I’ve been a little busy but wanted to thank all of you that sent Thanksgiving wishes and text messages.
I was chasing deer and shooting a deer and so forth. She’s about 85 lbs. field dressed. She and I tangoed for a bit, ending with her tangled in some deadfall where they’ve been logging on my parents’ farm. It started with my dad telling me that my gun was shooting about four inches high. The second thing was I took a downhill shot, which is never prime. So, I ended up shooting her in the spine, which I hate. It ruins the best part of the meat and its not within my “one shot, one kill” policy.
She took off on her two good legs and disappeared over the flat. I bolted in another one and attempted the still the tremors, or “buck achers,” even though she wasn’t a buck. I slid down the hill, onto the road, and then over onto the next flat. All I can say is that I shot at her again, then again, then again, and I’m not sure with the sight off whether any of those hit her, or whether it was the last shot, because ole girl was still moving on. She made another flat and flailed down that embankment, over the logging road to the deadfall.
I knew on the other side of that deadfall was a steep 40 yard drop to the next gas road. By this time, the tremors had well subsided and I was just getting pissed, not to mention, just aggravated that she wasn’t dead. Not to brag, but the last two deer died instantly because I shot them in the heart. Beaders make good shots, I suppose, because we have such steady hands and good eyes.
I lined up the last shot, with adjustments, and she looked like she had succumbed, made one last effort, then died. FINALLY! At some point I had landed the kill shot, not a heart shot, but a lung shot plus the bleeding out from the spinal wound. My magazine was empty, so I loaded my extra shells, just in case she really wasn’t dead and tried to get a hold of my dad on the walkie-talkie. After being reasonably certain she wasn’t going to gore me to death with her razor sharp hooves, I began trying to untangle her. While doing so, I saw someone walking in the holler below me. Damn trespassers.
After three or four attempts to raise someone at the farm, my dad, brother, and nephews showed up. Ah, the calvary. The boys and I got her untangled, then with me shoving from underneath and them pulling, and more untangling, in which I finally broke off part of the offending hoof, Ms. Doe was pulled free, appropriately gutted, appropriately admired, then my dad went out looking for the trespasser, I took my niece for a walk up the holler, we ate turkey, I went out looking for Mr. Buck and didn’t find him. I’ll take another shot at it today, and hopefully its only one shot.
I could have shot a doe as I walked up the first hill, but I didn’t think that was very fair nor much of a hunt. I could have shot another one as I made the treeline on the point, she was about 10 yards from me, and looked at my so quizzically, I laughed instead, before she snorted and took off. As I walked out to look for Mr. Buck, while still in the “compound” area, a group of does stood staring at me, perhaps knowing they were safe for another year. It was a beautiful day.
Nate and I went out to do some shopping. As you know, my GM’s birthday is tomorrow so I went to pick her up a card. Its hilarious!
A-Rod and Mariebee got me a Target gift card for my birthday. I bought Theory of a Deadman’s new CD Scars & Souvenirs and Nickelback’s new CD Dark Horse. I had Hinder’s new CD in my hand until I saw Nickelback. I love Theory’s song Bad Girlfriend.
My girlfriend’s a dick magnet
My girlfriend’s gotta have it
She’s hot, can’t stop, up on stage doing shots
Tip the man he’ll ring the bell, get her drunk she’ll scream like hell
Dirty girl, gettin’ down, dance with guys from outta town
Grab her ass, actin’ tough,
Mess with her, she’ll fuck you up
No one really knows if she’s drunk or if she’s stoned, but she’s comin’ back to my place tonight!
She likes to shake her ass
She grinds it to the beat
She likes to pull my hair when I make her grind her teeth
I like to strip her down
She’s naughty to the end
You know what she is, no doubt about it
She’s a BAD BAD GIRLFRIEND
It just reminds me of how I used to be. Who snickered? I don’t get up on stage and do shots anymore. On the rest I plead the Fifth.
The first song on Nickelback’s CD isn’t much better as far as naughty lyrical content. Its very similar to Bad Girlfriend. Its called Something in Your Mouth.
(you naughty thing)
your ripping up the dance floor honey
(you naughty women)
you shake your ass around for everyone
(your such a mover)
i love the way you dance with anybody
(the way you swing)
and tease them all by sucking on your thumb
your so much cooler when you never pull it out
cuz you look so much cuter with something in your mouth
When I heard the song and read the lyrics I said, “Awwwww, you dirty boys!” Or maybe I just have a dirty mind. I’ve only asked for two things for Christmas, insulated black-out curtains for my living room window and a Classic iPod, mainly because I have enough Swag Bucks saved up from my “Search and Win with Alice in Chains” to get a free AiC iPod cover. I told my mom that if she just wanted to make a contribution via a Hell*Mart gift card that I would use my other gift card and then make up the difference myself.
