Why I Won't Return To Nashville

Well, blogger friends, the time has come...again. After a failed attempt to have a bachelorette party for Shmishelle due to the flu making us feel like we were dying for two days, we are hitting the road a short month later for some classy drunken fun.

Just in time, too. my last few weeks have included a funeral, in which I drove to Nashville and back with my family in three days, and tons of hours to make up for the road trip sponsored by my grandmother's not-so-untimely death.

My mental stability has not returned enough yet to go through the entire trip with you but let's look at some highlights just for some classy drunken fun.

• My sister singing Thrift Shop the entire trip. I'm not even going to describe this one to you. Just click on the link and listen to it thirty times in a row. Then imagine you have listened to it thirty-five more. I'm listening to it right now and am starting to have flashbacks.
• My 10 year old niece was the only one that actually behaved herself on the trip, and didn't throw some sort of tantrum. She was also the only one who was actually a child and would've had the only excuse you should to throw a tantrum. Being a child.
• We found out about the death and the funeral through a mass text. I also found out more information from facebook than I did through the text. My grandma died at 3am Tuesday, and the funeral was held at 1pm on Wednesday. The rest of my dad's family were already there so no one was inconvenienced. But us.
• Due to the sudden increase in quality time with my family I recharged my laptop every night and spent the car ride listening to my old cd's from high school.
• My computer was actually dead the last three hours of the trip. I just kept the earphones in and pretended like I was still listening to music so that no one would talk to me.
• Don't judge me, my sister was in the front seat pretending to be asleep.
• My niece is a tattletale. She told my mom that my sister and I were making fun of her on the way back from Kansas City. Just wait until the next time you stay at my apartment, little girl.
• When my mom told me about my niece tattling on us I simply replied, "You didn't make fun of us too? You know that's a good way to relieve pent up aggression, right?" As a side note, there may still be some social concepts that I don't understand.

So there you have it. My list of reasons why I am never returning to Nashville as long as I can help it. May your weekend be filled with family free fun, and lots of booze. I know mine will!



How Would Jesus Smell?

Well folks, the time of year to celebrate Jesus rising from the dead has come. Personally, I think it was a little inconsiderate of Jesus to rise up after three days of rotting away in a tomb. You know that he didn't bathe in the nearest river right away. No, he had a conversation with Mary Magdalene with his three-morning breath and let her kneel at his unwashed decaying feet. When he came to his followers none of them could even recognize him. That goes to show that not even the son of God can look good after a three day death nap. And Lazarus? He was dead for four days before Jesus decided that he could live a little longer. Don't know what kind of life that could have been afterwards. I've never tried to wash the smell of rotting flesh from myself, but I don't think that shit goes away.

I have difficulty connecting with the Easter story, because it just doesn't make sense to me. I understand the meaning behind it, and I grew up hearing it over and over again. As an adult, though, I have a tougher time believing in people just up and rising from the dead after days and being perfectly fine. I'd rather believe that the zombie apocalypse (which I slightly blame Jesus for starting) is going to occur than believe that people are randomly going to be able to die for three days, walk out of their sealed tomb, and go visit their friends like nothing happened.

"I don't remember the last time I've felt this rested! Praise my father!"

When it comes down to it I wasn't there so I can't say it didn't actually go down the way a bunch of old men who may or may not have been directly involved wrote it forty years after it happened. Maybe it did. If a seven foot tall bunny can break into my house and leave me a neon colored plastic basket filled with candy in the middle of the night without me noticing then maybe a guy can get sealed inside a tomb then rise up smelling like springtime and purity.

The Flu Cancelled My Plans

Well, my days in a row of lying on my couch watching Community non-stop have come to an end. I was supposed to go to a bachelorette party this weekend for Shmishelle, but she woke up with the flu on Friday and it had to be cancelled. Good thing, too, because when I woke up on Saturday I thought that I was on the brink of death.

I don't become sick that often so I am a huge baby when illness even thinks about walking past my door. This time I had the works; fever, runny nose, sneezing, coughing, and whining. Unfortunately, I live by myself and my cat really did not care, so I just complained to myself.

