SCENE
The Manager sits in the downstairs part of The Restaurant after the lunch shift going over the daily paperwork, while Gina comes down the stairs sipping on her shift drink of white wine.
Gina: Hey Manager, try this. It's verdicchio . . . I think it might be, like, a little oxidized or something.
Manager: Yeeeeah, it's kind of okay, but not really. Tell the bartender I said you could have another shift drink.
Gina [already half-way to the stairs]: Okay!
Manager: Well, I mean chug that one first and then go tell the bartender I said you could have another shift drink.
Gina: Now see, this is why I love this job. Oh, uh, well not the only reason of course, but one of many . . . you know . . . [runs up the stairs to procure a glass of pilsner.]
END SCENE
Really, my job still rocks. After many, many, maaaaany different jobs, I've come to learn that if work doesn't suck after the initial excitement or, at least, novelty wears off somewhere around the one month mark, the job is a good one.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
minor bipolarity is fun!
Dick Cheney shot someone? The Danish (or is it the Dutch) made a cartoon? I spent three hours tonight watching the Olympics while eating an Amy's frozen dinner and drinking "Sleepytime" tea and it's the most normal (and sober) I've felt in two months.
Ever since I got back to the city from Christmas vacation and started my job, I have been incapable of focusing on any one thing for more than a few minutes. Even reading blogs (let's not even talk about writing), watching a whole TV show, and emailing friends--my usual go-to ADD activities--have required too much attention. My life has become like the crazy brunch shift at work, minus the cappuccino making and cheese plate explaining. I've become addicted to constant human interaction, and when I'm alone I don't know what to do with myself and usually go into a semi-coma browsing eBay or lying on the futon listening to my February playlist over and over, counting the hours until I can go to work or start drinking with my friends. I've also become a royal idiot, failing to pay any bills, losing my cell phone, constantly forgetting to charge my new cell phone, not looking into health insurance options (sorry, Mom,) and leaving bowls with yogurt residue in the sink (an interesting science experiment--you should try it sometime).
Today, with monumental effort, I managed to hang up my 800 pairs of jeans, start the process of finding a subletter, scrub the very active live yogurt cultures from my bowls, still fail to pay my overdue rent bill, and then just STOP, in the form of a little women's figure skating and thunder-thighed men in tights racing around in a circle. Of course, once my head was clear I started to think about stuff that isn't so fun to think about. Like how I'm still just a lazy brat with no direction or foreseeable accomplishments and a growing dependence on alcohol. The last two months have been nothing but excitement and manic fun and I've felt better than I have in three years (seriously). I certainly don't feel bad about that, but there needs to be some sort of balance, which I hope will come with moving to an apartment I might actually spend some time in. And maybe, like, an internship or a yoga class or a hobby or something. But there's no way I'm giving up my free shift drinks.
Ever since I got back to the city from Christmas vacation and started my job, I have been incapable of focusing on any one thing for more than a few minutes. Even reading blogs (let's not even talk about writing), watching a whole TV show, and emailing friends--my usual go-to ADD activities--have required too much attention. My life has become like the crazy brunch shift at work, minus the cappuccino making and cheese plate explaining. I've become addicted to constant human interaction, and when I'm alone I don't know what to do with myself and usually go into a semi-coma browsing eBay or lying on the futon listening to my February playlist over and over, counting the hours until I can go to work or start drinking with my friends. I've also become a royal idiot, failing to pay any bills, losing my cell phone, constantly forgetting to charge my new cell phone, not looking into health insurance options (sorry, Mom,) and leaving bowls with yogurt residue in the sink (an interesting science experiment--you should try it sometime).