My “Search and Win with Alice” is its own separate toolbar and I use it when I do a search on the Internet to get Swag Bucks. Different bands, even football teams, are involved. There’s not a big list but you also get Swag Bucks for turning in old cell phones and if you go to their site and then on to another site when you do online shopping you get even more Swag Bucks. If you would like an invite, let me know. So, I want the 120GB iPod Classic, then I want to turn in my Swag Bucks and mack it out with an AIC cover. That’s my goal. I just think cleaning house would be so much more fun with an iPod.
So, what’s on your wish list?
Was hectic. It actually started on Thursday. Jeff has been drinking and he and Nate’s sister had a blow-up and he was trying to come off of the booze around that same time, which is a rather frightening thing, plus, for Jeff, a serious health problem. He takes medication which he a) shouldn’t take with alcohol and b) he shouldn’t stop taking suddenly. It leads to that nasty seizure problem two years ago where he crashed his car. *Sigh*
Jeff got his shit straightened out and actually saw Danlel today while she was getting her braces put on. I think it went well.
Friday, my co-workers did all they could to ensure that I had a great birthday despite having to work a double. My GM and the Executive Chef got me a cake and a Bead & Button magazine, plus gift cards to Hell*mart and movie ticket vouchers. A-Rod and Mariebee got me a card and a gift card to Targay and the rest of the gang all signed a card for me. It didn’t hurt that Jace actually got off around the same time I did and we had some time together before I had to be back up for work on Saturday morning.
Saturday evening, Jace took me out to dinner and we had a really great time. I mean a REALLY GREAT TIME! It was one of the best birthdays I can remember.
Sunday, I worked and since we were closed but working we all had on old jeans and sweatshirts and had some beer and a lot of laughs. It made it not so bad.
But Sunday evening, things started sliding downhill with a call from Jace. Ya know, he just didn’t sound like himself and he wanted to come down, which was fine. He and Nate talked about videogames and I went off to take a shower. I came out to find Jace acting strange, or at least, strange for him. I noticed he had a glass of soda and I wondered if he had dipped into his stash of rum in the freezer. Turns out he had because he was totally trashed by the time I put Nate to bed at 10:30. He got there at 9:30.
I figured he had had a few drinks while he watched the football game but, needless to say, I was rather unhappy and after he finished throwing up and staggering around trying to find his glucose meter (he’s Type I diabetic), checking his blood sugar, and taking his insulin, I laid it out for him in very calm, succinct terms.
I told him how utterly rude and disrespectful it was for him to get drunk and come to my home or to finish getting drunk in my house, in front of my son, in front of me, and be a rude little shit on top of that, especially since he knew what I had been through that week with Jeff. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again. I said, “I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I know it won’t, because if it ever looks like it will again, you’ll be shown the door and you won’t be coming back. I don’t date alcoholics, I don’t enable alcoholics, and I’m not dealing with it, period. If you feel as if you have a problem with alcohol, then say it now, and we’ll call it an end.”
Just to make sure he understood, I told him again this morning when he was sober. I have nothing against drinking. I do it myself and while I have a drink in front of Nate, I don’t get drunk. The last time I was drunk was when T-Bird and I went out and she was the designated driver and she knew I was going to tie a big one on. The time before that was when I was in Texas at the Blogmeet, when Tinyhands had the distinction of being the PeachWrangler. I have a tendency to warn folks ahead of time when I intend to tie one on, whether its having a great time, like in TX, or like when I just needed to blow off a lot of pent up steam, like I did with T-Bird.
Regardless, Jace has a tendency to be a bit needy emotionally and needs, what is becoming, a lot of reassurance as to where this relationship is going and frankly, I’m happy to reign him and it in. I like him a lot and aside from this, so far, one (and hopefully last) incident, I’m enjoying getting to know him. People make mistakes, even in the earliest stages of a relationship, but I no longer believe in third, fourth, and fifth chances. I said my peace and I meant it. Quite frankly, at this point, he’s totally expendable to me.
He told me that he’s really falling hard for me. As gently as possible I told him that while I really liked him, I’m not ga-ga and even more so now, I’m still very cautious, and even more so now, I have every right to be. What happened showed either a serious lapse in judgement or a serious problem, neither of which I’m comfortable with, and after only two weeks… I see this as a serious yield sign.
You ever get that feeling that someone is hiding something from you? Yeah, I got that feeling. *Sigh*
I was just going to upload a picture of Luna and Jirachi before realizing that the photo is still on my camera which is in the car! Since it is 31* outside, I may or may not go to the car to get the camera. If I do go to the car to get the camera then I’m going to the store to get cigarettes and a lottery ticket (with my birthday money). I may even get ice cream.
