Don't Ask Me That, Please...

Outside of the medical fields, does anyone really know what they want to be when they grow up?

And did anyone actually go to college for it?

Writer. Model. Actress. Casting Director. Photographer. Author. Singer. Dancer. Wife. Mom. Playwright. Marine Biologist. Dolphin Trainer. Barista. Waitress. Camp Counselor. Superhero. Graphic Designer. Crayon Namer. Nail Polish Namer. Paint Swatch Namer. Babysitter. PR Queen. Band Manager. Talent Scout. Ad Designer. Magazine Editor. Bounty Hunter. Pirate. Restaurant Manager. Singing Voice of an Animated Character. Journalist. Pilot. Jedi Knight. Rockstar. Teacher. Poet. TV News Anchor. Translator. Social Worker. Song Writer. Event Planner. Artist. Graphic Novelist. Fashion Designer. Chef. Makeup Artist.

I have aspired to all these things. Some of them still stand. 

But where to go now?

In so many ways, I feel like I'm back to square one.

Firsts This Week

• Went to the Nashville NKOTB Reunion concert.

• Met Jordan Knight and Donnie Wahlberg.

• Made a trade on swaptree.com.

• Laid out at the pool for an hour.

• Worked the monthly Vanderbilt Dinner all by me onesie.

• Did squats. (I hate that word.)

• Listened to The Wood Brothers.

• Drank a Full Moon Ale with an orange in it.

• Got Coldplay tickets for June!

• Ate (a bite of) pistachio ice cream.

• Waited on 3 six tops and 2 two tops, simultaneously without losing my mind.

• *Woke up to a crazy Aussie man sleeping on cushions on my "lounge room" floor.
  

*Not the first time. But the first time in a year and a half, so it counts. :)

Confessions

I've got a weakness for country music on sunny days. And not even good, solid, old school country music. Rascal Flatts.

I dilute my drinks a lot. I don' t really know why. Maybe I think if I add water to them, it will make them less sugary/carbonated/caffeinated and therefore healthier? Because water makes everything healthier? I only do this at home. Probably to avoid going grocery shopping as often. Plus, sometimes, I only use like 7 taste buds, so watered-down-ness doesn't even faze me.

Post-dinner, between the hours of 7:30pm and 9:30pm tonight, I ate six pieces of buttered toast.

I'm gradually becoming a Sawyer/Juliet fan... Sawliet? Julyer? LaFleuliet? Yes. I like that one. :)

I've been drinking tap water. I'm not proud of this. But it's so convenient. Plus, there are like a billion people in the world who don't even have tap water to drink. So I shouldn't complain.

I've been reading Angelina Jolie's journal about her travels to Asia, Africa and South America in conjunction with the UN Commissioner for Refugees. She was 25 when she became a Goodwill Ambassador.

I don't have a problem with boy dogs, but I'd rather not own one. Also, I'm not a fan of curly-haired dogs. I think they look sort of ridiculous. So far, I think Jiggs is the only exception to these rules.

I love brushing my teeth with baking soda. Just baking soda. So simple, so effective. Every now and then, I'm allured by some shiny gel or oddly-flavored paste... but baking soda doesn't hide behind designer packaging. It just freshens your mouth like a champ and does not ask questions or stick around to cuddle afterwards. Hit it and quit it. See you in 12 hours. Bad form for a relationship-- excellent form for toothpaste.

Good Things

-Two Chik-Fil-A chicken biskits for breakfast.

-Keaton Simons' song, which I bought yesterday, contains these lyrics:

"You are my Undertow... caught in a Riptide... and I am Currently in love with you."

I love the ocean. And blues. And love songs. Triple threat, right here. It's called "Currently".

I listened 3x before work. 

-Bypassed the Shell station ($1.82) in hopes of cheaper gas down the road. Found gasoline right next to work, for $1.79. Filled the tank. When I left for lunch? It had gone up to $1.89. Triumph.

-Got to work on time. Early even.

-Bobby Wayne came in for lunch and left me a great tip.

-The sight of my newly nearly-black hair is still a bit shocking-- but I like it.

-Plane ticket purchased for under $400.

-Many sweet calls and messages from friends.

-81 degrees.

-Ate a big ol' BBQ Pork sandwich for lunch.

-Pre-dinner line up outside, in the midst of the glorious 81 degree-ness.

-Spent majority of dinner shift laughing at Vinny and/or looking at sexy furniture.

-Reheated delicious leftovers that I cooked yesterday and ate them for dinner.

-New issue of Real Simple came in the mail, so I won't be real bored at work tomorrow.

-Talked to my ridiculously handsome boyfriend on v-chat. And even though he tried to stir up some sauce, and make me mad-- he danced his way out of it. ;) Won't be the last time, I'm sure.

-New facewash.

-New mixtape for the car tomorrow.

-Going to sleep sans big comforter and with the windows open.

-My Hero, no longer bound by a broken body, met Jesus earlier yesterday morning. Finally, she is whole. And home.

Sassy Giraffe

I worked a wake at the restaurant yesterday afternoon. The mother of the very first chef Tom ever hired had passed away. Her friends and family explained throughout the afternoon that she was very proud to be half Cherokee and back in the day, she had been a Vegas entertainer who maintained a reputation for being the mother hen over all the cocktail waitress showgirls. She allegedly once slapped Sammy Davis Jr. for grabbing one of the girls asses.

