if i could change anything about you it would be this:

30 Dec

A couple weeks ago, I noticed that I’m like thisclose to publishing 200 posts this year, and that’s like fucking amazing considering the last time I wrote on a regular basis was never. We sure have been through a lot together, not that I have any clue what it is because I’m way too busy to reflect on the writing I’ve done from like January through December 15th. But what I do know is that I’m terribly interesting to approximately 35 people, and just for those chosen geniuses, I vowed to get to the magic 200.

But vows are made to be broken, my friends, because there is no fucking way I’ve had enough time to do things like open my computer and type six sentences. Just hasn’t been in the cards.

For one thing I got a puppy. So most of my days are spent wiping up urine and washing my hands. I’d say a good 77%. This is my first foray into raising non-human babies (unless you count my new 8-line beer system, which I obviously do) so I had no idea that all puppies do is shit where you don’t want them to, pee where you don’t want them to, whine and eat your 2-year-old Babygirl. Alas, I have been preoccupied in the evening when I roll home from work, doing things like buying stock in Brawny and putting a second coat of Neosporin on my bite marks.

And I’ve actually been having to WORK at work, which is such bullshit. Place has been so busy that I had to call my mom and dad (aka The Big Guns) for a bailout a couple times, because I couldn’t handle the volume on my own. The funny thing about calling your dad for help when he hasn’t come to work in six years is that you still fight like it was yesterday. We didn’t even make it fifteen minutes before I was whining to Harry and my dad was bitching about me to my mom. Just like the good ole days! Except this time he quit and fired him.

So yeah. No 200 blogs. I know you’re really upset.

To make you feel better, I made a list of things I’d like you to stop doing in 2013.

  • Get off your phone at the dinner table. The only excuse you have to be on your phone is if you and your kids/boyfriend/waiter are arguing a fact and you desperately need to google something. Otherwise, put it in your pocket and have some real human interaction.  Whether it’s your fourteen-year-old sexting at the table, you playing Words with Friends under the table or your husband “checking work email,” give it a rest. You don’t get this time back. 
  • Stop being allergic to everything. It’s so annoying. Get an Epipen and eat those peanuts, friends!
  • Please please please don’t ask me to put something “regular” on tap. I have just spent the past 3 months completely immersed in the craft beer segment. And if I’ve learned nothing else, it is that Bud Light tastes like ass. So if I’m doing you the favor of turning you on to something that is actually worth your time and calories and money, do me the favor of shutting the fuck up about Amstel.
  • Don’t be a vegetarian. Life is too short not to eat a cheeseburger with sautéed onions and fries. Seriously get over it. 
  • Don’t tell me that you “used to be in the restaurant business” and that I’m “doing it wrong.” You just waited 45 minutes for a table on a Wednesday night. I think I’m doing it pretty right. 
  • DO NOT. I repeat DO NOT order a turkey burger or a cobb salad if you’re on a diet. I don’t have time to be a nutritionist, but Tuesday morning when you wake up with your big lose weight resolution, please don’t come by my place and order one of these items.
  • Seriously just get off your phone. If you make no other change this year, make it that. If you don’t know the color of your father’s/son’s/boyfriend’s/waiter’s/gorgeous restaurant owner’s eyes, then you’re sincerely missing out on the finer things in life. Such as life. 

In other news, my personal New Year’s resolutions are to hang out with Charlie more often and FINALLY get a tattoo. And get my dog to stop eating my kid.

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a public service announcement to those of you who are interested in opening a restaurant (aka idiots).

19 Dec

Tonight on my way home from work I called my mom to ask her if she can babysit my kid on Thursday night because I have a party.

“Who’s party?”

“I don’t know. Some dude.”

“Oh, I thought you were invited to a party. I didn’t realize you meant for work.”

“No, mother. I was not invited to a party.”

“I got so excited!”

“Yeah, well sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel pathetic.”

“I don’t feel pathetic. In fact, I’m going to blog about how the only parties I ever attend are the ones I’m throwing for somebody else and that I’m seriously an awesome party planner.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t write that. It really does make you look a little pathetic. Stop letting people think that you’re a bigger loser than you actually are.”