I know, that doesn’t really make much sense, does it?
It took me six minutes to go over and check the weather. It should have taken 5 seconds. I mean, honestly. It shouldn’t take that long to pull up my web browser, set to Yahoo, and then go over to weather.com and check the temperature of this little burg. However, I saw that I had four new messages and one of those was from Katey mah Peon and I had to answer. And my friend Kevyn also sent two messages, Oy Vey, neither of which I answered, and then I had to read about Hugh Jackman being named People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive.” Horray for Aussies! Then went over to Weather.com and checked the temperature, the same one which appears on my personalized Yahoo webpage, which was the first one I opened. You can never be too careful about whether or not its 31* or 32*.
The funniest thing I heard today: I was wandering around the restaurant during shift change and noticed our newly married bartender, Candyman, hanging out at… the bar, just on the patron side of the bar versus the working side of the bar. I had seen him earlier getting the liquor order together and we were babbling back and forth about whether Lemoncello is on the inventory list or not. Lemoncello always reminds me of “Under the Tuscan Sun” because the hot Italian guy’s family made Lemoncello. We also make a Lemoncello sorbet in addition to serving Lemoncello as a cordial.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Candyman. So, I walk up and greet the folks he is sitting with, a couple of regulars that always drink Miller Lite, and I said, “Whatcha doin’ Candyman?” He said, resolutely, “I’m havin’ a drink before attending… a… church function.” I said, “Oh.” He then went on to explain that he didn’t really want to go to the church function, and that he had worked all day on cleaning up dog poopy (his word, not mine), and that it was his day off and he deserved to have a drink, church or no church, and so he was havin’ a drink!
Huh. I guess ya had to be there.
So, ya’ll know I’m workin’ on Friday, yep, a split shift on my birthday because my GM has tickets to the Harry Connick, Jr. show. Damn shame she can’t find a date to go with her. Its a fucking tragedy people! I mean WTF? A young, pretty woman, a week away from HER birthday, that she has off. Maybe she could ask our other bartender, D, if his wife would let him go, since his birthday is Monday, that he has off. And since I’m already going to be at work Friday, on my birthday, I could also just cover his bar shift so this tragedy just doesn’t have to happen.
Ya know, there’s a reason the owner boss calls me “The HBIC.” Emphasis on the “B.”
Speaking of owner bosses, I actually have two, the husband and wife. I’m downstairs every morning with owner boss wife and I’ve said that when I finally get out of the position of molehole accounting priestess that I’ll still spend the first hour of my day with owner boss wife. She’s a freakin’ riot and not someone you want to mess with. This lady is about 5’10” and, you know, she’s had two kids, takes no shit, and carries a T-ball bat in her SUV. That is one woman I don’t want to see coming at me with anything other than a smile. She makes this HBIC look like a wee wittle wimp.
Owner boss husband is a riot too, just in a totally different way. He’s a 6’3″ Chinaman, no I’m not kidding. His mama is a wee wittle woman, but he’s a big tall man. Both of his grandmothers immigrated here in the 1930s. One was a mail-order bride, the other was an indentured servant who had to be bought from her “owners.” Really interesting stories. Neither of them ever learned English because they lived in Chinatown in San Francisco. Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah, why owner boss husband is a riot.
Well, we have this fruit fly problem. I’m not utterly convinced that its an actual fruit fly, it may be another species of tiny fly/gnat insect. Every morning, he goes to the bar in search of more of these tiny flies, which persist even given our efforts in cleaning and bleaching the drains, and covering all of the spigots for the liquor, and sewing up the fruit tight as a drum. And owner boss husband is persistent as well. He takes a bar towel and whacks and thwacks around, until today when he whacked when he should have thwacked and knocked a wine glass off of the shelf, to which I first responded “Fumble!” and then “Opa!” as it shattered.
I know, I’m so helpful. I was even more helpful as I slunk off downstairs to finish paperwork while he cleaned it up. Hey, you break it, you do the cussin’, you do the cleanin’. Yes, he is the one that calls me HBIC, emphasis on the “B.”
Well, hell, its 9:30 and I’m down to three cigarettes. I may get that ice cream after all and ya’ll may get to see pictures of fuzzy kitties.
Hell fire, they didn’t have the icre cream I wanted and my three whole lottery tickets were duds, but, I did remember to grab my camera so, here’s Jirachi and Luna.
I know they look evil. It was Halloween and, come on, don’t you think they get it honest?
