Directions

I’m really awful with directions.  I get lost regularly.  Google Maps is the best thing that’s ever happened to my iphone and I can create the sheepishly, cute smile on command that’s required to ask a total stranger for directions without having them think I’m going to mug them.

I also believe that there is a protocol in asking for directions.  There are rules to follow and certain pleasantries required when disrupting a total stranger lost in their own daily agendas.  Direction getting is an art form, a skill that one should seek to master if being lost stresses you out.  No one likes feeling disoriented or misplaced.  But more than that, no one likes an uncouth idiot who rudely interrupts your 17 min lunch break for instructions to the Dollarama.

First, you should never stop someone who’s out on a run.  That is totally ridiculous.  Do you honestly think that a person who is hopped up on adrenaline and listening to the latest Rhianna track is going to stop mid stride and direct you the closest Starbucks? Screw off.

You might also want to re-think interrupting a domestic dispute for your own GPS awareness.  A couple who look like they may very well be disputing the sudden regret of the threesome they had last night, are certainly not interested in helping you find a grocery store that sells nail polish remover.

Don’t ever stop someone who is on his or her phone.  This is horribly rude.  That person is either using his phone to screen the possibility of having to talk to another human, or is actually already in a conversation.  The fact that you would stand there eavesdropping on their current discussion, only to ask where the Subway “restaurant” is (who say’s that?), reveals that you are not only self-involved, but a total asshole.

DO NOT ask a hooker for directions.  This looks bad on all accounts. Plus, they never know.

Now, what should you do? Well, without giving away all my secrets I’ll let you in on the most important tips.

Ladies, zero in on the average looking single male in the crowd.  You never go for the most attractive, as these guys feel above direction giving and can only compute comments related to their polo shirts or tie clips.  Also, you don’t want him to be with another female – girlfriend or otherwise.  These lady counterparts only feel threatened when another female approaches.  The glaring looks and hormonal excretions of bitchy-ness will only throw you off the next set of instructions.

First, approach in a submissive fashion.  Eyes should be flirtatious and chest revealed.  Say something along the lines of “oh, I’m so silly and useless with street names”, followed by a flick of the hair and a soft lick of your lips.  Tell him you’re coming back from your friends movie screening in this year’s Hard Core Porn Film Festival and you got all turned around with which way was North or South.  He’ll instantly picture you naked.   This is the moment he becomes so flustered with your docile forwardness that he will help you with anything you need. 

(Side note: attempting to have him buy you a hot dog while extracting these directions is for expert level players only.)

Exit strategy is key here.  This is the true test; to be able to turn on the ditsy charm and then yank it away like you were his mother.  Once he gives you the information you need, his next step will be to ask if you need him to show you the way.  Shut him down.  Your eyes must instantly turn from flirt to frozen.  Do up an extra button on your shirt, making him feel dirty for assuming such an implausible scenario.  A curt “thank you” gives you the higher ground of securely ending the conversation with a pleasantry, while finishing with a comment like “your fly is undone” giving you time to escape while he glances down in horror.

There! You did it! You created a situation where you started out as a bumbling lost idiot and turned it into a close encounter of social rape, ending with all the directions you could possibly need, AND a hot dog if you’re lucky. 

Join me next week when I discuss the Do’s and Don’ts of conjugal prison visits.  

Wax On Wax Off

Spoiler Alert…vagina sensitive readers stop here.

So like any other regular Friday I woke up and decided 'hey, I think I’ll wax ALL the hair off my vagina today and maybe throw in a brow wax too, just in case I’m feeling incredibly masochistic while I'm there'.  I picked up the phone and dialed the salon, where in the past year I have enjoyed relatively pain free bikini waxes from a lovely girl named Christine. 

Phone call as I remember it:

"Hi Christine! It's Katie....Yes I know, it's been a while (girl got a little lazy on the waxes for a while). I was just wondering if you had room today to fit me in.  You do? Great! Actually I was thinking of a Brazilian wax this time.....Yes.....Uhuh....I know, my skin is pretty sensitive....Yes, I was assuming it would hurt....can you numb the area? No? OK....yes, fair warning....Oh, ok I'll expect to bleed (JESUS!). Great, thanks.'

(at this time giggling was heard from the bedroom where my boyfriend lay in blissful anticipation of what was to come - what a jerk.)

