Sometimes, I Really Love This Town

I was just on the phone with a local microbrewery's spokesman -- and the man who proved to me more than a year ago that, yes, I do like beer. Just snooty beer, apparently. He asked me how married life was (I'd boasted to him that I selected one of his introductory beers as my keg of choice), and he asked how the drinking was going.

I had bad news for him: Namely, I had to quit drinking beer. And wine. And everything. This is what happens when there's a recession and you don't have a job and you have bills to pay. Something, it turns out, has got to go. And for me, it was the beer.

He was shocked. Horrified.

And guess who is dropping off a case of his microbrewery's beer to me sometime in the near future?

Yes, I am a lucky duck indeed. 

X Marks the Spot

I started my new exercise program yesterday -- P90X, for those of you who watch infomercials. D and I are doing it together.

So far? Pretty killer. But ... and I'm a little surprised when I say this ... it's doable. I was expecting something so far out of my reach that I was going to have to work up to getting ANY of it done.

Don't get me wrong; it is far from easy. Far, far away. I can't always finish all the reps of every exercise. But, I'm trying.

I took before and after pictures, too! Maybe I'll even post those in three months or so ...

Where Do They GO?!

Ever have something disappear on you and have no idea where to even begin searching for it?

Well. I just opened the battery compartments on my portable iPod player because the batteries needed to be charged.

Now, the batteries are charged. And do I know where the white plastic battery-compartment covers are? All two of them?

Do I, hell.

The weird thing is -- my house isn't really messy. I should be able to just look around and spot them. And they SHOULD be right next to the piece of equipment they came with.

But. They are not.

Radio Woes

For about a year, we had the best radio station in Denver that I've ever heard. It was called Indie (101.5 FM) and they played, well, indie rock -- but also quite a bit of underground hip-hop, alternative rock and other such things.

It was a great station. I found a bunch of new music I never would have been exposed to otherwise, and I enjoyed pretty much everything I heard on there. (Hard rock version of Ginuwine's "Pony"? Sheer effin' genius.)

But, for some reason, Indie has moved to online only. Now, 101.5 FM plays the strangest mixture of music I have ever had the misfortune to hear. Seriously, the format does not have a market here in Denver. Either they play hard rock (of the Limp Bizkit/Linkin Park variety; gag me) or crap R&B/rap. There's no crossover market here for those genres of music ... especially when you play the absolute worst tracks that the genre has to offer.

And who's going to go online to listen to the radio? It pisses me off because, as I have mentioned before, I don't even have a CD player in my car. Tape deck and radio; that's it. I could listen to my iPod, of course, but then I wouldn't be getting exposed to new things I've never heard before. (Although there's probably some of that on my iPod. I have a lot of music I don't listen to frequently.)

My thoughts on the matter? Both the new 101.5 FM station (whatever the hell it's called) and Indie303.com are going to fail. Miserably.

I just wish I knew who to blame for singlehandedly destroying the best radio station I've ever heard -- and hence, the best radio station Denver has ever seen.

Cat Litter Blues

I bought new cat litter the other day. Actually, it's billed as the World's Best Cat Litter (which is also the name of the cat litter). Here is what makes it the world's best:

* All natural.

* Virtually dust-free.

* Corn-based.

* Absorbs and contains odors like nobody's business.

* Flushable; safe for septic systems, even.

What's the problem, you ask?

One of my cats does not think it's the World's Best Cat Litter. She'd rather piss on piles of clothes on the floor, or what-have-you.

Guess at least this should cure our habit of leaving clothes on the floor for the time being! But I do hope she figures it out soon. I love this cat litter, as much as I've ever loved any cat litter. I will be sad if I have to switch brands because of her angst.

Automated Phone Annoyances

This morning, I had a phone bill to pay. So I'm sitting on the phone, listening to the Automated Phone Man giving me options, when all of a sudden, a sneezing fit overtakes me.

This is where I don't understand why you can't have a push-button versus automated option at the beginning of your call. Because for ten minutes, all I'm hearing is this:

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Y-y-yes. AH-CHOO!"

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

Grr.

It's like the automated flushing toilets. Like when they flush on you when you're sitting down -- or, worse, just stood up and are trying to get out the door. I want to tell them, "Listen, I am not a non-flushing hooligan -- but please save the flush for when I'm almost out of the stall! I know what kind of germs and bacteria are being rained down upon me, for the love of god!"

Hobby Horse

If you could undertake any hobby in the world -- regardless of price or location or whatever else is keeping you from doing it anyway right now -- what would you choose?

Honestly? I think gardening is at the top of my list. (I can hear you laughing from here, Mrs. Walker! Cut it out!)

Followed by scuba diving, photography (which I kind of do now -- just not that well) and maybe even sewing. How cool would it be if I could make my own clothes? Pretty sweet.

Of course, my current hobbies of cooking, reading a shit-ton and writing a little bit are keeping me pretty fulfilled. But, man. If I only had a little bit of space for a garden ... fresh tomatoes ... corn ... green beans ... lettuce.

(And, no. I do not know the first thing about gardening -- but I'm willing to learn!)

Cooking For Two

We've been playing around in the kitchen a lot lately -- trying new recipes, which is awesome fun. (I know. I've turned into a boring, middle-aged person who enthuses about new recipes. Sue me.)

So far this week, we've tried eggplant parmesan and spinach/ricotta calzones. Italian theme, I suppose. Right now I'm trying to find more side dishes I can make ... tater tots are all well and good, but eventually you get kinda burnt out on them.

Tonight's meal is going to be fake chicken (with gruyere cheese, mmmm!) and a side of lime-infused peas and carrots.

Hey, I gotta get my veggies somehow!

Meh.

It seems to be turning out to be one of those days.

Went to cover for my former colleague today. The building is totally under construction -- only half of it is usable -- which means everyone is crammed into half a building, with half the number of bathrooms. Oh, and no kitchen. Stellar.

Had a couple of lovely certified letters from the IRS to pick up when I did get home.

My haircut hasn't gotten any better.

And I just tortured myself by looking at a bunch of photos on Facebook featuring two women with whom I used to be good friends ... until one of them did a bunch of psychotic, bitchy stuff. Myself and the other woman quit talking to her for a while. But now it seems they are visiting each other out-of-state ... and I don't get to talk to either of them anymore really, ever. I feel like the left out married woman.

Hairy Situation

Sorry it's been so long, JW -- you know who you are! -- but I've been kinda busy in a weird way; entertaining out-of-town guests.

Here's what's been going on in my brain lately: I'm not a huge fan of my haircut.

I hacked thirteen inches off in late March/early April. It's been growing since then. I remember having hair this length before ... but I also had the mother of all awesome hairdressers then. Actually, the father. His name is/was Daryl and he was un-be-freaking-lievable when it came to styling my hair so you couldn't tell I was growing it out.

And now, I live two states away from Daryl. (It would almost be worth driving eleven hours for one of his haircuts. Seriously.) I liked this haircut at first ... but now that it's longer and I'm truly sick and tired of blowdrying all the time, I kind of hate it. I can't NOT blowdry my hair. It works for one day, but after that, kaput. And I'm not going to start washing and styling my hair daily.

I've been toying with the idea of cutting it short again. As in, SHORT. But I've also been toying with the idea of growing it long again. Right now, the long is winning. I can't guarantee that I'll find a Daryl-caliber hairstylist before I want to grow my hair back out again. And I can't guarantee that I won't get totally sick of needing to cut it literally every four to six weeks and try to grow it out anyway. And I can't even think about what that might mean for my general appearance. (Really, I'm not vain. I just hate it when my hair makes me look like a mushroom.)

What to do?

What's It Worth To You?

I've been using my little friend Craigslist recently to get rid of some unwanted items: Three sets of workout DVDs and a two-day pass to the Mile High Music Festival (I bought five passes and, wouldn't you know it, one of the five bailed on me!).

The workout DVDs I priced at $30/set, but I wrote in there that I was willing to negotiate, which was a good thing. Turns out the sets are worth between $7.50 and $10. (I bought them each for more than $100 -- don't do that!) I'm dropping two of the three sets off to the buyer today and mailing the other set to the buyer as soon as her money order arrives in the mail. The only people who responded to that ad were the people who ended up purchasing the DVDs.

(For those who are curious, I'm getting rid of these sets because Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred is shorter and more effective than all of them combined. Do yourself a favor and pay $15 for a new copy of that -- cheaper on Amazon -- and skip the heavily advertised, multiple-DVD sets. Her DVD contains three levels of workouts, so you can grow with it. And at only twenty minutes per workout ... well ... it's awesome. I'll just say that. You have very few excuses to skip it.)

I've been kind of amused by the responses to the MHMF tickets. I asked for the same price I purchased them at -- $160, minus a service fee. Actually, that's a little cheaper than the face value of $162.50. So really, a good deal. Unless, of course, they wanted to split up the days -- then I asked for $90 per day, which is the face value of the ticket.

I have received at least a dozen e-mails about the tickets. The winner was the third girl who e-mailed me ... I didn't do first-come, first-served, because she offered me $170 for the two tickets. Score! But in several of those e-mails, people want to haggle with me. "I will pay you $130 for the tickets." "I have $125 cash that you can have."

Um. I'm already selling these tickets at a loss -- there was approximately an $8 to $9 service fee that I had to pay when I bought them. Why on earth would I take an extra $35 to $40 loss on them?

I e-mailed back the first guy who tried to haggle and told him that the tickets were spoken for, the girl was paying me $170, and I wasn't going to sell them at a loss. He responded with something along the lines of, "You're lucky, a lot of people are taking a loss on this."

Yeah, maybe if they bought the tickets with the intent to make a bunch of money off them. But that's just wrong, anyway. I saw all the Phish/Red Rocks tickets for sale there ... $200 a pop! You would have to be living under a rock and a total idiot to pay that! (You would pretty much have to be a total idiot to want to see Phish anyway. But that's a rant for another day.)

