An Ode to Fall...

...of course, written right as it is ending.

I have been such a blogging slacker.  To anyone out there that actually reads this thing, I am sorry for failing at updates.

Lately, I have been waking up to frost and cold and a world slightly more white than it was when I went to sleep.  This whiteness generally fades by the time I am out of work, but it is still heralding the imminent end of my favorite season.  So I thought I would take this opportunity to celebrate the many, many things I love about the best season there is:  fall.  Or, you know, autumn if you're fancy.

 Whatever you want to call it, it's awesome.

I freaking love fall.  Always have.  Always.  Even when I was a little kid and everyone talked about how summer was just the best ever, I liked fall.  Yeah, I know it is back-to-school season, but I liked school.  I'm a nerd.  Sue me.  Every other season seemed more popular to the people around me.  It was unfair.  The minority of kids that didn't list summer as the favorite were either ski bums who loved winter and its frigidness with a strange intensity or girls who loved spring because it had flowers.  And the beginning of skirt-wearing season.

You know, I'm just switching to list-form.  You knew it was coming.

Reasons why fall is amazing:

The weather turns colder.  I know that lots of people don't like this about fall, but I love it.  I'm not a fan of hot weather.  Aside from my alarming propensity towards dehydration and heatstroke, I don't like stepping outside and instantly sweating.  I hate the swarms of bugs.  Even when I am perfectly content and secure with my body, I maintain that swimsuits kind of suck, as does the rest of the scant and skimpy summer wardrobe.  I am a blindingly pale Montana girl, used to cold weather and jeans and I don't like changing that.  Most of the things I like about summer are also present in fall.  I can still hike in the fall.  I can still hang out outside in the fall.  Bonfires are even better in the fall.  It gets cold.  And I love it.

This is way better when you are freezing.

School starts again.  I love school.  Love it.  I get periodically depressed that I am not still in school.  I freaked out about starting new classes, getting to write papers and do research projects, buying new notebooks and filling them with notes and doodles, and actually seeing people again.  I am not socially gifted (shocking, I know) and school was the easiest social time ever for me.  I was guaranteed to see people I liked and got along with.  I saw jerks too, but I was very good at hiding so I was just fine.

I was neither seen nor heard.

A veritable myriad of pumpkin, squash, and apple-related foods.  I freak out a bit about these flavors.  And by a bit, I mean a lot.  I would eat them all the time if possible, but they are magical in fall.

These things are delicious.

Cold weather clothing.  My entire wardrobe pretty much consists of jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and scarves.  Fall is the best season ever for this.  When you layer up in fall, people think you are stylish instead of crazy.  It is wonderful.

Fall is beautiful.  There is no season with better colors than fall.  None.  Summer, while pretty, is overwhelmingly green.  Spring is the color of mud and depression where I come from.  Winter is white.  And grey.  Fall is like an explosion of oranges, reds, yellows and greens, so intense they almost make your eyes hurt.  Everything is beautiful and crisp and perfect.

Proof.

 

 Proof part 2.

You know, I really don't have any sort of a good wrap up.  I like fall.  I wish it would last a bit longer.  But Pullman is fickle and says "hell no" to any of my requests.

To all of you, I wish you an eternal autumn.  In your hearts, if nowhere else.

Accio...

...happiness.

It is that time of year for me again, dear readers.  Though it may not be "that time of year" for anyone else.  Actually, maybe no one else deals with this time of the year or...

I should explain.  This will be about Harry Potter.

The one in the glasses, for you non-Potter heads.

Since my junior year of college, every time fall comes around is "re-read Harry Potter" time for me.  I swear, there is a reason.  I did not begin reading the Harry Potter books until the summer right before my junior year of college.  I had nothing against them, personally.  Just never got around to it.  Well, actually, when I was a kid I was discouraged from reading them because my mother had been incorrectly informed about their content by some well-meaning (if mildly paranoid) church moms.  They seemed to believe that the Harry Potter books contained some secret portal to hell that would render me some sort of Satan-influenced deviant.  Because no other children's books deal with fantasy worlds and I would obviously be confused and start actively pursuing witchcraft after reading them due to my inability to distinguish a story from reality.

But I digress.

I do that a lot.  Maybe I should wear this as a warning.

I read the first two books the summer before I left for my study-abroad trip and I liked them.  The characters were interesting and dynamic and the writing, while definitely children's-book level, was used to tell some pretty wonderful stories.  I assumed that I would finish them when I got home because, although I enjoyed them, I didn't really see a lot of opportunity for me to continue reading the books when we would be moving towns every three to four days.

Then, one day early on in the trip, we were let loose for several hours of the afternoon.  We had nowhere to be until meeting up with the group again for dinner.  It being an extremely wet and gray day in London, my friend and I, both needing a little rest, decided to find a bookstore and disappear into it for a few hours.  I began doing my traditional bookstore-browsing and discovered the third Harry Potter book in the children's section.  "Why not?" I thought.  "It will be a good way to pass some time."  I sat in the store and read through that book for the next four hours.

I was hooked.

This book will do that to you.

For the rest of the trip, any book-reading opportunity became an excuse to sneak away and read more Harry Potter.  I finished the fifth book in a bookstore/coffee shop in Oxford, quietly weeping into my sleeve and trying not to snuffle.  I didn't want the laptop-and-textbook-wielding students to know that while they pored over Proust or wrote up economic strategies, I was sobbing in the corner over the death of a fictional character.

I don't cry as pretty as this.

I finished the final two books over Christmas break back home in Montana (accompanied by long bouts of sobbing.  Seriously.  Those books).  I know that everyone who read the books as they came out already had come to terms with the end of the series and such, but I felt a palpable sense of loss as I was finishing the final book.  It was over.

Then, of course, I remembered that I could re-read them.

I think, at this point, I have read the entire series through at least seven times.  Much of it has been in the fall.  I feel the need for Harry Potter at many times, but, for some reason, fall seems to make Harry-Potter-reading necessary for me.  Maybe it reminds me of the first time I read the books and fell in love with the characters.  I just start craving Harry Potter in the fall.

I also crave pumpkin-related things, but that's another topic.

This Potter-fix has great timing this year for...well...a completely nerdy reason.  I am living in Pullman this year with Tyler and Pullman is a tiny town.  We have been incredibly lucky and we have found some great people in the grad department and beyond to hang out with but...I just can't help getting lonely sometimes.

Don't get me wrong.  These people are great.  And Tyler is wonderful.  But I am notoriously bad at getting to know new people.  It generally takes me ages to establish any kind of intimacy with anyone.  And I miss my friends.  I miss being able to talk with people who know me.  Really know me.  And know my background and my family and my personality and just...understand me.  I miss having conversations about real, personal, sometimes uncomfortable things.  I miss having a real community around me.  Maybe I am just spoiled in a way.  I am used to the small town I grew up in, where everyone knows you and your family and what you've been like in school for the past twelve years.  I got that same thing at college by joining an incredibly tight-knit dorm and a great group of friends.  Now, out on my own with my friends scattered around the world I feel...lost.

Different kind of lost, guys.

