The Daily Sun

Yes, you found me.

Thanks everyone, for everything, especially Matt at the Portland Daily Sun, my friends for putting up with being blogged about, and all my readers and critics.

The Little Black Skirt that Could

I wasn't born yesterday. I'm well aware of the fact that I work for tips, and sometimes I'll put on clothes that, well, you know, aren't exactly modest or dumpy. This one skirt, however...

Mandy and I are pretty much the same size, so we share clothes. The other day when picking up some key pieces of mine that she had, I grabbed this black miniskirt. She wears a lot of skirts and heels, I wear a lot of jeans and tee shirts. This was everything a miniskirt is supposed to be, short and snug, pockets. Before wearing it to work, I tested it out on a trip to Gritty's with Angela Pizzo. She has a mug, and I ate a cheezburger. Everything about my outfit that day was totally normal, except the length of the skirt. We're mid-pint, mid-conversation when a man, out of nowhere, comes over to us and says, "Can I tell you a story?" I'm psyched. I ask him if I can record, because a) the voice recorder app exists, b) I know how to post audio to the blog, and c) Laura is always looking for stories for her project. But the story is so stupid and he leaves out key pieces of information. He lives in DC, and his Mongolian girlfriend punched him in the face last week. He said he was just making dinner, $32 worth of scallops, she got annoyed and punched him in the face. Closed fist. So he gets in the car and drives to Maine. He rambles on and on about his house in Damriscotta, cell service in Lincoln County, this bartender he was talking up at a pub in Waldoboro, and his eventual reconciliation with the Mongolian woman. Angela said that she could see the disappointment on my face after five minutes in this wasn't going to be a great story. I recorded for almost 20 minutes and promptly deleted it when he walked away. It wasn't even a story. THEN the bartender told us that the reason she punched him in the face, which we poked and prodded him for and he never told us. I mean, seriously. She was Mongolian, not insane. He forgot again that she was allergic to shellfish. It was probably one of those, "If you forget again I'm going to punch you," situations. I would've been annoyed, too. Strange men approach me at bars sometimes, but based on the next two incidences which occurred during the skirt wearing, it's definitely to blame.

I wear the skirt to work on Saturday. Oh, it sort of looks like this. Except, black, with little pleats and pockets on the front. Similar fit, though. Don't forget my Tony's Donuts/Pizza Villa belly and Spanx indent, Dexter boat shoes (not spike heels), messy ponytail and glasses. Right, I was really knocking 'em out.

The night started slow. As with every really nice day at the bowling alley, I assume that no one will come in. If I wasn't working on a beautiful Maine summer day, I'd be on the beach, on a boat, at a baseball game, eating BBQ, or a combination of all four. Anyway, things picked up around 9, because Bayside Bowl is awesome and supersedes decks and boats. Then a couple of things happened:

I was propositioned by an 85 year old man. This is not a joke. A 50-something year old man with a name everyone in Portland knows, was doing shots of Crown Royal. He asked me for one for him and one for his uncle, the 85 year old, who's name might've been Jack. Jack was old, looked old, acted old, without a doubt the oldest person in the building by at least 20 years. He corners me at the waitstation. "AMANDA!" I look up. "Let me ask you a question." I know there's no response to this other than okay, so I say okay. "Have you ever made love to a senior citizen?"




!!!




What?! Oh my god. I blushed. Hell no, why would I ever want to put my body up against your old, hunched over, wrinkly body? Do you even still have all of your teeth? Not to mention I'd have to do all the work! Gross, no thanks. It takes a nano second figure out how to let this man down gently, by using words instead of running away or dry heaving (my two instinctive reactions), so I smile and say, "I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much." The boyfriend is a fragment of my imagination. He replies, "Have you ever considered it? You have, haven't you!" I'm really, just so stunned, that I paused, went into auto pilot, and must've blacked out, because I don't remember the rest of the conversation. He said something about my boobs (which I don't believe were particularly pushed up or exposed that night.) I must've changed the subject to bowling, which luckily, is always a topic, then made an excuse about getting an order in. Instead of helping actual customers who probably needed things, I ran into the kitchen and had a mini-freakout and gave the kitchen staff a pretty good laugh.

