No No No!

Carrie Underwood's "acting" ruined Christmas the first time.

Now, CNN just tried to argue that Love Actually is in the same category as It's a Wonderful Life. CNN, you are dead to me. Christmas is cancelled. They did this segment in the form of a debate. It must be a slooooow news day.
The only thing from this bit that I appreciated was the Love Actually argument made by the guy who took the this movie sucks side-"They try to take just the endings from a bunch of romantic comedy movies and put them into one movie, without any dialogue or real story development from the middle part of the movie." Well said, sir.
Yes, I hate Love Actually. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some gifts to return.

People shopping

Princeton. Even though both the Taco Bell and the Hardee's closed down, it's still a nice place. I'm not biased, I promise. But most of the other small towns I've been to are seriously lacking the charm of my lovely hometown. Here are some pictures, courtesy of Google image.

Princeton High School

North Main Street

Princeton's most famous landmark/where every engaged couple get their photos taken, the Red Covered Bridge

I was born here. I lived here the first 23 1/2 years of my life. Technically I lived at ISU 4 of those years, but since I came home whenever I had more than a 3 hour break from school, I'll go ahead and put those years with my living in Princeton total. I lived here for another year and half after leaving Chicago, and I've lived here the past two years. That's a lot of years. This is, and always will be, home. Therefore, I am allowed to say whatever I want about it. However, when I hear non-Princetonians smack talking, I want to bust their kneecaps. Now that I've cleared that up, I'll continue. 

While marriage and kids are still not on my radar (traveling to South America and living in Thailand are though, I just need to figure out how. Any how to suggestions are welcome), it would be nice to date. Living in Princeton, this presents a bit of a problem. The dating pool here is slim slim slim. My standards aren't that high. Sure, I'd love a James Marsden lookalike who speaks a few languages, likes to run, has a college degree and a passport, sings like Andrea Bocelli, and cooks like Wolfgang Puck. But here in Princeton, I'd settle for a guy who knows the difference between your and you're, has a working muffler and normal sized tires on his vehicle, doesn't have a jam jar goatee, and doesn't list his favorite book as "I don't read." I'm pretty sure there are no unmarried guys in the county who fit that description. Luckily, Princeton is located an hour from Peoria, an hour from the Quad Cities, a little more than an hour from the Chicago suburbs, and two hours from the city itself, all of which have considerably larger dating pools. The next problem is of course, how do I meet these chaps?

I know a lot of people who have had great luck with online dating.  Many people suggested I try it.  My exBF used online dating sites with gusto, one of the many reasons why he now has the title of ex. Online dating...sure, why not? But so many sites! Which one? 

In addition to being cheap, I fear commitment so much that I can bring myself to sign a real cell phone contract or an apartment lease. So I first eliminated any sites that weren't free. I'm not serious enough dating to pay for it. I'm not shelling out $30 for Match.com until I'm looking for a husband. 

Over the summer, I saw half of a "news" story about a new dating app called Tinder. I should have gotten the whole story before trying that one. I learned quickly it's more or less a booty call app. The messages I received via Tinder were all along the lines of  "U down?" "Ur place or mine?" and so on. No thank you. 

Next up-OkCupid. I learned quickly again. This time I learned that OkCupid is used for basically the same purpose as Tinder, except that with Tinder, both users must "like" each other before communication can be made. That's a point for Tinder. I signed up for OkCupid, left my computer, came back a short time later and had at least 30 email notifications that I'd received messages on OkCupid. 

"Sure, guy I don't know and have less than zero physical attraction to, whose two profile pictures are you with a giant truck and you with your children, I'd love to go over to your house sometime when your kids are at their mom's." But I kept with this one for a few days, thinking maybe not all guys on there were dirt bags. I finally deleted that account when I received a message from a guy with the user name "PoundUgood" and whose profile picture was him, sitting pantsless in a recliner, full on willy shot. Why, guys? Why? Does that work for you, ever? If so, why ladies? Why? Where's the self respect? 

Finally, I landed on Plenty of Fish. While not as legit as Match.com, it seems ever so slightly better than the first two sites I used. Don't get me wrong, I still get  messages of the "U down?" variety, but there seem to be ever so slightly higher numbers of guys on there who at least have some morals, in addition to a higher number of  "young, fun, professional couples, who've never done anything like this before, but looking to try some new things...u down?" Sigh. 

Using online dating sites is making me think maybe my standards actually are too high. Call me picky, but if your profile picture is you with a wad of chew in your mouth, holding a gun, while standing next to an animal you shot, I just don't think it's going to work between us. 

I've kept with Plenty of Fish for a week or so now. I have received a few messages from guys I'd probably be interested in if I knew them outside of their computers. But I'm realizing I'm not entirely on board with this idea. There are a few reasons why.

1. I watch way too much Investigation Discovery (informative murder porn...South Park...anyone?) which has caused me to not trust strangers. Or people I know. 

2. After tonight's Mega Millions drawings, I'm going to be a millionaire. So I have to be more careful with who I meet. I don't want someone to be using me for my money. 

3. Intense fear of rejection. Way before the days of online dating being normal, I remember someone saying something to my mom about a soon to be married couple who'd met on a blind date. I asked my mom what a blind date was, and after she answered, my immediate thought way "NO WAY WOULD I EVER DO THAT!" The scenario in my mind played out something like this: I get all gussied up. I arrive at our agreed upon location. My date is already there, and when he sees me, the disappointment in his face is impossible to hide. I was about 10 years old when that first came into my head. And it never left. It still plays out when I think of both blind dates and meeting someone I've found via an online dating site. 

4. I'm 31 years old. I work in a restaurant. I live with my parents. I need to get some other things in order before I think about dating. But then I think, I have no social life in Princeton. As long as I live around here, why would I not live with my parents?  If I were to get my own apartment, I'd spend the majority of my free time at my parents' house, because I never go out, go to dinner, do anything with anyone besides them. The few times I have a Friday or Saturday night off of work, I spend the evening in my pajamas, and am usually sound asleep by 10 pm. Any movies that my mom doesn't want to see, I end up going to see alone. I'm okay with that though, because then I can eat as much popcorn as I want without feeling judged. So I'm going to keep my apartment money until I live in a slightly larger area, with hopefully a more active social life. Then I think, when I'm in a larger area, will I even need to use online dating sites to meet people? Maybe. Maybe not. 

My plan is to flee Princeton sometime in the first half of 2014. Maybe then I'll become a more serious online dating site user. Maybe. But don't expect a wedding invitation from me anytime soon, unless of course my James Marsden lookalike with the Andrea Bocelli voice reads this and comes a calling.

Laura, 2014 edition

Two years ago, I made my 2012 resolution. In case you don't feel like rereading, my resolution was to not give a *expletive* if people don't like me, because their opinions are worthless to me anyway and that I'm rad.
I stand by that resolution. I'm still rad, and if someone doesn't like me, his/her opinions are still worthless to me.

