attention server friends: Oprah never said that it was ok to tip 10% in this economy. Stop joining that FB group. And stop asking me to join. I can't stand the cult of Oprah, and yet I know this is a lie.

Listen, it's hard to make a living depending on tips. I get it. I do it. And I know how frustrating it can be to give your all, and to be stiffed in return. I know the economy sucks, and how hard it can be to pay your bills.

But waiting tables is like gambling. Every now and again, we hit the jackpot in a big way, and it's all worthwhile. But for the most part, we're all just staying afloat. There are so many other things that we, as servers, can get up in arms about. Let's pick something real, and go from there.

Please excuse Heather from her absence these past weeks. She's had a bad case of the fuckits and hasn't felt like writing. Thank you.


I have this thing where I get into such a dark mood, that even writing doesn't feel right. Mostly, when I write, it's to retell stories and to put a humourous spin on the roller coaster that is my life. It's cathartic and therapeutic for me.

But sometimes, I just don't want to feel better. I want to wallow in my sad. I want to stay on the couch in my underpants and watch Nightmare Before Christmas 1000 times and drink an entire pot of coffee through my tears.

My mom is coming to visit next week. At least, she says she is. I can't shake the feeling that she'll call me on Monday and tell me that something came up and she can't make it. She has a bad habit of doing that. I know that it's not malicious, but it does tend to make me feel that she doesn't give a shit about me. I moved into Du II in May. In that time, she's been to Alaska, Montana, North Carolina, Puerto Rico, the Caribbean (all the Saint islands: Thomas, Maarten, etc.), Florida and Vegas. I may be forgetting some. So, it hurts my widdle feewings that she can fly all over the damn world, but can't find the time to drive four hours up here to see me. She and my Nanny are supposed to arrive on the 10th. I remain unconvinced.

I was trying to hold to my job through the end of the year, and transfer to the East Coast, and be closer to my best friend and back to the part of the country from whence I hail. As of next week, I am officially middle-aged, and for some reason, I want to go "home", where ever that may be. But I can barely stay afloat there. I'm struggling to pay bills. It's just a cluster. I've tried speaking to the bosses about what I don't love about our job, and ways that it could be improved. But I've come to realize that the managers just don't give a damn, and I've long known that if you want something done, you've got to do it yourself.

I'm a hard worker, a talented server, and have more than a little wine knowledge. Any one want to hire me?

I'm going to go with "no", after all that blah blah blah whiney-cakes.

my amazing new phone was waiting for me on the porch when I got home from work late Thursday night/early Friday morning. I was so stoked about its arrival that I didn't even care that it was out in the open, where any jerk could've stolen it! Eh, I left my porch light off, just in case.

I've spent the past week believing in love again. This thing is uh-MAZING! My only complaint is learning to use the touchscreen is hard. But, I can turn it sideways and use it much like ye olde Sidekicke of days of yore. Also, it can map from where I am to where I need to go. GPS in mah phone. And yeah, I get that Big Brother is watching me with that thing. AND I DON'T CARE BECAUSE IT'S SUPRA AWESOME! I love love love this thing.

In other news, it's only taken me three months to turn Ulysses into a BFK. Big fat kitty. He will get right up in my face and urgently meow if his food bowl is empty. He is especially fond of this game at around 5:45 in the morning. He is asleep next to me right now. I should get right in his little kitty face and be like "HEY!". But I don't want to walk around with little kitty scratches on my face.

In important television news, you need to be watching Glee. Last night's episode was great. I adore Jane Lynch and she's so great as Sue Sylvester. "If it is one minute late, I will go to the animal shelter and get you a kitty cat. I will let you fall in love with that kitty cat. And then on some dark, cold night, I will steal away into your home and punch you in the face."

It took a 45-minute phone call to customer retention (I was calling to cancel) to get a resolution I can live with in the Sidekick Debacle.

The guy I dealt with is named Shawn, and is the reason I stayed with T-Mobile, rather than getting a Verizon Blackberry Storm 2 (just released today. So pretty). He was helpful, courteous and funny. At some point during our exchange, I said "word to your moms." He replied with "I came to drop bombs."", so he wins forever. He hooked me up with a lot of credit on my account, the stupid free data I already had, the $100 T-Mobile debit card (apparently, after an uproar, everyone qualifies for that now) and best of all, a new free MyTouch phone. I will have to get used to the touchscreen, but I will adjust. I explained to him that I came to T-Mobile specifically for the Sidekick, and had lost a few irreplaceable things. Just things, but MY things. He empathized with everything I said. He had a Sidekick, too.

