Sunday, August 31

Hey, Whorebag. SHUT IT.

My mom used to tell people I was going to open a home for old men and babies and to hell with everyone else. It's not secret: old women are bitches. I can say this because I will, one day...hopefully, be an old woman; just not a bitchy old woman.

Yesterday at work, one of my tables told me, "I have a complaint about my salad." Greaaat. Of course you do. "We come here three times a year after our long walk and I always get this salad." Wow. Three times, you say? They should make you a silent partner. "I always look forward to it but the quality has gone way down. Look at this lettuce. I don't want it taken off the bill or anything, but we probably won't be back. And I can imagine someone else wouldn't come back after being served this either." Of course I felt badly about it. It was a tad wilted. But to be fair, the lettuce was buried under a pile of cheese, olives and tomatoes. Had I noticed I probably would've said something. Maybe. It is only my second week. I'm trying to make friends with the kitchen people, not enemies.Well, my other table overheard the conversation. I had just dropped off their food when the woman stopped me to tell me about her salad. When I came back out to check on the other table and refill their drinks I asked how everything was. "EVERYTHING IS AS WONDERFUL AS USUAL. MY COMPLIMENTS TO THE CHEF. PLEASE TELL HIM HOW MUCH WE ENJOYED IT." Uh...what the hell lady? Simmer down. Have you ever seen two women in their 60s throw down? I wasn't about to stick around to witness it.

Today, I took baby out right after breakfast to run my errands. I haven't been able to do a thing since school started. Again...what was I thinking? First, we went to Mecca and she fell asleep in the 24 seconds it took to get across the street to Le Bigg's. I tried not to wake her but it never works out that way. She stayed awake the entire time in the grocery screaming and yelling the whole time, waving to everyone. Finally in the check out line she started to fade. There are two conveyors at Bigg's so they can ring up more people, though they require them to bag their own groceries which still holds up the line, I think. The woman on the other side was bagging her things and said, "Oh, mommy. I'm so tired. This shopping thing is hard work. I need a nap." ...Yo. Stranger? You wanna ixnay the commentary? You think I don't know she's over the limit? Do I need to remind you that I have only been out at night FOUR TIMES since she's been born? When in the HELL do you suggest I get this grocery shopping done? Now take your Twinkies and Diet Coke and get out of my face.

Of course, baby woke up when I tried to carry her into the house. She refused to let me lay her in the bed. Frozen bananas, anyone? So I fed her her lunch an hour later and still after a bottle (because I'm having a little milk supply problem I don't want to talk about it so don't mention it to me or I'll cry) she still wouldn't sleep. Read her new favorite book to her five times. No go. Put her in her crib with said book and showered. Still awake when I got out. Put her in her exersaucer to watch Lawrence Welk, her new favorite show, so I could clean the living room. Not tired.
Or at least I thought.

Did I mention how much I love babies?

Saturday, August 30

Far Far Away

I may have mentioned I do not like birds. Actually, I am not a fan of anything that flies. Except for butterflies. I do actually have an affinity for penguins, though I'm pretty sure if I was sitting outside at my favorite restaurant and a penguin came up to me and threw its shit in my face I would despise penguins as well. Luckily for me, this will more than likely never happen.

I have been pooped on five times. I have had birds fly into my hair. I was witness to not one but two baby bird murders. Or suicides. Hard to know for sure. I woke one morning to the sound of banging only to discover a crazed Canadian bird ramming itself into my bedroom window (I know it was Canadian because I looked it up and it's always the Canadians), even though there were visible panes on it and a big ass banner that read "This is a glass window, bird. Here's your sign." Alas, this bird was not bright and it flew into the window for more than 35 minutes leaving blood smears from top to bottom. I do not lie. I finally went outside and yelled STOP! but that bird did not care. I think maybe he was having a bad day. Like I was.

I had a cat bring a live bird into my house only to let it loose in the kitchen where I was calmly eating pancakes at the table. The bird flew right toward me and into the blinds and said cat leapt onto the table to retrieve it. Once, at my old job, I went to walk in the back door and looked down in time to just miss stepping on a bird. It was laying on its side, one eye looking straight up at me. I told my boss that it needed help. "I think it's hurt or something." He said, "It's napping." I said I didn't know a lot about birds, by choice, but I was pretty sure they don't actually lay down in the fetal position to catch some shuteye in the middle of a business restaurant patio. He walked over and stomped near the bird, not on it, and it jumped right up and flew away. What the eff was that bird doing?!? Laying there just to freak me out? Ooh. I was mad.

Then there was the bird that stalked me on that same patio. Followed me around, hopping and opening and closing its beak. It was a huge bird. Not like bald eagle huge. It was a tiny little thing, just as big around as it was tall. It looked...pissed. I told a friend that I thought something was wrong with it. (You might ask why someone who hates birds so much would try so hard to help them. I have no answer.) He followed the bird around until it stopped long enough for him to pick it up. The bird had mass bread trapped in its beak. My friend got a little stick and pried it out of the bird's mouth and then set it free. That is probably the happiest bird I have ever encountered. Of course, if I had a life where I could just fly around and shit all over people's stuff I'd probably be happy too, or at least a little hysterical.

