(no subject)
Between work, voluntary (and much-needed, at the time) nights at home, and plans falling through, I feel like I haven't seen anyone in weeks. I'm working again tonight, but hopefully this little predicament can be solved come Sunday. I don't have a problem with being alone, but after a while I do start to miss people quite strongly.
On Thursday night, I wanted to go to Borders with the IB girls, but it ended up being too short-notice for everyone (Greta's parents wouldn't even let her out of the house, even if I drove her, which I personally think is ridiculous) so I just went by myself to Mecca Borders. Both Katie Soulen--a girl I used to play field hockey with--and a woman from my belly dancing class as there. The latter, I studiously avoided, as I would have nothing to say to her, but I did stop and say hi to Katie. I actually had a perfectly competent bit of small-talk, which is quite rare for me, as usually I can't really do much except smile and nod my head and pray it will end soon. I don't think my penchant for wanting conversations like that to end will ever quite leave me, but it was still nice to see someone from Middletown who remembered me; catching up on the field hockey gossip was cool too.
I didn't mean to buy anything, but, as so often happens, I did walk out with Charmed Thirds, the third in that series I adore (the first two being Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings). I've already finished reading it, and I loved it. Neurotic, over-analytical girl who obsessed over sex a lot? It's like it was made for me.
Yesterday I worked, and it was...arguably the most stressful thing in the history of anything, ever. Regardless of how long I've been working there, I still have an incredibly hard time dealing with the dinner rush, which--according to the manager--was especially bad last night. There's just so much to think about that I end up forgetting who asked for stuff in passing (ketchup, drink refills, etc) and don't even fucking get me started on those bastards who order side salads. I have to make those, you fuckers, so don't fucking complain when it doesn't come out within the nanosecond that you ordered it. People are honestly convinced they're the only ones I'm serving, even when the restaurant is clearly packed to the point where there is literally a waiting list. For Denny's! I will never cease to be amazed by this.
So that was rough, but I made a decent amount of money; a little over $85 in 7 hours. I have yet to break the $100 mark, which a lot of the really good waitresses do on a nightly basis, but I'm getting there. Slowly but surely!
I also got my hair cut yesterday. Although I promised myself I'd keep it long, because I like it long, I did end up chopping off enough of it that it skims my shoulders now. I can't help it! It's like some sort of weird, symbolic emotional thing that comes with cutting hair. I like it short, though, so that's not really the problem. The problem is that I made the mistake of asking for side bangs, which are so fucking annoying that I ended up just letting them fall to the side within the first five minutes I'd left the salon. They're not unnattractive, but they're just not very suited to me. Fortunately, they're pretty long already, so it shouldn't take too long for me to grow them out. I can deal.
I'm all nervous about working tonight, kind of how I always am. I'm so obsessed with being perfect that, on the days I'm working, it's always festering in my subconscious, even if I don't have to leave for another three hours or something. This wouldn't be so bad, except that when things fester in my subconscious, I tend to lose my appetite, which cannot possibly be a good thing. I've only had two bowls of cereal so far today and I already feel like I'm going to puke. I'm not sure what the rational explanation for this is (except maybe that there isn't one) but I just can't seem to get over the fact that waiting on tables really, really stresses me out. The idea of it, anyway. When I'm actually working, and I'm in the moment, and I'm around people I know, I tend to be fine, even when I'm badly fucking up (which happens more often than I'd care to admit). It's just thinking about it beforehand--or even afterwards, when my brain obsessively cycles through every single table I waited on to pinpoint all of my minute mistakes--that makes me literally sick to my stomach.
Just, you know. Some insight for you folks, so you have something to tell the people at the Crazy House what was happening when Cat got institutionalized. XD
Anyway. I think I'm going to take a bath to chill out a bit before--ack!--working again. Thank god I only work for two days at a time, or my body might collapse from lack of food. Fortunately, I will more than likely make up for this on Sunday by eating more food than I've consumed on any other day of my life, then wondering why on earth I wasn't hungry the past two days before that. It's a vicious cycle, but someone's got to deal with it.