Today, with monumental effort, I managed to hang up my 800 pairs of jeans, start the process of finding a subletter, scrub the very active live yogurt cultures from my bowls, still fail to pay my overdue rent bill, and then just STOP, in the form of a little women's figure skating and thunder-thighed men in tights racing around in a circle. Of course, once my head was clear I started to think about stuff that isn't so fun to think about. Like how I'm still just a lazy brat with no direction or foreseeable accomplishments and a growing dependence on alcohol. The last two months have been nothing but excitement and manic fun and I've felt better than I have in three years (seriously). I certainly don't feel bad about that, but there needs to be some sort of balance, which I hope will come with moving to an apartment I might actually spend some time in. And maybe, like, an internship or a yoga class or a hobby or something. But there's no way I'm giving up my free shift drinks.
Monday, February 20, 2006
tick, tick, tick . . .
I want a goddamn dog! Like this one. Or some other one. I'm giving myself three more years of resistance. Hopefully by then I'll have achieved fame and fortune with my astounding waitressing skills and will have the time and means to take care of it.
Friday, February 17, 2006
at last
Well I'm movin' on down!
Mooovin' on down!
To the East Village!
Mooovin' on down!
To a three bedroom walkup apartment on the fifth floor, I'm movin' on down!
Mooovin' on down!
With a coupla random dudes!
Mooovin' on down!
So I can't walk around my apartment naked, anymore!
Now who wants to help me move?
Mooovin' on down!
To the East Village!
Mooovin' on down!
To a three bedroom walkup apartment on the fifth floor, I'm movin' on down!
Mooovin' on down!
With a coupla random dudes!
Mooovin' on down!
So I can't walk around my apartment naked, anymore!
Now who wants to help me move?
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
be my valentine
Dearest Blog,
So much has happened that I could tell you about lately, but, you see, I've failed to make it home five nights out of the last six. Fortunately, my friends have big beds and I sleep pretty darn good after a nice beer, wine, and whiskey combo. Let's see . . . there's the continuing non-saga of the Work Buddy, the epic porno sex with the Scruffy Brit, Perplexa's visit from London, my short but promising search for an apartment more conducive to returning to it in the evening, and an unfortunate encounter between my face and the sidewalk on the night of The Great NYC Blizzard of 2006. But for now, it's time to leave the internet cafe that has become one of my many homes and serve wine and regional Italian specialties to happy couples. I miss you and I promise to tell you more soon.
XOXOXO,
Gina
So much has happened that I could tell you about lately, but, you see, I've failed to make it home five nights out of the last six. Fortunately, my friends have big beds and I sleep pretty darn good after a nice beer, wine, and whiskey combo. Let's see . . . there's the continuing non-saga of the Work Buddy, the epic porno sex with the Scruffy Brit, Perplexa's visit from London, my short but promising search for an apartment more conducive to returning to it in the evening, and an unfortunate encounter between my face and the sidewalk on the night of The Great NYC Blizzard of 2006. But for now, it's time to leave the internet cafe that has become one of my many homes and serve wine and regional Italian specialties to happy couples. I miss you and I promise to tell you more soon.
XOXOXO,
Gina
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
the punkification of carrie elizabeth [last name redacted]
The extended weekend with my sister was awesome. Here's the breakdown for anyone who cares. (Probably just me, but it's MY blog now isn't it.)
friday
Since I closed work on Thursday night and Carrie took the red eye flight from LA, we were zombies on Friday. However, there is always energy for shopping, so we put on our finest trucker caps and headed to Williamsburg. I bought a pair of denim tights at Built By Wendy, and Carrie got a turtleneck and somehow manages to make it look hot. We then proceeded to Beacon's Closet, where Carrie found two cute Marc Jacobs items for a combined total of $40, all by herself. I've taught the girl well. We toyed with the idea of doing some East Village drinking, but settled on wine and cheese at my apartment. It was not difficult to polish off almost an entire puck of La Tur, and the two bottles of wine went down just as easily, making two more glasses at Cafe Lux tragically unnecessary...
