who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. when she was good, she was very very good, and when she was bad she was horrid.
it was not enough for me to taste the acid, i had to bathe in it and then hold hands with those around me, blisters creeping up all over their bodies as well. miraculously, i am the drunk that walks away from the car accident i caused while every one goes up in flames. there aren't any witnesses who will talk, so i will get off.
the circle has nothing to do with this. no birth death mumbo jumbo. people like me are too selfish to consider the possibilities. we walk down a hundred dark alleys, speed down a thousand highways free from polyester restraints and remain intact while the innocent suffer freak accounts of spontaneous combustion and nuclear meltdown. we cannot possibly ruin our own good time sex-worker curves by procreating, either.
idiots believe it all to be for the best. we may not die instantly, but we will not live to see ourselves old and unlovely. meanwhile, we will pass our time fucking and fighting, painting a fraught portrait of wasted youthish tendencies and making up words like youthish. our legacy will be in all of the people who burn for us, shaking their fists while secretly longing for our embraces and kisses to be on the other side of perfunctory. It never happens as we have the ability to fuck with people and not believe that karma is a real monster under the bed just waiting to take a bite of an errant ankle.
there is indeed a little girl with a curl. she has a sweetness akin to apples, but she feels just like the razor blade those sick fucks put inside all that time ago.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
tip 2: do not blame your server if your food comes out shitty.
i waited on a couple of fat fucks. they ordered, in typical fat fuck fashion, a pitcher of miller lite (one of 3), two coca colas with cherry juice in them, cheese sticks, buffalo wings and french fries with ranch sauce to start, and a large double crust carnivore with some extra cheddar cheese on top. as fast as i could, i put their order in because i did not want them to start eating the imitation parmesan or the table or whatever. i was gone for roughly 37 seconds before the guy was shaking his empty diabetes-maker at me, rudely signalling his NEED for a refill. i obliged. and soon after, their appetizers were out as well.
i am not sure how either of them were able to detect temperature at that point, what with their jaws being unhinged to allow for more food to be crammed down their throats and everything, but she did.
Hey! hey waitress, hey! these cheese things are Cold! They are stone cold! we can't eat these Cold!
i am so sorry, ma'am. sometimes they pull them from the (gelatinous, oil filled fryer) oven too soon, and they do not get cooked all the way through. i will have them make a new batch which will be out in about two minutes.
Fine.
I sort of expect, being the rational person that i am, for them to continue eating the rest of the food mountain blocking their view of one another, but they don't. they instead mutinously push their plates away and commence staring at me, as if i should be personally "baking" their fried cheese logs, or at least begging for forgiveness.
maybe you can see where this is going. i couldn't.
the cheese sticks came out in two minutes, as promised. but in the meantime, everything else got cold, apparently.
We wanted to be able to eat everything together and now it's all cold except for the sticks. we need new wings and fries, too. (at this time i am gazing at the half eaten wings and nearly completely eaten fries and all that fucking ranch drizzled on the table).
Fine.
I had the foresight to take the cheese sticks back. into the fryer they went for a second time. please stay hot. please stay hot.
so, out all three new appetizers come. the pizza is now done, as well. without the fucking cheddar. damn it all to hell. so, i push the remake button. this button is fiction, so instead i beg the kitchen to start over again, knowing that if we just throw the cheddar on top, the evil obese sweating all over the vinyl booth will know and send it back.
i still think that i may be fine. they have to get through the second round of apps, after all. For a minute, I am right. more cherry coke and another pitcher and they actually seem to not be hexing my first born any longer.
one minute.
two minutes.
five minutes.
Um, where's are pizza? It's been awhile. we are hungry,you know.
Oh, it will be out in just a minute. Wanted to keep it warm while you had your appetizers.
Well, it better be. we want it now. and more beer.
So, i fly through the kitchen. it is going to be another few minutes. I stare longingly at the first pizza, now being devoured by coworkers. I do not tend to eat a pound of flesh per slice, but i am starving and would gladly chew on a mad cow patty at the moment. no time, though, i have three other tables who have been politely neglected in favor of the carnies at 106.
so i tend to everyone else. more tables flood in. we are genuinely busy now. i get to add a blister, full bladder, and an errant bra strap to my growling stomach as i whirl dirvishly through the dining room. the couple sits and fumes, their table covered in buffalo sauce, ketchup, and ranch. funnily enough, though, the napkins remain untouched. i cannot go back there without that fucking pizza.
Finally, finally, it is ready and it is right. I bring it out, whisking away the chicken bone graveyard and kindergarten finger sauce paintings, and make a hasty retreat. After two minutes, the usual amount of time i give people to taste test their food, i check back and half the pie is gone. still, i politely enquire.
this doesn't taste good. It's too salty.
okay. what would you like me to do?
is there a way to make it less salty?
not really. it is all meat and extra cheese.
we want it remade. maybe without the cheddar.
okay. but i will have to charge you for both pizzas.
what the fuck? why? we didn't like it.
yeah, but it was made exactly how you ordered it. there is nothing wrong with it.
fuck that. no. we're done. give us the check.
okay.
and a box.
of course.
what happens next is no mystery. they paid in cash, attempting to short me five bucks. i called them on it as they were leaving and was given exact change. i just laughed.
what i learned from this experience, is that i should have known all along that they would be dicks and should not have neglected my other tables in favor of them.
what everyone else should learn: if something sucks about your meal, tell us, we want to help and we want you to come back. if you order something you do not ordinarily like and you don't turn out to like it, be cool. we will generally not charge you for the (your) mistake and will bring you whatever you want instead. be an ass, and you will pay for it. also, if your server seems slow or flustered, look around. you will probably be able to spot the idiots who are running them into the weeds.
i am not sure how either of them were able to detect temperature at that point, what with their jaws being unhinged to allow for more food to be crammed down their throats and everything, but she did.
Hey! hey waitress, hey! these cheese things are Cold! They are stone cold! we can't eat these Cold!
i am so sorry, ma'am. sometimes they pull them from the (gelatinous, oil filled fryer) oven too soon, and they do not get cooked all the way through. i will have them make a new batch which will be out in about two minutes.
Fine.
I sort of expect, being the rational person that i am, for them to continue eating the rest of the food mountain blocking their view of one another, but they don't. they instead mutinously push their plates away and commence staring at me, as if i should be personally "baking" their fried cheese logs, or at least begging for forgiveness.
maybe you can see where this is going. i couldn't.
the cheese sticks came out in two minutes, as promised. but in the meantime, everything else got cold, apparently.
We wanted to be able to eat everything together and now it's all cold except for the sticks. we need new wings and fries, too. (at this time i am gazing at the half eaten wings and nearly completely eaten fries and all that fucking ranch drizzled on the table).
Fine.
I had the foresight to take the cheese sticks back. into the fryer they went for a second time. please stay hot. please stay hot.
so, out all three new appetizers come. the pizza is now done, as well. without the fucking cheddar. damn it all to hell. so, i push the remake button. this button is fiction, so instead i beg the kitchen to start over again, knowing that if we just throw the cheddar on top, the evil obese sweating all over the vinyl booth will know and send it back.
i still think that i may be fine. they have to get through the second round of apps, after all. For a minute, I am right. more cherry coke and another pitcher and they actually seem to not be hexing my first born any longer.
one minute.
two minutes.
five minutes.
Um, where's are pizza? It's been awhile. we are hungry,you know.
Oh, it will be out in just a minute. Wanted to keep it warm while you had your appetizers.
Well, it better be. we want it now. and more beer.
So, i fly through the kitchen. it is going to be another few minutes. I stare longingly at the first pizza, now being devoured by coworkers. I do not tend to eat a pound of flesh per slice, but i am starving and would gladly chew on a mad cow patty at the moment. no time, though, i have three other tables who have been politely neglected in favor of the carnies at 106.
so i tend to everyone else. more tables flood in. we are genuinely busy now. i get to add a blister, full bladder, and an errant bra strap to my growling stomach as i whirl dirvishly through the dining room. the couple sits and fumes, their table covered in buffalo sauce, ketchup, and ranch. funnily enough, though, the napkins remain untouched. i cannot go back there without that fucking pizza.
Finally, finally, it is ready and it is right. I bring it out, whisking away the chicken bone graveyard and kindergarten finger sauce paintings, and make a hasty retreat. After two minutes, the usual amount of time i give people to taste test their food, i check back and half the pie is gone. still, i politely enquire.
this doesn't taste good. It's too salty.
okay. what would you like me to do?
is there a way to make it less salty?
not really. it is all meat and extra cheese.
we want it remade. maybe without the cheddar.
okay. but i will have to charge you for both pizzas.
what the fuck? why? we didn't like it.
yeah, but it was made exactly how you ordered it. there is nothing wrong with it.
fuck that. no. we're done. give us the check.
okay.
and a box.
of course.
what happens next is no mystery. they paid in cash, attempting to short me five bucks. i called them on it as they were leaving and was given exact change. i just laughed.
what i learned from this experience, is that i should have known all along that they would be dicks and should not have neglected my other tables in favor of them.
what everyone else should learn: if something sucks about your meal, tell us, we want to help and we want you to come back. if you order something you do not ordinarily like and you don't turn out to like it, be cool. we will generally not charge you for the (your) mistake and will bring you whatever you want instead. be an ass, and you will pay for it. also, if your server seems slow or flustered, look around. you will probably be able to spot the idiots who are running them into the weeds.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
evil thoughts.
life is too perfect, every once in awhile. i stare down at my own cleavage, breasts pushing out from the lowered neck of white cotton. i wore this dress out once. my head hurts in a hard to place way. like i am on the verge of a chainsaw. the tide ebbs and flows.
it is several hours later and i know what i did. opened up the door to prince charming in wolf's clothing. so now, the little girl has got to go. she is breakfast. i, the wandering hunter will be spared. the prince and i will eat her guts and then fuck in her bed.
i like her red hood. i will keep that for myself. later we will have to find that bitch snow white. she needs reviving so we can sell her virgin ass to those horny little men she has been cock teasing for the past while. were it not for that bullet proof glass case, i dare say we would have some necrophilia to deal with, as well.
i was on my own mission to push a couple of children into an oven and then make sweet love to a fellow cannibal, but i hate using strap ons, and that is way on the other side of town.
to be continued...
it is several hours later and i know what i did. opened up the door to prince charming in wolf's clothing. so now, the little girl has got to go. she is breakfast. i, the wandering hunter will be spared. the prince and i will eat her guts and then fuck in her bed.
i like her red hood. i will keep that for myself. later we will have to find that bitch snow white. she needs reviving so we can sell her virgin ass to those horny little men she has been cock teasing for the past while. were it not for that bullet proof glass case, i dare say we would have some necrophilia to deal with, as well.
i was on my own mission to push a couple of children into an oven and then make sweet love to a fellow cannibal, but i hate using strap ons, and that is way on the other side of town.
to be continued...