And then there was the pigeon whose nest I knocked out of my window sill two seconds before I saw the eggs in it. I had a window air conditioning unit and pulled the accordion shade to the side and knocked the nest out with a plastic spoon. Once it started to fall I saw three eggs inside it. I felt awful. But that bird had been there for days cooing and fluttering around. I needed sleep. I opened the blinds a smidge to see where the bird had flown off to and was met by two little beady eyes. It was sitting on top of the air conditioner staring into my window. No joke! Right out of a Hitchcock movie.

And lastly, the house I owned that was infested with a century's old nursery colony of bats. I went outside and watched bricks turn into bats like an Escher drawing. I quit counting at 74.

Well, when I was pregnant, I went a little overboard with the Save the Animals movement. I was forever carrying spiders upstairs that had gotten lost in the bathtub. Catching moths and inevitably crushing them as I tried to set them free. Well, one night there was this gigantic fly in the house. I tried forever to get it. My mother even tried to knock it off her incredibly high ceiling with a towel. It was pointless. Well, the next morning my mother told me the fly had died. I was sad. Turns out it had fallen into the water I'd forgotten to drain out of the sink after doing the dishes. Rats. (Since I had baby though, I have decided that anything that can potentially land on her and piss her off must die.)

Well, its ghost is haunting me now. I just spent the last 20 minutes trying to get a damn fly out of my refrigerator. It flew in as I was filling my glass with water. I was beating everything in there with a near empty roll of papertowels. I managed to hit one of the refrigerator light bulbs, first making it super bright, which made me very happy, and then blowing it out, which made me very sad. I would've killed it in there with a magazine and thrown away all the food and smeared the little fly remains on my front door just to prove a point, but I didn't. It is now making the rounds in my apartment. I'll probably eat it in my sleep. I do kind of feel sorry for the little fella. Like I was telling a friend who told me she saw maggots in her garbage can feasting on some raw chicken "It must suck to be a fly. First you start off as a disgusting maggot and then BAM! A second chance at life only to become a huge asshole. And you eat poop. And every time you land to take a little rest...you vomit. Nobody likes you. Ever. "

Eh. Not my problem.

Friday, August 29

Can You Just Eat This Instead?

Didn't get a lot of sleep last night, therefore work sucked today. The kitchen guys screwed up two of my orders. I still have trouble getting things right so at least don't screw up even more for me.
I don't know what I was thinking going back to school, working and trying to parent a child all by myself. The manager asked me today if I could do a double tomorrow, "stay til 9 o'clock or so." No. I cannot be at work for 11 hours and then go home and try to be a nice mommy. Sorry. Not happening. I'm sure Michael Phelps mom could do it. She's a better woman than I.

I did learn today that two of the cooks live in the house I lived in when I was a kid. One of them sleeps in my old room. They said I could stop by and bring my daughter. It would be interesting to see if it is exactly as I remember it. I was four, five and six years old. I still remember the kitchen, the bathroom upstairs, all the bedrooms. I remember going there to sign the lease with my mom. I remember my cousin standing at my dresser looking into a mirror and pushing on the arches of her eyebrows willing them to perfection. I remember waking up the next morning under my bed, having fallen out during the night and somehow missing the cot that my other cousin was sleeping on nearby. I remember my birthday party and having tacos and all the fixings in a separate bowl. Getting my Andy Gibb record. I can picture my mom slipping down the back stairs and my dad showing up minutes later with pineapple shakes. I remember asking my mom to pull my tooth while she was ironing. I braided my uncle's hair. I sat on the front swing and memorized the entire kindergarten play I was in, not just my part but everyone else's as well. My aunt taught me the words to Witchy Woman on that swing. I had a bunny named Christmas and a rocking horse in the basement. I remember a dream I had there; the first dream I thought had really happened when I woke up the next morning.

One of the kitchen guys said, "You and your daughter can spend the night in your old room if you want."

I said, "How about you guys babysit and I go out?"

He said, "That's cool, too." And as I exited the kitchen I heard him say, "You still have to come back and get her."

I might take a friend with me. Just sayin'.

Thursday, August 28

Oh My CRAP!

Pardon me while I try to pull myself out from underneath a pile of books. Good Lord.

First of all, let me start by saying, if you're going to admit 10,000 more students you're going to need more than two ways into the parking lots.

My biology teacher is a mess. We're her first class. Ev. Er. She should not be teaching. She did research for years at a cancer hospital. I think she actually called it Cancer Hospital. Hmm. Not sure about that one. Well, she can do. She shouldn't be teaching. (Ooh...that is mean. Especially since I'm going to be a teacher...but it's true. At least in this case.) The first day of class she had us go around and tell her why we were taking the class. One girl said, "I'm a psychology major and a neuroblahblahblah minor and I'm taking this because I'm premed and I'm fulfilling my medical requirements." Verbatim. After class we had lab and the same girl, whose name I would love to post because it's so outrageous, said, "This class is too simple. I could graduate now and I've only been here two years. At least this class will raise my grade point average." It made me irrationally happy today when the girl told the teacher she had no clue what she was talking about.

Today was the worst! We sat down and the teacher put some overhead sheets on the board. She said, "Okay. Chapter 2." We all looked around at each other like she was crazy. Someone said, "Did you do Chapter 1?" She said, "Well, I touched on the high points." Uh...what? I'm pretty sure all we did was go over the syllabus. There was a boy in the back who kept asking questions, and by "in the back" I mean in the fourth row because on the first day the teacher asked "Can you all move up to the first three or four rows so I don't have to project my voice?" Uh...lady? Projecting your voice is like Teacher Move #3 in the How to Be a Good Teacher Manual. The first day she looked like Laura Ingalls. Today she looked like Debbie Does Dallas.