Peace, love, and shaggy hair--
Cat
P.S. One week until beachy goodness!
On Thursday night, I wanted to go to Borders with the IB girls, but it ended up being too short-notice for everyone (Greta's parents wouldn't even let her out of the house, even if I drove her, which I personally think is ridiculous) so I just went by myself to Mecca Borders. Both Katie Soulen--a girl I used to play field hockey with--and a woman from my belly dancing class as there. The latter, I studiously avoided, as I would have nothing to say to her, but I did stop and say hi to Katie. I actually had a perfectly competent bit of small-talk, which is quite rare for me, as usually I can't really do much except smile and nod my head and pray it will end soon. I don't think my penchant for wanting conversations like that to end will ever quite leave me, but it was still nice to see someone from Middletown who remembered me; catching up on the field hockey gossip was cool too.
I didn't mean to buy anything, but, as so often happens, I did walk out with Charmed Thirds, the third in that series I adore (the first two being Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings). I've already finished reading it, and I loved it. Neurotic, over-analytical girl who obsessed over sex a lot? It's like it was made for me.
Yesterday I worked, and it was...arguably the most stressful thing in the history of anything, ever. Regardless of how long I've been working there, I still have an incredibly hard time dealing with the dinner rush, which--according to the manager--was especially bad last night. There's just so much to think about that I end up forgetting who asked for stuff in passing (ketchup, drink refills, etc) and don't even fucking get me started on those bastards who order side salads. I have to make those, you fuckers, so don't fucking complain when it doesn't come out within the nanosecond that you ordered it. People are honestly convinced they're the only ones I'm serving, even when the restaurant is clearly packed to the point where there is literally a waiting list. For Denny's! I will never cease to be amazed by this.
So that was rough, but I made a decent amount of money; a little over $85 in 7 hours. I have yet to break the $100 mark, which a lot of the really good waitresses do on a nightly basis, but I'm getting there. Slowly but surely!
I also got my hair cut yesterday. Although I promised myself I'd keep it long, because I like it long, I did end up chopping off enough of it that it skims my shoulders now. I can't help it! It's like some sort of weird, symbolic emotional thing that comes with cutting hair. I like it short, though, so that's not really the problem. The problem is that I made the mistake of asking for side bangs, which are so fucking annoying that I ended up just letting them fall to the side within the first five minutes I'd left the salon. They're not unnattractive, but they're just not very suited to me. Fortunately, they're pretty long already, so it shouldn't take too long for me to grow them out. I can deal.
I'm all nervous about working tonight, kind of how I always am. I'm so obsessed with being perfect that, on the days I'm working, it's always festering in my subconscious, even if I don't have to leave for another three hours or something. This wouldn't be so bad, except that when things fester in my subconscious, I tend to lose my appetite, which cannot possibly be a good thing. I've only had two bowls of cereal so far today and I already feel like I'm going to puke. I'm not sure what the rational explanation for this is (except maybe that there isn't one) but I just can't seem to get over the fact that waiting on tables really, really stresses me out. The idea of it, anyway. When I'm actually working, and I'm in the moment, and I'm around people I know, I tend to be fine, even when I'm badly fucking up (which happens more often than I'd care to admit). It's just thinking about it beforehand--or even afterwards, when my brain obsessively cycles through every single table I waited on to pinpoint all of my minute mistakes--that makes me literally sick to my stomach.
Just, you know. Some insight for you folks, so you have something to tell the people at the Crazy House what was happening when Cat got institutionalized. XD
Anyway. I think I'm going to take a bath to chill out a bit before--ack!--working again. Thank god I only work for two days at a time, or my body might collapse from lack of food. Fortunately, I will more than likely make up for this on Sunday by eating more food than I've consumed on any other day of my life, then wondering why on earth I wasn't hungry the past two days before that. It's a vicious cycle, but someone's got to deal with it.
Peace, love, and shaggy hair--
Cat
P.S. One week until beachy goodness!