Um, no, Mother. I’m being pretty fuckin’ accurate. At some point in time, I went from being the life of the party (TOTAL EXAGGERATION) to the host of the party who doesn’t know anyone except the person who booked it, and they pretty much ignore me the whole time to do things like talk to their friends and drink all-they-can and sexually harass their employees. The holidays are a super busy time for me and Harry, so I get that people don’t want to make us feel bad for declining. That’s obviously why we don’t get invited to do anything festive. But they’re making a big mistake! We’re very valuable guests!!!!

The following is a list of reasons that we should definitely be invited to parties of people we actually are acquainted with:

  1. We never show up empty handed. And I’m not talking a cheap bottle of wine. Maybe we’ll bring a totes gorg fruit platter on a bamboo cutting board for your brunch. Or maybe even a 1 pound block of butter. Throwing a cocktail party? We’ll show up with hors d’ouerves for like 50 people, just because we’re that nice!
  2. I mix a mean martini. All this self-serve bar shit means that most of the drinks will have the incorrect balance of vodka to mixer. But helloooooo I’m like a bartender. I can make creative, seasonally appropriate, refreshing cocktails with simple ingredients you can find laying around the kitchen! I’m the MacGuyver of Holiday Booze! In addition to mixing a great drink, I also mix a great Spotify list. Just in case your boring lame-o Pandora station blows as much I’m assuming it does.
  3. I have compiled a VERY LONG list of potential hostess gifts that I am DYING to purchase. I literally don’t care who I buy one of those trendy aprons from Anthro for. You can be the lucky winner if you just send me a damn Paperless Post. And I bet you’d be super happy if some special guest of yours showed up with one of those Pop Phones that you secretly want but can’t think of any legit reason to purchase. Just sayingggggg…..
  4. I have an arsenal of interesting topics to discuss with fellow partygoers. For instance, the best food I ever ate in the parking lot after a Phish show / how I still mourn Amy Winehouse on the regular / my parents have a rat infestation / motor homes are the best / my brother got bullied at theater camp.
  5. I am an extremely entertaining drunk. It’s just that I never get the chance to prove it! Like, do you know HOW AMAZING I can sing karaoke? Neither do I!!! Because I never remember it the next day!!!!!!! But how the hell did I get that huge ass bruise on my wrist?????

In conclusion, if you open a restaurant, you will be a SLAVE to that restaurant, and you will never be invited to a party ever ever ever again unless your friend throws a party at your establishment, and then you will go from talking to him about business and shit like that to bumping in to him while you’re trying to carry a bus tub of dirty glassware into the kitchen and slipping and nearly dropping the whole lot of glasses attempting to keep your breast inside your shirt because you’re good friends but not that good. Not that this scenario happened to me tonight or anything…..

 

a reflection on the most unfortunate of days….

15 Dec

I’ve been typing first sentence of my entry tonight for the past 2 hours, but the fact is, there aren’t any words. I hate cliches, but honestly, where do you start?

There’s just no way to summarize this horrible day that we all experienced, each in our own way.

Tonight, in the same party room where I celebrated my daughter’s baby naming, my father’s 60th birthday and my own personal milestone of growing the business on my terms, I had to sit down with my sweet 9-year-old stepson and explain to him that a man shot and killed children in an elementary school. And I had to watch his eyes fill with tears when he asked me how many kids died. And I had to hold his hands with the dirtiest fingernails I’ve ever seen, and I had to convince him that we will keep him safe and sound in this world drenched in horror and tears.

I think there’s enough commentary on what occurred all over the place. It’s unthinkable, and it makes you question the existence of monsters and God and destiny and hope in a way that nobody should ever have to. I don’t want to write about it because I can’t write about it, I’m just really really sad. But I do have one strong opinion:

Don’t ignore warning signs. Don’t make excuses for disturbing behavior. Seek help if your child is depressed or unsettled or displaying unusual social behaviors.

We (almost) all try to be good parents to our children. We try to create improved versions of ourselves, and as a result, we often turn on blinders. We overlook realities because we’ll have failed ourselves and our children. Maybe we’re ashamed or overwhelmed or lazy or angry but for whatever reason, a lot of children are slipping away.

