Yay. It's Friday

Gainesville population exploded again. Everyone is back.
And with that, let's celebrate with the Friday Five....

1. Are you going to school this year?
You know it. It feels good to learn again.

2. If yes, where are you going (high school, college, etc.)? If no, when did you graduate?
Gainesville's hippy side swept me off my feet, Gainesville's drinking side knocked me off of 'em. So I'm happy at University of Florida

3. What are/were your favorite school subjects?
Can't say I'm complaining about a single subject this semester, Evolutionary Anatomy, Food Science, 16th Century English Ren Lit, Statistics, and an advanced level of Rocks for Jocks. 15 credits baby.

4. What are/were your least favorite school subjects?
Astronomy is like getting f*d in the ass with glass.

5. Have you ever had a favorite teacher? Why was he/she a favorite?
Several favorites. So doesn't that demean the value of them being favorites? Meanwhile, there are too many to name, but most of them have been English or Writing teachers.

Cool.

Show us your tips

Work wise, the shit is about to hit the fan. I sauntered in a little before 11 last night, when it should have been dead, and instead it was like our bar rush, only the line went out the door. It went by super though, and we ended up doing well in tips for a wednesday.

This, however, does not bode well for the future, because it means the sorority sisters and the lame dudes who follow them around are gonna be rushing the Pit before the bars close because, once their bids are finalized and their hazing begins, they're not supposed to drink, for like, 2 months. Yet another reason I could never be in a sorority.

Anyways, tonight will be a test, as it's a Thursday, a big clubbing night, and many a first year will be stretching their clubbing legs and checking to see if their brand new Fake I.D.s work. Bar owners are good business people, and in this town, for the most part, know how to assess risk situations. IE.:
* Tall skinny, adolescent looking guy amidst a bunch of semi-pre-pubescent girls at a club frequented by first-years, not of age, big moron, will say too much to an Undercover agent.

*two the three girls, dressed casually, cool exterior and long sleeves (hiding the wrist bands), not of age, but not a great risk either.

*Gaggle of girls, dressed to the nines, too much make up, sorority sisters, a mix of girls with realsitic IDs and those with out...need more info.

Then after all these people get drunk off of sips from their friend's drinks, they decide it'd be a good idea to go to the Pita Pit, to undo all the caloric damage they have just wreaked on their bodies.

Like the bar managers, we must learn to assess our customer and guage the possibilty of tip giving, hopefully, increase our odds. It takes a little while to pick up on it, and oddly enough, drunkness is never a factor, it depends on their mood and whether or not they might be getting laid. Sometimes, the cashier can work with them a little and squeeze out a few quarters.

So. wish me luck.

Ends and Means

The school year hasn't even started and I am closing three nights in a row. I mean, this is how bad I want money, I'm offering my soul to the Pita Pit once more. It even means working with a manager "Edward" who isn't really pleasant to be around, and my humble hunch is, it's because he can't stand me. Wait that's not entirely true.
Sometimes, when we all go to the bar and he's drunk, he's a real Ms. Congeniality. Which causes me to think that work makes him an unhappy camper....and that's just about anyone.
Well, I have a whole summer of knee therapy behind me, an expired prescription for percoset and a thin budget, bring it on.

In other "news" I'm once again out of the nest. Thank the Sweet Lord. I have a whole room to myself. It's fabulous. The only thing is, I have a bunch of shit lying around because I'm trying to figure out the best place for it. Which means, really, I'll work for five minutes or so on putting books on a shelf and then turn on the computer and putz around. And then I'll focus again. And then, the ADD kicks in, and I'm more interested in stringing X-mas lights around.
I'll post pics when I get the chance, gentle readers, and you'll see that it was not in vain.

I'm running into people all over the place, my old roommate's boyfriend (still together?) and his friend, some guys who's names I can never remember but are always at Surfer Parties (always fun) and a few others from last year. And to my private glee and public dismay, they usually mutter after I'm (not enough) out of ear shot something about my weight loss....which allows me to segue into a lovely little story.

So the other night, the Gainesville Branch of the family went out to dinner. Devi's dad brought his girl friend, a pleasant Brazilian woman who speaks enough English. So she leans over to me and says something about me is different. I tell her I've lost weight. She asks, what's your secret? I tell her, I had surgery--to which she makes an understanding nod (as Brasil is number 1 in the world as far a plastic surgery is concerned)--to fix my knee and the result of the anesthesia was loss of appetite. But she thinks that I'm a lipo-gal now.