Anyhoo, the boy asked her a question about something she had on the overhead:
Isotopes of hydrogen
Tritium is an important radioisotope of hydrogen often used in scientific experiements.

Boy: What kind of scientific experiments?
Teacher: I don't know.
Rest of the class: *crickets*

Finally, at the end of class, the same boy said, "It's like you're speaking French. I don't know what you're talking about." She said, "I can talk to you after class." Okay. We'll all just stay. She said, "Did you read the chapter?" He said, "No. I don't have a book yet, they're still out at the bookstore." She said, "Just be sure to read the chapters." So finally I said, "So, we're supposed to read the chapter and then come here so you can just read it back to us?" I felt bad about it, but COME ON! I don't have time to teach myself this class. I have a gazillion other things to worry about and I paid her salary. She needs to do it. Oh yeah. And she didn't find out she was hired until the day before school started.

The only highlight is there's a girl in the class named Immerse. Or something.

Monday, August 25

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right

Day 1-3: the roach...let's call it..."situation"

Day 4: tiny mouse ran through dining room before open, lost it; told "it can't hurt you"; yes...the plague was a media hyped political propaganda

Day 5: deaddeaddead mouse under freezer. All days: fruit fly galore; entrees microwaved before delivery for extra heat; friend enlightened me, this technique is referred to as Chef Mic (Mike).


Would you stay? Get a new job?

Thursday, August 21

Things I Learned Today

Mention you see a couple of roaches and the exterminator will be there within 24 hours. Thank God.

It's best to say 'yes' when male coworkers ask you if you have a boyfriend.

My coworker has "abnormal periods"and has to fill a $75 prescription. The new guy learned this as well. As did the wine rep. And three guys at the bar. And the bartender.

I work with a man who looks and sounds just like Dave Chappelle. And a woman who looks and sounds just like Wanda Sykes. It would be rude to tell them this, I fear. But they may start to wonder why I think everything they say is HILARIOUS.

My daughter is the friendliest child I've ever met. Somehow she learned how to share.

My daughter is the squirreliest child I've ever met. Somehow she learned how to get out of the belt of her high chair. She also figured out how to stand up out from under the tray. She also learned that when she turns around to face the back of the chair and hangs one leg over the side her mother screams.

Ohio, in fact, does NOT charge tax on their groceries like someone told me a while ago. I would like to apologize to Ohio on behalf of myself and the profanities I may or may not have uttered under my breath.

If I have cookies in the house, I will eat them all in under 24 hours.

Things I Will Learn Tomorrow...if Smartfood popcorn will ruin me and the baby.

Wednesday, August 20

Blame It On the Rain

Dooce recently had a POLL asking people to list their Top Five. You know...the Top Five. The Top Five famous people you would sleep with and by sleep with I don't mean sleep with, if you know what I mean.

I could not choose only five. What can I say? Maybe if there were only five famous people, but there are not so I can choose however many I want. I make the rules, dammit.

I chose:

1. Casey Affleck and Ben Affleck
2. Jude Law and James McAvoy
3. Michael Vartan and Raoul Bova
4. Luke Wilson and Owen Wilson
5. Snoop Dogg and Dave Matthews

It's all about the voice. And looks like all about the threesome, which would be weird and disturbing since two pairs of them are related. Could get...awkward.

Then I have Top Five Fictionals:

1. Steve Brady, Sex and the City
2. Doc Holiday, Tombstone
3. Michael Vaughn, Alias
4. Benjamin Barry, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
5. Jason Bourne, any of the Bourne movies. Duh.

Michael Vartan makes the list in real life and in fiction. The fact that he's French still blows my mind.

Top Five His Mother Would Kill Me:

1. Michael Phelps
2. Daniel Radcliffe
3. Ryan Gosling
4. and 5. I'll let them get a little older.


There were a lot of women choosing women on the original post. If I had to choose Top Five Women:

1. Penelope Cruz
2. Jennifer Garner
3. Salma Hayek
4. Alessandra Ambrosio
5. Rachel McAdams

Top Five I'm Just Asking for Trouble:

1. Johnny Knoxville
2. Eminem
3. Pharrell
4. Rob Lowe
5. Robert Downey Jr.

Top Five They're Probably Gay but I Don't Give a Crapola:
1. Topher Grace
2. Anderson Cooper
3. Tom Cruise (from the A Few Good Men era)
4. Hugh Jackman
5. Neil Patrick Harris

And the Top Five If I Could Go Back in Time:

1. Levon Helm (He's not gone, he's just too old, even for me.)
2. JFK, Jr
3. Robert Redford
4. Heath Ledger
5. Frank Sinatra

These are in no particular order. Are you kidding?

Who are yours?

LeRoi Moore

Davematthewsband.com

I am heartbroken.

Bartender


And if I go, before I'm old
Oh brother of mine, please don't forget me if I go
And if I die, before my time
Oh sweet sister of mine, do not regret me if I die

Bartender, please fill my glass for me
With the wine you gave Jesus
That set Him free after three days down

Bartender, please fill my glass deep for me
With the wine you gave Jesus
That set Him free after three days down

On bended knees, I pray, Bartender please
On bended knees, God please

Oh, and if this gold, should steal my soul away
Oh mother of mine, please redirect me if this gold...

