*Cough*

Oh, sickness.

I think I'm developing bronchitis, my old friend.

Today's diet?

Breakfast:
Ha! I slept until noon. Screw you and your breakfast.

Lunch:
Orange juice mixed with mineral water to make an orange soda
The crusts of a turkey sandwich, the rest sitting in the 'fridge, waiting for consumption.
One kiwi fruit
One cherry tomato.

Vomit!

And then I took a few more bites of the sandwich a little bit ago.

For dinner, I'll repeat lunch, only I will finish the sandwich.


On the brightside of being sick as a dog, I ambled onto the bathroom scale, and I have managed to lose 5 pounds since my last appointment with the gynecologist. Sweet!

All I have to do is to continue to eat like a sick toddler and lay in bed, hacking up your lungs all day. I'll call a woman magazine right away and let them in on my secret.

I'm Not Dead...

...Just busy.

I have a million little thoughts I'd like to jot down- but neither the time nor the energy, so one quick note from tonight at work.

Tonight was the second time a customer called me incompetent.

It was pretty late into the evening. Restaurant closes at 10:00 on weekdays, and a couple walked through the door at 9:45. Late hits- I fucking loathe late hits. Anyone not considerate enough to come in at least a half hour before a restaurant closes is not going to be considerate enough to tip well, nor are they going to be considerate enough to behave. So, before I even go take a look to size them up while they settle in, I hear a buzz in the kitchen.

"Did you see table 500?"

"Yeah, they were in the bar!"

"Holy shit, who has them?"

The manager comes up to me and tells me that the couple is fucking gone. I'm not talking about a little tipsy, I'm talking about "vomit watch" drunk. He informs me that I'm not allowed to serve them any alcohol. See, Restaurant has had two strikes against their liquor license, and a third- like that couple, would lose the restaurant its license, and the profits would dry up in a snap. Essentially, this couple held in their grasp the future of the place, and serving them another well vodka on the rocks would probably doom the restaurant.

So, I go do my greet, and before I can mention the Mahi Mahi special, she's ordered a shitty vodka on the rocks.

"Ma'am, it's fairly late, and the bar may have closed. It may take a while to get the drink, can I get you some iced tea and bread while you wait?" I asked, trying to avoid saying "You're cut off, you drunk 'tard."

She started to slur something about me thinking she was drunk, and did she really look drunk, and how she was the general manager of a different restaurant, blah blah blah. And then...

"...YOU'RE INCOMPETENT!" She screamed as she stormed off, bringing her similarly situated husband behind her- probably off to another more seedy establishment to get her shitty vodka on the rocks.

Whatever, bitch. I'm not losing my job, losing this company's liquor license (and thereby the jobs of 15 other people) and paying a $1,000 fine because your stupid ass will more than likely get pulled over tonight.

Maja (who is pretty much the epitome of Stupid, Spoiled, Lazy Bitch-dom) was the bartender that night and called me excitedly into the bar so she could get the scoop. I retold the story, adding that had I not been concerned about potentially losing my job, I would have let the lady know that while I am but a lowly waitress, I spent the afternoon reading articles published on the subject of the Steady State Theory (physics) and she spent the afternoon drinking it up, only to get in her car and drive to another place to drink some more. If we wanted to talk about incompetent, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be the subject of the conversation.

I didn't realize this, but the three people left in the bar heard what I had said and erupted into applause. Apparently, the drunken couple was non-to-popular. A lady sitting in the bar slipped me a $5 bill and told me to put it toward further education.

Well, Andrey, the tightwad manager pulled me aside and asked me what happened with the table, and because he's an ass, I would normally have assumed that I was in trouble. However, Andrey was sporting a smirk, and I told him what happened. He did a creepy little giggle, and in a thick Ukrainian accent, told me that next time, agree to serve the alcohol, and let him tell the people "no."

He went on to mention that the drunken lady told him that I was an "incompetent bitch," and that she was the general manager of another restaurant, and that I should lose my job. Apparently, for the first time ever, a customer was told off, because he told her that if she was, in fact, the manager of a restaurant, she would understand the importance of abiding by the liquor laws, and that a server who decides to be responsible in the service of alcohol was not an incompetent bitch, and disrespecting the employees here is considered verbal assault- she was advised to leave the premises and told that if she did not, there would be police involved.

Holy Balls, Batman!



That being said, I'm sick...Again! My tonsils are swollen and bright red. Pretty!

So, in the spirit of lounging around, I decided to pull on a pair of pants that I haven't been able to wear since my sophomore year of high school, and Holy Weight-Loss, Batman! They fit!

Apparently, diet and exercise is NOT the way to go. All you need to do is eat like a picky 3 year old and work a job that keeps you running all day long. Sample diet:

Breakfast:
One glass of limeade (I squeeze 5 limes, add 1/3 c. sugar into a quart container and fill it with water. When it comes time to drink said limeade, I pour a glass 1/3 full of limeade, and 2/3 full of mineral water)
One peach
Two cherry tomatoes
One pickle.