rock the hell on
what is the best way to manage the mass of contradictions you have found yourself ball and chained to? i would say that it is time to cut off your own foot to save the vessel. no one should ever find themselves attached to an aspect. i cannot blame him for trying to take me one corner of my personality at a time. critics covet what they cannot explain. our conversation went around, serpentine, but not shedding any layers. the garden snake turned into a python and all the life was choked out of what started out poisonous and volatile. death to that train of thought saved us for just a moment, though probably not forever. i would rather over consume and have it perish in a vile of venom than have to endure the slow panic of losing all of my breath, having it taken away.
what am i saying? what did i say? what have i said? nothing. the above is trite bullshit. who the fuck writes about snakes anymore? it's all so biblical. i like poison, but not venom. if a python was choking me out, it would be real death, not some poetical word vomit. hate that word, but regurgitation does not work in this context. what really happened was i got pissed off and saw a side of someone i knew was there but hoped i would not be affected by. this pull at my skirt kind of gentle sense of entitlement. an invite into my bedroom and there lies the key to my brain, yes? sure. on that day, but my mind shifts and there you are, holding a wig scented with my perfume.
so i am gone and the end of the night is not so promising that i will be rolling over and going to sleep while beads of perspiration dry into my thick curls, thighs aching, back unable to forget it's arch. i think about being pulled up effortlessly. strong hands at my waist, being guided toward ecstasy, and then having the tables turned. giggling at my ankles in the air, that intense look right into my eyes. i could never ever look away from him for long.
the sun is cool, my curtains fell down sometime in the night. i was hoping to sleep in, but the all of this bright keeps me awake. so i write, on a sharp point,gentle blade all but breaking the skin. for that i am not sorry. when i started, i felt like plunging the damn thing in and walking away. it is frustrating, all of this nudity. these lips, arms, legs, this face. this big empty bed. maybe i just need to be clubbed over the head and dragged into the cave. either way, the bed needs to move from one end of the room to the other and all of the people within shouting distance should be blushing.
what am i saying? what did i say? what have i said? nothing. the above is trite bullshit. who the fuck writes about snakes anymore? it's all so biblical. i like poison, but not venom. if a python was choking me out, it would be real death, not some poetical word vomit. hate that word, but regurgitation does not work in this context. what really happened was i got pissed off and saw a side of someone i knew was there but hoped i would not be affected by. this pull at my skirt kind of gentle sense of entitlement. an invite into my bedroom and there lies the key to my brain, yes? sure. on that day, but my mind shifts and there you are, holding a wig scented with my perfume.
so i am gone and the end of the night is not so promising that i will be rolling over and going to sleep while beads of perspiration dry into my thick curls, thighs aching, back unable to forget it's arch. i think about being pulled up effortlessly. strong hands at my waist, being guided toward ecstasy, and then having the tables turned. giggling at my ankles in the air, that intense look right into my eyes. i could never ever look away from him for long.
the sun is cool, my curtains fell down sometime in the night. i was hoping to sleep in, but the all of this bright keeps me awake. so i write, on a sharp point,gentle blade all but breaking the skin. for that i am not sorry. when i started, i felt like plunging the damn thing in and walking away. it is frustrating, all of this nudity. these lips, arms, legs, this face. this big empty bed. maybe i just need to be clubbed over the head and dragged into the cave. either way, the bed needs to move from one end of the room to the other and all of the people within shouting distance should be blushing.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
death to the hippos.
this spoon will not be useful for scooping out my brain. it has become necessary for me to consider this procedure, as i am very tired of being conscious and aware.
i remember the last night we were filled to the gills with jameson and melting ice cubes. had to force that last one down, right before i told him where to put his incommunicado. not for the courage, but because i paid for it. the first went down fine. honey. and now my dreams and my reality forget that night ever took place because this shit keeps coming up.
my past, my love is usually jack in his frilly box. pops when he has had too much to drink or has been wound too tightly. with a garish smile and wide open puppet paws, he shocks every time with keen accuracy.
recently jack has amputated his lower body and gotten himself a fancy new car. bleeding and half dead, he bombs each bridge as he passes. the one up ahead, well, pray my memories have sea legs among all the gore and guts ruining the new car smell, because this bridge is already burning, and jack has not quite mastered reverse.
a good friend of mine wonders at a new lovely in his life. she does not understand his brain. he fears this, like she should. as if being like us, there being more like us, would be a good thing. and send in the serial killers, while you're at it.
we are that bad. feeding frenziedly on love, never full. this empty need to fill a ruptured bicycle tube that is wrapped around the heart. that is as close as anyone can get. never to the blood pumping organ. because it has already been lent out in a gesture of kindness. the last we ever gave. the one that meant everything and ruined us forever, ruined everyone for us. now we thrive on what we see reflected in their arms. the devotion, the admiration.the curiosity into how beautiful we well up in another's eyes never sated.
can we get back what we have given? was it ever ours if we set it free and it headed for the fucking hills? all that makes me who i have been up til now is having it's flames put out by the monster in the loch over the smoking bridge where turning back ran out of options.
without a heart, i need that clown, jack. the proof that once i could feel things not being thrust inside of me. that i gave flowers and brought cheesecake. that i called and cried and came.
am i grown up. not a question. that fluttery-filled-to my eyes with the back of my throat is a lump of tears feeling. that is the one that tells me who is real and who is trying to close the lid to that frilly box, trying to make that monster crave the remaining flesh. trying to douse the flames in gasoline.
the door is always open.
the window, broken.
the attic not obscured.
it's the basement i fear.
all those stairs.
traveling lower, still.
our clowns,
they all float down here.
i remember the last night we were filled to the gills with jameson and melting ice cubes. had to force that last one down, right before i told him where to put his incommunicado. not for the courage, but because i paid for it. the first went down fine. honey. and now my dreams and my reality forget that night ever took place because this shit keeps coming up.
my past, my love is usually jack in his frilly box. pops when he has had too much to drink or has been wound too tightly. with a garish smile and wide open puppet paws, he shocks every time with keen accuracy.
recently jack has amputated his lower body and gotten himself a fancy new car. bleeding and half dead, he bombs each bridge as he passes. the one up ahead, well, pray my memories have sea legs among all the gore and guts ruining the new car smell, because this bridge is already burning, and jack has not quite mastered reverse.
a good friend of mine wonders at a new lovely in his life. she does not understand his brain. he fears this, like she should. as if being like us, there being more like us, would be a good thing. and send in the serial killers, while you're at it.
we are that bad. feeding frenziedly on love, never full. this empty need to fill a ruptured bicycle tube that is wrapped around the heart. that is as close as anyone can get. never to the blood pumping organ. because it has already been lent out in a gesture of kindness. the last we ever gave. the one that meant everything and ruined us forever, ruined everyone for us. now we thrive on what we see reflected in their arms. the devotion, the admiration.the curiosity into how beautiful we well up in another's eyes never sated.
can we get back what we have given? was it ever ours if we set it free and it headed for the fucking hills? all that makes me who i have been up til now is having it's flames put out by the monster in the loch over the smoking bridge where turning back ran out of options.
without a heart, i need that clown, jack. the proof that once i could feel things not being thrust inside of me. that i gave flowers and brought cheesecake. that i called and cried and came.
am i grown up. not a question. that fluttery-filled-to my eyes with the back of my throat is a lump of tears feeling. that is the one that tells me who is real and who is trying to close the lid to that frilly box, trying to make that monster crave the remaining flesh. trying to douse the flames in gasoline.
the door is always open.
the window, broken.
the attic not obscured.
it's the basement i fear.
all those stairs.
traveling lower, still.
our clowns,
they all float down here.
things weren't meant to be. left unsaid.
the clasp broke. this class does not work.
terrible need to flee from this ten minute break into the rest of my night.
start drinking heavily inspite of the/my cold.
i will be blinded tomorrow, but for now prose and passion are painfully obvious.
my mind flips from stopping to change, changing in the mirror.
what do i have time for? 5 voicemails, seven missed calls. one whiskey?
i call a familiar face. he never answers but is always there.
tonight he is inside out. i can hear his voice for once, but it is a million miles away.
he tells me, like all the others, not to go to that bar.
i tell him i am not going for that. he does not believe me.
part of me is trapped there with that acrid stench of bottles and bodies and my neat little corner.
swept clean of blood and bones. trace hairs and perfume betray me.
i walk in. the room tilts. tonight, i do not know yet, the room will not tilt.
the disembodied family voice guides me down three blocked roads.
construction is painful obvious-ity number one.
i sail merrily in the next direction i am given, only to bypass the mark completely. this is number two.
i toil on, fevered and wretched, sweating through my hair and makeup. sick and lovely.
i reach the middle. and stop.a large truck obscures my view. number three.
i know without seeing that parking will be non existent. it is. home run.
i glance into a gaze at his long black car. he is in there somewhere, operating his wheelbarrow in hell.
he might have even known i was coming, been warned. watching the door.
i drove back to other bar. where we met. where i feel like i live.
hey beautiful.
that's me. despite my wrinkled t shirt and virus.
two smile in my direction, one smirks. we share a secret.
that i am broken.
i have a feeling more know than not.
he gives me a way back to that other bar. and i sip my drink. in my mind, i go with him and everything turns out different.
i do not think of what i should. only of turning back the clocks and changing things.
terrible need to flee from this ten minute break into the rest of my night.
start drinking heavily inspite of the/my cold.
i will be blinded tomorrow, but for now prose and passion are painfully obvious.
my mind flips from stopping to change, changing in the mirror.
what do i have time for? 5 voicemails, seven missed calls. one whiskey?
i call a familiar face. he never answers but is always there.
tonight he is inside out. i can hear his voice for once, but it is a million miles away.
he tells me, like all the others, not to go to that bar.
i tell him i am not going for that. he does not believe me.
part of me is trapped there with that acrid stench of bottles and bodies and my neat little corner.
swept clean of blood and bones. trace hairs and perfume betray me.
i walk in. the room tilts. tonight, i do not know yet, the room will not tilt.
the disembodied family voice guides me down three blocked roads.
construction is painful obvious-ity number one.
i sail merrily in the next direction i am given, only to bypass the mark completely. this is number two.
i toil on, fevered and wretched, sweating through my hair and makeup. sick and lovely.
i reach the middle. and stop.a large truck obscures my view. number three.
i know without seeing that parking will be non existent. it is. home run.
i glance into a gaze at his long black car. he is in there somewhere, operating his wheelbarrow in hell.
he might have even known i was coming, been warned. watching the door.
i drove back to other bar. where we met. where i feel like i live.
hey beautiful.
that's me. despite my wrinkled t shirt and virus.
two smile in my direction, one smirks. we share a secret.
that i am broken.
i have a feeling more know than not.
he gives me a way back to that other bar. and i sip my drink. in my mind, i go with him and everything turns out different.
i do not think of what i should. only of turning back the clocks and changing things.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
if i were him...
i would look me in the eye.
i would smile back.
my eyes would not linger on my breasts.
i would still watch me retreat. i do have great hair. and a nice ass.
if i were her...
