Ask & you shall receive…

We’ve had a bit of turnover in the office lately and I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find a solution that didn’t involve me trying to fit more into an already insanely busy day. Trying to find someone that is honest, reliable and has some amount of skill is akin to my finding a date.

Possible? Sure. Likely? No.

My job involves a lot of sewing and design work. Those are pretty specialized skills and I made up my mind with the last woman that we lost that I needed to find a man to balance the estrogen in the office. He’d have to be strong to offset the intense female hierarchy. Not only did I need to find a man who could sew… I needed to be comfortable teaching & correcting him.

I needed a confident unicorn who could start as soon as possible with little to no training. Awesome. I was actually laughing about it to myself when Sober One Kenobe called.

J- You don’t know anybody who sews, do you?

MSOK- Man Card.

J- What?

MSOK- Yep.

They’ve gotten divorced since we used to hang out and it’s the first relationship that’s gone wrong in my circle of friends that really hit home. I was sure I’d be baking a cake at their 50th, and my heart still aches a little that it didn’t work out. I love her, I love him and I treasured them. It’s really awful when your favorite couple breaks up.


She’s happily committed and cohabitating with her new guy… and Man Card is the Holy Grail of single men. In a lake full of perch… he’s the Kokanee we’re all after.

She was the first excited ex wife to call me, hoping he was the man at the center of my scorching hot blog posts. I don’t know when the idea hit me (or the two glasses of wine) but I asked her for a green light. I’d break a dozen of my own rules in this situation, but not without her blessing. She laughed at me for asking and rolled out the welcome mat.

Is it a bad thing to hire someone you’re attracted to? He’s my favorite guy. I would leave the Dumpling with him and I don’t leave her with anyone. I learned to trust him almost a decade ago.

So, I asked if he’d be interested and he agreed. I made him sew a variety of things yesterday and put him on the spot.

and I am so goddamn proud.

Sometimes, creatively- you are able to just let someone find what works for them. This is that moment. He’s detail oriented and listens. He’s actually really good and I had to send a video to my boss.

Beyond that? (Sorry MSOK).

He’s so fucking hot I’m going to have to get up at dawn to get ready for work and I have no choice but to add red meat back into my diet or he’s going to catch me looking at him like he’s lunch.


This is why we didn’t have any men before. I get it now. I opened the door this morning to him standing there in that same flannel shirt and boots I’d been craving, smelling like inspiration and a few thousand words.

Shit just got real…


I’m sorry, Jerk.

(An old treasure from my days in the apron ♥)

It was a quiet Friday night at work. The weather dictates how busy we’ll be, and it was overcast but warm, so the patio was half full of happy customers. With two tables a piece, the three of us were working hard to avoid hovering over the precious few determining our financial survival for the evening. Our first server was cut for the night and chatted with the rest of us while she did her closing work. My remaining coworker and I were enjoying the peaceful hum of being able to offer our customers our undivided attention to every detail they demand. People love, love, love to be coddled. Especially the people we enjoy the least.

This is where things went wrong.

Our first server sat someone on her way out the door… and neither of us heard her tell us about him. Neither of us noticed him sitting there watching the minutes tick by… and actually had no idea he wasn’t a lingering coworkers last customer, enjoying the last of his drink and the sunset.

Until he stormed out.

Instant confusion as we try to figure out what happened. I followed him to the parking lot and couldn’t find him. We realized after talking to the bussers that he’d been sat and watered, and left.

Horror is the only way to describe how you feel as a server when you realize you just walked by him until he left. We all help each other and communicate with each others’ tables. We are all responsible for making sure each guest has what he/she needs.

We are also human, and completely fallible.

So this abandoned man promptly went and left a nasty comment on Urban Spoon and God Dammit…. It’s completely valid and I feel horrible that he didn’t get helped. He was in a beautiful place, with excellent food and friendly, competent waitstaff.

All he had to do was open his mouth and speak.

While I completely apologize, I also would like to take a moment to make a PSA for how to behave in a restaurant. He is equally responsible for his bad time.

1. For the love of Pete… speak up. We are dying to provide you with everything your heart desires. We’re hellbent to deliver an experience that inspires you to over-tip us. We deal with mumbles, people on cell phones, screaming children, etc. Be a man (or lady) about it, and ask for what you want.  His gripe online says he waited 45 minutes and left. Had he said anything, he would have had an amazing time. I would never sit for 45 minutes without asking for a server. 10 minutes, tops. If you haven’t been helped in ten minutes, we do not know you exist. Throw us a bone, speak up.