saturday
Except for the part where I got written up for being 40 minutes late, work on Saturday was amazing. I bartended the brunch shift for the first time, and my trepidation quickly wore off when I realized that I would have no double skim cappuccinos to make and the hungry, hungover masses couldn't bother me in my own little enclave of wine glasses. Due to some crappy weather, there was only one person who sat at the bar all day. That person happens to be a singer in this little band I kinda like. Once I deduced who she was based on her unique gorgeousness and the doodle of her name in her notepad, I stuck my head in the wine fridge to turn my face back to a slightly lesser shade of beet red and then we talked. We talked about the Environmental Protection Agency, the craziness of both of her bands' tour schedules, the superior quality of my restaurant's espresso, and Ultragrrrl's apartment. Then she put me on the list for her band's upcoming soldout show and solidified my girlcrush. After work I was pretty tired, so Carrie and I stayed in and I dyed her hair black. My bathroom now looks like an oil tanker crashed in it, but her hair looks pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.
it looks better with the dye washed out
sunday
I bartended again for Sunday brunch, and while no stunning well-known musicians came to the restaurant, there was excitement to be had. Just up the street, a Friend of the Waiters was having a Super Bowl party. Carrie came to the restaurant to watch me do my boring closing paperwork and then I proceeded to get shitcanned with my coworkers and a couple of male models. After the game we played Suits, at which point I blacked out for a little bit. When I regained consciousness, I was at an East Village bar with a small portion of the party contingent. Apparently, I did a smoker survey and got a free lighter, which my sister explained to me when I pulled a fancy lighter out of my bag two days later. Anyway, somewhere along the line I decided to sleep with a fellow waiter, a decision that turned out to be both fun and convenient since he lives in the general vicinity of the restaurant and we both had to work the next morning.
monday
I'm not sure if I was still drunk or just hungover at work on Monday, but it wasn't so bad, and there was no post-hookup awkwardness (at least not that I could tell, though my general perception was functioning at about 10%.) I'd ask him to bring rollups to table 4 and then think, "Oh yeah we had sex last night. Huh." He's cute and just the right combo of dork and cool so hopefully things will continue to not be weird. The one time I cursed my impaired state was when the Stunning Singer came in again for a to-go latte. I barely saw her, but she did say hi to me and was wearing a coat very similar to mine, which of course means that we are destined to become lifepartners. After work Carrie and I ate pizza and relived our Nick-at-Nite based childhood watching Dragnet, which is one of the three DVDs that I own.
tuesday
Tuesday was the last day with Carrie, so we tried to make the most of it. We did a little more shopping, but I was the only one who fell prey to the offerings at the Seventh Street consignment shop. Damn Marc Jacobs and his shiny little shoes, and damn Ellen for making me realize that it's fun to be a girl and possess footwear other than broken-in Frye boots. Now it was Carrie's turn to drop $100, which she did by getting her first tattoo. It's in the same place as mine and also a children's book reference. We held hands the whole time and I wish I'd had my camera with me because it was too sweet for words.
Hooray for New York, my sister, and financial irresponsibility.
friday
Since I closed work on Thursday night and Carrie took the red eye flight from LA, we were zombies on Friday. However, there is always energy for shopping, so we put on our finest trucker caps and headed to Williamsburg. I bought a pair of denim tights at Built By Wendy, and Carrie got a turtleneck and somehow manages to make it look hot. We then proceeded to Beacon's Closet, where Carrie found two cute Marc Jacobs items for a combined total of $40, all by herself. I've taught the girl well. We toyed with the idea of doing some East Village drinking, but settled on wine and cheese at my apartment. It was not difficult to polish off almost an entire puck of La Tur, and the two bottles of wine went down just as easily, making two more glasses at Cafe Lux tragically unnecessary...
saturday
Except for the part where I got written up for being 40 minutes late, work on Saturday was amazing. I bartended the brunch shift for the first time, and my trepidation quickly wore off when I realized that I would have no double skim cappuccinos to make and the hungry, hungover masses couldn't bother me in my own little enclave of wine glasses. Due to some crappy weather, there was only one person who sat at the bar all day. That person happens to be a singer in this little band I kinda like. Once I deduced who she was based on her unique gorgeousness and the doodle of her name in her notepad, I stuck my head in the wine fridge to turn my face back to a slightly lesser shade of beet red and then we talked. We talked about the Environmental Protection Agency, the craziness of both of her bands' tour schedules, the superior quality of my restaurant's espresso, and Ultragrrrl's apartment. Then she put me on the list for her band's upcoming soldout show and solidified my girlcrush. After work I was pretty tired, so Carrie and I stayed in and I dyed her hair black. My bathroom now looks like an oil tanker crashed in it, but her hair looks pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.