i wouldn't bother watching his every move.
i wouldn't order beer plus cheese bread plus a meatball hoagie.
i would grow my hair waist length and dye it mahogany.
i would leave him to his (fat) chances with the waitress.
if i were them...
i wouldn't ask for a round of waters to start. they aren't going to finish with anything else, right?
i wouldn't make such a mess.
i wouldn't be so rude.
i wouldn't try to walk out on my tab.
if i were you...
i would visit me whenever you feel like because i always want to see your face.
i would ravage me without hesitation.
i would pat myself on the back for being so fucking sweet.
i wouldn't change a thing.
because i am me...
i will politely ignore the him who keeps leering at me even though he is with his girlfriend.
i will discreetly let her know she has sauce on her face.
i will chase them out and make them feel so guilty they will include a 30 percent tip.
i will love you, probably for as long as it's possible.
i would smile back.
my eyes would not linger on my breasts.
i would still watch me retreat. i do have great hair. and a nice ass.
if i were her...
i wouldn't bother watching his every move.
i wouldn't order beer plus cheese bread plus a meatball hoagie.
i would grow my hair waist length and dye it mahogany.
i would leave him to his (fat) chances with the waitress.
if i were them...
i wouldn't ask for a round of waters to start. they aren't going to finish with anything else, right?
i wouldn't make such a mess.
i wouldn't be so rude.
i wouldn't try to walk out on my tab.
if i were you...
i would visit me whenever you feel like because i always want to see your face.
i would ravage me without hesitation.
i would pat myself on the back for being so fucking sweet.
i wouldn't change a thing.
because i am me...
i will politely ignore the him who keeps leering at me even though he is with his girlfriend.
i will discreetly let her know she has sauce on her face.
i will chase them out and make them feel so guilty they will include a 30 percent tip.
i will love you, probably for as long as it's possible.
bogart the butterfly
rip the fucking thing wing from wing. use up all of that beauty. pass it on empty, dead, a husk. then haunt my thoughts after i regrow transparent moth appendages. keep my daydreams pedaling your old bullshit. my eyes on the rear view, never to my left. the past will rewrite itself so you will always be my hero, instead of the evil slain by my kick in the teeth.
i woke up this morning in pain, in fever, regretting ever having fallen asleep. burst from this stupid closed eye mind fuck in tears, clutching madly at my phone, wondering if the conversation had actually taken place, if we could really go back to normal. felt reality spiralling into me. i missed just the one call, and it was not from you.
a man can live his life going to work, paying bills, bringing his work home, and finish up his days not choking on smooth grey goose. He will not be sad or empty because he can stare at the painting on the wall, the one from the girl standing in for the other girl, can open the refrigerator and see the take out containers from a night on the town, can walk by the garbage and note the used condoms mixed with the empty toilet paper rolls and dirty q tips.
he can go days without love, for he has so many boxes to tick off, so many people to piss off, so many images with which to get off. He is used to solitude, and believes he is enlightened here, as he was up in his formidable tower, away from the noise of me pounding on the keys.
substance. we abuse you. we are sorry, but you are so obsequious. so malleable. so attainable. could you try to be more aloof?
my thoughts during slumber lead me to one cold truth. i am afraid that the past will repeat itself and that my summer of debauchery will end and his will go on and on. that i will be shaking a rag doll, trying to find a more important meaning to love than one i have ever experienced. something more pure, with actual lines, not just suggestions. my thoughts will go places he cannot follow because the pain of living not chemically induced is one i am am used to, one i prefer to the mellow float because we are not floating. we are staying still while life quietly passes us by.
i woke up this morning in pain, in fever, regretting ever having fallen asleep. burst from this stupid closed eye mind fuck in tears, clutching madly at my phone, wondering if the conversation had actually taken place, if we could really go back to normal. felt reality spiralling into me. i missed just the one call, and it was not from you.
a man can live his life going to work, paying bills, bringing his work home, and finish up his days not choking on smooth grey goose. He will not be sad or empty because he can stare at the painting on the wall, the one from the girl standing in for the other girl, can open the refrigerator and see the take out containers from a night on the town, can walk by the garbage and note the used condoms mixed with the empty toilet paper rolls and dirty q tips.
he can go days without love, for he has so many boxes to tick off, so many people to piss off, so many images with which to get off. He is used to solitude, and believes he is enlightened here, as he was up in his formidable tower, away from the noise of me pounding on the keys.
substance. we abuse you. we are sorry, but you are so obsequious. so malleable. so attainable. could you try to be more aloof?
my thoughts during slumber lead me to one cold truth. i am afraid that the past will repeat itself and that my summer of debauchery will end and his will go on and on. that i will be shaking a rag doll, trying to find a more important meaning to love than one i have ever experienced. something more pure, with actual lines, not just suggestions. my thoughts will go places he cannot follow because the pain of living not chemically induced is one i am am used to, one i prefer to the mellow float because we are not floating. we are staying still while life quietly passes us by.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
this too shall pass. muster.
Dear (Your Name Here),
As much fun as it has been getting to know you, you have turned out to be terminally flawed in one or more of the following ways: Horrific Insecurity/Lack of General Motivation/Inability to Master the Complicated Technology of the Telephone/Clinical Depression or Insanity/Drug or Alcohol Abuse/Cripplingly Low Functioning Libido/Etc. It is not me, it is you. I will have moved on within the week, because hey, there is nothing wrong with me, unless you count momentary lapses in judgement. Do not worry, I will be just fine. And if you are worried, please do not call or write or email. Just get used to seeing me happy and fulfilled. And with someone else.
Bye, Darlin'
PS Can we be friends?
Friday, August 12, 2011
the upper hand
i have never been dumped. not super proud of that because all that means is that i have only coexisted with those i could take or leave. and leave and leave and leave. i would say that half the guys i have dumped behaved so badly that they literally forced me to do it. the other half, i just stopped wanting to get naked with. you all know who you are. only in the recent years have i broken my rule about revisiting old bullshit and have actually found myself back together with a few of those i so carelessly tossed aside.
getting back together with an ex is like waking a dead person you accidentally killed. they are going to act one of two ways. Either they will be so afraid of being hit again, they will literally cower in your presence, making you even more impatient and emotionally detached. the next and final break up will be even worse because you will be so full of scorn and disdain that you won't even be able to stomach a goodbye fuck. these types of scenarios usually leave me weary for days and its days before i get back in the saddle. the other way they can act is out for revenge. You hurt them, they want to hurt you back, to prove you can't just push them around and toss them away. Yup, this dead guy is a full fledged flesh eating zombie out to eat your brains. in typical horror movie style, you will run away screaming right into the arms of someone who looks just good enough by proxy to not scare the shit out of you. because you are rebounding, he will turn out to be even worse than the last guy. karma+rebound=bitch.
this is not what i meant by the upper hand. recently i broke up with a guy who, and he admitted this, did not treat me very well.he was so honest about this and the way that he felt, that i almost couldn't get through the break up speech. it was to most attentive he had been in over a month, and i started to remember why i liked him so much in the first place. and then he put the final nail in his own coffin. he told me we could work it out, as long as we did not have to talk about anything. no thanks. but thanks. and goodbye.
i left that night feel achy and lonely. tears mixed with my contact lenses and my mascara, making my drive home a little more james bond than i would have liked, but i got home okay, at 5 in the morning, only to dilute the last of feelings on the subject with a glass of vodka.
in the three weeks since i had ended things, i had only texted him twice. both times inviting him to talk to me if he needed to. of course not. he didn't talk to me in life, why would he talk to me in the after life. he was destined to be someone else's beaten corpse, as i was not going to be the one holding the shovel this time. i was not even the one who broke him apart. that was his ex. i just accidentally ran over the pieces and blamed myself for all that carnage. okay, time to stop writing about relationships being like car accidents and men being undead.
this is what i thought it meant to have the upper hand. leaving while i still had my pride, my dignity. not drunk dialing him or stalking him at the bar where he works. not pumping his friends for information. just you know, getting on with things. he treated me badly, i walked away. nuff said.
until last night.
went to the bar where he worked. not to see him, though the thought made me want to throw up a little bit. i was not sure how he would react to seeing me, after not bothering to contact me at all. would he be cordial? would he be mean? would my drinks be short-poured? none of the above, it turns out. he completely ignored me. served a few of my friends and every swinging dick around me, but not me. i waited for about ten minutes. his coworkers naturally thought that he would be happy to serve me. wrong-o. finally got a drink from one of them and headed outside without having even made eye contact. the night progressed just like this. he was around, and around me, just not. present. even though i knew that he was aware of me, he seemed to be trying his damnedest not to care, which, the good girl that i am, made me care. i didn't want to make him feel bad, especially not at work, but come on, i didn't set out to torture the guy, just to hang out and have a good time with my friends at a bar i was frequenting long before i began screaming his unsingable name in bed. roles reversed, i would have bought the guy a fucking drink.
before we left, i made small talk, what about, i have no clue. i was just trying to clear the air. he seemed to want nothing to do with me. that was fine. i was not trying to flirt with him, just be friendly. i have had many a man tell me that I come off as patronizing and sociopathic when i pull this friend bullshit. many have wished that some day i will know the pain of rejection and heartache. probably not as long as i remain a sociopath, is how i usually reply.
alcohol makes me stupid.
5 more drinks later, and i was really getting irked that i couldn't get him to be my buddy. so i texted.
and called.
twice.
at 3 in the morning.
fuck.
his only response was that he had to eat. not sure what that was suppose to mean, but by the time I got the response it was this morning and my mortifying behavior came flooding back. whoops.
to make amends, i texted him with an apology and a promise never to do such asinine things again.
his texted reply?
just be loving and delicious.
that, my friends, is how he got the upper hand.
getting back together with an ex is like waking a dead person you accidentally killed. they are going to act one of two ways. Either they will be so afraid of being hit again, they will literally cower in your presence, making you even more impatient and emotionally detached. the next and final break up will be even worse because you will be so full of scorn and disdain that you won't even be able to stomach a goodbye fuck. these types of scenarios usually leave me weary for days and its days before i get back in the saddle. the other way they can act is out for revenge. You hurt them, they want to hurt you back, to prove you can't just push them around and toss them away. Yup, this dead guy is a full fledged flesh eating zombie out to eat your brains. in typical horror movie style, you will run away screaming right into the arms of someone who looks just good enough by proxy to not scare the shit out of you. because you are rebounding, he will turn out to be even worse than the last guy. karma+rebound=bitch.
this is not what i meant by the upper hand. recently i broke up with a guy who, and he admitted this, did not treat me very well.he was so honest about this and the way that he felt, that i almost couldn't get through the break up speech. it was to most attentive he had been in over a month, and i started to remember why i liked him so much in the first place. and then he put the final nail in his own coffin. he told me we could work it out, as long as we did not have to talk about anything. no thanks. but thanks. and goodbye.
i left that night feel achy and lonely. tears mixed with my contact lenses and my mascara, making my drive home a little more james bond than i would have liked, but i got home okay, at 5 in the morning, only to dilute the last of feelings on the subject with a glass of vodka.