That's why Harry Potter helps a bit.  I know this is a brand of nerdy bordering on psychotic, but the characters in those books...they feel like friends.  I know they are not friends I can interact with.  I know they are not real people who actually know me.  I am not saying they are a viable substitute for real, living, breathing, talking friends.  But during a time of year where I am feeling lonely, it's nice to jump into familiar stories of familiar people growing and shifting and becoming who they are.  It's nice to feel a part of that.  It's nice to feel that, if these people existed, I would totally hang out with them.  And it's kind of nice to vicariously be a part of the type of fellowship and interactions that they have with one another.

To all my friends, scattered wherever you have been scattered:  I miss and love all of you.
To all of the people where I am now:  I will try to be brave enough to make real friendships with you.
To all the Harry Potter lovers:  Thank you for not judging me too harshly.

They are an accepting group.

Now, if you will excuse me, a book is calling.

Growing up...

...not just for characters in "Peter Pan".

In this strange and mystical journey known as "becoming a grown-up", I have discovered some things that I believe to be true and good to remember.  Some of these come from "the happiness project", and some are just my own observations.  In order to share some of my hard-earned wisdom so that you, dear readers, do not have to make the same mistakes I have, I am list-forming this business and telling you how I came to these conclusions.  You may think some of these are silly, but I swear they still matter.

Super-Secret Truths for Being a Grown-Up:

It's okay to ask for help.  I absolutely swear that this is true.  I seem to be getting worse at this as I get older instead of better, so I should probably remind myself that this is important.  I keep on thinking that being out of college and married and all means that I should be able to do everything by myself.  I resent it when my parents ask if I am going to doctor's appointments or checking up on the car.  I get annoyed when Tyler reminds me to go to bed early when I am sick.  I even get snippy sometimes when he is just doing something nice for me.  Tyler will go to do the laundry and I will get all offended, because somehow his nice gesture is really saying that he doesn't trust me to do the laundry.  This is ridiculous, of course.  I just have a husband who likes being nice to me and his kindness upsets me, apparently.

Man, I'm a great wife.

I need to keep reminding myself that they don't tell me these things because they don't believe I can handle them, but because they want to help me.  I also need to be able to ask for help with things I can't do alone.  There are some things that I just don't know how to cook and Tyler has to help me.  I do not know how to do taxes.  I need help for it.  I have trouble making friends with new people.  Sometimes, I need advice.  Asking for help is not the end of the world and it does not make you weak.  It makes you human.  Don't freak out.

Do not do this.

Be nice to EVERYONE.  This includes the people that drive you nuts.  There are some people that I know who are draining and annoying and mockable and there are often times that I am impatient and rude with them.  This is not okay for a number of reasons.  The first is the basic rule that we learned in kindergarten, that we need to be nice to each other.  The second is that there are plenty of times that people around me have no desire to be nice to me, but I still expect common courtesy.  And the last reason is that being a jerk to people just shows that I am a jerk at heart and I really don't want to be a that person.  Being nice to others, even the ones that make me want to gouge my eyes out, actually makes me a nicer and more patient person.  I hope it does, anyway.

Waiting tables gave me lots of practice.

Bring a sweater.  Since junior high, I have never remembered this and I am always cold.  I always forgot jackets too, even in the winter.  Also, remember to bring appropriate shoes.  I once went on a high school band trip to Canada in the winter and brought nothing but dress shoes and sandals.  I have no explanation for this.

 Pictured: inappropriate flip-flop weather.

If you can't find something, clean.  I apologize to everyone that has witnessed or had to deal with the chaos of anywhere I live.

You can choose what you do.  You can't choose what you LIKE to do.  This seems very career-pertinent right now.  I do get some say with what jobs I accept (though this is somewhat limited by what jobs accept me) and I need to keep in mind that I may love a job that others would find mind-blowingly dull.  I like independent work.  I like research and writing big papers and reports.  I like finding little details and figuring out how things fit together.  I can't stand work that is repetitive and unchallenging.  Other people don't mind this.  Some other people even enjoy this.  I just need to remember that it is not a moral failing in me if I don't enjoy that as well.

I would run away screaming within a month.

What you do every day matters more than what you do once in a while.  If I make one grand gesture to Tyler of cleaning the kitchen once a month, that is nowhere near as meaningful as it would be if I made it a habit to keep the kitchen clean every day.  Or keep our room clean every day.  Or tell him I love him every day.

You don't have to be good at everything.  I can't tell if I am crazy competitive or a crazy perfectionist.  Maybe both.  But I can't stand to not excel at...pretty much everything I attempt.  I feel a profound sense of guilt and failure if I am not wonderful at every new thing I decide to do.  This should stop.  Eventually, I need to be realistic and admit that I am not great at everything.  Some things, I will always be bad at.  It's really ok.

This will never be me.

Over-the-counter medicines are very effective.  Decongestants, ibuprofen, cough syrup...these things have all become my dear friends recently.  It was something of a revelation  that I could be feeling better RIGHT NOW and for some reason I was putting that off.

What's fun for other people may not be fun for you (and vice versa).  I will never enjoy watching baseball, but I love watching soccer games.  I will never enjoy weeding or gardening.  I hate going to parties or mixers full of strangers.  Running for a workout is the most joyless and painful thing in the world for me.  At some point, I realized that I am much happier if I stop pretending to enjoy things that feel like a chore to me.  Sometimes, I wish I was the kind of person that loved meeting strangers or shopping or listening to country, but I am not.  I like going to ballets and listening to choral music.  I can spend an entire day wandering around a bookstore.  I read Shakespeare for fun when I was 10.  I probably understood maybe half of it but that was fun for me.  I know that many things I do for fun are not even remotely fun for others and that is fine with me.  I know that many people love baseball games and shopping, but I can't stand them.  Part of growing up is knowing what you do and do not like and being comfortable with admitting it.  Another part is beginning to spend your free time doing the things that you actually enjoy doing, not things that you feel like you should enjoy.

This is my kryptonite.

Doing what you know is good instead of what makes you feel good, often makes you feel good anyway.  This applies both physically and morally.  Working out when it's the last thing I want to do usually makes me feel better.  Keeping the lid on some gossip I've heard always makes me feel better than the rush of sharing it.  Sometimes it pays to be a little bit goody-two-shoes.

Hair dye is cheaper than a tattoo.  I get antsy every so often and I want some sort of change to make myself feel daring and badass.  Usually this is when I circle back to deciding I want a tattoo.  However, getting a tattoo just because you want to feel cool is really not a great reason.  Last time this happened, I went and bought some hair dye instead.  Going brunette was infinitely cheaper than getting inked and it still made me feel different.

Ok, not quite this different.

Only follow trends you actually like.  I will never wear animal print.  I don't care how fashionable it is.

Don't ever approach me with jeggings either.

Sometimes indulgence trumps denial, and that should be okay.  I should not have to feel overwhelming guilt if I decide that I want some ice cream for dessert today.  Diets are all well and good, but sometimes a person just needs ice cream.

You know you want me.

Not every day requires makeup.  No one will be appalled or offended if I do not put on makeup every time I see other people.  There is something to be said for being comfortable in your own skin.  Am I anti-makeup?  Not at all.  Makeup can give me a confidence kick when I need it.  It can make me feel dressed-up and beautiful sometimes.  I just find it freeing to realize that I still like the way I look when I don't have makeup on.