Anyway, this woman left a lot of stories and a lot of porcelain dolls behind. Her ashes were "displayed" in a black box, within a glass box, surrounded by a bunch of candles and dolls dressed up like Native Americans and biker chicks. There were also various dreamcatchers and other woven Native American things draped around the Blue Room.

Anyway, her son Dirk, was terribly nice and wonderously composed in light of the situation. Actually everyone was very composed. Most of the friends and relatives were very kind as well, even if they really took advantage of the "open" bar. (Tom, who owns Saffire as well as TomKats Catering, paid for everything.) But, like every family (I mean I think they were family?), there were a few who were just a bit... off. Just enough to keep the afternoon interesting.

For example… yes, wear black to a wake. But a plunging black v-neck dress with a GIANT blingy rhinestone brooch set just below the Girls, who appear to be one sudden movement away from making an inglorious guest appearance? Not so much.

One group in particular was very... colorful. At first glance, I guessed they were Hispanic, but when one of the women (she looked around 20) asked me what pico de gallo was, and utterly butchered the pronunciation, I was inclined to think otherwise.

I also think kids are pretty awesome, so when this one little 12 year old girl went ambling through the restaurant like a baby giraffe in giant heeled, suede boots that were clearly not her usual choice of footwear, I kind of smiled adoringly and looked at her like she was—well, a baby giraffe.

But when I got to the table and the baby giraffe copped an attitude with me because she hated the buffet we'd provided and wanted instead another Sprite and steak well done with some French fries? I may have accidentally looked at her like she was a baby cockroach running across my kitchen counter.

I really don't have a problem with customer service OR the restaurant business. In fact, I'm largely fascinated by people and their quirks. But I cannot suffer bitchy children. That is just WRONG. And her mother was sitting right next to her, trying to be her friend instead of telling her, "No! This restaurant is not your own personal kebab van and Juliette is NOT the kebab van genie, indentured to grant your every wretched culinary wish."

OOOO. Not. Right. (sigh)

I mean, I got them some Coke and some French fries. But I made 'em wait. I served all the grown ups first. Don't try to get saucy with me, giraffe, you will make the crazy come OUT.

Genteman... so that's what you fellas look like.

How amazing is it when you meet someone who brings all the best things out of you? 

Someone who sees what's in you, sometimes before you do, and calls you to be more.

Someone who inspires you, quietly, consistently encourages you, to use your unique gifts and become the best version of yourself.

Someone who challenges you.

Someone who believes in your abilities and capabilities simply because they know your heart.

Someone you can live next to in your own skin and be comfortable with. 

Someone who doesn't leave you constantly deciding which mask to wear to be accepted. 

Someone with tremendous hope to share; a seemingly impossible pragmatic idealist.

Someone respectful, compassionate, responsible, perceptive, passionate... and absolutely hilarious.

Someone to run beside you, who you can pace with, but also look up to.

Someone you can trust. Completely. With things that are important. Not because they're perfect and infallible, but because they have both of your best interests at heart.

Someone who wants to protect you and encourage you and engage you about everyday life. 

Someone strong. Someone brave. Someone who makes your face hurt from smiling so much.

Someone you would never want to not know.

Someone who wants to pick you up.

It seems I've always been able to believe... for everyone but myself.

Now?

:)  :)  :)

That's putting it mildly.

"For I KNOW the plans I have for you.

Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you.

Plans to bring you hope, and a future [beyond your wildest imaginings]."

I'm walking through every day with unspeakable gratitude and tremendous joy.

:)

Waiting.

Why is the right side of my facebook wall now covered in all these pictures babies with too many eyes? Whose brilliant idea was that?! It's disturbing, though not quite as disturbing as all the pictures of disgusting teeth that keep popping up as well. The way I feel about pictures of teeth could be compared to way a lot of people feel about clowns or the way my roommate feels about sleeping in socks. Sick and wretched and disgusting. Maybe a little scary, but mostly gross.

Yesterday, someone at one of my tables asked me if I used to be Miss Tennessee. Is this a compliment? Do I exude an air of washed up celebrity/pageant queen? I certainly hope not. If I used to be Miss Tennessee, I would HOPE I wouldn't have to go back to waiting tables... then again, these are hard times.

A different man on a different day at another table once told me that I looked like a female prince. I looked at him like he was dumber than a bag of hammers and said "You mean like, a princess?!" To which he replied, "No-- no, I mean like a female Prince. As in Artist Formerly Known As." To which I replied something like, "Oh. Ohhh... okay, that's-- not as dumb."

There's something simple and beautiful about catfish. When I taste it, there's this nostalgia about the flavor. Carefree, comforting, refreshing, simpleness. With just a hint of mud. It reminds me of drinking out of the hose in the summer when I was a kid. Clearly, you shouldn't make a habit of drinking out of the hose. You probably shouldn't go around eating catfish all the time either. But tonight, I ate one and a half pieces, fried, with mashed potatoes and lentil hash, (which tastes much better than it sounds). It was like sticking my face in a sprinkler in Texas in July. And I loved it. 

Also, when she was a kid, my roommate Joanna used to catch catfish with her brother in the lake by their house and nail their heads to wooden posts to kill them. She's so darling. I've never been fishing... and I could keep it that way.