in the three weeks since i had ended things, i had only texted him twice. both times inviting him to talk to me if he needed to. of course not. he didn't talk to me in life, why would he talk to me in the after life. he was destined to be someone else's beaten corpse, as i was not going to be the one holding the shovel this time. i was not even the one who broke him apart. that was his ex. i just accidentally ran over the pieces and blamed myself for all that carnage. okay, time to stop writing about relationships being like car accidents and men being undead.
this is what i thought it meant to have the upper hand. leaving while i still had my pride, my dignity. not drunk dialing him or stalking him at the bar where he works. not pumping his friends for information. just you know, getting on with things. he treated me badly, i walked away. nuff said.
until last night.
went to the bar where he worked. not to see him, though the thought made me want to throw up a little bit. i was not sure how he would react to seeing me, after not bothering to contact me at all. would he be cordial? would he be mean? would my drinks be short-poured? none of the above, it turns out. he completely ignored me. served a few of my friends and every swinging dick around me, but not me. i waited for about ten minutes. his coworkers naturally thought that he would be happy to serve me. wrong-o. finally got a drink from one of them and headed outside without having even made eye contact. the night progressed just like this. he was around, and around me, just not. present. even though i knew that he was aware of me, he seemed to be trying his damnedest not to care, which, the good girl that i am, made me care. i didn't want to make him feel bad, especially not at work, but come on, i didn't set out to torture the guy, just to hang out and have a good time with my friends at a bar i was frequenting long before i began screaming his unsingable name in bed. roles reversed, i would have bought the guy a fucking drink.
before we left, i made small talk, what about, i have no clue. i was just trying to clear the air. he seemed to want nothing to do with me. that was fine. i was not trying to flirt with him, just be friendly. i have had many a man tell me that I come off as patronizing and sociopathic when i pull this friend bullshit. many have wished that some day i will know the pain of rejection and heartache. probably not as long as i remain a sociopath, is how i usually reply.
alcohol makes me stupid.
5 more drinks later, and i was really getting irked that i couldn't get him to be my buddy. so i texted.
and called.
twice.
at 3 in the morning.
fuck.
his only response was that he had to eat. not sure what that was suppose to mean, but by the time I got the response it was this morning and my mortifying behavior came flooding back. whoops.
to make amends, i texted him with an apology and a promise never to do such asinine things again.
his texted reply?
just be loving and delicious.
that, my friends, is how he got the upper hand.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
tips to make your server not hate you.
I have always felt that people should consult a dining guide before going to a bar or restaurant. then they should have to take and pass a quiz and have a laminated card showing that they did, in fact, take and pass the quiz. It should be more important than even proving that you are over 21 when ordering a drink. especially because i don't think the ability to drink should be based on age, but on merit, hence the dining out guide and quiz.
Since this is probably never going to happen, i have compiled a list of things that should be common sense for you to peruse. the list will grow. people are constantly finding new ways to be obnoxious while in public. i shouldn't be shocked anymore, but when a drunk guy hands you the cup he has been spitting his chew in for the last few hours and expects you to empty the napkins and replace them, you know that you will live to see another asshole doing something even more grotesque. Here goes:
1. Do not hit on your server. We are paid to be nice to you. However, in the instance, and this does actually happen, that you feel some kind of cosmic connection and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they feel the same way, wait until your bill is paid and you are not wasted to talk to him/her. Nothing reeks quite as much as liquid courage or the question of a good tip in the face of a phone number. My advice: Find out their name and maybe come back another time.Or, wait until they aren't busy and say something nice, and something true. Do not leave your number on the credit card slip. You will be made fun of behind your back by the entire staff. Also, if you get rejected, do not stop going to the bar. It gives servers a complex when all the regulars start dropping off like flies.
2. Do not hate your server if your food comes out cold or tasting like shit. we did not make it and you did not ask for a taste test. Tell us calmly, do not freak, remaking the food will be a top priority and you will leave full and happy. Take it out on you server, and we will make sure you never want to come back, anyway.
3. Do not make jokes about us spiting in your food. Fucking gross. who would do that? you aren't dining in some low budget movie starring justin long where a bunch of losers hate everyone. We like our jobs and people. probably not ever going to stoop that low. It would take the fun from kicking your ass out for being mean to me. and yes, i do have that power.
4. If it is crazy busy, do not sit at a dirty table and then stare a hole into my back. Stand next to it, out of my way. If you don't, chances are I won't know the table has turned and you won't get service for a long, long time. Side note to this, do not touch anything on the table. we need to not be missing cash and credit card receipts because you decided to "help" us clean the table.
5. i hate serving coffee and tea. nothing on you, the customer. it is just a pet peeve. i work in a dive bar. go across the street and get a hot beverage with endless refills that doesn't taste faintly like burnt hot dogs.
6. Do not expect a deal just because you are a regular, and if you do get hooked up, do not expect this all of the time, but tip accordingly. we only get to comp a precious few times a week or whatever, so take it seriously. And yes, single people, if your server buys you a drink and lingers at your table, they are probably interested in you. Review number one.
7. Do not let your kids make a huge mess or color all over everything or rip napkins to shreds, etc.If they aren't allowed to do it in your house, then they shouldn't do it here. If that shit flies at home, stay there. none of you should be interacting with the public.
8. if your kid is screaming or crying, take them outside. no one thinks its cute and everyone wants to beat you, the parents, to death with a baseball bat. orphaned children actually have something to cry about.
9. if your kid does make a huge mess, tip accordingly. personal maid to your darling angels is not covered by standard gratuity.
10. Letting your kids run around unsupervised is stupid and fucking irresponsible. Next time i see it, i'm dialing child services, no joke. If u have ever almost accidentally dropped a tray of drinks on a kid's head, you know what I'm saying.
11. If your server does not tell you their name, do not ask for it.we don't know your name and don't want to know it. no offense. eye contact tells me that you need something better than shouting out your ill gotten gains.
12. Do not ask for extra shit, like sauces and be surprised when you are charged for it. it ain't free to us, it ain't free to you.
13. Ha ha! Your friend is super-wasted and making a total ass of himself! He keeps trying to grab my ass! He keep knocking over drinks! Oh look, he went into the girls' bathroom to pee in the sink! So Cute! No. Get your tab and get him home. Save me the trouble of kicking him out and I will remember you as being that guy who didn't make my job harder. Stand back and watch the spectacle? Oh well, I am tossing your ass out, too.
14. Boyfriends and girlfriends of waitstaff...we love ya, love to see you, love that you are getting to know our coworkers and bar regulars. Sigh. It is nice to see such a familiar and cherished face while working such antisocial hours. Sometimes. It is never the right time, however, to camp out for hours, watching me and sizing up every guy I am being paid to talk to. Casually mentioning to me that "the guy in the booth over there was totally staring at your ass as you were walking away" is not going to help either of us to have a better night. So, significant others, sit at the bar, find something to do besides pretend not to stalk your better half, and let us come to you for brief respites from the sea of thirsty faces.
15. I come over to your table, put down coasters, drop menus, smile. You are talking and ignoring me, so I walk away. you peruse the beer list, still chatting. I come back after a few minutes. I look at you both expectantly. You glance in my direction but continue to talk to each other. Okay Rude-y McAsshole, you can have a drink when they install an ice rink in hell. People, please. Servers, especially when busy, are on a tight schedule. we have a lot of shit to do, to remember, to set up. we really do want you to be happy and comfortable, but you have to do your part and, I don't know, stop talking long enough to hem and haw between a Miller Lite and a Summit.
16. Put down your phone. Close your laptop. I do not approach people on cellphones. If you try to order from me while you are talking on your cellphone, i will look at you incredulously and walk away. The reason? Well, when confronted by customers, I tell them that I do not want to be rude and interrupt their conversation. reality? It is really fucking rude to not even pause in conversation long enough to acknowledge the person who is trying to quench your thirst. Ditto for texters.
17. Last call. Usually this happens 15 minutes before bar close. I understand the scramble to get as drunk as you can as quickly as possible before we release you into the night,but at this point, aren't you just waiting your money? Sure, buy a round of shots and and down those with the girl you met a few hours ago who you are sure is THE ONE. Actually, she thinks that you are THE ONE, and you probably actually wanted to get with her hot friend...anyway, do not order 2 Guinness's and a scotch neat when you only have 15 minutes left to drink. 2:05 and we are taking it all away from you, no matter what you tipped on the round. thems the laws.
18. Making out in public is icky. And yes, I have been icky before, so do not think I am above it. In fact, I am guilty of many of the drunk related sins of which I have been lamenting, so you know, I am human, too. Making out in public is icky. You might be having the sexiest, most romantic time ever, but we are just wondering if you are homeless, or worse, cheating on your significant others. Why else would you be sucking face in public instead of rolling around naked in a nice, comfy bed? Shit, I don't care how awesome it is where I work, given the choice between sticking my tongue down some one's throat at the rail and snogging between the sheets, well, I love my sheets.
19. Girl on girl hostility. I am not checking out your boyfriend. He does not think I am cuter than you. blah blah blah. reverse the role for guys. nothing is sexier than lack of self confidence and paranoid insecurity. And even if you do not say it out loud, we feel your hostile vibes and so does your partner.
20. Girl on girl hostility, Part 2: You are not better than me because I am a lowly server. I make lotsa money to have a good time in a great environment. I have time to write, to go to school, and to go to the beach pretty much whenever I want. I also feel confident in the knowledge that as long as i am doing this job, my legs are gonna look smokin'.
21. Smokers vs. Non. Not much I can really say about this, as I am divided. I smoke but cheered the loudest over the smoking ban. Kind of got tired of having to throw my work clothes directly into garbage bags after work. So, the non-smokers got their wish, but now they want more. It is getting to the point where we can't even smoke on patios anymore. Which, I also get to a certain extent. I do not always want to be breathing in smoke while I am trying to eat, but I will be damned if I do not dig having the freedom to light up myself as soon as I am done.
22. Food Allergies. Please let us know when you have them. It is not enough to simply ask to have something removed from a dish, we need to make sure there is no cross-contamination. On the other hand, if you have an aversion to something, do not get all pouty and rude if we cannot give you a perfect substitute, because no, not every bar stocks potato vodka and vegan cheese. sorry. you aren't being progressive, just picky.
23. So you say it's your birthday? Great, we have a table for the four of you. awesome. and then every 5 minutes, four more people show up until I am waiting on thirty people with no warning. Look, I am great at my job and yes, you will have separate tabs, but please, if you know about this in advance, give me a heads up.
24. We are closed. So leave. I am almost positive that if i went to your job at Target or Starbucks or wherever, I would not be able to loiter there twenty minutes after close, so why is it different when you come to my work?
25. Yes, you are that asshole. That we all talk about and hate waiting on. You are patronizing, you hit on everything that moves, you don't tip, you want a fancy schmancy cocktail and 3 different mixed shots for last call. We don't like you, but we are patient. Some day we will find out where you work and be that guy who you and your coworkers talk about and hate dealing with, because sometimes karma needs a little nudge.
