There Are Two Types Of People In This World…

Serving food to complete strangers isn’t exactly the easiest job in the world. If you haven’t noticed, food is kind of a big deal to literally everyone on the planet. It’s fucking food. We eat it to survive and it’s fricken delicious. It’s nerve-wracking, complicated, and to be honest, it can suck. I’ve worked in the food service industry for 15 years – half of my life, and I’ve pretty much experienced it all. All the way from degrading ass-grabs, to vicious words of cruelty due to circumstances beyond my control. If you want an amazing experience at the restaurant or diner of your choice, here’s a few tips on what not to do or say to the one who handles your food.

– Talk to us like a human being.
We’re people. We like to smile, and say hi, and have someone say something back that makes fricken sense. For example, if I say “Hi, how are we doing tonight?” and you say “Diet Pepsi, thanks.”, that’s like going on a date and while introducing each other, you immediately blurt out “future husband, baby daddy please.”
It’s just fucking weird, k? Not to mention rude. I’m not saying sit there and talk to me about your great aunt’s weird spreading rash, because oversharing is definitely a no-no as well. But if we make an effort to say hello, its only polite to say it back.

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– Pick up after yourself, and your demon spawn.
Napkins full of ketchup behind the condiment caddy, mixed with empty creamers and bent straws. Chewed up only-God-knows-what stuck to the side of a cup thats filled with some sort of half food – half liquid concoction, which is also trickled over every square inch of the table. Gum stuck to the place mat. Broken crayons scattered all over the floor, with ripped up paper strewn around like confetti. Napkins scrunched up as far as the eye can see – which is like a super fun little game to us. Is it poo? Is it mucus? Maybe it’s food that you decided through half-swallow that it wasn’t yummy. Who knows. All we DO know is, is that if you leave your table like this, then we assume you are a complete slob everywhere else. The kind that leaves half-eaten burgers jammed in a cup, dishes undone with garbage piling up around you like a hoarder. Yes. That person.
I’m not saying wipe the table and make sure everything sparkles, but at least put your mound of napkins in a pile of sorts. You would think some of these things are common sense, but a lot of people don’t care. “It’s their job, let them deal with it.”
No, washing off your child’s spit and wiping up their spilled milkshake is NOT our job.. But if we want someone else to sit in our section, we do it, all the while cursing out your whole family’s bloodline.

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– Wait to be seated, unless directed otherwise.
The other night while working, I came back to my station after making a salad for a customer and came upon 2 people sitting at a dirty table. They looked at me in disgust, pointing to their table that hadn’t been wiped up yet. “Um, it’s dirty. Do you mind?”
Do I mind? Mind what? Mind the fact that you weren’t seated by an employee, and that you’re somehow upset the table hasn’t been cleared while I’m in the back making a salad? Weird. Because in that case, yes I do mind. You, my dear, are not the only one in the restaurant. But coincidentally, I am the only one in my section. So, please be patient. It just makes things easier for all of us. Seriously, though…

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– Don’t eat the whole thing, then say you want it taken back/a refund.
…… No, really, I swear people still do this. So, you eat more than half of it, or even 3/4s of it, and want a refund? It doesn’t work that way. It’s pretty shady, and not to mention, a waste of my time. Because usually when I don’t like something, I know that in about – oh, one to two bites. Tops.

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– Not Tipping Whatsoever. Seriously? Are you new?
We make our living off of tips, because I don’t know about you but I can’t really support my children and myself on $150 paycheck every week. We don’t make minimum wage like the rest of the population – we make considerably less than most. Some nights are great, some nights suck. But running around constantly, smiling, getting them everything they want to just get it shoved in your ass at the end of the night really has an effect on people. Especially if we’re in the weeds, busier than all shit, and someone ups and leaves with a big middle finger in the air. It gets to me, definitely. What did I do wrong? It was the ranch, wasn’t it? FUCK.
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A few little FML quips: A Server’s Edition.
When I’m carrying your extremely hot plates because I thought I could handle it, and you kinda just look at me and don’t move anything.

