I just heard from a friend that Mrs. Anders passed away. This woman and especially her family are amazing, and deserve recognition -- even if only here. Mrs. Anders had Multiple Sclerosis for almost two decades. Her husband is one of the bravest, most selfless man I've ever met. He raised both of their children, worked more than full time in a job that required hours of driving, and spent the rest of his time taking care of his wife, who quickly regressed to the point that she couldn't move, speak, or eat. She was determined to survive long enough to see her oldest daughter graduate. Crissie graduated in 1999. Crissie is to be married in September, and her son Chad graduates in 2003. I can't think of anything more to say in tribute that won't sound trite. They all are an amazing example of how hardships bring out the best in people.

More work nightmares. I was followed around today by a duo of 6-year-olds who decided my name was "Room Service." "Where are you going room service? Whatcha doin'?" They told me all about their day and learning how to swim, and how they got to see the horsies. I finally got away from them by pretending to join them in a game of 'run-around-the-room-screaming' and then making use of the nearest exit. Strange children.

The inevitable has happened. For all you music majors out there, do you remember how you had to learn to play "Happy Birthday" in 5 different keys. And we all thought, "yea right -- when will I be in the middle of a happy birthday emergency." Tonight our pianost took a break, and they wanted me to try to play it. She saved me just in the nick of time. Darn it, the music school wins again. One point for the list-of-hoop-jumping-activities-that-have-no-basis-in-real-life-club.

It's been an interesting three days...Matt and his mom kidnapped me and took me with them on their random trek through southern CA. It began with a near death experience as a car veered out of control on the freeway and came within inches of taking us out four times. All sorts of fun. Then onto Los Angeles. Saw Mann's Chinese Theater, the hollywood museum (Got my picture taken in Captain Picard's chair), and ate at a pizza place called "Earth, Wind and Flour." Ate with a nice Jewish family (friends of Matt), who I was worried about offending if I ordered Ham and pineapple toppings. Nope, they dug in too when it looked like the three of us at the other end weren't going to finish. The next morning we woke up too early and drove to San Fransisco for Matt's audition with the head of Merola. I was supposed to be dropped off en route, but the detour would have taken too long, so somehow I ended up heading 5 hours north -- and having to be at work 28 hours later. During Matt's audition, I got my reward for spontenaiety -- Brenda let me go to Nordstrom's half yearly sale -- bought a lovely new pair of shoes. Steve Madden. Red. 5 inch wooden platform heel. Brenda calls them "Barbie goes to woodshop." That evening we checked into a kitchy little hotel, and ate seafood at a restaurant with jellyfish on the walls. Then we got a call from a lady in Santa Ynez that she'd gotten us into an audition the next day in Santa Barbara at 10. So after 4 hours of sleep we were back in the car driving 5 1/2 hours south. Turned out that she'd gotten her days mixed up, and unless Matt and I decided to learn an instrument on the drive down there wasn't much chance of them wanting to hear us. Not much to do except drive back home, put on my uniform and go to work. Exhausted. Anyway -- that was the last three days!

I have been in the south too long. I went to Mannie's (my favorite mexican restaurant in town) to meet a guy for lunch. When I got there, not only did he not pull my chair out for me, he didn't even bother to stand up while I sat down. I stood behind my chair for a moment, and then realized that he wasn't going to do anything about it, and so I sat myself down. He did pay for the meal, which was nice of him. Afterwards he offered to drop me off at work so I could get my car. He walked around the side of the building, down a steep embankment and over several small concrete walls -- by the way very difficult to navigate in a long skirt and four inch platform shoes. Then we got to his car -- an SUV. He held out his clicker, unlocked the doors and got in. I'm left on the passenger side strangely ticked off that he didn't bother to open the door for me, and now I'm in the perilous predicament of how to catapult myself into my seat. (the irony here was 4 years ago I considered it the hight of self-sufficiency to be capable of managing that very task, with a broken foot no less). Anyway...how strange.....

