Sunday, May 30, 2004


This is the third time I've tried writing this one single silly post. Suffice it to say, I want to apologize for all the rotten words I wrote yesterday. My apologies for being a total and utter bitch to a man that I care for. My apologies for waking up on the wrong side of the bed. 'Nuff said.

Now to the 'real' stuff. The raccoon dick bone did not bring me any luck whatsoever, therefore it shall rest peacefully with all the other dead animal bits given to me by the now-deceased Lakota-Sioux man.

My day started off on the wrong foot. I'd gone out with Jason and Andy the night before and had a wee bit of a hangover when I woke up. Then the viking called right before I had to open the bar and I was a bitch. I admit it. I was mean to him and had no right to be, and it made me feel shitty all day. George's was pretty quiet for the most part, just the usual regulars: Harry, the sweet old man that has brought me a red rose every Saturday for ten years; Howard who brings me the tv guide from his newspaper and I set him up with his 'rations' (two burger patties and two buns for him to take home for dinner); Rick and Dan, jogging buddies who come in every Saturday and overtip me...

But then... some guy I'd never seen before came in and sat down at the bar. He'd just returned from Iraq. He showed me the scar from a bullet wound on his shoulder for which he received a silver star, told me a few horror stories that I don't feel would be appropriate to relate here. They're not my stories. They're his. His name is Jonathan and he's in the Navy. The guy couldn't speak. He stuttered and had trouble getting his thoughts out. My heart went out to him. He would cry, then apologize. He wanted a hug, so I gave him one. I tried to tell him that everything would be ok, but what the hell do I know? I only served him one shot, but he was there for almost two hours. I didn't realize just how wasted he was (I thought he had Tourette's Syndrome), and I didn't see him walk in. But when he started to leave, it was pretty darn obvious he'd been drinking somewhere else. He almost fell down a few times, he couldn't walk a straight line... I followed him out and offered to call him a cab, but he wouldn't accept. What would you do? I was worried about him, so I called the police to intercept him. I felt bad doing it... but he could have hurt himself. That happened toward the end of my shift.

So on top of feeling shitty for having been a bitch at the beginning of my shift, I then felt guilty (??!!) for calling the cops on a guy who has some serious issues in his life to work out and I couldn't help him. Ugh. What a heavy day. When I got off, all I wanted to do was forget it all. Jason came down so we had a few cocktails together. After he left, I just sat around waiting for the band (Dave Moore played with a drummer and an upright bass player). I sat at the bar, drank a few beers and just let the music wash over me. They played a version of "Summertime" that about had me sobbing in my suds. So I came home and posted an ill-tempered-I-had-a-shitty-day blog, and I deserve to be blog slapped for it.

Everyone's entitled to rant and roll once in awhile, babe. And you did the right thing by that sailor. Good for you for caring enough to make the hard decision. Have a great day.
Thanks for responding... for awhile, I kinda thought that maybe no one gave a shit.

Today, I went to the store today for some basil; on my way out, I saw a girl that had been in my Spanish class, so I hollered "Happy Memorial Day, Melissa!" and two seconds out of my mouth, I realized just what a stupid thing that was to say to ANYone.

What's so great or happy about this day?

Memories only get you so far.

I promise to be in a better mood next time I add a post. But, Jack. Thank you.
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