Since the maid of honor ended up getting sick on Saturday as well as Shmishelle and I, it is probably a good thing that we did not go out of town and pay just under a hundred dollars to sit around in a hotel room for two nights and hate the world. I am disappointed that the weekend did not turn out the way it was supposed to, but also am happy that when we do go it will be many degrees warmer and there will be no snow. Since we will be going to a winery, along with going to a dinner theatre and out for drinks afterwards, the warmer weather will make the trip much more enjoyable, although I do think we could have had a blast with a few bottles of wine and our friends in the hotel room if we had needed to. Plus, what better way is there to pretend you aren't sick than by getting just a wee bit tipsy?

What are some things that you did for your bachelor/ette party that were different than the norm?

Can I Bum One Of Those?

Well, it's that magical time of year again. Time for the birds to start chirping sweet sweet nothings into my window at ridiculous hours of the morning. Time for the trees to start blooming. Time for the grass to start giving those lonely lawn mowers something to live for again.

I am a little late wishing everyone a happy first day of spring, but I have spent the first part of it battling what felt like death but what I assume to be the flu, and staring out my windows wondering why Kansas is covered in something that belongs to the season that should have ended four days ago.

Since I have voluntarily stuck myself inside for the day, I decided to use it to be miserable without cigarettes. Unfortunately, I have some, I just don't want...that's not right. I don't need to smoke one. I would very much like to, so I keep telling myself that I will have one in an 'hour from now' knowing that the hour I am waiting for will copy the concept of 'tomorrow never actually arrives.'

So happy spring, readers. I hope that somewhere you are enjoying warm weather, cold daiquiris, and as much nicotine as your little heart desires.

I've Been Robbed!

My client cancelled on me due to a family emergency today, so I went in to Shmupplebees and picked up a serving shift. I had a decent section including two tables that seat four, and two tables that seat six down the ramp from my first two tables. I knew I wouldn't be at work that long but held hope through the two six-tops, since they are in the bar area and usually attract drinkers and large tippers. I was not disappointed, or so I thought.

My first table that got sat was a five-top of middle-aged men. Two of them had drinks, and a couple others ordered appetizers and desert. Their ticket came to about $120.00. My second table was also a group of five older men who had a couple drinks between them, an appetizer, and deserts all around. Their ticket came to $149.97. I had one other table with a $37.00 ticket that left me a little over two dollars, but I wasn't worried. Both of my other tables were joking around with me, knew how to act in a restaurant, and appeared to know how to tip. The second table that got sat left and I eagerly skipped over to find the thirty dollars that I was sure they left me. I picked up the credit card slip and stared, and stared, and stared. I couldn't believe my eyes. Could they really have left me this amount? Sitting on the tip line was a scribbled $10.00. I knew it wasn't a mistake because the total added up to 159.99. What did I do wrong, gentlemen? I thought we liked each other. I thought you found my jokes amusing and my demeanor adorable.

The other table left me about twenty-six dollars, and with tip-out I made thirty overall, which isn't bad for two hours, but I still want my twenty dollars. That is the thing about serving. No matter how much money you make, you will always feel robbed by the couple of assholes that gave you less then you thought you deserved.

Another dilemma I faced tonight that is quite common among servers was what to do with the money. I didn't make what I wanted to, so should I put it in my bank account or spend it on beer to help me forget the night? Who knows what the real answer to that is. I am late in opening an ice cold Miller Light, however, so I bid you good evening and sweet dreams.

And Your Little Dog Too

Even though yesterday found me frustrated at Shmupplebees, I am quite attached to the working electricity in my apartment so I went in to try and pick up another shift tonight. My client at the Mental Health Center cancelled our session, so I curled my hair, drove to Shmupplebees, and put on some make-up using my rearview mirror expecting someone to go home and let me work for them. I want you to know that I am quite opposed to curling my hair and putting on make-up most of the time, but I am desperate for money and the tips are better if I look pretty.

