i will miss you paul newman, again.

RIP my fish, paul newman.

i'm not sure when you died, as you were partially decayed by the time i found you at the bottom of the bowl, but i had had you for three years and was rather attached to your floaty presence.

i sorry i forgot to feed you, but really, for a fish that subsists mainly off his own poop, i'm surprised you lived as long as you did. you will be replaced quickly (for $2.00 at the pet store in chinatown) but your buoyant spirit will circle the toilet bowl of my heart for all eternity.

paul newman is survived by his other fish friends "robert redford" and "manny ramirez"--and although they had never actually met(since they are siamese fighting fish and would likely kill each other)they were the holy trinity of my aquatic pet world. he has passed through life's curtain and now resides with his predecessor "zardoz:the christmas fish" in that mystical sewage pipe under the sea.

bon voyage my friend

poor baby

i use facebook. i am a prolific facebooker. i make statements, i post links, i share recipes and i, apparently, pick fights.

i recently had a former acquaintance from college inform me that, based on my disinterest/annoyance with sports fans (i live next to a sports bar and walk out of my doorway through sports puke), i was "an idiot who had lost his respect." apparently a less than enthusiastic approach to football was all it took.

i can tell you three things about this person. 1) he is rather unfortunately and prematurely bald. 2)he was a republican in college. 3) his birthday is four days after mine.

so after he called me an idiot i sent him a nice letter telling him that everything was ok. that i only knew three things about him and that there was no need for name calling.

he has not responded.

so i've been considering this. for all of the social networking i do, all of the poetry i share, all of the news links i pass on, all of the people i introduce, all of the music i point out--nothing lights more of a fire than these random statements i make. i'm tending to piss people off--and it is surprisingly easy.

so far these arguments have all been with men. men who say one snarky thing to me and then block me and run away. it's been frustrating mostly, since i'm not trying to be mean...

but seriously, suck my fucking dick you god damn babies.

the end.

rules by which to live and dine

1. if you stiff the waitress you will get chlamydia and die.

2. no, that does not come with chicken. chicken is gross. what? were you born in a barn? obviously not because if you were you would know that chicken is disgusting.

3. yes there is salt in that. there is salt in everything. it's a fucking restaurant. if you want to eat bland shit then go home, cook for yourself, manage your own bloated ass and leave me in peace.

4. you want the filet mignon well done? you are a god damn moron. go next door to the liquor store and buy yourself a beef stick.

5. oh, you can't eat cheese? you didn't realize the cheese ravioli had cheese in them? you perceptive sonofabitch! no surprise you lived this long.

6. double dressing on the side? afraid i might under-sauce you, fatty?

7. that's not what you ordered? well it's what you asked for--what you really mean is "i dunt speek IIItalyen"

8. do i have a cocktail menu? do you have ID?

9. you don't see a kids menu? you also, apparently, can't take a hint.

10. you're a twenty-something dining out with twenty or so of your "friends" and you are surprised when i add an 18% service charge. cute. get used to it you cheap fuckers. the world doesn't owe you shit and neither do i.

did that really happen?

no. it did not. it was a dream.

a fucking work dream.

being partially employed i spend just enough time at work to have it stalk and harass me while i'm unconscious.

in my dream i was taking the closing shift and instead of slowing down for the night the restaurant got steady business with the occasional large party until the sun had come up the next day.

we had run out of plates and glasses since the dish washer had gotten off at an appropriate time. they was no busser. we were running out of food and at some point my boss presented me with a hi-tech gizmo (for god knows what reason) that looked like a food processor, but when i turned it on it shot cheerio-sized copper rings into all the food i was just about to serve. tracy, my co-worker appeared and we started pulling these metal rings out of a large baking sheets worth of linguine pomodoro con cozze e vongole with our bare hands

i would try to tell people they couldn't sit and that we were done serving and they would tell me that they were hungry so i could go fuck off. they would order drinks that i had never heard of with ingredients i didn't have (or had just sold the last of)

there was a brief segue where i was trying to wash my hands in the bathroom at my elementary school but the sinks had been removed.

just as i was getting that overwhelming sense of failure. i woke up.