it looks better with the dye washed outsunday
I bartended again for Sunday brunch, and while no stunning well-known musicians came to the restaurant, there was excitement to be had. Just up the street, a Friend of the Waiters was having a Super Bowl party. Carrie came to the restaurant to watch me do my boring closing paperwork and then I proceeded to get shitcanned with my coworkers and a couple of male models. After the game we played Suits, at which point I blacked out for a little bit. When I regained consciousness, I was at an East Village bar with a small portion of the party contingent. Apparently, I did a smoker survey and got a free lighter, which my sister explained to me when I pulled a fancy lighter out of my bag two days later. Anyway, somewhere along the line I decided to sleep with a fellow waiter, a decision that turned out to be both fun and convenient since he lives in the general vicinity of the restaurant and we both had to work the next morning.
monday
I'm not sure if I was still drunk or just hungover at work on Monday, but it wasn't so bad, and there was no post-hookup awkwardness (at least not that I could tell, though my general perception was functioning at about 10%.) I'd ask him to bring rollups to table 4 and then think, "Oh yeah we had sex last night. Huh." He's cute and just the right combo of dork and cool so hopefully things will continue to not be weird. The one time I cursed my impaired state was when the Stunning Singer came in again for a to-go latte. I barely saw her, but she did say hi to me and was wearing a coat very similar to mine, which of course means that we are destined to become lifepartners. After work Carrie and I ate pizza and relived our Nick-at-Nite based childhood watching Dragnet, which is one of the three DVDs that I own.
tuesday
Tuesday was the last day with Carrie, so we tried to make the most of it. We did a little more shopping, but I was the only one who fell prey to the offerings at the Seventh Street consignment shop. Damn Marc Jacobs and his shiny little shoes, and damn Ellen for making me realize that it's fun to be a girl and possess footwear other than broken-in Frye boots. Now it was Carrie's turn to drop $100, which she did by getting her first tattoo. It's in the same place as mine and also a children's book reference. We held hands the whole time and I wish I'd had my camera with me because it was too sweet for words.
Hooray for New York, my sister, and financial irresponsibility.
Friday, February 03, 2006
christians are weird
Yesterday I was browsing for cheap, formerly expensive jeans on Ebay and came across a listing for my current favorite brand. The description included something like, "I love these jeans but they don't fit," and the word "love" was hyperlinked. So I clicked on it and was taken here. Nothing like spreading Jesus' love through the resale of "new without tags" designer denim.
And then my sister sent me the link to the Local Paper's coverage of Catholic Schools Week. I went to Catholic school for eight years in that town and I don't recall Catholic Schools Week. Apparently the privilege of trading my plaid jumper for a pair of stirrup pants, slouch socks, and an oversized sweater for a day didn't resonate too much with me. If anyone can figure out what the fuck those "hush buttons" are all about and why 2/3 of the article is about them, I'll bake you some cookies or something.
