The Diary of Queen Mothy
written @ 10:52 PM on August 08, 2005
So I have this huge crush on the German waiter at the local Applebees.
Yeah, I know. Let me wait until you all come to, pick yourselves up off the floor, and reread that sentence again.
Fourth of July my friend Christine and I were coming home from watching fireworks in the parking lot of Bally's Total Fitness (don't ask...), when she proposed the idea of getting grub at Applebees. That sounded like a swell idea, so I called my mom because I knew she was at Applebees with her friends and I wanted to crash her party.
Unfortunately she was on her way out the door, but I was "to request this cute waiter with dark hair and a goatee. I think you should go out with him."
Famous last words. I was in a silly mood so I was like, "Okay!" and we whisked off to Applebees, where said boy with goatee approached us almost as soon as we walked in the door and inquired, "Now which one of you is Sam-man-tha?" in a fabulous German dialect.
"C'est moi," replied I, only in English.
The appetizer sampler that we proceeded to share was by far made all the yummier by his attentiveness and apparent heart of gold, and I said to Christine after we left, "We need to request his section every time we come."
"Every time we come" then proceeded to average about once a week for me. Oh yeah. Pathetic. I know. Subsequent conversations I've had with whom I'm lovingly dubbing German Nick revealed that not only is he interested in classical French theatre, but he also reads Harry Potter. To top it off, he's a med student! A definite keeper, if I ever saw one.
Meanwhile my friends-- who are all evil and must be destroyed-- have been trying to pass off my number to him in an orchestrated effort to get me laid because they think that would be funny, but I've thwarted all their secret napkin passes and clever conversation starters because, to be frank, I'm horribly shy. Terribly so.
Fast forward to Friday.
My friends Lindsey and Brad came up from Cincinnati to visit. Actually we were having a road trip to Columbus to celebrate a friend's 22nd birthday, and they were spending the night at my place before we drove up the next morning. I brought them to Applebees with Ashley and Casey, and they proceeded to hound me about which waiter had caught my fancy (we weren't in his section this time). Because they, like everyone else, find this very amusing.
When they discovered which one, they waved him down and grinned evilly at him and tried to strike up a conversation, which they cleverly drew me into.
I was ready to kill them.
Then they called our waiter over and told him to bring German Nick back, and at this point I wanted to crawl into a hole and die or open fire with an AK-47. Your pick. I spied our waiter having a private tete-a-tete with German Nick, and when he returned he said, "Do you, like, have a crush one him?"
My friends-- my evil, conniving friends-- proceeded to answer for me. And our waiter said, "I will give him your number. Write this down." The waiter and my friends forced a pen and a piece of paper into my hands, and Ashley reminded me what my phone numbers were.
Our waiter continued, "He likes you too, by the way. He's been wanting to ask you for your number, but he wasn't sure if you were a lesbian."
My friends howled with laughter. I tried to muster up the rest of my dignity. "That's okay," I said, "I get that a lot."
Mostly from boys who can't accept that I simply will not go out with them.
The waiter continued, "Every time he's seen you, you've been with a girl or a group of girls." Of course. Duh.
"That was girls night out," I answered stiffly.
Five seconds later, German Nick comes over apologizing profusely for suspecting that I played for the other team and I put his mind at ease and he thanked me for my numbers and blah blah blah, he swore he was going to call me. He couldn't give me his number because the poor boy doesn't have a phone.
Well, he did call. Wait, let me say that again:
He called! He called! He called!
But I didn't pick up my cell because I was too shy.
Yeah, I know. You may slap me.
I listened to his voice mail and he apologized for not calling me this weekend but he was working double shifts and I was like, "Awwwwwe!" But he'll try calling me again. And he sounded so nervous over the phone, it was so adorable and I thought, "I'm want a miniature version of him and stick him in my pocket!"
And now my parents are relieved because they are finally convinced that I am not a lesbian.
I hope he calls back tonight. *happy smile*
Problem is, I leave for the Dominican Republic tomorrow. I hope I get cell phone reception. And this is partly why I want him to call back tonight.
Ah yes, the Dominican.
It's about 11 right now, and I'm still not packed. Not even close. My flight is at 10-ish tomorrow morning. I hate flying. I really hate flying. Thank God it's a direct route.
But just think. Tomorrow I'll be on a white sandy beach next to a crystal clear unnaturally blue ocean being served a pina colada by a cabana boy!
It was a tough summer, but I survived. Today was my last day of work at summer dinner theatre, and my downtown set design gig ended last week. I've made some fairly decent money this summer, enough to last me through the school year.
I ended up landing a huge commission last week. This retired history teach from Kentucky saw some of my work via the Arts Council, and he's commissioning me to paint some murals in his house for $15 an hour. They're Old Master murals. I'm reproducing Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun's most famous portrait and one of Stubb's horse-and-countryside vingettes. That will land me some extra money that I'll need, plus it's an excellent resume bit. Maybe painting murals is the way to go.
I'm glad he didn't ask me to reproduce a Botticelli. Botticelli is hard.
Anyway, I guess I ought to make an effort to pack more... *sigh* I hate flying.
I show you pictures of my trip when I get back!!
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