i either need a new job or a fucking vacation.

golden

today was the day i broke out of the winter funk.

it's been an entire winters coming. i get very hobbity and secluded when the days get short and dark, but not today.

today i skipped, i pranced, i sang, i played games with my sister, admired tulips for sale by the waterfront, talked san francisco politics with my favorite local journalist, made fun of really good-looking actors filming a really crappy t.v. show, saw a bollywood motorcycle scene shot on the same street as an episode of myth busters (apparently everybody got film clearance on the same day) and ventured through chinatown to pick up fresh bathroom accessories. i even stopped to compliment strangers on their choice of strange small dogs

i went with my manfriend to the ferry building to get lunch. i ate a hot dog--the best fucking hot dog i have ever had. 3inches of bun and 8inches of wiener. handmade saurkraut with caraway seeds. rough chopped dill relish. spicy stone ground dijon mustard.

manfriend had a burger. he is not in the habit of specifying doneness when ordering his meat. his burger was rare. he said it was the most delicious burger he had ever had. he just woke from a dead sleep to vomit. profusely.

apparently it is just not his day.

take flight

i recently took a trip to new hampshire...or what the locals call "the seacoast".

my flight left a few days after christmas. i packed one large suitcase because i really hate carry-ons since it means there's shit i have to carry. i usually pack one suitcase and just my purse.

i arrived early and while printing my boarding pass the attendant informed me that my bag was six pounds overweight. i could either take out six pounds or pay 50$. so i pulled my bag aside and opened 'er up.

i was in the middle of the airport struggling with my suitcase zipper in which a brand new pair of blue lace panties had become lodged. i was trying to be delicate but my pretty striped scarf had slipped and was now stuck in the zipper as well. flustered and pissed i finally ripped 'em out, cursing the airlines stupid bag/weight requirment and scaring an elderly asian couple.

once open i had some options. six pounds...well, a few things were for certain...the 2ft long 3lbs molinari salami was just gonna have to stay in the bag...and the 2lbs of brussels sprouts i was smuggling, well they would have to stay too.

the 2lbs of hiking boots...on my feet they went. favorite black cardigan went on over my t-shirt. then the knit duster over the cardigan. then giant puffy blue down jacket over duster. pink and yellow snow gloves i borrowed from my sister went onto my hands. mustard crochet hat upon my head and my purse stuffed to the brim with socks, books, tampons and fudge...i zipped the bag back up.

it was still a 1lb over, but i looked so fucking ridiculous she let it slide.

and...

im pretty sure the couple behind me in security hated my guts.

HA

dear old bitch at table 13,

remember when you walked into the restaurant at 5:30 and demanded a table for eight people? how the rest of your party finally arrived at 7:00? and how, despite the fact that we don't take reservations, we held the table for you?

remember how you mentioned to the three ladies you were waiting with that you wanted to order an appetizer and how i overheard you and brought a complimentary bruschetta?

remember how all of your food came out perfectly timed; how each item (with some sort of fucking addendum attached) was served as specified?

remember how nice the evening was and how polite i was towards you and your party?

and then remember how your friend asked for dessert and i kindly noted that we did not serve dessert? did you notice the window when you walked in that said the restaurant was over a hundred years old and has never served dessert?

did you bother to look at the menu that kindly asked patrons to limit the number of credit cards to two per check?

did you think i was out to get you when you screamed at me "WELL THEN YOU HAVE TO BRING US TWO CHECKS I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU HAVE ALL THESE RULES!! WHAT KIND OF RESTAURANT IS THIS!!!!!!"?

...i just asked if it was possible to not split the bill on four separate cards. my mistake, see, i had assumed that you were dining with friends. apparently that was not the case. whoops.

i have never spoken to anyone with the amount of disrespect you showed me.

were you having a hot flash?

seeing as you took up half of my section the entire night the 14% tip you left on $300 would have seemed paltry and i suppose it's your own fault that you didn't look at the bill and see the large disclaimer

"17% GRATUITY (already) INCLUDED" with a big arrow pointing to the total and a smiley face

:)

thanks for making my night, cunt.

sincerely,

your waitress