There is nothing wrong with mental illness. There is EVERYTHING wrong with not dealing with it properly. 

And one more thing. Teach your children the value of a life. Make sure they understand COMPLETELY that lives are treasures. Don’t take it for granted they can figure this out on their own. SAY IT OUT LOUD. 

Anyway I made a mix. I just feel like what else can I do? It helped me to put it together, and it will help me to play it tomorrow in the car with the kids. Here you go. I don’t know, maybe a little peace for your brain.

Go hug someone. I guess you can come hug me, especially if you’re adorable. But don’t get all pissy if Harry yells at you, I really don’t know what you expect….

naughty (and nice, i guess) holiday party roundup.

12 Dec

Something really interesting about the restaurant business is Christmas Parties. (Oh, hey guys, remember Hanukkah? The holiday that it ACTUALLY IS right now? Can SOMEBODY bring a fuckin’ Secret Santa gift that’s wrapped in blue and silver paper for once??? Whatever, maybe next year. Anyway…)

drunk christmas

Right now we’re deep in the heart of party season. What this means for you is that you get to drink with your colleagues and eat a free meal. What it means for me and my staff is that if we could all crawl in some sort of hole and hide from all of you freaks, we definitely would.

No offense, but the holidays bring out the worst in you. Like, we get it. You’re stressed because your kid hates you but you still need to buy him a skateboard (Yo, did I mention I got a skateboard for Hanukkah? A pink one with green wheels? Because I’m a woman-child? And I’m going to break my face open and post gruesome photos of it? And it’s going to be so awesome?) But that’s no reason to be scroogey/too happy/wear terrible festive clothing/berate me because you drank 13 double Jack Honeys on the rocks and we ran out.

What you may not realize is that you don’t all suck in the same way. There are many, many different types of Holiday Parties! And with each party, a different Spotify list is necessary. Spotify lists are essential to the success of a holiday party, because at my particular establishment, we have carpet and so bosses have the perfect excuse to not pay a DJ, disappointing millions of horny secretaries who are sincerely looking forward to grinding on a doctor or partner or other secretary or whomever. Because the best part about the office holiday party is most definitely the one-night-only lift on the company sexual harassment policy. Gotta take advantage of that shit.

Merry Christmas Party Season to the following partiers:

1. Christmas Over-Enthusiasts. These bitches show up an hour and a half before the party starts to “accent” our holiday decorations with their own. Poinsettia leaves strewn across the tablecloths, cinnamon sticks in the water glasses, reindeer antlers hanging on the wall and a personalized rudolph nose for each guest. They play every classic holiday game there is, including an ugly sweater contest, “pack santa’s toybag” and other shit that nobody wants to participate in. PLAYLIST: 100% Classic Christmas, highlighted by the Mariah version of “All I Want For Christmas is You” and “The Hanukkah Song” and the ever horrible “Dominic the Donkey.” They sing along to nearly everything, except when they’re laughing-til-they-cry during the “Naughty or Nice gift exchange.”

2. Cheap Boss. This guy calls in a lunch reservation for 8 people so that he doesn’t need a party package, and throughout the month he needs to “add a couple folks” until the number has topped 40. He fancies up the non-private room with one bouquet of Trader Joe’s seasonally appropriate flowers and gifts his staff with leftover giveaways from the pharmaceutical rep. Half of his staff “goes to the bathroom” together and hits up the bar to take a bunch of shots, because he has decided that booze is not appropriate to celebrate the holidays. After party is back to work.     PLAYLIST: Fuck that, we’re listening to country music. If this isn’t technically a holiday party, then I can technically listen to my regular playlist, and sing at the top of my lungs to every other song.

3. Funeral. Someone needs to tell these people that they’re at a party. They are so dull that if we talk about how boring they are in the server station too loud, they will all hear us and start crying. They all wear festive clothing, which is all ugly. They sit down the second they get to the party, which makes for an awkward cocktail hour with passed hors d’ouerves.  After party is the next morning on Facebook, with elegantly posed photos of each attendee.     PLAYLIST: The Michael Buble Christmas album, followed by the Charlie Brown Christmas album by the Vince Guaraldi Trio, followed by a funeral death march performed by a local high school bagpipe band, with a finale of “River” by Joni Mitchell on repeat for the last hour.