Bartender, please fill one up for me
Of the kind you gave Jesus
That set Him free after three days down

On bended knees, I pray, Bartender please
On bended knees, Bartender please

...Carry the One

Saw a giant roach at work again yesterday. In the back where they keep the boxes for the fountain soda hook-up. I thought oh, it's probably just the same one from yesterday making his rounds...then I remembered that one met the ugly end of a steel toed boot. So, let's see. That's makes two giant roaches. And that makes one less server eating their food at 50% off.

I used to frequent the establishment many years ago, a.k.a., get my drink on. When I think of all the meals I ate there...fountain drinks I had there...ewww.

I did screw up one table's order. I warned you I would. I thought these dudes wanted a grilled chicken sandwich with a side spinach salad. Alas, that was not the case. They wanted the spinach salad with grilled chicken. Whatever. How was I supposed to know? Honestly, I haven't had five minutes to even look over the menu there and they have about four zillion items. I haven't filled out any paperwork yet and haven't clocked in ever. I may walk down there this afternoon to see if I can do it before tomorrow morning.

I am still dyyyyyying to go out and buy school supplies. I think I will go up to school today and look at my books. Touch them. Smell them. Say hello to them. I want to see how heavy they will be to carry around all day long. I want to see how I look in a full-length mirror holding my books and raising my hand.

I have to go to my old job on Friday and pick up my last paycheck. I am sure if there was any tip for me last Saturday, it is long gone. I got a call yesterday from a girl I worked with; she wanted to know if I'd been getting a lot of massages. She had gone on vacation and had given written and verbal notice of the dates she would be gone and when she would get back. They called her on a Tuesday and left a voice mail that she had a massage the next day at 1 p.m. She got the message that morning at 5 a.m. while sitting in an airport in New Hampshire. She called and told them she wouldn't be there and that she had told The Debil's husband she wouldn't be back until the following day. Since then she's gotten two massages and a lot of attitude. I warned her. But she no listen.

I am so mad at myself for not having quit that job sooner. I could already have been making good money and screwing up orders at work for months now.

Monday, August 18

Oh...It's You.

Well, I did it. I had organic half and half in my coffee this morning. And was in the bathroom in under 7 minutes. Tonight, I had dinner with a dear dear friend who I don't see as often as I would like. We split two appetizers: chicken tenders, I had barbeque sauce, she had ranch dressing; and loaded potato skins with sour cream. Let me just tell you about my love of the loaded potato. Many years ago, before I knew what was what, I would always order a house salad and loaded baked potato whenever I went out to eat. It was perfect for me. The salad was crunchy and had lovely little croutons on it. The potato had crispy bacon and cheese and onions; right there, four of my favorite food items. (My mom said I could eat an onion like an apple when I was a kid.) Salad was cold. Potato was hot. It went perfectly with my Kahlua and cream. I'll hold while you finish laughing.

Anyhoo, it never failed. I couldn't leave a restaurant without having to go to the bathroom. Whenever I would go out to eat with my parents, my dad would say, "You want to check out the bathroom now or later?" while we were waiting to be seated. It was awful. My whole life has been one restaurant bathroom after another. Road trips? Frequent stops. Camping? Forget it. I know where all the good bathrooms are here and in NYC. I've had many an embarrassing moment in my life. My honeymoon to name one, though I'll spare you the details. It's...horrifying. I've only told four people and I bet they wish I hadn't.

So when I look back over my life, dairy has been a real killer. I always thought it was just part of being me. But since I cut out dairy back in October, I haven't had any embarrassing moments, except for a close call when I'd eaten something that had dairy in it and I didn't realize it. People have been telling me for months to eat it so she'll get used to it. Every time I had it before she would get sick. She'd break out in a rash all over her body that looked like she'd been burned with cigarettes, and she would scream all night long. If I ate something that was prepared on equipment shared with milk or peanuts she would have a reaction.

Well, it's been three hours since I had the potato skins. They stayed in me for all of 20 minutes and now baby has a horrible phelgmy thing going on in the back of her throat and it's making her cough. I'm not sure if it's related to the half and half and cheese and sour cream or if it is just a coincidence.

I'm going to have to say, I felt the same way today that I always felt after eating dairy, even though nothing makes me happier than a glass of super cold milk poured over ice. I think that I'm just going to have to skip the cheese and ice cream and all things I love so much. I will use half and half in my coffee for a while. See if that doesn't start to agree with me. I do miss Fage yogurt with pineapple and honey. Maybe I'll try that out again.

So, I'll update you on the baby's skin condition tomorrow or the next day. Hopefully she's okay. The guilt is making me feel all Catholic.

Would You Like A Side of Bitch With That?

Started training at my new job today. It only took me about 15 minutes after we opened to have the kitchen guys wrapped around my fingers. I'm just that good. I had taken some dirty dishes back and stopped by to ask them if they wanted something to drink. One guy almost fell into the fryer. He said, "Girl. You've been here less than an hour and you've already beaten everyone else. These people have been here for years and no one has ever asked us if we wanted something to drink. Just a lot of where's my food and what's taking so long. Girl. You can have anything you want, you just ask for it." This kind of pissed off one of the other servers who quickly yelled, "That's not true. We ask you all the time if you need anything," to which he replied, "No you do not." I left the kitchen.

