Irony

Happy Halloween!

To start todays post, I thought I would show some pictures of costumes:

This is me:


"Making it up as I go"

And here is Katie:


"Trying, but not really making it"

And a Halloween anecdote.

So Ryan sent me a text on Monday afternoon to tell me that he needed a "spooky side dish" for work for today. I said sure, and then forgot about it.

Last night he asks me if I have all the stuff I need for the side dish, oh and while I'm at the store can I grab some candy for the trick or treaters? Sure, why not?

So I jump online, look around for a few minutes, and find I recipe I don't hate that doesn't look too difficult. I write down the ingredients, jump in the car and pick up the necessities.

Upon arriving home I decide that I can't be bothered to make the dish now, and leave the cream cheese out to soften. Once again I forget that this has to be done now.

After putting the baby in bed, watching TV, and general putzing around the house I decide I should make this side dish. With Ryan's help I was done in about 20 min, including pipping the sour cream spider webs on the top.

Today I get a call from Ryan.

"We won, honey!"

"We did?, what did we win?"

"We won some popcorn and movies, and a gift certificate"

"No, what did we win for?"

"The bean dip, silly!"

"Really? Sweet!"

So the irony here is that I didn't even take a picture.

Going back out!

I did something last night that I haven't done for a while. I went to the bar.

I went to the bar, and I had a drink, and I hung out with friends (from the diner, because they are the only ones I have). I even went to the diner afterward and ordered food, and drank coffee, and I was one of the crowd!

I had a great time, though I have no pictures to show for it. I might have to do it again sometime, and soon at that!

Restoring my faith in Humanity

I sometimes wonder about people. I wonder what they are thinking, or if they have ever learned manners. This came to the forefront of my conscious today.

This morning I was on my way to work and decided to stop at the convenience store to get a soda. As I walked in it became apparent that they were receiving a delivery, because there were cases of beer in the isles, and a big truck outside. After navigating my way around the beer to get my soda, I got in line at the check out counter. Standing next to me was the vendor who needed his paperwork signed. As the customer ahead of me finished his transaction I looked to the vendor to go first, because he had been there first. He looked at me and indicated that I could bypass him. As I stepped forward to the counter the cashier grabbed her clipboard and started checking in the delivery. I waited, and the vendor looked at me apologetically. He did everything he could to hurry the clerk, and was out of my way in about a min. As I stepped forward and set my soda on the counter the cashier continued to fill out her paperwork. For another minute or two. Finally I asked her “Can I pay for my soda, please?”

She looked at me angrily and said “This has to be done, I have to do it right now, and I’m sorry you are so pissed off about me doing my job.”

I looked at her with shock, and said “I would be less pissed off if you would look at me and say ‘One moment, please,’ or ‘I’ll be right with you’”

“Well you don’t need to get to grumpy with me, and I’m sorry you are having a bad morning”

I was shocked. I grabbed my change from her hand, and walked out of the door, while saying, “All I wanted was a ‘One moment please’.”

As I drove to the daycare to drop off my child I pondered about what has happened to common courtesy. I think it’s dead, and this was confirmed at the daycare.

I went in with Rebecca to get her settled, and while I was pouring milk on her cereal, and giving her a kiss an employee of the daycare walked behind me, knocking into my purse, and didn’t say anything. No “excuse me” or “I’m sorry” or anything!

Needless to say, by the time I arrived at work I was sure that common courtesy no longer existed, and I am from another time when you say “Excuse me” “Please” and “Thank you.”

I would have believed this too, if it weren’t for the doctor’s office. I called them because I needed to fax some information to them, but I didn’t have the fax number. When the receptionist answered the phone she asked me if I could hold. Please. I said sure.

While I was on hold (for 8 minutes, I had lots of time to think) I realized that this woman had asked me to hold, and then waited for me to answer. She didn’t assume that I would hold, or put me on hold before I could respond, she waited for me to answer and give my consent and permission.

Yes ma’am, I can hold. (for information that would only take 30 seconds to give, but that’s ok, she said please.)

After this happened I had one more small experience that has truly restored my faith. I decided to go out to lunch, and when I walked in to the fast food restaurant the woman behind the counter had her back to me, and was logging inventory. (It must be the day for it) I stood in front of the register and looked at the menu, and before I had a chance to wonder what she was doing she turns to me and says “I’m sorry, I’ll be right with you.”

