even higher student loans.

Wish me luck!

L O N G weekend!

For all of you that have NORMAL jobs, when I say long weekend, I'm not thinking of the holiday coming up and the "forced" time off many 9-5ers get.

I'm thinking I'm finally recovered from my L O N G weekend of work. Record temperatures, grumpy customers (I'M HOT TOO! But I'm NOT sitting in the shade drinking a beer, so shut your face, I DON'T want to hear it!), and no a/c.

Friday I worked 13 hours. 11am to midnight. It was hot. I drank gallons and gallons of water and didn't pee once. That's a lot of sweat! There were more than a few stories, but it's all a blur now.

Saturday I was lucky enough to work only till 4 and then to Allie's birthday party. The only thing I remember about work was I had to wait on entirely too many children. It was after 11pm before the temperature got down to "acceptable".

By Sunday I was getting grumpy. Also, some kind of weird rash on my chest. So now I'm hot, itchy, and my allergies are making me look like a cocaine addict. Sunday's only redeeming factor was the kick ass thunderstorm. I blatantly ignored tables for minutes as I wandered the property taking pictures.

Monday. Oh, Monday was the worst. 15 hours spent at work (this time at both jobs). I think I taste-tested too much gelato in the afternoon, because by the time I was at work that night I was still hot and grumpy, itchy and rashy, sniffling and sneezing, but now I had digestive issues thrown into the mix. Just for fun. Just to keep me on my toes. Plus I spilled a Coors Light ALL over me in front of ALL my tables, said a swear and went back inside.

Thank goodness last night was girls night. I found it to be a particularly awesome one. It was at my house (so I could (and did!) drink too much), I fried up some bacon for a cobb salad a la NJ, Allie made up a delish caprese (my favorite!), we washed it all down with Hurricane Mix from New Orleans (thanks Nicolette!), and finished the night with a fire pit and s'mores.

Next time the temperature eeks past 95, I'm crushing up extra Claritin and washing it down with some rum. It's the only way I'll get to enjoy the summer.

Blurg.

Tonight... for lack of a better word... blew.

To start the night off right, I switched sections from the money section (we call it the Grinder) to one we call the Mile. The Mile includes all the bar tables; turnover is fast, tabs are not high, and you go home fairly quickly. Because even though I just dropped $700 on a camera, my laziness far outweighs my bank account woes.

Needless to say.

No I'll say it anyway, I just got home and it's almost 1am. So resourcefulness and drive won out again. Damn my efficient work-aloholic German heritage.

You'd think in nine hours, I would've made some money. That's where you'd be wrong.

I'll take this opportunity to thank the tables tonight that loved me. Or at least liked me a lot. Most of the time, almost ALL the time, customers do like me. I make them feel welcome. Like a friend. And yes, that means I'm sarcastic, kind of a bitch, but all in a LOVABLE kind of way. And this usually means they want to give me most of their money when they're done eating.

"No, we don't want our money, here, YOU have it."

"Oh, thank you, you're too kind and generous."

That's the little scenario that plays through my head after a table leaves a satisfying tip.

So to the elderly couple with the straight up dry martini with a twist, thank you. Verbal tips are always welcome, especially when accompanied by moolah.

The huge group of families that sat outside, even though I hated you at first because, well, you sat outside, and it was fucking cold today, thank you for appreciating that I had a full section inside the restaurant and were therefore very low maintenance and even left me over 20% to show me how much you enjoyed your service.

And me.

Because I'm AWESOME.

The rest of my tables could benefit from lessons with you.

$1.72 is NOT a good tip. Especially when all five of you do it on your separate checks.

$2 on $20, $5 on $55, $7 on $62, $3 on $30? NO. BAD CUSTOMERS!

...I could go on and on with the numbers game. But I'll focus on my three favorites of the evening.

3. Table 26. I can't go into detail on how obnoxious you were, no one would get it unless they're in the business. Long story short, you sucked. I'm not a monkey. I'm not retarded. We were busy and you're an asshole. Taking my copy of the Visa slip and leaving me the other two was low. If you didn't want to tip me, put a big ZERO on the tip line, you wouldn't be the first one!

2. Table 21. I don't like you. I tried to be nice, but when I can SEE the disdain in your eyes it really does affect the way I treat you. When you shorted me $5 in cash I brought the money back to you and let you know it didn't quite cover the whole tab. You nodded. This means you heard and acknowledged what I said. After you left, you were STILL $5 short. I really don't like you.