Chick flicks are a lie.  Real life relationships should not think stalking is flattering.  Obsession is not a mark of true love.  Being erratic and childlike and strange is not an automatic pathway to being adorable.  Guys do not often burst into impassioned speeches about true love and soul mates and destiny and THE ONE.  "Independent woman" should not equal "bitch".  Intelligence does not make a woman unappealing.  Relationships in real life happen between people who work normal jobs to pay the bills, who have friends that do not fall into convenient stereotypes, who are not thrown together by unrealistically wacky circumstances.

And the lead girl in "Elizabethtown" and the lead girl in "Garden State" are annoying tropes that exist to make the guy a better person.

Girls and boys:  be yourself, have fun, and get to know other people.  Do not search for your Edward or Bella.  You would not like them if they existed in real life.

This is a face you alert authorities about.

Explosions are bad...

...unless they are in action movies or something.  And even then people get taken out by shrapnel and such.

Yippee-ki- O GOD, IT'S HITTING THE CHILDREN!!!

So I'm reading this book recommended to me by a friend.  It's called "The Happiness Project" (no, I am totally not kidding).  Anyhow, I came across this section on how to fight well with spouses and friends and family and...really everyone, and it occurred to me that this might be an area of my life where I kind of suck.

I was a really passive kid.  I seriously think that some doormats were better at fighting back than I was.  I was terrified of conflict, terrified of new people, terrified of social situations...  My poor mother nearly lost her mind trying to make me stand up for myself (my mother is absolutely NOT a pushover).  If kids were mean to me I wouldn't say a word.  I would stand there silently, awkwardly smiling, and then burst into tears the second I got home.  If not for some incredibly patient friends, I might have resorted to becoming a school-library hermit just so I never had to deal with that stuff.

Not pictured: a social life.

By the time I got to high-school-ish and college age, I was pretty sick of being taken advantage of and feeling like I could never express it when I was upset.  I ended up swinging back the opposite direction...and maybe swinging a bit too far.  My reflex of letting things go when they upset me would kick in until it built up into a rage and I exploded like a coke bottle full of mentos.  I would unleash my anger and frustration and sarcasm on whoever had pushed me past the tipping point.  Instead of doormat, I became a land mine.  I'm sure that was really pleasant for all of you that got to deal with me in college.

 O, you're going to go off right now?  That's cool, I guess.

Anyhow, I developed this idea that expressing your emotions is healthy, so expressing them instantly and all the time must be super-healthy, right?  That way they are not getting suppressed and building up into a rage, right?  And don't therapists always talk about the dangers of suppressed feelings?

Turns out, that's totally wrong.  Research shows that giving your anger free range without pausing to think about the real causes of the anger just trains you to erupt more often.  Instead of dealing with it in a healthy way, it just makes you a more consistently angry person.  The whole "don't sleep on your anger" thing is actually wrong.  A lot of times, a little time and perspective can make the anger disappear and then you don't have to pick up the pieces from the explosion that you let loose.

Note: emotional devastation is more difficult to clean than this.

Because here's the thing.  While it might make me feel better or vindicated or strong or whatever to unload on anyone who makes me angry, it usually has the opposite effect.  Seconds later, I feel terrible and guilty about ripping into a fellow human being and they feel awful because, well, they just got caught in my out-of-balance cross hairs.

We are so used to watching tv shows and movies where the person we cheer for is the one who instantly comes up with withering one-liners and biting sarcasm to every offense.  In real life, those people don't have a lot of friends.  At least, not a lot of friends who aren't secretly terrified of ever offending them.  And how can that kind of friendship last?

 But Tyrion and I can still be buddies, right?

Maybe my real lesson here is that there is a balance between doormat and land mine.  Somewhere in the middle is a healthy response.  Now, I guess I am just off to find some middle ground.

And practice some one-liners.  Just in case I ever meet Tyrion.

Must be prepared.

I was going to say something about wedding bells...

...but no one really uses them any more.  I never really got that whole thing anyway.

I have been jokingly referring to this summer as "summer of the wedding".  This is largely due to the four weddings we have gone to and the many others that we were invited to but unable to go to.  Matrimony is catching, apparently.

Always be prepared.

However, attending these weddings made me even more sentimental at my own anniversary (ONE YEAR!  I totally qualify as an old married person now).  I guess seeing how these marriages are beginning, so filled with love and friends and family (and, in the best cases, some serious revelry) makes me happy.  Everyone is so excited and full of the incredible hope and optimism that comes with the beginning of anything new and I remember standing in that same place.

I remember a day filled with color and laughing and the people I love most.  I remember standing next to this boy who had been a stranger, a friend, a crush, a boyfriend, and a fiance (not to mention a whole plethora of other titles like "a resident music-expert" and "that kid with the 'fro and piercings who lives in the basement") and being so filled with all my nervous excitement and happiness and a little niggling terror that there was just no way we were grown-up enough for this sort of thing.  And then he held my hand at the altar and the terror left.  That whole day is filled with a million little moments that combine to make the beginning of something beautiful for me.  The sun hitting us through the leaves of the tree, grass and dance-floor beneath bare feet, sunglasses under a veil, toasts and laughter and tears, my dad's face as we got ready to walk down the aisle, the color and light on every table and in every face and surrounding us the whole night, the hugs and cheers and singing and dancing and dancing and dancing...

And dancing...

Of course, being married isn't all parties and dancing.  Sometimes it's cleaning and cooking and laundry - the boring stuff.  Sometimes it's the beautifully simple things, like enjoying a meal, watching a movie, reading our books, taking a walk, all of them somehow better because they are done together.  Sometimes it's arguing and frustrating each other and wondering why you can't seem to communicate the way you want to.  Sometimes, for me, it is standing back and wondering in total shock how I can possibly be so erratic and neurotic and combative.  And sometimes, it's just me being extremely grateful that he can still find ways to love me and make me laugh at the moments that I feel the least loveable.

He sees something adorably prickly when I am really just prickly.

In this year of marriage, I have learned some very important things.

1)  I am not a marriage expert.  If people ever ask me for relationship advice, I hope it's because I am a friend and not because they think marriage has made me some sort of expert.  Many days, all I am learning is that I really don't know what I am doing.  Tyler and I just have to suffer through trial-and-error together.

 I see where we went wrong here...

2)  Friends are important.  I don't care how much you love being with your honey-bun, or snookums, or whatever you call that person you're nuts about.  You are going to need someone else to hang out with sometimes.  Quite frankly, I hate being social.  It takes a ton of energy for me and I like saving all my energy for the relationship.  But that's not healthy.  How can I be a balanced person if all I do is hang out with one person?  Other people bring out different sides of a person's personality.  I love watching Tyler interact with other people because I get to see parts of who he is I don't always get when we are alone.  You need someone to be around when you just need a break from the other person.  On that note...

3)  You need breaks from each other.  One of the things I love about Tyler is that he doesn't treat our relationship like a skin graft.  He is perfectly aware that we are still two individuals and we need time away from each other.  He needs to go off and camp with the boys or play that madden game or do whatever else it is boys do.  I need to be able to watch a chick flick without defending it and read books and laugh about stupid celebrity gossip and top model.  I am aware of how stereotypically gendered those things sound, but the point is that somethings are fun for us to do without the other person.  Tyler wants to play his madden without my players running in circles or hopping in place on one side of the football field because I can't remember how to do anything else with the buttons.  I want to watch cheesy movies and catch up with my friends about things that just flat-out do not interest Tyler.  We enjoy lots of things together, but it's good to have things that are separate.