I talked to Jeff this morning. He asked if I was working today and I said, “No,” to which he replied, “That’s a good thing because I’m not sure I’ll be sober later.” Seems he and Jim have been kicking back all weekend. I’m really shocked. *yawn* He said he was going to try and sober up today. I told him he had better because I’m working long shifts the rest of the week and he’d better let me know if I have to make other arrangements for Nate, or hey, GET SOBER!
Jace was here quite a bit this weekend. Odd, very odd. I’m a Scorpio, this is my lair, not just anyone walks in and seats themselves on my couch. I like having him around though, which is also odd. By this time, most guys have pissed me off. Plus, I just don’t have men around Nate. Not that I’ve dated that much but if I do, well, its away from Nate for a period of time. Nate’s taking this about halfway good and halfway bad. I think he likes Jace but doesn’t like the fact that I like Jace or that Jace likes me. Fairly typical, I believe, for a child who has had me exclusively to himself for most of his life.
Jace is a really laid back, positive guy who works hard, has made mistakes, and has had a lot of tragedy in his life, but, he keeps going and doesn’t let it get him down. Oh, and he’s bald, because you know, I either date guys who are bald or who have hair down to their asses. He’s a smart ass to a degree, which means, he actually does fit in great around here. And he’s very affectionate without smothering. BONUS! Plus, he’s a Pisces, has the same birthday as my Dad. Pisces are my favorite water sign. Thank you, Jeebus.
So, I’m cautiously optimistic. We’re both going to see how it plays itself out and just take it easy and enjoy each other.
Nate’s at school, Jace is at work, Jeff is … who knows, and I’m home alone with my kitties. It’s crisp and cold outside. I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving and going hunting. I’m looking forward to the Yuletide season. It will be a slim Yule for Nate but he’ll have some nice stuff under the tree, just not much of it. He was running around in his underwear last night (brrrrrrr!) and I said, “Dude, where did you get those underwear? Aren’t those your old ones?” Since they were four inches below his bellybutton and practically up to the crack of his ass. I looked at the tag and nope! They are 14-16!!!!
Any of you who have ever met Nate, or even just seen his picture, know he’s this tall, skinny kid with no ass. Well, he has more ass than me or his father, which he gets from my dad. I have more of an ass now because I do squats all the time, but really, we’re the buttless wonders. My bro and SIL called this weekend wanting to know what to get Nate for Christmas. I said, CLOTHES and a little Lego thing if you can throw it in there. When I told them what size he wears my SIL said, “A 16 SLIM???? OMG!”
So, Nate will be getting some new underwear today. I may look online and see what I can find for Christmas. Have a happy Monday.
Somehow this got all screwed up whenever I copied and pasted it so… yeah, deal.
I dunno, Nanner. Your beautiful tits have made me lose the power of speech a time or two.
You were talking to Regan, weren’t you?
*stare some more*
Very funny, considering you and Aimee both make me look like I need serious help in the boob department.
Evil Twin’s Wife said,
I get stared at a lot too. I’ve often told friends who don’t believe me until we’re out somewhere together. I’m not attractive, nor am I hideous, so I start thinking perhaps I’ve grown a penis out my forehead when I get ogled like that.
You are very striking, ETW, with your vivid blue eyes, dark hair, and porcelain skin. That’s why they look.
It’s amazing what a pretty face and a great rack can do to a guy. i had to type this twice cause I kept stuttering. How bout now, you thinking about me now?
I’m totally thinking of you Trash. Totally.
Seriously, at the hospital, we get stared at a lot. I hate the room across from us, and the room next to it with the chair facing us. People think because we are on the clock that it isn’t rude or something. I’m a nurse, not a freak show. I sometimes stare right back, just as boldy as they do. Or I ask if there’s something they need, verrry nicely, of course!
I find though that I tend to stare at people I find visually interesting, for whatever reason. So I try to take it as a compliment, but some days I just can’t take it. Other days I feel like being crass, picking my nose, or scratching my butt when I’m stared at, so who knows.
Guess it’s better then being so ugly nobody can look you in the eyes ever!
I glance but attempt not to stare. Just stick your tongue into your nose, or someone elses, that normally cures it.
I used to get stared at a lot when I was your age, but no more. You DO have beautiful eyes and the rack doesn’t hurt, you know?
ETW, you are very attractive – so hush!
I work with whatever I got!
I don’t like being stared at either. It happens a lot though and like you, I wonder if there is something in my teeth.
Joys of being cute, I guess
Oh, I think you hit it, Lisa. the joys of being cute. LOL!
I think it is the eyes (and the gorgeous boobs in your case) because I get people who stare and lots of them swear they know me from somewhere. I’ve been told I have mesmerizing eyes (and you definitely do too) and people can’t help but stare. It’s almost like they are locked into a target and can’t look away. Weird Huh?