Wow! I didn’t know that could happen! This woman used all her nice words, acknowledged my presence, and told me she would hurry. Her manager walked up then and asked me what I would like, and my companion and I spent the next 2 or 3 minutes singing the praises of this employee. She was wonderful, she was fantastic, and she used her nice words and asked us to hold. She should get a gold star for restoring my faith in humanity.

Who knew?

So I have been employed at only one job for a week. In this time I have learned a few things about myself that I didn't know.

Thing 1: If left to my own devices, I won't do laundry.

Thing 2: I like to bake.

It seems that I like to bake a lot! This week I have made pumpkin pie, (it's gone now, sorry, I didn't get a pic.) banana bread, and banana cream pie.

I didn't know how much I enjoyed baking. Looks like I like to make up my own recipes. I just make this crap up as I go.




Above is the banana bread that I made, but I didn't have enough banana's, so I used milk. Close enough.



This is the banana cream pie I made out of a vague idea I got from a recipe web site. I used cream instead of milk, and cornstarch instead of flour, and an egg substitute. Does that make it my own recipe?



I begin to wonder what these will become. I'm thinking pumpkin cookies!

Saying Goodbye

I don’t know exactly how to explain how it feels to leave a job you like, but don’t.

Due to a recent (and sudden) change in my living situation, I am no longer able to work the graveyard shift at the diner. I had to quit, and I had to do so immediately. I wasn’t able to give two weeks notice, this happened so fast. I went in to work on Friday, and told Linda about the situation, and because she is an understanding person, she let me quit without giving 2 weeks.

I am no longer employed with Dee’s Inc. I’m feeling a loss about writing those words. I’m sad about it. I feel like a piece of who I was is gone.

“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road. Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go. So make the best of this test, and don’t ask why. It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time.”

I have worked at Dee’s for 18 months. I have never worked any shift except weekend graves, and I didn’t even work most holidays. I have spent most of my weekends there, serving people, and making friends. I have met all kinds of interesting people, and lots of good friends.

I have seen some crazy things there. I have seen fights, I have seen brawls, I have even seen a guy shot with a taser. I saw a guy break a glass window with his fist (I chased him to the parking lot and got his license plate). I saw a guy get pepper sprayed (because he wouldn’t leave). The store has been robbed (I wasn’t there that night, and I’m glad). We have run out of ice cream (see blog post, I’ll learn to hyperlink to archives later), we have run out of other foods, we have kicked people out of the restaurant, and we have let customers do the same (they were bouncers, we figured they could handle it better than us). I have worked with dozens of employees, and I have made friends with quite a few of them.

By working at Dee’s I was able to accomplish some things I’ve always wanted, to say “I did it”. I have always wanted to say I worked true graves. I have always wanted to serve at a diner. I have always wanted to work at Dee’s, just so I can say I did.

With the good and the bad, I have to say that looking back at the last 18 months, I couldn’t have done it without Dee’s. When I separated from my ex-husband Dee’s was there so I could cry on the shoulders of my friends. They were there to offer me stability, and a vacation from the rest of my life. For the 10 hours I was there I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to do, or how I was going to take care of whatever situation I was in. I didn’t have to think about how sad I was, or how hard it was to be alone.

When I had my thyroid removed they were there for me, offering support, and carrying my trays until I was strong enough to do it on my own. My friends there helped me, and split side work with me, so that the things I couldn’t do could be traded for the things I could do.

When my daughter had a birthday there were there for me, giving me support, and giving her a great time.

And when I started seeing someone new, Linda pulled me aside, and reminded me that I should wait at least 6 months between serious relationships. She just wanted to look out for me, and didn’t remember that it had been 11 months since my separation.

I will miss that. I will miss my “Linda mom,” and I will miss Marky, Jon and Ferarri, my “sisters”. I will even remember Ryan, the “brother” who drove me crazy. I appreciate that even after we haven’t gotten along for so long, he made a point of signing my card, and leaving me a nice message. This is like a family, and I will miss them.

I’ll also miss my customers. I’ll miss my UPS crew, who came in to see me every Friday night. I’ll miss the group from the Westerner, who make sure to give me a hard time as often as they can. I’ll miss the coffee pouring competition, and I’ll miss seeing if we can beat the record of 15 mugs (I’ll see if I can’t get a pic of that up. I have one in the phone from when we poured 7). I’ll miss the crowd, and miss the rush, and miss all the people who came to see me, that I really liked, but never took the time to learn their names.

