My Random Blog

I would like to take a moment to thank my bloggy friends for your support in my time of emotional retardation. I would like to let y’all know that I am in much better shape today. Minus the hangover.

Thanks to a little one-on-one “conversation” with someone who’s naturally gifted at helping people in need (you know who you are)- I have managed to put everything in perspective and I’m ready for the next phase… whatever that may be.

I mentioned in a Twitter that I got pulled over last night, with one of my best girls in the car with me. We were headed over to Fave Watering Hole when lights went a-flashin’ behind me. Knowing my registration was waaaayyyyy overdue, I was worried that my car would be towed away. ‘Cause that’s what they do here when you’re as late as I am.

Mr. Officer comes to my window and tells me what I already know. I apologized and told him I was aware of the problem and would be fixing it A.S.A.P. He seemed pretty cool about the whole thing and then asked who my friend was. She told him and he went back to his car to look her up.

Turns out my passenger had let a couple of traffic incidents slide and had 2 warrants out on her. That’s when I peed myself. I started immediately imagining my car being towed away, my friend being taken to jail and me left sitting on the curb wondering why the fuck I didn’t stay home, and where I was going to get the $2,000 to get my car out of police impound. So while Mr. Officer was at his car doing whatever it is that cops do, her and I were holding hands, so tightly that I think we each broke a finger, and praying to the gods of irresponsibility that we’d somehow get out of this without handcuffs and a tow truck.

The gods of irresponsibility heard our prayers, because we both got off with tickets. Turns out Mr. Officer was a very nice guy and was in a very lenient mood. He was even joking around with us and being quite charming. So charming, in fact, that he gave me his card and I left him a thank you voice mail later on.

A girl at work asked me to go out with her tonight and have a beer. After I laughed hysterically, I declined. Not only does my hangover prevent me from wanting to be within 10 feet of an alcoholic beverage, I don’t think I should be driving with an expired registration any more than I absolutely have to. I DO have to get to work- but that’s it. I have 60 days to rectify the situation and I shall.

Peace and nice cops that like brunettes.

This being single thing is not as easy as I thought it would be. I am enjoying it- don’t get me wrong. However, I haven’t been going out as much lately, so my meeting of potential new crushes has slowed down quite a bit. Not a big deal, but I am still a woman with needs.

It’s kind of a shock to the system to go from booty on a regular basis to none at all. D. and I were good at all things naked. Some times were better than others, of course, but it was always available. That was one of my favorite things about being in a long term relationship: 24-7 booty availability. Even if you don’t utilize it, it’s there and you know it.

When my relationship ended, the sex went with it. And while there was Guy It Didn’t Work Out With and Stupid Cuteness, there hasn’t really been anything promising. And since I want to continue my lifelong avoidance of STD’s, and I would like to avoid turning my vagina into an amusement park, I’ve taken to hooking up with my ex when it’s convenient for us. Which has been surprisingly often.

The downside to me and D. continuing to horizontally mambo, is that we’re drunk most of the time (somewhere along the line we became each other’s “booty call”). Combine that with we still care about each other, and are very comfortable together and we finally ended up with carelessness in the birth control department. It was fun, it was fabulous and my neighbors hated me for it. And I was seriously worried that we’d have a permanent souvenir to show for it.

I wasn’t in panic mode just yet, but getting more worried by the day. Then I realized that my shiny new Super Phone actually had the date wrong. (I use the calendar religiously to keep my life in order.) I thought it was the 5th, when it was actually the 3rd. Not sure how that happened, but I fixed it.

Anyway- last night, at work, I felt the beginnings of the usual lower-stomach pains and have never been so happy to have them. Today everything is as it should be, and I plan to spend this fine Cinco de Mayo celebrating Mexican Independence AND Aunt Flo. Oh and I made a doctor’s appointment today to get my ass back on Depo-Provera.

Peace and condoms, condoms, condoms!

I like to say that if it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any. Most nights at work I get the worst tables, I ALWAYS manage to drive behind the dumbest, slowest fucking people on EARTH, and if you’ve read my blog before- you know my luck with guys has been less than stellar, to say the least. Well not today, my friends. Not only was luck on my side, it was buying me drinks and trying to take me home.