So, in summary: On Craigslist, it's okay to haggle for my workout DVDs. But I'm just going to laugh at you if you try to haggle for my music-festival tickets. I could probably sell them outside the festival for even more than that ... but ... I'm too nice to do something cruel like that. I just want most of my money back, and I'm happy.

Media Matters

I was going to post about Alternet today -- about the good journalism they do and also the crap they write just to stir people up. I read Alternet headlines pretty much every day. The other day, I saw a headline that described Michael Jackson as "mediocre." I was so disenchanted with what appeared to be Alternet's obvious effort to just reverse what the mainstream media was saying that I didn't read the story ... but I read it today, figuring if I was going to rant on it, then I should at least be educated about where the writer was coming from.

It wasn't as obviously silly an article as many Alternet postings. The author (who has extensive music education under her belt) basically said that Michael Jackson was not a musical genius and didn't break down any racial barriers. She hypothesized that the United States has become used to praising mediocrity, hence the praise for Michael Jackson. And she said that Michael Jackson has failed to be relevant in years.

All of which are arguable points. I don't necessarily agree with her, but at least she did her homework. And I certainly don't understand why Michael Jackson is such an obvious black icon when it is more than clear he didn't father his children ... you don't get white kids like that from a black father. Especially not blonde-haired, blue-eyed kids. You just don't.

Honestly, what pisses me off more than Alternet articles obviously designed to counterbalance the mainstream media is the mainstream media itself. Some of the headlines you hear on shows like Access Hollywood -- seriously, nothing is sacred for those people. Any day now, I'm expecting to hear a report from someone who broke into his house and found his secret sex-toy stash, detailing exactly what he or she found. (That would work better if all his friends didn't insist he is asexual, which I personally agree with.)

I think what gets me about Alternet in particular is its tendency to state the obvious -- but not state the obvious at the same time. Today's article ("Relax: Adultery Is Not That Big of a Deal") discussed adultery through the ages, specifically citing the recent cases of Senator John Ensign, Governor Mark Sanford and Jon Gosselin (of Jon & Kate Plus 8 fame).

Don't get me wrong; I agree with the premise. I think people make too big of a deal regarding adultery. Especially as regarding Jon Gosselin -- seriously, who on the ever-less-green earth cares about what Jon & Kate get up to in their spare time? Who? Who even watches that show on a regular basis? (Probably millions of people; just not me.)

But you know what? When you belong to a political party that has taken its song-and-dance about marriage so far as to deny marital rights to certain people just because they don't have the correct mix-and-match genitalia ... when you belong to a political party that does its damndest to legislate morality ... when you belong to a political party that refuses to accept what modern science has to say about pretty much anything, instead holding up a book finished and edited hundreds and hundreds of years ago as the go-to authority on everything ... then I say, yes. Adultery is a big deal. That book they love so much says that the only acceptable reason for divorce is adultery.

You can't have it both ways. You can't run around trying to tell everyone else how to live their lives when you can't even uphold some simple marriage vows. Grr!

And here is my final argument for why the media is sucking lately: I read a story about the upcoming Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows film. In it, Hermione and Ron finally kiss. The article said that the movie is being split into two different films (true) and that they weren't sure in which film the kiss would appear.

Um. The kiss happens at the end of the book. Not even close to the middle. Spoiler alert for those of you who haven't read it: The three friends are at Hogwarts, getting ready for the final showdown with Voldemort, and Ron says something about warning the house-elves in the kitchens, lest they be in danger from the fighting. Hermione throws her arms around him and kisses him. (I am not sure how they're going to do this in the film, as Hermione isn't nearly as strident about elf rights in the movies as she is in the books. But, whatever.) My personal thought is that they're going to split the movie as Harry and his friends get captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. That will be the end of one film/beginning of another. In any event, if they manage to squeeze everything up to and including the kiss in the first movie -- then the second movie will only be about an hour long. And if they move the kiss to earlier on in the story, this reader will be PISSED.

That is all.

Interview!

I had a job interview today ... for a "real" job. I was the first candidate they talked to; hopefully they'll call me next week or the week after and say, "you got it!"

But if not, there are plenty of greeting-card poems I can start writing. Five of those = $1500. Can't argue with that!

Opportunity Knocks ...

I found another freelancing job -- actually, two. One of which is writing poems for greeting cards. (No joke. They pay $300 a pop for those babies! You lose the rights to them ... but ... for $300 for a silly poem, I can be persuaded to sign my rights over.)

As well as some more promising options, but I'm not going to get my hopes up. I've learned that can lead to disappointment.

So, what have I been up to? Loving the life I'm living, mostly. Getting my house into shape. (It's so close to being "perfect" ... it will never stay that way, but I'm okay with that, as long as it's close most of the time.) Running a little bit. Cooking.

But it's time to get back into things, as it were. I can set aside a little time every day to work on freelance projects -- that will keep me above water for that much longer!

Pod People

I'm addicted to podcasts -- audio files you can download to your iPod (or mp3 player) and listen to at your leisure.

Right now, I'm listening to the Onion Radio News, about minute-long clips of silly Onion stories. My other podcasts include Democracy Now!, which I listen to every weekday to catch up on my news stories (I'm not so much all over the Internet these days, and it's awesome to listen to while washing dishes/cleaning house/etc.); The Alan Watts Podcast, theology lectures by a Protestant minister/Buddhist monk; Dear Science, a science podcast; the Savage Love Podcast, Dan Savage's once-a-week, out-loud version of his sex advice column; This American Life; This Week in Science, weekly science news; and WNYC's Radio Lab, hour-long conversations about an array of topics, always fascinating.

I think it's funny how the communication medium of radio seems to have come full cycle. At its inception, radio was the way to learn about the world around you. Television took over some of radio's programming niches -- like the fiction shows and some (but not all) of the news. The Internet has now taken over many of television's programming niches -- but it's also opened the door for radio again. Now, the portability and convenience of a podcast make radio relevent again; you can download radio shows to listen to at your leisure.

In other news, there appear to be holes in several of my English Breakfast teabags. (No, that is not a euphemism for something else.) What gives?

The Cure?

Is there anything other than Midol that works on killer cramps?

Inquiring minds want to know. Mostly because Midol puts me to sleep. And I don't want to be crampified all day long. Or all week long, for that matter!

Grit Tea

I take a calcium supplement daily, and in my recent jar, several of my capsules broke open, showering the bottom of the supplement jar with calcium fallout.

I reached the bottom of my jar today and thought it might not be a bad idea to take the one remaining capsule (a daily dose is four) and stir the rest of the powdered calcium into my tea.

Turns out, it was a bad idea. That type of calcium, for whatever reason, doesn't dissolve in water. So I wound up taking two sips of the tea (with the film of calcium floating on top and chunks of calcium swimming within) and tossing the rest out.

Because you know what? I'm a grownup. I don't have to take all my calcium if I don't want to!

Free At Last!

I did something very out-of-character for me yesterday ... I quit my job.

The job that was making me miserable. The money was good, I admit that. I've never had a panic attack before this week, but before going into work every day, that's EXACTLY what was happening to me.

Plus, I've been bitten by quite a few creepy-crawlies lately. Some mosquitoes (comes with the territory), but I think some spiders, too. I've heard stories of spiders biting people who weren't doing what their heart demanded.

At any rate, I found a posting that looks very promising. And I'm making a commitment to seriously start working on my writing again.

Things are lookin' up!

I Know ...

It's been too long, again.

I don't know what to say. I can't find a new job. I'm really kind of hating the one I have right now.

That's pretty much all she wrote.

Music Makes the World Go 'Round

I am such a radio snob. Currently, I have a select few radio stations I listen to: 101.5FM, the independent radio station in Denver; 1390AM, Denver/Boulder's community radio station; and 1190AM, the University of Colorado's student radio station.

It's gotten to the point where if I hear too many commercials, I just change the dial. One of the worst offenders in this state for that is 106.7FM, the "alternative" radio station -- basically they play a bunch of hard rock, some of it good, most of it crappy. And about half their air time is dedicated either toward advertising or misogynistic "funny" talk by the show hosts. Both the AM stations I listen to play a very wide range of music; it's almost like a scavenger hunt to tune into those, because you really never know what you're going to hear.

And the friend who inspired my previous blog on changing relationships just invited me to be a fan of Afro Connection on Facebook. I'm sure it was a mass invite to all her friends, because she already knows that I think Afro Connection is one of the worst hip-hop groups I've ever heard in my LIFE. (Yes. THAT bad.)

It's one thing to toss my friendship aside as though it's nothing special or valuable. It's another thing altogether to insult my intelligence and musical taste. The first might be forgivable one day. The second ... well. I just don't know if I can ever look past that transgression, that's all.

Snobby Is As Snobby Does

Last night I had my first encounter (at this particular job incarnation) of Evergreen snobbery. First, two gentlemen came and sat at a table on the deck; one was wearing a Hiwan Golf Club shirt. They ordered a pitcher of beer. Then a couple came in and were sitting down, chatting with the gentlemen. They talked for a while, and I asked if they were going to join the group; they said no, they were going to be taking a table at the end of the deck, and proceeded to place their order.

The first couple of things the male half of the couple ordered, we were out of. "You would say that, wouldn't you?" he said after the first item. After I told him we no longer had the second, he said, "Do you know who I am?"

"No," I told him.

"Do you know who he is?" Gesturing to Hiwan Golf Club next to him. (Owner? Operator? President? Who knows?)

"No," I said.

"Well," he said. "That didn't get us anywhere, did it?"

"Nope," I agreed. He ordered from what we did have available on the menu and that was that.

I just thought it was funny. What do people think? "Oh, we're out of this item for the plebians. But for our special customers, we keep an extra stash in the back. Let me just go alert the cook that your table is the special table."

