Yesterday marked my return to the fabulous world of those who serve tables in restaurants. And it's now been solidified. I'm sick of it. For precisely half of my life and my entire working career I have had my hand in the service industry. I have been masterfully planning my escape and last night put a staple in it. So it's bitter sweet. The sheer loathing of being there is actually wicked motivation to just get the fuck out. What's my plan you ask? Well, being 56% bipolar, I have a ton of interests to combat my sudden bouts of complete boredom. My ultimate goal is to be a food writer/editor for a major food magazine. So I'm going back to finish University with a degree in English. In the mean time, my kids are still really young and to avoid the insane costs of daycare I'm forced to work nights. But I cannot keep on serving tables for the next 5 years. Instead, I'm finishing my grade 10 with the Royal Conservatory for piano so that I can start teaching. It's not imperative that I have the grade 10 to teach, I just think it's important for a teacher to know as much as possible and to always be learning. Somewhere in between I'm also going to culinary school. I was accepted about 6 years ago and ditched that for a job managing the kitchen in a steak house. In my mind food writer should be as versed as possible in both. And who knows, maybe I won't get a job for a mag at all. Maybe I can toss my theatre training in there too and be the next Rachael Ray but far less annoying...and hotter. Much hotter. Especially after I hire Chuck Norris as a personal trainer with all the money I'm making with my bipolar empire. MUAWWW HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAA!
Well, it's morning and my feet are cold. Had a crazy dream about making a cottage cheese dish with crumbled blue cheese, too much dill and a garnish cut from parsley that looked like a peacock's fan. Apparently this was a cooking revelation. And something else about a peanut sort of brittle, full of bugs that somehow got cooked in and I didn't know it till I'd eaten nearly the entire thing. I've conveniently forgotten the rest. Not so easy to forget would be THAT guy. Every wedding has one. In my case, HE would be my new brother in law. I use new loosely because I've known the guy for 9 years now. But I have never seen him so drunk. His current lady hates drinking so he rarely does it, except at weddings when he drinks way too much and makes a complete ass out of himself. I should have seen it coming, what with the 4 drinks in front of him at dinner. His first offence was the brief ribbing of his brother about pot growing/smoking and something about fire, a trailer and burning to the ground. At least he kept it short.
Offence number 2 would have to be his befriending of the bartender. I'm sure the poor guy has seen worse and I'd be interested to hear that story considering what I'm about to tell you. His wooing began with early -70's -type pornographic details of what he was going to do with or to his unsuspecting girlfriend (you know the one who hates drinking and drunk people. I'm sure she has her own story to tell of his stumble home.) and finished not so lightly with a few good racial jokes. The bartender was black. How he continued to be served after this is beyond me.
Waiting to get home to start into his porno adventures proved, early on, to be a task he was losing patience for. And fast. His smooth moves ranged from the ever popular ass grab followed through with a "I'd like to fill you up", to the "your wife has great tits". And let's not leave out the mention of doing nasty things to the bridal party's mothers, who fortunately were not there to defend themselves. It all started with an innocent piss in the mums; Flowers in pots on the front step of the Hall.
Bridesmaid " Hey THAT guy! Did you just pee in the mums?"
THAT guy " Huh?" (Looking her up and down) "Ya I'd like to pee in your mom." (pause) "Right in her (place nasty C word here)!"
(the crowd laughs in disbelief)
That guy moves towards the doors but is distracted by the nice butt of the other bridesmaid standing there.
THAT guy (nodding his head) "Hey. You gotta nice ass. I bet your mom has I nice ass too."
exit THAT guy.
As a final touch, he ceremoniously smashed his empty glass on the front step in front of myself, my father and my brother. If we had been Greek it may have been appropriate.
There is so much to talk about I'm not sure where to begin. Let's start with the car. It's being written off. As a recap, I was rear ended by a UHAUL 2 days before my wedding. The girls were in the back with me and luckily we all came out unscathed. Well, all except the Nissan. It's back end was smashed, twice. And here in lies the argument. I was always under the assumption (and yes I know what the infamous they say about assuming) that rear-enders were a pretty cut and dry scenario. Yet still I am sitting around waiting for my deductible back. At least half of it anyhow. It should be all of it. See, there was a car in front of me that I narrowly missed hitting myself. But I missed them all the same. Until I was rammed by the truck and driven right into them. Twice. Now here's where it gets stupid. The insurance company is trying to say that the chances of being hit twice is rare (I guess they haven't heard of recoil). The twats also claim that if I felt a double impact it's because I hit the car in front first. Bull. Shit. If you saw my written off back end it doesn't take a genius to figure out that the truck who hit me wasn't even near stopping. Being as close as my car was to the one in front, I recoiled back into the still moving UHAUL to be hit for a second time, before we all came to a final rest. So somehow in all of this the fucker in the UHAUL is saying he only hit once and therefore I may have to pay half of my deductible. Are you as confused as I am?
In the mean time I am waiting on approval for a 2003 Subaru Forester.