2. Touch that fucking table and die. This is a collective emotion. Do not rearrange tables unless we ask you to- and we will never ask you to. We know where the invisible section lines run, which tables seat most and the most convenient place to put you. Stop touching without asking.

3. This goes double for touching me. I have to smile through a lot of really awful behavior, rude comments and sexual advances. I can handle it all with grace, until you put your hands on me. I’m a server, not a prostitute. While I will do amazing things for you, none of them will include physical contact between us. Stay in your seat and keep your hands to yourself, please.

4. I have a regular who loves me, unfortunately. He requests me, and I grit my teeth and face it. He would be pleasant, except for the constant waving of his hand in the air at me, snapping his fingers or calling me from across the room. I hate the very sight of him… but he loves me. Sigh. We may be at work to serve and spoil you… but please treat us like human beings. I’m so annoyed by his snapping that I make him wait now. I’m at a loss of what to do other than retrain him or not reward his bad behavior. Like a bad dog.

5. We make a tipped wage, sanctioned by the government. I personally earn $4.50 an hour. Your ten percent tip, insults me. Those twenty five trips I made for your ranch dressing, sides of sauce/etc… mean you’re going to apologize financially and we’re going to be even. More than 20% stuns me and I thank people personally. There are nights I only make enough to pay the babysitter for enjoying my darling baby. I have a repeat offender that I recognize immediately. He spent $126.40 this week and left $130. Lame.

6. Oh Canada… please stay in your own country or educate yourself to the differences in gratuity practices. Running your feet raw for a table of Canucks is pure hell. Trying to casually mention your hourly wage is tacky… so instead we suffer through the 2% tip that after being taxed, basically results in our paying to serve your needy asses.

7. That pretty woman chasing you is our hostess. Get your illiterate ass back behind the large sign that says “PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED”. You passed it on your way in. You saw it, you just didn’t think it applied to you. Move it. If you don”t have a reservation, you are not allowed to throw a temper tantrum. Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on our part.

8. If you have a food allergy, expect to wait longer. We think not killing you is important, so we are using clean pans, utensils, dishes, etc. If you are lying about it because you just don’t like an ingredient in something you ordered? You’re the reason we hate people with food allergies. We have no problem leaving something out of your dinner, but don’t make us bend over backwards to save yourself from looking picky. We deal with picky people every single day. You can’t scare us with your demands, but you can piss us off by lying about an allergy.

9. That apron I’m wearing is not a backwards cape. I do my best, but I’m human and fallible. I’m juggling an enormous amount of details and I do forget one now and then. I’ll be eternally grateful if you remind me. I’ll buy you a beer if you’re kind about it.

10. The hours posted on the door, online and every menu, aren’t suggested times. No you cannot come in before we open. Even if you want to sit with a beer and look at the menu. Would you ask the bank to let you in early? No. Same goes with closing time. We are exhausted and ready to drink to forget you. Get the fuck out.  Do not come in five minutes before we close and do not stay afterwards. We hate you if you do. We will smile and invite you to make yourselves comfortable while we do our closing work. We don’t mean it. We love the people that know to get the hell out.

Thank you ♥

Eww… gross.

I recently made a new friend. Introduced by one of my favorite girlfriends, I liked her immediately! She’s a gorgeous mother of 6 of the most well behaved and wonderful children I’ve ever met. She’s my age, just moved here, and offered to watch my little one if I ever needed some help. I was incredibly grateful, especially since I knew my tiny girl would love to play in a house full of kids.

When my sitter canceled at the last minute and my standby sitters were all busy, I asked if they’d be willing to let her play for a few hours. My friend Supermom agreed enthusiastically. She wouldn’t be off work until 45 minutes after I did, but her husband and 5 kids would be happy to help and she’d be there right after. I dropped her off with a bit of hesitation, to be honest. I’m extremely selective about who I leave her with, and I’d only just met them. The kids rushed out to greet her and she didn’t mind me leaving. I knew she was going to have a great time, and they lived next door to my favorite Bearded Man and Beauty Queen.