Which will make family gatherings all the more interesting.

Watch me try for four....

Third post in four hours.

So. I'm trying to decide where I stand in the food service industry.
Like Tevya, I weigh my options:
On one hand, I've stood behind the counter to serve many a drunk, many a impatient mother, many a low talker who can't make up their mind, many a moron.
On the other hand, I like getting exactly what I want when I pay for it.
On the other hand, I know that after a long day, patience wears thin for customers.
On the other hand, I hate seeing dirty conditions. (Because we kept our displays spotless and our kitchens above code so if a server's display is dirty, what do their kitchens look like?)

I realize that what I really want is everyone to be like me, or a better server...You know, service with a smile, proactive, clean, efficient.

I got me some lunch, figgering that Gardener's Market (the Pinecrest Mother's Haven) would have some nice, vegetarian sandwiches, albeit on the pricey side.
A glance at the menu and I realized I could recreate my personal favorite off the Pita Pit Menu. Hummus Pita with shredded lettuce, tomatoes, onions (my version continues with peppers, black olives, falafel, banana peppers, oregano) and a dash of Ceasar dressing.
Long story short, the sandwich sucked as much as the service. I was, to say the least, a tad dismayed at my misspent cash.

So what? Do I make excuses for her, assuming that it has been a long day serving the Pinecrest Mothers (even though traffic flow indicates that a large part of Miami is on vacation)?
Do I allow the not so FDA Inspection worthy working conditions to slide because it's a small grocery store?
Or do I get frustrated with the fact that even if she's had a long day, she could still do a better job putting my lunch together?
It's not worth my time at this point to go and ask for my money back. As of now, I'm just thinking it's lucky for the girl that I was not a woman I'll call Daisy.

Allow me to explain. Like many college-aged girls, Daisy has worked a string of waiting jobs. Several ended in disasters (long ago), so I know she has little amiability towards the fussy customer. Yet every time I dine out with her, I am amazed, even embarrassed at just how nit-picky she can be. I assure you that not once in my entire dining career with her have we ever remained at the table at which we were seated. Every time is like a game of musical chairs until she finds the best table in the whole world. Everything must be just so or the tip will suffer. But having been on the other side, how can Daisy manage to hold such little patience?

I don't really want to end up like Daisy, but neither do I want to allow half-assed snow jobs to pass.
What's a girl to do?

Synonyms

Because I'm sitting here with a lack of worthy reading material (my fault), I stumbled upon the fact that, in terms of appearance, the following are synonyms: Jazz, Spruce, Spice, Lively.

Prairie Home Companion to Blame

For my joke kick, that is.
Okay.
Did you hear about the new Pirate Movie?
It's rated Arrrgh!

Right then.
So. It seems that I've struck the figurative Oil as far as income is concerned.
Cash Flow project number One...Walking beautiful German Pointer belonging to neighbors and sort of house sitting. The dog has gotten compliments every time I walk it (which I prefer to honks and whistles). And although it is well-bred in the literal sense, Kelev has a penchant for taking shits on lawns. Me being a cat person, I'm rather embarrased but despite my tugs, a dog getting ready to go is hard to move. In any case, I get payed.
Cash Flow project number Two...Babysitting little cousin while Uncle is out taking advantage of Lobstrer Season and mother is away on business. This was simple enough. Wake Syd up, brush hair and teeth, breakfast, make lunch, get dressed, and get to Spanish Camp by 9. Have 'til 3 to do whatever and then pick up Syd. Play with 'til aforementioned uncle comes home with his treasures of the sea. Repeat next day. Except that day 2, Syd woke up with a virus and my plans changed to taking care of a sick little girl, who, despite a fever, felt hyped enough to jump off the proverbial walls. (Later discussions with my mother revealed that many children are able to sustain their illness and enough energy to jump for Cinderella's 100 or so doctors--needed for her snake mishap.)

The most interesting part about these cash enterprises is that it seems to pay to be a domestic engineer--as long as it's not your own house.
I drive the youngins to play dates all over town.
I drive them to and from school. I take the sick cat to the vet. I walk the dogs. I feed the dogs. (and cats). I run errands. I make appointments. I take care of kids. I take care of sick kids.
Motherhood better stay the hell away from me until I finish with grad school, unless she can find away to pay me in the monetary sense. I love priceless experiences and all, but in college, every dime counts.

