Hostesses can do math, too!

I was never great at math in high school. I kind of floated along by sitting next to or behind the class valedictorian, or dumb luck, and survived through pre-calculus and trigonometry and called it a high school career. I took statistics in college, but that doesn’t really count as math – especially when it’s taught by a Pakistani grad student who was so easily manipulated that our class convinced him to give us St. Patrick’s Day off because it was a Catholic holiday. I got an A and I think I showed up to class less than half a dozen times.

But I know basic math. I know adding, subtracting, multiplication, and some division. I can count on my fingers. And I know that I don’t like a particular hostess I work with, because of my mathematical deductions.

Let me explain.

In the multiple shifts I have worked with this hostess, I have noticed (as have others) that she frequently disappears from the host stand to go to the kitchen and eat bread and drink soda. This isn’t really a huge deal if we’re slow. The bread’s yummy and sometimes ya just need a carb-loaded pick-me-up. I’m pregnant. I can dig, I can jive, I’m hip and with it.

But no, she disappears when we’re at our busiest point in the shift, when I need her at the host stand to do things like, um, seat people. Being a hostess really isn’t a hard job. All it really requires is that you stay at the host stand and do what the upper-handed hostess (me) tells you to do. Take these people to table X. Could you tell me what tables are open? I need X-tables set up for X amount of people. It’s seriously not a hard job. I get paid way too much for a job that’s way too easy.

But I digress. I live in a sea of digression. Sorry. Today we were especially slow, and I was feeling especially snarky and cynical (when you’re 8.5 months pregnant, you really don’t care about decorum anymore). So I kept a tally of how many times she disappeared, for God-knows-what reasons. But from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., she had SIX bread/beverage breaks, and FOUR bathroom breaks.

Each bread break generally takes her five minutes. Some are longer, some are shorter, but five minutes is a safe and fair estimate. Her bathroom breaks today were, on average, about 10 minutes apiece. I don’t know what the fuck homegirl was doing in there. Maybe she was hungover (a definite possibility). Maybe she was sleeping (another possibility). Maybe she was taking a monster dookie (maybe, don’t care to think about it). But still. That’s a long ass time in the bathroom.

So we have:
6 bread breaks x 5 min. = 30 minutes of stuffing her face with bread
4 bathroom breaks x 10 min. = 40 minutes of who-knows-what

So that’s 70 minutes that she was not doing hostess jobs. And considering her work day today was from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., that’s three hours at work… over a third of which was wasted. I’m not a business genius by any means, and I’m not about to tell Big Fancy Restaurant At Which I Work how to run its business. But seriously? That’s ridiculous, and even more unfortunate, is the fact that this is how most shifts with her are. I mean, hell, just get rid of the chick and give me a raise with the money saved from wasted labor costs. Baby needs another pair of Ugg boots.

Actually, no, because A lectured me for buying her the last pair. But seriously… she could use a pink pair to go with the tan pair she already has. I’m just saying.

Death Sentence

My husband, A, has full blown stomach flu. We're talking the whole nine yards -- I haven't seen him hold anything, water included, for longer than about 20 minutes, he says just watching things on TV makes him queasy, talking makes him throw up, and he's been dead to the world for nearly 24 hours. Cold sweats, smells like death, sticky and gross. Yeah.

And the worst thing is knowing that it is going to undoubtedly hit me soon and there's not much I can do about it at this point. I have a fever already and have been trying to hydrate myself as much as possible in anticipation (since my body technically isn't mine right now)... but it's probably only a matter of hours before I join the puking ranks.

Yuck, yuck, yuck.

Ever wonder what the inside of a belly button looks like?

If pregnancy is good for anything, it's for turning yourself into a human science experiment. I'm one of the lucky pregos in that my belly button hasn't popped out. Rather, it's totally flattened itself out as it stretched.



That's a big rotund belly at 34 weeks. If you look just above the belly button, you can see the stretched out, disgusting gaping hole that was where my belly ring once was. Yeah, you don't think about things like this when you're 14 and getting your belly-button pierced is the coolest and most unique thing in the world (which it was, back when I was 14). Yeah, it's stretched out and kinda nasty now.

Oh yeah, and not a single stretch mark on my alabaster tummy. Just wanted to rub that in my fellow pregos' faces. :)

Okay, I'm done grossing you out for today.

One ticket to hell, please...

It's great that Tampax is ensuring the education of girls in Africa and stuff. Really, I mean that. BUT...

... is it bad that when I first saw this commercial, I thought, "I bet the girls stay home when they're on their periods because the lions might smell the blood?

I can't help you.