4. Drunken Fools. The holidays are the ultimate time to attempt a sexual encounter with your boss and/or his wife, and there’s no better way to do this than to drink yourself silly. At some parties, this scenario is a sure thing. Except you can’t really fuck a boss who’s passed out in the corner, so there goes that theory. These party people decorate by coming early and taking shots at the bar. After party is at the strip club. After after party is at work the next day, where everyone is still drunk.     PLAYLIST: The Chris Brown Christmas Album, along with whatever else the DJ chooses. Your boss hired a DJ for this one, because he wants to show off his moves and he’s seriously hoping to get his wife laid tonight.

5. Teachers. Teacher parties fall into 2 categories, both of which involve karaoke. Both after parties are bed, there’s school to be taught tomorrow! Except for this one guy. It look’s like he’s gonna need a sub.

  • 5a. Drunk Teachers. Choose the cheapest food package possible. Complain about everything from the very first day of planning. Old teachers are the life of the party. Pay in singles.      PLAYLIST: Karaoke machine. Then the Chris Brown Christmas album.
  • 5b. Sober Teachers. Require more food than drunk teachers, but want to spend less money than them. Complain about nothing except how they don’t have enough food. Young teachers are the life of the party. Pay in singles.     PLAYLIST: Karaoke machine. Then the Michael Buble Christmas album.

6. Segregation City. This group is a mixed bag of blue collar and white collar workers. The sales department and the warehouse guys. The queen bees and the worker bees. People who hire cleaning ladies and people who are cleaning ladies as their second job. This is my preferential group, because it’s sort of like having two parties at one time and it makes me feel more accomplished. Like I brought together separate worlds with my pulled pork sliders. This party typically starts slow and ends with some crazy ass afterparty at the local Spanish bar.     PLAYLIST: Feliz Navidad by Jose Feliciano and Pitbull and Gloria Estefan and JLo.

7. Cool People. I’m not gonna lie and act like there’s more than one of these a year. It’s a needle in a christmas tree farm. These people drink enough to have a hefty liquor tab, but stay sober enough to not urinate on the party room floor. Everyone is dressed fantastically and many of the women wear amazing sparkly platforms that I try to steal. They smoke pot in the parking lot. We all get contact highs. They leave in a timely fashion and tip extra. The after party is a PJ party in someone’s basement apartment and everyone lays around watching Christmas Vacation until the sun comes up.     PLAYLIST: This.  Because I save cool playlists for cool people.

*Note: I am not exempt from this list, but I fall into sort of a hybrid category. My Christmas Party is a lovely combination of #6, #2, #4 and mostly #7 based specifically on my presence. Plus we obviously have a naughty or nice gift exchange.

if i only had a penis. (a poem)

9 Dec

Like any typical Saturday, tonight I spent part of the evening having extremely super professional craft beer discussions, and the remainder lurking in a dark corner of the restaurant, checking out who on my staff sucks and things like that. I’m not necessarily into voyeurism, but I will say that when people don’t know you’re watching, you get to see awesome things such as sexual harassment, deep wedgie pickings, and your manager standing behind the host station daydreaming for ten minutes while the restaurant functioned around him. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I mean we’re obviously all entitled to completely tune out our job after a nearly-completed work week filled with a shit ton of drunken Christmas parties. What I am saying is that I watched Ryan stand at the desk for an extended period of time, staring at nothing in particular, just maybe reflecting on who he still needs to buy gifts for / where he’s going to drink after work / how bad he has to pee but someone is taking a really long time in the men’s room. I cruised over to where he was to wake him up and to grab a very important document, (the Costco coupon book, if you really need to know) and he scampered off to check on a table or whatever. Moments later a man who had been sitting no more than 3 feet away from Ryan the Dreamer approached me.

“I just want to make sure that you have our reservation down. When will our table be ready?”

“Oh, I apologize, I just came over here to retrieve this very important document. I’m not actually in charge of seating, but I will find out if your table is almost ready from Ryan, who is.”