The guy who trained me didn't realize I was going to be there today, so he was a little irritated, I think. He ended up getting a really crappy section, probably so we would have time together where he could show me how to do everything. Needless to say, he didn't make any money. And he made it no secret. I felt bad about it but he still made tips. Not me. He'll live.

Now, I've been working in restaurants around here since 1993. And I have never seen a roach. Honestly, I think I saw my first roach in NYC. No lie. I'd seen them dead at the zoo behind glass, but never a live one. I think I'd remember that. And also that those little bastards fly. Was not prepared for that. Well, I saw one today in the kitchen. It was carrying a huge tray of food over toward the sink. I had my hands full and got the dishwasher's attention. I said, "There is a giant bug about to jump you." He turned and stomped on it. Now, I could have done that, sure. I know they have to be killed, I guess. I don't know many people who would scoop up a roach and carry it outside so that it can be free. But I do not want to feel myself kill something. I remember in NY (I really miss NY, so you'll probably get super sick of me writing about it), I saw a roach on the espresso machine and I was trying to kill it with the drink tray. One of the owners, who was also a bartender, said, "What are you doing?" I said, "Trying to kill this roach." He came over and killed it with a napkin. They're so...crunchy. I'm a hypocrite. I let spiders loose when I find them inside, and I pray flies commit suicide, but man...roaches must die. Just not by my hands.

Before I left, one of the servers came up and said, "Before you leave, will you sweep the floor? It'll only take 30 seconds." My first thought was...and that's why you have roaches. I didn't mind and was about to do it. I mean, it is only sweeping after all. But then the guy who trained me came up and said, "Here. I'll do that. Don't listen to him. He's just like you but he thinks he's everyone's boss. He's not allowed to tell you what to do." I would've totally done it.

I think I'll like it, roaches and all. I'll just only order foods that are white or beige if I ever eat there, which probably won't happen since you only get 50% off your meals when you work which I find to be a crock. And it's just now that I realized I forgot to eat breakfast. And lunch. Ahh...yes. The life of a server. Funny how you just fall right back into it.

Saturday, August 16

Happy Days Are Here Again

I quit my job yesterday!! Yay!

Okay. Before you freak out...I got another job right before I quit. I walked down the street to see if a certain restaurant was hiring. Right after I filled-out my application, a girl came in and asked if they were hiring and took two applications. Talk about luck. I was hired on the spot and start training on Monday. I will say this...while I'm quite friendly and do everything I can to make sure my customers have a wonderful time I am sort of the Rachel Green of servers. I've been known to jolt upright in the middle of the night only to exclaim, "Oh my God. I forgot to take that guy extra dressing!" Oh well, hopefully my charm will make up for never refilling their drinks. (Totes kidding. Stop writing the hate mail.)

So, needless to say, today was my last day in hell; last day with The Debil. Woo hoo! When I quit yesterday it went surprisingly well. The Debil's husband was quite nice and wished me luck. The Debil didn't know until after I left and when I went in today she breathed her fiery breath and tricked me into telling her where I'll be working. Dammit. They're probably going to call and tell them horrid lies about me. I'm sure it will be okay. Restaurants are filled with the din of inappropriateness. Ever been in a restaurant kitchen? Not known for its modesty. If you're not being sexually harassed in a restaurant kitchen, you may want to look for a new job, or at the very least...not eat at work. Besides everyone knows: cute=flirting, ugly=sexual harassment.

And now I'm back to wearing all black. For God sake people!! This does not make you FANCY!! Why can't people just wear their own clothes? Be comfortable. Then you'll feel better and therefore be happier. Or perhaps a nice bright color like red? Or orange? Matching blacks is the bane of my existence. It is a pox on the world of fashion.

Well, that is my exciting news for the day. Oh, well there is one little PSA I would like to make to any men who might be reading this. Yesterday, baby and I were on our way to Mecca. I looked down at the car next to me as we were pulling through the light and saw the driver staring up at me. I politely ignored him, even though he looked like Adrian Grenier. He drove right next to me without passing me until we came to a stop at a traffic light. He yelled from his car, "Will you let me in there?" and pointed in front of my Jeep. I said, "Maybe." He smiled and said, "So, I guess that means you're not married." I didn't know what he was talking about and then realized he had been looking at my hand, since I had my arm hanging out the window which I normally don't like to do since some horrible person told me years ago about a boy who had his arm chopped off by someone wielding an ax in another car. I said, "No. I'm not married." He smiled and said, "Cool." I said, "It means I was giving you the finger." He laughed, pulled in front of me and waved. And drove on as I turned. Not that I would've dated this guy, but this has actually happened to me before and even though I appreciate the little ego boost...um WHO CAN MEET PEOPLE IF YOU'RE DRIVING 50 MILES PER HOUR? Dumbass.

Thursday, August 14

Barefoot in the Park

video


Family tradition #1.

P.S. I'm Sorry. Don't Be Mad. You're Pretty?



When I say I love you I mean I really really really love you more than chocolate and salsa and Frank Sinatra, but mommy needs some dairy in her life, so please forgive me but the next time I'm at the grocery--even though I told you to always listen to yours--I'm going to ignore my inner voice that is screaming and trying to convince me I am the worst mother in the world for even considering buying half and half for my coffee and I'm just going to put the tiny carton in my cart and walk away from my reflection in the glass, before I see horns sprouting out of my head.




Please understand. After 11 months, me no likey soy creamer.

One...Singular Sensation.