Another day of work finished. More pretentious people. I really like my job -- just hate the people that come in. One man today wished to have a wine presentation (meaning he buys a non-house wine bottle and wants it poured correctly -- swishing and sniffing and all that). First he wanted to get my attention, so he stood half up and waved his arms like a soccer mom with a lost child. As I walked over he commented to the smugly dressed lady with him how slow the service is. Then he made snitty comments about servers in general as I was uncorking the bottle. Has anyone read in Jane Eyre where the entire house-party speaks of how horrible governesses are "for her benifit." It felt rather like that. So I finished the one bottle and brought the second. The man pointedly ignored me for nearly a minute as I stood there waiting for him to approve his wine choice. Then I had to open it -- and the darn cork broke. Terrific. I get a tirade about how corks only break if the wine is improperly stored (Actually it broke because I'm still fairly incompetant with a wine opener). Finally everyone at that table had wine, and his parting shot was to inquire why the other table didn't have wine yet. (Obviously because the server was busy serving his own freaking table...blech).



On the other side of things we had some new money in. Painfully new. Picture Molly Brown in the tea party. That kind of brash. She was wearing nice clothes that still managed to look like trailer trash, and her children's several hundred dollar dresses managed to look like Walmart Special. They came in loudly, tried to talk to guests at the next table, the children were running around screaming and climbing over things, and the woman kept making comments like "how does this menu work?" Pretty much like a normal menu. Anyway. Quite a contrast.

I dyed my hair today. Happened to be reading a book and lost track of time. My hair is once again neon carrot. I supposedly have a date on monday and I would prefer not to look as if I had a beauty treatment by Ronald McDonald. Too late now. I'm hoping that if I wash my hair enough times tomorrow some of it will fade out (if God is merciful). If God is not, I will have to start experimenting with various hat looks. I look terrible in hats. Actually, that's a lie. I look great in hats from 100 years ago. Huge hats with feathers and lace. MODERN hats make me look......rather...........dumb. Some people look sporty, or casual. I just look desperately silly.
The real problem isn't my hair though, it's what shall I wear. First date outfits are tricky (not that I'd know from personal experience). One wants to look nice, but not TOO nice. As if yes, you always look this good, but not that it takes any effort to do so. Don't want him thinking you're self absorbed right off the bat. Plenty of time for that later. So now I have to go plan out a perfect new outfit that doesn't look like I've bought it just for this occasion. Tricky.

I hate pretentious people. I work at a very posh "guest ranch" -- AKA a 5 star resort with a country theme. I wait on people with enough money to casually throw down $300 for wine (not to mention a $34 a plate meal for a party of 10 -- just put it on my bill). I don't mind that they have money, but I hate getting "summoned." I had a 12-year-old boy summoned me yesterday. With two fingers. Beckoned me over and casually ordered (carefully looking through me, not at me) a Shirley Temple, and could that please come with the meal. I said yes of course and will there be anything else sir. Tonight he prefered a Pepsi. With a cherry. And could he please have one now, and one with his meal. I brought it when his salad arrived and had to set it aside. Then when the meal came he had to have a fresh one. He's the sort of person who will star on Frasier someday.

Well, giving in to blatant peer pressure (well not really, but Teri seems to think it's a better idea than my rather sporadic attempts at journaling) I thought I'd try this for a while.
I love books. I truly do. I've been in California for about two weeks now, and I've probably bought at least a book every day. Thank heavens for used bookstores or I would be seriously in debt. I've bought a great one -- Suprised by Joy (C.S. Lewis). It's very good so far. Anyone who isn't obsessed with his writings should instantly become so. Take a dictionary, and read the problem of pain at your own risk.
Speaking of bookstores, I've always been told that you can't meet men at a bookstore. I proved that wrong. I was at a bookstore recently (In the lovely town of Monterey, CA -- I may move there permanently if all the bookstores are thus inhabited) and this young gentleman came up started talking to me about all sorts of things. The Lord of the Ring trilogy turned out to be his favorite set (convenient!). Then he took my hand and asked if I was married or engaged (I DID have a ring on, but it was on my right hand) or dating anyone. I said no, and wanted to know why. I told him that a girl in my line of work doesn't meet men who are interested in women very often. So, to cut to the interesting part of the story, I said I had to go because a friend and I were catching a movie, and he helped me to my feet, said he didn't want me to go because he was having such a good time, and then kissed me. In the middle of the History section. Random, yes, and yet it was completely non-creepy. So who says you can't meet guys in a bookstore.