“Oh, I just assumed that because you have tits, that you are the hostess,” he didn’t say.

“No, sir. We are an equal opportunity employer. We let people with breasts AND without breasts bring you to your table,” I didn’t say back.

“Wow, I didn’t realize that men could be hostesses. I thought they could only play golf and make chauvinistic comments about chicks and eat steak.”

Ok, so the conversation was somewhat more lighthearted than that, and I obviously got him his stupid table. And I ALSO WROTE THIS AWESOME POEM!!!!!

IF I ONLY HAD A PENIS.

If I had a penis, oh the things I would do!

I’d have a firm handshake and a secret one, too!

I’d wrestle with dudes but still say that I’m straight,

And not use shampoo, it would be fuckin’ great!

At Home Depot no one would ask to help me

Because buying tools as a dude is so easy.

My martini’d be cold, because men can shake harder.

And I’d know so much more, because men are just smarter.

Probably I’d have to drive a Ferrari

And when my wife got mad I’d never say sorry.

My job would be more important than yours,

Because women are mostly just teachers or whores.

I’d open a bar and then when I went broke,

I’d hire an experienced chick to consult.

‘Cause when a man and his penis are poorly maintained

There’s no better fix than two tits and a brain.

In conclusion, it’s a man’s world. Just kidding.

how to burn the candle at both ends.

7 Dec

i don’t know.

a conversation with the coolest girl i know.

2 Dec

Once upon a time, like three weeks ago, I didn’t know anything about beer except that I like pretty bottles, and I prefer Bud Light when I’m at like a house party (those are really common for working moms these days, seriously, we throw keggers like as soon as the kids are in dreamland). My beer selection at the restaurant totally blew, and then one day I woke up and had a mirror conversations that went something like this:

Me: Ugh, I have so much to do today, such as catch up on the pile of paperwork that is teetering off my desk. Babygirl just started calling me by my first name, I was thinking of trying to retrain her, but first I have to take her to gymnastics class and chase her around for an hour. I wish I had something to distract me from the chaos in every square inch of my life!

Me: Oh really? I have something perfect for you! Why don’t you serve craft beers at the restaurant?

Me: Craft beers? What are those?

Me: I seriously have no idea, but there are a lot of them in Brooklyn.

Me: Brooklyn seems pretty entertaining. I love mason jars!

Me: Totally!

Me: I also love skinny jeans in all different colors and textures!

Me: Having craft beers would involve things like drinking all day, and figuring out what the fuck it means to be extra special bitter instead of just regular bitter. It would attract both hipsters and faux-hipsters and avant garde performance artists who live in the back seat of their SUV even though they’re also investment bankers on the side.

Me: Cool! Would it also mean that I would get to spend every single night prowling beeradvocate.com? Acting like I know what I’m looking for? And then talking to customers as though I have even the most remote bit of credibility? And they’ll believe me and spend $8 on a beer???? And maybe I’ll never ever ever sleep again because all I’ll do is google beer things and figure out how to be a cool beer person?

Me: Totes!

Me: This shirt is not your color.

Me: Thanks, bitch.

The end.

suck it, wine. there’s a new bottle in town.

28 Nov

Something really interesting about the restaurant business is that I fucking hate wine.

For like however many years, I’ve been acting like I give a shit about the wine list, but the truth is, I really truly honestly completely don’t. There’s like a mute button on the remote control of my life, and, like clockwork, it immediately detonates anytime vino comes up in the convo. For instance, the chick who sells the wine for the liquor company. She comes in and talks to me about blah blah blah barrel aged blah blah dry blah blah blah. And she pours me a sample and  my response is always “I’m pregnant” and then she lays off and rubs my belly which is in actuality just filled with iced tea and Today’s Soup. I feel sorta bad for restaurant people in my boat who don’t have ovaries and various other necessary reproductive organs, and therefore have absolutely no excuse as to why they can’t drink stupid wine.