Some people. Really!

Things People Should Always Remember

I had my third babysitting gig with this particular child yesterday, and I remembered something I had forgotten: When children start throwing temper tantrums or getting fussy over nothing in particular, what should you do?

Ignore them.

It seems so obvious. But the first time I went down there, the kid was all freaked out by not having his parents around when he woke up and dealing with this stranger in his house instead. The second time, he was a bit jet-lagged from a trip.

This time, he was just testing me occasionally, with typical two-year-old resilience. And he figured out pretty quickly that he gets to have more fun with me when he's not insisting that he be allowed to dump water all over the ground out of his sippy cup. That gets a sippy cup taken away, and all protests are steadfastly ignored until he can agree that he will use the cup to drink, not to adorn the floor with droplets.

A simple lesson, yes -- but invaluable.

Spare Some Change?

Lately, I've been feeling like change is in the air. Not just in terms of my job situation -- although that certainly counts as a big change in my life -- but in terms of friendships especially with me. I just lost someone I consider a very good friend because I had some things to say about the guy she started dating that she didn't want to hear.

Alternatively, I just met a girl who is quickly becoming a very close friend.

It's funny: They say when the universe closes a door, it opens a window. (Actually, "they" say that God does that; I put the universe in there on my own time.) I kind of think that's true -- and I've kind of been seeing it in my everyday life.

Ooh, makes you wonder ... (singing Led Zeppelin as the curtain draws shut and the house lights come up after the screen fades to black ...)

Ouch!

Those of you who know me well know this to be a fact: I hate running. Hate it. Everything about it.

So you will understand the seriousness of the situation when I say that I have taken up running, of all things, to help me get in shape.

I know. I'm shocked, too.

Yesterday, I went for a short run/walk (we're talking 15 minutes here). This is what really brought home to me how awfully out-of-shape I am. I figure I can add on 30 seconds a day and get up to speed ... meanwhile, boy am I sore today!

Because the other thing is, I forgot to stretch both before and after my run. I know, I know. Brilliant.

I just got back from a hike/jog with the dog up in the mountains. For some reason, that was much easier for me than the run, even though it took about twice as long. And even though my legs, now, are just as sore.

In other news, I missed a chance to interview the inspiration for The Big Lebowski's The Dude. I wish sometimes I would get a bit more advance notice than that!

And finally, anybody looking for summer reading material and who's remotely into sci-fi/fantasy should totally check out Jacqueline Carey's Santa Olivia. Awesome book!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schon

I went to a WWII-era ball last night with a friend -- and we had so much fun!

First things first: I got hopelessly lost on the way there. I'd never been to this facility before (Boulder Airport), and once I found it, I had to drive around it to get to the entrance. Luckily my date was understanding.

Once we got there, we grabbed our drink tickets and got some red wine. They had this place totally tricked out -- an authentic B-25 bomber that they started and revved up during the dance, a 1940s big band, a barbershop quartet, old movies screening on the wall, an aerial burlesque artist, and a vintage-vehicle collectors' group who were dressed up in authentic WWII soldiers' uniforms. We made friends with a "captain" and a "colonel" who served as our drink-runners all night; it was great. They even introduced us to "General Patton," who let us fire the machine gun on the vintage tank!

(Then we got yelled at for firing the gun -- first by the band leader, then by the airport operations manager, who had apparently been called by the police because it was too loud. It was the second time that night we'd been "shushed" -- the first being during the barbershop quartet, but we weren't even the loudest people talking at that point. And it was funny because they were admonishing me and my date instead of the "soldiers" -- because we totally brought the gun in the first place, and it was totally our idea to fire it!)

Anyway, it was awesome. We had a blast. I wish they had one every weekend -- but it probably wouldn't be that much fun, then, would it?

Amber is the Color of my Energy ...

The concert last night was awesome. I really love Red Rocks; that venue is arguably the best I've ever been to!

Maybe I'm just a misanthropist, but it also seemed as though there were a lot of ... well ... stupid people there. For lack of a better term. But, that's par for the course when you attend a concert, I suppose.

Also, Ziggy Marley (not the Wailers -- I am silly) rocked the house way better than 311, in my opinion. They had the light show and the fanciness; Ziggy had the heart and the songs on lockdown.

But all in all: Awesome show.

First Concert of the Season!

Well, not technically -- technically, that would have been NIN/JA (Nine Inch Nails/Jane's Addiction) last month. But the first concert of the season at Red Rocks is tonight! 311 and Ziggy Marley, aw yeah.

Should be fun. I love Red Rocks. Some kid at my new job the other day was talking smack on Red Rocks -- I don't know what his problem is; how can you not like that venue? Seriously!

It's About That Time ...

I feel like I don't really have much to write about these days. Between my job hunt and three different employers -- I'm a cocktail waitress/babysitter/freelance writer -- it's all about the jobby. Trying to find a better one, trying to cope with the ones I have.

I have a good feeling about some of the applications I've been putting in, mostly because I'm already working forty hours a week as a waitress. "Server," to be politically correct, but my place of work most definitely is not, so I see no reason why I should be! It figures, as soon as I find something to fill my time and that pays decently well, something else will come along that pays even better. I'm just glad that I've grown enough of a spine as far as my employers are concerned to do what's best for ME instead of what's best for THEM.

Sorry about the really boring post. Hopefully something fun will happen at work tonight. Or something not-so-fun. Something at least remotely bloggable, at any rate.

An Open Letter to Smokers -- From Your Friendly Neighborhood Non-Smoking Server

(I'm posting this as a Rant & Rave on Craigslist, too, but thought you all should have access to it, too!)

Dear Smoker,

As a non-smoking member of the service industry, there are a few things I'd like to make clear. Thanks in advance for your compliance.

First: I don't smoke cigarettes for an array of reasons, health being first and foremost among them. Please do not blow your nasty-ass smoke in my face. As a supplement to this request, please do not smoke right next to the patio door. You see, I have to walk through that door several times an hour. When you smoke right next to the door, you force me to walk through a cloud of your disgusting, cancer-laden breath. I do not want to inhale your smoke or smell like your smoke. You are not doing me any favors by allowing me to secondhand smoke.

Second: The ashtrays are for cigarette ash and cigarette butts. Please do not place your gum in the ashtrays. Please do not allow your children to place their gum in the ashtrays. You see, someone has to clean gum out of the ashtrays -- that someone is me. I hate already-been-chewed gum almost as much as I hate cigarettes. I do not want to pull a wad of it out of an ashtray. There is a (100-percent recycled paper) napkin dispenser located on every table. I know; I put them there myself this morning. You can wrap the gum in a napkin and dispose of it that way. Easy. Breezy. Beautiful.

Third: Do NOT drop your cigarette butts on the deck floor. It's made of wood. There are gaps between the wood. I have to pick those butts up by hand so they don't fall between the cracks. When they do, I must attempt to pull them out. I do not want to touch your tobacco, and even more than that, I do not want to touch a filter you've put your mouth all over and sucked through. That is gross. That is what you're requiring me to do. And chew on this: I work for a carbon-neutral, recycling-machine establishment. Most of you who frequent this establishment are aware of said fact. That being stated, let's do the environment a favor and keep the cigarette butts off the ground. Please, for the love of all things holy. There are raccoons and squirrels and god-knows-what-else that forage on the deck. I'm pretty sure they live underneath the deck, or thereabouts -- that's where they hang out during the day, in any case. If I can't get one of your disgusting butts out of a crack in the deck, rain and other such elements are going to leach chemicals from your butt and carry them under the deck and into the nearby creek. It's great that you've got your hair all locked up and you're wearing that awesome Dead shirt and everything. I can tell you really care about the environment. So keep your butts OFF the deck, otherwise I will be forced to expose you as the hypocrite you really are. In fact, you're as bad as all the oil companies COMBINED. And I will make sure your hippie friends know it.

Fourth: Cigarettes + flowers = bad combination. Did someone tell you once upon a time that pansies and marigolds thrive on nicotine? Well, they lied. There are ashtrays strategically placed within paces of each other all over the deck. I know this because, once again, I put them there. What makes you think it's a good idea to ash into the flower container, then dispose of your butt in the soil? Again, someone has to pick that up. Someone who, to review, is not all that interested in touching something upon which you once slobbered. Take the extra step and put your cigarette out in an ashtray. I know, it's really difficult. But you'll feel such a sense of accomplishment when you've finished -- it will all be worth it. Trust me on that.

Love,

Your Friendly Neighborhood Non-Smoking Server

This Could Get Ugly

So, I had my first "real" day at work today -- in other words, I actually got a section.

It was good. Hectic, but good. It amused me a bit that I had to remind my new boss that I can't work next Friday and Saturday; it perplexed him, but I explained to him that I had already told him this last week when he hired me (true story). I guess that's the price I pay for working at a place like this.

Because it's nice and busy -- and people buy the server shots. Or there's a featured drink contest, and shots are prepared so everyone knows what the featured drink is. That kind of thing.

Needless today, the subject line probably needs no explanation. I think the shots are probably only a weekend thing ... if it doesn't stay that way, I'm going to have to swear off them while at work.

But I'm taking my post-work shift drink, no questions asked. That's a gift horse I know better than to look in the mouth.

Beastie Boy

Last night, D and I went down to the "Local Cure" for a pitcher of Blue Moon. The bartender was a man I used to work with ages ago at the Morrison Inn. I gave him my card to pay up and we snaked to the back where there was actually a table to sit at.

When he ran back to deliver some drinks, he came up to our table and said, "Do you have a sister named Jennifer?"

"No," I told him.

"But you work for Westword, right?"

"Yes," I said, now getting curious. "How did you know that?"

Turns out, he has a buddy who apparently dated Jennifer Taufen some years ago; they'd seen my name in the paper and had long wondered whether I was any relation. Then he saw my name on my card and put two and two together.

