RSS Feed

Category Archives: work

30 Days of what the hell…

Posted on

I’m back to dreading this and I was just remembering how much peace I found in clearing my head with a thousand typed words.

That 30 days of truth shit is no joke… and I’ve been in a particularly difficult head-space. With bills piling up and a surplus of coworkers during a shortage of tables, I’ve been extremely overwhelmed.

I have been at the same restaurant for nearly 4 years. Things have been rough lately and I’m in a place I never dreamed I’d be. I’m burned out, but tied inexplicably to the little old lady with an avocado allergy, who loves how I make her drink, the little kid who comes in when he gets good grades and brings his spelling test to show me, the family that drives hours to catch me up on their winter and their college kids, and the wonderful woman who made me an incredible gingerbread house this Christmas. customerloveI love the customers, and they love me right back. I get requested a lot. It would be easy to write off as me having lived in our small town forever, but I’ve met all these affectionate strangers, over their first bowl of rice with us. I always wanted a big family, and serving has given me one, because I adopt each of my favorites.

One of those customers has become a dear friend, both in appreciating my taking good care of them during their dinner, and outside of work, as a mother and friend. When I was offered a job in their restaurant, with completely different food, etc, I agreed immediately and panicked afterward.

I hate being the new girl. But.

The bills aren’t paying themselves, and as the months tick by, it isn’t getting any easier. I’m ready for a change of scenery if only to cure the cabin fever that sets in during the lengthy grey season. I had just agreed to take the job, when the phone rang with the nanny job of my dreams.

Isn’t it funny how the whole damn world stops on its axis when it realizes you’re willing to get your shit together and do something to help yourself be happier?

Ask and ye shall receive…and receive…aaaand receive.

I started the new job and it’s wonderful. A breath of fresh air with a small menu, friendly helpful staff and spectacular food. Exactly what I needed to shake off my server burnout.

Ooooh and the nanny job. Be still my heart. A 2 year old dumpling to match my own, and a squishy pink newborn gentleman. I was born to rock babies and play tea party. That’s all there is to it.

Thank you, Universe.

Now if I could just get through the remaining 25 days of excruciating truth.

Disenchantment.

Posted on

image

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.

Posted on

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 all 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

Serving with a side of baby.

Posted on

Both of my children arrived early. My son was two weeks early and my daughter… five.

Tomorrow, I will be exactly 32 weeks pregnant… which means this lovely little girl could arrive any time in the next 4-6 weeks.

I have two weeks left at work and if I weren’t out of time, I would continue right up to the moment I went into labor.

Which is precisely what people brace for when I approach their tables now.

C- “OH GOD, you’re about to pop, huh!”

C2- “Are you sure there’s only one baby in there? I think there’s two. That happens you know. I’m pretty sure you’re having twins”

C3- Wow! You’re HUGE!”

All of these comments were made by women, I might add. Men have been so fantastically complimentary that I feel quite beautiful, thankyouverymuch.

I work with the most wonderful bunch of people…. and frankly they’re closer than most of my genetic family members. I’m your garden variety extremely pregnant woman. My back aches. My ankles are swollen. I get heartburn from a sip of ice water. I’m less than comfortable and beaming with the happiness created by the imminent arrival of a baby I only ever dared to dream I would, could or should have.

My boss is the quintessential perfect big sister…. and she’s younger than me. I work my ass off and provide great service because I love her and I want her to succeed as much as I want to pay my bills and feed my children. She’s so much more than a boss, and even more than just a friend. She’s family, she has faith in me when I’m doubtful and she is the bright smile that greets me each day and waves me home at the end of each night.

My co-servers are my chosen sisters. Women I adore who represent every dynamic and beautiful facet of feminine strength you can imagine. We are more than a team, we are a force to be reckoned with in perfectly pressed black and ever present beaming smiles. We won’t just serve you- we’ll stick in your brain as one of those magic nights you had with your wife, your kids… or yourself. We love what we do and it shows because we work with people we want to spend time with. Our restaurant is not just a fantastic place to eat, it’s an experience with the finest group of happy friends you would want to be part of.

