Niff.Dot

>
Thanks to the most recent episode of 60 Minutes I have come face to face with the reality that I am indeed older. Older than what?

Myself, I suppose.

The topic this particular Sunday evening involved the “Echo Boomers”, or, those born between 1982-1995. This, quite naturally, does not include myself. I, in fact, was born in 1975. I will be 30 in November. Until recently this dreaded fact was painfully unavoidable. Although, after giving it some serious thought, I have come to understand the secret joy in the concept of nostalgia. I used to mock my parents for their refusal to let go of the Moody Blues and CCR. I now realize that at some point in my life, I myself will be mocked as well.

You know you’re not the “now” generation anymore when all the songs you love from your junior high years are on a compilation album.

What I remember can pretty much be summed up on every episode of VH-1’s “I Love the 80’s”. The Muppet Show, Electric Company, Garbage Pail Kids, Jelly Shoes.

Those damn shoes. Plastic uncomfortable-as-hell cheap-ass but gotta-have-’em-oh-mom-please-everyone-at-school-has-them foot torture devices of my youth. Wish I had some now. I would rock.

And MTV. Good God, if ever there were a defining aspect of my youth, it would be MTV. I remember spending my entire summer after 8th grade zoned out in front of the TV with my cousin Jay, hypnotized by Martha Quinn and Adam Curry wishing upon wish that Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” was on next. Aside from “Remote Control”, “Just Say Julie” with Julie Brown was the coolest show on MTV as I had no taste and just didn’t know any better.

Society seems determined to pigeonhole my breed as “Generation X”, stereotyping us as an entire generation of flannel-shirted coffeeshop denizens with no goals or aspirations. It seems unfair to categorize an entire generation based upon the trends and priorities of their youth. Who we were is only a template for who we are. The trademarks of my youth: my art, my love of reading, writing…the parts of ourselves that matter, are carried with us, to mature and ripen alongside us as we grow as people, becoming the “we” we were meant to be.

Of course, with the skyrocketing popularity of Starbucks in the last 10 years, it makes me wonder.

But as I sit here listening to Erasure’s “A Little Respect” and thinking about years gone by, I wish I had observed and enjoyed them more when I had them. ‘Tis the lament of all 30-somethings past, present and future.

But I also see it as a commonality with my “Child of the 80’s” comrades…we speak fondly of Cabbage Patch Kids and Transformers in conversations punctuated by “Oh, that’s right!!! I so remember those!! Did you have Optimus Prime too??”

Here’s to Generation X. Rock Me Amadeus indeed.

Voulez-voulez-vous Amadeus.

>Yup. This pretty much sums it up.

Women are absolutely neurotic. Especially the ones under whom I am subordinate. Everything is potential cause for drama. But I won’t be discussing that. Everyone knows that. I just had to include one little vent about my day. Shall we continue?

Sure.

Damn. Coming up with new ideas and topics are just not possible after a 10-hour server shift. I cannot think clearly. All that is in my head now runs along the lines of ‘Mise en Place’, ‘Bisol Jeio’, ‘Salmon Brioche’, ‘creme fraiche’, ‘will there be anything else I might bring you at the moment?’. Somebody fuckin bring ME something. Someone else is going to come up with a topic for me. Ah! Random Facts. Lets see what we got…

Ah. Here’s one:

Did you know that sex is a natural antihistamine? It can help combat asthma and hay fever.

Atchoo.

(sniff) I should go take care of this. Damn allergies.

Voulez-voulez-vous allergies.

>This is gonna be quick because I am 2 seconds away from lapsing into catatonic schizophrenia. (Long, exhausting day at work…day 4 in a 10-day stretch…sub-standard management, staff shortages…sanity hanging by a thread…). I was so bloody thrashed when I got home I had completely forgotten about my new toy:

It’s so choice. I recommend one if you have the means. With my new mouse I can pop open Safari, switch applications, open Spotlight, switch to the Dashboard, scroll, track the trajectory of the entire nation’s satellite system, trigger Expose of all windows, desktop…it’s fabulous.

(Okay, so maybe it can’t track the trajectory of the entire nation’s satellite system…they’re working on the upgrade.)

My old mouse sits in the corner, rather dejected-looking, seeking consolation. To lessen the trauma of the break-up, I’ve left it plugged in for weekend visits.