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When I mess up and get distracted and forget all about your table so instead of looking like a douche, I pretend it was someone else fault and ask “Oh hey, no one has helped you yet? Let me.”

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Anyways, like I said – its not hard to not suck. Just be good to your server, and act like a decent human being. That’s all.

End rant. I definitely needed to get that off my chest, people. Especially since I go in to work tonight for an 8 hour shift, all by myself…. Wish me luck, I’ll need it.

In Case of Emergency – Twirl in a Field.

In case of emergency – freak the fuck out.

Lately, I’ve been insanely busy with life. And I mean EVERYTHING that life entails. Everyone and their mother has been so far up my ass, I couldn’t tell you where they start, and I begin. Football games for my little boogerman, bake sales causing encounters with my arch nemesis, job interviews from Hell, and slight misconceptions of what I can physically handle.

I haven’t written on this blog in quite some time, trying to get my other one off the ground, but I must say I MISS YOU ALL. Adulting is Hard, period. (But, if you haven’t checked it out yet – it’s right HERE. Subscribe, comment, or seethe with hatred. Either or.)

So, here’s some absolute shit that has been happening in the life of Misty lately.

I’ve been sober for 6 months and some change (Thank you, sweet baby Jesus) and so far, so good. I haven’t had insanely overwhelming urges to go use, which is surprising because everywhere I look, I see people relapsing.

Overdosing.

Dying.

It physically hurts to see this. Diva called me the other day telling me all about how a close family friends son was released from jail, and immediately went and got a bundle of dope. A few moments later, he overdosed – his friend who was with him, passed away while he laid there unconscious.

I can’t imagine how he’s feeling right now. The guilt. The shame. The absolute grief that overwhelms the body and soul. The inner battle of using again just to make the feelings go away..

I become so consumed in the feeling of being blessed, I can’t help but fall to my knees, and thank God for the second chance, and for my family who has stuck by my side even in my darkest hour. But in just one second I could be right back in that spot where I was.

In that familiar darkness. The never ending hole of despair, my nails bleeding from trying to climb out, my soul crushed and barely hanging on.

The trick to staying sober, is embracing your addictive tendencies. Kind’ve like, ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’.

My advice would be this…

Keep it on the surface and never, ever, let it be pushed down and ignored. It’s a serious disease. I’ve come to the brink of death dozens of times, and you would think I would’ve just have been like “Ah, well apparently this shit is dangerous, so I’ll just – you know, stop.”

If you were in a car accident every time you stepped in the car, would you drive again? Or would you say, fuck that death trap of metal, and walk your happy ass to where you needed to go? Exactly. A car would be the enemy. Your kryptonite. The one thing that could take you out in a seconds notice. You know this. You accept it, and you avoid it.

Why can’t addicts do the same?

I can’t give you the answer to that. I honestly do not know who can. All I know is, is that I’m embracing who I am, and dealing with it every single day. I’m breathing it, living it, and trying my hardest to come to peace with it.

Do I base my life around my addiction? Yes. Yes, I do. Think I’m going to go to the bar with some old friends because its one of their birthdays and they invited me? No. That’s like someone who’s allergic to pollen walking through a field of flowers in spring, twirling and singing like the girls do in tampon commercials.

It’s just unrealistic. When I’m on my period, I’m in sweats and swimming in my sea of blankets, all the while shoving chocolate and Doritos in my mouth. Not to mention, in between chomps I’m nagging at the fiance for leaving the toilet seat up or not clipping his toe nails to my liking.

You’re twirling in a skirt in a field? I’m twirling my hair in my fingers trying to figure out how I got Cheetos dust in it when I clearly haven’t eaten those cheesy, crunchy gods in 4 days.

Pickin’ up what I’m throwin’ down?

I hope so. Because, this Adulting shit is exhausting.

When Adulting turns into Black-sheeping.