I won’t miss the mess. I won’t miss the fry sauce on my arms, or ice cream in my hair. I won’t miss sore feet, or the smell that may never come out of my aprons. I won’t miss the uniform, and I won’t miss the mean drunks that sometimes came in. I won’t miss the stress of someone calling in, and I won’t miss being yelled at by the kitchen for making a mistake (I made a few of them. They thought it was funny to yell at me). I won’t miss cleaning up spilled drinks, or spilled condiments. I won’t miss being awake for 26 hours on Friday, and having to get up early on Sunday so I don’t mess up the sleep schedule. I won’t miss the fights, though I will miss our copper. He was a nice guy, and always looked out for us. I won’t miss a lot of the details about working there.

But in the end I will miss it.

“It’s something unpredictable, but in the end there’s right. I hope you had the time of your life.”

Cats aren't enough!

As if the cats (and the funny story with them, check the history. I'll learn to hyperlink it later) weren't enough I now find that I am the proud (?) owner of 2 Betta fish.

"How did this happen?" You may ask, or even "I thought you liked fish, Amanda." Well let me tell you.

I do like fish. As a general rule they are the only pet I've ever had that I really enjoyed. I don't mind cleaning the tank, and I love to look at them and feed them. Except Betta fish (and goldfish).

I don't like these fish for some simple reasons. I don't like how dirty they are. The tank is always dirty, and the fish themselves seem dirty to me. I can't put nice things in the tank because they get dirty. I can't put other fish in with them because the other fish will die because of the dirty tank.

Overall Betta's are something I have avoided for most of my fish-caring life. Until this week.

Ben moved out over the weekend, and when he left he didn't take his 2 Betta fish with him. They have been in little cups for 2 days. The one was not doing well at all. It's supposed to be red, but it was starting to look like Malibu Stacy's fish (think puky pink).

I went to the store last night because I didn't want the fish to die, and they haven't been fed in a few days. I got new fish food (blood worms!), and a tank.

When I got up this morning my fish no longer looks like Malibu Stacy, and now looks more like and appetizing lobster... only fishy.

Could be worse, I suppose. I could have salt water fish.

On a related topic, I'm thinking it might be time to replace the camera. I'll see if I can't get to that in the next week or two. Show everyone pictures of the fish instead of trying to describe the color.

If you can't beat 'em...

I suppose I must truly be one of the most boring people on the planet. I don't like TV.

I don't like TV so much, that for a long time I haven't owned a TV, or if I have it has been only to watch movies. (Finding Nemo is this week's favorite)

So imagine my chagrin when I discovered that I didn't get a choice about TV when Ryan moved in. He moved in with a huge TV, and it came with the surround sound, and the DVD, and a receiver, and is a whole system. (he also brought a NES, like the old school kind, so he is still wicked cool!)

Imagine my shock when I discovered that I didn't get a choice about getting cable. I was told that we were getting cable, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

So the moral of the story is that today when I get home there will be now Internet, new cable TV, and a new DVR box.

I think I'll spend the afternoon programing Law and Order reruns to record!

About Friends

Every once in a while you meet someone who is just what you needed right then. This person my be someone at work, or a person that lives near you, or they could be online, or in the coffee shop or whatever. They are the perfect person for the situation.

About 2 years ago I was diagnosed with a tumor on my thyroid. I was told it would have to be removed in the next 6 months. Not 3 months after that I ran into a woman at work who had the same scar on her neck that I would soon have on mine. One day I pulled her aside in the hall at work and asked her if I could ask a personal question.

She answered all my questions honestly. She told me it would hurt, and she showed me her scars. She told me what to expect, and how much time to take off from work, and she really helped me through a tough time. I still see her at work, and I will never forget how wonderful it was to have her around to ask these questions to.

About 6 months ago I met another one of these friends. This time it was someone online. I have never met this friend in person, but can I just tell you what a wonderful friend he has been for me. He has listened to me, and helped me find support and people I can talk to. He has sent me books, and brownies, and they were wonderful!

I want to thank my friends for their support. These two, and all the others out there that I have. I couldn't do it without you!