Yes, Boo-Boo, but can we hynoptize them to give us money? Yes, that is the true question… look deep into my eyes….
I would definately be one of your “Lothario” customers, but I’d be subtle about it. And I’d tip you well if the service was good.
Your beauty and your breasts would not cause me to lose the ability to speak in coherent sentences, but might result in totally shameless flattery of your famed beauty and the fact you couldn’t be older than 21.
My service is always good Vince. Oh, did you mean serving food? Yeah, I was talking about something else.
The guys just think you are hot! The pretentious, bitchy fatasses are just jealous that you are hot!
Then again maybe everyone in question is jealous because they see that “glow” that only they WISHED for!
I’ve been glowing a lot lately…
Anyone who has worked in the food service industry – has to agree with every word. At one time in my life, I think I must have waited on the same people. But from that Halloween picture – your eyes are captivating. That’s the first thing I notice on everyone.
I”m not sure what I notice about people first… probably their smile.
Jammie J. said,
Fruit??? You offer them fruit? I’d stare, too.
Oh I kid. Maybe they’d like to ask you if they could have a hug? You do have the best hugs ever. Or maybe they’re not staring at you at all… maybe it’s a vacant stare and they’re trying to work out the problems in their universe. Or maybe they are staring at you and you should just be glad it’s not a malovent stare.
Yes, I offer fruit. FRUIT! It could be they’re trying to figure out what planet I’m from Jammie. Yeah, that’s it.
It’s time for the burka.
They’ll still stare, but they won’t see much.
And assume you’re a muslim, and then probably make the illogical leap that you’re a terrorist.
So homeland security will be staring too.
Okay, forget the burka.
Maybe a Scuba suit?
Mikey, you want me to wear a scuba suit? *Blink* Yeah, that’s BEST way to hide these hooters. LOL!
Sheesh. If you’re fat and ugly you can still have charm. And that’s half the battle right there.
I know a lot of charming people, just wish I waited on more of them. Thanks for the offer of rescue, from you and Trash. It means a lot. However, I still know how to shoot a gun, so I think we’re all good.
Well, that was fun. I had some comments typed up and somehow they disappeared and then I was sick for three/four days with some weird stomach flu in which you can’t throw up, can’t shit, and your guts bloat up and cramp like hell. Its been lovely.
Then Jeff decided, despite all the knocking on wood I’ve done, to turn into a little bitch again. He’s not been mean to me, other than getting drunk and threatening to commit suicide, which just fucks with me. He told me this yesterday, telling me he just wanted to tell me good-bye and told me what to bury him in and how often he wanted fresh flowers on his grave, and tells me he’s either going to blow a hole in his head or step out in front of a train. I told him a lot of things but among them was, “Go to bed and call me in the morning.”
I offered today to take him to his psych hospital of choice which is about 45 minutes away from here. He just asked me to call the police on him. Um, no. I’m not calling the police. I’m not putting the men in blue in danger of his stupid ass walking outside with a gun and then committing suicide by cop because he’s too chicken shit to do it himself. Especially since that man in blue may have worked with him. What a fuckotomy that would be.
I’ll not have a good man have to question himself in the dead of the night as to whether or not he did the right thing.
I’ll not have a good man be relieved of his gun and badge while they investigate whether or not he did the right thing.
I’ll not have a good man have the stigma of killing another person follow him around for the rest of his life.
If Jeff wants to off himself, he will do so without anyone’s help. Especially mine. If he can call me, he can call his psychiatrist. He can call a crisis hotline. He can call the police himself. He can check himself into one of the three psychiatric facilities in our area, one less than two blocks from his house. I think the man is desperate for help and I think he’s even more desperate for someone to feel sorry for him and to have a pity party for him because his dad threatened to call the police on him. Yeah, they’re fed up with his shit too.
So, today, while Jeff was talking about how his ex-girlfriend is fucking with him I told him to stop fucking with me about killing himself. I told him to stop talking about how much better it would be use a .22 rather than a .357 because the hole is smaller. I told him I’ve seen what it looks like. I’ve seen someone shot execution style in the head with a .22. I also saw her the infant daughter she was 8 months pregnant with in the casket with her. Been there, done that, so stop fucking with me. I’ll put fresh flowers on your fucking grave, just shut the fuck up, take responsibility for yourself, and while you’re at it, get a job. Needless to say, he hung up.