1. Table 36. Gargamel to my Smurf. Skeletor to my He-Man (or She-ra, I guess). I knew you were going to be trouble when I saw you. The long flowing locks paired with the receding hair line. The bleached blonde hair and scrunchy. The jewelry. The clothes. The teeth. It all pointed to white trash. But the smile comes on, the cheer factor goes through the roof, I've been here for 9 hours and I'm fucking HAPPY as SHIT. 3 margaritas, 2 beers, a steak, and a dessert later you realize you've spent $58 on dinner and 'oh, shit! that's all we were budgeted for. But that waitress of ours. She was so attentive and nice, and, dare I say it, pleasing to the eye (35 pounds, bitches!!). She obviously works hard, and when she's not swearing like a sailor or throwing cups across the kitchen, I'm sure she's a pleasure to be around. Eh, we spent all our money on booze and cheesecake. Sorry darling, no tip for you!'

When I get a ZERO tip, I'm essentially paying to be a server. A certain percentage of what I sell (not what I make) is portioned off to manager, bar, and kitchen tips. About 4%. I don't LIKE paying to work. I'm pretty sure no one does. I also don't like to be shit on at work. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I understand the economy's going down the crapper. I know gas prices are rising exponentially. I have to deal with the same bullshit everyone does! I even have to shop at fancy grocery stores (though I do love New Seasons!) because I can't eat what everyone else does. That's why I work my ass off (literally! 35 pounds, bitches!) at jobs I like (but don't love).

If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to eat out.

Table 36, drive your trailer over to WinCo, pick yourself up some Top Ramen, Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese, and some fucking Budget Gourmet.

Because I hope I NEVER see your asses again at my restaurant.

Dbags aplenty.

Yeah.

You know who you are.

When you go to restaurant and your server (who has been working for 12 hours at this point and is ready for a glass of wine, some Simpsons, and bed) walks up with a smile, says, "Hi, how are you gentlemen doing tonight?" do NOT look at her and say, "Soup?!" like she's wasting your time by making pleasantries. Plus, full sentences are always appreciated.

When your son orders a cheeseburger do not ask (that's too nice a word, we'll go with bark at) him "why not the neon burger?!" When he orders it with tots, don't ask/bark "what about fries?!" It's his dinner, let him order what HE wants.

If you had been nice, probably I wouldn't have dreamed a horrible and fiery death upon you when you ordered a Terminator milkshake at closing even though everything had already been cleaned. If you'd been pleasant, maybe I wouldn't have wished you be stricken with an incurable disease when you decided you wanted this all 'to-go', but this is NOT Las Vegas and you can't take alcohol outside. This is not ANYWHERE IN AMERICA and you can't drive with an alcoholic beverage in your hand. This is when you decided you didn't want the shake I had just hand made for you. Now I'm the bad guy.

Make eye contact. Do not throw money at me. Don't bark orders in my general direction because I'm interrupting your TV watching.

You are the first customer EVER I have not thanked and wished a good night to.

From one control freak with issues to another, you need to loosen the fuck up.

Treat people as though they are your equal, maybe even your better, there's something to be gained from even the most inconsequential interaction.

This is especially true regarding your son. I feel sad for him; you are out of my life forever and I will have forgotten you by tomorrow, but he has to deal with you for the rest of your life.

Hopefully he grows up to be a better man because of it.

There's one in every crowd.

Last night was my first night back at unnamed restaurant (oh, you all know which one by now) after four glorious days away. I got multiple calls and texts asking me to pick up shifts, but I was busy working at my other job and simply didn't want to. I needed the time away. I always do my best work after some time off.

Last night was no different. I did have to use the excuse "Today is my Monday" more than a few times, but people were generally accepting of my foibles (as I can charm myself out of MOST situations) and the tips were rolling in.

To the couple that left me $20 on your $90 tab, thank you, thank you. You elicited a "THAT'S how it's done!" from me. And the family that left me $10 on $48, even though your fries were cold, I had a fresh, hot batch out to you in mere moments. And I did it all with a smile. So thank you for noticing and appreciating what I do.

But we all know what's lurking, don't we? There's always one.