Happy Birthday!

I can't believe it's been a year. Well, at 10.53 a.m. it will be a year ago today I met you.



You have been the absolute light of my life. It has been fun and hard (really hard) but I wouldn't change a thing. I've always been a night owl, but you can stay up later than I can. I've never been a morning person, and you wake up with the sun. I have become a new person. Thanks to you.



I always considered myself a laid-back girl. Go with the flow. Never worried too much about anything really important. Everything happens for a reason. You changed all that. There isn't a second that goes by when I'm not thinking of how to protect you for the rest of my life. Horrible crazy thoughts hit me like a Mack truck. Honestly, if I'd known how much I'd love you I don't know that I would've had you. It's trite, but I had no idea I had so much love inside me. Sure...there have been men; my dad, your father, Ralph Macchio.... But if this is what being in love is supposed to feel like, then it hasn't happened for me until now.

I have so many dreams for your life, but mostly I just want you to be happy and loved. Just be your wonderful brilliant self and always listen to your inner voice. Know that I love you more than you'll ever know, until perhaps you have a child one day. Then you'll realize why I didn't let you go to that party, or let you get your ears pierced, or didn't let you have that toy you just thought you couldn't live without.

Everyday you continue to amaze me. And one day, you may resent me and think that some things are all my fault. Who knows what the future holds for us? But at least I can say, for the first year of your life...you were mine. All mine.

Have a wonderful day, my beautiful girl.

Wednesday, August 13

I Am a Genius. Give Me My Millions.

Only brilliant things come from my person.

With each passing day I get more pissed that my work lets clients just wander in any time they feel like it. Have an appointment at 10 a.m.? Show up instead at 11.15 a.m.? No problem! We'll rearrange everyone's schedule so you can get all of your services. No...no...really. It's fine. These people are prisoners, see? It's okay.

Well, I think that if you show up 25 minutes late for your 50 minutes massage then you should have to pay full-price, but you can only get a thirty minute massage. If you decide when you arrive that you'd rather not have a massage and would instead like a haircut, then you still need to pay for said massage. You cancel altogether in under 24 hours you pay full price and don't get the massage at all. No, you cannot come on another day claiming you've prepaid. This all may sound harsh, and I even think it is a bit much, but when you're trying to feed a tiny person and you're expecting to make a certain amount of money everyday and then you get a phone call that everyone has canceled at the last minute...I get rawther upset.

Where I used to work, they did implement the above rules. I complained. I hated telling people they had to pay for their sister's pedicure even though she couldn't possibly have known she was going to be in labor and wouldn't be able to make it in for her service. Actually, they may have made an exception in that case, with a doctor's note and live feed from the delivery room.

So, here is my brilliant plan. How many haircuts does someone get a year? Five? Six? Someone normal. Not someone like me who just today got their first haircut since October. Have clients pay ahead of time. You get a ten percent discount on each haircut and then if you don't show up, half is deducted from your package. It's like a gym membership. One that you will actually show up for. Think of how many people have prepaid for a gym membership each month and end up only going once or twice. That way, I get paid and you learn your lesson.

I'm feeling all Sopranos and shit.

Monday, August 11

Things That Make You Go...You Know....

1) I had a dream last night that a girl who rode my school bus in elementary school claimed to be pregnant with Keanu Reeves' baby. Brad Pitt heard about it and accepted responsibility for the unborn child and stated that it would have his last name. I was hanging out with Keanu at the time, though I think he was disguised as a 5'6" blond guy. We knew it wasn't his baby, but what could you do. The article was already on people.com, full of spelling errors, mind you.

2) The fireworks at the Olympic opening ceremonies were faked. This makes me so happy. Please, please bring these digital geniuses here for the baseball games and Labor Day fireworks. I believe fireworks to be the biggest waste of money in the history of wastes of money. I wish them all to be fake. And silent.

3) My boss told me the other day that my daughter "is beautiful." Thank you. "Does she look like her father?"

4) It is taking every part of my being not to run out and go school shopping. I want to buy folders, pens, pencils, notebooks, Post-Its, binders, binder section dividers, sheet protectors, hole reinforcing stickers, a book bag, a new fall coat, new fall flats, dresses, skirts, long sleeved henleys, a hat, fingerless gloves, long sweaters, Frye Campus boots, a hot/cold Sigg bottle, whiskey colored handbag, sunglasses....

5) The restaurant where I worked in NYC was featured in a cable show. I saw it yesterday. Funny how they made no mention of the rats running around, particularly the tomcat sized one I nearly passed on the stairs heading down to the basement. Or the roaches which lived in the espresso machine. I told them they needed a new one. "If you all would clean it like you're supposed to, there wouldn't be roaches." "Well, no one is going to go near it if it's full of roaches." I didn't bother to mention the ones living under the bar, which was his area to clean. I don't think I'd ever seen a roach before I moved to New York. I can honestly say, it never got easier. I can also say...that restaurant has since been shut down by the health department. Only the bar remains open. If they only knew....

Saturday, August 9

My First Threesome

Worked today. Had 10 o'clock and twelve o'clock clients. My first client was twenty minutes late. Lost, per normal. The receptionists always tell people we're on Madison. I don't know why they do that. The front door faces and the parking lot entrance opens on Vista. Saying we're on Madison when there isn't even a sign is absurd. No one can ever find us.

