It's the wee sma's. I am bagged. I worked until 2 last night, slept four-ish hours and got up to work at 7 this morning. I had a little nap this afternoon, ate some chicken, got gingerale for sick carman, (who I think snarled at my mother today) and went to a Ladyhawk show. It was good show. I think that Ladyhawk make good music, Book of Lists opened and they were also good. I like that I have gotten over a bit of my pride, and can call Laura a friend, even though she stole Annika away from me. At the show I made a few discoveries. I met a guy named stuntman, whose real name is greg. I stuffed my ears with toilet paper. I hung out back stage, which wasn't special at all, anyonw could go back there. I boy asked for my number, and I gave him my now defunct digits. I feel a little guilty about that, because I think I serve him tofu sometimes. But he was a random, and I don't know about the randoms. Iniitally, I didn't mean to give him the wrong number, it just came out first. I forgot his name. That whole thing is weird anyway, I was just standing there watching some bands play, and talking to people. All of the sudden this dude starts asking me questions, and for my number...with his cell all prepped. Is this normal? I don't know. Typically, dudes leave me alone. I guess I can no longer complain about boys. I also found out that this guy from around town, is cousins with Shelley Peters from Capernwray days. Which is weird. I think about her sometimes, we had fun. He's tall and a drummer and crush worthy. He could have asked fo rmy number, but he didn't. Besides, he already got down with one of my girls, so that takes care of that. Shelley is married...or course.
Tomorrow I meet my mother for lunch. She is on her way to the Sunshine State to look after a family of Iwawkis as they prepare for days in the hospital. Lady Codelia has to have surgery on her little head. Poor Darling. I had a little shirt made for her at the Rgional Assembly of Text, which is a sweet little store that you would really like. Brandy's taste is similar to yours. You should be friends. Anyway, the shirt has birds. I hope she likes it.
Goodnight, and I love you.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
old as the hills
I have just been contacted concerning my ten year high school reunion. I am old.
I don't want to go. The whole concept is a little whack, especially if you were a loner-type. I still speak to the two friends I had in high school.
Sometimes I am sick of my job.
Sometimes the stigma attached to being a server at The Foundation is a little much to handle. Becasue I work there, people expect me to be cool and snobby and scene, so they treat me as such. Girls especially. I work there to pay my rent, not to be seen by hipsters. I feel like I am being judged, and watched so closely. That, compounded by comments customers have made to me about my appearance, makes getting dressed to go to work an anxiety-filled and stressful experience. I feel like I want to print an article in the hipster magazines and explain to the masses how difficult it really is to serve 13 tables all on your own. That's a lot of drinks. That's about 50-60 people to serve all at one time. Not to mention that we're expected to bus and bill and seat everyone.
Don't get me wrong, I am happy to be there, and am lucky to have a job. It's not even The Job, but the attitude that seems to just waft up the seats. Of course my response to that is going to be less than warm. I try to like everyone, I try to work as hard as I can, and be as pleasant as possible. That's how my mother raised me.
I think the part that gets my goat is that, sometimes the masses are right. I have seen some pretty bad srevice, I have given some pretty bad service. (I have a strict policy not to encourage grownups who insist on acting like babies.) I do know that some people put out that too cool to work for you vibe. And it bothers me. But I don't want to spend my hours comparing myself to everyone else. It's a waste of time.
So I will try to be cheerful.
I don't want to go. The whole concept is a little whack, especially if you were a loner-type. I still speak to the two friends I had in high school.
Sometimes I am sick of my job.
Sometimes the stigma attached to being a server at The Foundation is a little much to handle. Becasue I work there, people expect me to be cool and snobby and scene, so they treat me as such. Girls especially. I work there to pay my rent, not to be seen by hipsters. I feel like I am being judged, and watched so closely. That, compounded by comments customers have made to me about my appearance, makes getting dressed to go to work an anxiety-filled and stressful experience. I feel like I want to print an article in the hipster magazines and explain to the masses how difficult it really is to serve 13 tables all on your own. That's a lot of drinks. That's about 50-60 people to serve all at one time. Not to mention that we're expected to bus and bill and seat everyone.
Don't get me wrong, I am happy to be there, and am lucky to have a job. It's not even The Job, but the attitude that seems to just waft up the seats. Of course my response to that is going to be less than warm. I try to like everyone, I try to work as hard as I can, and be as pleasant as possible. That's how my mother raised me.
I think the part that gets my goat is that, sometimes the masses are right. I have seen some pretty bad srevice, I have given some pretty bad service. (I have a strict policy not to encourage grownups who insist on acting like babies.) I do know that some people put out that too cool to work for you vibe. And it bothers me. But I don't want to spend my hours comparing myself to everyone else. It's a waste of time.
So I will try to be cheerful.
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