Hey baby I hear the blues are callin'....

DHP has officially come out of the closet. *le sigh*

You know, I always held a tiny sliver of hope, but today it has been dashed aside. I think it's time for a Lifetime Movie Shower.

Memorial Day weekend

Completely banked at the Restaurant today, despite the usual slow Memorial Day lag. Last week's hypothesis further proven. Someone came into town and surprised me this weekend. Lots of wine, lots of cigarettes, lots of ridiculously good sex. And a rather unfortunate incident with some jalapeno poppers, but that's a story for another day. All of which completely overshadows my transmission blowing out and racking up a $1400 bill, a fact that really isn't bothering me that much at present.

Hope everyone's weekend was as good as mine.

Waitstaff Appreciation Day

Christians have Christmas, Jews have Hanukkah (or Chanukah, or Xh#8!sgh), and waiters have National Waitstaff Appreciation Day (assuming, of course, that waiting tables can be considered a religion - and for those lifers, it probably is). The Restaurant is our Temple, the expo line is out confessional, and we touch our foreheads with marinera before each shift.

Perhaps not.

So how should i celebrate? Is there some sort of server fairy walking around with wings of uncooked pasta and a gown of stained linen napkins? I think I'll just sit on a customer's lap and tell them exactly what I'd like for this NWAD. Apart from being completely mystified as to why their waiter has taken up residence on top of their legs, I'm sure they'd be most amused. But really, I'm spending the day working a double, making minimal amounts of money in the near empty Italian restaurant of a dead college town. At least it's a vast improvement to sitting at home staring at the cat.

PSA for Monday, May 21:
Go out to dinner, treat yourself to a full course meal, be especially nice to your waiter, and tip them exceptionally well. It mat not always seem like it, but we deserve it, I promise.

Keep Austin Weird

As reported in yesterday's post, I spent the last few days on a much needed mini-break in Austin. Aside from the aforemention horizontal calisthenics that capped off the trip, my visit was filled with a vast assortment of wild antics, including, but not limited to:

1.) A 5 hour drive up with a sountrack consisting almost entirely of Disney music.

2.) Vodka tonics. Lots of them.

3.) A wild sex orgy (completely separate from the incident described yesterday) involving 2 wiley midgets, a goat, and 3 members of Ben Folds Five.*

4.) Operator. No further explanation necessary.

5.) A giant burrito from Freebird's that I couldn't finish. I know, I was surprised too. And a little disappointed. Call it a moment of weakness; I became lost in the unfathomable infinities of that gargantuan spinach tortilla...

6.) Being groped by a complete stranger in a bar, and then told, "sorry! I thought you were my boyfriend." Ouch.

*This is a lie. There was only one midget. And he wasn't very wiley.

Written All Over My Face

I walk into the Restaurant today after a brief vacation to be met by a set of curiously raised eyebrows on our hostess's face. Before I can even open my mouth to ask what she was on about, she deadpans: "You had sex."

It was a good vacation.

It doesn't stop there, however. As I deliver drinks to table 73, one of the occupants says to me, with a slight smirk,"Someone had a good night last night." Without giving it a second thought, I quite contentedly reply, "Oh yeah, very good." No. NONO. What have I said. Upon realizing that I quite bluntly blurted a mildly risqué response, and that I have no idea who these people are or how they could possibly have known the intimate nature of my previous night's activities, my eyes grow quite wide and my mouth forms a small "o" as if realization that I had just eaten a bug. My face turns a violent shade of red that resembles nothing more closely than a fully ripe tomato. The man who made the initial comment laughed amusedly at my apparent discomfort, and pointed to my neck, as if in explaination. And then it dawns on me.

"I saw your hickey, sugar," he says. I then grimace in same manner as Lucille Ball (circa "Vitametavegamin") and omit a nervous laugh which I attempt to make nonchalant, but probably comes off as more pathetically desperate for an excuse to leave. And I did, just then. I don't know whether I'm more embarassed about him seeing my hickey, or my acknowledgement to his insinuation.



This isn't all bad however. Despite my brief encounter with mortification, I spend most of the night walking around in a blissful daze most often associated with the post-coital morning-after of a night of you know what.

And though the Restaurant was torturously dead, I make more money off of fewer tables than should be allowed. Blame it on my good mood and subsequent extra cheerful demeanor. Conclusion: Should engage in sexual activity much more often. If only for the sake of better tips.

Banquet '07

Do have much to update about, but in the wake of the end of the semester, (I wish I were)Dead Week, and upcoming finals, I've been swamped. Welcome relief: this weekend's annual Theatre Banquet. Gorgeous dress, cooler hat, lots of vodka, and a wee bit o' freak dancing. Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure. (that's me and Red over there, just before we left our place)