No, dear readers, I have not died, nor have I randomly relapsed and overdosed myself into an early grave. I’ve been ‘ghost’ (clever girl) for over a week, setting things up and being pissed at the world for my horrible wishy-washy ways. I’m surprised I haven’t had cover ups on all of my tattoos because I cannot seem to be dedicated to one idea.

While adulting is definitely hard, someone else must have thought about that beautiful little gem before I… Bastards. How dare you be more creative and on point before I had the chance to think of it?

Rude.

That, my friends, is when it hit me. Right in the face. A sucker punch of creative juices slopped across my tired mug while I was coming back from a long day of laser tag,  movie theater sitting, and experiencing the wonders of 5 Whits…. With a side of Dave and Busters. (Minus the alcohol, obviously. Still clean, and still dapper as fuck.)

Black sheep chronicles.

I know. Amazingly accurate.

So when I’m finished tweaking my site, expect huge things to come. I’m stoked as all hell, and you should be too.

My new beginnings of new beginnings before my previous new beginning…

Little Blacksheep is far from “on fleek”.

blacksheep2on fleek: [fleek] – the quality of being perfect, or on point i.e. Zayn Malik

To be the black-sheep of the family is an honor in my eyes – I am different, the ‘outcast’, the minority. I shall wave my black-sheep flag proudly, and smile at all the cookie-cutter buttholes that look my way. Since I can remember, I was looked at differently in my family. My father and his friends would call me black-sheep, and it just became the norm. No issues, no “WHY GOD, WHY AM I THE WEIRDO?!”, definitely just accepted that I was unique and rocked that shit. When Sister would listen to her pop music, I’d be painting my nails black and jamming out to Incubus or Metallica. ROCKED. THAT. SHIT. Who wants to be a carbon copy of someone elses version of perfection? Or how the kids say nowadays, who wants to be “on fleek”? I don’t. (btw, for the record, I do not say that. To be 100% honest, I am not friends with people who say that. So don’t. Like, ever.) I am flawed. I am a beautiful mess, y’all. I have a small gap between my two front teeth and used to HATE it, wanting braces so no one would pick on me (Not like Madonna or Amy Winehouse, and definitely not like that girl from the commercial who says, “Get  the London look.) But looking back now, and seeing all of my other positive qualities, I say screw it. Its cute.

My flaws make me who I am, and I’m pretty fucken rad. I always rebelled against any authority figure, though. You tell me to blow my nose, I’d probably pick it and fling it at you like a little turd. As I got older, I got into more trouble – sometimes involving ‘the fuzz’, which was super fun in a really terrifying way.

And when I say that it was “fun”, what I really mean is, “I will never do that again”. Ever. There’s definitely nothing like standing up at the podium waiting for the judge to figure out if he wants to ruin your day by sending you to the clink. There is no escape. For example, this will not happen:

God “I find you guilty, and I sentence you to 60 days in [whatever towns] justice center. No bail.”

You “Wait, what? Actually, sir, that’s not going to work for me. I’m not really feeling that – I think I’ll just say, “no thanks” and get outta here. Thank you so much for the offer, though.”

So instead of getting myself into that kind of situation, I’ll refrain from doing anything illegal – I’ve got children and nobody really likes raising their kids through letters and weekly visitation.

There’s a fine line between good and bad black-sheeping. Yes, I said ‘black-sheeping’. It is a word.

Well, now it’s a word. Cause I said it was.

Anyways, like I said, there’s a fine line – some are good. You may just be introverted while the rest of your family are social Gods, and instead of joining them you sit and play WoW in your basement and lick Cheetos cheese dust off your fingers. Shrug. No, I’m not speaking from personal experience. I swear. *crosses fingers behind back*

Then there’s the bad – like, if you were to be a Satan worshiping sadist while your mother and good ol’ father (who’s a reverend) goes to church every Sunday and you make lists of who to massacre at Sunday school. Yet again, not personal experience. Real talk though.