And then my sister sent me the link to the Local Paper's coverage of Catholic Schools Week. I went to Catholic school for eight years in that town and I don't recall Catholic Schools Week. Apparently the privilege of trading my plaid jumper for a pair of stirrup pants, slouch socks, and an oversized sweater for a day didn't resonate too much with me. If anyone can figure out what the fuck those "hush buttons" are all about and why 2/3 of the article is about them, I'll bake you some cookies or something.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
self love
Tonight I'm having a nice little date with myself. No, not THAT kind of date. Well actually . . . err, nevermind. Anyway, so far I've drunk four beers, ate an unnecessary amount of granola, exposed my loved ones to internet scrutiny, and downloaded a buttload of new music. Even though music is my favorite thing in the whole wide world aside from the essentials--that would be air, food, sex, friends, and alcohol (am I missing anything?)--I often get lazy and just listen to the same stuff over and over until I get sick of it, and then I keep listening to it until I can barely even hear it anymore. Then I either go to the record store and buy ten albums at once or spend half a day stealing songs on the internet. Today was the latter, and tomorrow might have to be the former since I actually like a good portion of the downloads, and there's something about having the whole shebang even if you only ever repeat the same few songs. Here are the bands/artists that will be keeping me company on my daily commute between Siberia and the Lower East Side, followed by the particular newish song I've heard twenty times today. I believe not a single one on this list hails from Canada, and 2/3 of them make me want to jump around, not cry. You can pick your jaw up off the floor now.
For all your electronic-y, dance-y, more-addictive-than-crack and catchier-than-herpes needs.
LCD Soundsystem - "Tribulations"
Ladytron - "Destroy Everything You Touch"
Go! Team - "Ladyflash"
I wish I had a boyfriend so we could break up and I could listen to these songs and feel better.
Okkervil River - "For Real"
Jens Lekman - "Maple Leaves"
The Clientele - "Since K Got Over Me"
These songs make me want to get drunk in a dark bar and wake up with mysterious bruises.
Art Brut - "Good Weekend"
Arctic Monkeys - "Mardy Bum"
White Rose Movement - "Love is a Number" (Pitchfork hasn't even reviewed them yet! And in high school I wrote a 17-page research paper about the White Rose Movement--a World War II era student rebellion in Germany. I am so cool it hurts.)
And we have now moved on to the film portion of the evening. Netflix has recently provided me with Sid and Nancy, a classic date movie if ever there was one.
For all your electronic-y, dance-y, more-addictive-than-crack and catchier-than-herpes needs.
LCD Soundsystem - "Tribulations"
Ladytron - "Destroy Everything You Touch"
Go! Team - "Ladyflash"
I wish I had a boyfriend so we could break up and I could listen to these songs and feel better.
Okkervil River - "For Real"
Jens Lekman - "Maple Leaves"
The Clientele - "Since K Got Over Me"
These songs make me want to get drunk in a dark bar and wake up with mysterious bruises.
Art Brut - "Good Weekend"
Arctic Monkeys - "Mardy Bum"
White Rose Movement - "Love is a Number" (Pitchfork hasn't even reviewed them yet! And in high school I wrote a 17-page research paper about the White Rose Movement--a World War II era student rebellion in Germany. I am so cool it hurts.)
And we have now moved on to the film portion of the evening. Netflix has recently provided me with Sid and Nancy, a classic date movie if ever there was one.
tidbits
*Today I went to the Pixar exhibit at MoMA. It was pretty darn great. I particularly liked the pencil sketches and grey resin character molds, and the Toy Story zoetrope (which I had to ask several guards how to find...2nd floor, as in TWO floors above the basement level, Media Gallery) was ridiculously cool. You can, and should, read all about it here.
*It pays to be out drinking at 4 a.m. on a Tuesday night. After our fifth "just one last drink," Ellen and I found ourselves stuck listening to some dude wearing gold studded glasses and a beret, for the simple reason that we had good seats at the bar and were not about to give them up. He insisted on buying us a rum and coke and two Coronas, just as the lights came on. After his credit card was declined, he offered the bartender his PayPal card. Needless to say, the drinks were removed and he disappeared, hopefully with much shame.
*For the Gina Is a Tool When Meeting the Marginally Famous files, upon shaking the hand of a member of Interpol (who had been blatantly checking out Ellen through several rounds of drinks) in the wee hours last night, I said, "Wow your hand is warm." His friend said, "Pockets." Interpol said, "Pockets." And then they left and we went home.
*My little sis is coming to visit this weekend!!! I am so glad that I've passed on to her my penchant for impromptu, impractical vacations.