This year I decided to make another resolution, and it's a shallow one. In 2014, I'm going to spend more time on my appearance. On a good year, I get my hair cut once. Some years, I don't get it cut ever, but rather trim up tangled bits myself. I rarely wear makeup. I don't wear jewelry, belts, or match my purses to anything. If you see me in the summer, I'm probably wearing a dress. Why? So I don't have to match a top with a bottom. A few months ago, I wore my slippers to the movies. I thought they'd pass for shoes, until my dad told me otherwise, and asked that I please walk a safe distance behind them.  Here's a secret-if I'm going somewhere in the winter where I know I won't be taking my coat off, chances are good I'm not wearing a bra. And also in the winter, chances are good that my legs look like a dude's. I'd love to be able to say I'm making a statement. Women don't need to fit into society's idea of beauty blah blah blah. I agree with that to an extent, if you want to shave your legs and wear makeup, good for you. If you feel better not shaving your legs and don't own any mascara, good for you.  But I'm not making any kind of statement. The reason for my appearance is that I'm lazy.
Although it's not obvious to strangers, I've actually come a long way in terms of my appearance. When I was in middle school and junior high, I was the smelly kid. My ideas on personal hygiene were straight up 16th century. Shower? What is this, a holiday? The cure for body odor is clearly perfume and lots of it. Or if things got really bad, I'd break out the baby powder scented teen spirit deodorant. My ponytail was always perfectly smooth, because my hair was so oily. Combine all that with my festively colored braces and the oboe case I carried to school each day, and I was quite the catch. It's a modern day mystery that no boys asked me to the junior high dances.
By high school I'd started bathing on a regular basis and fixing my hair, though I did still have the braces/retainers and the oboe case. But I've never been fully on board the makeup train. I can't match a top with a bottom to save my life. The thought of accessorizing makes me break out in a cold sweat. If you ever see me wearing a belt, it's because it came with the outfit.
So step one of my resolution is to wear more makeup. And I'm not talking like Nicki Minaj levels of makeup to go to the grocery store. But when I go to work, dinner, etc, I'm going to make more of an effort to put on a little. I have nothing against makeup. Nor am i saying people have to wear makeup. Personal choice. But I do enjoy wearing it. I think it's fun to mess with. The main reason I don't wear makeup more often is because I don't want to take the time to wash my face when I get home from wherever I was. Lazy. PreFrance, I did okay about wearing it to work. Fact- people tip better when I wore makeup. But since going back to work at le restaurant, my makeup wearing has been scarce.

Problem. I'm realizing I don't really know how to apply it very well. And I don't know what colors I should be wearing. When I was a teenager, young, stupid, and first starting to put makeup on, my thoughts were along the lines of  "Well, today I'm wearing a purple sweater. Purple eye shadow it is!" Bam, makeup done. The cosmetics currently filling my makeup bag are all at least 3 years old and are either things I took from Eliza, or products I bought in Seoul because I liked the color. Do the colors work for me? I dunno. Am I applying it correctly? I dunno. Fortunately, we're living in the age of instructions for anything being just a Youtube video away. So I've been watching a lot of videos I found searching for "pale skin green eyes makeup" or other things along those lines. They are helpful, except the girls who make these videos seem to have bottomless piggy banks and can spend any amount on top of the line cosmetics. The videos start with "Go to Sephora and buy this $30 makeup brush to apply this $25 eye shadow." Right... I have no problem buying top of the line, if we are talking about important things, like Parmesan cheese. But makeup? Come on now. This girl's on a budget. I need a Cover Girl and Rimmel makeup tutorial video.

Maybe once I figure out makeup, I'll work on accessorizing.  Maybe. Or else maybe I won't do anything.  If you see me in February, and I'm still wearing makeup, you'll know it was a success. Makeup is a lot of work. And haven't we already decided that New Year's resolutions made to be broken? But I will try my best to wear proper undergarments when I'm out and about, and put on actual shoes, not slippers when I go to the movies. Baby steps. 

Color

On the first full day in India, we were on the tour around Delhi and the driver mentioned that we'd be in India during Holi. He warned us to be careful, men drink too much, have been known to be too friendly with females, etc.  Call me the ignorant American. I had no idea what Holi was, but made a mental note to ask Anya about it later. I continued hearing talk of Holi, as we worked our way through Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. When were in Udaipur, I started noticing the street vendors were selling packets of brightly colored powder. 

From Lonely Planet India, I learned that Holi is the color festival, celebrated each year around March, to say farewell to winter. Hold the phone. They hadn't yet said goodbye to winter? Winter? The sun had been beating down mercilessly on me during the days, and the nights I'd spent tossing and turning, kicking off my covers in the non air conditioned hotel rooms where the ceiling fans did nothing but move the steamy air around and I'd wake up in a puddle of my on sweat. I repeat, winter? Oh India, how wrong you are. Indians' confusion about what winter is aside, there are of course some religious and other meanings behind the holiday. Feel free to google it. 

Shashi talked a bit about her plans for Holi during our cooking class, and Udaipur seemed even more abuzz as we made our way back to the hotel following the cooking class. I would not have thought it possible for India to become more insane. But I was wrong. Think of the most hyper child you know, now imagine giving that child an IV drip of caffeine and Pixy Stix. It was like that. 

As evening fell, Anya and I walked back to where the festivities were taking place. We knew the festival started with a bonfire. There were some smaller pyres along the way, and as we got closer, there was a string leading to the main pyre. Traffic was sort of blocked and there were loads of police. A stage was set up behind the main pyre and people were already starting to gather. What had we gotten ourselves into? 

We found a place to stand, slightly off to the side, away from the traffic that was still pushing through the gathering crowd. Behind the stage was Jagdish Temple, and the stairs of the temple were being used as bleachers. Sitting on the steps was the Polish couple we'd met at the cooking class. They called us over to them, so we decided to go find a spot to sit on the quickly filling bleacher stairs. This ended up being a mistake. We were behind the stage, so our view was not great. But worse than the view was the pain. Spending a few hours on a cool fall night, sitting on a cold metal bleachers, watching a football game is one thing. Spending a few hours on a sweltering "winter" night in India, crammed so full of people that your knees are up around your face and there's no good place to put your feet is an entirely different beast. And the stone steps were so hard they'd make the aforementioned cold metal bleachers feel like a la-z-boy. I tried to shift my weight around, as much as I could, but it was difficult because the stairs were so full of people that it was hard to move. 