So the client wanders in and flat out asks what is involved in an hour massage. People who are late, and know they're late, always do this. Do you people think I'm stupid? I know you've looked at your watch. And just because you were lost doesn't mean you're allowed to still have your full hour. Sorry. We have a schedule, though you wouldn't know it from the receptionists' and owners' perspectives. I know you're going to time me and check your watch when you leave, so don't think I'm not onto your game.

After my first massage I went into the Whatever Area. I don't know what the hell to call it. The Place Where We Eat and Keep Purses. I was reading a magazine from home when one of the nail techs came back to tell me her client decided against having the pedicure and so they were moving her massage up so she wouldn't have to sit around for an hour. I had a break so of course I could do it, even though it's already a quarter after eleven. I said, "She's actually not my client." She said, "Yeah. They told me to give her to you." So my friend who was supposed to be coming in to massage this lady at noon was called and told not to come in. I said, "This makes me uncomfortable. I'm stealing money from her. And that means they'll do it to me one day." The nail tech said, "Oh, they do this all the time."

When I arrived at work I saw that my 1 p.m. client was down for a 4 Hand Massage. Since I don't have four hands, I went to ask who was assisting me. We've never had one of these before, at least not in the 10 months I've been there. When the other massage therapist arrived we discussed our game plan. Twenty minutes on the legs and back, switch places and ten more minutes on legs and back. Turn her over; twenty five minutes on the front. Done.

Here I'm thinking if there's going to be a two-on-one scenario played out here today it's going to be me, Jude Law and Michael Vartan.

Turns out this massage was a gift to the client. Who buys someone a four handed massage? A pervert. Who gets a four handed massage? Someone who is very uncomfortable and nervous and perhaps a little creepy. Who enjoys doing four handed massages? Me! omg It's my new favorite!

I have had my license for eight years. Never have I enjoyed a massage so much. It was so fun having someone else in the room with me besides the client. I had company. We didn't chat or anything, but it was great communication nonetheless. Watching each other and keeping track of our minutes. I wanted to wave at her and make funny faces, but I restrained myself.

I highly recommend the massage if you are near any spas that offer it. And let me know what you think.

Bright Light. Crap City.

I cannot believe I haven't written about this. Nearly a month ago, the law office next door fixed their outdoor security light. There is a sidewalk and some landscaping between my apartment and their side entrance. I got in bed one night and thought what light is on? I laid there trying to figure out what was different about the lighting in my bedroom. It was lit up like Las Vegas. I noticed the light on the side of the law office. Has it been there all along? I have blinds on my windows, but no curtains. No one in the building has curtains.

I could barely sleep. Poor baby was restless all night long. I called the law office the next morning. I said, "Hi. I live next door and I have a question about the new light on the side of your building. Is is a security motion detector or will the thing be staying on all night long?" The woman said, "Hold on for one moment please." A couple of seconds later, someone picked up the phone and said, "May I help you?" I said, "Uh...a woman was helping me." She said, "You've been transferred to me." I freaking hate that. Tell me you're transferring me if you think I'm some crazy person who needs to be 'dealt' with, don't just transfer me without warning. It's rude.

I asked my question again. She said, "It will be on all night." I said, "I wish I'd had some warning. It was high noon in my bedroom all night long. I have a baby who has enough trouble sleeping." She said, "Well, the light has always been there. We just fixed it yesterday." Um...lady...what the eff is that supposed to mean? Because it's been hanging unlit on the side of the building for years I should already be used to its light that is bright as the sun? It WASN'T WORKING hence NO LIGHT. I wanted to say, "Oh well, then. I've always had this BB gun and I like to pick people off from my kitchen window. I've always had it, only I just got the bullets, so no complaining when I shoot you in the ass."

I said, "Well, I guess I'm going to have to get curtains." She said, "Maybe you didn't realize, there have been homeless people sleeping between our buildings," in a very low whisper. You know...the homeless...the way idiotic people lower their voices to say...the Mexicans...or...the blacks. This woman is clearly afraid of men sleeping in the hastas using styrofoam cups as pillows. I informed her we have had a homeless person sleeping in our vestibule. She said, "Oh." Yeah. Oh. So now, not only are the homeless unable to sleep, but I can't sleep and I have a home.

I had a friend come over and help me hang curtains. They work fine but look ridiculous. I need two more panels, but I got these for $25 on sale. I'm not spending $100 on curtains. I'm not Liberace. I have been looking for cheap ones and found some at Kmart for $17. So I can't take these down until I have the other ones to put up. I'll get them this weekend, I think. And some quality sleep, I hope.

Friday, August 8

It's me, yo. Word. http://wordle.net/

  

You Got Your B.O. On My Deodorant. You Got Your Deodorant On My B.O.

I have been having the worst time trying to find a good deodorant. Years ago, I used things like Secret and my dad's Right Guard (for school dances and when I wore something sleeveless). It always worked fine and did me well during dance class, gymnastics and cheerleading practice. But that was before all the uproar over aluminum and parabens and high-fructose corn syrup. I know they don't put the latter in deodorant, but I bet they just haven't thought of it yet.

I did use some Degree for men at my Pilates class a few years back. I had forgotten to put mine on before I left the house. There was a hot guy in my class on the Reformer next to me. I finally said, "Derek. You smell fantastic. What cologne are you wearing?" He said, "I don't wear cologne. Or deodorant." Hmm. So turned back to the business at hand and after a few bicep curls I realized that it was I who smelled so delicious. I smelled like the hottest guy I'd ever imagined. I nearly wanted to sleep with myself and never talk to me again.