A bit later, things are winding down, but I'm still shellshocked when the Bayside Bowl phone rings. Micaela answers it, and apparently, a man on the other line insists that she take down his number, in case "the dark haired waitress with the glasses wants some cock." So Micaela, says, "Amanda??" Great, so the creep knows my name. She takes down his phone number. I freakout, crumple it and throw it in the trash immediately. Then I try to pull my skirt down. I just facebooked this guy's supposed first name, and the first person I found had pictures on his profile bowling at a different alley. Interesting.

Anyway, that skirt has gone back to it's rightful owner, and I'm going to wear jeans, tees and muumuus to work for a little while. (In case you were wondering, my tips were awesome that night.)

The Penis Heater

Very often I'll write myself notes about funny stories and such to write blogs about. Usually, I keep a list in my "Notes" app on the iPhone, and just now while doing some cleaning, I came across an actual handwritten note. Some the the things, I've already written about, like that amazing Theodore Treehouse show, stupid things people order at the coffeeshop. Some of them I haven't, like "Intern, Bring me a campari," or the time in my seventh grade algebra class I swallowed a note I was caught passing. This was a desperate measure to make sure my crush, Danny McKellick, wouldn't discover my undying love for him in front of the entire class. That teacher absolutely despised me and wouldn't bat an eyelash before ruining my entire tween life. That was pretty much the whole story. I probably had to do detention, but then again, I probably shouldn't have been passing notes.

But then sometimes, I'll find a list like this and see something like "Penis heater..." and have no fucking clue what I was talking about.

Cardigan Innovations

In case you and I are ever hanging out, and you're not sure how much I've had to drink, if I'm acting like this: then yes, I'm drunk.

Darcy took this video a couple of years ago when we were on an all-girl camping trip. If I remember correctly, we decided to make margaritas the first night, which was fine, but the second day we were all out of margarita mix, and had a bunch of tequila leftover. Because I'm a genius, I decided to just get some Stewart's Key Lime soda to mix with the tequila, and drink that instead of the beer. One thing led to another, and well, here it is.



Note: I can totally admit when I'm wrong, and yeah, I was wrong. Please, everyone, don't let me button my cardigan like that ever again. Mandy, sorry for the dis.

Bowling Barefoot

A few days ago, I was working laneside. This one girl tells me that she'd lost her job earlier that day. She's with two guys who are bowling, and no one is drinking very much. Eventually, she decides to get a fruit and cheese plate, then an ice cream sundae. I asked if it was tough economic times, but no, she was fired. She was working as an executive assistant and blamed office politics. It's one thing to lose your job, it's even more depressing to be fired from a job- I was in full support of her ice cream sundae decision.

So, a little while later I come back to check in, and the guys are starting their second game, and I asked her why she wasn't bowling. She was wearing flip flops and said that she didn't bring appropriate footwear- like, no socks for the rented shoes.

Okay wait a second. Let me just tell you, that I've never thought of myself as someone who could sell things. I tried telemarketing once, and I went home crying practically every day. It was terrible. Apparently, though, judging by my tips, I'm doing an alright job convincing people to drink, eat and bowl. Really, it's not completely self-serving- I want everyone who comes to Bayside Bowl to have a great time, tell their friends, and come back. I guess it's kind of like when I try to convince my friends to stay out for one more drink. It's easy, and it usually works.

So I find myself saying to this girl, "Oh, but the shoes are brand-new, we've only been open a week. They've only been worn like, once or twice, I'm sure you'll be fine."* She gave me a long, unblinking sidelong look, paused, and said very seriously, "Yeah. (long pause) I've heard that one before."

...wait for it...