Then, my friend Kevyn has been trying to reach me so he can whine about his life. Friends, I’m all full of compassion and empathy for my fellow man, but there comes a time when I will tell you to either do something about what you’re whining about or shut up about it. I’ve reached that point with him. When he couldn’t reach me last night because I was either talking to the only sane man in my life, Jace, or I was on a “crisis” call with Jeff, I’m sorry I couldn’t squeeze in or even want to squeeze in, a whine session with him. Take a number, get in line, or, wow, call your fucking psychiatrist because my guess is, he’s getting paid to listen to you, and SURPRISE, I DON’T!
I’m sorry your bulldog-faced, uppity, cold wife walked out on you after 26 years of marriage. I’m sorry she’s sleeping with another man, although YOU slept with other women outside of your marriage FIRST. DIVORCE. HER. MOVE. ON.
I’m also sorry you don’t have the balls to tell your 22 year old son to GET A FUCKING JOB ALREADY, stop smoking pot, stop shooting your veins full of nasties, stop snorting shit up your nose and be a productive member of society. I’m sorry you don’t have the balls to take his car away or report it stolen when he won’t bring it back, and I’m frightfully sorry that he still wants to have anything to do with your future ex-wife, who helps him fund all of the above behaviors. Take that up with HER.
My 12 year old has more sense than the three of you COMBINED! My 12 year old wishes he was old enough to work so he can buy his own toys! My 12 year old got his hair cut and hard labor when he decided he wanted to cop an attitude. Imagine what I’ll do when he’s 22 and acting like a spoiled brat. So, stop treating your son like he’s 12 and more like he’s 22 or maybe you should treat him like he’s 12, since that’s how old he’s acting. And while you’re at it, you can get a job too.
I have three days off but only so I can be rested to work four 10 hour shifts, including a double on my birthday. My new man has the weekend off, so I intend on soaking myself in his beautiful blue eyes, his goatee, his positive attitude, his wonderful kisses, and as much sex as I can get by with. Since I’m pulling my shingle in, I’ll leave you with some advice.
1. Your life is what you make it. If you need help, get it. Don’t wait for someone to do it for you.
2. Think about how often you whine about something. Fix or forget it. Do something about it or shut the fuck up.
3. Stand up to your kids. They’ll still love you. I’m living proof.
4. Get a job. If you have one, keep it. If you don’t like it, find another one.
Dr. Nanner has left the building. Take a number, get in line, I’ll be back Tuesday.
So, I have this issue at work. People stare at me sometimes. I’m used to my guests looking at me. I’m used to them listening to me. I’m not used to people who continuously stare at me and not utter a word. This makes me uncomfortable.
Sometimes I believe these stares are because my guests haven’t realized this is no ordinary restaurant and their meal is going to cost a lot. This is the “price tag shock” stare. I know these folks will only tip me about 10%.
Sometimes I believe it is because they can’t believe I didn’t show up at their table with two teeth, both rotted, cracking gum and saying, “How ya’ll doin’ tonight? Kin I getcha a bear?” This goes along with the “price tag shock” stare. I call this the “I’m outta my league” stare.
Sometimes its the guy at the table with his wife or girlfriend and he flirts and stares every time I come to the table, to the point I pray to Goddess he’s paying the tab because if his wife or girlfriend does then I’ll be getting about 10%. I call this the “Lothario stare.”
On occasion, I have the great fortune (read sarcastically) of waiting on a group of ladies to whom genes, time, and too many hot fudge cakes haven’t been kind. Its one thing to be overweight, its another to be overweight and ugly, and yet another to be overweight, ugly, and have a rotten personality. Two of those you just can’t help sometimes. There’s one lady who comes in who could be a plus-size model. She’s beautiful, sweet, and has a great personality. Another lady is very overweight, not exactly pretty, but has a great personality and is always smiling and fun to wait on.
Then you have the other ladies. The overweight, ugly, rotten personalitied ones. They’re the ones who like to make all of their requests, one.at.a.time, so I’m running my ass off the entire time they’re there for refills, more dressing, a lemon, a lime, more cheese, more “pink” sugar, more “blue” sugar, more “yellow” sugar, a new glass, another plate, more bread, and dessert, one. at. a time. and basically want me to do everything above and beyond but feed them and then wipe their ass when they shit it out. And they stare at me… the entire time. Stare. Like I have three heads and I just didn’t ask if they wanted mustard and mayo with that cheeseburger and fries. I call this the “if I look at her long enough she’ll gain 50 lbs. and be ugly” stare. I just thank them (silently) that I got my workout and they just paid me to do it (because I’m a bitch that way.)
Then there are days that I have absolutely no clue why people are staring at me. Men and women staring at me. I’ve asked my co-workers if I have an errant boogey hanging from my nostril, if I have spinach between my teeth, or if somehow between putting my make-up on and walking onto the floor that one of my eyebrows has mysteriously disappeared. I’ve been assured that nothing of the like has occurred.