Alas, that deodorant too had horrible things in it. So off to Wild Oats I went in the hopes of finding a natural deodorant that didn't make me smell like a lazy college student. I tried Tom's of Maine. Disgusting. And it made yellow stains in the pits of all my fucking white shirts and made me smell like I hadn't bathed in weeks. What is the point of that? I said I didn't want to smell like a hippie, even though I so totally am a hippie. Like a friend says, we're not Town & Country. We're Town & Crunchy.

Back to Wild Oats I went. This time I found a scent that was called Lazy College Student, if I remember correctly. It was bergamot, patchouli, pot and tangerine or something. I was putting my groceries in my car and looked up when I heard a woman yelling, "Miss! You forgot your deodorant!!" I yelled back, "NO I DIDN'T! IT'S NATURAL. IT'S SUPPOSED TO MAKE YOU SMELL LIKE POO!"

I forgot to take the deodorant into the house when I dropped off the groceries. I went to Pilates that day and saw it still sitting in the passenger seat. I decided to put some on before going in to class. About 20 minutes later, my left armpit was on fire. It was the first pit I had swiped the deodorant on in the car. I went to the bathroom and OMG!! if I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have believed it. I burned my armpit with that damned natural deodorant. A wide bright red burn. It was the most painful thing I've had happen to me since I got a lip wax once and didn't realize medicated face treatment would also remove four layers of skin. Needless to say, that deodorant went to the back of the shelf with the Tom's.

So for the past few years I have been trying all different kinds of deodorant. The last successful brand was Trader Joe's Cotton deodorant. I guess it's supposed to smell like cotton, whatever the hell that smells like; clouds and dreams? It worked pretty well for a few months, but then one day...FAIL. I mentioned this to a friend who told me her mother had gone to a wonderful store downtown Cincinnati called Park+Vine. They have this Thai crystal deodorant stick that she had really been enjoying. She has had just as much trouble as I have trying not to stink up our general vicinity. So , of course, I rushed down to buy it. Dan, the owner, told me he uses the spray bottle but I could just see me getting that crap in my eyes or as I'm sure that what bit of mist didn't land on me would no doubt create a sticky layer of crud on my bathroom floor. He told me when using the stick to put it on when I'm still wet, right out of the shower. So I did that. Rubbing rubbing rubbing. I couldn't see anything going on me. No milky residue building up. I just had to assume it was going on and staying on.

Cut to a few days later. Apply crystal. Immediately smell funk. What the hell? There is B.O. on my crystal and I can't get it off. And it smells like...Bangkok Bistro. Is that what a Thai crystal is supposed to smell like? Pad Thai? I didn't realize. They should sell it on a scale of 1 to 10. How spicy would you like to be? Hmm...let's see...how about a 6?

I would love to try to go without deodorant but I don't think August is the month to attempt this as it's hotter than a dog's balls outside. Maybe November? That's a good month. Until then, I guess I'll just keep piling on four different kinds of natural deodorant stick and pray to the gods I don't hear someone, as I'm walking past, say ooh...I'm suddenly in the mood for curry.

Wednesday, August 6

Whoever Said Half the Fun is Getting There Has Never Been Here

I am torn. I don't know what to do about my job. Oh...it sucks something awful. Something like durian or black licorice or the underside of a toilet bowl lid. Nevertheless, I have to work at least some while I'm in school. The schedule at work is very flexible but the owners are awful human beings who have no children and no education and therefore no clue what it takes to successfully tackle one let alone both. The money won't be steady, meaning I won't have a clue how much I'll be making every two weeks. And they are closed on Mondays now, so I could get a serving job on Monday and do massages Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. I could even serve somewhere on Sunday nights, too. But that wouldn't leave a whole lot of time for studying. I will probably have to juggle a MWF class to accommodate my work schedule. I registered late so I got stuck with the crap classes. Next semester will be much better because I have tons of hours having already completed a bachelor's degree. I'll be first to register. Yay! FINALLY. Something to look forward to.

The last time a girl at work announced she was going to go to school for nursing she was treated terribly and eventually fired by The Debil who said, "I get the feeling you don't like me, so why don't you just leave?" This was probably true but only because The Debil would stand around and talk about her while she was within earshot. She does this to everyone. She will also ask you the same question over and over again. I can't decide if she's hoping for a different answer or if she just has no recollection of already pretending she really gives a shit. My friend who was the most recent target of their high school antics ended up quitting last Tuesday, which is exactly what The Debil has been trying to have happen for months. And the only other friend I have there wants to leave. That would be terrible.

This place is in a very wealthy neighborhood, yet for some reason these people can't tip for their services. I have been informed that The Debil will take tips at the end of the night to make up for discrepancies in the drawer or she'll take them if she feels your tip was too large. At my old job, I lived off my tips. The owners said that some people just don't tip. They also said that employees don't get discounts on products because we make enough in tips. Crazy bastards.

I did apply for a job at Starbuck's...the day before they decided to close 600 stores and lay-off 12,000 people. I need something that will let me be flexible since baby's daycare closes at 5 p.m.

Argh. I need to figure it out soon. Dear Lord, please let the perfect solution fall out of the sky. Please don't let it fall on me while I'm carrying the baby. Or on her crib. Or on my car.