After a point, all but one server had told me no, and the remaining server was not there yet. I was told that if she did not arrive within five minutes I could have her shift since she was already late and had not called to inform the management that she wouldn't be there on time. I went outside to smoke a cigarette in anticipation while I waited to find out if she would show up. I was excited not only because I needed a shift, but because I view this girl as one of the few people I would seriously think about running over with my car (I wouldn't actually do it), and it would feel oh so good to see her face after I was allowed to steal her section right out from under her judgmental smaller-than-average nose.

Look, don't judge me. Let me tell you a little bit about this person I have named Shmody. Imagine you are having a conversation with someone. I don't care what the conversation is about or who it is with. I am giving you creative license on that one because it doesn't matter. It can be. any. conversation. Now imagine that someone who doesn't have anything to do with what you are talking about comes up and says things like, "who?" "what's the problem?" "what happened?" "Robert from accounting?" or "who's boyfriend did that?". She will come up to any conversation or situation and attempt to micromanage it when she has no idea what is going on. She walks around the restaurant telling employees in stations that she has never worked how to do their jobs. I literally cannot speak to Shmody because words won't come out of my mouth without sounding like a death threat when they are directed at her.

Alas, and woe is me, she showed up with a minute to spare so I am free to sit at home and tell internet strangers about her. Will she ever see it? I sure hope not because this shit will get me fired. Would it have an effect on her anyway? Doubtful. Does it make me feel good? Of course! That's why I'm doing it. So enjoy the money you make tonight, Shmody. I'll get you next time my pretty.

Frustrated In Kansas

Tonight I picked up a shift at Shmupplebees. Ten months ago I had them stop scheduling me so that I would be available anytime I was needed at the Mental Health Center, where I had just started working as an attendant care worker. I pick up serving shifts when I am available, which usually consists of me walking in between five and six and asking if anyone wants the night off, or me covering for someone that has too much homework or is sick. Because I haven’t been there as much, and I don’t solely need Shmupplebees to live off of, I was actually starting to enjoy my job there again. I remembered that I do like serving. Days are rarely like the last. I get to meet new people every night. They tell me where they have been in life and bring something fresh and new with them when they come into my section. They give me ideas for blog posts which have been severely lacking since even before I started as an AC worker (sorry..).  But tonight I received a reminder why I do not want to work in a restaurant for the rest of my life. The employees; or, for this purpose, the management.

Working at the Mental Health Center, I have found something that I had lost a long time ago. Pride in my work and a hunger to do my job well. I even tried to bring this mentality to Shmupplebees but tonight I was sorely disappointed to find out that I am not as invested as other employees to do my job correctly since I am not scheduled. At least this is what I was told (by someone other that the person who said it) tonight.

It began when I asked the manager on duty if she thought that my closing duties were less than what they needed to be. I had a bad close a few weeks ago, in which everything was fixed before I left, and have been punished, so to speak, for it ever since. The manager that was working the night of the bad close told Smichelle that I could close for her, but if I did a bad job then Shmishelle, not me, would not be allowed to close again. Come to find out, it was not because I had been performing poorly consistently, it was because I wasn't as ‘invested’ in doing a good job. The manager working tonight said that my job performance was excellent, by the way.

Shmichelle, the manager, and I were talking in the office after the restaurant was cleaned up this evening, and that is where I found this information out. I was also told by the manager that I had the most guest complaints than any other server that worked there. The manager said that she had never seen a complaint on me, and I have never been told of any at all by any of the managers.

None of this should bother me. It’s just Shmupplebees and I don’t want to rely on it to survive anymore. I’m just upset that I am hearing these things through other people. Wouldn't it be easier to talk to me directly so that the problem can be fixed? Unfortunately the people in charge of running the restaurant can’t simply sit down with the person and talk to them about how to fix the problems that are occurring, so that the employees creating said problems can do better at their job performance. It would make sense to, but why deal with confrontation when you can just sit in a manager’s meeting and never do anything to actually solve issues.

It does bother me, though. It makes me feel bad about myself. I have no proof that I have the most customer complaints, but in my mind tonight there is a plethora of people out there hating my guts for ruining their dining experience, and that doesn’t make me feel great about myself.

I will probably have let it go by the morning, but for tonight I remain frustrated in Kansas.