That's right, a pickle.

Lunch:
Some kind of warm vegetable (Bhindi Masala, today!)
Pickle, maybe two.
Handful of cherry tomatoes
Glass of limeade
Glass of tomato juice with lime squeezed into it

Dinner:
Glass of soy milk
Sandwich (Ukrainian light rye bread, peanut butter spread thinly, bananas)
Handful of cherry tomatoes
Pickle.



No meal is complete without a pickle. And, after making any sandwich, there must be some part that gets pulled off and tossed aside. If possible, get halfway through a pickle before declaring it too salty and throw it out. And I guard those cherry tomatoes with my life. MMM.


Yup, that's it. Balance? No. Nutrition? What? Delicious? Yes.

And you, too, can have the ass the size it was when you were 15.

Because You Are Not A Woman

I try not to be a knee-jerk woman. That is, I try my hardest to see everything not just from the eyes of a being with a vagina, but as a person of no gender (or race, creed, color, orientation, etc)

But sometimes, I have to stop a knee-jerk man by explaining how the brain of a knee-jerk woman functions.


Today, the conversation with Boyfriend started out with me explaining that I was going to the gynecologist. I decided to inform him that I planned on going back to using the birth control pill because the last time I made a decision about my reproductive health without him, he had a shit-fit. Mind you, that was about a month after our first date, and I didn't think it was any of his business, and that I had to do something about my vagina, that was between me and the doctor.

Either way, there was still a shit-fit. So, this time around, since we now live together (and share a bed that goes frequently unused- which makes me think that my vagina is still none of his business), I figured that I should at least tell him what my plans are for my vagina.

I'm planning on putting it back on birth control. That being said, I noted that my gynecologist does not require an internal exam to prescribe the birth control pill. I further explained that in order for me to get birth control as a 16 year old (for the regulation of my cycles) I did not have to have an exam, either. But, after I turned 18, I was required to have the internal exams.

Really, I was just musing...I didn't mean to make any real point- I was just thinking that any time a woman is over the age of 18, she would automatically require an internal exam to get any kind of medication- birth control or otherwise.

I think he took what I was saying completely backwards, and somehow turned it into how all women regard all men as filthy dirty creatures that should never under any circumstances come in contact with a vagina not belonging to that man's wife. And that took him to some crazy mental frenzy where I was suddenly put on defense for being female- as apparently, all females prejudge men in an unfair manner and assume all men are dirty nasty pigs that ought not to be dealt with in any manner.

I found myself having to explain to him that life is different as a woman. I had to explain that even while I am not the hot blonde in the restaurant or bar, while working as a waitress, some business man slapped my ass EVERY night.

I had to explain that for every nice guy out there, there is at least one jackass, and the jackasses are the ones that make their presence known.

I had to explain that even as a not-attractive girl in a city full of naked hot girls (New Orleans) I could not walk alone in the city- and I certainly wouldn't walk with just a group of females at night.

Now, part of me wants to say "I shouldn't have to be afraid and take an escort if I want to get some fucking groceries at 8 pm." But the other part says "Don't be so sensationalist...just be sensible."

Anyway, he argued that it just isn't fair that women assume he's creepy because he's shy.

"Boyfriend, you make unfair judgments all the time. You had a bad experience with a crazy-ass bitch in your past dating life, and after her, I'm sure you made judgments about other women based on Crazy Bitch's behavior. If some new woman exhibited the behavior you saw in Crazy Bitch, you would avoid her."

He gave an affirmative grunt.

"Now, let's say that rather than wasting a year of your dating life, that woman had caused you physical harm. Let's say she humiliated you and committed an act of violence against you."

He gave an grunt of acknowledgement.

"Now, I would have to argue that you are actually retarded (read: IQ below 70) if you don't make judgments about other women in order to protect yourself. Sometimes, the judgments will be wrong, but hey- you won't have to be a victim again."

He launched into the "you've never been raped" argument. My first thought was "that you know of" as I'm pretty secretive, and had I been raped, I doubt I would tell him about it. I haven't, mind you.

"I've had friends who have been brutally raped. I can learn from their mistakes, too."

"Well, it's not all about rape- men can be mugged, too."

"Boyfriend, you are an imposing figure- just like most men. You're 6'2", I'm 5'4" and obviously weak. If there is a guy prowling the streets looking for someone to mug, he's not going to pick the big strong dude- he's going after the little woman."

"True."

I think he understands a little bit, or at least figured out that I'm not going to let the fight die without taking him down.

I'm generally of the opinion that men and women should be able to interact without fear of each other, but realistically I know that is completely impossible.

I don't like to say "you'll never understand" but I truly believe that men will very rarely understand exactly what women worry about when it comes to men.