God bless SiteMeter. This nifty little tracker shows me everything from how many people have visited the blog, where they're from, what kind of computer/browser they're using, to what pages have referred them here and, my personal favorite, what Google searches land them here. If you searched something stupid on Google and somehow wound up here, yes, I see you.

It amazes me the kind of "self help" things that land people at my humble little blog. I am not a self-help guru. My six steps? Yeah, that's a joke, kids. I'm the girl whose standard of becoming an adult is using a cart in Wal-Mart. I really hope people don't seriously come to this blog hoping for, expecting, some sort of direction in their quests, only to leave disappointed because I just talk about poop and making fun of dumb people. Unless that's what you're looking for. In which case, poop and dumb people ahoy!

But anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the SiteMeter. There are some weeeeiiiirrrrd cats out there on the web, and even social retards Google things looking for direction in life. And thanks to SiteMeter, my favorite Google references of the week have been:

“Steps to become a gyno"
“How to ease swollen prego feet”
“How to give better head”
“How to get my wife to get a brazilian wax”
"How to get head in a restaurant"

I don't know how to provide advice on any of these things, but I hope you people find what you're looking for. Except you, Mr. Head in a Restaurant... yeah, you're pretty much just an icky icky poo.

Weirdos and Icky Icky Poo's aside, it's also my beloved dog's birthday today. Lucky Bodhisattva of Fenway -- better known to all as "Bodhi" -- turns 2 today. Happy Birthday BoBo/BoBa/Bobophet/Oh-Bo-Ba-Dobi/Bocephus/Bodhicat!

The Name Game

It has been a series of conflict in the sitcom-in-the-making of "Prego and A's Magical Pregnant Journey" lately. I'm a firm believer in conflict -- I think it's necessary to make progress in anything, and in any honest relationship, it's just a natural presence. If you have a relationship without any conflict, someone isn't being honest. There's my relationship advice for the day, you can pay me by Paypal for it later.

We're in the final stretch here before The Spawn gets here -- only about 6 weeks left in this god-forsaken pregnancy. (I'm sorry. Pregnancy is a wonderful blessing and is the greatest thing ever... but good god DAMN my back and my feet hurt and I'm so tired of waking up multiple times in the night to pee or wake up to sharp pangs of intense pain because I have a tiny little foot lodged in my rib cage.) And we have no idea what to name her. Until about a week ago, her name was Sophia. But then MSN released the most popular names of 2007, and guess what was #1? Of course. Sophia. I was livid. Furious. This was a crazy pregnant meltdown on the same level of the ring shopping, KFC incident.

It shouldn't matter, right? I mean, this is me and A's kid and this kid is going to be unique regardless of her name. But still, I really don't want her to be one of five Sophia's in her class, forever be known as Sophia [Last Initial], and feel lost in a sea of Sophias. Naming people is HARD, kids. I don't particularly mind my name -- about 90% of the time I get it misspelled and/or mispronounced, and it takes a special breed of stupid to mispronounce my name. I just feel pressure from all edges of the family to name her after so-and-so, or use this name, or "That's really...different..." or whatever vague, passive-aggressive comments I field from my mother on any given week. It sucks.

It sucks more because I can tell he is very keen on changing the name. But he isn't the one carrying this little person inside of him. I have come to know and love this little kicking, punching, assaulting, rolling THING in me as "Sophie." To think of her by another name just totally alienates me from her. If that makes any sense. I don't expect it to make any sense to anyone except fellow Prego's or past Prego's. I just know her that way. It's like being told your best friend's name isn't really what you've always known it as. Sure, it's still the same person (probably), but they just become a bit of a stranger. I've spent eight months with this little person on a level that nobody else will ever know... and I've known her as Sophia (Sophie for short). To be honest, it's a little devastating.

He doesn't know I feel this way, nor does he understand. Like I said, I really wouldn't expect him to. I don't know... it just is all so final. This will be her name for the rest of her life. I don't want her to hate me/us, regardless of what we choose. I want her to have a fitting name that she likes. I don't know. I remember the torment of naming my dog and now I can't ever see him being known as anything BUT Bodhi. (BO-dee for those unfamiliar with him.) Maybe this is like that. I don't know. I am secretly hoping we decide to stick with Sophie.

Who knows. We'll see where hormonal Prego stands on it tomorrow. It changes daily.

There are intelligent, rational people...

... and then there are complete idiots that come into the restaurant I work at.