26. this is not the right place to dump someone. I know you want a public place so there is no scene, but come on, if you are that juvenile, why not just text the person, yee of little balls? Because I do not have enough napkins to mop up all that mascara and spray tan, and you aren't going to tip me well enough to make it worth my while. If you don't skip out on the bill entirely, that is.
27. Pub Crawls. So fun, and so matchy-matchy. Nothing can really stem the blood of chaos, but you can make things a bit easier for yourself and your server. Stick to beer and single ingredient shots. have cash, or if you want to be the coolest person ever, open a tab for the whole pub crawl and sort out your cash yourselves. tip well and try not to get in the way of all the people who are not there to celebrate the penguins or whatever.
28. Can I have a water? Sure, and you can keep having refills as long as you are not just sitting there with your friends, not ordering anything else. How does this not make sense to people? Why would i do a service for someone that will generate no bill and thus, no tip, when i have a whole room full of people who are actually paying to be there. walk your cheap, thirsty ass over to SA and buy a bottle of water. you can refill it free in the bathroom sink.
29.Poor service. sit down at my table and be shifty, hostile, bossy, and sullen. If you don't make eye contact, mutter your orders at me, and ask for a myriad of ridiculous shit like more cherry juice in your lemonade or a side of bleu heese and ranch and ketchup mixed together, there is a good chance my winning smile and polite interest in your needs as a customer will fall by the wayside. You, in turn will pick up my aggravation and think that I am a bitch who obviously hated you on sight, so you will become even more sullen and demanding. I will become thin lipped and eye-rolly, and you will retaliate by paying me mostly in nickels. no tip.
29. Point 2 of the above: Do not EVER think you that you are being profiled. I do not care about gender, religion, race, age, sexual orientation. I am never thanking my lucky stars that I get to wait on a table of good looking guys as apposed to a hassled looking family with six kids. That is the true beauty of living and working in such a diverse city. Everyone is different, so every encounter is a new adventure. I don't judge anyone until they either look down their nose at me, or don't bother to look at me at all.
30. Pay attention. When your server comes to get orders, refill drinks, whatever, make sure to order when everyone else does. We run enough. we do not need to wear a path to and from your table just because you need just one more thing every time i come back. Sometimes, i get paranoid that people do this shit on purpose...
Well, that is all i have for now. I am sure that if anyone reads this after I post it, they, too will will have pearls of wisdom to share, as I know I have not exhausted the list...
Since this is probably never going to happen, i have compiled a list of things that should be common sense for you to peruse. the list will grow. people are constantly finding new ways to be obnoxious while in public. i shouldn't be shocked anymore, but when a drunk guy hands you the cup he has been spitting his chew in for the last few hours and expects you to empty the napkins and replace them, you know that you will live to see another asshole doing something even more grotesque. Here goes:
1. Do not hit on your server. We are paid to be nice to you. However, in the instance, and this does actually happen, that you feel some kind of cosmic connection and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they feel the same way, wait until your bill is paid and you are not wasted to talk to him/her. Nothing reeks quite as much as liquid courage or the question of a good tip in the face of a phone number. My advice: Find out their name and maybe come back another time.Or, wait until they aren't busy and say something nice, and something true. Do not leave your number on the credit card slip. You will be made fun of behind your back by the entire staff. Also, if you get rejected, do not stop going to the bar. It gives servers a complex when all the regulars start dropping off like flies.
2. Do not hate your server if your food comes out cold or tasting like shit. we did not make it and you did not ask for a taste test. Tell us calmly, do not freak, remaking the food will be a top priority and you will leave full and happy. Take it out on you server, and we will make sure you never want to come back, anyway.
3. Do not make jokes about us spiting in your food. Fucking gross. who would do that? you aren't dining in some low budget movie starring justin long where a bunch of losers hate everyone. We like our jobs and people. probably not ever going to stoop that low. It would take the fun from kicking your ass out for being mean to me. and yes, i do have that power.
4. If it is crazy busy, do not sit at a dirty table and then stare a hole into my back. Stand next to it, out of my way. If you don't, chances are I won't know the table has turned and you won't get service for a long, long time. Side note to this, do not touch anything on the table. we need to not be missing cash and credit card receipts because you decided to "help" us clean the table.
5. i hate serving coffee and tea. nothing on you, the customer. it is just a pet peeve. i work in a dive bar. go across the street and get a hot beverage with endless refills that doesn't taste faintly like burnt hot dogs.
6. Do not expect a deal just because you are a regular, and if you do get hooked up, do not expect this all of the time, but tip accordingly. we only get to comp a precious few times a week or whatever, so take it seriously. And yes, single people, if your server buys you a drink and lingers at your table, they are probably interested in you. Review number one.
7. Do not let your kids make a huge mess or color all over everything or rip napkins to shreds, etc.If they aren't allowed to do it in your house, then they shouldn't do it here. If that shit flies at home, stay there. none of you should be interacting with the public.
8. if your kid is screaming or crying, take them outside. no one thinks its cute and everyone wants to beat you, the parents, to death with a baseball bat. orphaned children actually have something to cry about.
9. if your kid does make a huge mess, tip accordingly. personal maid to your darling angels is not covered by standard gratuity.
10. Letting your kids run around unsupervised is stupid and fucking irresponsible. Next time i see it, i'm dialing child services, no joke. If u have ever almost accidentally dropped a tray of drinks on a kid's head, you know what I'm saying.
11. If your server does not tell you their name, do not ask for it.we don't know your name and don't want to know it. no offense. eye contact tells me that you need something better than shouting out your ill gotten gains.
12. Do not ask for extra shit, like sauces and be surprised when you are charged for it. it ain't free to us, it ain't free to you.
13. Ha ha! Your friend is super-wasted and making a total ass of himself! He keeps trying to grab my ass! He keep knocking over drinks! Oh look, he went into the girls' bathroom to pee in the sink! So Cute! No. Get your tab and get him home. Save me the trouble of kicking him out and I will remember you as being that guy who didn't make my job harder. Stand back and watch the spectacle? Oh well, I am tossing your ass out, too.
14. Boyfriends and girlfriends of waitstaff...we love ya, love to see you, love that you are getting to know our coworkers and bar regulars. Sigh. It is nice to see such a familiar and cherished face while working such antisocial hours. Sometimes. It is never the right time, however, to camp out for hours, watching me and sizing up every guy I am being paid to talk to. Casually mentioning to me that "the guy in the booth over there was totally staring at your ass as you were walking away" is not going to help either of us to have a better night. So, significant others, sit at the bar, find something to do besides pretend not to stalk your better half, and let us come to you for brief respites from the sea of thirsty faces.
15. I come over to your table, put down coasters, drop menus, smile. You are talking and ignoring me, so I walk away. you peruse the beer list, still chatting. I come back after a few minutes. I look at you both expectantly. You glance in my direction but continue to talk to each other. Okay Rude-y McAsshole, you can have a drink when they install an ice rink in hell. People, please. Servers, especially when busy, are on a tight schedule. we have a lot of shit to do, to remember, to set up. we really do want you to be happy and comfortable, but you have to do your part and, I don't know, stop talking long enough to hem and haw between a Miller Lite and a Summit.
16. Put down your phone. Close your laptop. I do not approach people on cellphones. If you try to order from me while you are talking on your cellphone, i will look at you incredulously and walk away. The reason? Well, when confronted by customers, I tell them that I do not want to be rude and interrupt their conversation. reality? It is really fucking rude to not even pause in conversation long enough to acknowledge the person who is trying to quench your thirst. Ditto for texters.
17. Last call. Usually this happens 15 minutes before bar close. I understand the scramble to get as drunk as you can as quickly as possible before we release you into the night,but at this point, aren't you just waiting your money? Sure, buy a round of shots and and down those with the girl you met a few hours ago who you are sure is THE ONE. Actually, she thinks that you are THE ONE, and you probably actually wanted to get with her hot friend...anyway, do not order 2 Guinness's and a scotch neat when you only have 15 minutes left to drink. 2:05 and we are taking it all away from you, no matter what you tipped on the round. thems the laws.
18. Making out in public is icky. And yes, I have been icky before, so do not think I am above it. In fact, I am guilty of many of the drunk related sins of which I have been lamenting, so you know, I am human, too. Making out in public is icky. You might be having the sexiest, most romantic time ever, but we are just wondering if you are homeless, or worse, cheating on your significant others. Why else would you be sucking face in public instead of rolling around naked in a nice, comfy bed? Shit, I don't care how awesome it is where I work, given the choice between sticking my tongue down some one's throat at the rail and snogging between the sheets, well, I love my sheets.
19. Girl on girl hostility. I am not checking out your boyfriend. He does not think I am cuter than you. blah blah blah. reverse the role for guys. nothing is sexier than lack of self confidence and paranoid insecurity. And even if you do not say it out loud, we feel your hostile vibes and so does your partner.
20. Girl on girl hostility, Part 2: You are not better than me because I am a lowly server. I make lotsa money to have a good time in a great environment. I have time to write, to go to school, and to go to the beach pretty much whenever I want. I also feel confident in the knowledge that as long as i am doing this job, my legs are gonna look smokin'.
21. Smokers vs. Non. Not much I can really say about this, as I am divided. I smoke but cheered the loudest over the smoking ban. Kind of got tired of having to throw my work clothes directly into garbage bags after work. So, the non-smokers got their wish, but now they want more. It is getting to the point where we can't even smoke on patios anymore. Which, I also get to a certain extent. I do not always want to be breathing in smoke while I am trying to eat, but I will be damned if I do not dig having the freedom to light up myself as soon as I am done.
22. Food Allergies. Please let us know when you have them. It is not enough to simply ask to have something removed from a dish, we need to make sure there is no cross-contamination. On the other hand, if you have an aversion to something, do not get all pouty and rude if we cannot give you a perfect substitute, because no, not every bar stocks potato vodka and vegan cheese. sorry. you aren't being progressive, just picky.
23. So you say it's your birthday? Great, we have a table for the four of you. awesome. and then every 5 minutes, four more people show up until I am waiting on thirty people with no warning. Look, I am great at my job and yes, you will have separate tabs, but please, if you know about this in advance, give me a heads up.
24. We are closed. So leave. I am almost positive that if i went to your job at Target or Starbucks or wherever, I would not be able to loiter there twenty minutes after close, so why is it different when you come to my work?
25. Yes, you are that asshole. That we all talk about and hate waiting on. You are patronizing, you hit on everything that moves, you don't tip, you want a fancy schmancy cocktail and 3 different mixed shots for last call. We don't like you, but we are patient. Some day we will find out where you work and be that guy who you and your coworkers talk about and hate dealing with, because sometimes karma needs a little nudge.
26. this is not the right place to dump someone. I know you want a public place so there is no scene, but come on, if you are that juvenile, why not just text the person, yee of little balls? Because I do not have enough napkins to mop up all that mascara and spray tan, and you aren't going to tip me well enough to make it worth my while. If you don't skip out on the bill entirely, that is.
