Hello There

“It’s been seven hours and fifteen days…”

Or more like seven months since I last posted. And for that, I am sorry.

I’m sorry because what devoted readers I did have have probably forgotten my very existence.

I’m sorry because I have found myself in a maelstrom funk that has continuously tried to drown any creativity out of me since I’ve quit writing.

I’m sorry because the drama of my life still exists, and you’ve all missed out on the daily dose of neurosis.

So let me sum up:

My child is now a cheeky little shit, who’s favorite thing to do is yell “SHIT!” at the top of his lungs and giggle uncontrollably, or to get right in my face and mimic a howling monkey. Actually, he’s a pretty good kid, who loves me more than anyone else, so all the other stuff is alright.

I took my Rockstar to Vegas for my birthday, where we mostly had a fabulous time, other than the moments following my  hour-long search for him during a concert, where he drunkenly cried, “Fuck you! Fuck you!” at me for no good reason. This was followed by my walking three miles down the Las Vegas Strip by myself in a tipsy rage, which was somewhat stabilized by the many offers of hugs (and money) I received. Whatever fun we did have was dampened by having a crazy man open fire on innocents from Mandalay Bay the very next day after we got home.

I’ve replaced my serving job with teenagers with a serving job with college students and am now suffering through the hell that is called Endless Shrimp. My coworkers all think I’m completely nuts, and I think they are not wrong.

I have in mind a new book series I must bring myself to work on, so it is yet to be determined whether my re-entrance to blogging will be successful.

To all of you that are still around, I’ve missed you, and will endeavor to try and get my muchness back.

XOXO

P.S. In the meantime, enjoy a Halloween picture.

Thought #17

I think this is #17 anyway. I am too lazy to look.

I was just wondering if the woman (or man, it was up in the air) that I waited on last night had one of those McDonald’s coolers inserted into her (his?) body… because it was a bit disturbing to watch her (him?) suck down 9, I repeat 9!!!!!, refills of fruit punch. I  also wonder if that had anything to do with the putrid odor that was being emitted from the booth she was sitting in. After  she left.

A Letter to Cheap Tippers

To whom it may concern,

I would like to take a moment and thank those individuals who have been so generous to leave me shitty tips.

I do not know how to express my gratitude at the effort you have made to dig into the recesses of your purses to come up with the 43 cents you left me, and that was kind of you to leave me the piece of gum that was smushed to one of the pennies, as well. I realize how fortunate I am that I will now enjoy endless hours of minty chewing, accompanied by a teeth filing from the gravel that was so thoughtfully ground into my gum while it was hitching a ride in your handbag for the last 6 months. A trip to the dentist is no longer necessary. Thank you.

I would like to express my appreciation to that man who took the time to dive into the deep abyss of his pocket, and while scratching his testes at the same time, managed to procure for me a crumpled dollar bill that he received when he got change from his lap dance at Sugar Daddies; I am pretty sure that brown smear on George Washington’s face is a skid mark from when Bunny slid her tips out from under the G-string that was flossing her ass crack. The lint from the bottom of your pocket was quite courteous of you to leave on the table with my tip, too.

Thanks must be paid to the elderly, as well. Your complete obliviousness when it comes to tipping makes me glad that some people still believe in fairy tales. Your friendly “Keep the two-pence, kid” is the highlight of my day. I will now be able to afford exactly one french fry.

Let me not forget those patrons who make no effort whatsoever to honor me with a tip. I am so delighted that I was allowed the opportunity to serve you miserable fuckers. It is my greatest aspiration  to bring you everything you need (before you ask for it), and to be rewarded with nothing other than your smile. While you are at it, would you be so kind as to accompany me when I go to pay my rent this month? That million-dollar smile may just be able to get me a few months free room and board. Since you seem to think that I am here as your personal slave, I feel it is your responsiblility to assure that my shelter is in order.

To those cocksuckers who order $70 worth of food, let your children run around like loonys, and leave a horrific mess and no tip, I have only one thing to say: You had better run if you see me in a dark alley, because I will shove my 6-inch heel up your ass so far, they will hear your screams of agony on Mars. Thank you, and have a good night.

 

 

Diary of a Pizza Slut

Dear, Diary,

Last night was my first night of closing at my new place of business, the pizza joint. Depite the fact that it’s been almost two years since I was last a waitress, I managed to refrain from dumping a tray-ful of pop on a table of customers, and didn’t screw up any orders. No, it is NOT hard to bring people food and refill their beverages, so it still astonishes me when I go out to eat and get horrid service. Really?! I realize that discussing with your co-workers the latest haircut Justin Beaver is sporting is pertinent knowledge to obtain, but when I have sucked down 2 refills of Diet Coke and need another to wash down the leftover dinners of my Beloveds, you best get your little college-student petutie at my service if you want a tip!

Anyhoo, there were a few things last night that are common restauraunt knowledge that I had forgotten:

The main one being that I am completely accident- prone.

While folding pizza boxes, I managed to slice my hand open with cardboard. I would have much preferred being stabbed in the eyeball with a dirty fork which would then become infected so that my brains seep out my eye socket. The cut happens to be on my hand right where the children lines are, so if I happen to go to a palm reader this week, I will not even be able to get an accurate reading.

Secondly, I was reminded that things fresh out of the oven tend to be a tad warm. This became glaringly apparent when my boss Frenchy dropped a pile of pizza pan thingys, and I stooped to pick them up. With every fiber of my being, I restrained myself from shrieking, “THOSE ARE FUCKIN’ HOT!!!!!” I will not be maing any lewd hand gestures at women this week, as my index and middle fingers on my left hand will be stiff from the scar tissue that will be forming.

The third and final thing I was reminded of was that men cannot aim their little pee-pees directly into a urinal. Instead they tend to point them about three inches short of the desired spot (directly at the floor) as evidenced by the puddle of piss I got to mop up.

One new thing I learned was that answering the phone was just as scary as I anticipated.

There is supplied a little prompt sheet to assist you in answering the phones, saying such things as:

Thank you for calling ________

My name is ________

Would you like to hear our specials?

It, however, tells you nothing about what you should say when the archaic stone-age computer won’t let you type in the order, or what to say when the stoner you’re talking to orders something that’s not on the menu. It was longest phone conversation of my life that only lasted a minute.

On the other hand, Diary, I was thrilled to make enough in tips to fill the 100 gallon gas tank on my POS car. XOXO