After sitting for a while, they starting doing some things on the stage. Due to the obstructed view, and the fact all the announcements were in Hindi, I didn't understand a lot of what was happening. The dancing was done by Hijras (Indian transgendered, though Wikipedia tells me Hijra is sometimes derogatory so maybe I shouldn't say that?). After the ladies did a few dances, they started pulling a few foreigners up on stage, and before long, the stage was full of foreigners doing their best to dance to Indian pop songs. Though I didn't join in, I felt embarrassed. Some of the girls on stage seemed to thing they were at a club, sticking their hands in the air, gyrating, etc. The whole thing kind of felt like an inside joke for the Indians. And it took forever. I was tempted to go join in, for the sole purpose of trying to regain some feeling in my backside. 

Sitting to my left was an Indian woman and her adorable young son. Several times throughout the dancing, confetti was shot into the air. The boy tried to grab a few pieces. I gave him the pieces that hand landed within my grasp.  The mom whispered something into his ear, and he shyly turned to me and said "Happy Holi" Heart melted. 

Dancing and confetti

Hijra busting a move

Solid people

They made quick work of dissembling the stage. The energy in the crowd grew. I still had no idea what was happening. People on the stair bleachers started standing. I stood, happy to not be sitting on the stone stairs anymore. A few minutes later, I heard what sounded like explosions. The crowd gathered around the pyre started scrambling as the explosions continued. The crowd on the stairs started pushing back. The lady with the son grabbed my arm and pulled me back to a higher step. My thoughts were along the lines of "What's happening? India's safe right? There's no bombs here, right? This isn't Pakistan. I don't want to die in Udaipur." Then the pyre burst into flames. I failed to notice that the string laying along the street leading up to the pyre was covered in firecrackers. I'd never felt like more of a clueless tourist. The crowd cleared away from the fire, and it was hot hot hot. I could feel the heat, despite not being that close to it.

Fireworks started getting shot off from completely random locations. Everyone was smiling, dancing, and happy. 

A few people started throwing colored powder on each other. 

When it was clear the festivities were mostly over for the evening, Anya and I decided to brave the crowd and make our way back to the hotel, as we had a looooooooong next couple of days. Shops and restaurants are closed during Holi, so we stopped at a shop on our way home to get some food (cookies and chips) and water. 

I have to admit I was very curious about the second day of Holi. Supposedly, the streets are a free for all color and water fight. Anyone is fair game. I heard in Varanasi water from the Ganges is used in the water fights. Gross. 

We had to check out of our hotel that morning. We had a late afternoon train to Delhi. That train would get into Delhi around 6 am. After a 12 hour layover in Delhi, we had another late afternoon train, that would get us into Varanasi around 8 the next morning. So for over 48 hours, we would have no place to change clothes, shower, etc. Spending two nights in a train, covered in mystery powder and water from who knows where did not seem like the best idea. So as curious as I was, Anya and I decided it would be in our best interest to avoid the color and water fights. 

After packing up and enjoying feeling clean for the last time in a few days, all we could do was wait. Nothing was open. We had to check out of our room.  We couldn't leave the hotel, because we'd no doubt be covered in color (I heard foreigners were a favorite target). Luckily, the hotel hide a nice back yard. We sat there for a while, and this guy came into the yard from somewhere. 

We watched as other hotel guests came back, covered in color. We watched as they returned from the shower, still covered in color. That stuff doesn't come off. We sat upstairs at the (closed, of course) rooftop restaurant, and wondered about the strange character who lived in a little room right off the kitchen of the restaurant. We read, wrote, took advantage of the most of the time working internet, ate cookies and chips (it's hard to buy healthy snacks when you are advised to not eat raw produce) and spaced out. 

Finally, it was time to leave for the train station. Luckily our train was late enough in the afternoon that the color fights had mostly calmed down. Our entire time in India, we couldn't take more than 10 steps without someone asking if we needed a rickshaw. We walked a nervous several minutes before a guy finally pulled up in a rickshaw and we were off to the train station. 

I really wanted real food, and the smell coming from the train station restaurant made my mouth water. But, I didn't want Delhi belly at the start of this two day journey, and the restaurant definitely looked questionable. So I got some more chips and cookies for dinner on the train, used the station bathroom where I shared my stall with a rat, and we were off. The train hadn't been moving more than 5 minutes, when a child sitting a few compartments down from us barfed all over the aisle. Perhaps he'd made a bad choice at the train station restaurant. Either way, 'twas a gross start to our 12 hour journey back to Delhi. 

So, because a lot of people have asked: I decided on Friday not to take the job in Korea. I love that country more than I can put into words. However, I couldn't think of a good enough reason to validate going back for another year. I need to make getting my teaching degree priority one. I don't want to put it off for another year because I want to eat delicious food and feed my travel addiction. I feel like I broke up with a boyfriend, where I know in the long run this will be better for me, but right now all I can think of is all the good times and my future without it. So like any break up, the last few days involved a few tears and a lot of junk food. And if I hadn't been fighting a migraine for the past several days, the weekend would have also involved some wine. 

Maybe after I get certified, I can teach at one of the DODD schools there...

Cooking

Anya and I are both huge fans of food. I knew I'd made a friend for life when shortly after we'd both moved into 5 Rue Marengo in Bordeaux, she suggested we try to make caramel sauce. I don't remember the ingredients we used, but I do remember we cooked it in a quiche pan, set on top of the stove. And one of our favorite ways to spend our paltry assistant earnings was to eat at either of Bordeaux's two Indian restaurants. So naturally when she suggested taking a cooking class while in India, I was on board with the idea. Since we were staying the longest in Udaipur, it seemed like a good place to do it.
We booked a cooking class on our last full day in Udaipur. The class was ran by a woman named Shashi. I regret not getting a picture of her, but because her cooking class is so popular, it was not hard to find one online.

Taking the class withus was a Polish couple. They were about my age and both lawyers, or some respectable job back in Poland. I don't remember if they'd quit, taken leaves, just finished exams, or what. But, they'd borrowed one motorcycle, and bought another. They were riding their way all through India and Nepal on their two motorcycles. They'd been/were going everywhere (north, south, east, west). I got scared walking down the sidewalk in India. I'd never felt like such a wuss. 

Shashi started her cooking class by giving us a brief bio. She was widowed at the age of 31, with two young sons (notice the black bindi).  Because she's the highest class, she's not allowed to remarry, and there were also some rules about what jobs she was allowed to do/not do. Her husband's family sucked, and didn't help her out. Didn't help her out is an understatement, they were flat out nasty to her. She lived with her two young sons in her husband's family's house, and for a long while they even turned the electricity or water or some important utility off because she had no money. They did laundry (secretly, because her class is not allowed to do laundry for a living) for local hotels to make money. Her cooking school is now very successful, and written up in a lot of tourist guides for Udaipur. As I've said before, by this point I'd been in India long enough to feel like everyone just was scamming me for money. So part of me wondered if Shashi's tale was truthful. But she seemed nice, and her face looked worn, like someone who'd had a tough go of things for a while. I like to think Shashi was telling us the truth. 