I assured him that I have no sisters, but told him I used to work with him at the Inn back in '99. "God, that was forever ago! What was I like? Was I nice or was I an asshole?"

"No, you were nice," I reassured him. "I used to call you MCA because of your tattoo." (He has a Beastie Boys tatt on his shoulder and looks a lot like Adam Yauch, hence the nickname; I used to joke with him that I knew he was sick of touring and wanted a quiet life as a server, and I wouldn't blow his cover.)

He laughed and that was the end of the interaction. I just found it funny -- what are the odds of someone I used to work with recognizing my name? He's the first person ever to do that!

This Place Rocks!

Okay. I'm sure in a few weeks (or days, depending), the sparkle of newness will have faded, and I'll be much more jaded about my new jobby job. But in the meantime, here are all the reasons why this serving job kicks ass compared to my last restaurant experience:

I can wear whatever I want to work. No special T-shirts, no color restrictions. Closed-toed shoes. That's the only restriction.

The people I work with are awesome.

The food is excellent.

I can take shots at work. In the kitchen. What? Yes. True story.

It's a completely green establishment -- I believe it's carbon-free, too.

I can sit at the bar and have a drink after work. Did I mention I'm allowed to sit at the bar? Yes. But I didn't mention that the drink is free, courtesy of my employer.

They serve awesome beer.

Karoake? Check! Trivia? Check! Live music? Check! Pool table? Check?

Oh, and: lonely mountain men who want to tip me a lot simply by virtue of my cuteness and femaleness? Check! Check! Check!

The deck overlooks Bear Creek. As in, is built right alongside Bear Creek. There's nothing like watching a creek rush by to make the day go faster.

Aah. Well, the shifts are long, and I am pretty pooped -- it's been a while since I had to spend all day on my feet. But, damn. It was a good day. I'm excited; I think this is going to be an ideal establishment at which to ply my waitressing trade.

Here We Go Again

I just got a job -- waiting tables. Yep. But this time it's at a bar. But that bar is in the mountains.

So, I guess, brace yourself -- you know what this means. Lots of blogs about people in bars in the mountains.

Don't say I didn't warn you!

Kid, Incorporated

I just finished my very first of several Tuesday night babysitting gigs. It was fun, apart from when the kid woke up from his nap and found me there instead of his mom. We had a bit of a crying spell then, but it passed pretty quickly, and I explained to him the plan for the night: Play outside, read some books, eat some dinner, take a bath, jammies on and then Dad would be home.

Which is just what we did -- I forgot, somehow, how messy kids are! We made quite a splash in the mud, he stomped on some mushrooms in the grass, then we read a bunch of books about trucks. He ate some lentil soup for dinner ("ate" being a relative term; most of it wound up on his bib, but eventually made it to the mouth). We squirted each other with duckies while he was in the tub (lucky for me, at two, his aim isn't great), and had time to read a couple more books -- one about trucks and one about dinosaurs. I was halfway through a Little Golden Book I used to own, I think it's called Richard Scarry's Best Book of Words or something similar -- I know Lowly Worm, with his one sneaker, was in it.

And then it was time to leave.

All in all, a successful afternoon. I like playing with kids and getting paid for it

Hair Apparent

You all can thank my conscientious friend Mrs. Walker for chiding me into writing again. It's true; I've been awfully neglectful of the blog. That stops ... today!

Those of you who have been keeping up with my doings via Facebook or MySpace know that I recently hacked off thirteen inches of hair. It's already grown at least an inch since that haircut, and I'm finding myself cheesed off at the length. It's right at the length where after I wash it, I really should blow-dry it and straighten it, otherwise it looks like crap. And it's also right at the length where I really need to wash it twice a week (when it was long, I could get away with once a week).

So, this leads me to wonder ... should I just cut it all off, a la me in college, again? Easier to maintain on a day-to-day basis. Needs to be washed more frequently, although no special maintenance is required post-shower; also needs to be cut every four to six weeks, no doubt. My hair grows like wildfire; if I keep it short and don't cut it regularly, I end up looking like Shaggy.

My other option is to grow it out again, which really won't take that long, given that my hair does grow like wildfire. Although I prefer to blow-dry and straighten it when it's long, it's not a necessity. And I don't have to wash the longer hair as often.

Dilemma, dilemma, dilemma. Any comments or advice would be appreciated.

I'm Glad I Don't Eat Pork

Or any other kind of meat.

Swine flu, eh? Seems like every few years, there's a new type of animal-related flu to scare the food out of us.

I never was a fan of ham; pork chops I can take or leave. I used to like bacon and sausage quite a bit, but they make fake versions of those that taste damn close to the real thing.

Bring on the soy protein!

What to Wear?

All I can think about these days seems to be finally, finally graduating.

I got my regalia in the mail yesterday and was modeling it for D. The robe I have to wear looks kind of silly. He said those weird extensions on the sleeves are for holding scrolls. I understand it's a tradition thing, but it just looks plain strange.

I also couldn't figure out how to get the hood to sit properly. At least the hat is easy to fathom (I get a black tassel this time around). I think the hood will be easier to manage once I get the special little cords and medals with which I can adorn it. This isn't something I tell everybody -- although if you hang around the husband long enough, he'll eventually tell you, he loves to brag about me -- but I'm kind of in the mood to boast about it myself right now: When it comes to my school, which is among the top schools in the country for my field, I'm kind of a big deal. To wit: I finished my graduate courses and research in one year, two semesters, instead of in two years, four semesters. And I did it with a 4.0 GPA.

Of course, I didn't have a life during that year.

So what that means is this: I got invited to join a national honor society (aka academic fraternity) in my field; this particular chapter was the very first chapter in the society. It also means I have another ceremony to attend for the induction, bringing the grand total of graduation/commencement places-I-need-to-be-at-a-certain-time to three, spanning two days. It also makes one person's suggestion (that I wear nothing under my regalia) somewhat impractical, although I'm sure I'll be wishing that were the case when I'm hanging out in the midwestern heat and humidity in a black robe.

I do still have friends in town whose showers I can use, however, so I won't be completely dirty-hippied out while attending these ceremonies, despite the campsite accommodations.

And because my mother will not be there, I find myself being able to pretty much pick exactly what I want to wear without getting any grief about it from picture-taking family members.

I'm thinking for the graduate-school ceremony (the first of the three), I might dress a bit more professionally: black top, red-and-black skirt, round-toed black kitten-heeled shoes.

But for the following day, which will include the honor-society ceremony and the undergraduate/graduate ceremony for my school, I think I might break out the dress I got married in. It's a sage-green spaghetti-strap number with pink and white flowers embroidered all over it. It's supposed to look kind of wrinkled, so I won't have to worry about messing it up, and I can wear my awesome white espadrilles with it (which means that at some point I'm going to have to paint my toenails, for the first time since December).

I have, unfortunately, gotten a teeny bit fatter since I wore that dress. So it's going to mean hot yoga classes and good-for-me food until I have to squeeze back into it. But I've been looking for another excuse to wear it, and this seems like the perfect reason. It's not a super-nice dress by any means -- it cost me $35 brand-new -- but I do love it.

I'm going to have to stash some flip-flops, though, because I'm not wearing those espadrilles all day. They're super cute, but not all that comfortable. Maybe I can put the flip-flops in my robe where the scrolls are supposed to go?

Rules to Live By

I am not a big rules person. I question almost every rule I come across, but I recently realized there are some rules I always follow, and it's kind of funny which ones they are: rules to protect the natural world.

In other words, if I go hiking with you, and you decide to saunter into an "area closed for restoration," it's going to bother me. A lot. There's a reason that area is closed for restoration; it's because too much traffic is messing up the land.

And littering? Don't even THINK about it when I'm around!

I really should apply this sort of thinking to the speed limit, however.

Nature Hike!

Now that the craziness surrounding my degree is (more or less) finished, I've been taking time to enjoy the great outdoors almost every day. Today D and I hiked in the Lair O' the Bear park just up the canyon from us and had a bit of a nature class outside, which was really fun.

First we started noticing some of the tracks on the ground. There were tracks from shoes and bicycles, but there were also some very large deer-like tracks on the ground, along with what I believe the outdoorsy types call "scat," which led us to conclude that there were probably some elk wandering around the park.

I was also looking at all the broken tree limbs around the park in what might best be described as puzzlement. I couldn't figure out what was going on until D reminded me that we had a super heavy snow last week, which must have broken quite a few trees. Because we normally get the light, powdery variety in Colorado, and because we don't get ice storms, I guess I forgot that precipitation can weigh on branches and cause them to break.

We got confirmation of the elk when we ran into a herd on the back loop of the trail. There were four or five of them, complete with velvety antlers.

Camping Out

I'm working on coordinating my graduation commencement blah blah doodad.

My regalia is being sent in the mail ... but, more important, I booked the campsite for the weekend.

Yes, we're going to be camping out for graduation, for which I'm truly excited. I love Finger Lakes (where we're going to camp), and I love camping, and it's been far too long since I had the opportunity to camp there.

It's going to be a blast!

I'm BAAAACK!!

Oh yes, dear readers, I'm going to make a conscious effort to give you some new blood daily.

In related news: Finally got my degree stuffage (mostly) finished. I have some minor changes to make in my paper, but deadlines are quickly approaching. So, for example, today I:

* Ordered my cap, gown and hood

and

* Booked our campsite so we don't have to stay in an icky hotel.

And tomorrow will come the re-enrollment fun and games.

Busy, Busy Bee

My quest to expand my freelance publication base has hit a (minor?) setback. I won't be naming any names, but some assignments I've done for one employer have apparently been lacking in a certain je ne sais quoi (is that how you spell it?). So I'm on temporary hiatus until early next week, maybe. Which is kind of funny, because I'm not supposed to be writing anything for said publication until late next week.