27. Pub Crawls. So fun, and so matchy-matchy. Nothing can really stem the blood of chaos, but you can make things a bit easier for yourself and your server. Stick to beer and single ingredient shots. have cash, or if you want to be the coolest person ever, open a tab for the whole pub crawl and sort out your cash yourselves. tip well and try not to get in the way of all the people who are not there to celebrate the penguins or whatever.
28. Can I have a water? Sure, and you can keep having refills as long as you are not just sitting there with your friends, not ordering anything else. How does this not make sense to people? Why would i do a service for someone that will generate no bill and thus, no tip, when i have a whole room full of people who are actually paying to be there. walk your cheap, thirsty ass over to SA and buy a bottle of water. you can refill it free in the bathroom sink.
29.Poor service. sit down at my table and be shifty, hostile, bossy, and sullen. If you don't make eye contact, mutter your orders at me, and ask for a myriad of ridiculous shit like more cherry juice in your lemonade or a side of bleu heese and ranch and ketchup mixed together, there is a good chance my winning smile and polite interest in your needs as a customer will fall by the wayside. You, in turn will pick up my aggravation and think that I am a bitch who obviously hated you on sight, so you will become even more sullen and demanding. I will become thin lipped and eye-rolly, and you will retaliate by paying me mostly in nickels. no tip.
29. Point 2 of the above: Do not EVER think you that you are being profiled. I do not care about gender, religion, race, age, sexual orientation. I am never thanking my lucky stars that I get to wait on a table of good looking guys as apposed to a hassled looking family with six kids. That is the true beauty of living and working in such a diverse city. Everyone is different, so every encounter is a new adventure. I don't judge anyone until they either look down their nose at me, or don't bother to look at me at all.
30. Pay attention. When your server comes to get orders, refill drinks, whatever, make sure to order when everyone else does. We run enough. we do not need to wear a path to and from your table just because you need just one more thing every time i come back. Sometimes, i get paranoid that people do this shit on purpose...
Well, that is all i have for now. I am sure that if anyone reads this after I post it, they, too will will have pearls of wisdom to share, as I know I have not exhausted the list...
Friday, July 15, 2011
it is foggy in here
My phone is silent, not even doing that irritating bleating to signal a text message coming in. I console myself by reminding myself that i have no reception in the hobbit hole I call home, but I know the truth: he is not picking up that phone.
When you love someone, really and deeply and pathetically, you do not raise your voice to them, so I am told. No swear words in your dialogue, even when they are a drunken mess you wouldn't serve another drink to in real life, let alone share a bed with.
No, love is a many splendor thing which we must endure so as not to end up alone and unlovely, because our friends are surely never enough. My world shrank a bit yesterday in that regard. I am sure that my skin will begin to melt and my hair will fall out in chunks if I do not soon find another worthy of dating me. i am so precious.
It shant be hard, and i shall have my pick. roaming around a bar in an apron and a short skirt should work on those moronic enough to tamper with girl pouring the drinks. That failing, I guess a late-night birthday shindig and a party celebrating absinthe will have to do. If not, well fuck, don't I have some exes I can call who will prop up my ego? Some male friends who have always been curious about seeing me naked?
I hope that someone, somewhere will enter or reenter my life so that it will have purpose and meaning once again. The center of my universe finally took the hint and fucked off, so there is plenty of prime real estate ready and waiting for the next unsuitable match.
now taking applications for the following positions:
semi-employed pothead with the sex drive of an 87 year old.
frantically employed coke dabbler who will pay for everything but will only be around once a blue moon. again with the ailing sex drive.
moody music maker who will get drunk and fuck you but then blame you for all of his problems.
gainfully employed paranoid with low self esteem. will fuck you whenever you want but will assume you are fucking every man, woman and dog you encounter.
artistically employed borderline alcoholic. wants to fuck you, but can't because he is still married.
Sporadically employed aging hipster. Great in bed, but terrified of waking up his ten year old daughter, or having you stay for lunch.
If you feel that you have what it takes to fill any or all of these positions, please feel free to castrate yourself and be sure not to infect the dating pool with your excessively bad traits by breathing next to humans. I would recommend a lobotomy.
When you love someone, really and deeply and pathetically, you do not raise your voice to them, so I am told. No swear words in your dialogue, even when they are a drunken mess you wouldn't serve another drink to in real life, let alone share a bed with.
No, love is a many splendor thing which we must endure so as not to end up alone and unlovely, because our friends are surely never enough. My world shrank a bit yesterday in that regard. I am sure that my skin will begin to melt and my hair will fall out in chunks if I do not soon find another worthy of dating me. i am so precious.
It shant be hard, and i shall have my pick. roaming around a bar in an apron and a short skirt should work on those moronic enough to tamper with girl pouring the drinks. That failing, I guess a late-night birthday shindig and a party celebrating absinthe will have to do. If not, well fuck, don't I have some exes I can call who will prop up my ego? Some male friends who have always been curious about seeing me naked?
I hope that someone, somewhere will enter or reenter my life so that it will have purpose and meaning once again. The center of my universe finally took the hint and fucked off, so there is plenty of prime real estate ready and waiting for the next unsuitable match.
now taking applications for the following positions:
semi-employed pothead with the sex drive of an 87 year old.
frantically employed coke dabbler who will pay for everything but will only be around once a blue moon. again with the ailing sex drive.
moody music maker who will get drunk and fuck you but then blame you for all of his problems.
gainfully employed paranoid with low self esteem. will fuck you whenever you want but will assume you are fucking every man, woman and dog you encounter.
artistically employed borderline alcoholic. wants to fuck you, but can't because he is still married.
Sporadically employed aging hipster. Great in bed, but terrified of waking up his ten year old daughter, or having you stay for lunch.
If you feel that you have what it takes to fill any or all of these positions, please feel free to castrate yourself and be sure not to infect the dating pool with your excessively bad traits by breathing next to humans. I would recommend a lobotomy.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
oh baby
i have touched and tasted every inch that i can reach. you have looked at me with those big dead eyes. through me to some other whatever i do not want any part of. the sands in your life, they keep shifting. your face drifts toward sleep, leaving and letting go. you stand and cling, then fuck away, i have no idea who you are. i stare through the ceiling until i can feel you.i prefer the fucking to the future because most days my future evaporates anyway and we can stand together forever, at the gates. sad that is the most romantic moment that i can think of. break my heart and throw it away, why would i need it, i am not planning to see the light of a lot more days i am Young and dumb and have a future that will burn out and make peace with no one.
the best worst days in the world
i spent a day rolling around in a bed that is scented with my lotion streaked with mascara from last night. i could not keep my eyes open, but i will be damned if they would stay closed. i should be doing big bad terrible things right now. night off, whoot. would rather just enjoy the sounds of disembodied television voices and let sappy music break my heart.
the days are a bit blurred. i exist in a purgatory of happiness that keeps me from having to
sleep
eat
think
breath. but we come up for air sometimes and then, here we are, blinking in the sun. we don't know each other without the veil of darkness, inebriation.
so we fight cuz we are frustrated.
i think i gave myself food poisoning.
i have never known how to make a damn omelet.
i will find out very soon that that word was spelled incorrectly and that eddie vedder will live a long happy life writing music for popular movies, but the one time he made me cry was with that cover of Last Kiss.
new man, so unreliable, i trust him. don't I?
too tired to care. ode to the summer fling.
the days are a bit blurred. i exist in a purgatory of happiness that keeps me from having to
sleep
eat
think
breath. but we come up for air sometimes and then, here we are, blinking in the sun. we don't know each other without the veil of darkness, inebriation.
so we fight cuz we are frustrated.
i think i gave myself food poisoning.
i have never known how to make a damn omelet.
i will find out very soon that that word was spelled incorrectly and that eddie vedder will live a long happy life writing music for popular movies, but the one time he made me cry was with that cover of Last Kiss.
new man, so unreliable, i trust him. don't I?
too tired to care. ode to the summer fling.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
unsingable name
met a guy with a truly unsingable name. won't spell it out, though. jinx. broke it off with another just days before. so underwhelmed. can't spill enough words between us to fill the space of a quarter of an hour. his body shocked me in it's girth. i like my men stringy. not squishy. you who have had me buzzing in your ear, know this to be true.
so i met a boy, a man, who i thought so familiar and realize now it is because he looks like someone else, someone i wouldn't fuck with your dick, but have known a few good girls who have.
i digress.
he came into my work and sloshed around for a few minutes. he caught my fancy good and proper, but i was tired and spark free. sober and the night was winding down. still, i spotted his pack on the bar, so called to the bartender that i was out after a smoke. well, what do you know. he followed me, though denies such things. talked at me and around me and about me for the length of that cigarette. i was wearing interesting tights and a lot of curly hair. he had on a hat. names exchanged, he and some other boy left eventually. i orbited their bar stools, empty of focus, plot, point.
i wondered after him for a moment, asked after him, too, no avail but no matter. more fish to gouge. so a friend and i set out for a bar the next evening outside uptown. we are greeted at the door and sit down at the bar. i order without looking up. he asks me if he had not just met me the night before. i look into his eyes. cold and clammy, my hands become. he is so good looking. i think about my frumpy jeans, tangled curls, lack of makeup. i am no match for this charismatic bartender.
so i retreat, slightly. bizarre men dance attendance and are thrown out. bartender and i commence chatting. and drinking. he is so lovely. my head is light with the knowledge that i might not know this guy, ever. alcohol gives me courage, anyway. i pass on my number at around 2, apologizing for being that girl who hits on her fucking server. rule number one, and i shattered that shit.
the next day, my phone is painfully silent. until about 145 am. and then the inebriated texting begins and off we go. 2 hours later and i am asleep on my friend's couch with monday and this guy on my mind. hold your breath and hope the water is warm.
so i met a boy, a man, who i thought so familiar and realize now it is because he looks like someone else, someone i wouldn't fuck with your dick, but have known a few good girls who have.
i digress.
he came into my work and sloshed around for a few minutes. he caught my fancy good and proper, but i was tired and spark free. sober and the night was winding down. still, i spotted his pack on the bar, so called to the bartender that i was out after a smoke. well, what do you know. he followed me, though denies such things. talked at me and around me and about me for the length of that cigarette. i was wearing interesting tights and a lot of curly hair. he had on a hat. names exchanged, he and some other boy left eventually. i orbited their bar stools, empty of focus, plot, point.
i wondered after him for a moment, asked after him, too, no avail but no matter. more fish to gouge. so a friend and i set out for a bar the next evening outside uptown. we are greeted at the door and sit down at the bar. i order without looking up. he asks me if he had not just met me the night before. i look into his eyes. cold and clammy, my hands become. he is so good looking. i think about my frumpy jeans, tangled curls, lack of makeup. i am no match for this charismatic bartender.
so i retreat, slightly. bizarre men dance attendance and are thrown out. bartender and i commence chatting. and drinking. he is so lovely. my head is light with the knowledge that i might not know this guy, ever. alcohol gives me courage, anyway. i pass on my number at around 2, apologizing for being that girl who hits on her fucking server. rule number one, and i shattered that shit.
the next day, my phone is painfully silent. until about 145 am. and then the inebriated texting begins and off we go. 2 hours later and i am asleep on my friend's couch with monday and this guy on my mind. hold your breath and hope the water is warm.
