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?