To the man that left me ZERO on $108, that's not how it's done. I'm sorry I spilled a soda on you. I really am. I apologized profusely, if you recall. When you complained to my manager you told her you realize that people make mistakes (side note: I don't think you DO realize that) and that it wasn't about the money (another side note: I'm pretty sure it WAS about the money) but you felt I should've offered to pay for the soda. The $2.10 soda. And I admit, I was going to take the soda AND the grilled cheese off, just because I felt bad. Because I am human. But I forgot. I'm human, remember. Plus I had 9 other tables.

So I hope the satisfaction you felt walking away, leaving me nothing, just to teach me a lesson was worth it.

Because what I took away from the experience was this:
You're an asshole. Next time I see you, I'll give you the $2.10. Right after I spill another soda on you. This time it'll be on purpose.

Suck it.

Converations with dumbasses.

This is an ACTUAL phone conversation I had at work today. Almost verbatim, I took notes as soon as it was over. This transcript is the conversation I had with the woman, but my co-worker Jennifer said she had all the same questions answered the same way before she asked for a manager. That meant it was my time to shine!

Jen: This woman requested a manager. I've answered all her questions at least three times, but she's just not getting it! She keeps asking if we're an ice cream shop and if we serve full meals. I don't think she's all there.

Vic: (despondent and on her break) Can't you just speak to her in a British accent and answer her questions again?

Jen: No, you need to talk to this one.

Vic: Fine. (Holds hand out for phone) (Suddenly peppy) Hi, this is Victoria, what can I do for you?

Wop: Hi. Yeah. Are you just an ice cream shop?

Vic: Well, we do sell our house made gelato, but we also serve sandwiches, soup, pastries, and espresso drinks.

Wop: So you don't have full meals?

Vic: I consider our soup and sandwich deal a full meal, especially if you have gelato for dessert.

Wop: Okay. So you serve a full breakfast, or lunch, or?

Vic: Not quite. We're just a café, but the sandwiches and soups are quite good.

Wop: So do you make full breakfasts, like eggs or anything like that?

Vic: We have our breakfast panini. It's a scrambled egg with sausage or ham and cheese on an English muffin that we grill. And we serve it all day.

Wop: Okay. So you're like an ice cream shop with snacks?

Vic: I don't think of our food as snacks, they're really filling.

Wop: So, no lunch or breakfast? Like appetizers or full meals?

Vic: (Laughing so far, now my voice has taken on a serious tone) Ma'am, we are a small café. We do not have a full working kitchen. We sell sandwiches and soups.

Wop: Okay. (Pause and sigh) I guess I'll call back later.

Vic: All right, you do that. Bye-bye. (Click) Idiot.

An open letter to bad tippers.

Tonight I had the worst kind of bad tipper. The totally unjustified one. They weren't barely legal. They weren't white trash. They weren't even foreign. They just suck at being human beings.

This family could not have HAD better service. Tasters of beer were brought out. Straws for the kiddies. Appetizers before main course. Frequent check backs and refills. The mom even added bacon to her burger and had therefore won a special place in my heart.

I oozed charm and geniality. I even remembered to-go boxes and water on the first go. That does not happen.

Imagine my surprise to find a $4.75 tip on a $42 meal. I was hurt. Shocked. Then pissed. Angry. I marched back into the walk-in cooler to throw shit and yell about how much I hate my restaurant and its clientele. Then I knocked back a couple tasters of my favorite beer in the dish pit.

And all was well again. The restaurant business is a harsh mistress that practically begs its employees to become bi-polar.

I know I'm close.

The economy, the upcoming recession, and white trash

I know gas prices are high. Corn is through the roof. Milk, cheese, and even beer prices are skyrocketing. Don't even get me started on the housing market. This is no excuse to be a cheap bastard when you go out to dinner.

If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to eat out.

Truer words were never spoken.

Don't use a mayo-butter mix up as an excuse to get part of your meal for free. Don't insist on having the appetizer taken off the bill because you got it with the meal (I'M SORRY, I GOT 5 TABLES AT ONCE AND FORGOT!). And PLEASE don't use the aforementioned excuse to tip $5 on a $122 tab. You. Are. An. Asshole.

I need to make enough money in two days so my check to the government doesn't bounce. (PS. Mission accomplished. Just barely.) I'm having an allergic reaction to some food I shouldn't have eaten, but was too hungry to care otherwise. Just bear with me.

I'm capable of making mistakes. In fact, I make a lot of them. I feel bad and I fess up.

Just don't be a dick about it.