The reasons wine totally blows are sort of endless. Some highlights:

  • Wine is not refreshing. Nobody* says “Ooh, that shit is spicy! Let me wash it down with a lukewarm glass of water!”
  • Wine is high maintenance. You need to let it breathe. You can’t leave it too long or you need to throw it out. You need to constantly check its legs. It is positively far more difficult to drink a bottle of wine than it is to raise a 2-year-old.
  • Wine bottles are really big. That’s like a serious commitment. Beer is like a few sips and onto a different one. Iced tea is free refills. Wine? It’s like Chinese takeout – no matter how much you have, there’s still a bunch left. The only time that changes is after you’ve finished the first bottle and then it just goes down way too fast and you do silly things like strip karaoke to “Don’t Stop Believin'” at a gay bar or drunk dial your mom to thank her for “just everything” while sobbing like a bipolar madwoman. Or madman.
  • I burned my taste buds on a hot piece of Toaster Strudel when I was in high school and it destroyed my ability to tell the difference between a cabernet and a merlot. It’s a sore subject and I really don’t want to talk about it, ok? Just lay off.
  • There is no way to taste wine without either looking like or feeling like a total schmucko. I naturally feel and look like a schmucko on the regular without any involvement with fermented fruit, so why participate in more awkwardness?
  • No matter how much you know about wine, you don’t know anything about wine.
  • I would rather pay my mortgage than drink wine. If we could all take an honest vote, how many of us can truly (stop lying to yourself, yo) tell the difference between a $42 bottle and a $15,000 bottle. Oh don’t go acting all high and mighty, you’re just saying you can because nobody is testing you. Watch your back, I may just call your bluff.
  • Have you ever gotten lost and somehow ended up by the vines on an Italian vineyard and stolen a few bunches of grapes for a yummy afternoon snack? That shit is nasty. Unlike my cougar mom, grapes simply do not improve with age.

In other words, I switched to beer.

More on that another time, though. (Like maybe tomorrow or something)

Don’t get the wrong idea. There are lots of things other than wine that I hate about the restaurant business. :

  • Mussels.
  • Grammatical errors on menus.
  • Servers with dirty aprons.
  • Customers who get physically abusive upon learning that we don’t have matches. We’re not a 1950s catering hall, ok?
  • Missing the Green Day concert at Giants Stadium because there was a big reservation and I felt guilty about leaving the place understaffed.
  • Ugly people who sexually harass you.
  • Cold garnish on a hot dish.
  • Drinks made with Blue Curacao.
  • Cilantro.
  • Anonymous Yelp! reviews from disgruntled douches.
  • People who try to stick their empty pack of cigarettes in the slot on the ashtray that’s clearly meant only for cigarette butts and maybe a peppermint wrapper.
  • No-shows on parties larger than 6.
  • People in general.

In conclusion, if we go out to dinner please don’t ask me my opinion on the bottle of wine we’re all sharing, because I probably hate it and have absolutely nothing intelligent to contribute to our conversation. Unless it’s Manischewitz on the rocks and it’s Hannukah or Passover or frankly just a Tuesday, ’cause that is one YUMMY GLASS O’ WINE.

*Note: Some people in Europe may prefer lukewarm water to ice water, but that’s just because there’s no ice in Europe.

dishwashers have the worst taste in music. like ever.

27 Nov

Sometimes in life, you lock yourself out of your office, and subsequently lock yourself out of your car, and are forced to either wake someone up, or sleep at work using wadded up cocktail napkins for a pillow and a bottle of Malibu to keep me warm.

For me, that time has arrived. It wouldn’t be so bad here, but the dishwashers are playing the most godawful music I have ever heard in my fucking life. I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round in Mexico City that is surrounded by an accordion-centric mariachi band. I’m all about world music, but seriously? EVERY FUCKING SONG IS THE SAME (sort of like Mumford and Sons only somehow worse) AND I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY LONGER BUT IT’S RAINING AND COLD AND I ALSO LOCKED MY RAINCOAT IN THE OFFICE TOO.
Know what? I give up. I’d rather sit in the rain than listen to this shit. Why can’t they listen to like country music or the Les Mis soundtrack like a normal person?

So now I’m outside. I opted to call Harry. He woke my babygirl up and will bring my spare set. No offense, restaurant, but I hate you right now and I don’t want to spend any more time inside of you than I have to. I still love you though.