Either way, I loved this cooking class. Shashi had no problem pointing out all our shortcomings in the kitchen-not stirring fast enough, cooking something too long, not kneading dough the right way, etc. At one point, while using a mortar and pestle, a bug came crawling out from somewhere, and into the mortar. I don't know if she didn't see or didn't care, but she crushed that little guy right up into the garam masala. I thought about it some, as we were sitting down to eat. But the food was so delicious, what's a little bug going to hurt? I couldn't not eat it.  I'd been staying away from meat for the most part while in India, so I needed the extra protein, no doubt. We made chai, a few snacks/appetizers, bread, and few different main dishes. There was so much food, the four of us could barely make a dent in it. I spent $10 on a tin of spices. I wasn't super jazzed to have to haul it around for the next week, but it was a super good price, and included stuff that would be a bit difficult to get in Princeton. Plus, she threw in a big container of chai spice, which my mom and I enjoyed several times during last year's winter that would not end. I left Shashi's feeling like I'd just eaten Thanksgiving dinner, in a full on food coma. 

A sign hanging in Shashi's kitchen

 pakora with mango and cilantro chutneys-be jealous

Our feast, and Shashi resting in the background

Spices 

 This guy...One of the best things about our hotel in Udaipur was that the trees surrounding the building were always full of monkeys. We got a bit too close to this fella, and he made it clear he had no interest in being our friend. This picture was taken shortly before he chased us up the sidewalk, while growling.

From the safety of the hotel room, I saw this. Heart melting. 

 Friends helping friends

Fickle as a pickle!

So, haha, I posted my last entry too soon. The school I wanted to work at in Seoul was supposed to contact me by Monday. Monday came and went, and I didn't hear from them. I contacted them. They didn't respond. I wrote that last blog. I contacted the recruiter. He offered me another job. I didn't want it. I spent a week trying to come to terms with being done with Korea. Then last Monday, a week late, the school contacted me and offered me a job. Decision time. My current background check expires December 26th. If December 26th comes and goes without a visa, I will be unable to accept this job. Think Laura, think. 

Obligatory stuff

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! This is my third Thanksgiving back home, after missing it for a few years. The novelty hasn't worn off yet. I love this holiday!
I don't love all the stores that have forgotten that holidays mean staying home and doing nothing with family. I also don't love seeing the people on the news with their pop up tents lined up outside Best Buy to get a cheap Nintendo, or whatever it is people want this year. I'm sad for them and more sad for all the retail employees who have to leave their holiday celebration in order to deal with people at their worst. But that's not what this update is about. I'm pretty sure I wrote about that last Thanksgiving.

Aside from my dad, most people I know under the age of 70 are on Facebook. So, I'm sure you all know at least one/several person/people who each day is/are sharing one thing they are thankful for. It's a nice idea, I guess. Though I'll never do it. I'm not a daily Facebook sharer. I'm not a weekly Facebook sharer. Maybe monthly. But I prefer to do my oversharing on here, rather than Facebook. I like sharing my genius with people who have a genuine interest in me, not just a random person I went to high school with who is scrolling down their newsfeed.

So here is what I'm thankful for. Of course there's things like family, friends, my health, not being homeless, and all that other sh*t. But do I really need to write all that out? Doesn't it go without saying?  C'mon now.
1. my cats
2. the heated seats in my car
3. the new Hunger Games Catching Fire movie, I haven't seen it, but I got a really cool nail polish color from the Catching Fire collection from Cover Girl
4. Shaun T
5. the Stanley Cup Champion Chicago Blackhawks! I'm not the biggest hockey fan in the world, and my knowledge of the sport is basically puck in the net = point. But, I'll watch and cheer for any Chicago sports team, except for the White Sox. And I'm always thrilled to see one go all the way. Cubs, 2014? I think so!
6. the 2014 World Series Champion Chicago Cubs
7. March's amaaaaaaaaaazing trip to India/Thailand
8. McDonald's Holiday Pie
9. the 195 lbs of deadweight I lost in July
10. my cornbag, currently sitting on my lap
11. Dunkin Donuts coffee
12. the winter camp I did in January, for making my fall in love with Korea again
13. my giant forehead covering bangs (thanks Anya!)
14. Uniqlo's down coats, seriously life changing
15. Rumchata and butterscotch schnapps, mixed together, over ice, also life changing
16. my place of employment and their wonderful values, which gives me, as well as all my coworkers, tomorrow off
17. Lake of the Ozarks
18. the break up of Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart
19. the Mexican food I'm going to eat for dinner in a few hours
20. the margarita I'm going to drink with dinner in a few hours
21. my running tights, which will hopefully keep me warm for tomorrow's Turkey Trot, with a starting temperature forecast at 20 degrees. Brr!
22. my electric toothbrush, I'm talking just left the dentist clean feeling
23. the Hallmark channel's nonstop Christmas movies from October until December
24. Japanese Baby Feet Peel
25. being smart enough to stay home on Black Friday, which as I mentioned before is now Thanksgiving afternoon
26. Joel McHale


I started this yesterday and got sidetracked. Then was in a Mexican food induced coma later on, so I never finished. Now Thanksgiving is almost over, so I'm just going to post this, unfinished, to avoid missing Thanksgiving entirely. I'm also not going to proofread it. Too tired.

Point me in the direction of the drawing board

I've been halfheartedly interviewing for teaching jobs in Seoul. As I say in every post, I love that country. I loved living there. I reminded myself of that with every resume I emailed. But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that even though I was going back there with a goal in mind (save money for grad school), I was wasting another year of my life. Not wasting. That's the wrong word. It's not wasting if I'm doing a job I mostly love in a country I love.  Frittering away? Squandering? Those are both synonyms of waste. I suck.

Getting a job in Korea is not difficult but does require a bit of perseverance. For many schools, I'm not blond enough and my eyes aren't blue enough. I'm not making that up. Koreans are obsessed with appearance, and in their minds Americans are blond with blue eyes. The school I worked at wasn't that bad, but they did turn down several applicants because they were not white. So despite the fact I have experience, a degree in education, and am a better teacher than 3/4 of the people there, for many schools, I'm not the ideal candidate. And for the record, at one point my school was choosing between two applicants. One was blond. The other was not. Naturally, they chose the blond one. She turned out to be one of the dumbest humans I've ever met. That's both mean of me to say and a fact.

(I'm not saying blonds are dumb. All I'm saying is that in that case, my school chose the less qualified applicant based on her "American" appearance, and they ended up with a teacher who had no idea what to do with a room full of kids, and said things like "Sometimes, I have to remind myself to breathe." And she wasn't saying like "Ok, calm down, just breathe." She was referring to reminding herself to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.)

