i live for weekends

sunday night found me in a piercing shop on the ave, doing something rebellious, impulsive and unwise. and yet it was definitely the most responsible move i pulled all weekend.

for some, weekends are a time to relax, stop setting the alarm clock for 6:50 am (enough time for a hot shower from one's efficient condo bathroom facilities, a smart breakfast of trader joe's koshi cereal and an hour commute listening to npr while stuck in traffic on 1-5. on one's way to microsoft, boeing or amazon, of course), and maybe make a trip to such exciting and exotic bars (or watering holes, as the locals might call them!) as the cha cha lounge on "interesting and artsy" capitol hill.

and then there's the rest of us freaks. no nine-to-fivers for us! work doesn't magically stop on friday afternoon. we don't get to go sailing (there is this permanent image of a sort of "inspiration" poster in my mom's old boss' office: it has a smartly dressed, early 90's dude with a neon "salmon" wetsuit and he is happily sailing. the caption reads, "i live for weekends."), or go to those weird farmer's markets that i hear exist. no, not so much. when the belltown condo kids clock out at 5 pm on friday and head to their honda prius(es?) to drive themselves over to kurrent or moe bar, that's when we go to work.

welcome to the restaurant industry.

my work week began on thursday. happily curled up in wallingford at the boy's house, after a night of karaoke and the comfort of not having to be to work until 9:30, i snoozed away. and then my phone rang. it was 6:43am. i saw the number, knew it was my restaurant and KNEW that the fucking schedule had been switched around again and no one remembered to tell me i was opening. shit.

after throwing on clothes and smooching a confused, sleepy boy goodbye, i ran outside, frantic. i was in wallingford. 2 bus rides and an hour away from work. the restaurant was opening its doors in seven minutes, with only one slightly hungover worker present. in mere minutes, the PTA ladies, early morning old man risers and seattle academy kids would come pouring in, demanding breakfast and coffee. only one thing to do (ug); take a cab.

after a not-too-bad cab ride ($12) i made it to work only four minutes late. the day zoomed by, i collected a neat benjamin in tips, and after a drink shift or two i go to hang out with the boy at his coffee shop. soon enough they are closing, so i head home and crash and get ready for the next round of work.

and there began my weekend. by friday afternoon, i was mentally calculating my tips earned thus far, minus what i needed to pay to make the credit card company stop calling, and adding in the cost of rent, electricity and school loans... wow i sound so responsible. i was actually just seeing what was left to drink with. ha. classy. and indeed, i took those dollars and went with the lady roommates to (in the following order) comet (happy hour 4-7pm, $1 cans of pbr/rainier. awesome), bimbos ($5 happy hour pitchers of pbr, equally awesome), presse (again and again), the convenience store (for $2.49 pbr 40's), a house party, dicks (i dont remember why we thoughts this would be a great idea) and finally, the redwood. in that time, much was accomplished. amanda drank her first 40. liz celebrated her new apartment. i met some weird cornish kids. crazy roommate drama was solved (with a bit of buzzed bitching at each other. healthy!) i witnessed a drunk man get into a brawl with the bouncers on the street. all in all, a good night.

but friday night turned into saturday morning, and saturday morning turned into oh-yeah-i-have-to-work-at-nine. shit. waking up, i could barely move and felt the most hungover i had in a while (this record was later broken the following day.) work was crazy busy, i made mega moolah. after work, i rewarded myself with some wine, some chocolate eclairs and a good book. and then onwards i went, to the coffee shop to flirt shamelessly with the boy. i mean, when he leaps over the counter to smooch you in front of all of capitol hill AND his-coworkers, its good.

plans for the night, he asked coyly, kissing me on the cheek. actually, yes, i replied, dreading the reaction. its georgia and kelly's going away party. oh really, he answered, recognizing the couple. where?

gasp.