I got to work and put my phone in the glove box, approving a Facebook friend request from Supermom’s husband, feeling relieved that they were a safe family for my precious girl to be with while I had to work, because I’ve had some less than fantastic sitters. A few people at work are cell phone addicts so they’re taking them from us in order to stop the problem. It’s created a lot of stress for me personally in regards to not being able to check in to the nanny cam in my home and just be immediately accessible in case something comes up. I went in to work feeling at ease for a change, which was fantastic.

I got to the car at 8:40, and checked my phone. Two Facebook messages from the husband. Odd.


It made me uneasy. I sent Supermom a message, thanking her and letting her know I was on my way, then flew to get her. Supermom greeted me with a friendly smile as my munchkin happily ate popcorn with her sweet kids in the background. We visited for a minute, I thanked her & left. I buckled my sleepy smiling girl, with two handfuls of popcorn, into her carseat. My phone flashed as I buckled my seatbelt. Another message from the husband.


She was rattling off all the fun stuff they’d done and laughing about the kids. She said she wanted to play with them again. I tried to shake off the weird feeling I was having, and attribute it to three years of celibacy going to my head. It’s easy to misread text messages. I began shaking my head at myself for feeling weird. We got home, I tucked her in with toddler babble about splashing and playing, still coming from her. I thanked him.


I walked away from my computer and emptied the dishwasher. I came back to texts to my personal number, from him. I hadn’t given him my number so I was confused, but knew immediately who it was. Still trying to quell the unease caused by how I was interpreting his tone. I tried to respond kindly, but there was still just something, making me feel… off.


I sent Supermom a message and got a emoticon back. I honestly wondered if maybe they were swingers, getting ready to make the pitch.


Phew. Normal dad comment. I’m overreacting. Thank GOD. My baby had a great time and couldn’t wait to go back. I was being ridiculous. I felt like a bit of a jerk for jumping to asshole conclusions.


Fuck. First things first, I’m WAY too old to ignore my inner barometer. When it feels wrong, it’s because something is fucking wrong. The hair rose on the back of my neck. My douche bag radar is unparalleled these days. I’m ashamed I forgot that. I was at a loss for words and didn’t respond. I was hoping he’d clarify, respectfully. No such luck.


Well if there ever were a gilded sign from God that I am, indeed, right about men… here it is.

8I no habla slutty husband. I walked away from my phone, sat down at my laptop to see if my friend was online so I could call her, and saw his creepy Facebook messages.



Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that my little lady is the cutest and sweetest child ever born, but this crosses a line that I can’t even begin to describe. This is beyond creepy, and I wish my little girl’s incredibly defensive father was a few states closer, because this pervy husband would be gargling teeth. No exaggeration.

I was instantly afraid in my own house, and moved the baby to my bed. I think that’s what makes me the most mad.

We slept in and I woke up, tormented. Supermom is wonderful, and I had to say something to her before I called my babydaddy and her husband had to push his torso around on a skateboard for the rest of his life.

Worse yet… I had to tell my friend who’d introduced us.

Which is when I learned that he’s been texting her too. She’s happily married and pregnant and has been trying to kindly sidestep his propositions in the same way I have.

This guy is a full blown weasel, and when confronted, claims he was blackout drunk and does not remember sending any texts. I hate to use my least favorite word, but….

Aint nobody got time for that.

SO consider this is a good ol’ fashioned spanking…just not like he was hoping I’d be willing to give him.

Dear Mike,

I was going to send you an understanding message asking you if you were maybe blackout drunk. Then I realized something. That’s because I was raised to be polite, pleasant and demure. To accept even the most insincere apologies, because (to quote my mother) “To err is human, to forgive, divine.”

Only I’m a farmer, and I recognize a weasel when I see one.

You sir, prey on women. I’m sure you’ve successfully bagged a few. You’ve talked your way out of it, somehow, but not with me. I am mortally offended, on many levels.

I’m a single mother, and I have no choice but to rely on the kindness of my friends and neighbors to help me find someone safe & trustworthy to watch my precious baby, because work is not optional. Unlike you, who get to be a stay at home father, I have to work. Finding childcare is a burden I never understood, until now. How dare you use my daughter as a pickup line, and do you realize what a pedophile you sound like? How dare you humiliate both your wife and me, and put me in a position where I have to tell her something so awful.

How will you ever begin to apologize?