It did make me a little sad, I'll admit. I felt as though I was being admonished, not necessarily harshly, but admonished nonetheless. Never a good feeling.

In the long run, though, I think it's a good thing. I was going to have to cut down on the amount of work I was submitting for this publication anyway in order to get my project done so I can freaking graduate in May and actually earn the degree I'm paying the government back for already.

So, that's my story. And I'm sticking to it.

The Drunk Girl At The Bar

Last night, D and I went to a CD-release show at a bar downtown. It was fun -- but bizarre for several different reasons. The band releasing the CD is called Can't Quite Get Right, and one of my brother's oldest friends is the lead singer and rhythm guitarist. So we've met everyone in the band (I think, it's hard to keep track of those musician types sometimes), and there were people there we wanted to see and catch up with.

We leave at right around nine and the first bizarre thing happens: It is dumping snow outside. It's not a blizzard; there's no real wind. It's just snowing, hard, with no warnings or indications. And most of it is melting, because yesterday was 60 degrees Fahrenheit and today it's 50, so it was just this really strange, freak thing in the middle of what has been an unseasonably warm and dry February in Colorado. We troop back inside to get coats and then re-leave the house. (Almost all the snow is already gone today, and it's 3:15 p.m. Freaky Colorado weather!)

The bar where this release was being held is called Owsley's Golden Road; it's owned by these brothers who also own several other hippie-themed bars in Denver. This is the only one I hadn't been to yet (and the newest one), so that was exciting. We got inside and started talking to people, doing the usual bar thing (I drank vodka and diet soda because they didn't have any wine -- boo! -- and D had an energy drink). Eventually the band we came to see gets onstage, and we're watching them, standing by this table, making each other laugh, and a girl who needs to get to the other side of the room brushes past me. It was a tight squeeze, and she said, "Excuse me," and I said, "You're fine." (As in "it's okay," not "you're hot.") And another girl sees and hears this and says, jokingly (and drunkly), "Don't excuse her! She did it on purpose!" Or something to that effect.

So I turn and look at the new girl, and we look at each other for a minute, and she looks really, really familiar. I thought at first it was one of my brother's friends, Emily, whom I just saw again for the first time in years recently when my brother brought her over to my house, because she looked a lot like Emily. She looks at me and says, "I know you. Where do I know you from?" And I said, "Uh ... you were over at my house a few days ago? Emily?" And she says, "No. But I know I know you." And I am also thinking she looks really familiar, even though she's not Emily. So I ask her if she knows anyone in the band. She says she does not. She asks me if I know a few random people who are there that night, but I don't know any of them. I'm starting to wonder if maybe both she (and I) are completely imagining that we know each other, and I was ready to shrug it off, but she was being really persistent. Finally she says, "I work for Chili's." I don't remember what store she was at, and I know she never worked at any of the stores I've worked at (at least not when I was working there), but I know this has to be it.

Then I've got it. I ask her if she had to go to the Serve Safe training about a month ago. Everyone who works behind the bar -- I think, in the cocktail area is included, too -- has to have one of these certifications. It's a four- or five-hour class that teaches you about the human response to alcohol, the variation in how different people metabolize it, how to recognize signs of drunkenness, how to handle a situation of intoxication, etc. First she says, "No." Then she says, "The alcohol thing? Yeah! You work at Chili's Conifer!"

"Not anymore."

And, as it turns out, the friend who brushed against me also works for Chili's. And, as everyone knows, Damon also works for Chili's. So the four of us stand around for a good fifteen minutes, talking about Chili's. Very random. As it turns out, the girl I knew from Serve Safe is pretty torn down -- slurring, repeating herself, that kind of thing. Ironic, isn't it? Her friend wasn't drinking, though, so she obviously had a ride home. (Although, as anyone who has taken the course will know, people with designated drivers are nevertheless not allowed to drink all they want.) She eventually says she's going to the bar and asks me if I want a drink, and I say no, I'd had a drink earlier and was fine. And she asks if "my friend" wants a drink, and I say no, he doesn't drink. She runs off to the bathroom and then the bar, and after a few minutes her friend asks where she went, and I tell her, and she says something along the lines of, "That's not good," and it was nice to meet us, and disappears.

We left shortly afterward because it was getting late and we have curfews. I just thought it was so totally random to run into two strangers who work for the same company we currently (or once) work(ed) for -- and for everyone to figure out the connection.

Been A Long Lonely, Lonely, Lonely, Lonely, Lonely Time

What can I say -- except, sometimes, my brain checks out for a lil' bit, and takes with it my body and emotions.

I had my birthday last week, which was fine and fun (thanks for asking). I've been doing a bunch of writing and not getting paid enough for it, and not spending nearly enough time on my master's project.

To counterbalance this, I set my defense date today (assuming it's okay with the profs). April 8. 2 p.m. Eeep! I'm hoping that the fact that it's my eight-month wedding anniversary will prove a good-luck charm, because I'm really freaking scared. I don't get scared at much ... but defending a graduate project definitely scares me, to the extent that it's been keeping me up at night. No fun.

To my regular readers, I apologize profusely. (Even though I only know of three people who check this blog even somewhat regularly.) If it makes the sting hurt a little less, then please note that I haven't been reading my advice columns lately, either.

The job stuff has got me kinda down, but it's not even that. I feel paralyzed sometimes by the amount of things that I have lined up in my life, ready to target and shoot. I feel like I might not shoot all the things, and then they'll overwhelm me with their thing-ness.

Which is neither here nor there. I still have stuff to do, but I will (hopefully!) be joining a yoga studio very very soon, which will help fill up my time, which actually helps immensely. When I have days and days and hours and hours stretching in front of me, seemingly endless, with very little structure ... well, I kind of have trouble handling that and staying focused. So. No more.

And ... it's got a HOT yoga room. My favorite. Jillian Michaels is good; I'm just interested to see what her workouts can do when combined with some serious detoxifying.

Out!

Making the Best of a Bad Situation

There's been a cold going around, and I finally caught it. Boo!

But here is what I'm doing with my time: Chilling on the couch, updating my music library. I have literally enough music to listen to for 244 1/2 days straight and never hear the same song twice. And that's after I just went through and purged the albums that I never, ever listen to and probably never, ever will.

So now I'm coordinating the two music libraries in my separate laptops. This is pretty exciting, because the laptop that contains most of my music (the 244.5 days' worth) JUST got fixed; I haven't had access to the majority of my music library for months and months and months now. I was scared it might be gone forever, but it's all there and all good. Hells yeah.

Columnist vs. Columnist

First things first: One of my Decider blogs is up; here's a link. Feel free to comment if you feel so moved.

Second, I find this whole kerfuffle very interesting. This week, one of the advice columnists I read regularly (and, incidentally, one of my favorites; I don't think I've ever disagreed with her advice) wrote an open letter to another advice columnist. Here's the situation: Margo Howard is the daughter of Ann Landers (yes, THE Ann Landers). Amy Dickinson has apparently been making different appearances on television, and she's marketing herself as "the new Ann Landers." Howard is upset about this -- for good reason, I think; she states in the letter that Dickinson's bosses were warned once that using the particular phrase "the new Ann Landers" is close to copyright infringement, but for some reason, Dickinson et al. are ignoring that warning and continuing to blather on about it.

Howard's point is that if anyone is capable of being "the new Ann Landers," it's Howard -- but she doesn't think that anyone is capable. I can only imagine how she feels. I would be super pissed if someone went around labeling themselves "the new Paul Taufen" -- not that that's likely to happen. But for what it's worth, Margo, you have my back 100 percent.

SCARIEST THING EVER!!!

I know I just posted a blog a second ago, but this is what I stumbled across as soon as I wandered away, and it scared the bejesus out of me!

This Pretty Much Sums It Up

One of my Facebook friends posted this article on the state of journalism -- and, more importantly, how to save it -- today. I thought it was significant because I agreed with everything Walter Isaacson said. It's a Time article, so you know.

Enjoy!

Eternal Optimist?

Here is what I have to say about the recession:

Recession, schmecession.

When you turn on the television or go looking for news across the internets, it's all bad: This business closed, these people lost their jobs, this much money isn't being spent compared to last year. But the really big question -- to me, anyway -- is, who cares?

So money isn't being spent. We spend too much money on crap we don't need anyway. So a business closed. There are also businesses opening every day ... yes, opening ... and they are hiring people who lost their jobs. There are jobs out there, too! Maybe not the exact job you had, but a job nonetheless. Something you are qualified to do for money.

I just find it very interesting how we even define "recession." A lot of it hinges on whether the general populace believes that there is a recession. Right now, everyone believes that there is a recession, so everyone's hoarding their money and their possessions and thinking negative thoughts about Where It's All Going.

Chill out, people. Everything changes, even the economy. Nothing can continue growing indefinitely; it's against the laws of nature. I'll admit, sometimes I get caught up in Recession Panic. Recently, I was thinking about maybe quitting the volunteer work I do.

But then I woke up. I have a car that runs and money to buy gas to put in that car. I also sincerely believe that it is good for the heart, soul and mind to do something selfless every once in a while (in my case, twice or three times a month). I have clothes and a roof over my head and food to eat. (A little too much food.) I am healthy. The people to whom I deliver food are not healthy; many of them are dying. How can I begrudge them the handful of minutes it takes to bring them nourishing food?

In other words: Buck up, world. It's not that bad. It could always be worse. Money isn't everything.

Home Sweet Home

I have to say, I have more days where I enjoy unemployment than not. I'm currently freelancing with two different publications, hopefully soon to be three, and the amount of money I'll be able to pull in from the three of them is about what I was taking home from my salaried paycheck -- once you factor in that I'm no longer driving into the city and back every day, but also that I need to get some kind of health insurance sorted, which should more or less cancel each other out.

