Chelsea Gaither's Blog, page 76
August 21, 2012
Restaurant HELL
Work tonight made me want to stick my head in an oven. The only way I can cope with working here is to have a rythem. Greet, drinks, order apps, provide chips N dip, order real food, provide apps, provide salads, provide food, remove plates, ask re: deserts, provide desserts if ordered, provide check, take money, bus table. Insert next table somewhere around "drinks" and we are good.
Whenever we have a party my boss decides to change this order. And then gets on to us for not making this transition flawless. As in screaming. As in tonight, I think she grabbed me so hard my arm got a bruise. Look, I have to behave myself on here because I KNOW this woman checks blogs and facebooks and twitters and such, and the only mercy I have is she thinks I am so very vanilla and boring, she doesn't have to check mine. But this job? Is not a good place to be. And the only reason I haven't blown yet is I'm making 20K a year minimum. It's an insane amount of money given the town I live in, and it's more than I've ever made at any other job. And I know she knows when she crosses the line, because right when I start thinking "One more word and I am GONE" she starts being super uber nice to everyone. And then we check our tickets and realize we made a hundred bucks tonight, and everything is kind of okay. Except for the arm bruising part. That's not okay.
But nights like tonight? Are why I've begun to drink more than I ought to.
MOVING. ON.
GODDAMN this story is so much fun. Brutal and a little on the uncomfortable side, but I really, really am hearting this thing. But it is being irksome to edit. I call the job done when I can read through the whole page and not put more than two-three red marks on the page (and only if one of those marks is that gee-do-I-want-this-word-or-this-one crap I tend to do a lot. Put the word in. Take the word back out. Put the word back in).
IT WILL BE DONE. BY THE END. OF THIS MONTH. SO. HELP. ME. GOD. I am going to keep this goal GOING. Which means what will eat my lunch come September 1st will be cover art and not book. I promise promise promise promise promise. And even if I have to use a blank placeholder you guys WILL be able to buy The Scifi Story Of Mystery by September 15th. This is my oath to you.
Now. I am going to take what I call a break from life...and CONTINUE editing...while watching Kingdom Hospital and drinking copious amounts of Moscato. It would be whiskey sour, but I have no whiskey. Cheap-ass Moscato is a good compromise.
Whenever we have a party my boss decides to change this order. And then gets on to us for not making this transition flawless. As in screaming. As in tonight, I think she grabbed me so hard my arm got a bruise. Look, I have to behave myself on here because I KNOW this woman checks blogs and facebooks and twitters and such, and the only mercy I have is she thinks I am so very vanilla and boring, she doesn't have to check mine. But this job? Is not a good place to be. And the only reason I haven't blown yet is I'm making 20K a year minimum. It's an insane amount of money given the town I live in, and it's more than I've ever made at any other job. And I know she knows when she crosses the line, because right when I start thinking "One more word and I am GONE" she starts being super uber nice to everyone. And then we check our tickets and realize we made a hundred bucks tonight, and everything is kind of okay. Except for the arm bruising part. That's not okay.
But nights like tonight? Are why I've begun to drink more than I ought to.
MOVING. ON.
GODDAMN this story is so much fun. Brutal and a little on the uncomfortable side, but I really, really am hearting this thing. But it is being irksome to edit. I call the job done when I can read through the whole page and not put more than two-three red marks on the page (and only if one of those marks is that gee-do-I-want-this-word-or-this-one crap I tend to do a lot. Put the word in. Take the word back out. Put the word back in).
IT WILL BE DONE. BY THE END. OF THIS MONTH. SO. HELP. ME. GOD. I am going to keep this goal GOING. Which means what will eat my lunch come September 1st will be cover art and not book. I promise promise promise promise promise. And even if I have to use a blank placeholder you guys WILL be able to buy The Scifi Story Of Mystery by September 15th. This is my oath to you.
Now. I am going to take what I call a break from life...and CONTINUE editing...while watching Kingdom Hospital and drinking copious amounts of Moscato. It would be whiskey sour, but I have no whiskey. Cheap-ass Moscato is a good compromise.
August 20, 2012
Kitty wars and pickle juice
At this point Chloe has made three incursions into Sofa territory. We have managed to turn her back each time, but our resolve is waning. It's all in those big eyes of hers. This war is doooooomed.
I am having so much freaking fun with this sci-fi story it is unbelievable. Originally I intended to keep it as a once off, but there are a lot of places I could take this. I kind of love this stuff, you know. Yes, dear friends, I am totally obsessed. ETA is still set for the first two weeks of September. Title and sample will be posted here and on DA 9/1.
I spent most of the last two days doing family stuff. I love my family, but sometimes the drama gets to be a little much. Jamming writing time in between work and family the last couple of weeks has felt a little bit like stuffing pages into a dam to keep it from bursting. I guess it's like that for everybody. Except I've noticed most of my friends and family tend to go dancing or party or something, whereas I spend an evening working out imaginary political problems and trying to balance a character's past with their current (traumatizing) events. Which is fun, but it usually means my outward life is boring. People ask "What did you do this weekend" and I can't exactly say, "fight dragons with other dragons, a cannon and a highschooler's understanding of physics" without looking like I've gone completely cracked. So I say "write" and they invite me to go to a dive and get drunk on whiskey sours that taste like pickle juice (Note to all bars everywhere: DO NOT KEEP YOUR SWEET AND SOUR NEXT TO PICKLE JUICE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ANGELS AND BAR FLIES DO NOT DO THIS THING. THIS TASTES TERRIBLE. YOU HAVE NO IDEA.) And I have to think up a way to bow out without looking boring because Lowest Common Denominator DJs cannot compete with dragons, and I have better sweet and sour at home.
Also: this is 2012. AC/DC is great and all, but if I hear "All my exes live in Texas" one more time I will begin to scream and never stop. My city needs a pool hall. Not a bar with a shitty coin fed pool table that tilts due south.
I am having so much freaking fun with this sci-fi story it is unbelievable. Originally I intended to keep it as a once off, but there are a lot of places I could take this. I kind of love this stuff, you know. Yes, dear friends, I am totally obsessed. ETA is still set for the first two weeks of September. Title and sample will be posted here and on DA 9/1.
I spent most of the last two days doing family stuff. I love my family, but sometimes the drama gets to be a little much. Jamming writing time in between work and family the last couple of weeks has felt a little bit like stuffing pages into a dam to keep it from bursting. I guess it's like that for everybody. Except I've noticed most of my friends and family tend to go dancing or party or something, whereas I spend an evening working out imaginary political problems and trying to balance a character's past with their current (traumatizing) events. Which is fun, but it usually means my outward life is boring. People ask "What did you do this weekend" and I can't exactly say, "fight dragons with other dragons, a cannon and a highschooler's understanding of physics" without looking like I've gone completely cracked. So I say "write" and they invite me to go to a dive and get drunk on whiskey sours that taste like pickle juice (Note to all bars everywhere: DO NOT KEEP YOUR SWEET AND SOUR NEXT TO PICKLE JUICE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ANGELS AND BAR FLIES DO NOT DO THIS THING. THIS TASTES TERRIBLE. YOU HAVE NO IDEA.) And I have to think up a way to bow out without looking boring because Lowest Common Denominator DJs cannot compete with dragons, and I have better sweet and sour at home.
Also: this is 2012. AC/DC is great and all, but if I hear "All my exes live in Texas" one more time I will begin to scream and never stop. My city needs a pool hall. Not a bar with a shitty coin fed pool table that tilts due south.