My kitchen boys. Sigh… the same men I had such a weakness for in the past who are so incredibly attractive and dynamic. Not only can they smile your bad day into a giggle… they can cook the perfect steak and make you feel gorgeous in a pair of hot polyester maternity pants. The man behind the swinging door… My sweet Mr. Commitment, bless his heart… is afflicted with the same disease I used to have. He encrusted my steak with pink peppercorn the week I was craving pepper. He makes incredible food look like art… and he wants most what he cannot have. He’s a phenomenal man and deserves an equally incredible woman… he just likes the douchey girls. Bless his heart… I hope he knows at some point how much more he’s worth. Some lucky woman deserves to steal him away from the crappy girls that waste his time.

My favorite, Mr. Perfection blows us all away on a daily basis. Our executive chef next door, who runs his own kitchen… but also comes next door to save us when we need saving. He’s a one-man-miracle, fixing appliances, planning menus and running two separate restaurants with a level of respect and kindness I’ve never seen… and my dad is a chef. He’s the gentle one who wants to know how the night went while making the kitchen fix you dinner after hours. I had a crush on him for years but he’s perennially single and married to the job. The restaurant is his lady and our success is, in many ways; thanks to him. He’s become a dear friend and it’s refreshing to know that not all chefs have traded their souls for cooking skills. They can be good men and good at what they do. He’s proof.

The one sad fact of the job is that sometimes people leave… and my dear King Sushi has left the building. When I got this new job after escaping the hell that was my old job, I walked in to see curly red hair and sparkly mischievous eyes grinning at me. Once upon a time I would have fallen in love with his wicked ways and gotten my heart broken along with all the other girls who couldn’t help themselves… but I love him like a brother and I understand him like a friend. My Little Red loves him just the same, and he’s family in ways few people are to us. Walking in to see an empty spot where he used to be grinning is as much a death in the family as when your oldest goes away to college. He’s a hot head, he’s a red head… he pissed us all off on a regular basis…. and I miss him so much that his absence is the only thing that makes my upcoming work hiatus a little more bearable.

So yeah… my legs ache…. and I may have a few more varicose veins than I did a month ago. I slip into my black clothes, glide some lipgloss on and look forward to every minute of my night with the family I feel so blessed to have found.

They say when you love what you do, you never work a day in your life… and I love being a mother more than anything, but I love my job too.  This job has taught me that when you really have a family… their absence stings.

I’m going back to work after baby Quinn is born, which I never thought would happen. Honestly in my mommy heart, I would rather not… but it’s more than a job. It’s my family, and I love them. They lift me up when I’m heartbroken and hopeless and they have taught me the one thing I struggled so hard to learn about myself.

I’m an amazing server and I kick ass and take names with a wine key. I memorize your favorite things and catalog the shit you hate. I know what you drink, I know which hand you use and I remember your spouse, children and grand-children’s names. I don’t just go to work, I come to serve.

A year to the day I got fired from the worst job I’ve ever had… I am living proof that even the darkest days can give way to days brighter than you ever imagined.

I am reminded not to settle, and would hope my work experience would inspire anyone stuck in a job they hate, with people that make life miserable and don’t appreciate you.  Life is short and time is fleeting.

Do what makes you happy ♥

Fired

Posted on

For blogging…. regardless of the lame canned excuse I was given, what it boils down to is that the Cunt I’ve had to work under for the past two years played her trump card. She’s known about my blog since I started- and I’ve had to sit on my hands and bite my tongue.

Blah, blah, blah… type, type, type… guess who’s hands are free and whose mouth is open?

Not a good thing when you’re running a business in a glass house.

If they were going to fire everyone that hated her, they’d have to restaff the entire restaurant.

“She’s like the mother of this place” was the line I got.

No. She’s the red-headed step-child we all had crammed down our throats while making a 5th of what she makes an hour. Ever heard of someone making manager wages, writing the schedule, working the best shifts and smoking a half a pack of cigarettes on every 4 hour shift?

I know one.

