Only Nola

Down, Down, Down

I've been hiding under a rock for about a month, give or take. I don't talk to many of the people I used to on this computer of mine, I don't post like I did either on here or at the Lounge... I'm not sure what's going on with me, but I've been antisocial, to say the least.

The nights are getting later and later for me again, which I'm now old and wise enough to know is a pattern I fall into when I'm in the middle of a lot of stress and/or fighting with my depression. I'd broken the habit of staying up until ungodly hours and surviving on no sleep and now I'm right back in it. The house hunting fell through, I've been handling my money badly *which I had ALSO broken the habit of until now*, my TMJD is kicking my ass, Jonathan's having some issues at work, and I'm having a slow time building a clientelle at my own job. The ex hasn't sent any of the money he's behind in child support, and hasn't given the appearance of having any intention of doing it in any sort of timely fashion. I'm getting back to that place of fear I was in a couple of years ago, and I don't like it. I just don't know what to do about it.

My book is sitting in a heap, figuratively, in a file on this computer, unfinished and gathering dust. I can't seem to make myself attack it again. I hit a spot where I just sort of... dried up. I know it'll come to me, and I'll finish it if it kills me, but it's one more thing weighing on my mind, another thing that feels like I've failed because it's not finished. Story of my life.

If any of you are wondering why I don't post much lately, well, let me just say that it's not always easy to try and amuse the public. I probably post fifteen funny things on here for every one thing that is serious or angry, and I don't like to tip the scales in the other direction. That being said, sometimes it's REALLY hard to be funny. Right now I'm trying to find my balance so that I can return to writing the things I want, instead of things like this that are burning a hole in the back of my mind. Hopefully you don't all revolt and head for the hills waiting for me to snap out of it.

Life's such a bitch.

Tip This

Maybe someday I'll understand the whole tipping consciousness thing, but right now it blows me away. I understand it for certain professions, obviously, but it's the restaurant thing that gets me all frothing at the mouth. Bear with me.

So, you've decided to go out for dinner, eh? Well, for something that sounds so simple, it's really NOT. You can't look at a menu and decide what you can afford based on the prices that you see listed. No, no, no, that would be too easy. You have to remember to add in the monster tip, deserved or not, or risk having everyone treat you like you're the founding member of the Ted Bundy fan club.

See, when I was younger a tip was viewed as something you ... *gasp* ... EARNED. Now it's pretty much a have to, whether the service sucks or not. I don't get it. Twenty years ago, if your server ignored you, bungled your order, gave you a bad attitude... NO TIP FOR YOU! Now, it's apparently been decided by the PC universe that someone gets a tip no matter what, at LEAST ten percent of your ticket. So, let's say you go to Chili's for a meal... average ticket for a family of four in the neighborhood of $45, conservatively. Your server is going to get almost five dollars for FAILING to do a good job. Now, assume the server in question has, oh, let's say four tables in his/her section. This person is now making, MINIMUM, over $20 an hour, a large chunk of this being tax free, with absolutely NO requirement on his/her part to EARN the money by actually expending effort. This, of course, DOUBLES if they actually DO the work well. Waiting tables is hard work... I'm not going to say it's not. But it's the fact that I'm expected to reward incompetence or bad behavior that irritates the shit out of me. That and two other things...

1.) You know why most people argue we have to tip wait staff no matter how they perform? Because the owners of restaurants are NOT required to pay their help minimum wage. So, basically, we are forced to tip or deal with the wrath of our neighbors so that the guy raking in the cash at the end of the night can laugh all the way to the bank at how HE'S not the one paying his employees, WE ARE. And, if that's the case, I don't understand why it's unreasonable for me to withhold payment for a job done WRONG. Would you pay me for cutting your hair if I shaved you bald when you came in for a TRIM? Somehow I don't think so. So why is my waiter exempt from this expectation? Is he the second coming of Christ and I just didn't get the memo?

2.) And this one REALLY bugs me... why is how much I tip based on how much my meal cost? Did it put more strain on my waiter to carry out a $18 steak as opposed to the $8 burger? Same amount of trips to my table, same number of appendages involved in the task, right? So why am I supposed to tip $3.60 for one and $1.60 for the other, assuming the service is good? Is the increase some kind of hazard pay? Is my steak radioactive and the extra money is going for that little trip to the Mayo Clinic? Did the steak require him to go back and wrestle a live cow to the ground and carve off my steak personally? This makes NO sense. I think there should be some kind of fixed scale for tipping based on either number of trips required to take care of the party at the table or time spent in the booth/table or SOMETHING other than the price on my ticket, since that has NOTHING to do with how much work they did or how much attention they paid to me. And until I get to WATCH them go out to do a sleeper hold on the damned cow, I'm going to continue to feel this way. Damn it.

Now, obviously I haven't said I object to ALL tipping... my problem is the whole tipping because it's become expected thing, instead of tipping because it is EARNED, and the method in which the tip is figured. I also think it's bullshit that the owners of the restaurants can charge ungodly prices and STILL not have to carry the weight of paying their employees a living wage. Really aggravates the shit out of me. I never minded tipping in the 80's, because at that point the politically correct machine hadn't taken over yet and it was still appropriate to NOT tip if you felt the service was poor. OPTIONAL tipping doesn't bother me. In fact, I'm an excellent tipper when I get good service. Ask the very happy girl who waited on us at Chili's tonight. *laughs* So for those of you who think this is a tightwad argument and I just don't want to give up any of my money...

BITE ME.

Reincarnated

In my next life I want to be a cat. No, scratch that... not *a* cat, but a cat that belongs to someone JUST. LIKE. ME. That would be current me, not like cat incarnation me. Need a map for that?

I watch these felines of mine and I'm just in awe. They do what they want, when they want, and just exactly HOW they want... that's it. That's their WHOLE life. Now, except for the licking oneself, this sounds like a good deal to me. I could live without pretzeling myself up a few times a day to lick parts I don't want to SEE, much less put my mouth on, but... really, overall, a small trade-off. The occasional hairball and gross out factor weighed against a life of leisure and pampering... yeah, I can handle that. That brings to mind the age old question of if you could suck your own... nevermind.

Owning a cat is really an incorrect concept. One does not *own* a cat, one is *tolerated* by a cat. A cat allows certain people to live in it's general vicinity and pet them at various times, if said people are lucky and play their cards right. You want to know how bizarre it is to be in a relationship with a cat? I spend time regularly scooping through litter for clumps of SHIT... does this SOUND like part of a healthy relationship? Yet here we are, we cat lovers, going about what is intrinsically a disgusting act, all so we can have these pint sized *in some cases not-so-pint-sized* destroyers of furniture share our space and ignore us 98% of the time. Don't even get me started on the FUR... jesus. It covers EVERYTHING. I can't roll over in bed at night without looking like a long lost relative of the wolfman. Fur previously worn by one of the three cats in my house now stuck to my forehead, my lips, my chin, up my fucking NOSE... and yet, somehow, these beasts are still in my bed, not laying on the concrete sidewalk after being thrown out the nearest window. Now THAT'S love, I tell ya.

I couldn't live without them, really. Quirks aside, they really are part of the family, and in the right moments they're the purest shot of unconditional love around. Just don't expect gratitude. Cats do NOT do gratitude. They do ENTITLEMENT.

*pulls a hair out of my eye*