So basically, I'm getting paid nicely to write from the comfort of my home, and meanwhile, I can do yoga every morning and night, work out six days a week, keep the house clean and organized -- and work on my master's project. And once I'm finished with the project, I'll have the time to start looking for more publications that could use my freelancing skills.

Don't get me wrong -- I am still looking for a "real" job daily, and applying when I find one that seems like a good fit. And I do work every day writing for the two (hopefully soon to be three) publications; there's research and sometimes interviews involved, so it's not like it's free money. But it's all of what I enjoyed doing at my old job, minus the stuff I really hated doing (listings, ahem), and I'm actually making some money doing it. Pretty amazing. I feel very fortunate that I'm able to do that; it's giving me the luxury of finishing my project and taking my time selecting a job ... so that when I do find something new, it's something I'm excited about.

The Lengths to Which She Will Go

One of my cats is perfect -- never does anything wrong, except maybe getting over-offended occasionally when the dog tries to sniff her. The other one ... well, I love Tiva, don't get me wrong. She is entertainment wrapped in a five-pound package. But she is nuts. I never know what she's going to do next, which is (naturally) part of the entertainment value and helps make my life interesting. It's a good thing that her brand of insanity is a perfect match for my sense of humor.

Take the other day, for example, when we left the door to the sun room open (it's full of windows and faces south, so it gets really warm on sunny days). We heard a CRASH! and assumed it was the cat trying to get into food. (More on that later.) So Damon investigates, and she has somehow managed to completely upend the recycling bin upon herself, trapping her little kitty body underneath it. How (or, indeed, why), we will probably never know. It was hilarious.

I should explain something about this cat: She is itty-bitty. As in, people come over all the time and say, "Oh, cute kitten, how old is she?" (She will be nine this year, for the record.) Because we love our pets, we buy them premium pet food, and because Tiva is a little tiny thing, I leave food out for her 24/7. It's in an area where the dog can't get to it, and I make sure it is always full.

One weird food thing she does is eat the dog food, although I can understand why she might have wanted to try it once or twice. But every time we feed Marshall, if he doesn't come right over to his dish and eat, she will sit there and eat his food. Because she's so small, and because the large-breed kibble is so big, she has to bite each kibble into smaller pieces. It takes a long time for her to finish one. So it's not that I'm worried about her eating all his food. The weird part is that she isn't scared of Marshall at all -- he has to push her out of the way when he finally decides to eat. She hasn't hissed at him or swatted at him for trying to reach his own food bowl -- yet.

And this was the icing on the cake recently. We were running low on cat food, so I bought a fresh bag the other day. I keep my cat food in an airtight bin so it stays fresh. And my thought was to use what was left in the bin before opening the new bag and transferring it to the bin. Would have worked -- if my cat had not torn the bag open in two different places trying to get at the food inside.

The exact same food, if I might remind you, that is already out in a dish and waiting for her constantly in the same place every day of every week of every month of ... you get the picture.

You just have to laugh. I would give a lot to know what's going on in that kitty brain sometimes.

What To Say?

Today before my lounge server came in, I got a table with an older gentleman. We're talking literally old enough to be my father, at least. After I took his order, he said to me, "You know, you are an exceptionally pretty lady."

"Well, thank you," I said (lightly, I hope). "Actually, thank my parents. I didn't really have anything to do with it."

That is generally my standard response when someone says that to me. Because to me, it means pretty much nothing when a stranger tells me they like the way I look. It's so forward and impersonal. I feel differently when I catch someone looking at me -- to me, it's more suave and subtle, and I appreciate it more than a declaration. Even better is when someone laughs at something funny I just said. Really, laughing at my stupid jokes will get you a lot further with me than complimenting me on how I look.

And there was also the fact that this gentleman has no idea who I am. I'm calling him a gentleman because he called me a lady -- but frankly, I don't think the word "lady" describes me all that well. And I meant what I said about not having anything to do with it. I don't wear a bunch of makeup -- Bare Minerals for my skin, a little bit of shadow and mascara for my eyes. And I pluck my eyebrows and wash (and brush) my hair and my face regularly. But really, that's the extent of my self-maintenance. I really can't helped that he liked my parents' genes.

It's funny, too, because this is the first blog I've felt kind of uncomfortable writing. I think it makes me uncomfortable that certain people will judge me based on my looks and let me know that I passed. That's how I feel about it, anyway. Their words are not something that make me proud of myself.

Here's something stupid that does make me proud of myself: Last week at Chili's I made an awesome pun. It was terrible, of course -- it was a pun -- but that was part of its zingy charm. I was sitting in the office with one of the managers, another server and D, who was waiting for me to check out. The manager in question has been talking for some time about getting a puppy, and we were talking about names. She said she had always thought that Karma was a good name for a dog.

"You would be getting a female dog, though, right?" I asked. (I'm sure some of you can see this one coming.)

"I don't know, why? You think Karma isn't a male dog's name?"

"Well," I said, "everyone knows that Karma's a bitch."

If you laughed at that stupid joke, know that you just warmed my heart a little in a way that the old gentleman at Table 75 never could.

Sometimes I Really Can't Believe Myself

This morning there was an all-employee meeting up at Chili's. I waffled over whether I was going to go -- I knew what it was about already, they're closing the store, and if they don't want people to figure that kind of thing out on their own, then they shouldn't tell geniuses like myself and my husband about the meeting -- but in the end decided, hell, why not? I already knew what was coming, so I wouldn't be blindsided by it, even though I'm sure everyone would be crying, etc.

So I did my yoga, ate breakfast, put some "real" clothes on, grabbed my purse and water bottle and tea, put on my sunglasses and walked out the door. And then, standing in the sunroom, I said (to myself, but still out loud): "I did NOT just do that."

But I did. I locked myself out of my house. And I also locked my cell phone inside my house.

I walked around the perimeter of the house for about ten or fifteen minutes trying to find a window that might be open that I could crawl through -- I even got a chair to try to break into the study -- but it was a no go. Which is good in a way. Then I walked over to the nursing home and asked a very sweet nurse (I think she was Filipino) if I could use their phone. I called D at work and said, "You're never going to believe what I just did."

"Got a speeding ticket?" he guessed.

"No."

"Wrecked your car?"

"No. I locked my keys and cell phone inside the house."

He said he would come get me after the meeting, so then the question was, how do I kill time until he shows up? The answer (not having a phone on which to call people or anything better to do) was more cellar cleaning. Here is another list of some of the random things I found today:

* My student planner from high school. (I can see why I kept it, though. I decorated that thing very nicely. Including a spread in the back of printouts of Marky Mark in his underwear.)

* Six fuzzy Easter chicks on a green strip of cardboard. (The seventh must have jumped.)

* Purple glitter Silly Putty.

* A bouncy ball.

* An "Ask Me About Gift Cards" button from Spencer Gifts.

* A cassette tape recorder. Yes. You read that right.

* An authentic MC Hammer cassette tape -- Please Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em.

* One of those red plastic fortune-telling fish.

* Two old wallets, one of which (made of hemp) has a quote from Erich Fromm and a Waltzing Matilda pin with which I decorated it.

* A hilarious illustration I had to do for Magazine Design (which I almost failed, by the way -- design = not my thing AT ALL) about hand-washing and bacteria. It involved a doctor, who looks kind of like a Playmobil character, standing in front of a pyramid of sick babies in their cots; he is holding his hands in front of him, palms up, and radiating from his palms are bacteria (magnified). I might scan it later so I can post it; it is just THAT funny. And I also found some plans I had drawn up before I did the "real" illustration where the doctor was instructing the germs and bacteria leaping from his hands, "Fly, my pretties! Fly!" What is wrong with me?

* A journal I kept on and off throughout college that included some dreams I had about my now-husband when we just started dating ... and a rant about him when I was really mad at him because he wouldn't help me move. Ah, memories. (For the record, that remains the meanest thing he's ever done to me -- and let's be honest, it wasn't all that mean, I still had three or four boys who helped me move.)

Oh, and for all who are worried about my financial livelihood (why, thank you), don't be: Chili's is giving every employee-in-good-standing $250 and the chance to earn $12 an hour cleaning up the place once it's closed. And D is probably going to transfer to another Chili's where he can be a day cook -- he might take a pay/hours cut, but he'll keep his vacation benefits, which is pretty awesome.

I have to go work out now.

I Hate Pumps

I pretty much live in sneakers (with the occasional foray into boots and sandals), so when I have to get dressed up for things and wear pumps ... it's not pretty.

Maybe it's because I never really learned to walk in pumps. I know the theory behind walking in heels (you just take smaller steps, right?), but I remain flummoxed by pumps because your feet aren't held in by anything!

Strappy sandals with a heel are fine; high-heeled boots are fine. But when there's no strap or something to hold my foot in, then my heel wants to lift up every time I take a step, and the steps you have to take to prevent that from happening are not normal wearing-heels steps -- they are miniscule. And I know it's not that I need a smaller size (which I thought was the problem), because when I tried a 1/2 size down with this particular pair, they were way too small.

Ugh. Give me flat shoes any day!

Funniest Thing I've Read All Day

Here it is.

Enjoy.

Delete! Delete!

Faithful readers may notice that my most recent post is missing.

This is because I don't want anyone (read: D) to get in trouble for, oh I don't know, telling someone who writes for a living about a salacious piece of corporate gossip.

Anyway ... I had one meeting today (for an artsy-entertaining online presence) and I have an interview on Friday (for a health and wellness publication).

And ... I'm all set to graduate in May!

And ... I remembered the hazard of having long, pretty nails today. I was reaching for something in my car, in the dark, and hit my long, pretty right thumbnail with a resounding "crack!"

Okay, it was more like a little "click." But. It still hurt. And now I have to nurse my thumbnail back to health ... or at least to a slightly longer length before I can cut it.

I guess it's better to maybe break your nail down to the quick than to bite it down to the quick.