I called in sick once in 2 years and she had to cover for me on her day off. She had the balls to tell the customers I was sick with a hangover. They told me, saying “She’s such a bitch, why on earth does she work here?”

Good question.

One time in two years I told her I was in the weeds and she flipped out. I’ve never said it since because she’s hostile and will throw something in your face so many times you want to snap.

She’s the server that makes the bussers cry on shift. People complain about her online and to the rest of us.

She’s a walking criticizing hypocritical nightmare- one that I woke up from today and finally realize what a blessing in disguise this is.

I never have to listen to her bullshit again. I never have to acknowledge her ever again and I can wash my hands of the worst human I’ve ever met. I never have to dread walking in to find that she’s covering someone I work with, and I never have to give up shifts to avoid having to work with her again.

I wake up my same self, with a happy heart and a bright future.

She wakes up as Miss Cunt Bag- yet again. She’s facing the same day she’s faced for years. Lonely & alone and destined to stay that way because it’d take a damn fool to sign on to that nightmare.

All in all- I’ll miss my job because I truly liked one of my bosses and all the rest of my co-workers. They’re like an extended family to me…. but.

I’m a single mom, and they fired me without a seconds notice at the first of the month and with no regard to me, based on the fact I didn’t apologize and didn’t take down my blog.

They ushered me in and out with as few words as possible and I saw the writing on the wall…

They’re scared of me. It has everything to do with my blog and nothing to do with my performance- with the text messages to prove it.

This audience is too broad and what I say here- counts. They could silence me and make me endure all the torment that Cunt can dish out while I was working- but they can’t take my freedom of speech away.

Or freedom to blog.

And like I say with any guy I’ve dated- and about the real assholes in my life… if you’re afraid of my blog then you know you’re doing a shitty job.

If you’re afraid of truth, you’re not living it… and if you’re afraid of what I might say? Perhaps you should be more concerned with how you treat people.

When you’re kind and friendly- that’s all people can say about you. The same is true when you’re an asshole.

It’s going to be an interesting day, to say the least. I’ve never filed for unemployment before- I’ve never been fired for that matter.

Cheers… to the future and to never having to take a single ounce of shit from that wretched Cunt, ever again.

AMEN.

My Everyday Fairytale

Posted on

For as much as I bitch and whine… I have a beautiful life.

Anything can be better, but when faced with the reality of my day to day existence… I smile.

I miss my son like I’d miss air if I were drowning. I’ve learned to compartmentalize it because there’s simply nothing else I can do. I miss him, I love him, and I respect his teenagehood. I hated my mother when I was his age. I love her now. That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

It’s my day off today, and I woke up late from a divinely delicious dream. I woke up smiling, which I do 90% of the time. Either at my darling girl or at the day facing me. I love my job, I love my coworkers and my tomatoes started to sprout yesterday.

I woke up to a call from my darling Miss Harley which turned into a stomach-aching giggle-fest. Laughing over boys and how silly they are. Laughing at ourselves while we’re at it.

I decided to make myself a latte and sit in the greenhouse with the stack of pages I’ve written so far, and realizing for the first time that it’s not hard to read about my trip to Puerto Rico anymore. I was batshit crazy in love with him, and it was delightful. I don’t regret it or begrudge myself the guilty pleasure.

It was bubblegum ice cream delicious. I’m at my best when I’m in love. You can’t help but have a good day around me when I’m infatuated- it’s a contact high, to put it mildly. I bake cupcakes, I sew cool shit, I knit a blue streak… I garden. I am happiest when I’m in super girlfriend mode. It’s ridiculously codependent, but it’s true.

I’ve kicked my bad habit, sigh… I’ve waved goodbye to Flintstone and I haven’t really checked my internet dating email since one of my best friend’s ex-husbands emailed me to proposition me. I feel a little dirty making fun of someone for my own entertainment. Even if it is incredibly easy. … …. and fun. Chances are good I’m going to do it again. Purely to avoid fully embracing my role as the cat lady in the neighborhood.

I rolled over to a love note from my little red… with a Reese’s peanut butter cup. My favorite…. and how can any day be anything less than perfect when you start it with peanut butter and chocolate. Seriously.