I've been sending out resumes and I've interviewed with a few schools. I interviewed with one last week, who told me they'd let me know their decision on Monday. I didn't feel overly positive about the interview, but tried to remind myself it's hard to gauge that over the phone, especially when talking with someone who is not a native English speaker. But I just got the feeling they were looking for someone blond and fresh out of college with a degree in something not related to education. I wasn't too shocked when Korea's Monday came and went, and I didn't hear anything from them. Because of my inability to leave things alone, I emailed them. Fine if they want to hire someone else, but I at least want them to be straight with me. Silence is a coward's way of delivering news, and it drives me crazy. It's depressing to me how many adults are not willing to stand behind their actions, be it professional relationships, personal, etc. You make a choice, own it, even though it sometimes leads to awkwardness. Unfortunately, when dealing with things via email, silence is easy. The school can easily ignore my email. Disrespectful? Yes. Unprofessional? Yes. Can I do anything about it? No.

So I'm supposed to interview with another school tomorrow night. Maybe I still will. I'm not sure. This school refuses to do a phone interview, and only will accept Skype interviews. God forbid I'm ugly. So to do the Skype interview I'd have to go to the library tomorrow night when it's cold and dark, and I'd also have to miss Wheel of Fortune. I just don't know if this is right for me. I question it too much. I don't think this is what I'm supposed to be doing. Following the last interview, when I had a less than positive feeling about it, I told my mom that if I didn't get this job, I'd quit looking in Korea. I'd take that as a sign that it wasn't meant to be.

One reason I'm so hesitant to give up entirely on it is because while my original plans of school online while teaching there fell through, it was at least a plan. I'd be saving money. It was a means to an end. It was a break from restaurant work and subbing.  It was a chance to be around some people sort of close to my own age with shared interests. Now, it's back to square one.

I stress ate some rice krispy treats for breakfast. Bad bad bad. I really want to run, but Ginger Zee said the wind is still blowing around 25 mph, with gusts over 30. That's a little much. If I lived in town, and had some protection, it'd be better. But all the empty fields offer little in the way of blocking the wind. Looks like I've got a date with Shaun T today. That's okay. I haven't been doing Insanity like I said I would. I just like running. It's easy. It's a great way to decompress. I can get lost in my thoughts. Maybe in December, January, February, when it's too stinking cold for my delicate self, I'll start Insanity seriously again. Maybe.

No NBC, just no

I forgot to address a serious matter in my last post.

I'm talking about this.



Why? Why NBC? Why? WHYYYYYY? As if making us suffer through a decade of "Friends" wasn't bad enough? What terrible thing did we do to deserve this lump of coal?

I was always more or less indifferent to Carrie Underwood. Some of her songs were okay, but I'd never spend money on them or willingly listen to them. She wasn't my favorite. But she was by no means my least favorite. Until now.

As much as I love movie musicals, this musical is already a movie and a great one at that. LEAVE IT ALONE, NBC! Those songs are only allowed to be sang by Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer, and me when I'm in my car.

I haven't looked to see who the rest of the cast is. I'm a little scared I'll see "Kevin Jonas as Rolf" or "Clay Aiken as the lovable Uncle Max"

Carrie Underwood and NBC have ruined Christmas.

The worst thing about this is that I know come December 5, I'll be parked in front of the TV with my hot chocolate and popcorn, because I can't not watch it. Impossible. But as you lay your head on the pillow that night, if you listen closely I'm sure you'll be able to hear me crying myself to sleep. 

More India

Holy cats, it's November! How did that happen?
Great art needs no season to be relevant, but do yourself a favor- don't let this month pass by without listening to this. It's another Patrice Wilson classic.

It's NOVEMBER also means that it's been 8 months since Thailand and India. 8 months and I still haven't finished writing about it on here. That bums me out, because as I've said before, Udaipur and Varanasi were my two favorite stops in India. As much as I enjoy writing longish entries about each place, including what I ate, how I felt, etc, obviously I will never finish writing about this trip if I try to do that. I accept failure. Time to water it down and get this done before my next trip...which at this point is nothing more than fantasizing, but gah, so many places I want to go.

Udaipur continued
Day 2 was beautifully sunny and uncomfortably warm. We sweated our way through the City Palace, then we took a boat ride on Lake Pichola (which was in a Huffington Post/Fodors article last week about the most beautiful lakes in the world). It was gorgeous. The boat dropped us at a hotel on one of the islands in the lake. I tried to beat the heat with some ice cream. Since Anya likes to live dangerously, she got some tea...WITH ICE IN IT. It had been weeks since I'd enjoyed a beverage with ice. It was oh so hot that day, and that ice was a mouth watering thing of beauty. But my innocence was lost in 2011. I will never escape the memory of my bout of Thai-del wave. I'd gone to bed about 10, my midsection making a few gurgling noises. I woke up about midnight with an IED in my stomach. The rest of the night was split between laying in the fetal position trying to ease the cramps, and running to the bathroom. Following my night of no sleep was a miserable 24+ hour long journey back to Seoul via the back of a pick up truck that in Thailand is called a "taxi", a 2 hour ferry ride, an 8 hour bus ride, a taxi to the airport, a 4 hour layover, a 5 hour redeye flight to Shanghai, a 7 hour layover, a 2 hour flight to Seoul, and an hour train ride back into the city, all while feeling like I was dying, and then not going to the bathroom for the next week because whatever dodgy Thai medicine the pharmacist had given me stopped me up real good. (Not) Sorry for the overshare. I am sorry for the repeat information though, as I'm sure I've written about that before. It was one of those life changing events. I learned that when Lonely Planet says avoid ice and don't brush your teeth with the tap water, they are serious. Since everything in India seems way more intense than Thailand, I had no desire to experience Thai-del wave's Indian counterpart, Delhi belly. So I skipped the ice, and if memory serves, Anya suffered no ill effects from it. That night for dinner we ate at a restaurant just up the street from our hotel. So so SO good. Indian food, sigh, yum. While we were there we met an American couple, who'd quit their jobs and were spending as much time as they could traveling around Asia and Africa, until their savings ran out. People are so cool.

Old school Indian cookware at the City Palace

A rickshaw collection at City Palace

A boat on Pichola Lake, not the one we took though. Ours had way less character than this

My thali from Lotus Cafe. Yeah, be jealous. I'd trade my first born for some of this right now. 

For our third day in Udaipur, we hired a taxi to take us to Kumbhalgarh Fort and the Jain Temple at Ranakpur. I could write multiple entries in here just about this day. It was probably one of the top 5 greatest days ever. There was absolutely stunningly beautiful scenery, delicious food at a strange roadside "buffet" restaurant, ridiculous and slightly scary roads lined with countless monkeys some of which were eating carrots, a tour of the temple courtesy of a Jain priest, or whatever a Jain man of the cloth is called, and another delicious dinner at the Lotus Cafe. 