 Even with this design, Tyler is strangely resistant to having his toenails painted.

4)  Remind them that you are excited to be with them.  Seeing someone every day changes things from when you were dating.  I no longer panic about looking cute all the time because Tyler has seen me with bedhead.  Tyler doesn't feel like he needs to take me to the ballet for every date (yeah, he seriously did that).  But he still does a great job at making me feel like he's nuts about me.  The man cooks for me all the time.  He made me one of my favorite meals for our anniversary.  He sneakily does the laundry while I am at work because once (once!) I whined that I hated having to wait for the machines to be done.  He is a pro.

5)  Be aware that you are going to screw up.  No matter how hard I try, I am never going to be a perfect wife.  Some days, I am grouchy and whiny and lazy.  Sometimes I am completely oblivious to his moods.  Sometimes, I blow up and say mean things that I instantly wish I could take back.  Often I have no idea how to express to him that I love him or how to be more helpful, more productive, more social, more organized, more...more something.  I mess up.  I'm new at this.  He never seems to hold it against me though.  If anything, he somehow manages to see my hopelessly bumbling attempts at good wifery as kind of adorable.

I will be the BEST WIFE EVER!

6)  Be stubborn.  No, not about stupid things, like which Game of Thrones character should end up on top (it's obviously Shaggydog), but about being in your relationship.  I'm the kind of stubborn person where if I lock onto an idea, nothing is going to make me change my mind about it.  Tyler and I are staying together: locked in.  I will defend him to anyone: locked in.  I will always have his back: locked in.  I will start sneaky-doing the laundry while he is busy: ...we'll see.

I will be the ninja of laundry.

I still have a ridiculous amount to learn.  I can't even believe how good Tyler is at being a husband while I am still desperately trying to figure out how to be a wife (also, how to be a grown-up).  But I can say with absolute certainty that from the wedding to today, I have never had any second thoughts about the decision to marry my best friend.  It's been crazy and silly and wonderful and fun and chaotic and I wouldn't change a single minute of it.

I love you, Tyler.

**note to readers:  I apologize profusely for the sappiness.**

Today, I am not funny...

...just so I don't mislead you folks.

This is me today.  But I look more ridiculous and less badass.

Unfortunately for me, I have a sick tendency to focus on things that I am fully aware will just make me sad.  The past few days, my topic of choice has been "what the hell am I supposed to be doing with myself?"  It's a fairly depressing topic that has led to pessimistic reflection not only about myself, but about my entire generation.

I'm going to re-warn you: this may be both whiny and depressing.  Sorry.

I don't know what I am doing.  At all.  Now, I thought I had reached the point in my life where I would be comfortable with not really knowing what was going to happen or having a plan, but I am not.  I want there to be a plan.  I want to go back to when I was in school and I knew that after this year came another year of classes and learning things.  But school was all supposed to be preparation for the "real world", right?  Then WHY DO I SUCK AT BEING IN THE REAL WORLD!?!

  I am worse at being in the real world than this guy is at spelling.

I was good at school.  Life should not be this overwhelming or difficult for me.  And you know what?  Some days it's not.  Some days I am fine with where I am right now.  But then someone asks me what I am doing next year or what my future plans are or if I'm going back to school or what I want for my career and I completely panic.

I've got nothing.  I have no idea what I am doing.  I got married after college and, yes, that affected what I am currently doing.  If I am honest, though, I don't know what I would be doing with myself even if I hadn't gotten married.  I am checking insurance and making appointments in an office.  It's a great job.  I have great hours, work with good people, get good pay.  I am lucky to have a job in this economy, to be honest.  But I definitely do not want to keep doing this any longer than I have to.  And I think that might make me a horrifying combination of spoiled, disillusioned, apathetic, and naive.

Though, admittedly, that's still not as terrible a combination as the double-down.

Look, I am not trying to make this a session where I whine that it is all the world's fault for doing this to me.  I guess I am saying it's kind of my fault for buying into the idea that everyone will get into some career that they are passionate about and excited about working on every day.  If that was true, we wouldn't have receptionists.  Or janitors.  Or really any job that involves a cubicle.  And while those jobs are not fun to brag about, we do need them.

So why did I always assume that I would be an exception to that?  Because I have a ridiculous sense of entitlement ingrained in me that makes me believe the rules apply to everyone else.  I see this in others all the time and I always mock it.  My rudderless panic at having a perfectly respectable job seems to point out that I am the same way.  Damn.

I also like being able to say I am doing something that sounds meaningful or brave or just cool.  I want to say I am doing some job that helps change the world or that I am heading off to other countries or that I am doing anything besides what I am actually doing:  watching movies and tv, reading books, playing board games, making meals, hanging with friends, and only doing these things between the forty hours a week where I am at work.

Basically, I have grown up.  But not into a cool, rebellious adult.  Into an adult exactly like every other adult.

  Even we don't know why we still believe we are cool.

I think the most frustrating part is not even that the job I have now is not a kick-ass job that I want to do the rest of my life.  It's that I have no idea what I want to be doing.  I don't even have a goal.  Whenever people ask me what I'm doing I just say I might be going back to school, but what's the point of that if I don't know what I would go to school for or what I want to do once it's done?  I can't go to school forever.  It's just putting off the inevitable job-hunt while sinking lower into debt.  Not a solid life-plan. I don't want to become some sort of sad Peter-Pan figure stuck in adolescent limbo forever where I refuse to admit that life can't keep going the same way it was when I was a kid.  Responsibilities happen.  Life happens.  If I put off making a decision forever, eventually that becomes a decision to stay in a life I just don't care that much about.

Sweet Lord, that's depressing.

One perverse comfort I have in all of this is that I know other people are going through the same thing.  Tons of my friends are clueless and rudderless and freaked out as well.  These are not lazy friends, but intelligent, driven, terrific people with wicked senses of humor and completely functional social skills.  And none of us know what we are doing.

Generation X, you didn't go away.  We became you, just more neurotic.

In an effort to end this with something resembling happiness, I am composing a playlist for the lost.  Listen to it while you wallow in madness and maybe we will all eventually escape mediocrity together.

This music goes out to my generation.  We are stuck and tired and confused and clueless about everything we thought we should definitely know by now. We are freaked out and strung out and pulled out of the timelines and schedules and boxes we made for ourselves when we thought we could do anything.  We are angry without knowing what to be angry about, scared without knowing what it is we fear, feeling pointless and not knowing if there was ever a point to begin with.

Don't worry, guys.  The music will save us for a while.  And then, we will grow up and learn how to save ourselves.

Passion Pit - Sleepyhead

The National - Mistaken for Strangers

Snow Patrol - Open Your Eyes

Mumford & Sons - Lover of the Light

Florence + the Machines - Rabbit Heart

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Into My Arms

Bob Dylan - A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall

Glen Hansard - Leave

Damien Rice - Cannonball

Regina Spektor - Human of the Year

David Ford - There is a Light that Never Goes Out

Gavin DeGraw - Meaning

Ingrid Michaelson and Sarah Bareilles - Winter Song

Eddie Vedder and Ben Harper - Indifference

Ben Folds - Still Fighting It

Adele - Hometown Glory

Bon Iver - Blood Bank

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - O Children

The Head and The Heart - Rivers and Roads

Thanks for sticking with me even when I am depressing.  I promise to be funny again next time.