*It pays to be out drinking at 4 a.m. on a Tuesday night. After our fifth "just one last drink," Ellen and I found ourselves stuck listening to some dude wearing gold studded glasses and a beret, for the simple reason that we had good seats at the bar and were not about to give them up. He insisted on buying us a rum and coke and two Coronas, just as the lights came on. After his credit card was declined, he offered the bartender his PayPal card. Needless to say, the drinks were removed and he disappeared, hopefully with much shame.
*For the Gina Is a Tool When Meeting the Marginally Famous files, upon shaking the hand of a member of Interpol (who had been blatantly checking out Ellen through several rounds of drinks) in the wee hours last night, I said, "Wow your hand is warm." His friend said, "Pockets." Interpol said, "Pockets." And then they left and we went home.
*My little sis is coming to visit this weekend!!! I am so glad that I've passed on to her my penchant for impromptu, impractical vacations.
Monday, January 30, 2006
ten levels of greatness
My newish friend J is pretty awesome, and he has a blog. Ellen just alerted me to this archived gem: Expert's Guide to the Ten Levels of Hangover. If I had a hangover right now, I'd be cursing him for making my head hurt from laughing so hard. An excerpt:
Keep up the good work, J.
LEVEL 1
Really not a "hangover" at all. You were drinking last night (probably just a few beers) and this morning you are thirsty and a little groggy. While you would prefer to avoid, say, bright sunlight and loud construction sites, you're really just one slice of toast and a glass of ginger ale away from feeling 100%. Even mentioning a hangover right now makes you a sixteen year-old girl. From Connecticut.
Keep up the good work, J.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
is that a telephoto lens in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Today was the day for beautiful long-haired boys. The Scruffy Brit and I walked off our respective hangovers on the beach in the very deserted Coney Island where the sun was shining and the sand was dirty. He took lots of pictures with his fancy camera while I held his lens cap and danced around trying to keep warm. He's kinda dreamy. And that's all I'm going to say about that at this juncture.
Later on, Ellen and I were going to the Broken Social Scene concert so I went over to her apartment beforehand. Doors were supposed to open at 8, so we arrived at what we thought was a cautious 9:20. Turns out they'd been playing for over an hour upon our arrival, while we'd been watching the first two episodes of Lost, eating arepas, and freezing our asses off for the sake of cheap caffeinated malt liquor. Missing the majority of the performance of my current favorite band...for the second time: smooth move, Ex-lax.
I was so upset I wanted to cry, but then the couple songs we managed to catch were so heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way I wanted to cry so it all evened out in the end. At one point I counted fifteen musicians on the stage including five brass players, five maraca players, two guitarists, three or so vocalists, and two drummers including my favorite band member and future husband John Crossingham. I might have to attempt sneaking into tomorrow's sold out performance. I don't know why a little Canadian jam band brings me so much joy, but I'm glad it does.
Later on, Ellen and I were going to the Broken Social Scene concert so I went over to her apartment beforehand. Doors were supposed to open at 8, so we arrived at what we thought was a cautious 9:20. Turns out they'd been playing for over an hour upon our arrival, while we'd been watching the first two episodes of Lost, eating arepas, and freezing our asses off for the sake of cheap caffeinated malt liquor. Missing the majority of the performance of my current favorite band...for the second time: smooth move, Ex-lax.
I was so upset I wanted to cry, but then the couple songs we managed to catch were so heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way I wanted to cry so it all evened out in the end. At one point I counted fifteen musicians on the stage including five brass players, five maraca players, two guitarists, three or so vocalists, and two drummers including my favorite band member and future husband John Crossingham. I might have to attempt sneaking into tomorrow's sold out performance. I don't know why a little Canadian jam band brings me so much joy, but I'm glad it does.