About Purses

I had big plans for things to post this week on the blog. I took some great pictures of the kids on the new swing set, and I was going to make a general announcement about a birthday party. I was going to show you the cute invites that Ryan made for us to give the kids and their families (y'all know how I like a party!) And then something terrible happened.

I went to the bank on Friday after work to take care of a few things, and I was required to produce my ID, this is only important because it proves to me that I had said ID at the bank. After I finished there I went to the daycare to get the baby. I was in the daycare for less than 5 minutes. Got the baby, and went home.

Now anyone that knows me knows that I live and work in a 2 mile radius. It never takes me long to get anywhere. When I got home, the first thing I noticed is that my purse is missing.

I know I had it at the bank, and now I don't have it. This means it went missing at the daycare. That's what I get for leaving the car unlocked with the windows rolled down, and a purse on the passenger seat.

I did the only thing a person can do in this situation. I called the police, and then I called the bank. I told them everything that had happened. The bank told me there were pending charges on my account from a hardware store for $250, and did I authorize that? I told them I hadn't, and that I hadn't used the card in 3 days.

I have now started to put things back together. I purchased a new purse, I called the doctors and got new meds, and the bank is sending me new cards and checks. Then I got a phone call this morning. It was from the hardware store, and they had found my purse if I would like to come and pick it up.

I called them back and told them I was interested in picking up my purse, but I didn't know where the store was located. They sounded confused and gave me the address. Then they told me that in order to pick up my purse I would need to provide photo ID. Right.

So let me get this straight. This store accepted a stolen card for $250, and in order for me to pick up the bag it was in I'm going to have to hope that my drivers licence is still in there, or beg them to accept my badge as ID. Is it just me, or is this all backwards?

So it seems as if they were under the impression that I had just lost my purse there, not that it had been stolen. This is a store that is more than 30 minutes from where I live, and so far out of my way that I don't think I have been in that area in more than 6 months (it's the suburbs, you make it to all the different parts at least once a year, no matter how hard you try to stay out.).

Tonight after work I'll be heading out to nowhere land to pick up my stolen purse, I'll be interested to see what's left in it that was too worthless for thieves to take.

About Cats

When I was a child my parents had cats. Usually there was only one, but there was always one. I grew up thinking that a cat made your home complete.

After Rebecca was born I decided it was time for me to get a cat. I found a little white cat that is mean. I love this cat.

After I moved out of the apartment I was having trouble taking care of the cat, so I called a friend and asked him to take the cat for me. He wasn't happy about it, but took the cat as a personal favor. That was last November.

Well, this summer I decided I was ready to take care of a cat again, so I called up my friend and asked if he wanted to keep the cat, or would he like me to take it back? He told me he would think about it and let me know.

After a week I hadn't heard back, so I started asking around to see if anyone I knew had a cat they wanted to get rid of. One of my friends had a stray black cat she had been feeding for about 3 weeks.

The night of Rebecca's party I went to her house and picked it up. I took it home and gave it a litter box, some food and water, and a little bed to lay in. When I tried to lock it in the bathroom with all that stuff she ran out the door, into the sun room, and was gone. Really gone. We looked everywhere and couldn't find her.

Then next day I received a call from my friend telling me he had decided that if I wanted the cat back, I was more than welcome to come and get it. He didn't like her because she is mean.

I went over on Saturday and picked up my white cat. I couldn't have been happier. She came home and seemed to fit right in.

Things were going great until last Monday. I was in the basement doing the laundry, and there was a spider in the basket. I screamed! Then I ran upstairs and grabbed Ryan to kill it.

Upon returning to the basement I hear a frantic "Meow, meow, meow!" I look at Ryan in horror and open the closet door. Out runs the black cat. She had been in that closet for 10 days!

Now before you start thinking I'm uncaring and mean, please note that we had checked this closet, not once, but 3 times since the cat dissappeared! She was hiding and wouldn't come out!

So I am now the proud owner of 2 cats. Mean white cat, and nice black cat. Go figure.

Best Boyfriend Ever!

Saturday night was one of those nights that you hope will never happen again. I go in to work each weekend and hope that tonight isn't "the night" and when it isn't, I'm glad.

Saturday was busy. Crazy busy. Run, don't walk busy. Can't catch your breath busy. Busy.