The driver stopped in the middle of nowhere for us to take a picture. I think it was really so he could smoke a cigarette, but it was pretty. 

He also stopped in a tiny town and went to drink some chai. I kind of regret not getting out of the car at this stop, because when will I ever get the chance to poke around small town India again? But, I suppose there's not much I could have seen/done in the 10 minutes he was out of the car. 

Advice at Kumbhalgarh Fort

Kumbhalgarh Fort

There were some scary roads on the way to Ranakpur. 

Another overshare-this was not a problem for me at the time of my visit to the Jain temple. Though if it were, I probably would not have maintained the sanctity to the temple. When would I be there again? They also searched our bags at the door, to make sure we weren't bringing any leather into the temple.

the Jain temple at Ranakpur

Inside the temple

 We were headed on down the road after stopping for lunch at the aforementioned roadside restaurant, (which served food buffet style out of clay pots heated with hot coals under each one, so good!) when two young boys standing by the side of the road stopped our car. The said something to the driver, and he told us to get out of the car. I didn't understand what was happening, but I was sure it would involve me paying money to these boys. We walked a short ways, and I then understood. They were stopping people to come and see their ox powered water wheel.

They seemed pretty proud of their wheel, and there was something said about this being water for the whole village. But I remember at the time thinking "What village?" as we were once again in the middle of nowhere India. I also asked myself how much someone would pay me to take a drink of that water. I don't remember my answer, but I'm sure it included medical expenses. Before we got back into the car, the kids held out their hand. If memory serves, in addition to their "tip" we also gave them our water bottles. 

It was obvious these boys had very little, and I tried to remind myself of that. But I didn't like being given no choice in this matter. Our driver, whom we were paying, didn't ask us if we wanted to see this wheel. He told us to get out of the car. It was stuff like this that I found exhausting in India, and it happened daily. I was an ATM to them. There were restroom attendants, that I'm fairly certain were just beggars hanging out in there, demanding handouts from tourists just for using the facilities. Sigh. I'd been to other developing/high poverty level countries, but I'd never experienced anything close to this level of "you have to give me money just because" before. The only time I'd experienced anything close to this was in Morocco, when groups of kids would randomly start walking in front of us, "guiding" us through the medina, then demand money for their services.  

I was happy for the longish drive back to the city. I stared out the car window, and for the hundredth time on this trip, I pinched myself to make sure this was all real. 

My attempt to water things down failed. You can't water down India. Impossible. And because day 4 was so eventful, it gets its own entry, another time.

I need to say it again so everyone understands, I didn't dislike India at all. I feel like my blog entries about it seem kind of negative. But, I'm having a hard time putting into words what it was like. It was three weeks of complete sensory overload. The poverty was hard to see, and the nonstop begging and scamming were exhausting. But, if I ignore that, I'm leaving out a huge part of my experience there. Yet, despite that, I'd go back to India in a second if I were given the chance. 

German engineering what now?

Two posts in a row that portray Germans in a less than favorable light, what is going on? It's like in the book of Laura, Germans are trying to compete with the English for tops on my list of least favorite people. The problem is always them, never me. It's not me...it's you.

Let's talk cars. I bought my first car in early 2002, during spring semester of my sophomore year. It was a  red 1994 two door Grand Am. The mileage was low. I had to put a bit of money into it when I first bought it, but after that it gave me no trouble. It was not my dream car, but I loved it anyway, and it was mine. The following year, in early 2003, I happened to be driving by a used car dealership in Lasalle-Peru, when I saw what for 5 years had been my dream car-a new VW Beetle. I went home and immediately told me dad. He and I looked it up online. It was a 1998. The mileage was a bit higher than my Grand Am. The reviews of the '98 Beetles were less than stellar. I'd have to add another year onto my car loan, and my payments would be about $40 higher. But I didn't care. I wanted that car. A week or two later, I was driving my new (to me) Beetle home from the dealership, and the check engine light came on. Womp womp. Omen 1. For the next 6 weeks, my Beetle was in and out (but mostly in) of the shop for repairs. The final straw was when Aaron and I were driving home from a trip to the grocery store for some last minute Easter dinner supplies, and the whole way home we were smelling smoke, very strongly. My dad and grandpa were outside when we arrived back home. They came rushing over to us and we realized thick black smoke was pouring from the tires. The brakes were stuck down, or some such car thing like that. I don't really know. I don't understand cars. So the next day my dad drove the Beetle back to the used car dealership, while I returned to ISU, sans my Beetle, once again. The owner of this dealership is a stand up guy, who is trying his best to give used car dealers a better name. He knew we'd been having nonstop trouble with this car, so when my dad told him about the latest problem with it, his words were "We've gotta get you out of this car." Unfortunately, he'd already sold my old Grand Am. He did have a newer Grand Am, and he offered us an even swap. He'd take the Beetle back, and I'd take this 1999 Grand Am. I had no choice but to accept. And I was happy to have that offer. He didn't have to do anything. But again, stand up guy. I drove that car for the next couple years more or less problem free (until a blown gasket caused a coolant leak which cracked the engine block, or something like that...again, cars...I don't get them, I don't even know if I used those car terms correctly or not). It was a nice change from my 6 problem ridden weeks with the Beetle. I no longer considered Beetles my dream car.  This was a German flub. Clearly the reviews about the 1998 Beetles being lemons were spot on.

9 years and a few cars later, some family friends were selling their VW Beetle convertible. At the time I had a Jeep Liberty, which I liked mostly. That like turned to love when it was snowy outside. However, its MPG was about 12, if the wind was blowing in the right direction.  The scariest winter weather related driving mishap I've ever had was in a Tahoe. That car was a tank. I was driving down the interstate, it had snowed a decent amount the day before but the roads seemed clearish. I hit some black ice, lost control of the back end of the car, spun out, did a 180 and ended up facing the oncoming traffic behind me, screamed a bit with Eliza before the car kept spinning and eventually came to a stop in the grass median between the two sides of the interstate. I thank God daily that there wasn't a semi truck in the lane next to us, right behind us, etc.  So clearly 4 wheel drive isn't always good, but saving money is.  I was willing to give up my four wheel drive for something with better gas mileage. After a little test drive, I decided to go for it.

This Beetle did slightly better than my first one. I had it a week before the check engine light came on. For the first few months, it was one sensor problem after another. It got so I was worried if my check engine light wasn't on. Also the air conditioner stopped working because it needed a new compressor. AND I hit a goliath raccoon that bashed up the grill of the car. Though to be fair, I suppose that last bit wasn't exactly the fault of the car. But if it didn't ride so low, it would have gone right over top the raccoon, so yeah take that VW. Financed with a loan from the Bank of Dad, I got the sensors fixed. That was necessary. I haven't gotten the grill fixed yet, because that's just cosmetic (I think?). The A/C stopped working last September. I forgot about it all winter, and made it until early June before driving a black car with no A/C became too much for me, and I took another BofD loan and got it fixed. Meanwhile, I continued paying off a few credit card balances from a few expensive trips to the vet, a completely necessary vacation to Thailand and India, and some other things.