So I’m on my way to work and I’m driving about 50 mph in a 35 mph zone. (I don’t usually do that, but today I was running a wee bit late.) As I’m jamming along, I notice that- about 3 feet ahead of me- is a motorcycle cop semi-hidden on a little side street. After I peed myself, I started to panic. There was nothing I could do but let off the gas and hope that my car would jerk down to the speed limit, instantly. It did not.

As I’m passing the cop, I’m looking right at him. And he was looking right at ME. He watched me pass him. After I’ve passed, I decide to hit my breaks, which I know is pointless, but what the hell? Then I looked into my rear-view, fully expecting to see him with lights flashing, right behind me. But what did I see? Him pulling over the guy who was driving right BEHIND me! I am crappin’ you negative!

I don’t know how, and I don’t know why… But somehow my horrible luck attacked the poor bastard behind me and I was able to continue on my way… shaking like a naked chicken.

From now on I will be driving 35 down that street.

Peace and lessons learned.

This has been the worst case of Contacts Stupidity that I’ve ever had. After four days of misery and pain, my eyes are back to their old selves. If this hasn’t taught me a lesson, then nothing will. I’m guessing that the irritation lasted as long as it did because I wore my contacts for many hours the very next day after sleeping in them. Not my smartest move ever.

I’ve been confined to my house for 3 days and I am going stir crazy. I’m blaming this fact for my post yesterday about Ryan Reynolds’ abs. There really is no excuse for that other than I was suffering from cabin fever and lack of human contact. My apologies.

I have to be at work at 5:30 and I am frightened by the fact I am actually looking forward to it. I have also been counting down the hours until Sunday night, where I will be celebrating my recovered eyeballs and giving my kidneys something to cry about. Mostly I’m excited about being out in the world again without wanting to pull my eyes out and throw them. I’ll also be inviting a new firefighter friend out to join the festivities. I met him Sat. night and would like to see him again. Now that I can actually see anything.

Peace and healthy eyesight.

One of the first things my doctor told me, when I got my contact lenses, was to not sleep in them. (I didn’t opt for the “day and night” ones.) He also said not to shower in them, and now I know why- but that’s a whole other act of stupidity.

Saturday night, after work, I met up with my bff for a beer. Turns out several of our other friends had the same idea, so one beer turned into two, three, four… You get the idea.

Once safely home, I fell into bed and was asleep before I could even have a thought. Unfortunately, my contacts were still in. Eight hours later, I woke up to a white haze covering my field of vision and little plastic discs firmly attached to my eyeballs. I could have sworn they were actually glued in. It took half a bottle of eye drops and a lot of poking myself in the eyes to get them out. Very unpleasant, to say the least, and the white haze lingered for a couple of hours.

I had to be at work by 5 and wasn’t sure how I was going to handle wearing my contacts again. Without them, I can’t see 2 feet past my face, so not wearing them was not an option. I had to drive to work, after all. And being that yesterday was Sunday- there was some definite partying to be done. I worked, I partied, I came home and took OUT my contacts.

Today my right eye has decided to rebel against my head. Any light brighter than my laptop monitor sends a shooting pain through my eye and into my brain. It has also been watering non-stop since I stupidly opened it this morning. I am a sexy beast today… Let me tell ya.

I’d like to think that this is a lesson learned, but I’m sure it isn’t, as I’ve done this before. Several times. Thankfully, all will be better tomorrow. Until then, however, I am stuck in the house and won’t be able to attend a friend’s BBQ tonight. (Insert sad, pouty, one-eyed face here.) Oh well… things could always be worse, right? Right. I think now I’ll look into the day and night contacts.

Peace and listen to your doctor.

Good God I’ve been active lately. Too active, almost. It’s a miracle I have clean clothes left and functioning kidneys. I am happy to report that I do. To both. But barely.

Being in a relationship with D. the last 5 1/2 years had made me kind of a homebody. We stayed in a lot more than we went out. Which was fine… all was comfy and routine. Then we broke up. And for some reason, that signaled to me the intense need to go out into the world as often as humanly possible. It helps that my bff is also single, and hates her roommates, so is therefore down to be out there with me every second we’re not at work.

What have I been doing? Having 5 1/2 years of single fun, in a much shorter time span: Cocktails, spending time with people who make me laugh, meeting new people and developing, and then retracting, various crushes.

The first crush, as you may remember, didn’t go well. He was absolutely fabulous when we weren’t dressed, but completely insane when we were. I have since changed my phone number and deleted my “social networking site” profile. Since doing those things, I have not heard from him- nor has my car suffered any more damage. My fingers remain crossed, and the police department on my speed dial.