Summer makes me stupid

I have to learn. I mean, somewhere in my Viking/Jewish roots there is a gene that makes it a necessity for me to go to school. Whatever it is, the intellectual stimulation, the routine of class, the questions....I need learning. Want proof? This entire summer has involved me drawing tons of blanks on names of authors, philosophers, savantes, radio personalities, even TV characters. I'm dumb. No school=me dumb.

So how in the fucking burning hell does the state of Flori-duh plan to excell as far as academics are concerned by allowing students to graduate in only three years?!?!?!? And I don't mean allowing the kids who've racked up enough AP and Dual Enrollment credits for forty years to graduate early. I mean kids who barely passed the FCAT.

Here's the brilliant plan: voters decided to exercise their rights and vote YES for a bill that promised to decrease class size. The state, in dire financial trouble, decided that the best way to do that is to get all the students out early. Yes. With 18 credits, you too can graduate and get into....let's see....18 credits....well, how's the university of Miami looking? Oh, I'm sorry, I mean Miami Dade. As in community college. good luck on your future.
The plan works well as far as College kids are concerned too...see...less students getting into State Schools...equals less money the state has to spend on Florida Bright Futures, a semi-contract scholarship that offers to pay 100% tuition of any public state school.

HOW DO PEOPLE MANAGE TO NOT WANT TO LEARN!?!?!?
Ok. Look, I'm not unrealistic. College isn't for everyone. That's not what I'm complaining about. But I do think that education is for everyone. A full, broad -spectrumed education. Literature, Philosophy, Math, Humanities, History....stuff that helps us understand wit.

This week's rebroadcasting of The Prairie Home Companion's 2003 Joke Show offered my now new favorite joke:
A guy and girl are out on a blind date, eating dinner.
Guy: So, are you into Philosophy?
Girl: Not really, no.
Guy: Do you have a brother?
Girl: Nope.
Guy: Well, if you had a brother, do you think he'd be into Philosophy?

My other favorite joke:
What's brown and sticky?
A stick.

Good News.

I'm so over my funk.
I'm going "home" in a couple of weeks and have decided to buck up. I've been Kayaking a few times and swatting mosquitos in the Mangroves is great for stress, of which, I realized, I have none.
Plus, cousin Annie came for a visit.
Plus, when I was driving Annie back to the airport, I saw a car with a decal across the back window saying "God has been good 2 me" Generally, I get the urge to honk at the Jesus-freaks. But it occured to me that this man was thanking a non-denominational deity. And it's true, God, or whatever, has been good to me.
So funk, is out the window. Lousy funk.

If you're ever in the neighborhood, I highly recommend Kayaking at Oleta State Park, lots of cool stuff to see, great exercise, wonderful way to increase your chances of premature wrinkling.

Rented "The Life of David Gale" with Mama this weekend. I had heard excellent things. Instead I learned my lesson the hard way, forgetting to see what Mr. Cranky has to say. I'm trying not to bash the movie into a pulp, but I will say that Kate Winslet has only gotten more obnoxious since Titanic. I swear, the year at the Oscars, James Cameron paid the Academy to nominate all those schlubs. I also swear that when the woman is crying in movies, she sounds exactly like a birthing Rhinoceros. Lots of blubbering, forcing herself to remember her dead cat.

What else? Oh. I have become oddly fond of the scar on my knee, it adds character. Plus, everyone stares at it. I'm working on a good story. You know, "Some skank in this Texas bar was all, 'Bitch, you're in my seat.' and I was like, 'That's cuz I can drink more than you' and then I grabbed a bottle of Johnnie Walker and downed it and then smashed it open on her head, and she grabbed this knife and cut into my knee and then I took her ass down."
something along those lines.

One thing. No, two things. No, one thing...

Don't mess with Texas. I don't know how many were privy to that particular episode of Saturday Night Live, seeing as how Saturday Night Live sucks to no end now. But I am of the opinion that in the grand tradition of celebrities running for office, Will Ferrell should be president. He does a better job of Dubya than the main man himself.

Ok. But, that's not where I'm focusing today.
Uno. There was a quickie editiorial in the paper today explaining the difference between lying about "facts" and weapons of Mass Destruction and lying about oral sex to a Grand Jury. Basically the author poo-pooed Bob Graham citing that if lying was the only reason Bill got impeached, it should have happened a gazillion times. (I'm paraphrasing). Ok. I get the point. And in a Master Card format:
*Lie to Grand Jury about adultery and blow jobs, several million dollars, zero casualties.
*Report of inaccurate facts to western world, several billion dollars, several hundred casualties.
*Adultery being a bigger deal than War, priceless.