It really baffles me how normal, rational logic disappears when people come through those big double doors sometimes. Don't get me wrong -- we have a lot of customers ("guests" as I'm frequently reminded to refer to them as... whatever, we take their money, they're all customers and a payoff to my credit card bills to me) that are great people, really interesting, very intelligent... you know, NORMAL. But then, every once in a while, we get people that I am just amazed Darwin's Law hasn't sorted out yet. And for some reason they all at some point or another show up in my humble restaurant.

People think I'm being harsh. No, I'm not. I have seen just about everything and at this point in my young life I've lost most of my faith in humanity. I'm convinced that by being halfway functionally intelligent, I am a minority. To further prove my point, I will provide instances in which normal, intelligent thought has lost out to complete dumbassery:

SITUATION 1: DUMBASS PARENTING (part 1)
You Would Think...: "My child is restless and squirmy, and tends to scream for long periods of time. Perhaps she is too young to be in a sit-down, more adult-oriented restaurant."
But No, Instead...: "Let's go out to eat in a sit-down, more adult-oriented restaurant!"

SITUATION 2: DUMBASS PARENTING (part 2)
You Would Think...: "My child can't sit still in the booth and has been screaming for a long period of time. I should take her outside until she calms down, or maybe we should pack up our meal and go home."
But No, Instead...: "My child should not be confined to a booth! No, instead, she should crawl around on the floor, right around this corner here where there are tons of servers coming out with handfuls of plates of scalding hot food, trays full of drinks, and other things that may be potentially harmful if these servers were to trip over my child! Yes, this is an excellent play area!"

SITUATION 3: OFF-MENU ORDERING
You Would Think...: "The restaurant doesn't have exactly what I want. I should approach the menu with an open mind and order something printed on this menu, in my hands, that sounds delicious."
But No, Instead...: "I am going to demand something that is absolutely NOT on the menu, and there is no way the restaurant could even attempt to accommodate my ridiculous demands. So when the waitress kindly explains it's not possible, I will throw an all-out temper tantrum. Despite the fact I am a grown, 50-year-old man."

SITUATION 4: UNFAMILIAR WITH THE RESTAURANT?
You Would Think...: "It's a busy Friday night, and I bet the restaurant is very busy right now. I'm not entirely sure what kind of food is served, but maybe if I look for the restaurant menu online, or maybe I stop in on a slower day, I can learn a little more about the cuisine served."
But No, Instead...: "It's a busy Friday night. I'm going to call the overworked, stressed out hostesses right now and demand they read me the entire menu and explain each item in depth!"

SITUATION 5: SOCIALLY DEPRIVED
You Would Think...: "I'm lonely and bored. Maybe I'll call [Jim, Mabel, Jane, Dick, Ethel, etc....] and see how they are doing today."
But No, Instead... "I will call up that restaurant and ask one slightly tangentially related menu question, then chat up the hostess, who is trying to answer other ringing lines and seat guests at the restaurant! AND NEVER SHUT UP!"

SITUATION 6: CLOSING TIME
You Would Think...: "It is 9:55. The restaurant closes in five minutes. We should probably just hit up the drive-thru, as it would be very rude to come into an otherwise empty restaurant right now."
But No, Instead...: "Let's go in and have a three course meal! And stay and chat over coffee for an extra hour!"

SITUATION 7: SHE WORKS HARD FOR THE MONEY
You Would Think...: "Wow, our waitress is working really hard to make sure we have everything we need, and it's obvious she's very pregnant and still running her buns off. I'm sure she's tired. We would like another basket of bread, but can see she has three other tables right now. We've asked her, I'm sure it's coming as soon as she can get it."
But No, Instead...: "WHERE THE HELL IS MY BREAD??? This is absolutely unfair and rude and inconsiderate to us! Tell that knocked up bitch to hurry the hell up with our bread! We are going to die if it is not on our table in 10 seconds. BREEEEEAAAAADDDD!!! RAAAWWRRR!!!!"

SITUATION 8: DIRTY TABLE
You Would Think...: "There is a restaurant full of open tables, as it is not very busy. Let's pick a nice, clean table and enjoy a lovely meal."
But No, Instead...: "Oh look, I like this one, single, solitary dirty table right here. Clearly if it is dirty, it is because it is such a nice, popular table that everyone has sat here. I'm going to sit here and look very annoyed until someone notices me, then sit like a queen on her throne while the table is bussed in front of me. I like seeing the entire restaurant experience, down to the quick, NASCAR-style table bussing."

There's plenty more examples, but I have to work tonight and if I let my bitterness fester too much it's going to make for a very long shift. On top of that, it's Saturday, which is by and large the most popular day for our natural selection escapees. People wonder why my blog is so bitter and raging all the time.... this is why.