So, at the end of our phone call he said "does that make you happy?" I told him that nothing about this situation makes me happy, but this will convince me to stay with T-Mobile for two more years.

My new phone is on the UPS truck for delivery today. It needs to hurry up!

Another letter. Caution--I am furious about this situation and my cellular service provider's handling of it. There may some curse words in here.

Dear T-Mobile:

You have *got* to be kidding me. I have been a loyal Sidekick user for about 3 1/2 years. First I had the Sidekick 2. And then, last November, I got the '08 'Kick. Late September '09, my contacts and My Faves disappeared. I took my phone into the store. And the guy took the battery out to do the "hard reset". And things seemed to be ok for a bit.

On Friday, October 2nd, all that stuff disappeared. Along with all my emails, calendar entries, photos, photo messages and texts. Saturday morning, October 3rd, I took it into the store. The guy again took the battery out, and gave me a new Sim card. When that didn't restore my stuff, he called in. The service rep he reached said that T-Mobile was aware of the problem and had escalated it to a Tier 3, whatever the crap that means.

That was my last update on my missing data until the 6th of October (no numbers, emails or internet for four days now), when I got a FREE T-MOBILE MSG: "Sorry for your disrupted data service. We will automatically credit your account for 1 mo data charges. Details at t-mobile.com/sidekick"

Except for one small problem with that. I DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING DATA ANYMORE, SO WHAT WOULD I ACCESS?!?! So, this response doesn't cut it for me. I'm livid.

Then, on October 10th, six days after I lost everything, I learned (by reading on a blog, not being told by T-Mobile) that all was most likely gone. As in for good. 376 contacts built since I got a cellular phone, countless emails, notes, pictures, picture messages, text messages, internet access, downloaded apps and ringtones are all gone. Forever.

Last night, at 5:15pm, T-Mobile released another statement. It's kind of long, but it thanks Sidekick users for our patience. Then, it insults us by stating that "In the event certain customers have experienced a significant and permanent loss of personal content, T-Mobile will be sending these customers a $100 customer appreciation card. This will be in addition to the free month of data service that already went to Sidekick data customers. This card can be used towards T-Mobile products and services, or a customer’s T-Mobile bill. For those who fall into this category, details will be sent out in the next 14 days – there is no action needed on the part of these customers. We however remain hopeful that for the majority of our customers, personal content can be recovered."

Why is that insulting, you ask me? I have lost everything in my phone. Everything. Some of those things are irreplaceable. Such as photos of my grandma. Phone numbers. Calendar entries for which classes I taught where and when. Notes on things I want to write about. Things which are probably only important to me, but goddammit, they're important to me! And I am one of THOUSANDS. And to make up for it, you offer some of us a $100 T-Mobile credit? But not all of us will qualify. Tell me, O Wise Oracle of T-Mobile, how do you decide who qualifies?

Oh, and what exactly have you been doing with the handsome sum I pay you monthly to maintain this data? You're pointing fingers at Microsoft, who bought Danger. Microsoft is saying, "well, it wasn't us. We outsourced to Hitachi." But I'm looking at you, T-Mobile, because I pay you.

I want all my information back. Since that's about as likely as a unified Middle East, then I want a smartphone, of equal value, with the same cost of a data plan that I had before you munged this up. I know it seems like a lot. But it's the least you can do.

Otherwise, I'm taking you up on the ETF waiver, and heading for an iPhone (meh) or a Blackberry (meh).

I went from being a huge Sidekick fan to wanting to chuck this thing into the Trinity River. I hate it with the fiery passions of 1000 suns.

*sigh*

I hate you so much. I really do.

Always,
Heather

story of awesome:

Almost two weeks ago, I was home after a long day at the office. I was chilling on the couch, watching some Tivo and doing what I do (you know, painting my nails), when there was a knock on the door. I am not in the habit of receiving visitors at nearly 4 in the morning. I am not in the habit of receiving visitors period, really. So, I grabbed the MagLite that is kept next to the front door for protection and illumination purposes, and looked out the window onto my well-lit porch. It was the Neighbor Girl on the Right. She's recently moved in, she's a single mom, and works the same hours I do. I opened the door. She seemed distressed.

"My cat got out and I can hear her meowing when I call her name. Is she in your yard?"

"Let's go check", I replied, and out we went. Me in my slippers and her in her obvious distress. If Uly got out, I'd be distressed, too. So, we took the MagLite and looked all over my backyard and up in the trees separating our property. While we were out there, everytime NGotR said the kitty's name, there would come a plaintive reply meow. I assist in the search for about 20 minutes, and then, when there is nothing else I can do, I come back inside.