I have a new obsession...

...and I am totally going to tell you all about it.

Ok, so, I have just completed the first season of "Game of Thrones".  For those of you unaware of the awesomeness contained in this, I will give a wildly incomplete summary:  it is a book following several noble families or folks and their fighting to rule this fantasy land.  They use trickery, and intrigue, and lots of sex, and a heaping helping of dead bodies to accomplish this goal.

 How odd that there would be bloodshed for a throne LITERALLY MADE OF SWORDS.

And it's awesome.

Now, presumably, this series will continue for a while because there are several books and George R. R. Martin keeps cranking out more.  Because I have a tendency to devote myself entirely to an obsession, I have to read the books.  Can't help it.  It's a compulsion.  Really.

Now that college is over and I no longer live in a convenient bubble where all my friends are just down a hall, I have no one to read along with me and listen to me freak out at the appropriate times and such.  This must be remedied.  So, in an attempt to share all of my geeking-outs, I am going to begin a go-along-with-my-reading blog.  In no way whatsoever do I mean this to be some sort of cheap copy of the deeply awesome and incredibly entertaining "Mark Reads" blog (which, if you have not read already, you really need to).  I mean, the man shares both my hatred of twilight and my love of Harry Potter.  He is brilliant.  But, because I am internet challenged, I could not find a way to contact him and make sure he knows I am not trying to rip him off and I give him full credit for using this read-along-blog idea before me (Mark, if for some random reason you read this, I really did try to contact you.  Please don't ban me from your site).

Anyway, I am making it a separate blog so that those who are mildly interested in Game of Thrones can follow along and those that would find it extremely difficult to care less about a random fantasy series and my reaction to it can avoid it entirely.

You guys are amazing.  I don't know why you put up with me.

But, anyway, the reading blog is called Book Freaks and the link is http://book-freaks.blogspot.com

Enjoy.

Such a bad idea...

...to leave me alone with myself.

Today is strange and I am low on sleep.  I am going to go ahead and see if a log of the confusing, ridiculous way that my mind works is even moderately amusing.  Or, you know, makes any sense at all.

Tyler is gone for the week, so I am left to my own devices.  It was never strange to be alone before I got married, but now I'm just so...so used to someone else being around.  It is a good thing.  It makes me censor my actions and such because I know someone else will see how I use my time.  I have no idea why I've decided to allow other humans to know how I spend my time when I'm alone, but there you go.

Ok, no more trying to explain myself.  I will let the day speak for itself.

3.30 am:  Tyler's devil-alarm goes off.  He rolls out of bed and starts actually doing getting-ready-to-go things.

3.33 am:  My satan-phone-alarm goes off, trying desperately to remind me that I also need to get out of bed.

3.42 am:  Tyler comes to gently remind me that getting out of bed requires motion.

3.43 am:  I roll out of bed (no, literally, a roll.  I tend to actually hit the floor when I do this).  Remember that people will not actually see me because I will be sitting in a car all morning and pull on the green boy-sweats.  Yank on hoodie.  Hood has forced all of my hair directly over my face.  I decide this does not matter because I can't see anyway.  Attempt to remedy my blindness by putting glasses on.  Forget to move hair out of the way of glasses.  Decide it does not matter.

(rough approximation)

3.44 am:  I grab small purse with phone, keys, and driver's license, and head towards the door.  Remember that shoes are important as I am halfway out the door and slip some on.  Tyler convinces me to grab a pillow from the couch  for the drive up to Spokane's Airport.  We are in the car.

3.45-51 am:  Sleep is not coming back to me.  It is dark, I am not driving, classical music is playing, and I am clutching the pillow to me like a short, squishy cuddle-buddy (dear lord, must find a different phrase.  Cuddle-buddy makes me want to die inside), but sleep remains elusive.

This is what came up in googleimages for "cuddle buddy".

Now I want to die inside even more.



3.52-5.12 am:  I spend the drive up singing loudly to the radio, observing the deer lurking around the side of the road, and making conversation (or completely unconnected statements) with Tyler.  I have no idea if any of my words made sense.

5.13 am:  We are right next to the Spokane Airport searching for a McDonald's.  I see no golden arches, so Tyler pulls into a Jack-In-The-Box to see if we can find some foods to put in our stomach.  I have a strong feeling that Tyler needs something to counteract the energy drink in his empty stomach.

5.14 am:  Don't get the meat breakfast burrito at Jack-In-The-Box.  Seriously.  Unless you're into imitation egg wrapped with a piece of ham and raw bacon.

5.16 am:  I drop off Tyler at the airport.  There is much hugging and such.  I get into the driver's seat and begin chugging one of those delicious lemonade-flavored rock stars that stay in my system like crack all day.  I can feel the caffeine trembling begin as I pull back onto the highway.

Behold my awesome power and tremble.

No, seriously, you won't be able to stop shaking.



5.19-6.42 am:  The progression of my thoughts on the drive home astounds even me.  The radio gets a serious workout.  Between frantically changing the stations and yelling at Rhianna to stop polluting the radio with things that make me uncomfortable, I start reviewing the plots and characters of various books and tv shows in my head and then rewriting them.  I am incredibly excited about my brilliance until I realize that I am basically creating fanfic.  I refuse to ever write this down and to never admit that this happened.  I am unaware that I will shortly be sharing all this information online.

6.43 am:  I climb the stairs to my apartment, slam the door behind me, and decide I should definitely try to sleep a little before work.  My library book that is sitting on the futon jumps into the edge of my vision as I make my way to the bedroom.  I decide to read "just a little" before I sleep, knowing that this will not end well.

6.44-7.32 am:  I read "just a little" and complete Northanger Abbey. 

7.33-7.48 am:  I start doing an exercise program I have taken from a fitness magazine.  Decide quickly that I hate fitness and never want to do another pushup for the rest of my life.  I am sleepy.  Remind myself that showers are important and decide being clean is probably a better plan than sleeping for all of fifteen minutes.

Yes, this thing is stronger than me.

7.49-8.04 am:  I get clean.

8.05-8.33 am:  Various drying and blow-drying and dressing and makeupping and such happens.

8.35 am:  I realize that I should bring lunch to work.  Search the fridge for something easily grab-able.  Find salad-spinner of cut lettuce and tomatoes and carrots.  Shove into tupperware and grab salad dressing.  Carefully balance library stuff, purse, and lunch things while trying to lock the apartment door.

8.59 am:  I arrive at work, depositing lunch things into the fridge and greeting various co-workers as I journey to my desk and clock in.

9.00-11.56 am:  Check insurances, confirm appointments, answer phones, and go through my recall list like a good worker.  I occasionally mix in some reading of various internet things as I work.

11.57 am:  I decide it is close enough to noon and that I will start openly weeping at my desk if I do not get some food in me right away.

11.58 am:  Consume salad-lunch in about thirty seconds.  I grab the bag of fruit snacks that I threw into my purse this morning and decide that sucking on the fruit snacks will trick my stomach into thinking it is consuming more food than it actually is.