Why Did I Do That?

My house has been looking pretty good lately. I've got the clutter to a minimum -- even in the dreaded second bedroom. (I do need to go through my books and get rid of some again ... but that's another story, and possibly a whole nother blog.)

But there is one big project that I've been needing to tackle for a long time: the cellar.

(Cue scary music here.)

The cellar is where I stash the stuff I don't have time to get rid of -- or even time to figure out what the heck I'm going to do with it. Like my broken blender and Damon's old shoes and a futon cover I've had since I was twelve years old. I don't even own a futon anymore!

The cellar is where the bins full of papers and magazines and god-only-knows-what-else from my college years lives.

The cellar is also where a lot of my graduate-student information is, apparently, buried. Because it's not in the second bedroom.

So today, I set my handy-dandy timer for fifteen minutes and made to tackle the cellar.

And the one thought I kept having, over and over again, was, "Why the hell did I even keep this to begin with?"

Why did I move it out to Colorado with me in the first place? That is the question. Do I really need my folder from the first journalism class I ever took -- the one I had to pass to get into the J-school? (No.) Do I really need all of these back issues of Vox, that I just tossed into a bin, that are all tattered and folded funny and ... and ... hell. If I need any of those old articles, they're online. And I have more recent material from a better job that is a better indicator of what I can do.

Sheesh!

Here are some of the other random things I found:

* A Josh Groban CD. (You know I did not buy this. His record company sent it to me in 2003 -- 2003! -- and I never even opened it. But I still have it.)

* About a dozen pairs of cheap sunglasses from Spencer Gifts that my old manager gave me when they were phasing out those styles. None of which I will wear.

* Every freaking issue of Jane magazine that I ever bought or was sent to my house. (I'm keeping those -- Jane is out of print; it's the only women's magazine I ever subscribed to [except for Glamour, which doesn't count; they started sending me Glamour when Jane folded]) .

* Every freaking issue of The New Yorker that I was ever sent. (These are going to recycling.) Between the New Yorker and Jane, those two periodicals filled up an entire (big) plastic bin.

* An empty box for a Crock Pot that I no longer own; I gave it away.

* A handwritten letter from my dad, dated March 26, but no year. (I'm keeping it. Duh.)

* A mini stuffed Bert doll from Sesame Street.

* A bill that I wrote a check for and stamped but never actually mailed.

* Some old birthday cards -- one from when I was seventeen years old. I could buy a birthday card for that birthday card; it will be eleven in February.

Why? Why do I have all this old crap? Some of it, granted, isn't crap ... but it needs to be organized and accessible so I can enjoy it instead of stuffing it down in the cellar and forgetting about it.

It's almost time for another fifteen minutes in the cellar. That could be a good name for a horror movie. Especially if it actually took place in my cellar ... there are mouse droppings everywhere, and I mean everywhere, and where there aren't mouse droppings, there are cobwebs. Lots of big cobwebs. I was only down there for fifteen minutes, as stated earlier, and I still feel like I should be combing spiders out of my hair.

If I do at least fifteen minutes down there every day, I bet by April (at the latest!) I will have that cellar organized. I'll keep you posted on other random things I find; I'm sure there will be plenty.

And One More Thing

My darling husband pointed out that Number 20 on my list of 25 Random Things is a lie. I do so drink alcohol regularly. I tried to argue this point with him, but he is right ... I drink a beer or a glass of wine pretty much every night of the week. Sometimes more than one. I do go through spurts when I don't keep any alcohol in my house (and thus, I don't drink, because I don't really go out to drink), but on average, one drink a night. Which means I do, indeed, drink regularly.

I don't drink mixed drinks, though, and I like making those.

Anyway. It's a good thing I added a 26th item so that I can have 25 random TRUE facts about me.

Religious Differences

Today this really nice couple came in and sat at my bar. They honestly were very sweet and I enjoyed chatting with them ... right up until this particular exchange made me a little uncomfortable. Just a little bit, though.

We were talking about books on tape, good books, and the wife said that the best book she'd read in a really long time was The Shack. I think that's what she said. She said what made her buy it was a positive review from Michael W. Smith on the back. (I know who he is from my teenage years.) And she said it was a Christian book, that "nonbelievers" could also enjoy it, but that believers in Christ would enjoy it that much more on a different level.

I just smiled and nodded ... because they were nice people, and I don't need to burden them with the responsibility of creating new social religious standards. Here is what I found strange about the entire exchange: It's Sunday; I'm obviously not at church -- instead, I'm working behind a bar; I am not wearing any kind of Christian jewelry. But the default assumption as to my religious beliefs is that I must be a Christian. It's amazing to me because growing up, the school I went to was always blathering on about how oppressed and marginalized Christians are in modern society. And I totally ate it up and believed it as a kid and a young adult. But the fact is -- Christians are neither oppressed nor marginalized in American society today. I don't by any means wish my religious beliefs were considered the default for anybody -- although of course, I do think that if more people thought the way I do, the world would be a better place. But who doesn't think that?

And it was also strange because I obviously felt a connection with these people; we were having a good conversation. I am under no illusions that, had I stopped the conversation about the book right there and said something along the lines of, "Actually, I don't believe in Jesus Christ as my lord and savior -- I celebrate each equinox and the cycles of the moon; I'm a pagan," then it would have (probably) changed the dynamic between the three of us. I wonder what they would have said or thought about me. Talk about marginalized ... I have a feeling that they would have paid up and left right then and there instead of hanging out and chatting.

And that's fine. That's their prerogative; I understand that most people don't have the first clue about what paganism is and what it means and the moral codes involved (yes, there are moral codes). It just seems supremely ironic to me that, as a teenager, I believed I really was marginalized, in the minority, as a Christian, because that's what the adults told me. And now here I am, part of a religion that is not even organized and is certainly not in the mainstream. I know what marginalization is now.

Maybe that's just the universe's way of teaching us ... making us into the things we thought we once were.

Not The Reaction She'd Hoped For

So there's this girl who works at the restaurant who, last week, was saying she needed to take a pregnancy test because she was late.

And this week I come in and when I see her, I say, "Hi, how are you today, so-and-so?"

And she says, "Pregnant."

And this is the first thing out of my mouth: "Oh. Shit."

Then: "Um. Congratulations ... who's the daddy?"

"Oh, this guy who lives in Alabama ... it happened over the holidays."

"Wow. So, um, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to have it."

And all I can think about is how there's a recession ... and this girl is having a baby. Not that there is anything at all wrong with having babies. (For me, there might be. But that's another story, another blog, another day.) And it's not because she and her significant other are financially doing okay ... and it's not because she really wants a baby ... it's because she just wasn't all that careful when she had sex with some random dude over the holidays.

To me, it just doesn't make sense. Which is maybe why the first thing out of my mouth is, "Oh. Shit."

Number 26

26. I pluck my eyebrows standing up in my bathtub with a hand mirror because it has the best light in the house.

25 Random Things

This is something that's been passing around Facebook. I'm not posting it there, but it does get to live here.

1. My big toes are double-jointed.

2. I am obsessed about very few things ... one of them is music. I would almost always rather be listening to music than watching television.

3. My three favorite books, in no particular order, are: A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole; the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling (although if I have to choose just one of those, it's definitely Deathly Hallows); and Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.

4. I have a post office box because my house is too close to the post office to get mail. (Seriously.)

5. I don't have a dishwasher ... and I prefer doing dishes by hand, anyway.

6. I can bake a mean pie.

7. And a mean cheesecake.

8. I use clinical-strength deodorant, which you have to put on before you go to sleep. But I forget pretty frequently and have to use my husband's deodorant.

9. Bikram yoga is one of my favorite things in this world, ever.

10. My can't-miss radio shows are a 9:30 a.m. Tuesday slot by Alan Watts and the 1 to 4 p.m. Saturday slot, "Reggae Bloodlines." Both on KGNU. 88.5 FM Boulder, 1390 AM Denver.

11. The podcasts I subscribe to are "This Week in Science," "APM Weekend America" and "Savage Love."

12. I am an avid advice-column reader. Savage Love, Dear Abby, Annie's Mailbox, Classic Ann Landers, the Advice Goddess, Dear Margo, Dear Prudence, Carry Tennis, Amy Dickinson and Carolyn Hax are the columns I read weekly.

13. When I was four years old, an anaconda bit me. True story.

14. I had a dream this morning wherein I was lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. I didn't realize I was asleep until my cat jumped on me.

15. My favorite band/musical group is Blackalicious. However, if I could only listen to one genre of music, it would be trip-hop/downtempo. (Although I would see if I could also squeeze drum and bass in ... the syncopated rhythm argument? Think it would fly?)

16. When I get my master's degree, my GPA in grad school will have been 4.0. First time I did that since elementary school!

17. When I sing along with Bradley Nowell (from Sublime), he makes my voice sound really good.

18. I sing regularly to my dog -- usually freestyle lyrics to a song stuck in my head or something playing about Marshall and what he's doing.

19. I bite my nails. I've been able to get them long and beautiful more than once, but something always caves and I bite them off. I don't know what it is. (They are in a long and beautiful phase right now.)

20. I don't drink alcohol regularly, but I really like making drinks.

21. I weigh myself every day.

22. I make my bed every day. (Well. Almost.)

23. I can type 120 words per minute.

24. I have a mild obsession with stationery.

25. I proudly own an authentic set of Russian nesting dolls.

Go With the Flow

It's an almost universally acknowledged truth that energy creates a flow in the universe. The difference (in my opinion) is what people choose to name and how they choose to conceptualize that movement. And yet (also in my opinion), there are so many people who fight the flow. Or try to change its direction.