Big news! Last Saturday, I paid off my credit card. It was a great feeling. I had it all planned out. I'd start using the money I'd been putting towards my credit card to pay back my dad for the first car repairs. Once I had him paid back, I'd save enough money to get the grill fixed. Things were looking up...for about 24 hours. I paid my credit card off on Saturday morning. On Sunday morning, I was playing with our special kitty Billy, and I noticed he had a hole on his back that was oozing and gross. I took him to the vet on Monday. They cleaned his wound, flushed it, antibiotics, etc, paid for via credit card. Then a few days later, my car started shaking when I put it in gear. And the oil dipstick and tube are both completely broken. Ho hum. I haven't taken it to the mechanic yet. I keep hoping the whole thing will explode or something (not while I'm in it) and I can collect insurance money and buy an adult Big Wheel or something else more reliable. They exist.

But where is this stellar German engineering I've heard about? It's not in the VW Beetle, I can tell you that much. I'm going to go ahead an put the Beetle into the "German misses" category. Maybe Germans should stick to what they do well, things like Christmas markets and sausage, and leave the car making to the Japanese.

I've been continuing to work with recruiters towards a job in Korea. I'm still unsure if I'll go, but I'm also still broke, so Korea is looking like a sort of okay option. Yesterday I contacted a recruiter to find out the status of a few jobs he was supposed to apply to for me. He quickly responded back, saying he was apprehensive to schedule me for interviews because I was unreliable and poor at communicating. Ummm...whoa, way to sound like an ex boyfriend. Introvert vs extrovert is all the rage on the interwebs right now. However, I don't need to take some Buzzfeed quiz to know that I'm an introvert with a capital don't talk to me. But in this circumstance, I feel like he was the one who should have maintained better communication with me. He gets paid based on whether or not I sign with a school he found for me. So he should be buttering me up. He should be emailing me. He should be keeping me informed. I replied with a huh? type email. He responded back, saying he hadn't heard from me in a week. And I needed to be checking my email daily and keeping him updated. Ummm...again. I haven't done anything. He's supposed to be scheduling me interviews. That's how this works. I have nothing to update him on because he hasn't done anything for me.
"Dear Jeremy, Today I drank a kale and spinach smoothie for breakfast. I have to go to work later. I really don't want to. The cat threw up again. I hope she's not sick. The leaves have completely changed colors now. They're mostly yellow this year. I prefer red.  Love, Laura"
I'm pretty sure there is no Korean translation for the word logic.

I have some money left on a Von Maur gift card I got for my birthday. Gift card money is harder to spend than my own money. My thinking is "how often do I get to go to such and such store, and spend someone else's money?? I have to make this count!" So I've been holding on to this gift card since June, but I've finally decided what I'm going to purchase with it-some real Ugg boots. Eliza, before you judge, hear me out. Until it's socially acceptable to spend the months of October-April wearing a Forever Lazy under a Snuggie, I do my best to make all my clothes feel like pajamas. One day last week as I was leaving to run some errands, my mom told me I looked like a bag lady. I go for warmth and comfort, hence the less than flattering but so snuggly warm fleece lined leggings I wrote about/wore nonstop last winter. Note to self-check to see if Target has those again. If yes- buy new pair. If not-repair holes in last year's pair. In addition to the fleece lined leggings, I also have been known to sport fake Uggs. Warm? Yes. Soft? Yes. Comfortable? Yes. Ugly? You bet. Do I care? No. The problem is that I wear my  $20 "Uggs" so much that I only ever get a year or two max out of each pair. So this year, I've decided to spring for the real deal, in the hopes that with a bit of TLC, they'll last me more than one winter. You get what you pay for, right? Maybe? Hopefully? Sometimes.

This is a really good article to make all my car, money, recruiter problems seem like nothing.

So this happened

Yesterday I learned a very important life lesson-Never stand between a German and his beer.


In my post from yesterday morning, I failed to address one of my options. As it turns out, it's better that I forgot, because last night something happened that perfectly illustrates why this option is not in the running.

The option-living at home, taking classes online for my masters, continuing my restaurant/subbing work. As I already said, this is not in the running, not even close. My parents are the raddest parents a girl could want. They're great. I love hanging out with them, and the reason why this choice is not in the running has nothing to do with them. My reason for not wanting this is because I HATE (bold and capital, so you know I mean business) my jobs.

I can pretty easily summarize subbing in one word-meh. It's tiring and more or less thankless. It's like babysitting for the Duggar family. The worst thing about it is the pay. For 7:45ish-3:15ish, the post tax pay is $66. $66 a day, obviously without benefits is not enough to live off of, even without rent. What's a girl to do? Get a second job. Enter restaurant job. Therein lies the problem.

As far as restaurant jobs go, the place I work at is pretty great. The managers are mostly chill. The money is mostly good. The hours are mostly short. We are closed on holidays. My problem is that I'm just beyond sick of waitressing. Minus the 3 years I was living abroad, I've been working in restaurants since I was 16. That's a long time. The thought of subbing and waitressing for another two years is enough to make me run for the hills hoping that Ted Kacynski's shack is unoccupied, and I'll spend the rest of my life as a hill person, living in solitude.

I can't deal with customers anymore. In my 15 years of restaurant work, I've seen/heard it all. I've cleaned up puke on several occasions, dirty diapers left at the table (classy, I know), and feces, among other things. I've unclogged toilets. I've crawled completely inside of an ice machine. I've burned myself. I've cut myself. My upper legs are always bruised from bumping into chairs. I have a faint cross shaped scar on my finger from slamming my finger into the tomato dicer at Country Kitchen. I've messed up orders. I've dropped plates. I've spilled on customers. I've waited on Rihanna. I've poured drinks for Scottie Pippen. I held the door for David Sedaris at a Starbucks. Not work related, I know, but still the best moment of my life. I've dropped cases of beer. I've been showered in beer from improperly changing kegs. I've had my butt grabbed. I've been kissed. I've been hugged. I've been slapped. I've been tripped. One time a customer asked if he could watch me lick ranch dressing off the end of a mozzarella stick. For the record, what offended me most about that last one is that everyone knows marinara is the only acceptable dipping sauce for cheese sticks. Also for the record, since I get asked this fairly often-I've never spit in or done anything else to anyone's food. I've never seen anything close to that happen. The most I've done is snag a fry or two off someone's plate.