Friday, January 27, 2006
new blog
Since my creative urges run much deeper than this here website, I have decided to branch out with my blogging. As of January 27th, 2006, I am a co-author of the blog www.soakingwetpanties2006.blogspot.com along with Ellen as "ham sandwich" and Gael as "fish taco." I am "egg salad." We write about lunch. All the time. We're expecting a book deal within the year.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
nothin' like a little january afternoon sun
I finally bothered to learn how to use that sophisticated self-timer feature. National Geographic should be knocking down my door any day now.Have I mentioned yet how much I love not doing the 9-5? Yes? About 18 times too many? So much so that I've gotten really fucking annoying? Oops, sorry. But I love it so much. I don't think it'll ever get old. Just being outside and breathing in the crisp winter air today made me so happy. (Except for the air within a half-block radius of Gray's Papaya, which just made me want to abort my turkey sandwich mission for a couple hot dogs.)
Monday, January 23, 2006
self-absorbed, sure, who isn't? exhibitionist, hells no.
Early this morning (errr, I suppose it was technically the afternoon) as my fellow waiter, the cute executive chef (uh oh...but unmarried this time!), and I were awaiting our first table, two folks who were way overdressed for the neighborhood entered the restaurant. I was so excited to have something to do other than clean the dried milk goo off the espresso machine steamer spigot thing for the third time that I ignored that fact and ran up to them with menus.
"Two for lun..."
"Wereyouherewhenthe ROOF COLLAPSED??" she asked.
"Oh, uh, yeah I was."
"What did it SOUND like? Was it REALLY LOUD? I heard it was like gunshots!"
"Actually I didn't hear anything. We were pretty busy then."
"Well can you just tell us what you saw?! What it was like to be here?!"
"Um, I guess so, sure. Well all of a sudden there were some fire trucks, and lots of people standing around watching stuff, even though you couldn't see anything..."
At this point her companion revealed a gigantic NY1 camera, and I concurrently disappeared behind the chef and blushed like a schoolgirl. He said he wasn't there until later, the waiter shared my lack of desire to be on mediocre local television, though for more sophisticated reasons, and we were off the hook. The poor NY1 folks just wanted to talk to someone who wasn't a rabbi, they told us. We told them to talk to Teany.
"Two for lun..."
"Wereyouherewhenthe ROOF COLLAPSED??" she asked.
"Oh, uh, yeah I was."
"What did it SOUND like? Was it REALLY LOUD? I heard it was like gunshots!"
"Actually I didn't hear anything. We were pretty busy then."
"Well can you just tell us what you saw?! What it was like to be here?!"
"Um, I guess so, sure. Well all of a sudden there were some fire trucks, and lots of people standing around watching stuff, even though you couldn't see anything..."
At this point her companion revealed a gigantic NY1 camera, and I concurrently disappeared behind the chef and blushed like a schoolgirl. He said he wasn't there until later, the waiter shared my lack of desire to be on mediocre local television, though for more sophisticated reasons, and we were off the hook. The poor NY1 folks just wanted to talk to someone who wasn't a rabbi, they told us. We told them to talk to Teany.
out of commission
Due to an understaffing situation, I have basically been living at the restaurant, making time only for a little drinkin'. Which is alright, because I like it there and I'm broke as a joke and they pay me and drinking is fun. But I can barely manage to speak in complete sentences that don't involve the words pecorino or sangiovese. So now that I'm finally home I'm just gonna flip between Skating With Celebrities and Antiques Roadshow, and hopefully I'll be semi-alive by the end of the week, when I have two, count 'em, TWO, days off. IN A ROW.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
gael's dog alice, the new love of my life, is so cute i could eat her
Now who can tell me the most awesome part of this picture? (which I stole from Gael's Flickr...thanks, G) There is only one answer, and it is neither my winter pallor, the scottie dog, the empty Heineken, nor that blue cold cream-esque jar.
i really hate...
...people who describe themselves, first and foremost, as "artists." No, you are a dog walker and like to throw paint around/play bass guitar/not eat for three days in your free time. Or, you actually make a living doing something creative and then you are a designer/illustrator/synchronized swimmer/whatever. A couple years ago I went on a date with a painter dude (and full-time flower shop worker) who used his self-described "artist" status in reference to everything. I would mention my affinity for spinach and mushroom pizza, and he would say, "Well, as an artist, I prefer pepperoni." Vomit. Needless to say, as an artist, he did not get laid that night. (Though maybe if he'd been hotter...)