I was serving a table, and as is the Amanda tradition I wasn't using a tray jack. Instead, I was balancing the edge of the tray on the corner of the table and holding the other side. This usually works well enough for me, but at this table I made the mistake of trying to set a plate on the table behind the one where I was holding the tray.

While my back was turned I lowered the end of the tray I was holding. I might not have noticed this but for the pint of warmed maple syrup that spilled down my arm, onto my apron, down my pants, and all over my shoe.

Now, I know that if I work in a restaraunt I'm going to get dirty. It's par for the course, and it's why they give you aprons when you hire on. Those aren't decorations, they are practical. I know this, and can accept it. Ketchup, fry sauce, chocolate sauce, I know it will happen, but this was too much.

I couldn't handle being sticky. My pants were stuck to my shoe, and my apron was stiff with the sticky goo. It was muy no bueno. I did the only thing a girl can do. I called Ryan.

"Hello?" said Ryan.

"Hey, are you still awake?" I said.

Short pause. "I answered the phone."

"Oh. Well, I was wondering if I could beg a favor of you?"

"What's that?"

"Can you bring me some new clothes? There was a terrible accident at work, and I'm sticky!"

"Ok, I'll be there in a few."

That was it. He didn't make fun of me, he didn't ask questions (ok, he asked where my pants were). He just brought me new clothes so I wouldn't have to work sticky. He even found my shoes!

Best boyfriend ever!

Fun Night

I can't always complain about work, and now seems like a great day to show some of the good things that happen. Here we have a picture of Ferrari, showing off the most beautiful piece of Strawberry Pie we have ever seen. In the back you can see Tyler trying to hide.

9:45pm: Here are the first 2 Banana Splits of the night, aren't they nice?

10:30pm: 2 Shakes, one Root Beer, one Oreo; 1 (more) Banana Split.

10:45pm: Chocolate Cream Pie. Much easier and more server friendly than ice cream.

12:15am: 1 Banana Split. Not looking as nice as the first 3.

And here is the best part! Our empty ice cream freezer! Seriously, we ran out of ice cream! I couldn't have been happier!

Allergic to Work

I think I may be allergic to work. I know this seems crazy, but I have proof!

1. Each night as I begin my "bedtime routine" I start sneezing, and my nose starts running at the same time I start thinking about the work to be done tomorrow.

2. I have had to take a benydryl each night for the last 3 nights in order to stop the afore mentioned running and sneezing.

3. The sneezing sometimes gets so bad that co-workers tell me (from across the cube walls) that they "are running out of 'God bless you's"

4. This only gets worse on Friday, the one day of the week that is 26 hours long!

So maybe I'm not really allergic, perhaps it has something to do with fall, and changing seasons, and all that. Who knows, but until I see snow on my mountains I know things will be bad.

Marco's Birthday

At some point in the last year (ok, really in the last 2 weeks) I have realized that I can no longer deny that my child is a girl. I have been told that I am no longer alowed to buy her boy clothes, unless she asks for them, and I have to start buying pink (that will never happen, you can't make me buy pink!). So as a compromise I started calling her Marco.

Last year at about this time I started teaching her how to play "Marco Polo" (you know, in a pool with closed eyes?). She tried to get it, but after a while she just started looking at me and saying "what" when I said "Marco."


So now I call her Marco, and it almost makes it easier to buy little girl clothes instead of little boy clothes.



As you can see from the above picture we had a good time with cake, and what you can't see is the chocolate rice cream they got too. Below is a picture of how Rebecca felt about said cake and rice cream.

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Happy Birthday Marco!

Mother Of The Year

I have now been a parent for 3 years and 6 days. In this time I have done my best to be a decent mother, to love and care for my child and help her grow. At no point have I ever tried to be the "best Mom", or even the "great Mom". No, my ambition is to be a mediocre-at-best mother. My experience has been that all my friends who had mediocre-at-best mothers had the funnest childhoods, and those mother escape child rearing with their sanity intact.

I have really outdone myself now. For Rebecca's third birthday I: worked, glared at my boyfriend (because my daughter wasn't there), and worked again. Now, a week later I have decided (today) to have a party for her.

Did I mention that I decided to have the party tonight? Did I mention that because of the moving going on that my house is a mess? Did I mention that most of my immediate family is in California? and I'm having the party anyway.