It is at this moment that I have decided that it would be best if I simply conceded defeat and slipped into bed. I have to be up at 4:30 in the bloody morning to open at 6. Damned Labor Day Weekend. Why is it we are the only ones who seem to be laboring? I am starting to hate people. With so much going on in the country they’re busy getting angry about the fact that their coffee has gone 2.3 seconds without a refill, when the level of fluid in the cup has only decreased by 4.6 millimeters. I should dump it in their damned laps. Bastards.

I feel I have vented enough rage into the vast technological chasm that is the blog-o-sphere for one day. With any luck it will dissipate before I pass my foul mood off to others. Otherwise they just might designate me the “curmudgeonly old wench who bitches about her damn job too much”.

I don’t think that would fit on my driver’s license.

Voulez-voulez-vous driver’s license.

>Okay, no more sports-related posts. Until basketball season starts; I promise.

I shall instead take a moment to announce that after listening to her music for 15 years, I am finally going to see Tori Amos in concert. HOLLAH!!!!!

I am, to say the least, stoked.

My husband called me today asking me how much I thought I loved him. Lucky for me, I gave the right answer.

My husband kicks ass. He absolutely HATES Tori Amos. Calls it ‘whiny chick music’. But he is going to suffer through it. For me.

Oh yes…he does indeed kick ass.

Dude, and I just found out my new kick-ass rock-on buddy Naiah is going too! Fuckin-A man!!!!!! Bonus!! Our Microsoft hubbies can hang. Misery loves company. They can devise their secret nerd-handshake

Fuckin-A man.

I am in a euphoric state the likes of which I have not seen since I discovered Mac.

Heh heh; I get to see Tori Amos! Did I say I was stoked?

I’m trying to think of something worthwhile to write about….
Not happenin’.

Did I mention the Tori thing? heh heh…I’m gonna see Tori. Hollah!

Voulez-voulez-vous hollah.

So being that it is 4:45 am and I’ve been up a few minutes, I’d better write this down before it flutters away.

So my dream just before my alarm went off was this:

I was to deliver a baby, in a hospital, cesarean section, in five minutes.
Those involved, who insisted on my completing the procedure, refused to accept that I was just a waitress/artist and had no formal surgical training.

And then there’s the upside-down shopkeeper hoarding his own sporting goods and the strange other-worldly beings who collected us from adrift on the sea and deposited us into a cave with rather fast-moving snails.

I went to buy peaches but ended up with grapefruit.

And somewhere down the road I discover that I never really liked pickles and that my whole life had been one big pickle-lie.

Bollocks. I’m trying to get ready for work and I can’t find my bloody mascara. (I take my medicine and vitamins and put on my face and eat my breakfast and charge my cell phone and put on my shoes and fix my hair and pretty much anything except activities that include the messier ones in the bathroom or the kitchen at my desk. I do not like toothpaste on my desk.)

Oh bollocks yet again. I forgot I’m training the new server today. I have to be all professional and shit. I hate training people in French Service (Fine dining; not whatever sexual perversions anyone may be conjuring up in their head…) I feel like its service training once-removed.

But, don’t despair. You can get anything you want at Alice’s restaurant.

Voulez-voulez-vous Alice’s restaurant.

>Well hell’s bells.

I lost my conversation buddy for the evening (Naiah’s laptop battery tanked), my husband is asleep, but dogs have followed suit, and I am anything but sleepy. Bollocks.

I suppose I could update my pissed off list. That was kinda fun. Until I can think of some more worthwhile shit to do, I’m afraid this is it. Abandon ship, if you can.

15. Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl”. The woman is 36 for Chrissakes.

16. Volvos. Or “Volvi”. In my experience, people who drive “Volvi” don’t really know how to drive.

16. Pottery Barn. Overpriced pretentious bullshit furniture with no soul.

17. Political discussions. No good ever comes from them, no one ever leaves them with a warm, contented feeling, and no one ever agrees, so just read The Onion or the Drudge Report and be done with it there.

18. I might be crucified for saying this, but Starbucks. And I live in Seattle. It’s just coffee, people. Haven’t you heard of hypertension? Starbucks now has over six thousand retail stores in the United States and more than ten thousand worldwide. Coffee can contribute to anxiety and panic disorders, increases the risk of miscarriages and carpal tunnel syndrome. Of course, if you think about it, most everything is bad for you, so I suppose I don’t hate coffee per se, but dammit I do hate Starbucks.