I was thinking it would be a bit weird having Christine do this wax, as our Waxer/Clientele relationship has progressed to a friendly level and she's never had to actually look at my entire vagina before - so I was absolutely relieved to find out that another, equally talented lady would be doing the honors.

Remembering a little something my best friend told me before my first regular wax, I fully intended to bring my super extra strength Advil to numb my entire body in preparation.  Now those of you who are passing judgment right now thinking I'm a waxing-wuss...SCREW YOU! A first time Brazilian wax deserves all the pain relieving prep you can imagine.  I grabbed my music books, grabbed my book for the subway, got my wallet, my keys, my phone, lip gloss.....

I left the house with no Advil. NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

All right. That’s ok, I can get through this with no pain meds, it's fine, I’ll be fine...ha ha ha ha hahhaaaahh (insert nervous psychopath laugh here).

Lets skip to the event.

I arrived and was greeted by Christine, who had a sweet puppy dog look in her eyes and put her hand on my shoulder and said "you're gonna be fine!".  Huh. Not even a hello?  The new lady was very nice, sweet and soft spoken.  Unfortunately (for story purposes) I forgot her name, but really...who can concentrate when she's telling you to take off your pants and slip on a paper thong the size of something my grandmother would wear?.

She walked into the room and said "First time?" I sort of laughed and mumbled "yes", so she looked at me with incredibly sincere eyes and stated "poor baby!! But I'm so honored to be the one to pull out your virgin hair!"................................What?

Did she really just say that? My VIRGIN HAIR!? Oh ladies it gets better.  She looked at my face and crooned, "ooohhhh, this is going to hurt, you have tough hair, I can tell from your eyebrows". Ok, hold on.  My best friend told me nothing of checking my eyebrows first to see if the pain level would be tolerable!  How did I miss this important detail!!?

What happened next was a mix of pain, more pain and then laughter to mask how much freakin' pain I was in.  She was very nice, and went as fast as she could to get it over with quickly, but as I'd never had the hair down there pulled out before...well, let's just say there was a fair amount of bleeding going on. 

"Ooohhh my!!! I've never seen anyone bleed this much! You are soooo sensitive!" Ya, thanks for the 411 on my sensitive vagina lady.  It went on forever, it felt like I just kept growing hair as she pulled the rest out.  If you’ve never had the pleasure of this experience before, I'll just leave it at this: walk into your bathroom, pour hot wax inside your mouth, then proceed to rip off strip after strip of skin layers. 

But, I survived ladies. I thought I should have a Brazilian done at least once in my life, and I did it.  The nice waxing lady told me I was very brave, and I think from all the bleeding and swelling she thought I should get the whole thing for free, unfortunately the woman and the front desk didn't think so. On the way out she called after me…"the first time's the hardest!"  

No shit.

PS: I didn't get my brows done.

Happy New Year

Thing’s I was doing on New Year’s Eve that you were not.

Pouring a bottle of Crystal for one of my tables.  

No, no…they didn’t buy it from me and leave a huge tip – they brought it from home and left early.

Cleaning glass off of tables and the entire floor area of the restaurant.  

Have you ever seen someone Saber-open a bottle of champagne before? This wasn’t it.  A very drunk co-worker decided to use a meat cleaver to open a bottle of Prosecco at his table.  Explosion. Everywhere. They couldn’t eat their dinner due to all the glass.

Listening to my boss throw up in the downstairs office.  

This is horrifying.  Not only is my boss a tiny-angry-Greek-man-child, he is an awful drunk.  He chose last night as the night of choice to down a bottle of Crown Royal and then slobber/spit/yell at all his staff before he vomited two days worth of spanakopita all over his desk.

Watching my manger make another co-worker cry.  

Yes, this actually happens a lot.  Due to large amounts of alcohol and a very short-tempered manager there were R-rated words and quite a bit of spit a-flying last night.  If you imagine it all in slow motion it’s actually quite entertaining, especially the part where she took off her shoe and started beating him with it. (I’ll let you imagine who is who in that scenario).

And finally, serving the cast of Jersey Shore.  

This was SUCH a treat.  A few Chocolate martinis and Long Island Ice teas later, they were pouring olive oil all over the table like a bunch of 12 year olds at Red Lobster.  When one of them told me he had to “drain the snake in the pisser” I knew my night was complete.

Happy New Year to everyone.  

Hopefully 2011 brings the death of Jersey Shore and the end of my serving career!