Take social and civil progress, for example. To me, it just doesn't make sense to deprive certain people of specific basic rights. Should there be age restrictions on marriage? Absolutely, because (presumably), every human will reach that age and thus be allowed to get married to whomever they please, except for a child or a close relative (which is just NOT good for the gene pool as a species). Not all that long ago in this country, we were debating whether former slaves would be allowed to get married -- to each other! If you look back at human history, there is a slow but inexorable march toward freedom for everybody and equality for everybody. That is part of the flow.

But it could just be me.

Ch-Ch-Changes

1. I have completed my graduation application for May. If all goes according to plan -- in other words, my paper is completed and I pass my defense -- then I will be walking in May with my master's degree. Woot!

2. Ella Taylor got laid off. That makes me really sad. She was my favorite critic in the VVM chain.

3. I had a rant I wanted to type out ... but I'm not sure what happened to it. Will revisit if I can.

Maybe I Should Go Back to School ...

Seriously.

I'm gearing up to finish my master's degree (finally!) but ... I don't know if magazine writing is going to be my future career.

Maybe a doctorate in Women and Gender Studies? Then I could be a professor. I love academia.

Just a thought ...

BL Recap: Game Play

So last night was the third week of the new season of The Biggest Loser. Here's what went down ...

The temptation was as follows: Each team member was left alone in a room for five minutes with an assortment of food. Not healthy food -- we're talking pizza, peanut butter cups, donuts, you get the picture. The team who ate the most calories combined would get the opportunity to take their trainer home with them and train for 24 hours with their partners. Everyone on the ranch refused to eat anything ... except for the yellow team member. (Mandy? I think that's her name ...) She ate one piece of pizza "for the boys." She's a mom and misses her family and wanted to see them. And she cried after she ate it.

Two team members at home ate food: blue team and silver team. The silver team member at home, you may recall, is Carla. Joelle, the silver team member on the ranch, almost ate but decided not to at the last minute. Regardless, Carla consumed more calories than anyone else, so Joelle and Carla were going to bring Bob home to Detroit.

Joelle was excited about going home, and everyone was pissed off at her for it, because Mandy wanted to go home so bad and they thought it was mean of Joelle to rub it in Mandy's face that she wasn't going home. Personally, I think that everyone was just pissed at Joelle and were overreacting a little bit. And if Mandy REALLY wanted to see her kids that bad, she would have eaten more than one slice of pizza.

Well, Bob gets to Detroit, and sooner or later you know it's going to come out to Carla what a big baby Joelle has been for the past week. Carla, as expected, flips out. They fight. They cry. They make up ... kind of. Carla tells Joelle that she BETTER do her best to bring Carla back to the ranch.

(Meanwhile, Dan's orange teammate, whose name is escaping me and I'm too lazy to look it up, has been eating things like hot dogs and fried chicken back home. I'm worried about Dan. Their "couples" relationship is best friends, and if Dan does really well and loses a bunch of weight and his friend can't get a handle on his relationship with food, his friend could end up sabotaging Dan's success.)

Anywho. The challenge this week was a massive jump-rope challenge. Green team's Tara took it home ... but I found myself actually rooting for purple team's Kristin, just because she probably has never won anything like that in her life, and I felt like it would really mean a lot to her. She came in second.

Then came the weigh-in. Tara, of course, got immunity, and Dan, my other favorite, was safe. So was Kristin, whom I also like now. Below the yellow line were ... Joelle. Duh. And Damien from the red team.

It seemed like a no-brainer. But, of course, there was a twist. What happened was this: Damien and Joelle were both on Bob's team. Last week, when Dan and Jerry (Jillian's team) fell below the yellow line, Bob's team came to Jillian's team and asked Jillian's team how they were voting, as a matter of courtesy. This week, Jillian's team did the same. Of course Bob's team was sending Joelle home. Everyone thought that Jillian's team would follow their lead.

But. Jillian's team has apparently started game-playing already. Here's the issue: Damien is a stronger player than Joelle. So strategically for Jillian's team, it makes sense to send the stronger person home; then they still have to compete against Joelle, but it's not like that's as difficult as competing against Damien. Even though Bob's team all assumed they were going to vote for Joelle. Of course they didn't; they voted for Damien. And since the score was tied, and Damien's percentage of weight lost was lower than Joelle's, Damien went home. Joelle managed to sneak through by the skin of her teeth.

Pretty amazing stuff. I bet this starts some serious competition between Bob and Jillian's teams ...

Blah

I was really hoping this wouldn't happen, but it has. I've hit a wall. And it's only January 21!

My biggest issue is eating/drinking at night. Mostly the drinking, if I'm honest. And I usually am. I drink a glass of red wine every night ... but most night it turns into two glasses of red wine ... and they're not the standardized five-ounce pours, either.

I think that's what's going on. I haven't gained any weight since being introduced to Jillian Michaels ... but I haven't lost any, either. Frustrating.

Worktastic

So I just got done with my Sunday shift at Chili's, and there were a couple of things that annoyed me ...

First was our lounge server, Kelli, who always works on Sundays. She is hugely pregnant (due next month), 25 years old with two or three kids already. Nice enough girl, but ... slow, slow server. Every Sunday I find myself filling up her iced teas and waters, spotting tables before she does and asking if she needs any help. It's not like I want to take her tables -- she even told me she missed me while I was on vacation, because the bartender who worked my Sunday shift took every other table in the lounge, so she only got half of what she would have. But it's frustrating to me to see people looking around for the server, then they look at me, and I want to tell them, "Hey, I'm not serving you right now because your server thinks she can handle it."

So she's checking the schedule for next week and writing it down while I'm in the back eating my lunch. (The new southwestern vegetable soup -- yummy! -- with a house salad with romaine mix, no croutons, no cheese and the new fire-roasted tomato vinaigrette.) And she says, "I love Amy." (Amy is the manager who makes the schedule -- the manager who told me when I called about getting more shifts that people are fighting for shifts up in Conifer and I'd be better off down in Lakewood or, god forbid, Applewood -- I am never going back to that store. But I digress. Point is, after the general manager told me I could have more shifts and he would rather have me on the floor than someone who sucks, Amy tells me that there are no shifts to be had.)

And I say, "Oh?"

And she says, "Yeah. Everyone else is getting their shifts cut, but I still have all my shifts."

I said something noncommittal, but inside I'm thinking, "What?" Because some of those are lounge shifts, too, where you need to be able to handle nine tables at once. And Kelli, bless her heart, can't.

Take today as an example. (I'm glad this happened; these people made my day.) This couple came and sat down at Table 75 in the lounge. They were waiting for Kelli to make her way over there; for my part, I'm trying not to make eye contact, until I go back to the kitchen and ask Kelli if she wants me to take them. She says, "No, I got it." I say okay and go back to the bar.

The woman in the couple comes up to the bar and asks if they can order beer. I say sure and pour their beers; when I turn around, they've moved to the bar. This couple comes in frequently and they work while they eat lunch (it's a bunch of paperwork), so being at the bar I'm sure was not what they really wanted, because there's not as much space. But as long as they're comfortable, I don't care; so I take their food order -- and by the time I'm finished ringing it in, Kelli comes by, ready to give them silverware and take their drink order. That's how slow this girl is.

They sit and drink and eat, and they end up leaving me a huge tip ($17 and change on a $28 bill) and tell me, "Thanks for the excellent service; that's why we moved to the bar."

So you can see why I'm not exactly sure why Kelli, of all people, is getting to keep all her shifts at the restaurant. Fair much? I don't think so.

Second: We were busy today. At 2 p.m., Kelli wants to leave, so the manager cuts her. Then we start getting about a billion tables in the lounge. I have another server take one of them, but I'm running my ass off (I have several people sitting at my bar, too), and then my relief calls -- the bartender who comes in to replace me. She is a sweetheart; her name is Deanna. She asks if it's okay with me if she's fifteen minutes late. (She's supposed to be in by 3 p.m.) She's done that before, and normally it's fine, but today I'm so slammed that I say, "We're really busy, so please get here as soon as you can." She gets there at 3:03 according to the computer clock; I'm still running around, getting people refills, making drinks for the dining room, trying to figure out how to make a lemon-drop martini with Tuaca (gross, I know), running food, yadda yadda blah blah. And she decides it's time to walk around and talk to everybody. Finally, I said, "Deanna, can you please clock in?" Because there are people sitting down at the bar; I don't want to open a tab that I'm just going to have to transfer over to her. Or two or three tabs, as it was by the time she decided to actually start working. Like I said, she's a sweetie, and normally I don't care, but I'd been running around and was ready to leave Chili's.

So that was my day. There was one really funny incident: While I'm busy running, running, running, one of the servers, Kristen, rang in a happy-hour margarita on the rocks (which is really two margaritas). She's training to be a bartender, so she's watching me go all over the place; I'm planning on getting to her shortly, but then she says, "I can make these if you don't mind." "Go ahead," I tell her. So she comes back, takes the cocktail shaker and cooler glass (you mix the margarita, or drink in question, in the shaker, put the cooler glass on top and shake them) and puts the tequila, triple sec, sour mix and lime juice in. She puts the cooler glass on and shakes ... and she's somehow managed to get the cooler glass stuck in the shaker. Which happens from time to time. I can't get it off; our manager can't get it off; the manager finally puts it in my sink of hot water to loosen it up and tells Kristen to make another batch. Which she does. And gets THAT cooler mug stuck in THAT shaker.

We only have two cocktail shakers behind the bar, and I'm kind of giggling at this point, because Kristen is a tiny little thing -- smaller than I am for sure -- and I think it's pretty funny she's managed to get TWO of the shakers taken out of commission. Finally the manager takes her second attempt back to the kitchen, where it takes Damon about five minutes to separate the glass and the shaker.

She was so cute, too. She came up to me and asked if I was mad at her, and I said "No, of course not." "Are you sure?" "Yes; of course I'm not mad at you. I thought it was hilarious." "Really? You promise?" "Yes, Kristen, I promise. Funniest thing I saw all day."