Not to be used as actual food.

12.00 pm:  I find that my strategy was less than successful.  I heat up a mug of hot water and drink this at my desk.  I am unsure why I think this will help, but at least it makes my insides warm.

12.03-4.02 pm:  Pull files, scan documents, schedule appointments, and try to provide witty banter in office.  Realize that my leg has been jiggling up and down for an hour.  I suspect latent energy drink, but am powerless to do anything.  Decide to ignore it.  Drop the phone several times before I decide to blame my lack of coordination on the energy drink too.  Attempt to get through my massive pile of documents-to-scan, simultaneously enjoying rifftrax on youtube through my headphones.  Their banter causes me to snort several times in an attempt to hold in laughter and I believe it alarms my coworkers.  Continue efforts to stifle laughter.  I think I am going to choke on my own chuckles.

4.03 pm:  Leave work (successfully remembering my lunch container and salad dressing), get into vehicle, and drive to library.

4.09-4.48 pm:  Spend time wandering library, browsing their dvd selection, and getting new books, some of which I am far too embarrassed to actually post on goodreads.com.  Thank God for self-checkout.  I don't want the librarians to judge me.

Like this, but instead of Gaga it's me.  And instead of clothes, it's books.

Actually, maybe they judge my clothes too.



4.53 pm:  I am so consumed with hunger that I am actually getting light-headed.  Stop by Little Caesar's on the way home and buy a cheese pizza.

5.05 pm:  I carefully balance my library finds and my lunch supplies in piles on top of the pizza box and am able to lock my car and unlock my apartment without dropping anything.  I feel mighty.

5.06 pm:  Deposit items on table and floor.  Run to bedroom after realization that I can put my sweats on immediately because Tyler is not here, so I have no one to look attractive for.  I put a disc of "Friends" from the library into the dvd player (I am excited because I have not watched this since...pretty much my freshman year of college) and open the pizza box.

5.13 pm:  I realize that I have consumed four pieces of pizza in the first seven minutes of the episode.  I feel intense shame, but cannot yet bring myself to be sorry.  I decide to be a good person and wrap the rest of the pizza in tinfoil for lunch tomorrow.

7.31 pm:  Finish the first disc of "Friends" episodes.  And the remaining raspberry sorbet in our freezer.

7.32 pm:  Sit on the couch immersing myself in various pages of "Mark Reads".  Skim through his Harry Potter reviews, Twilight reviews, and Golden Compass reviews since I have already completed his Hunger Games reviews.  I remember that I could be reading an actual book.  This thought is promptly banished from my mind.  Continue reading reviews while I watch more "Friends".  O Chandler.  You comic relief, you.

Yes, comfort me with your humorous banter.

And your nineties fashion choices.



9.43 pm:  Debate whether to get ready for bed and catch up on sleep or watch something else.  Put in the Swedish "Girl With the Dragon Tattoo" dvd out of curiosity and excitement.

9.57 pm: Quickly realize that this was a terrible decision.  Turn off dvd and resolve to watch this only when there is full light outside.  I wander around the apartment double-checking the locks on all two doors and all the windows.  Cautiously get ready for bed, sending paranoid looks over my shoulder every few seconds.  Decide to calm myself down by bringing a thoroughly non-scary book to bed and reading for just a little bit.  Grab Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

10.53 pm:  I remember that I never, ever read anything for just a little bit.  Set my alarm and turn off the light.

10.59 pm:  Realize I am still doing the weird fanfic thing in my head.  Die inside a little.

To clarify, I started writing this between readings of  "Mark Reads" and finished it the next morning at work.

I don't know why I am clarifying, because no one asked.

Ta-da!  I do nothing productive when Tyler is away.  But I did promise I would clean the apartment while he was gone, so that is something productive that has to happen.

Alright, back to work for me.

Sleep is such a good thing.

I could never...

...sounds like some kind of game or something.

This blog is inspired by my wonderful friend Lindsay.  She posted this awesome blog about something I deal with a lot:  the idea that there are some things that I just can't do.

Now, admittedly, there are a few things I actually cannot do.  I can't beat...well, anyone in a foot race (I'm working on it, ok?).  I can't be a spy (at least not without some serious lessons in stealth).  I can't support the consumption of marmite (seriously.  Why does that even exist?).  But most things I say I can't or couldn't do, I definitely could.  For some reason, I have this mindset that if something doesn't come easily to me, it must mean that I just shouldn't do it.  Maybe I thought that if I wasn't a prodigy in some area, I shouldn't be allowed to even try.  But the thing is, even things I am good at (or, you know, decent at) I don't pursue.  I don't try.  I let things go without ever attempting to make them happen.

There are so many things I completely gave up on that I didn't need to.  I liked writing, but because I didn't immediately come up with great ideas and I got bored, I stopped trying.  I loved singing, but for some reason I got so intimidated by all the other singers around me that I never even sing in front of my friends, much less perform.  Tyler didn't even know I sang until he came to my friend's wedding with me and heard me singing.  Art was fun and relaxing and wonderful and I have created exactly nothing since moving to Pullman.  I have all my stuff.  All of it.  And I do nothing.

It's not just activities either.  It's big goals.  Things like wanting to go to grad school or try for a big job.  Things like the incredibly basic goal of deciding what I want to do.  I am so jealous of my friends who decide they want to do something and just do it.  I have such a strong tendency to talk myself out of anything I am interested in.

I really have no excuse.  I can't whine that my life has been tough or no one supported me or blah, blah, blah.  I really can blame no one but myself.  I crush my own ideas.  Sure, I could say that it's some sort of self-defense mechanism.  Maybe it is.  But I think that largely it's due to me being lazy and not wanting to try.  So that's enough of that.  No more excuses.  No whining that it's hard, or it's scary, or I can't, I can't, I can't...

I am now making a Lindsay-list.  I am joining Lindsay's Project I-Could-Never.  I have to decide that I am actually going to try the things I always said I couldn't do.  You know what?  Maybe I'll find out that some of those things I really can't (or shouldn't) do.  But at least I will know for sure and I will not ever have to worry that I missed out on something great because I was too afraid.

Here is my list.  And I think all of you (the whole...I don't know...ten of you who read this) should join me.  Please let me know how things go for you.  I want to hear wonderful things that we all discover we actually can do.

1-I could never sing alone in front of strangers:  seriously, why not?  I did that all the time in high school.  Why is that suddenly frightening?  Goal:  I will perform at least at a coffee shop around here or something.  I always thought I couldn't do it because my voice is average or because I can't write my own music so...you know what?

2-I could never write my own song:  I should probably try before I get upset about that.  I have a guitar, I have free time.  It's time for this to happen.  And if I'm worried about my lyrics being stupid, that's fine.  I can get over it.  Last open-mic night at the bar, I had to listen to a boy sing about mayonnaise.  I can't possibly do worse than that.

3-I could never decently play the guitar:  well, no, not if you never practice.  ever.  I am making a practice schedule so I will actually play that thing.  I just have to figure out how to tune it.  don't worry, guys.  I'm on it.

4-I could never cook well: I have a list of recipes, I have a fully-functioning kitchen, and I have a week of Tyler out of town so no one suffers from my mistakes but me.  Cooking time.