Oh… that’s right… by continuing to text me, during the day. SOBER.


You will never see my child again. Be glad I don’t call the police and report what a creeper you are, just in case. Incidentally, you were home alone with your own baby girl at the time you were having withdrawals for mine. Gross.

I screenshot your sketchy ass messages and sent them to your wife. She admitted you are “weak” and said it was “alcohol related and harmless” and that “it had happened before and you’d moved here for a fresh start”.

You’ve been here a month and you’ve propositioned the pregnant neighbor and your wife’s new friend. Things aren’t looking good for your fresh start. I was going to send you a text telling you what a douchebag I think you are, until I found out that, when confronted, you feigned ignorance and took no responsibility. Then I decided you needed a little public bashing, because a million guys would give a kidney to be as lucky as you.

You’re raising husbands and fathers. They’re growing up to emulate the example you set. They’re going to treat their wives the way they’ve watched you treat their mother. Now you have a baby girl. She’s going to pick a man just like YOU. How’s that sit?

You had no right to disrespect me or cross that line. You ruined a friendship for your poor wife, who already carries & makes excuses for you, and lost a fun friend for your kids. Shame on you.

Dirtbag… you are a jerk and your wife (and children) deserve better.

To the woman I fucking hate, at table 2.

 (I haven’t been a server for two years now, and this is one of the ranty little treasures I found sitting in my drafts folder. This horrible woman is still frequenting businesses that employ my friends. I didn’t publish this when I wrote it, out of respect for my employer and the depressing knowledge that I’d inevitably have to serve her again. Thankfully, I made a career change and will never have to fetch her another beer. Also, I hope she reads it.)


There were two she-beasts, actually, and they were both horrible, but one was especially cunty.

She comes in all the time, and we all dread her. She breezes past the sign that asks our guests to please wait to be seated. She is the definition of resting bitch face. Nothing about her is pleasant, and I would say I was the unlucky lady in rotation tonight, but the bitch sat herself.

In my section.


We were on a half hour wait list, and I knew I had two tables waiting next door. My manager let me know she’d told them they were behind two other tables that were already waiting, and it would be 30 minutes before we’d get to them.

I was already getting nasty looks from Snatchzilla. She’s never been happy that I’ve seen, so I’m not as horrified as I’d usually be at the sight of a clearly unhappy face. She’s (unfortunately) been a regular and is like a rolling thundercloud crashing our threshold. She regularly seats herself in my section, so it’s not my first horrible experience.

Sadly enough, she seems to be in the medical field, because she storms past me in scrubs, a lot.

I hear that Snatchzilla used to be a server. Wtf? There’s a code. If you’ve had people snap their fingers, shake their ice or whistle for you… you spend your life devoted to being a kind experience for your fellow servers. You overtip. You understand the wait. You look around the dining room and SEE the 8 billion people.

If you’ve ever tied on the apron while memorizing the specials, you don’t have to buy yourself a clue. If once upon a damn time, you were the one praying you had one table that would be understanding in the bone crushing wait a Friday night can provide, then you damn well better know how to conduct yourself.

She gets up and gets menus with a snotty “I’ll be your server tonight” to her friend. The tone is set. I warn my manager that she’s mad. She tells me she’s already spoken to the women and let them know if they insist on sitting, they will have to wait until the people on the list ahead of them are sat and served.

They still insist on sitting.

I hear Snatchzilla tell a chef that she hasn’t been served in 10 minutes. The manager tells me she’s up for rotation and I can go to her next. She’s instantly a cuntface.

S- It’s about time, we’ve been waiting for 10 minutes

J- Well my manager explained to you when you came in that we were on a 30 minute wait and the two tables ahead of you would have to be served first.

S- She didn’t say anything like that.

J- Well I apologize, but it’s outside of our control when we have other tables waiting.

S-Shhh…Do you think you can get me a beer now?

J- I can’t wait. What’ll it be?

I groaned the whole way back to get her beer, shaking my head at the pain in the ass I was bending over to receive.

Just a little background to set up where I am personally today. My sweet baby girl turned 2 this week and her father was here for three 2 1/2 hour visits this week, for the summer. She misses him, and my heart breaks for her. He left today and her little heart is sad. She didn’t want me to go, and was sad while I was gone. We all have a reason to be a bitch- but if you’re any kind of decent human, you try to add to the world, not shit on it. This horrible troll should fold up her scrubs and grab a shovel. She’s a professional fertilizer.