Ah well, at least the rampant use of the "artist" descriptor makes it much easier for me to weed through potential roommates on Craigslist.
And now, as a waitress, I am going to bed because I'm working 12 shifts in the next 12 days.
Ah well, at least the rampant use of the "artist" descriptor makes it much easier for me to weed through potential roommates on Craigslist.
And now, as a waitress, I am going to bed because I'm working 12 shifts in the next 12 days.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
new blog obsession (blogsession?)
Behold, justalittleguy:
Like cute overload, only funny. And a whole lot better.
Armadillos are like Junior Mints. Wait, no, more like sexy librarians. No, I got it, Armadillos are like koopa troopers. Yeah. There're all hard on the outside with big ears and a bad attitude, but once you get to know them, they're really nice and cute and they have hopes and fears just like the rest of us. Ya know?
Like cute overload, only funny. And a whole lot better.
Monday, January 16, 2006
ho-leeee crap.
I realize now that I should have perhaps heeded the words of the amazingly good hairstylist when he suggested I just add a ton of highlights to my natural dark blonde base color. I was too curious about how I'd look blondie blonde to listen to him, but I'm sure I'd have loved it and gotten over that feeling. Nevertheless, what's done is done, and it's just hair, and I'm not saying I hate it per se. It's just so...blonde. (this picture actually doesn't do the blondeness justice since my overhead light is missing two bulbs)
The best part of the whole experience was the stylist himself, who works out of his Lower East Side apartment, charged me 1/4 of the salon cost when he saw my meager lunch-shift waitress earnings, and regaled me with stories about his celebrity clients including Brit Brit back when she was hot and, currently, Janice Fuckin' Dickinson.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
better than temping
It is very difficult for me to say what I'm about to say. Ahem, here goes. I...like...my...job. Weird. I know it's a little premature to make such a grand, fantastical statement, and I know certain things about food service tend to get real annoying real quick, but the simple truth is that I will take juicing lemons and oranges in the basement with the prep cooks while listening to reggaeton over entering pointless numbers into pointless spreadsheets while wearing biz cazh any day. There are just so many good things that were absent in all of my previous employment situations. The employees, like, talk to each other and joke around and have fun. I am surrounded by wine and cheese. The floor to ceiling windows comprising two walls of the restaurant make for prime hipster-watching when things are slow. When things are not slow, time goes by really fast. I get to wear JEANS. Oftentimes, actual thinking is required. The majority of my friends and my friends' friends live within a five block radius. My coworkers and bosses are friendly, interesting people. Free espresso.
That last perk is actually coming in quite handy. The only downside to all of this madness is that I seem to have forgotten how to sleep again. I'm sure once I get settled my neurons will go back to normal human functioning, but for now, I'm just a delirious, sleep-deprived freakazoid. But at least I'm a happy freakazoid. Tonight's "anything but sleep activities" included finally jumping on the flickr bandwagon. I decided to start with my favorite Chile/Argentina pictures, since I was there not practicing my really bad Spanish with the sis exactly one year ago. If you have flickr, please add me as your friend (is that what people do?) because I don't really know how it works and am too lazy to figure it out, even though it's probably the most user friendly website I've ever seen. Thanks.
That last perk is actually coming in quite handy. The only downside to all of this madness is that I seem to have forgotten how to sleep again. I'm sure once I get settled my neurons will go back to normal human functioning, but for now, I'm just a delirious, sleep-deprived freakazoid. But at least I'm a happy freakazoid. Tonight's "anything but sleep activities" included finally jumping on the flickr bandwagon. I decided to start with my favorite Chile/Argentina pictures, since I was there not practicing my really bad Spanish with the sis exactly one year ago. If you have flickr, please add me as your friend (is that what people do?) because I don't really know how it works and am too lazy to figure it out, even though it's probably the most user friendly website I've ever seen. Thanks.