On Friday evening, I had the “Lothario.” We went to high school together and he graduated with my brother. Once I reminded him who I was he said, “Wow, you grew up beautiful.” Leading me to believe I was some kind of bow-wow in high school. I laughed about it and he said, “You’re totally misunderstanding me.” Since I didn’t want to understand and I definitely didn’t want his wife to understand, I changed the subject back to food and beverage. I think the friends they were with tipped me big because I pointedly dismissed his staring by not responding, at all.
J.M. stares at me but I think its because he wishes I was willing to sacrifice my uterus to the Union and the Republican Party so he wouldn’t feel guilty about wishing he had the guts to date me. Too late. He’s the guy who told me I have beautiful eyes.
I could chalk Friday up to the fact Jace had just asked me out and I was floating. And I could chalk yesterday up to the fact that I had a wonderful weekend and was still smiling like an idiot all day, but that doesn’t explain the other times that it has happened before Friday and before Jace.
Yes, I have a pretty face, and yes, I have breasts but neither of those, to my knowledge, has ever made anyone lose the ability to speak coherent sentences when asked a simple, “Would you like fries, chips, or fruit with that?”
So, please, STOP. STARING. AT ME.
Today, my friend Kevin has been dead two years. I’m finally at peace with what happened and I know that he is watching over me.
Day before yesterday, I was talking to our new evening pantry cook, Jace. He started about two months ago and we always passed on my way out and his way in. He works exclusively nights and I work almost exclusively days. He has another full-time job which is why he works nights. I thought he was really cute, but figured he was too young for me. Well, I found out he was only 5 years younger. Hmmmm…
Friday I worked evening shift and he made the remark that he really didn’t get to go out much and I said, “Yeah, me neither.” And then our conversation got swallowed up by other people hitting the smoke hole before shift started. Later, I was loitering around pantry, due to the positive vibe from our earlier conversation, and he asked me out, which I accepted. We quietly agreed to meet after I got off work yesterday.
We met at a local food and watering hole, ate, drank, talked, and watched football. We then went to another, more quiet, watering hole and drank more and talked. Things were going really, really good. I told him about Kevin and laughed about the fact that Kevin always ate those convenience store burritos that were as big as his head. They were closing up so I asked if he wanted to take a trip to one of my fave places and drink more. He was game so, yes, we headed to The Point.
On the way there, we stopped at the last gas station before heading out onto the sparsley populated two lane highway and ran into a guy who asked if we knew of any bars in the general vicinity, within walking distance, as he was driving a big rig. Jace and I both knew of some bars but they were too far away to walk in the cold night. The driver thanked us, held up a beer and said, “Well, I’ll just kick back in the rig and have a beer and some food.” That food… a ginormous convenience store burrito. It even said, “X-XLarge” on the package. I smiled and pointed it out to Jace.
On the way to The Point, I asked Jace if he believed in signs and he said that sometimes he did and sometimes he didn’t and that you could pretty well turn anything into a “sign” if you wanted it to be. I agreed but I also pointed out that I hadn’t seen anyone with a convenience store burrito until tonight and it was right after I told Jace about Kevin. He agreed that it was something to think about. We talked every moment of the 45 minute drive to The Point and I saw another sign… a shooting star.
Double Ds is the local dive/karaoke bar in that area, one that you can still smoke in. Jace used to sing in some bands so he took a stab at the karaoke and the owner wants him to take part in the karaoke contest next weekend. He’s hot and he’s a great singer, okay? Then the DJ played “Crazy Bitch” by Buckcherry and we had a great time singing that together, as well as the Kid Rock song, “So Hott.” I guess that goes to show that Jace and I… well, we’re birds of a feather when it comes to music.
We left around closing and took a short walk around town to see the Mothman statue, the waterfront, and the obelisk at Tu-Endie-We State Park. We got some kissing in as well. It was well close to 4 a.m. by the time we stopped by my house for a potty break before I took him back to his car. However, more kissing ensued and more kissing and finally, after 18 long months, I finally christened my queen size bed. Eight hours, very little sleep, and a trip to IHOP later, I finally dropped him off at his car.
He admitted at some point that he had thought of cancelling our date because we work together and he knows how that can go sometimes. I’m really glad he didn’t though. I’m also really hopeful that he doesn’t flake out on me, which could still happen, and sometimes does happen even though you have a great time together and we have a lot in common and some things not so much in common, which is a good thing. I laughed and smiled so much my face hurt.
For a date that lasted over 16 hours, I still wasn’t ready for it to be over. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry either. I’m not sure what’s going to happen but it sure is nice to know that I can still click with someone.