I let the manager know she’s furious and she takes their drinks out and reiterates what she told them when they sat themselves. Snatchzilla is only spurned on.  The hate is knee deep and I’m determined to do what I can to make sure they want for nothing, while helping the people who’ve waited patiently.

Meanwhile… I’m getting the cold shoulder from Snatchzilla because she can’t understand the concept of a waiting list, or refuses to believe the rules apply to her. I kept her beer full, and the chef took care of her order. She stayed for hours and enjoyed herself.

Then she snuck out after leaving me an asshole note on her pay stub. She wrote “Tip reflects service” and stiffed me. I feel like telling her I could qualify for sainthood for the amount of times I’ve managed to serve her without kicking the chair out from underneath her.

I’m absolutely not perfect, and I fail every day but this was not on me. If you’re the asshole that insists on sitting at a table when there are two tables ahead of you, with a half hour wait? Then you’re a fucking moron if you don’t expect to wait for a half hour.

It’s a verrrrrry small town, I went to school with her brother and we have a lot of mutual friends. It’s been a long time since I hate blogged and I’d already had a long painful day before I had to deal with her ungrateful ass. Please cut me a little slack while I pour some tea.

Yo Natalie, Fuck you.

You march your sour face into my happy place and shit your rain cloud bullshit all over any and everyone in reach. You made a little old lady apologize for your deplorable behavior. Shame on you. The lady gets one night out of the nursing home a month and she had to listen to you bitch and moan about waiting, when she’d waited patiently, for twice as long, only to watch you eat before her.  I am sad for your brother, who was a very dear friend of mine in high school. Poor Mike is every bit as nice as you are rude.

You need a little refresher course on restaurant etiquette.

See the 4′ sign staring you in your miserable face? The one that says “Wait to be seated”? That means you.

Wait list: The list made to manage people who come into a restaurant that has reached the capacity allowed to completely meet their customers expectations.

You: One who refuses to accept that the wait list applies to them. Also, you’re an impatient, thankless, rude, obnoxious, fucking cunt.

Me: Single parent of two beautiful girls, 2 & 15, with a happy heart full of gratitude for a job I do very well, that allows me to pay the bills (hopefully). Farmer. Friend. Server- NOT SERVANT.

You are staring at a spectacular view. They’re all friendly. They fed you first. They’re charming, handsome and attentive. For a salty troll, that’s like three winning lottery tickets in a week. You don’t deserve their kindness, but they’re professional in addition to being adorable. Tip them. That’s all that makes your returned appearance, tolerable.


Every server in this town that has the miserable, unfortunate job of serving you.



I’m disappointed in people these days. My job is taking a toll on me and I hate to sound like an old lady… but people rarely have respect or manners any more. I’m disenchanted. It sucks. I like seeing the good in people and it’s getting increasingly more difficult.

I’ve come to the conclusion that working with the public is basically prostitution without the touching. Every time I smile and nod yes when a customer snaps their fingers or shakes their glass at me, part of my soul dies. Every time someone demeans or disrespects me because a) their food is taking too long b) they’ve had a few drinks or c) they’re just an asshole, I lose a piece of the strong woman I’ve worked so hard to become.

I had a table of seven last night. All early 20’s. 5 men, two women. All of them drinking, somewhat heavily. As a server, I pay close attention to this type of situation because I am liable if they are over served and people of that age group (in my experience) tend to drink more recklessly than others. The douchebag at the end of the table confirms my fears immediately by ordering a double Jack on the rocks, and a Coors Light. We don’t actually sell Coors Light on our menu, but our sister restaurant next door does, so I let him know I’ll have to grab one from next door, and I drop off his glass of whiskey. The beer follows a second later as I found one in the cooler. Ten minutes later, he orders another round. I give my manager the heads up that he’s on his second double and second beer. I can’t find a damn Coors light, and stop to check in with them to let him know I’m going to grab one from next door when he interrupts me, mouth full and eyes on his plate.

DB- My beer. Get that… and it’s been a while, so I’m not paying for it.

