Reality Check

Waiting tables provides me with more than just cash.  Sometimes it gives me joy, sometimes it gives me a headache, and sometimes it just makes me feel old.  The thing is, I feel exactly the same today as I did at twenty-whatever.  Yes I’ve learned things, yes I’ve “matured,” but really, I don’t feel different, but waiting tables, I’m surrounded by people who actually are twenty-whatever.   I usually don’t notice the difference, we like the same music, live the same kind of lifestyle, etc etc, but once in a while there’s a moment…

I was working tonight and I mentioned that my boss at my other job, let’s call him Monie Dore, had a white party for his birthday in late September.  I told the story to highlight how douchey he is.  First of all white parties are played and lame.  Second if you are going to have a white party, it has to be before Labor Day.  Finally, when “Monie” announced the party to his staff, he said it would have a Beatles theme and then started to sing, “Daydream Believer” to them, which we all know is the Monkees.

Okay, here’s the part that made me feel old.  I told this story to two co-workers tonight, one early twenties, the other late, and only one of them knew who the Monkees were, and only because she’d auditioned for American Idol a few years ago and was forced to sing Daydream Believer with a crowd of thousands in the Rose Bowl.  What???

Wanna See Sarah Silverman Take Off Her Bra?

It’s amazing, stuff like this makes me so hopeful and scared all at the same time.  It seems so obvious.  Fingers crossed.

You Could Have Knocked Me Over With An Art Star

There have been, thank God, some great moments waiting tables through the years, but last night was especially good. I was busying around the burger joint, went over to a new table, “Hi, how are ya, blah blah blah.”  The guy had a black sketch pad/journal on the table, with a painted cover.  I said, “Hey, that’s cool, is it  a Baseman?”  He looked at me and said, “I am Baseman.”  I was blown away, and apologized, but fawned shamelessly.

He gave me a postcard to a show in he’s doing in Barcelona, and like a dork i asked him to sign it, explaining that i never do that, and shit on actors, but he’s Gary Baseman.

Anyway I served the rest of their meal like a normal person.   Blah blah blah.  At the end of it, while chatting with his – date?  girlfriend?  wife?- he was sketching with his pen on his placemat/menu.  When he was done he gave it to me and signed it. It’s a nekid girl floating across the menu.

Aaaah!

How freaking cool is that?
I promised if he came back i’d fawn less.

Happy 5769!

Just curious:  how come on Christmas, which isn’t even Christ’s birthday, the whole world grinds to a halt, but on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, it’s business as usual?

Can I Show It To You?

So I don’t know how many of you remember a post from back in February, This One’s NC-17, but my neighbor is moving out.  He’s officially out end of the month, but he’s moving back East this Saturday.  I just came home and he came out into the hall as I was getting the mail, as is his wont.  He told me he was gone as of the weekend and asked if I wanted some booze and sundry items that he doesn’t want to ship.  I’m not a big drinker, but I took a cast iron skillet and some light bulbs.  I thanked him and told him if he felt like it to knock and say hi/bye before he left, if I’m around.

That was not enough.

He followed me down the hall to my apartment, hemming and hawing, and then said, so I was thinking, before I move away forever and never see you again… can I show it to you?  There was a moment of dis-ease.  Sorry?  I asked, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.  Um, he said, well, I just would be sad if I moved away and you never saw it.  I know you said this one time you were outside a bar and this drunk guy showed you his and I want to show you mine.  At this point I knew where this was going, but once agian was in shock and disbelief (for as savvy as I am, you’d think I’d get it together in these moments, but I’m so busy trying not to shame anyone).  So what are we talking about, specifically?  I asked.  I want to show you my penis, he finally said.  Oh.  Well.

Now it was my turn to hem and haw.  Again, I never want to make anyone feel bad about their sexual proclivities.  Well, I asked, is it important to you?  I am an idiot.  He stressed once again that he really wanted to show me his penis and suggested that now would be a good time for him. I explained I had a call to make and now didn’t work for me.  Then he had the gall to say that he’d just given me a fifty dollar skillet, which I promptly offered to return.  He walked away dejected, leaving me with the skillet, but saying he’d knock to see if I’m around later in the week.

Looks like I’ll be laying low until Saturday.

Laughing Happy Friends with Gingham Dessing and a Fish!

If you know me at all, you know I love me some bad English, and there’s no bad English worse than Asian bad English.  Well my girlfriend Mel knows me well, and sent me an email telling me to go here!  Now, while I’m not one to follow orders (well, it depends on where you’re givin’ em to me), I trust her.  Wow!

I want this tshirt badly:

Now go here!