The second crush I developed was, evidently, wrong from day one. He was a bartender (well, he still is) at one of my fave little watering holes. Having been a bartender for years, a lifetime ago, I should have known better. His cuteness got the better of me, however, and I didn’t listen to my better judgment. Alas, he turned out to be a total flake, and after a few weeks of being disappointed and frustrated, I grabbed my parachute and bailed. It all ended before it really even started, and now I’m both happy and sad that I didn’t get to see him naked. Oh well… You can’t see everyone naked, right?

So now there is a new person flying on my radar. At the risk of jinxing it by blogging about it, I’ll say that he’s very cute, and very nice and the crush is mutual. It’s all very high school right now. And I’m digging it for the time being. So far he doesn’t seem crazy or flaky- but they don’t wear signs now do they? At this point I’ll just be happy if he doesn’t break anything I paid thousands of dollars for.

Today I am off work and plan to do absolutely nothing. No restaurants, no bars, no beer or Dirty Porn Stars… Today I intend to eat my Easter chocolate, drink Jones cream soda (if you’ve never had Jones cream soda- you MUST) and sit on the couch until my ass falls apart. Oh happy day.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Easter holiday.

Peace and sugar.

So I waited on some asshole tonight who pissed me off to the point where I came THISCLOSE to hitting him in his face with his menu. As I took it from him, I lifted it right past his face and over his head- as I rolled my eyes in plain view of his friends. Why? You ask… Because he was a fucking douche.

Here’s my thing: As a patron in the restaurant where I work, I am your server. I am not, however, your BITCH. I choose to be a server. I have the schedule that I want and I make good money. I love working with the public; I’m good at it. If you’ve read my blog before, you know that I can be quite witty. (HA!) I am also very friendly and outgoing… in real life. I love meeting and interacting with new people. I want your experience with me to be fun and memorable. I was a bartender for MANY years- which I loved, but grew tired of… So now I’m a “server”. And while I still have the love for the job… my love for assholes has grown thin.

It’s par for the course to entertain an asshole or two; I’m used to that. But tonight’s douche pissed me off to the point where the Mexican/Apache Indian in me could not be held back. I was so pissed off by the way he spoke to me that I had to involve a manger in transferring him to another server. He (manager) ok’d it with a quickness because he’s seen me in rare form, and knew that it was the best thing to do- considering how pissed off I was. While I like to think of myself as an educated, public-friendly individual… I have been known to be quite violent when it comes to people who upset me enough. And I am proud to say that in 18 years in the restaurant/bar business, I’ve only physically injured one patron. (The rest were on my time.)

So the new server, Jenn, took over and Douche was just as rude to her. He even asked her if she was “nicer than the last one”. (Yeah- he meant ME.) And even went as far as to “inform” her that he could have both our jobs. Yeah…. He actually said that. As if it were true. It wasn’t. The only way he could pull that off is if he bought the company. Good luck asshole. It’s world-wide. And I rock at what I do.

That was my night. Completely kick-ass fabulous until I met Mr. King Douche Bag. Who is very lucky that I transferred him before I punched him in the throat and ended his love affair with oxygen. I hate to advocate violence- but being what I am made of… it’s in my genes. And I’ve NEVER been afraid to use it. But on another note…

I own my super cute car, carry one of several gorgeous Coach bags (I also have a killer Prada), wear designer clothes, have an iPhone, and and am capable of hacking you and your computer with just a few keystrokes….

I’m not beneith you because I am your server. I am probably smarter and better dressed than you, outside of my job. (If you’re an asshole.)

I will do everything I can to make your experience fabulous. I want you to be happy. I want you to come back. But if you disrespect me, I will not tolerate it. I’m no one’s bitch. Perhaps there are some 20 year old white girls who will put up with your shit, but this 34 year old Mexican will not.

I just hope I see him out somewhere… so that I can give him a new respect for the people who wait on him. He pissed me off that much.

P.S. If you’re a 20-something white girl… don’t hate-mail me. I’m just sayin’.

Peace and RESPECT YOUR SERVERS!

Edit: I just read this again and it made me cringe a little so I’d like to offer this piece of advice (and insight, interestingly enough): Don’t blog when you’re mad and full of beer. That is all.