The entire table burst into laughter, and I walked away. I dropped their check and let my manager handle it from there on out. At a certain point? Enough is enough. I can only hold my tongue and allow people to be rude to me, for so long. Even when it’s busy and we’re making $35 an hour taking the abuse with a smile. I had a regular customer order a shot of tequila last week and when I delivered it with a lime, he acted like he was going to throw it at me and I flinched. He laughed. I’m still horrified that 1. He thinks its even ok to joke about throwing something at me, and 2. That I laughed it off after flinching instinctively.

As you do when someone throws something at you.

These are the moments that I shake my head at myself in disbelief. I don’t know what comes over people when they walk into a restaurant, but it isn’t pretty, and it’s only gotten uglier.

Would someone ever snap their fingers at workers at the DMV? Good luck with that. I doubt the response would be favorable and I guarantee it wouldn’t be in the ballpark of what mine is to a customer snapping at me for another beer.

Would you ever walk into the phone company and announce that it’s your birthday, in expectation that they give you a free days worth of service? People regularly complain to me that we don’t give them anything for their birthday, or anniversary. As if I’m intentionally withholding my highly influential server powers to change restaurant policy and deliver them the free chocolate cake they deserve for being born.

I work in the line of service. I knew what I was getting into when I went into this line of work. I’m happy to go above and beyond to help someone have a wonderful experience, but hate that my financial stability depends on me swallowing my pride and accepting what the worst customers can throw at me.

There seem to be more bad apples in the emptying barrel and during the slow season, the bad apples leave an even worse taste in your mouth because there are fewer positive experiences to offset them.

Maybe it’s time to go apply for a job at the DMV.

Drunk Assholes… aka: the bane of my existence.

I turned 39 this year. I’m too damn old to be waiting tables. When I read The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook and see posts from shitty tippers screaming that we should get “real jobs”… sometimes I agree with them.

I don’t love it…. but I don’t hate it. There are faaaaaar worse things I could do for less money and longer hours. That said, we take a serious amount of abuse before we ruffle any feathers. People treat restaurant servers, abominably. The behavior we see on a weekly basis, would scare teachers, and that’s saying something.

We see problems walk in the door, regularly. Tonight was no exception.

A bubbly blonde brought a birthday cake in before we were open, and asked me to put it in the cooler until they came in for dinner. No problem. It happens a lot and we’re happy to accommodate a birthday. She told us they’d be kayaking in for dinner, and so there was a sailboat on the cake.


I should have recognized that as the first sign. I didn’t . We didn’t see them until late enough in the evening that we’d begun to wonder if the strange sailboat birthday cake had been abandoned.

If only.

They stomped in an around 8:30 and ordered a bottle of wine. Instantly we realized… She’s a laugher. Not a single soul on the patio missed her joyous cacophony. Unfortunately, my large table of foreign exchange students and host families were just introducing themselves for the first time, when her drunk idiot husband decided to perform a river-dance. He made sure to get up and dance a full circle around our patio, so nobody missed his fabulous experience, either.

It’s truly amazing to me, that two people can ruin a good time for 40 strangers, in minutes. The only thing that mystifies me more, is how oblivious they always are to their negative effect.

The idiot makes his way to the bathroom, with a multitude of attempts to clear the doorway and avoid the table of people within a few feet of his path. He’s blinking slowly, grinning and shuffling his way past me, when he stops.

I- Bathroom.

J- Straight through and to your right.

I- That way or that way?

If you are middle aged and do not know your right from your left, I am cutting you off. You can hate me. You can call me any name in the book. I have been called all of them by customers who should not continue to be served. They always come back, and they never apologize.

Our manager went to talk to SuperNasty, his caustic wife. She told her she understood they were having a good time and was happy to help that continue, but they needed to keep it to their table.

Supernasty started to walk around to the other tables to apologize.

That’s always fun.

This is the biggest problem with drunk assholes. They’re completely oblivious, and absolutely certain that everyone loves them. Worst combination, ever. It’s even worse when they start to actually confront the anonymous strangers that hate them. That makes my job so much more exciting.

These two are offending the masses and throwing fuel on the fire.

I hear her snub her server.

SN- So why do you have a problem with a good time around here?

Well that’s a fun question to answer when you really just want to know what they want to eat..

It devolved from there. It always does when a spoiled brat doesn’t get her way, or is confronted about her behavior.  There’s really no other way to slice it. For whatever reason, and ladies, I’m looking at you, some women feel incredibly empowered to be demanding, rude, condescending and insulting when you are either unable or unwilling to meet their outlandish demands.