Friday, April 29, 2011
where'd we go?
I can't take a nap today. my head aches. i got not a wink last night among the fucking and the fueding. no, really. tossed off all my clothes after one rousing round of scrabble. he put down ex. i added the s and we decided that indeed was a much better game. this bottle of vodka has lasted for awhile. i haven't been here. i have been drinking princely sums and not cleaning my apartment in favor of this boy. this pot smoking prince valiant. the rebel, the joker, the villian all rest in one body, til we meet again in 4 hours. he gives me less than nothing and i take it and pay. meanwhile where are things going with this new golden boy. he seems genuine but what the fuck does that mean after a week? birth control and a move back uptown, i guess. for now. passed out at around two only to be woken, fucking 3 hours later. awake again at 8, i start things this time. with love of the feeling, the only one i can touch anymore.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
brand new man
he is tall and touches me often. these are the things i noticed first. i communicate in code, without eye contact, head bent slightly away. it took me forever to see his green eyes.his straight nose.the smile. he looks familiar.some actor from some movie, some long time ago. some crush. dont tell mom the babysitters dead, maybe? i saw his curly hair, how he sought out my attention. leaned in, leaned out. kissed me. dry wit, smile at me. we are towering over the evening. swapping stories, holding hands. my skirt is short. i take the stairs slowly, in front of him. sex is not on my mind. sex is always on my mind. we buy gummy worms and have some wine.
he speaks in absolutes and tells me about us in six minutes, six weeks, six months. i am afraid because i have been down every road and every road ends with me picking up my paints and my pot, cutting across the grass,thumbing for a ride back to the beginning.
he speaks in absolutes and tells me about us in six minutes, six weeks, six months. i am afraid because i have been down every road and every road ends with me picking up my paints and my pot, cutting across the grass,thumbing for a ride back to the beginning.
if i were a boxer
if i could tell you everything i would never tell you anything true. i wish with all of my heart that you, whoever you are, did not exist so that i could float here like the rest of them, content to be on the verge, a breaking point of madness and lack of wonder. everyone flirts with this cliff, this bottomless empty bowl we fill with charms and gods and nameless fucks. some story. some game. whatever creates the art that they buy that they want that they love that reflects them. these mirrors for the narcissism. hold yours up to me, fall in love, you will not be found wanting.
wait for it, sad prince, whatever reason i look tarnished. stare me down,then, when you think i am less, when whiskey makes you more. i will shimmer and sigh, sauntering over to you. what do you wish, what is your want? i will take off all of my clothes and still be dressed. you cannot come inside, despite your hard pounding. you will try. i will show you my back, as it is said, what you see as i am breaking your heart. the fog in which you will exist should part some day soon, i will be a mirage. you will think i never existed at all. until you see me again. until you spy my breathing on someone else's neck. someone with a no better than you ever were, only not you, and that is enough.
wait for it, sad prince, whatever reason i look tarnished. stare me down,then, when you think i am less, when whiskey makes you more. i will shimmer and sigh, sauntering over to you. what do you wish, what is your want? i will take off all of my clothes and still be dressed. you cannot come inside, despite your hard pounding. you will try. i will show you my back, as it is said, what you see as i am breaking your heart. the fog in which you will exist should part some day soon, i will be a mirage. you will think i never existed at all. until you see me again. until you spy my breathing on someone else's neck. someone with a no better than you ever were, only not you, and that is enough.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
this ain't fiction people.
there was a night, my tattoo explains it, when i cheated on my boyfriend. sort of. we were on a break.he fucked someone on our couch. i gave the couch away as it was too big to set on fire. back to the beginning.
things start to unravel when you find pictures of your boyfriend with a bunch of naked strippers at the strip club his ex works at after you specifically asked him not to go there. the thought of him at any strip club makes you want to douse your head in acid just to distract yourself.
you threaten and then attempt to push him out of your way as you scream scream scream.the neighbors are downstairs, smoking a bowl, elegant eyebrows raised. this is a few years ago, so you did not know the term for them was "hipster" yet.
you and your boyfriend go to applebees, get drunk, hook up, and then decide on the break. suits you just fine. except that you work and live together. so stupid and so young is 22. so you start flirting with this coworker that you love. he is a redhead, and your names rhyme. fate, right? he writes. he is funny. you guys decide to go on a date.
you are so excited! you meet at a local bar. and who is there, as well? your fucking boyfriend. waiting for some chick. he is mad. you are not. the chick looks like a troll, and you look like a playmate, but without the tan or slut gear. your date shows up, you hightail it to a seedy bar. it is so romantic.
you drink beers and play music on the jukebox. some crackhead sells you a rose. you leave only when he overhears some guy plotting to kill some other guy in the bathroom.on to another bar.
he proposes to you with an onion ring, declares himself smitten. he kisses you on the doorstep. your boyfriend does not come home that night.
you end up sleeping with this guy with the rhyming name. he says he loves you. as sweats on top of you, the ceiling seems to open up, revealing storm clouds and warm air. you feel empty and alone and on the verge of some torture. this is not going to end well.
cold harsh daylight finds you trying to navigate away from his apartment. you get lost, feel sick. end up seeing your mom so you can get a cell phone because the one you got from your boyfriend has been canceled. you got through 22 years without it, but now do not remember how.6 years later you think a land line is probably a good idea. you are tired of being so connected to how often your phone does not ring sometimes.
you get home eventually. your boyfriend gets home,too. you are both so tired from not fucking each other. you take a nap, after it is determined that neither of you had sex with anyone else on the bed. the couch, as i said, had to go.
later, you wake up and go to applebees. you get drunk and get back together. the girl he banged understood, maybe, about you. you never know. you don't bother to screen phone calls or anything. you will stay with this guy for another year and a half. you will leave each other and it will be terrible. the stuffing will be knocked from you. you will forget how to fight after. as for the boy with the rhyming name, you will run into him a few times over the years. you will hook up. he is exhausted. a star collapsing in on itself. he will move close by and then stop calling you. it is for the best. you have finally stopped jerking him around. you do this sometimes. keep people within arms length just to push them.
you never see your boyfriend again, but he is your friend on facebook.
things start to unravel when you find pictures of your boyfriend with a bunch of naked strippers at the strip club his ex works at after you specifically asked him not to go there. the thought of him at any strip club makes you want to douse your head in acid just to distract yourself.
you threaten and then attempt to push him out of your way as you scream scream scream.the neighbors are downstairs, smoking a bowl, elegant eyebrows raised. this is a few years ago, so you did not know the term for them was "hipster" yet.
you and your boyfriend go to applebees, get drunk, hook up, and then decide on the break. suits you just fine. except that you work and live together. so stupid and so young is 22. so you start flirting with this coworker that you love. he is a redhead, and your names rhyme. fate, right? he writes. he is funny. you guys decide to go on a date.
you are so excited! you meet at a local bar. and who is there, as well? your fucking boyfriend. waiting for some chick. he is mad. you are not. the chick looks like a troll, and you look like a playmate, but without the tan or slut gear. your date shows up, you hightail it to a seedy bar. it is so romantic.
you drink beers and play music on the jukebox. some crackhead sells you a rose. you leave only when he overhears some guy plotting to kill some other guy in the bathroom.on to another bar.
he proposes to you with an onion ring, declares himself smitten. he kisses you on the doorstep. your boyfriend does not come home that night.
you end up sleeping with this guy with the rhyming name. he says he loves you. as sweats on top of you, the ceiling seems to open up, revealing storm clouds and warm air. you feel empty and alone and on the verge of some torture. this is not going to end well.
cold harsh daylight finds you trying to navigate away from his apartment. you get lost, feel sick. end up seeing your mom so you can get a cell phone because the one you got from your boyfriend has been canceled. you got through 22 years without it, but now do not remember how.6 years later you think a land line is probably a good idea. you are tired of being so connected to how often your phone does not ring sometimes.
you get home eventually. your boyfriend gets home,too. you are both so tired from not fucking each other. you take a nap, after it is determined that neither of you had sex with anyone else on the bed. the couch, as i said, had to go.
later, you wake up and go to applebees. you get drunk and get back together. the girl he banged understood, maybe, about you. you never know. you don't bother to screen phone calls or anything. you will stay with this guy for another year and a half. you will leave each other and it will be terrible. the stuffing will be knocked from you. you will forget how to fight after. as for the boy with the rhyming name, you will run into him a few times over the years. you will hook up. he is exhausted. a star collapsing in on itself. he will move close by and then stop calling you. it is for the best. you have finally stopped jerking him around. you do this sometimes. keep people within arms length just to push them.
you never see your boyfriend again, but he is your friend on facebook.
when paintings attack
so there was this guy who came in for a few months to the bar where i work. he would come in alone, at first with his phone, and then with a book. he was nice and polite. he drank surly and jameson, ate cheesebread, whatever.
because i am not an idiot and he was not very covert about it, i knew that he was interested, in at least looking at me, as he did so often. he started showing up about once a week, and we got to chatting. he wasn't a bad looking guy and he seemed pretty cool from what i gathered. i had a boyfriend and so wasn't interested outside killing time during the slow time. sometimes, too, when it is busy, these tables are the best. like islands in a hectic storm. it's nice to stop off and know they will not ever need anything major, just more water every once in awhile.
so, one night he shows up with friends, who introduce themselves to me. weird, i don't even know the regular's name, so...we talked a bit more and at this point i am single. nothing happens,though, until a week later when one of his drunk female friends lays it on me that this guy likes me and has been coming in to see me and talks about me and whatever.
exciting, though, not creepy. he isn't a weirdo. just saying.
so, i give him my number, he loses it and makes valiant attempts to retrieve it. does. calls me. we hang out. and that's that. nothing. i am being my usual self. intense but goofy, so whatever. it's never me. he starts opening up about his previous pseudo wife and his very cool kid, and all the problems with money and commitment and suddenly i am very tired. and very glad he has to go do something so that i can just go home.
some men are such fantasists, such idealists, that they hold this weird daydream at the forefront of reality because that which is slightly out of grasp is more interesting than what is in one's arms, i guess. my being real exhausted him. we will be friends, but our equal illusions are shattered. his of Pygmalion, mine of Cyrano.
