...Don't do it. This is a terrible job. It's like jogging across an endless expanse of "used" kittylitter. Think about that. Hot, deserty kittylitter. In flip-flops.

Okay, it's not actually that bad. The girls that I work with are nice, and I make good money, and the act of serving food is strangely pleasing to me. But you guys. Today this old lady (and she comes in all the time, so we've had a nice conversation or two...by which I mean that I wasn't at all prepared...) told me that my hair looked like crap.

It was terrible! I already had a sleep-deprivation headache, dangerously low blood sugar, and gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. My cholesteral was ONE MILLION AND TWO. Up from it's usual 500,000-plus. I'm not sure exactly how that's related, but it is. My smile hurt my face. (Yes Ma, I was smiling: I am not so generally evil-tempered as I once was, and I can put on a happy face at work). I had four other tables, all of whom wanted some variation of that "cottage-cheese sub carrots with-brown gravy-on-the-side, and hey, do-you-have-any NEW-applesauce?" nonsense. These sorts of orders invariably come in 4's and 5's, and mystify me to the point of aneurism. I am forced to rapidly make hundreds of small notes on my pad, all of which appear to say "side salad with white gravy or...um...shit...ranch(?)" two minutes later. My hair did look like crap.

Me: *pouring her coffee in the sweetest, most demure manner possible* Do you take cream?
HER: Yes, and do you know that your hair looks bad?
Me: *stuttering apologetically in blank astonishment* I guess it does look a little funny today?
HER: No, just...Well, it's just bad.

Yeah. And then I shuffled off to bring her some creams. Because, you know. Nothing goes better with EVIL than single-serving dairy products.

An Aside: Alright you guys, I need your help. After reading this post, please think happy thoughts for, or about, my parents. Please. I'm out here doing my part, feeling optimistic and completely confident (see: Demanding Of The Universe) that everything will be okay, but lately the news has been very uncertain, and scary, and sad. So I figure that all my positive chi waves (...which, let's face it, were never much to sneeze at) probably just aren't enough by themselves. This is where you all come in. Mom and Ken and Dad are weathering rough times right now, and I think that if we concentrate...and, you know, have faith in medical science...sorry Dad...all will be well again. I know this sounds kind of dopey, but I don't know what else to do. I'm flying home on the 19th and staying for a week. I talked to my boss today, and we're buying the tickets tomorrow. W is coming too, bless him. I'd love to see my GA peeps (WHAT UP ATL?!) but please don't be mad if I'm not actually able to make any visits.

*Ooooooommmmmm*

That, my friends, was an exercise in channelling harmonious flow. I wish I could get W's grandmother to help me with this, it's really more her territory. She has, afterall, not only decifered the language of inter-cranial clicks and hisses, but actually communicated with Ashtar Command. And written a book about it! Our Yia-Yias are both writers (and very nice ones, if we do say so ourselves). It's the final proof that we are very lucky to have stumbled across each other. Because, you know, who else?

PS: if you're not sure exactly how to start "waving the chi" (and it's difficult in the beginning, believe me), you could just think about how nice dogs are, or how cats always make you feel better. That is, when they aren't wandering around and yelling at furniture...*cough* VITA...but I digress. Mom and Ken are good with happy dog-and-cat thoughts, but for my Dad it's better to just stick to cats. A smaller, more manageable amount of chi for Dad. We'll work him up to it.