at the name of the bar at which the aforementioned party was to occur, two of his co-workers audibly gasped and one dropped a cup. they looked to my boy helplessly, as if to say, oh shit. this isn't even our war but we sort of want to build a couple of underground bunkers and go cry in them. lord help us all.

you see, this is the bar that the ex-girlfriend works at. unspoken rule, i don't go there. i don't hang out there, i don't talk to the staff there, and i certainly don't make an appearance with the boy there. and now i was just going to march myself in there and hang out. what was going through everyone's minds as drew picked up the pieces of the broken cup? will they meet? will there be interaction? will they brawl on the countertops and later spill over into the streets as the masses cheer for their favorite? okay, well i think the last one was mostly my main worry. i have built up the possibility of new girlfriend(ish) meeting ex-girlfriend a lot, and i have sort of terrified myself into believing it would be something horrific. yet in the past weeks, i have let myself relax. obviously, she cheated. she had no room to be pissy about her ex dating someone new. also, she might not even know me. or be working!!! lastly, how much drama could there possibly be?

and yet the sigh confirmed the high possibility of drama. as i looked up at the boy, with a face that showed no knowledge of the high chance of a bitch fight going down on first hill later that night, he looked really distressed. i didn't bother asking him if he wanted to go. he mumbled something about having fun and absently said he would call me later. he doesnt have a phone.

and then there was nothing else to do but go face the bitch. and by bitch, i totally mean the awkward situation between two respectful, understanding and forgiving young women. ha. yeah, right. by midnight, i was sloshed from a bit of pre-gaming at my work, while i waited for the rest of the staff to get done with their shift. we headed over to the bar and walked in. and fucking A, there she was, no doubt about it. shorter than me, a bit rounder, as steven would say. not fat at all, just not all awkward angles like me. and she was working like crazy behind the bar, as it was 1 am on a saturday night. she won't see me, i thought.

oh guess again. soon after our group stumbled in, she looked up. her mouth dropped open and she... glared? pouted? i couldn't tell. okay, fear number one, two and three NOT quelled, but rather proved legit. eek. a couple of my co-workers encouraged me NOT to go up to the bar, but to stay away from her. which was probably a good thing. turns out i was doing a few death stares of my own.

the night ended with me avoiding her around the bar. (she bussed out table at one point and took a while trying to stare me down. i pretended that i didnt even see her standing a foot away from my face), wondering a lot about their past relationship and finally (trashy, i know), i answered a phone call from the boy (he found a co-worker and somehow convinced the fellow coffee-shop employee to lend him the phone for the night). everyone had just exited the premises (it being 2:01) but i ducked back in for a second, almost colliding with the ex. i'll see you soon! i gushed loudly, using his name as many times as possible in a forty-five second phone conversation. eek, i am such a bad whore sometimes.

here's what ensued: a funny drunken ride (don't worry friends! the driver had been roused from his sober saturday night and summoned to drive us all to ihop) in a pickup truck with lovely georgia passed out in her leopard print mini-dress, ihop parking lot loitering, eating a cream cheese hot dog in an alleyway by myself (i hate when people watch me devour things like some sort of lioness), and yes, once again, rancho bravo tacos. of course, i managed to secure my boy in that time. he followed me home, leaning happily and excited about diving into a warm bed. we such an old, funny couple who get stoked about sleep. except minus the couple and minus the old.

waking up this morning was hell. i started crying in bed as my alarm went off because i was so, so SO physically miserable. i honestly felt like my insides were exploding and i couldnt stand up. headache, dizzy, dry mouth and off to work. woops, i realized as i attempted to pour a glass of OJ for a table and ended up just pouring OJ on the floor (three feet away the glass sat). im still drunk.

later on the day steph texted me. want to do something impulsive with me? she asked, excited. want to go to deep roots and get the piercings we have always wanted to get? want to go get a piece of metal stuck through your lip in an hour without consideration of if your job allows this or if future jobs with frown upon it?

sounds like the most well-thought out plan anyone has had all weekend. lets do it.