She went to complain about who knows what and couldn’t be anything more than offended. She was just plain rude with two glasses of wine on board. SuperNasty stomped back and glared at me.

SN- Get me my fucking bill, without the food.

She stared at the hostess.

SN- And get my fucking cake.

Which is when I realize who she is. The lady who was kayaking over.

LMFAO. Hell yeah I’ll get her that cake.

She continued to berate one of the teenaged bussers, until our beloved boss comped their entire experience, and asked them not to return.

They gladly took their food to go… without paying for it and after shitting all over everyone in their vicinity. I was so bummed for my poor server friend who had to deal with them firsthand all night… but as I was leaving a little after them, I realized the wind had picked up.

They deserved every crashing wave, and I’d love to give them a birthday wish.

Dear Drunk Idiot & SuperNasty,

I hope you had an awesome kayak home after your free amazing birthday party with us. I hope your free food was delicious. I hope the sailboat cake was every bit of lemony heaven the grocery store label stated it would be. I hope the evening was worth what you cost those around you. The paying customers.

I hope your hangover is legendary and your shame, bone deep. I hope you wake up, look in the mirror, and wonder where to begin in apologizing. I hope you were experimenting with drugs and spend the next week searching for the perfect flowers and chocolate to adequately convey your horror and regret at such terrible and uncharacteristic behavior.

Unfortunately, I know that’s delusional. You’re going to wake up offended, with your deluded head, pounding. You’re going to blame the untouched food and smashed sailboat cake, on us. You’ll call a few people, who’ll call a few people… and those people will come in for dinner more often because they’re guaranteed you wont be there. #truth

You kept saying “I’m going to remember this” and I sincerely hope you do. I wrote this, just in case you don’t. It helps us remember that when one person systematically abuses every single employee, whether associated with the table or not, you (unfortunately) stand out. Most people are nice… but some people are like you.

How bout we start fresh? You sober up, get some shopping done and work on your speech. We’re open late tomorrow, so come on by whenever. You can apologize to us as a group, or individually if you prefer.

Oh and… they make bras for strapless dresses now.

xo J

Down memory lane…

He came walking in about a half hour before I got off work. Smiling, blonde and beautiful… in a suit.


I admit. I have a weakness. If you can tie your own tie, the chance of you tying me up increases exponentially.

A man in dress shoes… makes me blush.

I grew up in Hippieville… I remember the few times I saw a man in a suit and I’ve always been a fan. Give me a clean cut man with a silky soft beautiful neck above his collar? Dear God…

Who need diamonds at that point…???

Not I…

So Mr. Pin Stripe walked in and sat down, smiling. head tilted slightly back. Sharky… I know it when I see it.

P- I’d like a blonde… or your lightest…

Told ya so.

He leaned across me at nearly 6’5″ to put the aprons in my menus….

I mean….


That’s what it was like.

He leaned over me, his necklace fell an inch above my lips and I was enveloped by his cologne…

I sat back on the table behind me and he leaned in…

Good God and Baby Jesus there is nothing better than a good smelling man. Seriously.


I laughed and smacked him in the shoulder.

J- Damn you, my boyfriend is out of town, don’t torture your sweet server. Be nice.

P- I’d love to be nice…. out of town huh? What time are you off work?

Sometimes it’s nice to just sit back, smile… and laugh a little at how easy it can be. I spent years frustrated. I spent years unsatisfied.

and now it’s as easy as ordering off a menu and I don’t want it.

I only want one… and nothing else will do.

I can be charming. I’m a flirt. I’m funny, and I’ll make you want to smile along with me. Trust me. I know this about myself.

I’m the insatiable optimistic sister. Smart enough to know better and old enough to recognize real love. Lethal combo if you ask me…

I went on blind dates with my friends loser single friends. Ugh…. I’ll forever remain on three holiday cookie lists purely due to the aftermath of the blind dates they set me up on. Ugh. If you wouldn’t date him yourself, don’t set your dear girlfriend up with him. Seriously. There’s a reason I’ve never set a friend up with a guy. If he’s cool- then I probably wanted to date him myself and if he’s not then I don’t want either of us to waste our time.

I want all of my darling favorite women to find their “lobster”….

because I found mine….