19. How many fucking different flavors of soda do we need? Coke, Cherry Coke, Vanilla Coke, Lime Coke, Dr. Pepper, Vanilla Dr Pepper, Vanilla Cherry Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, Wild Cherry Pepsi, Pepsi Twist, Cherry Vanilla coke, Pepsi Lime, Sprite, Diet Sprite, Sprite Remix, Diet Coke, Diet Cherry coke, Diet Vanilla Coke, Diet Lime Coke, Diet Dr. Pepper, Diet Vanilla Dr Pepper, Diet Vanilla Cherry Dr. Pepper, Diet Pepsi, Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi, Diet Pepsi Twist, Diet Cherry Vanilla Coke, Diet Pepsi Lime…So I’m just waiting for Diet-Cherry-Vanilla-Lime-Avocado-Porterhouse-Graham-Cracker-Grapefruit-Coke. I think it’d be a hit.

20. Self-help books. If you are able to help yourself you don’t need a fucking book.

21. Spell-checkers. No child born after 1985 knows how to spell thanks to this bullshit technological marvel, and for adults who use it, they should go cold turkey and take their licks for being a bunch of lazy shits who won’t edit their own writing.

22. Stupid-ass cell-phone ring tones. Just a ring, that’s all you need. Why do we need a digitalized version of Nelly to alert us that our phone is ringing? Bloody stupid idea.

23. People who pronounce “often” “offen”, “library” “libary”, and “fifth” “fiff”. I don’t really feel I need to elaborate on this point.

24. People who still write checks at the grocery store. They should just wear a name tag that says, “Hi. My name is _______, and I am floating this check”. Ahem.

25. Carpeted stairs. They are a bitch to vacuum.

Okay, I’m 86-ing myself at 25.
Don’t want to elevate my “Pseudo-Bitch” status to “Full-on-no-holds-barred Bitch”.

Voulez-voulez-vous Bitch.

>
I planned on one of my usual random blogs today, but in light of events in Louisiana it just felt inappropriate when so many are experiencing the pain of loss and destruction due to Katrina. I pray for those in her path and for limited damage to a beautiful and historic city. When my family and I lived in Houston, we often took trips to Louisiana to visit the dozens of beuatiful plantation homes…it would be a true loss to the history of our country if these landmarks are felled by Katrina. May those in her path stay safe and well.

>My husband is watching Survivor. Which is fine, but it is a re-run. He is watching re-runs of a contest-reality-show. He is watching re-runs of a contest-reality-show of which he already knows the outcome. If you notice my previous post, reality shows are #11 on my list of what pisses me off. What makes these people so goddamned special? My reality is a hell of a lot more interesting. If you want to see a reality show, go sit in a restaurant, or a park, and people-watch for an hour. People being people and having discussions when they don’t know anyone is listening…THAT’S entertainment. That’s one thing I like about my job. It is full of people-watching. Reaching around a guest to pour champagne or clear a course…that’s when you get to hear some interesting shit. What’s so hilarious about it is that 20% of the time people at the table are talking shit about people at other tables.

“Oh my God; can you believe how she’s dressed?”

“I think the one on the left is gay…yep, definitely…he’s drinking a mimosa.”

“SHE doesn’t need a dessert menu; she needs a treadmill…”

“Those have GOT to be fake…”

In case you haven’t noticed my excessive use of feminine pronouns above, it is usually women I hear this from. I classify myself as the biggest traitor to female gender. There’s nothing funnier than 5 or 6 women at one of my tables having a “girls day out”, trying to out-do one another with their Tiffany collection and seeing who can eat the least.

“Oh! I can’t possibly finish this…”

“I know, I’ve had two whole bites! Ugh; I’m so full!”

“See what my husband bought me for my birthday? I picked it out!”

“Oh, I got one just like it from mine…only mine’s bigger.”

People with priorities this fucked up should be sterilized.

I had a couple at a table today ask me if I believed in an afterlife. I told them it was a conversation much to grandiose to fit between taking their order and dropping their check. But in short I said that I hope so, otherwise death would be damn boring.

I’ve had some odd questions from some of my tables. I’ve been asked to help build a church, what I think of the war in Iraq, how often my husband and I have sex; even asked if I would partake in a threesome. I’ve been hugged and kissed. Once on the lips from this 95-year old woman. People are just so grateful for awesome service. I’ve had people cry as they thank me for making their cancer-survivor mother’s birthday special.