As for Kevin, I love you my friend and thanks for letting me know you’re still with me. I miss you.
At night I go to sleep and pray he is watching over me,
Somewhere there’s a sun that’s shining so bright that I can see you smile and all that I need is one last chance just to hear you say good-bye.
And if you have a dream, you better hang on for dear life. And when that cold wind blows just let it pass you by.
Selected lyrics from “Things My Father Said” by Black Stone Cherry.
Stock up on ammo, the Apocalypse is upon us. Or, a race war. Or, (insert grevious apocalyptic prediction here). That’s just a couple of dire consequences I’ve heard of electing Barack Obama to office. One gentleman said, “I can’t believe someone with the middle name “Hussein” is going to be sleeping in the Lincoln Bedroom!” Ummm… huh?
Wouldn’t it be appropriate for the first African-American President to sleep in the bedroom named after the President who freed the slaves?
Oh, did you mean you still believe he’s a Muslim? What if he were? John F. Kennedy was a Roman Catholic. I don’t recall hearing stories of him phoning the Pope to converse on the Bay of Pigs. Nate’s neurologist is a Muslim. He’s never stopped our appointment to pray to Mecca, although I wouldn’t give two shits if he did. His right. THAT’S WHY WE LIVE IN AMERICA, RE-MEM-BER??
Honestly, I’ve never had a Muslim knock on my door, like the Baptists, the Church of God, the Mormons, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses. I’ve never had a Muslim try to convert me. For that matter, I’ve never had a Jew try to convert me either. I leave them to their religion, they leave me to mine.
Unfortunately, the remarks which I have heard have come from a few of my guests, which leaves my tongue tied. I wanted to ask the lady who made the remark about the race war if she had any clue how many blacks there were in WV. Minorities, total, are 6% of our population. That’s 72,000 minorities and 1.128 million whites. One million of those whites probably already own a gun. We’re all about hunting and the 2nd Amendment, ya know. So… those aren’t very good odds for a minority uprising.
She wondered why all of her friends were voting for Obama. Well, sweetheart, I bet they’re wondering a bunch of things about you, like what kind of Kool-Aid you’ve been drinking and whether or not ignorance is a natural state or whether its contagious. I say that because if you don’t like Obama because of his policies, fine. If you don’t like him because you’re afraid of a race war or they’re going to put spinners on the President-mobile or you’re going to wake up January 21, 2009, to Sharia Law and burkas, then get a grip, because my guess is that the Congress, which actually makes the laws in this country, isn’t going to be drinking any of your Kool-Aid.
I look at this man, Barack Obama, my President-Elect, and I want him to succeed because I want America to succeed. I want all us to prosper. I want us to regain our respect and rebuild our relationships around the world. I want us to make the right decisions, not easy ones. If that means staying in Iraq and Afghanistan, then so be it. I want my President to remember that with great power, comes great responsibility, something that has been so lacking in our current Administration.
As my boss says, “If you’re open to intelligent discourse then let us sit and discuss, otherwise, in the words of George W. Bush, who I never thought I would quote, ‘You’re either with us, or you’re against us.'”
If you believe this country is going to go to the dogs, then you may feel free to wake up with the fleas. As for me, I choose to believe in Change. Not just for my country, but for myself. I have more hope now than ever before that I’m going to make it.
I was very moved by Senator McCain’s concession speech. I applauded after he finished. Not because he lost, which must be one of the most terrible feelings one could experience after putting so much into it, but because I believe it showed the true patriotism and love of country that John McCain has and the willingness he has to put his country first, and that includes his new President. Had we seen more of THAT John McCain, he may have won the Presidency. (Sarah Palin was the WORST choice for a VP! Whatever chance he had with me, he lost by picking her. Gah! My fervent hope is that she just goes away.)
I would have been disappointed had McCain won, but I wouldn’t have been “frightened” as so many claim to be now that Obama has been elected. Did he look scared? Did he tell the American people to be scared? Did he tell the world to be frightened? He had a prime opportunity, because not only was all of America watching, but also the world. Ask yourself if you stay up late at night or get up early in the morning to watch election returns for Germany or France or Russia, for that matter. My guess would be, no. But the world watches us. That is so significant! So VERY significant that the world looks to the United States of America. They look to us for hope, hope for a better world, whether we like it or not.
Stop stockpiling your ammo, break your addiction from the Kool-Aid, put away your yard signs, and break out the American flags. America is back, and we’re going to be better than ever – if we stay involved. If we follow what’s happening in our country. If we hold our governments accountable, from city councils to the Presidency, we can do it. Yes, we can.