It’s sunny and bright and I have broccoli to plant and a whole day to get a tan. I throw my bathrobe over the speaker and get to planting… in black panties and garden gloves. Welcome to the beauty of single womanhood. I can plant to my favorite music, in my panties with a mimosa and my shiny purple nitrile gloves the Easter Bunny brought me. Life is beautiful.

Randomly deciding to take thai food to school and have lunch with my daughter- a treat for myself and her… and we both are addicted to the red curry. Giggling with her and her friends over the boys being so weird <and resisting the urge to tell them nothing changes in 20 years… this day is perfect with a side of laughter. One of her friends asks me if I’m her sister, lol… we laughed all the way down the hall and I kissed her cute face on a day I ordinarily wouldn’t see her. AMEN.

Oh and just when things are going swimmingly…

A bad habit sighting… and regardless of the horrible way he treats me… I swallow hard when I’m not expecting to see him. They should make a patch to shake a bad man habit… Trans-dermal crack? I don’t know… I hate being betrayed by my body, and that’s what he inspires. I hate it. I’m craving him, I hate that I have to admit it, but it’s true. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

I bolted, drove home and changed into garden gear. Facing the music in the overgrown garden that is the penance I so deserve after abandoning it last summer…well… SUCKS. I’m covering it with landscape cloth to burn off the weeds before I plant. My asparagus is coming up 🙂

The worms are 15″ long at least and things are looking like a beautiful year for a beautiful garden. I’m really truly centered and happy in my giant ridiculously overwhelmingly massive garden. It’s round. It’s beautiful. It’s me. Spending my off time with my feet in the dirt makes me a million times happier than spending them in a bar or on a date.

I poured myself a cocktail, took the price tag off my new wheelbarrow that my mama gave me as an Easter basket… and went out to face the music. Oy…

But… even the worst challenge in the garden beats the worst date. It beats Thomas. It makes me feel better, carves my body into summer hot and makes me smile to my toes.

I have fingerling potatoes planted… Rose Finn Apple and Russian Banana… with more on the way. I planted my French shallots.

I broke in my new garden gloves and broke out of my winter funk. I’m happy. Really, really happy.

I’ve been through hell, and I’ve proven that I should not be the one to choose who I’ll date- so it’s up to my friends from now on. I’m not picking again. I have horrible judgment and horrible taste. I’d rather take a year long sabbatical from men entirely, if given the option.

My seeds are sprouting. My garden is on it’s way. I found 2 newts in the cardboard pile today. I’m so delighted with the simple details that surround me that I don’t feel lonely. I watched a dozen stupid movies this week and slept like a baby. I made the perfect mustache cake. I was a mom hero for the birthday party. My darling MSOK made us all look like a million dollars in big hair, which I’ve found I love.

Life is good… and even without a Prince? It’s a pretty sweet fairytale in and of itself.

The solution to cheating… and the first of many internet dates to come…

Posted on

Castration!

I’m only half joking, and they’re lucky that impotence is a side effect of castration, otherwise it’d be common practice by now.

As I was picking the little monster Tucker Max from the vet this afternoon, he stopped me to talk to me about the procedure. I assured him I knew what we were in for, etc.

D- Don’t worry though- he’ll be more loyal, more affectionate and sweet without all the bad behaviors. He wont be running off to the neighbors yard, he’ll stay home.

It’s all I can do not to laugh.

D- He’ll be a much better companion after he’s neutered.

and I lose it finally… dissolving into a fit of giggles.

J- And why don’t we do this to men?

He blushes…

D- It renders them… uh… unable.

J- Oh. Yikes.

I looked down at little Tucker and he glared at me.

I drove him home as he looked everywhere but at me. He’s seriously pissed off at me…. and rightfully so.

It poses quite the option…. To castrate him, or not to castrate him….

You can have the perfect husband, who is loyal and loving and wonderful… and never have sex again…

Or you can have a ruthless cheater of a husband who blows your mind…

Maybe just take one off? lol… Lance Armstrong didn’t have any trouble knocking up his girlfriend with his one testicle.