Yep, mother of the year, right here.

Not Doing So Well

I saw Shaun of the Dead, I usually do well under pressure, I'm a born-and-bred city girl, you would think I would have a better chance:


39%

ok, not so much.

We Don't Care

Having worked in a bank for a few years now, it comes to my attention that sometimes people are confused about what to send in. Here is a simple list of what NOT to send:

1. Your Book.
Don't send us your book, we don't care, and reading it is not going to make us magically approve you loan request. I'm glad you were picked up by a publisher, but we don't care what your book says, or how great you think that makes you.

2. Your Picture.
Don't send us your picture, we don't care what you look like. We don't keep surveillance videos of who uses your card, so we don't know if they look like you or not. We aren't Big Brother, we don't live in a New World Order. We don't care.

3. Your Picture with the President.
This would seem to be a repeat of the last one, but it's not. Don't send us your picture with famous people, and then think that will substitute for what we really asked for. If we need a copy of a utility bill, George Bush isn't going to make the cut.

4. Thank You Cards.
Don't send us a thank you card when you are approved. We don't know who specifically approved you, and usually it was several people working together. Don't send a thank you, we just throw them in a box. (Banks don't believe in garbage, everything is saved in boxes and sent to storage. Including your pictures, books, and thank you cards)

5. Gifts.
This is one we get frequently, people send us gifts, thinking there is just one person who helped them, and surely that person wants a pearl necklace, or cash, or whatever. These get sent back to you with a nice note that says we can't accept gifts. We can't. We won't. We just send them back.

The moral of today's story is: When the bank sends you a letter, asking for something, send in only what they asked for. They don't want or need or care about anything else. Yes, we do like looking at copies of your power bill all day.

The Good and the Bad

I've worked in restaurants for a while now, and last night, more than ever, I have seen the good and the bad of doing so.

2 short anecdotes for your enjoyment:

On Saturday morning I left work with one table that hadn't paid. I trusted that the server that picked me up would save the tip for me, and I could get it when I came in on Saturday night. When I arrived at work on Saturday night I asked Linda if she would get my envelope for me. I knew there was one, and could she grab it? (This table has been coming to see me every week for 6 months, and they tip well!)

I took my next tables' order, and after entering it into the computer, the cashier handed me an envelope. Upon opening the envelope I discovered that there was only $5! (side note: one of the people at the table leaves me $10 every week, so I knew there had to be more, I usually get about $20 from this table.)

Needless to say, I was a little upset. So I did the grown up thing, and asked to see my credit card tips. Maybe the rest of my tips were there? No go.

At this point my choices are: Stolen Tip, or Something Else. I like the server that picked me up, so I started to come up with "Something Else"es in my head. While I was doing this I wandered into the kitchen. There was Linda, eating her lunch. I told her the whole thing.

She looks at me and says "Did you check your charge tips?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't think the server that picked you up is that kind of person, Are you sure they left you a tip?"

"Yes. They have left one every week for 6 months, I don't know why they wouldn't now!"

As we are having this conversation, Linda gets up and walks into the office, reaches into the safe, and pulls out another envelope. With $20.

Practical joke at any ones expense run rampant in restaurants.





The second (much shorter) anecdote for your enjoyment:

I had a table of 8 come in at about 3:30 last night. (you should know how happy that made me.) They seemed nice enough, and were willing to wait for me to get to them.

When I went to take their order they tried to tell me they all needed separate tickets. I told them I could do that, but then one guy spoke up and said "No, all on one ticket, I'm paying."

Ok, I can do that. So I put the order in, all on one ticket.

When I brought the food out, before I had even begun to pass it out the guy asked me how much the bill was. I told him it was $60. He hands me a $100 bill and says "Keep the change."

$40 tip. Largest single tip I have ever received. Wow!

The Cute Things Kids Do

I am feeling a sense of guilt about not posting yesterday, and about not knowing how to post pictures yet, so this afternoon I figured out how.

I know that most people don't want to see a million pictures of my kid, but I think a few are only appropriate.

Here is a picture that Kitch took of himself. I told him to stop messing with my camera, but I think it was already too late. Cute?

Rebecca has taken to dressing herself. This usually means that while her clothes will usually almost match, (I buy them that way) they aren't always quite right.

Notice the inside out shirt, and the shoes on the wrong feet. Cute.