Cut to late night, some six days later. I get home from work, and as I'm getting out of the car, I hear the same plaintive meow. It's the NGotR's kitty. I go get my big ol' flashlight and some kitty treats. I go outside, and call the kitty's name. As I am traipsing through neighboring yards at almost 1 in the morning. Holding a flashlight. And coming in from work, so wearing black tank top, black pants, black socks and black non-slip shoes. I see the kitty. She's on the roof of the duplex two doors away. I stand under a tree, and shine my light on her little face.

"Here kitty kitty kitty. Just get in the tree. I will catch you!" She actually hops in the tree. Oh shit. I go knock on NGotR's door & when she answers I blurt out that I know where kitty is and do you have a ladder, because I think we can get her!

She does not have a ladder. What we decided to do was pull her Ford Explorer under the tree, I'd climb it, hop up in the tree, grab the kitty and then, we'd celebrate.

There are a couple of things I didn't consider. Such as 1) a kitty who's been on a roof for almost 6 days is scared. And hungry. But mostly, scared. and 2) my outfit and 3) we didn't let the people whose house we climbing in on our kitty rescue plans.

So, I climb the s.u.v., hop up in the tree and climb up to where I can pet the frightened kitty. I give her some Greenies (those are my kitty's faves). She hungrily grabs them. I scratch her head. I go to grab her by her scruff, and she wiggles so instead, I have her by the spine. Then, she's angry, scared and hungry. She heads higher into the tree, and back onto the neighbor's roof. Again, she begins to wail.

"Oh, kitty kitty kitty, come back. I'm sorry. I have more treats. She inches back towards me. I give her more treats. I try again to grab her. Again, she runs away. Shit.

It's about this time that I remember that I am totally afraid of heights. Like a lot. And my heart starts to pound. And I say to NGotR, "um, I need to get down like right now."

And she says, "well, just hop onto the truck."

"Would now be a good time to mention that I'm afraid of heights?"

I have now got a death grip on the trunk of the tree. I shimmy out onto a branch, and start pleading with NGotR to "don't let me fall. Please don't let me fall. Please?" I take my legs off the tree, and beg her to steer my legs onto the roof of the car.

"Let go of the tree", she says.

"No, move your truck closer to the tree. DON'T LET GO! DON'T LET GO!"

"Heather, let go. You'll land on the roof." I sort of loosen the grip of the branch with my arms, and stretch my torso until my tiptoes reach the roof. And then, I touch down. And I let go of the tree. And then I slide off the roof, onto the hood, and get all the way on the ground.

"Made it!", I cheerfully exclaim.

My arms and thighs are scraped and bruised, and it took a guy neighbor with a really big ladder and Carhart jacket to get the damn cat off the roof.

I have told my cat this story twice now when he's meowed at the door. Sorry guy. You're an inside kitty.

It's time again for some letters.

Dear Combat Trainer~

Please stop making jokes about what a great couple we would make. I don't want to date you. I want you to make me into a badass. It's my fault for letting our conversations turn to work and other personal nonsense. But just to be clear, I want you to teach me to punch and kick and throw elbows and whatnot. That's where our relationship ends. Thanks for understanding.


Dear Guy Buddy Who is Constantly Forgetting His Wallet~

I'm onto you. I've seen this from you enough to know that when you say "let me take you to lunch" or "let me take you to a movie" that what will happen is as follows. After I repeatedly tell you that I'd rather not go out, since I'm saving money for a vacation, you tell me you've got me covered. And finally, I will relent. And we'll get to the ticket counter or the bill for dinner will come, and suddenly, you'll widen your eyes and say "you're not going to believe this..." and then tell me your wallet is in your other pants or that you thought you had $50 but you've got $7. You're right. I'm not going to believe you anymore. I'm also not going out with you anymore unless I have money. And since I'm on a tight budget these days, that means I'll smell ya later, man. Smell ya later forever.

Dear J~

Yesterday is the last time you'll get to cancel on me. You just just used up all your turns. Sorry. Go back to the start, and best of luck next time. We do have some lovely parting gifts for you. Please enjoy this case of Turtle Wax and this $10 gift certificate to Blockbuster.

In other news, since Ulysses joined our household, I've bought him several toys, to ensure that he gets exercise, so he is healthy, because that's what the intertubes said you need for healthy cats: toys so they'll get exercise. So, I bought some amorphous thing with puffball feet that dangles from a string, a laser, a suction cup with two jingle bell, feathery birds. And what does he do with them? He literally makes a "meh" noise, and then he goes and sits wherever the hell he wants to.