I’m the black-sheep of my family because I never listened. Always had to learn the hard way, no matter what the consequences… Lately I’ve learned to take a little bit of advice, even if it kills me swallowing it down. I’m a stubborn asshat who needs a good reality check every now and then – thank God for families, because I keep them on their toes, and they keep me on mine.

Black-sheep’s unite, tell me your story.

Swimming with sharks in South Africa.

This shit is absolutely terrifying.

I’m sure by now you’ve all seen the video where Mick Fanning is in the final heat and gets sucker-finned by a great white out of no where… Yes, sucker-finned is a word, and used quite frequently. The amazingly talented, gorgeously accented pro surfer claims to have ‘punched him in the back’. Which, I would like to point out, is quite sexist. What if it was a gal great white? Whom had her shark period, hence the whole “I’m gonna eat your soul” bit? It could happen. Actually, I’m extremely optimistic to the idea that that IS what happened. He should’ve just turned around, said “I think it’s just water weight, you look lovely, and no this ocean doesn’t make you look fat.” and went about his merry way winning the competition.

"You think this Ocean makes me look fat?? NO THATS NOT  ZIT UNDER MY LEFT NOSTRIL,  A SEA URCHANT BIT ME! I HATE YOU!"

Give me chocolate, and tell me I’m pretty.

The video was shocking to say the least – he was just hanging out, waiting for the perfect Point Blank wave, when there she was. Sharon the Shark. CNN called him heroic for reacting as quickly as he did, along with the safety personnel.. I agree. I would’ve shat in those waters, I tell ya what.

I lived in New Smyrna Beach, Fl for a little over a summer, and had my fair share of ocean ‘shit-my-pant-episodes’. JHubbs kept beckoning me into neck deep waters (in the shark bite capitol of the world, mind you) and I obviously wasn’t suicidal and stayed around ankle deep – even though I HAVE heard that waist deep is equally as dangerous. I’m watching him and our two roomies at the time and just LIVING in the moment. Wouldn’t you?

The view I had when I walked out my back door... Fucking. Miss. YOU.

The view I had when I walked out my back door… Fucking. Miss. YOU. I’m a bit of a peekture freak.

When all of the sudden, I notice JHubbs happy face quickly turn into a look that was similar to his “I just sharted” face…

Panic ensues. Splashing. Screaming. All three of them were by my side in like 30 seconds flat. What happened? They all stepped on a mother fucking shark. A SHARK. STEPPED. With what they use to walk with! Shit is attached to the ankles, and such! I giggled in my own, cute maniacal way, knowing I was right and the ocean is a death trap waiting to happen. WHICH, just so happens to be beautiful and inviting, and completely serence at most times.

This reminds me of when I was younger, and thought sharks could just somehow materialize out of nowhere and eat me while swimming in my mothers 4 foot deep pool.

Stop looking at me, swan! You’ve thought it at some time in your life. I’m not the only one.

One things for sure... You dont ever see a Pool Shark coming. Dun-na.. Dun-na..

One things for sure… You don’t ever see a Pool Shark coming.
Dun-na.. Dun-na..

I’m sorry for what I said before I had my coffee.

coffee1To speak, or not to speak to me in the morning? Thatcannot be a serious fucking question. For some reason, when I wake, I am in my own little world. I need time to breathe, and do my own little morning routine before people invade my personal bubble. It’s my bubble. Not yours. Buy your own damn bubble.

For some other sick and delusional reason – people of this damn earth cannot seem to grasp this concept. Maybe I’m speaking in tongues in the wee hours of the morning? Shrug. Who knows. I am not approachable before coffee. In fact, I am a Grouchy Tiger, Hidden Dragonbreath asshat as soon as my feet hit the floor. I shuffle towards the kitchen, turn on The Bunn (because why the hell wait more than 3 minutes for coffee? 4 is just absurd) and wait impatiently with my face inches from the dripping deliciousness.