And of course, I've been treated like less than garbage. Your server is a person. You don't know his/her circumstances, why he/she is working in a restaurant/bar. But regardless of her (saying her from here on out, because I'm a her, and it's just easier than the his/hers he/she nonsense) circumstances, you're not better than her. So, when she is standing at your table, stop your conversing amongst yourselves and let her do her job. Look her in the eyes. Say please. Say thank you. Don't ask for things one at a time, forcing her to make 5 separate trips to your table. If your drink is getting close to empty, and you know you want another one, order it when she's getting drinks orders for the other people at your table, not when she's delivering everyone's refills. If she apologizes for forgetting something, don't hold it against her. We've all made mistakes at work. Don't go to a restaurant 5 minutes before they close and expect your server to be happy you're there. Think how you feel when 5 minutes before you are supposed to finish work, your boss comes to you and says "Yeah, I'm going to need you to go ahead and stay ohhhh another hour or so" when all you want to do is leave work and go to Chotchkies. Here's a fact-If you are mean to a waitress/bartender, you're not a nice person. Period.

That brings me to last night. Originally this post was just going to be a quick little story about last night, but I get all fired up when talking about how awful customers are, I just get on a roll. SO. Last night. Saturday. Busy. I was waitressing, and like most Saturday nights, had a full section. I was seated a table of 3 elderly Germans. One of the men spoke next to no English. The lady's English was okay. And the other man was fairly fluent, so he did most of the talking. And this table was a pain in my a$$ from the moment they sat down. Before I even got to the table they were standing up and heading to the salad bar. Fine, every once in a while we get people who do that. Except this table had never eaten at the restaurant before. They had no idea where anything was, how it worked, etc. They stopped me as I was walking through my section towards their table, asked where the salad bar was, and tried to order from me. I suggested they head on back to the table, and sit down for a few minutes "so we can talk there."  It took them FOREVER, but I finally got their food and drink orders. Just as I was leaving (in addition to their table, I had 2 tables of 6, 2 of 2, and a table of 4. I had other things to do) the guy who spoke very little English grabbed my arm, and said "you wait" while he dug through his shirt and pants pockets, looking for his senior discount card, which was strange because they told me they'd never been in before. So I stood there for close to a minute while he looked. A minute in waitress time is a long time. Finally, I said "It's okay, we can get you another one" I made my escape, but this was one of those tables that yelled for me across my section, whenever I was in earshot-drink refills, where's our food, take this salad plate, bring me Tabasco, etc. When their food came, the fluent English speaking guy called me over and said his steak was cold. He asked if we could put it back on the grill to warm it up.  He had been very adamant that he wanted it cooked medium, not medium well. So I said we'd be happy to put it back on, but when it's back on the grill, it will continue to cook. He was not okay with that, he wanted it put back on the grill a few minutes, but not cooked anymore. I again tried to tell him that even if it's just a few minutes, the steak would cook more, and asked him if that was what he wanted. Again, I was told no. He wanted it on the grill for a few minutes, but not anymore done.  Whatever. So I gave the steak to my coworker and relayed the message. I turned and walked back into my section, and naturally I heard him squawking at me "MISS! MISS! YOU GO GET MY STEAK NOW" Literally, it was on there 30 seconds. At this point I wanted nothing more than to slam his face down onto the 600 degree fire that was currently "warming but not cooking anymore" his steak. But, 15 years of waitressing, and I've learned to keep my cool.  I smiled and said "Of course, I'll be right back." A few minutes later I was walking through my section again, and he squawked at me "MISS! MISS! MISS!" I turned to see what he wanted. He was holding up his beer mug and squawked "small Killians!" I wrote it on the ticket. Then I stopped by one of my tables of 6 and took some drink orders for them. Then I went to the bar and dropped off both tickets. It was around 7:30 on a Saturday night. There were two bartenders, getting drinks for all their bar customers, as well as making the drinks for the servers' tickets. They were busy. Most people understand that. So after dropping off my drink tickets, I took a few dirty plates back to the dishwasher, glanced at the bar to see if my drinks were ready, they weren't, so I headed back to my section. Sitting at the table next to the table of Germans was my other table of 6. I went first to them, to see if they needed anything. They ordered a few drinks from me, then started asking me some questions about the beers we have. In the middle of this conversation, Germany once again starts squawking at me "MISS! MISS!" The ladies at the table I was talking to stopped, glanced at him, and gave me a WTF? look. I said "Sir, please wait. It will be just a minute. Let me finish with them first." 30 seconds later, I went over to my table of Germans. This was what happened.
German man yelling: WHAT DID I ASK YOU FOR?
Me: A small Killians. It's coming. The bartenders are pretty busy. I apologize, but it is coming.
German man, still yelling: NO NO NO! YOU TAKE TOO LONG. FIRST YOU FORGET MY BEER, AND THEN YOU TELL ME TO BE QUIET. YOU ARE VERY RUDE TO ME.
Me: First of all, your drink ticket is at the bar. It is coming. I didn't forget anything. Second of all, I didn't tell you to be quiet. I asked you to wait a minute, because I was in the middle of talking to someone else.
GM, still yelling and getting louder: FINE, SO DRINK IS NOT YOUR FAULT. BUT YOU STILL ARE RUDE TO ME. YOU ARE VERY RUDE.
Me: Sir, I was in the middle of talking to someone else. If I left her, to talk to you, then I would be rude to her. What did you want me to? I will go get your beer right now.
GM: NO NO NO! IT TAKE TOO LONG. I WANT SPRITE NOW. LITTLE ICE. WITH LEMON AND LIME.
Me: Sir, the sprite comes from the bartenders as well. It will take just as long. Maybe by now they have your beer.
GM: NO! TOO LONG AND YOU ARE RUDE. I DON'T WANT BEER. NOW I WANT SPRITE WITH LITTLE ICE AND LEMON AND LIME. WHAT DID I ASK YOU FOR?
Me: In my head-You're asking for me to slit your tires you patronizing old ugly codger. Reality-Sprite. Little ice. Lemon. Lime.
And I walked away. The other tables in my section had heard the whole thing because he was yelling so loudly. They were all sitting there with their mouths hanging open. I've never been treated so rudely by a customer before. I went to find my manager, and said I was done waiting on table 604. I gave him the rundown of what happened. And this is where I really love the managers of the restaurant. Other places I've worked would have said "Too damn bad. Go out there and do your job!" But my manager took the ticket from me, and said "Ok, we'll have someone else finish the table. Don't look at him. Don't let him say anything else to you. Pretend he isn't there" The manager went over to the table, and the old guy ripped him a new one as well. It was a bit awkward having them still sitting in my section, but not as awkward as it would have been had I had to finish waiting on them. Finally they left, and as they were leaving the German lady at the table came up to me and apologized for her dinner companion's bad behavior. A nice gesture, I guess. A nicer gesture would be to keep the old man away from the public if he can't control himself.

Back to my original point-I'm burnt out. I really really can't do this for 2 more years. I need a break from food service. And be nice to your servers.