5-I could never write anything interesting: I really have no excuse for this besides being lazy.  I even have an idea.  I just don't make myself sit down and start.  No mas.  I am going to schedule writing-time into that guitar-practicing schedule.  No escape.  And if I end up being incredibly embarrassed by it, I don't have to share it with anyone.

6-I could never show anyone stuff I try to write:  Ok, fine, I have to share it with someone.  But I maintain it does not need to be shared with a lot of people.

7-I could never figure out what I want to do with my life:  Well, I'll be a little nice to myself here.  I don't need to have it set in stone.  But I do have to start researching and exploring options and jobs and figure out at least what I am interested in.  Grad school?  Career?  Etc.?  Something has to be on the horizon.  Besides just the horizon.

8-I could never learn another language:  Time to start actually using that Rosetta Stone.

9-I could never successfully play Halo:  Maybe I will make Tyler re-teach me that madness where both my thumbs have to be functioning independently at all times.  Damn double-thumbs.

10-I could never like Marmite:  No.  Seriously, no.  I really can't like that stuff.  It's like essence of anchovy drowned in salt and tar.  No.  Just no.

I will be adding to this.  Please send me advice, encouragement, mockery, whatever.

And if you don't know what it is, this is marmite.

Seriously, so many people hate it, their advertising slogan is "love it or hate it".

It's made of beer byproduct and the tears of children.  And puppies.

Ugh.  Marmite.

if you want to be considered a decent human being...

...be nice to your waitstaff.

This actually applies to all restaurant workers, including kitchen staff, bus folks, hosts, and dishwashers.

Now, I know everyone has some story or other of a time when they really received poor service.  Food was wrong or disgusting or improperly cooked.  The host/hostess ignored you.  You had either the waiter who pretty much forgot you were there, or badgered you until you felt like you needed to get out of the restaurant right now!  I get it.  I, myself, have some unfortunate eating-out experiences.  What I am referring to, however, is the usual experience.  You are having a pleasant dining experience and something small goes wrong or you are in a bad mood or the food is not quite what you expected.  Maybe you are like this guy (though if you are, I would seriously not admit that): http://whitewhine.com/post/5307241091/thats-probably-the-first-time-waiters-and

I have been a server.  For quite a while.  I started working in my restaurant as a host the summer after my senior year of high school.  For the four summers after that (and several holiday breaks), I was back at the same restaurant, serving food, making alliances with kitchen staff, and taking over almost any time someone needed a shift covered.  Now, servers (or waiters.  Whatever you want to call us) get a bad rap from lots of people.  Some assume that we are stupid.  Some believe that we care only about our sales and our tips and could care less about the customers or their experience.  Some, even my hero, the venerable Anthony Bourdain, think that we do the easy, pointless work in the restaurant and should stay out of the way of the God-like cooks.  I would argue with you all.  I would say that waitressing was a strange combination of the most stressful and the most fun job I ever had.  I would also submit that, at some point in their lives, everyone should have to work at a restaurant just so they can understand that they should always treat restaurant workers LIKE FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS AND NOT BRAIN-DEAD SLAVES.

Hi there!  I'm here to be verbally assaulted by all your anger and frustrations tonight!

Here, in vague list form, are a few things that I have learned in my restaurant experience.  This may extend into a few separate posts.  Because I feel like this is really that important.

1)  This is the most important note and I cannot stress it enough.  A STANDARD TIP NOW IS 18-20% AND NOTHING SHORT OF TRULY ABYSMAL SERVICE ALLOWS YOU NOT TO LEAVE A GOOD TIP.  There are many reasons why this is so important. 

First is that if your server does not get tipped well, they could be making less than minimum wage for that shift.  If it was a truly bad night, they could owe the restaurant money after their shift.  See, waiters have to tip out at the end of the night.  In my restaurant, a server would tally up their total sales at the end of the night (the full amount that all of the food and drink they sold was worth) and then had to take 3.5% of that and give that money to everyone that was working in the kitchen, the dish pit, the host stand, and the bussers (including a little extra if any of them particularly helped you out that night).  If you go through your book and you have set aside the total sale amount to give to the restaurant and your remaining tips do not quite equal that 3.5% tip out percent?  You have to make up the difference out of your own pocket.  That means the huge table that ran up a couple hundred dollars on the tab and then gave me about a 5 or 7% tip?  They left me in debt at the end of the night.  They left me poorer for having gone into work that day.  Not ok.

Words cannot express the fire with which she hates you.

Another important reason is that in most states, the restaurant's hourly wage to servers is below minimum wage.  This is legal because they anticipate the the amount of tips we receive will push our salary to over minimum wage.  If we don't receive tips, we generally do not have enough to live on.

I'm sorry, but I don't care if you are older and claim that a 10% tip should be just fine because it was just fine back in _____.  I know there is trouble adjusting for inflation sometimes, but you don't pay less at the grocery store because you are used to a gallon of milk being just fifty cents.  I don't get to pay less for gas to fill my car even though I distinctly remember gas once being under two dollars a gallon.  Even if I agree with you that the menu costs are too high, you are not sticking it to the restaurant when you tip low.  You are sticking it to me and telling me that the energy, effort, running, and cheerfulness that I gave you while I served you was not enough to deserve the standard tip amount.

Also, it is completely irresponsible to go out to eat and realize you have exactly enough to pay for your meal and nothing left over for tip.  If you cannot afford to tip, you cannot afford to order those items.  I know I sound harsh.  I know I sound demanding.  But that is how we earn our paycheck and we work hard for it.  You would freak out if your office job suddenly started paying you a hundred or so less each week.  Tips add up quickly for us.

Unless your meal was about $1.40, this is not ok.

If you do not tip the server because you did not like your food, also not cool.  The server did not make your food.  If it was badly made, you should tell the server and they will talk to management and try to fix it.  I bent over backward to fix things and make customers happy if they got a bad order of food.  If you ordered something that you do not like, read the description of the dish next time.  Occasionally management will still give you something new, but do not count on it.  We really want you to enjoy eating out.  Really.  We want you to love your meal and be excited about eating there.  We are not working against you.  I promise.  But you have to work with us a little.

Also, if you are just cheap, it will come back to bite you.  We talk amongst ourselves.  We know when you are bad tippers.  There are ways to expose someone who consistently tips poorly.

*The worst tipping offenders are the men who hit on waitresses and then leave a bad tip.  The worst example of this I heard of was a friend of mine who was relentlessly flirted with by a customer and, after he left his table, picked up his check to find that instead of a tip, he had left her a note saying "meet me at (bar downtown) after your shift to pick up your tip.  :-)"  Yes, there was a smiley.  My friend, being a total bad ass, went to said bar after work, found the customer, and reamed him in front of the entire bar, saying something to the effect of "You NEVER, ever keep a waitress's tips hostage to blackmail her into coming out with you.  If not for the sheer pleasure of exposing you as a complete ass, I would not even be here.  There is nothing in the world less attractive than a cheap, lonely bastard who literally has to pay women to come out with him."  The man was embarrassed, the bar cheered, my friend got a substantial tip (and had a few drinks bought for her by other bar-goers).  Moral of the story?  Don't ever do this.  Ever.

In summary, just give the server an extra dollar or two if you are undecided about how much to tip.  An extra buck on your tip is not a huge deal for you, but it makes an enormous difference to your waiter.