Diva (my mother dearest) is the same way. She will cuss a mutha out. Quick. Maybe throw a spoon at your face, and put a hex on you at the same time, I don’t know – it’s very mysterious. I don’t get too close usually, unless I have put a cup on the table before she rises from her dark slumber, then sloooooowly inch it towards her hand with the end of her witchy broom stick. From around the corner, I might add. Because I’m one talented daughter.

I am old, therefore I need coffee. If you are old, and do not need it, you are Satan.

Who doesn’t need coffee?? Really. What sorcery is that? I don’t get the whole ‘waking up excited for the day and smiling with sunshine flying out my ass‘ attitude.

I mean, don’t get me wrong – life is a blessing and I am thankful to still be alive and on this planet, but that takes me at least…. THREE to 4, maaaaaaybe 8 cups o’ jet fuel to feel like that.

Seriously though, guys… I’m not addicted to coffee.

Its addicted to me.

Summer Vibes – Pros and Cons ✌

summertimeOh, summer… You’re like a long lost lover. One whom I still get butterflies for when I catch a glimpse of. Your warm embrace makes me smile like a fat kid eating cake. I snuggle up in your beams like I would a boyfriends unwashed sweater, with a hint of his cologne.

*Swoooooooon*

You’re irresistible, and long awaited for most people, which makes you somewhat of a sleeze if I keep referencing the whole boyfriend/long lost lover analogy… Shrug. Whore on, Summer – whore on.

summer pros

  • Beautiful temperatures, and scantily clad people! Weather’s hot, and people look even hotter! Yow!
  • Bonfires. Because burn stuff.
  • Swimming! Trying my hardest to turn into a mermaid this summer. Clam bra included.
  • Cookouts. I absolutely love me some picnics, cooking at the beach, and just some good ol’ STEAK.
  • Fruit and veggies galore. That’s basically all I eat all summer – not too heavy, and does the trick.
  • Camping. Nature is beautiful and amazing, if you don’t like it, then something is terribly wrong with you.
  • Travel, travel, travel. Step outside your comfort zone and see some new culture… There’s life out there, yanno.
  • Shows/Concerts/Festivals. Who doesn’t love a good band or hippie fest? Personally, I absolutely love them.
  • Moods. People are generally more happy when the weather is warm. Even if it’s rainy, you have options – rather than sit inside and eat your feelings.

summercons

  • Scantily clad people! Some DO NOT need to wear little to nothing.. I’m talking to you, old man who’s wearing that ‘man thong’. Yes, you.
  • Sunburns. I am a champ at this… They suck, sometimes tan lines are ugly, and the little buggers hurt. Pro? A nice tan is coming, whether or not it’s all crazy lined or racoon style due to your sunglasses is on you.
  • Bugs. Millions of frickin’ ugly, biting, infesting, asshole bugs. I hate, hate, hate them. If I ruled the world…. Well, I’d mess up the natural order of things by getting rid of every last one. Thank your lucky stars that that isn’t the case.
  • Still gotta work. Sadly, school years trained us to think we got the summer off, and that is just cruel. They need to add actual life classes – like how to do your taxes, fill out a money order, and how to parent. THAT would be helpful. Instead we get Algebra, because I always look at a square and try and figure out how damn big it is. Always.
  • Sweaty foot and boob money. Your bra and sock are not pockets. That’s like storing things up your butt, thats just NOT how things work. Otherwise, you’d be a human Mr/Mrs Potatohead.
  • Super hot concert venues or outside events. If you’re not properly hydrated, you will friggen pass out. People sweat. People stink. Some people get super obliterated and out-of-control drunk. Gross… I think I’ve made my point.

gif-jerry-springerSummer mornings… Waking up, and walking out onto my front porch with my coffee in hand – feeling the warm summer breeze and hearing the locusts sing telling me that the day shall be epically hot. This is the best part of my day. The quiet. Taking the time to shake the sleep from my limbs, and reflect on my day and future conquests. How I can change the world.. Pinky and the Brain style.