I try very hard not to take numbers from guys at work. it is not healthy, and there have been a few casualties.It could be worse. i could be dating a coworker.
because i am not an idiot and he was not very covert about it, i knew that he was interested, in at least looking at me, as he did so often. he started showing up about once a week, and we got to chatting. he wasn't a bad looking guy and he seemed pretty cool from what i gathered. i had a boyfriend and so wasn't interested outside killing time during the slow time. sometimes, too, when it is busy, these tables are the best. like islands in a hectic storm. it's nice to stop off and know they will not ever need anything major, just more water every once in awhile.
so, one night he shows up with friends, who introduce themselves to me. weird, i don't even know the regular's name, so...we talked a bit more and at this point i am single. nothing happens,though, until a week later when one of his drunk female friends lays it on me that this guy likes me and has been coming in to see me and talks about me and whatever.
exciting, though, not creepy. he isn't a weirdo. just saying.
so, i give him my number, he loses it and makes valiant attempts to retrieve it. does. calls me. we hang out. and that's that. nothing. i am being my usual self. intense but goofy, so whatever. it's never me. he starts opening up about his previous pseudo wife and his very cool kid, and all the problems with money and commitment and suddenly i am very tired. and very glad he has to go do something so that i can just go home.
some men are such fantasists, such idealists, that they hold this weird daydream at the forefront of reality because that which is slightly out of grasp is more interesting than what is in one's arms, i guess. my being real exhausted him. we will be friends, but our equal illusions are shattered. his of Pygmalion, mine of Cyrano.
I try very hard not to take numbers from guys at work. it is not healthy, and there have been a few casualties.It could be worse. i could be dating a coworker.
don't hate on your waitress
it's always funny to run into people you know and love waiting on in your bar. it really is, if you actually do love them. if not, meh. most of my regulars are couples and chicks. this surprises people to no end as i think they think i perform sex acts on all of my male customers simply because i am a single female. i can pay my rent and bills in 3 shifts. pretty sure i don't need to be giving out handies with every pizza sale.i just don't have the time.
anyway.
a couple i had known about a year was sitting across the bar from me and my friends. they were drunk, but then, so was i. i bought them a few shots, and girl came up to talk to me. "You know, when i first started coming in to BLANK, i really did not want you to wait on us. you were so friendly, it was weird, i thought you were hitting on my boyfriend. you look like the type my boyfriend would leave me for. he sucks, sometimes. but then i realized that you are just nice. sorry. you aren't a slut, but, you know? love you."
i had to sit for a minute after that. sip sip vodka soda.sip. all gone. i remember being with a guy who used to check out waitresses. and baristas. and fucking everything that moved. it made me feel terribly paranoid and insecure. i would call him on it, he would say i was a lunatic. so i get it. but it is not my fault.
if your boyfriend is checking out the server, or if you are just being insecure, well, don't take your shit out on me. i treat everyone the same. i am always in a good mood, and i have never and will never flirt with my customers. i make really good money because i am consistent and thoughtful. not because i am eye candy who will pretend to worship you. this is not a strip club or a sex chat line. i am not getting paid enough hourly to entertain your fantasies, and i am guessing the five bucks you are going to write in as a tip no matter what the bill, will not keep me warm at night.
the uniform is something i have heard comments on from a few females, as well. funny. i was wearing black tights, a black mini skirt, black flats and a fitted black logo tshirt. the girl who made the comment? wearing almost exactly the same outfit. she was just pear shaped, short and a bit flat. so we look a bit different in our outfits, but how can a girl say i look slutty, when we are wearing the same fucking thing? Hey jealousy? sorry, you ain't never gonna look like me.
anyway.
a couple i had known about a year was sitting across the bar from me and my friends. they were drunk, but then, so was i. i bought them a few shots, and girl came up to talk to me. "You know, when i first started coming in to BLANK, i really did not want you to wait on us. you were so friendly, it was weird, i thought you were hitting on my boyfriend. you look like the type my boyfriend would leave me for. he sucks, sometimes. but then i realized that you are just nice. sorry. you aren't a slut, but, you know? love you."
i had to sit for a minute after that. sip sip vodka soda.sip. all gone. i remember being with a guy who used to check out waitresses. and baristas. and fucking everything that moved. it made me feel terribly paranoid and insecure. i would call him on it, he would say i was a lunatic. so i get it. but it is not my fault.
if your boyfriend is checking out the server, or if you are just being insecure, well, don't take your shit out on me. i treat everyone the same. i am always in a good mood, and i have never and will never flirt with my customers. i make really good money because i am consistent and thoughtful. not because i am eye candy who will pretend to worship you. this is not a strip club or a sex chat line. i am not getting paid enough hourly to entertain your fantasies, and i am guessing the five bucks you are going to write in as a tip no matter what the bill, will not keep me warm at night.
the uniform is something i have heard comments on from a few females, as well. funny. i was wearing black tights, a black mini skirt, black flats and a fitted black logo tshirt. the girl who made the comment? wearing almost exactly the same outfit. she was just pear shaped, short and a bit flat. so we look a bit different in our outfits, but how can a girl say i look slutty, when we are wearing the same fucking thing? Hey jealousy? sorry, you ain't never gonna look like me.
porn star, for real?
a girl i know walks into the bar i work with some dude and two other girls. one girl, cleavage, brown tan and acne scars is a bit frumpy, so the eyes slide right by her, as i am sure she is totally used to, what with being friends with the absolute train wreck to her right. miss thaaaaang walks in on stilettos, short skirt, sunglasses and a super plunge top. tan tan tan. makeup, holy shit. she does have good hair,though, and would be very pretty without all the extra shit. she looks like a parody. people are judging her, she has fans and foes. namely a very pretty mousy girl who is sitting with her thug life dipshit boyfriend at the table next to them. pretty mouse is staring at her and laughing, probably uncomfortable that her jaggoff boyfriend cannot seem to prize his eyes away from her cleavage. nothing much happens while porn girl is there. she eats some pizza, drinks some diet cokes, goes to the bathroom 50 times, and has every cook in the kitchen coming out to stare at her. not from lust, more fascination.
so where was i going with this? oh yeah. she looked ridiculous, but i like all people and treat everyone the same, even thuggster and bambi at the table next door who were rude and demanding. the difference between the two tables? porn queen gave me a 25 percent tip. thickwad gave me a 0 percent tip. that is the difference. as soon as you walk out the door, i have forgotten you, unless you make me remember with numbers like that. porn girl is always going to get a smile from me. d bag will have to wait a few extra minutes while i take care of the people that actually don't suck.
so where was i going with this? oh yeah. she looked ridiculous, but i like all people and treat everyone the same, even thuggster and bambi at the table next door who were rude and demanding. the difference between the two tables? porn queen gave me a 25 percent tip. thickwad gave me a 0 percent tip. that is the difference. as soon as you walk out the door, i have forgotten you, unless you make me remember with numbers like that. porn girl is always going to get a smile from me. d bag will have to wait a few extra minutes while i take care of the people that actually don't suck.
pissing whiskey
there is a great bar in NE. in just under two hours, you can go from 0 to spinning for less than 25 bucks. if you can drink 5 whiskeys and stay on you bar stool anyway. i can, just barely. so i played the jukebox. lots nin,stones, the rev, whatever. nursing a non-heart with a guy i shouldn't be sitting next to. whiskey goggles are a bit different from the beer ones. people look worse, i itch for a fight. got one but quickly gave up when i couldn't figure out how to light my cigg without him. apologize and then there was fire. yes. a small victory. he followed me home, because he was driving me there and came inside. spins came with us, too, just for kicks and i was a total waste of space. luckily, it was my space so i kicked him out. moral of this story? next time me and my notebook are going alone. i missed a lot of good dialogue pretending to be interested in some old bullshit.
match dot oy fuckit.
it has been a tough year as far as dating has been going. lotta meat puppets, all i am going to say. no, i will say a few more things, i think. first lets start with the emotionally crippled super nice ocd freak i dated for 7 lovely months. promised the moon the stars and all the candy and booze a girl could ever want. i spent the next six months working off the weight and trying to figure out who i was without all those empty promises clouding my judgement.
turns out, i was a bit of a slag.
not really, just dating for britain. quickly i moved on to a man without a chance in hell of surviving my storm o shit. while i rebounded from ocd-er he rebounded from life. raging and upset most of the time, dude was a total alcoholic who was sliding quickly back to being a fat pot head. abandon ship, yes sir-ee.
next up to bat, a long and tall drink of water who lacked ambition and needed me to hold his hand through bill paying and having a big scary job offer. he quit the job in favor of his bong so i hit the road. I might be a waitress and a student and not a fucking rocket scientist, but i see a future and it does not go on and on with my cats in a darkened room stinking of pot and poptarts.
next up, the guy i just could not stop fighting with. holy shit, did we not get along. like the physical side of things was fine, but i felt like i was covered in needles whenever he was around. one false move, pricked to death. that one went back and forth for a minute until i literally could not stand to stand within a foot of him without feeling creepoed.
Between each of these fantastic jaunts have been flirts and flattering asides where long time patrons have confessed their undying crush for me and i, being the hopeless, and i mean hopeless romantic that i am, was happy to entertain a fantasy where they were not simply trying to get laid by the "dark haired one, you know, tall with big boobs?" i though for sure they saw something deep in me...until yes, i realized that that was exactly what they saw. something deep in me.
many a man, nary a single man will tell me over and over that i am so young and should be out having a whale of a fuck every night of the week. to them all, i say, "not with your dick." so not worth having to wake up in my doll's house sized apartment with some stranger who can't figure out how to toast coffee and doesn't have anything better to do than watch cable reruns while i nurse my hangover back to good health.
on the other hand, i am really sick of introducing myself....
turns out, i was a bit of a slag.
not really, just dating for britain. quickly i moved on to a man without a chance in hell of surviving my storm o shit. while i rebounded from ocd-er he rebounded from life. raging and upset most of the time, dude was a total alcoholic who was sliding quickly back to being a fat pot head. abandon ship, yes sir-ee.
next up to bat, a long and tall drink of water who lacked ambition and needed me to hold his hand through bill paying and having a big scary job offer. he quit the job in favor of his bong so i hit the road. I might be a waitress and a student and not a fucking rocket scientist, but i see a future and it does not go on and on with my cats in a darkened room stinking of pot and poptarts.
next up, the guy i just could not stop fighting with. holy shit, did we not get along. like the physical side of things was fine, but i felt like i was covered in needles whenever he was around. one false move, pricked to death. that one went back and forth for a minute until i literally could not stand to stand within a foot of him without feeling creepoed.
Between each of these fantastic jaunts have been flirts and flattering asides where long time patrons have confessed their undying crush for me and i, being the hopeless, and i mean hopeless romantic that i am, was happy to entertain a fantasy where they were not simply trying to get laid by the "dark haired one, you know, tall with big boobs?" i though for sure they saw something deep in me...until yes, i realized that that was exactly what they saw. something deep in me.
many a man, nary a single man will tell me over and over that i am so young and should be out having a whale of a fuck every night of the week. to them all, i say, "not with your dick." so not worth having to wake up in my doll's house sized apartment with some stranger who can't figure out how to toast coffee and doesn't have anything better to do than watch cable reruns while i nurse my hangover back to good health.
on the other hand, i am really sick of introducing myself....
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