She was comparing wearing rented shoes with no socks to sex without a condom. Oh my GOD! And she was RIGHT! And the best part is that somehow she knew that I would know exactly what she meant, right away and I did! I laughed for about a minute straight. She made me feel like a total creep for trying to get her to wear the shoes barefoot. I've heard that line a million times, and I'm positive the girls have heard it more than once or twice, drunk or not. Something like, 90% of the men I've been with have tried to go, ahem, barefoot, and guys. We all know that going barefoot is better. Act like a responsible adult and put socks on or don't bowl.

Did I mention we have a pastry chef? Here's a lemon square, a blonde brownie sundae, and a Maine Root root beer float with some kind of fancy cookie I forget the name of:

*Really though, you probably won't get any fungi. Our customers are pretty well-kept, and plus we have this spray that MUST kill everything, it's so potent.

Boston the Rock and Roll Band

The other day a customer was kind of lingering at the counter at the coffeeshop, which is a bit of a personal pet peeve. I had nothing to say to this man, I'd used up all my small talk with him the day before. I introduced him to my coworker, Layla. And he said, "Wow! You both have really great rock and roll names." My initial reaction was, eh, not really. My song, Amanda, by Boston- is it really that great, and does anyone even know about it? I've always sort of felt ambivalent about my name, leaning towards dislike. But that guy, he convinced me otherwise and I've decided to start thinking about my name, and therefore, myself, being rock and roll.

The Snoop Dogg Story

Here is the audio from the second story I read at the Scratchpad Series, for those of you who couldn't make it. Mandy was nice enough to use the Voice Memo app on my iPhone to record it, but there was a bit of an issue somewhere in there, and it came out in two parts. 

One of my favorite pieces of criticism from the reading was, "I hope I never hear another white girl impersonating a black man ever again."

Life at Bayside Bowl

I love my new job. No, really. Did I mention I'm working at Bayside Bowl now? We've officially been open for three days. Everyone is really excited, and there are a few people who've been in multiple days of the three. You remember a few posts ago when I mentioned my Spanx Scar? Well. Not only will this job keep me running around all night, but I'm also going to be drinking a lot less, less Tony's Donuts, less iced vanilla lattes. I think I'll be ready for bathing suit weather mid-July. There are quite a few baggy t-shirts in my closet until then.

Opening night was sort of ridiculous. To be a good server, you need to be timely, accurate, and friendly. Sometimes, I was able to only get two of three- there were a lot of ups and downs, but I was smiling the whole time. The owner's brother in law told him that I was really nice, that he was happy with the service. I told the owner that his brother in law was the one being nice, because he didn't mention that I brought him the wrong meal and the wrong beer. But I had another table who absolutely hated me. It was two couples- later realized that one of the guys was the twin brother of one of my coworkers, and that I'm friends with his girlfriend's ex boyfriend. I made a weird joke about their taste in whiskeys being different and it was NOT FUNNY, just awkward. I was trying to make fun of myself for not knowing the difference between Crown Royal and Maker's in the glass, but it came out as a criticism of the future of their relationship. Big problem with the brain to mouth filter, here. Note to self: just because I feel comfortable with someone, doesn't mean I can joke about details of their personal lives. Then, I put the wrong cheese on their pizza, forgot to ask the kitchen about egg whites, and the kitchen didn't put mushrooms and onions on the veggie burgers, as specified on the menu. These people absolutely hated me, and I don't blame them- when I was bringing them their checks I made an awkward mini-speech about bumps in the road, opening night, etc. Every once in a while, I'll be out somewhere, and not gel with the server. Like, this one woman at Flatbread. I was that woman to these people. They went to the bar and hung out for the rest of the night... and probably got drunk and forgot about it.

One kind of funny thing that's been happening, when I'm working the lanes: there are a lot of couples coming in, and an astounding number of women are beating the men, way more than 50%. "She's kicking my ass." Awesome. A busty waitress from GR DiMillo's, across the street has been coming in and bowling alone, for the practice. There are a lot of ladies who're really into bowling. I've had my first drunken customer come back the next day and confirm that they paid their tab. Been there, done that. She gave me a $13 tip on a $17 tab. Woot.