The most memorable guest I ever had was this woman who came in for breakfast about a year ago. She was alone, and not that I judge by appearances, but from looking at her you could tell that she was a person of very little means. She was celebrating a year of sobriety, and had saved up for 2 months to have breakfast at the restaurant I work in. She ordered the grand four-course breakfast, which runs about $45.00 for one person. She was just so humble and so sincere, and loved that someone was actually taking the time to talk to her. After she finished the last course, I boxed up some extra scones from the kitchen and snuck them to her so she could take them home. When I went to print her check, I could not in good conscience drop it on her table. So I wrote her a gift card saying “Congratulations on your year of sobriety! Please accept breakfast as a gift from us to celebrate your accomplishment.”
What I love about doing things like that for people is to sort of sneak away so that I can watch their faces. This poor woman broke into tears. As I was bustling around the dining room, she came up to me and asked if she could give me a hug, and I obliged. She sobbed, saying how no one had ever done anything like that for her before, and how she was so touched and grateful for what we did, and she was thankful that there were still kind people in the world. After she left, I relayed the story to one of my friends I work with, and teared up as I told it. I went to clear her table, and I found a $100 bill with a note, explaining that she came that day to spend that money, that she had saved it for something special, and she said that my co-worker and I were that something special. It was overwhelming. I tried to find her, to tell her that seeing her joy was gratuity enough for me…I know she needed that money. But she was nowhere to be found. Her reservation had no information, no phone number, nothing. It was one of the most touching moments I ever had with a guest.

So even though there are a lot of shallow, self-centered, judgmental elitist people out there, it’s the ones who live to be kind and grateful who renew your faith in the human race.

Wow. That post ended very differently from how it began. Tangent!

Voulez-voulez-vous tangent.

>Ahem.

I have come to the conclusion that some people get off on being miserable.

Just an observation.

I have also noticed that the gender most predominantly affected by this phenomenon is female. This is not a broad generalization (no pun intended), it is only pertaining to people that I am around on a daily basis. I have learned, through these findings, that this is a major part of my potential life that I have not seriously indulged in.

Damn. Now I have to think of some things to get really bummed about. Ah! I shall make a list. Of things that piss me off. This may be lengthy and arbitrary, but I really can’t think of what else to write about today, so my contribution is limited.

1. Velour jogging suits. What sort of Mickey mouse bullshit is this? Is it the official uniform of soccer moms nationwide? Grow the fuck up and quit trying to look like you’re 21.

2. Spoiled children in the grocery store. Granted, I realize I as of yet have no children of my own, and as such you may deem me supremely unqualified to make this observation, but having lived and worked in a daycare environment for almost 10 years, I know how children will behave for their teachers and daycare providers then become these loathsome, uncontrollable demanding creatures the moment their parents arrive. THAT is why it pisses me off. Pussy-ass parenting. Get some balls, people.

3. People who wear too much perfume and cologne. Just makes you wonder what they smell like without it.

4. The entire Generation Y.

5. Those channel-specific ads with the sound effects that pop up during the show you are currently watching advertising a show you are not currently watching and thus refuse to watch on the basis that it interrupted the show you were watching. This really pisses me off when I’m watching TNG on Spike. Bastards.

6. People who refuse to leash their dogs. I have two dogs, and they are on a leash at all times save for trips to the dog park. The kicker is when people get pissed at me when my leashed-dog snaps at their un-leashed dog when their un-leashed dog gallops up and jumps all over the damn place. I think some people should be leashed.

7. Those damn stuffers in the mail with grocery store ads and pizza coupons that fall apart the minute you take them out of the mailbox.

8. Dead watch batteries.

9. Being called a “microsoft wife”. Fuckers.

10. Women’s magazines. They should include antidepressant prescriptions and self-image therapy with the subscription.

11. Reality shows.

12. When they re-make a movie and it sucks ass (i.e., The Ring 1&2, the Grudge; pretty much any Americanized-remake of brilliant Japanese horror films…)

13. Opinionated judgmental sensationalist self-important brainwashing documentary filmmakers.

14. People who make lists of what pisses them off.

Okay, that’s enough for today. Spending a considerable amount of time thinking about what pisses you off is not a very constructive way to spend your time. Now go away so I can find something else to do. Like clam-digging.

Voulez-voulez-vous clam-digging.

>Unfortunate of all events;
My bone’s in disrepair.
The twinge-y pain, Oh I’m pissed off;
But not quite in despair.

For I am not to be bested
Met-a-tar-sal or no.
Bad-ass am I, bum foot and all,
No heel nor arch nor toe.

So ’tis come to this calamity
A battle for all time
The boots are off, the gauntlet’s thrown…
Victory is MINE!

(devilish laugh…)

Voulez-voulez-vous devilish laugh