2)  Be aware of what is going on around you.

I cannot tell you how many times we would be ready to close our doors, have about five minutes to the actual closing time, and have people walk in and ask "Are you guys closed?".  Now, of course, we have to go with the closing time posted on the door, so usually we would say something like, "Well, our closing time is actually in five minutes."  Instead of realizing that the restaurant is about closed, these people say "Whew!  We got here just in time.  We are HUNGRY.  Lots of food and lots of drinks!  And since it is so close to closing, we can sit anywhere we want!"

No.

Just, NO.

You have no idea what it does to a restaurant when people do this.  The kitchen, which had started cleaning up for the night, has to get everything back out and then re-clean after these people finally leave.  The servers have to have a brief and furious battle over who will have to stay to wait on these people who may not be leaving for another hour or more.  The server that has to stay also will be unable to do their closing work until the table is gone.  If closing time is at ten?  That server will be lucky to get out of there by eleven-thirty or midnight.

 Why would you do this to us?

People that come in at this time always stay too long.  They will be long done with food and will sit at their table, talking and drinking, for long after, somehow oblivious to the fact that the kitchen staff and their poor server are literally sitting around the corner just waiting for them to go away.  I worked two jobs last summer.  When I was stuck waiting for a table like this to leave, I could think of nothing but the seven o'clock shift at the hotel I had waiting for me the next morning and wondering how many hours of sleep I would be allowed that night.  Please.  For the love of God.  Don't do this to people.  If you are thinking, "I know it's late, but any business is good business, right?  They will be grateful for us coming in and giving them money,"  you are wrong.  We would much prefer that you spend your money elsewhere and allow us to end our shifts and go home.

Another example of being aware comes with seating.  If you have to wait for a table, that means the restaurant is full.  If a table opens up and you are not immediately sat there, it means that that particular server just had other tables filled in their section.  They will be unable to give you prompt service and their full attention if you insist on being sat there RIGHT NOW.  That is why the hostess you are yelling at is not just dumping you there.  Because they know the over-run server needs a few minutes to calm the tables that just sat down before they can get to another one.  They also know that if they ignore those precious few minutes, the server will either yell at them or have a nervous breakdown.  There is a fine balance to working a full restaurant and any time you "insist" on something, it is likely to disrupt that balance.  If the balance is off, you will not be getting the quality of service that you expect.  I promise that we never make you wait just to annoy you.  There is a reason.

There is also the chance that, if you decide to seat yourself, you will be ignored.  This is not out of rudeness, but confusion.  When a hostess seats a table, they usually tell the waitress so she can go get them drinks and such.  During busy stretches, table ownership and section boundaries shift so much that the servers have no idea who each table belongs to.  You may be ignored purely because no one has any idea who should be taking care of you. 

 ...so, instead of alerting the hostess after a reasonable amount of time, we decided to be completely awful.

Also, if your waitress is walking by you with her arms full of heavy plates of food, that is not the time to stop her and tell her that you want a drink refill or are ready to order.  She will be able to take care of you as soon as she drops off the hot, heavy food she is carrying.  Wait a few more seconds.

Hint:  this is heavy

And don't ever, ever, ever try to get your waitress's attention by snapping your fingers at her.  You can wave an arm if necessary, or call out her name or "ma'am", but no snapping.  When a customer did that to me, I made shocked eye contact with him and immediately turned around and walked away.  I know it was not professional, but it would have been even less professional for me to slap him for treating me like his dog.

3)  Do not try to involve us in your personal issues.

I have had tables try to get me to take sides in their arguments.  I have had tables glare at each other in complete silence for the whole meal.  I have had tables ask me why I think they are still single, try to get me to set them up with my fellow waitresses, engage me in long debates about politics or whatnot, and lecture me about how the government is pumping toxins into our food to make us stupid.  Please do not do any of these things.  It is wildly uncomfortable and there is no good way for me to get out of the situation.  My entire job description is to give you a light, fun, enjoyable experience and I cannot do that with almost any of these scenarios.

4)  DO NOT bring your small children and then allow them to do whatever they want.  We brought children crayons, a coloring sheet and fish crackers.  We brought out high chairs or booster chairs whenever needed.  That is the extent of what we did.

I understand that it can be difficult to keep an eye on several children at once.  Things get spilled.  Stuff happens.  That is not what I am talking about.  I am talking about looking on while your child throws things at other tables.  I am talking about laughing when your kid unscrews the top of the pepper or salt or Parmesan cheese shaker and dumps the contents all over the table or floor (yes, both of those things have actually happened to me).  YOUR WAITRESS HAS TO CLEAN THAT.  It was rare for us to have anyone there whose sole job was to bus tables, so all of us were very much in the habit of cleaning our tables ourselves as quickly as possible.  Letting your child run around the restaurant while you sit in your chair drinking or talking is not acceptable.  Your kid will be running directly in front of waitresses trying to get to each of their tables quickly while carrying heavy trays of very full drinks or very heavy plates of extremely hot food.  Not only is this irresponsible, it is dangerous.  Your child could be injured along with the server and whatever poor customer she spills hot food on when she falls.

 Your special snowflake is a homing-device of danger to me.

If you cannot control your child for the duration of one meal, hire a babysitter.*

*note:  the restaurant staff is not your babysitter.  They are there to perform an entirely different job.

5)  I really do want you to be happy.

Some people seem to come in determined to have a miserable meal, confident that I am the enemy and must be destroyed.  I tried so hard to make people happy when I worked.  I had my happy smile pasted on my face at nearly all times.  Even if I was in pain, having a miserable day, had another shift coming up, had not slept for a few days, or was in severe emotional and mental turmoil, I did my damndest to be sure that each customer I saw thought that I was thrilled to be there, overjoyed to see them, and more than willing to bring them anything they wanted to make their experience better.  And usually, I would actually do ridiculous things to make them happy.

Our restaurant served pizzas, salads, sandwiches, and pastas.  We had no fries or burgers.  Therefore, we did not stock ketchup.  For the dipping of cheese covered dough, we had marinara sauce, pesto, olive oil, or alfredo, but no ketchup.  When a child at my table panicked about being unable to dump ketchup on her plain spaghetti noodles, however, I yelled to my manager that I would be right back, ran to the market just down the street, and bought a bottle of ketchup.  Most of my fellow waiters would have done the same.  We want people happy.  I was overjoyed to see the relief on that mother's face when I returned to the table with a bottle of ketchup.  We really do love it when people enjoy themselves.

What you should know about your server is that they are in a job where they cannot retreat to a cubicle when they are having a rough day and don't want to be around people.  They have to spend the day faking happy and patiently dealing with complaints, requests, demands, and orders.  They have to steal bathroom breaks in the very few moments where all tables are happy.  Even on a great day, a day where no one yells at you, your food all comes out on time (and with the correct ingredients on it!), no one stiffs you on a tip (or, worst of all, takes off without paying!!!), and you have friendly customers, you will be exhausted by the end of the day.  Your waiter is on his or her feet all day.  They are groveling in the kitchen to get an order re-made, trying to keep several tables and all of their food orders straight in their head along with what time each table came in, refilling drinks, making salads, totaling bills...basically, multi-tasking like a pro.  Please, be nice to them.  It will keep them sane.

At least, for a little while.