Q: Who carries cash anymore?

A: People who wait tables.

Tips at Bayside Bowl + tips at Maine Roasters - amazing brunch with great company at Local - new jeans at forever 21 =

The Doppelganger

Occasionally, I get mistaken for this blonde girl who waits tables in town. She's about twenty lbs smaller and dresses better, so, I take it as a huge compliment. She's actually waited on me before, and I wonder if she knows that people tell me I look like her all the time, and what she thinks of this. And just the other day, I was at Pizza Villa, and I saw a Bradley Cooper doppelganger. If you knew anything about the clientele at Pizza Villa, you'd understand that this is really weird. Between this encounter at the Villa, celebrity doppelganger week, and the recurring doppelganger references on How I Met Your Mother, I decided to write about it.

A couple of years ago, I had a doppelganger in Portland. It started out with a mistaken identy at Shay's, in Monument Square. I was going there occasionally that summer- they had $5 bourbon lemonades served in mason jars, but the people watching was priceless. The bartender asked me if I wanted a Jim and Coke, which was weird, because although not opposed to the idea, I'd never ordered that before. I don't really name drop alcohol. Weeks later at Rosie's, where I'd consider myself something of a regular, once, the waitress asked me if I wanted a Sam Adams, which I'd also never ordered there. I kind of looked at her funny and said no, but thank you, and ordered a Hooker Brown. (Not until recently did I occur to me that the beer is called HOOKER and that's weird.) Then, when she came back for my food order, she asked if I wanted the buffalo wings with blue cheese sauce. Hold on. No way. Blue Cheese sauce is WICKED GROSS. Sam Adams, honest mistake, but there's no way I'd EVER eat blue cheese sauce. And it's not the sort of thing that someone just suggests off the menu, this was obviously a case of mistaken identity. Confirmed one morning about a week later at the office when Michelle came into work and said, "I saw Amanda's doppelganger on Wharf Street last night. She had the same purple tights and everything. I had to look long and hard before I realized it wasn't her." I looked at her really confused, and remembering NO! I wasn't in the Old Port that night. Holy shit, I have a Portland doppelganger. Really, hopefully, we never meet. What if we have to fight to the death?

This was not the case with my friend Betsy, especially because in a fight to the death, she'd probably win. She worked at a bank in Westbrook for a while, and I went in frequently for my job. Much later, we become friends, and she told me this story.

I poke fun, but Westbrook isn't that bad. I imagine that regulars at the coffeeshop there are the same regulars as at the bakery and the grocery store and the bank. I worked in Westbrook for three years, and despite the commute, the occasional encounters with crazy Westbrook people (remember that guy who showed me his colostomy bag?), and limited lunch options, I liked it. Betsy was a teller, and every so often someone would come through her line and say that they saw her at Hannaford, and that she didn't say hello back. She's really friendly, this sounds like a very uncharacteristic thing for her to do. And she realizes that no, she wasn't at Hannaford at the time you specified. Occasionally, someone calls her Megan, with absolute confidence. She's thinking, no, you're not even close, and I have a nametag. These numbers weren't adding up. One guy finally says, "You know, there's a girl named Megan who works at Hannaford who looks just like you." Betsy's like, whoa, well, I have to see this girl. Personally, I'd be terrified. So, she boldly walks into Hannaford for a bottle of seltzer, or whatever, on her way home that night, and asks the cashier if there is a girl named Megan working there who looks like her. Again, I'd be terrified. The cashier pages Megan, she comes to the front, and she asks Megan if she ever gets called Betsy. Megan says, yeah! with a 'how did you know' sort of tone in her voice. Betsy responds, well, I'm Betsy. As if this wasn't weird enough, there is one extremely distinguishing difference between the two: Megan is unmistakably cross-eyed.

Oh, and Darcy made this for me: