Check in.

The Empire State Building from the Empire State Building.
Would love to expand on this day. It was lovely. Too bad.

Still not sure where this blog is going; whether I should be more anonymous or what. I mean, I still live with my ex-boyfriend, have to keep a lot of secrets because of that. I would love to go into detail about my new escapades, and by escapades I use the root ESCAPE literally. Whatever that means.

Running has been difficult as I have had to put in almost sixty hour at my job to make ends meet, and guess what! They still aren't meeting. They should make a dating service for single ends to meet up at coffee shops. EndsMeet.com. Sometimes I hate myself.

I have a nice big juicy audition on Monday. Ninety seconds. Two contrasting monologues. I have decided to do very well. This is what I am working on today.

The alcoholic subway number asker guy didn't call me. Bastard. Maaaybe it's for the best. He was too young for me anyway. Ha.

Big storm on it's way in tonight. One of the cool things about living in New York City is that the weather is a real topic of conversation. It's this enormous thing that drastically affects all of our lives, and in discussing it, we feel a sense of community. The word on the street and in the news today is, "Yeah we missed it last time (meaning the little storm with the big hype that fell all over D.C. and barely flirted with New York City) but we wont be so lucky tonight." It makes me want to wax poetic on how storms are like relationships, you miss one...etc. Maybe storms and cities and ends should all find a dating service...

Can you tell that I am well aware Valentine's Day is Sunday?

Self Pity and other Useless Emotions

Ok so work kinda sucked. My boss thought it would be funny to tell me to come in at 4:45 (oh man its really NOT that good of a story) but I walked the ten minutes it takes to get there (if I walk fast) and he said, "Oh Emma! Didnt you hear me say I was kidding? You were here late on the lunch shift! You really thought I would let you only have a forty five minute break?" Needless to say I was fuming. (Actually I was so fuming my eyes were watering, like I was CRYING people!)

I decided I was being over emotional and, since I havent been sleeping well, I needed to take a nap.

Work sucked and I come home and find THIS PICTURE:

From THIS BLOG

Oh. My. God.

Perfect.

When You Go Out to Eat

I have worked at over ten restaurants in my day. That’s a lot. I have worked at California Pizza Kitchen for two years, Denny’s, IHOP, Tokyo Cafe, Schlotzskys, and Bizou (among others). And when I say that people don’t know how to act when they go to a restaurant, I know what I am talking about.

Here is a little list of rules (dare I say COMMANDMENTS) that people should follow should they ever decide to set foot in any kind of restaurant, respectable or otherwise. I may add more later. This is a very important issue.

1. The bread you get at the beginning is free. No one gets tipped on it. Don’t ask for more. Don’t ask for it toasted. Don’t ask if there is any more "nut bread" because there isn’t. No one has time for this petty request.

2. When the corkage is 2$ that means I don’t have to pour it for you. Sorry.

3. When the waiter comes to your table to check to see if you need anything, that’s your chance to tell him or her if you need anything. You do not get to say "Lemons!" and when he or she comes back say, "More nut bread." You get one chance. That is all.

4. Do not bring your children out to a nice restaurant if they do not know how to act. They must sit in the chair provided for them and not get up unless chaperoned to the restroom. There are no kids’ menus at fine dining restaurants. Do not ask for one. Do not expect one. Get your kid the chicken, and do not mess with the recipe. Your kid does NOT get to wander. Get a babysitter. We are in a recession. Anyone will do it!

5. When ordering: look at the menu. Do not order the pork tenderloin and then ask what it comes with. It’s on the GD menu. Read the menu. That’s what it’s for.

6. If you don’t like what you ordered because of the ingredients that are clearly on the menu that you didn’t read, you have to eat it. No sending it back. Ever.

7. If you DO change the menu you eat what you ordered. Say the sesame coated salmon comes with burgundy wine sauce and potato pancakes. You decide to get lemon cream sauce and saffron shrimp risotto. You have ruined the dish. When it doesn’t taste right, it is your fault. Do not send it back. You are not a chef. Get what is on the menu or go to Burger King. This isn’t "have it your way" This isn’t hamburgers, it’s a recipe slaved over and tested and approved. You are an idiot if you think you know better than a chef who owns THE most popular restaurant on Ventura Blvd.

8. Pay attention to the time. If the restaurant closes at 10pm. Pay your bill before that. Under no circumstances should you order a dessert after 10pm. It will be spit in.

10. Do not question the waiter. You may think that a restaurant has escargot. If the waiter says, "No we have never had escargot." Do not ask him or her to go check in the kitchen. They do not have escargot. You are an idiot. The waiter is there every day with the same food. You are thinking of another place.

11. If you tip even a penny less than 15% your will be cursed and bad luck will come to you. The standard is now 18-20%. If the service is good, any less is beyond shameful.

12. NEVER make the waitress decide who gets to pay the bill. This is very uncomfortable and she knows her tip is at stake. If there is going to be a fight about who gets to pay, leave it between you and your party, do not put it on the person who has ten other tables and has been on her feet for six hours already. It’s disgusting.

Anyway, I have been working since 10:45 this morning and am not looking forward to another double tomorrow. I’m a little bitter.

Anyone know some other rules I may have missed?

Why Actresses Wait Tables

In Los Angeles, and I hope in New York City too, there is an entire subculture of actors who wait tables. They are sometimes considered the loathsome, lost artists who are clearly NOT making it. I'm not about to say that waiting tables is an art, but there are so many things that benefit an artists soul in working at a restaurant.

Last night was an awkward example. I was in the front section, which means I am the last to leave. So at 9:30 when I am sat THREE tables I am already slightly annoyed. Three couples.

One couple orders drinks and dinner quickly. They seem upbeat and into each other. A long relationship. Another couple orders a diet coke and water. Lame. Who doesn’t drink at dinner? They seemed slightly awkward, but they took a picture together. I kinda thought they were a new couple until then. Digressing...

The last table is an attractive thirty-something woman and an older man, say forty-five or so. They are in heated, hushed discussion. They take awhile to look the menu, whispering points between glances. When I go over there, CLEARLY interrupting them (but come ON its 9:45 by now. All the other waiters are leaving), I hear things like "I just don’t feel like you listen to me," and, "I do everything I can to...um yeah were ready. Ill have the Steak Frites..." and they order. I leave them the hell alone for the rest of their meal. Forty-five minutes later the argument has escalated. I have to go home. It’s freaking late. They are still picking at their dinner and whispering frequently. At the first appropriate moments, I take their plates and ask, tentatively, if they want dessert. No, thank God. Tea and coffee. Ok. Done. I go back to drop the check and they're really into it by now. She is attacking him about something. He is looking all defeated. (See, that is the first problem. If he was a tough guy, the kind of guy this strong-type woman clearly needs, he wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. Dr. Laura is wrong. Men emasculate themselves...) I have to tell them that we need to close so hurry the hell up and pay. They nod. They’re not listening. I go back when the basketball game is finished, Utah wins, and there is money all over the table. Crumpled. He clearly pulled it out of his wallet and threw it in his rage. Child. He deserves this. I am left to pick up all the little bills and of course drop some, while he is tearfully telling her that "All I want is to make you happy." And I am out of there. Don't ask them if they want change. They owe me.

My point is that when you wait tables you are the fly on the wall that the audience is in the theatre. People don’t care what the measly waitress thinks about them. Who is she? The failed actress. Nobody. Well, yeah they’re right, for now, but in the meantime I get to work with a bunch of beautiful people and get paid to watch theatre.