A friend reminded me that I haven’t posted in a while.
Yeah, I know. It has been a weird week.
Not weird like I-can’t-find-my-underwear weird, just kind of socially awkward. You know, that weird. Although, I guess not being able to find my underwear would be socially awkward too.
What do I mean?
Well, for instance, this morning at breakfast with my very good friend, I ordered French Toast. We were at The Mission in North Park. It’s my absolute favorite place to order French Toast. In my humble opinion, nobody does it better.
Anyhoo, so I order my French Toast and the waiter says “do you want bacon and eggs with that?” I look at his inquisitive face and I reply “no thanks, I’d like a side of the crispy rosemary potatoes, please.” Simple enough, right? (I mean, if you can get past the fact that I just ordered a helping of big bad carbs with a side of big bad carbs.)
The problem is, the waiter looks at me and says something else. He says something else that I don’t quite catch. It has the words “potatoes” and “bacon” in it, but I don’t know exactly what it is. The lack of soft surfaces in the restaurant isn’t really kind to people with crappy hearing like I have, so I don’t bother to say “pardon me?” Instead, I just respond to my best guess. Probably not a good idea.
I think he is asking me if I want bacon on my rosemary potatoes, so I say “I’m a vegetarian and I don’t want any meat on my plate.”
I figure this statement brings the waiter onto my self-preservation team and insures he has my back in the event one of the chefs gets kinda baco-garnishy in the kitchen.
Unfortunately, the waiter continues to stare at my face and does not move a single muscle in his own – no raised eyebrow, no smile, no frown, no sign of acknowledgment. Zip. I get nothing from him – no confirmation of my now very eccentric, indulgent, bitchy seeming declaration.
I can tell he’s uncomfortable though and I don’t know why. He stares at my face with an expectant kind of look, but I don’t know what he’s expecting, so I start to sweat. He finally leaves the table, looking annoyed. I am in hell.
My friend is smart not to indulge my concern and he cautions me to move past it. Wise friend. Only problem is, I can’t seem to follow his advice.
Everytime the waiter comes near, I am again awash in paranoia. Does the waiter think I don’t want the potatoes at all? Does he think I want potatoes and no French Toast? Was he trying to figure out if I want the potatoes on the same plate with my toast? Does it matter? Do I care? Will I ever see this waiter again? What if I am famous one day? Will he be the guy who tells the National Enquirer that I am crazy and can’t even order food politely? He is uncomfortable when talking to me now. I’ve done something wrong. Or he has and he thinks I know what it is. Awkward. Weird.
Finally the food arrives and I get what I wanted. Whatever our conversation, it was successful, except for the part where neither of us understood what the hell was going on. That part kind of sucked.
The rest of the day with my friend was great, but this small weirdness was one of many during the last week.
This afternoon, I finally got a few minutes to chat with the new teacher. I stopped by after school and got to see what she has done to the room. It looks great. She’s wonderful – clearly the right woman for this job. This week, I left her two messages about the urgency of my need to meet with her.
When I sat down, all of my brain cells rolled out onto the table and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Do you know how often this happens to me? Too often. Awkward. Felt like an idiot sitting there. She took the lead and walked me through my son’s day, her expectations, etc. I came to and participated in the conversation, but I was definitely not as sharp. Thank goodness she gets more rest, eats better and probably exercises more than I do. I’ll bet she would have figured out that potatoes and bacon thing. Yeah, and probably ordered something else.
Anyhoo, here I am posting finally and wishing I had something really great to say, but it has been a weird few days.
Did I tell you that I won’t be walking my friend’s dog anymore after next week? It makes me a little sad to type it, but it’s time for me to reclaim my morning schedule. The last few months were riddled with very stressful things and I feel like I’m not really taking care of myself and my future very well. Giving up that hour with the little furry boy will allow me better chunks of time for writing and recharging. I thought maybe those of you who enjoy my blog might like to know that I am heading in that direction.
Okay, Tanya? Not quite the post you were probably hoping for, but there it is. Love you.
P.S. A few weeks ago, the little boy kicked off his sandal high enough to knock one of the shades off the little chandelier in our front room. It’s too high to reach without a ladder. It will probably be like this until we’re gone and our son has to stage the house for sale. Sigh.