I Hate Ice Cream

Ice cream is the bane of my existence. It is as hard on me as a wooden stake is on a vampire, or a silver bullet on a werewolf. It is evil and there is almost nothing I hate more than making any dessert with ice cream. I dislike this cold evil so much that I recently got myself into trouble at work.

Saturday night I was working, and we were so busy we weren't able to stop for anything. We were too busy to do much more than wipe counters off if we had a second. At about 2:30 (a.m., I work graves) I had a slow and noticed that we were nearly out of ice cream (oh the irony that dessert bar was my side work for the night. I dislike hot fudge almost as much as ice cream, but we'll save that for another day). I walked into the freezer to get some more.

Now my personal goal when I walk into the fridge or freezer at work is to be in and out before the door has a chance to close. I walked into the freezer, went straight to where the ice cream has been kept for the past 18 months, and lo! No ice cream!

I looked again.

Still no ice cream. And the freezer door closed.

Now not only had I not met my goal of getting out of the freezer before the door closed, but now it also came to my attention that when you are in a freezer at -40 F it doesn't take very long for glasses to fog over. I think it was about 2 seconds. So now I'm in the freezer with foggy glasses looking for ice cream that doesn't exist.

I was starting to get excited at this point. Was it possible? Could we be out? I didn't want to think about it, but I was starting to get giddy with the anticipation.

I ran out of the freezer, raced through the kitchen, and only slowed down when I got to the server line and started looking for the manager.

"Linda, Linda, Linda!!!! Guess what!!! I think..." I pause to look around, as though the Ice Cream Gods might strike me down.

"I think we're out of ice cream!!!"

Now I know it annoys some people when a blogger uses excessive punctuation, but I really was 3 exclamation points excited, this was like a dream come true for me.

Linda looks at me and says "Then I guess we'll have to borrow some from another store."

Whatever the opposite of excessive punctuation is, that was what I felt at this moment. Borrow some from another store? Why can't we just tell people we are out, and let me have my night? "You said that just to watch my face fall, didn't you?"

"Yep. Amanda, this is Dee's, we can't run out of ice cream at Dee's. I know there's more, lets go find it" She replied.

Well, turns out she was right, there were another 5 buckets of ice cream in the building, but in my own defense, they weren't where the ice cream had been kept for as long as I've worked there.

So a few minutes later we have a group of people walk in. A large group of people. At 3 a.m. Don't you people know how to go home? It's 3 in the morning, go to bed, and let me clean! "Party of 17, please" They say. You're kidding, right?

So we seat them in the only section that has enough tables (mine) and I get to work. I take out drinks, and take their orders, and go back to the serving line to enter the order. Linda walks by me at this point and says "What can I do for you, Amanda?"

I Glare at her, "Nothing."

"Did they order ice cream?"

"No"

"Did you tell them we were out?"

"Yes"

"Amanda! You can't DO that! This is Dee's, we don't run out of ice cream!"

The only vindication I got out of this is that after making 5 shakes, one banana split and one hot fudge split during the night, I made Linda make my 2 Oreo shakes for the party of 17 of doom.

I hate ice cream, and the shake machine is still winning the war.

First Post

Well, from what I can tell, everyone who starts a blog is the most nervous on the first post. I'm no different.

I've been thinking about starting a blog for a few weeks now, and thanks to Google, here I am!

Tomorrow's goal is to learn how to add a link, and how to add pictures. Until then all I have is the top 10 list. Seems like a good way to break the ice.

Top 10 Reasons for Amanda to Blog:

10. I'm an embarrassment to my boyfriend and my father because of my lack of basic computer and Internet knowledge.

9. My home life looks like a sit-com, kinda like "Full House" only fewer kids, and fewer cool uncles. (Ben, I think you are Joey)

8. Blogs mean more friends!

7. Anyone who has stories to tell about drunk cowboys should have a place to tell them.

6. Where else can I rant about ice cream without people rolling their eyes (or thinking I'm crazy)?

5. Less people will make fun of me if I'm blogging.

4. "Friends" from "far away" can keep in touch.

3. I have the cutest baby ever, and now I can share pictures! (still working on that, I'm hoping by tomorrow?)

2. If the Harlot can do it, so can I!

1. It's not that my life is more interesting than anyone else, it's that I tell a better story.