A Food service industry PSA

Alright, I have one piece of advice for everyone who ever plans on eating out at restaurant ever again in their entire lives:

Sit where the hostess wants to put you. Please.

Don't ask for your party of 4 to sit at an 8 top, don't request to move all the way across the restaurant to some random table that isn't any better than the one at which the hostess wanted to sit you, and don't try and sneak off to a booth when you think we aren't looking (your waiter will notice - I swear). There is a reason she's trying to sit you there, so we'd appreciate it if you'd just go with the flow.

It would make things so much less frustrating, thank you.

Oh, I see. No, I've only got some of "Nurse McCready's Surgical Bruise Lotion."

So I was in the showere the other day whiling away my time and basking in the abscence of dead week, theatre history papers, and advanced acting scenes (all the while thinking of David Hyde Pierce, as I often do) when I noticed a peculiar discoloration on my right inner thigh. Upon close inspection I discovered that I had a huge oblong purple bruise accompanied by several smaller bruises the size of my thumbnail surrounding it. Now, it isn't really unusual for me to random bruises on my person, but this one in particular gave me pause due to its size, shape, and the fact that I have no fucking idea how it got there. But I have some theories......

• A bear punched me. I wasn't just either attacked by a bear, or punched by someone, but a bear actually punched me. This could have happened when I was on one of my regular treks through the wilderness, on my eternal quest to become one with nature and discover the truths of human existance in the deep fathoms of......whatever. There I was, aimlessly cutting down foliage with my huge-ass macheté, and then this dumb bear came out of nowhere and decided to pick a fight. No, not a fight - a rumble. He got some of his West Side Story bear friends, and a raccoon or two to come down and kick my ass for invading their turf, and a particularly nasty northern grizzly bitch-slapped me in the leg.

• Red beats me in my sleep. I'm serious. There have been many a night when I'd wake up to the feel of her hands kneeding at my skin. At first I pretended not to notice, feigning sleep when the shame overwhelmed me, but now the pain has become so brutal that I have to speak out. And then she started touching my no-no spots and all did was lie there and take it. Guys, you have no idea.

• The little drummer boy got a little crazy with his drumsticks. He probably got sick of me trying to sing his stupid song and fill everyone with Christmas cheer. Really. He threatened me within an inch of my life that if I sung his dumb song one more time he'd bash the three wise men over the head with a candy cane and hurl the baby Jesus into the snow. Pa rump a pum pum.

• Moira beats me in my sleep. This seems by far the most likely explanation. Have you seen the way she looks at me? Satan lives behind those eyes.

• There was that wild orgy I had the other night with the football and team and a few midgets. I tell you, those guys are kinky; at first I didn't mind it too much, but there are only so many dirty things one can do with a helmet and a jock strap before it starts getting boring. And what I did with that llama was probably a mistake. Then the coach walked in and it all got way out of hand......

• Quidditch practice was particularly rough. Damn bludgers come out of nowhere.
  

Numerology, vol. 2

Current temperature: 57 degrees
Cups of coffe consumed in the last 2 hours: 6
Theatre history papers to write: 1
# of pages left to compose: too many
# of days left to complete paper: not enough
# of times I've said "fuck" about above statement: 37 (today)
Hours of sleep gotten last night: 3
Amount of money in my bank account: $9.13
# of people currently residing in Ohio whom I'm missing more than life: 1
Nights spent in the library: 1 (so far)
Naps taken in the library when I should have been writing: 4
Advanced acting scenes due: 1
Days spend rehearsing for that scene: 0
Dead hookers in my trunk: 5
Bruises on my left leg (possiby from struggle involved inkilling the hookers): 3
Trips to The Bell in the last 24 hours: 1
Estimated trips to The Bell in the next 3 days: indeterminate
# of times David Hyde Pierce has showed up at my door renouncing his homosexuality in favor of sleeping with me: ......I'm still waiting....
# of sticks up my Com.111 professor's ass: 17
Odds of those sticks being removed: 193 to one. against.