It’s cold. My phone is dying. You can still hear the music. I think they just said “please save us from singing this crapolaaaaaa” en Español. Not positive though. I’m about to start walking.

In other news, Harry just got here and my keys are not in my office. They are, in fact, nowhere. Tomorrow I will search high and low, and most likely surface in the mint basket or in the front pocket of my raincoat, which I am currently wearing.

The moral of the story is: I am responsible for not only a business, but also a small child and 35 brand new poinsettias. Good luck to those suckers!

underage drinking in your hometown during the holidays for dummies.

19 Nov

Aaahh the holiday season is upon us!

You never really remember how quickly it hits. One minute you’re milking a pair of flip flops and totally excited to maybe keep a thing of mums alive for more than a week. Then, in the blink of an eye, you’re trick-or-treating in a blizzard and are literally incapable of making a purchase in a store without waiting 35 minutes.

The arrival of Christmastime is marked most notably by the return of the sweatpant-clad college set. We in the restaurant business devote a lot of time to complaining about little brats and high school kids, and then suddenly a bunch of punk 20-year-olds roll into town to put it all in perspective.

  1. We know you’re not from New Jersey, so please put your fake ID away and stick with the Root Beer. We also know you’re not from Michigan, California, South Dakota and New Mexico. Know how we’ve figured that out? Because NOBODY COMES TO LONG ISLAND FOR THANKSGIVING UNLESS THEIR MOM MAKES THEM.
  2. When we mention Amateur Night, we are specifically referring to you. If you are from New Mexico, Michigan, California or South Dakota, please don’t eat at my restaurant on Thanksgiving Eve. Unless you’re one of those dorky groups of friends who’s yet to “break out of their shell” and then I love you and your sober asses. You’re adorbs and I’m super glad you came down to play Trivia Night.
  3. College isn’t real. It feels totally real. I know. I was there. I still bleed Orange. I lived in a house where I paid a staggering $600 a semester, and I was stoned morning, noon and night on awesome weed that my friends’ parents had essentially purchased for them. (I’m really well behaved and spent all of my parents’ money at CVS.) But when you’re at school, you’re really in some sort of idyllic microcosm of life where a basketball game is considered a holiday. So please remember that while you’re amongst us regular people, you are required to follow our regular people rules. Like tipping your server, and ordering more than a diet coke and side of fried pickles as your meal.
  4. It is not mandatory to play air guitar to every classic rock song. We are all very proud of you for knowing an Eric Clapton song. But you don’t have to prove it. Because really? You look really really really silly when you and all of your friends have your eyes closed and are rocking out on your invisible instruments in unison when Layla plays at my bar.
  5. Put your phone down for like 30 seconds and have a conversation with your parents. For 9 months out of the year, all I listen to is your mom telling me how proud she is that you’re double majoring in Communications and Poli Sci. Your dad tells me that you’ve “figured out how to balance getting good grades with studying abroad in Amsterdam.” Please don’t make them look like fools, believe me, they already do enough douchey stuff the rest of the time for that to happen.
  6. Sweatpants are pajamas. Also, Uggs are slippers. And when did this whole don’t-bend-your-hat-brim thing start, because I fuckin’ hate it. Dress like a grownup, because you never know if the owner of the restaurant you’re eating in is looking to hire an intern for her weed bakery business, but only wants someone who will dress business casual. It is a very very serious operation. If you don’t want to dress like a grownup when you’re popping by for a burger, that’s fine. But at the very least GET DRESSED!
  7. My restaurant is owned by old people. And that old people is me. Right? Like, I’m such an old fart! When did this HAPPEN??? Like, I’m bitching about wearing UGGS when they are my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE FOOT COVERING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD EXCEPT FOR THESE BAMBOO SOCKS I HAVE!!!! I don’t get it, I used to be so fucking cool (You know, after I came out of my shell).  Really I’m just jealous. Not about the air guitar thing though. That’s just lame.

Anyway, so the college kids have landed. The holidays are here. And in case I had instantly forgotten about The Arrival, as a final reminder, tonight I stepped in a lone pile of vomit on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.

Thanks, college friends. Merry Christmas.