Because we all want that middle of the line guy. He doesn’t have to be perfect, he just has to care about who he is- and be actively participating in being a valuable member of society. Freeloading couch-surfers went out with bead curtains, and not to give my secrets away… but a man can stun me speechless simply by tying his tie in front of me.

Lord. Have. Mercy. Whoa….

So I had a lunch date after work tonight… my first of a dozen internet dates lined up… for your entertainment (and my boredom) .

I had to rush the dog home from the vets office and fly to my date so I’m sure I still smell like a french fry… I contemplate being late and going back for perfume, but figure it’s the first of many strange dates I’ve got planned. I’m getting back to my roots… I’m hand picking the crazies, don’t worry about perfume.

Judge away… lol… it’s fun and I’m in no frame of mind to meet anyone new. This is like speed dating… only longer.

I’m meeting him for a sandwich, and a walk maybe <absolutely not, it’s cold and windy… but I’ll burn that bridge when we get there>.

I get there first <YES!> and sit facing the door, always assuming I’m not going to recognize them… and I always do, even if the pictures I’d been sent were clearly from years earlier. He walks in ten minutes later, and I’m immediately aware who he is. He smiles. Eeek. I’m a teeth girl. A sucker for a pretty smile- and he’s missing a few. Not in the front or anything… but ya know…

At any rate, he’s tall, thin & sporting a short curly sort of Amish/Quaker beard.

Rule #1 of mine… Thou shalt not have facial hair. I delight in watching a man shave. Damn… The only thing sexier than a man with shaving cream on his cheeks, is the resulting silky-soft man face… sigh. Sparkly eyes rimmed in fluffy white shaving cream. It can only be better if he doesn’t stop with his face and shaves his whole head.

My date sits down at the table and smiles at me. Let’s call him Cody.Cody is clearly not 35. Cody is lucky if he’s 45.

C- You don’t look 35…

J- Neither do you.

C- I hear that a lot.

.. … ….. … .. …. …. Incidentally I have nothing to say to that and I’m not being that too nice girl anymore so I’m letting his words hang in the air.

C- Ok… ha ha haaahh hhhaa I’m 42.

J- Oh good… well I’m 27 and my dad would be really mad if I dated anybody 42, sorry.

We sat and ate in silence and then he laughed and said..

C- I’m really 35, he’d be ok with that, right?

J- I’m 35, and I’m really just not interested.

C- That’s cool. It’s nice to hear the truth instead of some sick kid or shit like that.

J- Try being honest. Don’t lie about your age. Don’t lie, period and she wont have to lie back to you.

C- If you don’t lie, nobody will go out with you.

J- If you lie, they’ll only go out with you once.

We’re both right in some ways…. and we’re both wrong in so many ways too.

I’ve dated liars way more than once.

lol…

Way more than the honest guys, if I’m going to be honest as well.

C- So you wanna go out again?

J- No, Cody… I don’t. No offense.

C- Friends?

J- Absolutely. Thanks for this- it was oddly refreshing.

And I’m out…

Different sort of date and we never even touched on the crazy reason I picked him. He runs a Christian Youth Ministry that travels the world to cram Jesus down the Native’s throats.

The date was odd enough all by itself that we never even got to the point of unrolling the freak flags.

I’m putting my coat on when he walks out by the door and offers to walk me to my car. Instant bad feeling and I decline <I’ve learned to listen to that instinct, first & foremost.> He sees my tattoo on my foot and compliments me, then asks me to take my shoe off so he can see the whole thing. I slip my foot out of my shoe and he smiles at me.

C- Nice toes.

Creepy. See? Bad feelings don’t lie. He offers to drive me to my car and I decline, knowing he has to go one way away from where I am and I’ll be in and gone before he can follow me. Creepy, right? This is the feeling this guy inspires.

One more for the record books…

Internet dating is nothing short of earning your wings in heaven…

Honestly though? I think I’d rather pay for sex than suffer through all this nonsense.

%d bloggers like this: